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candy-and-writing · 5 years ago

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What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore.

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

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eryiss · 3 years ago

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Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Fruity

Summary: Being personal security for the president, Laxus always had to be alert, particularly in a foreign country. This would be fine, if it weren't for the beautiful waiter who kept catching his eye at every moment.

Notes: This is for day five of Fraxus Week 2021. As normal, check out @fuckyeahfraxus for more content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

From the Fields of Italy

Year: 1922

Location: Rome, Italy

Dissasosaition was a key part of Laxus' job. Being a member of the President's personal security team meant he was privy to multiple private and politically significant conversations. Debates, arguments, and compromises would be made in front of him, and he would learn things that a man of his station had no right knowing. Another man might have taken the opportunity to eavesdrop, but Laxus cared little for that. His entire focus was to be on protecting his charge, and as such the politics were unimportant.

Particularly when the dick seemed to stand against everything Laxus cared about.

It had become necessary to learn to focus on other things. Counting the bricks on a nearby building, watching as people passed by, and sometimes going so far as to make up little rhymes and brain teasers in his head. It all allowed him to drown out the bullshit the president was talking about, and better do his job.

Of course, he did focus. Anyone approaching the president was immediately a danger, and Laxus had to watch every move they made, particularly when they were out of country. When Laxus had been told that the president would be undergoing a European tour to better connect with the other countries now that the war was long over, he had known it would be difficult. Anyone might take issue with the president's international opinions, and as such Laxus needed to be wary of everyone near him.

This would have been acceptable – it was his job, after all – but an issue had arisen. The waiter.

The beautiful waiter

Even thinking of the man as beautiful was unprofessional. Laxus was there to do a job, not indulge in his own interests. It was why he'd been consistently given small rooms, cheap and uncomfortable seats in the flight, and little to no respect from his employers. He was there to do a job, not to enjoy himself.

But there was something about the man that was alluring. He was of a good height, with slighter features than Laxus' own but strong in his own sense. His skin had the slight tan that came with the European sun, and a single mark below his eye was the only break from perfect symmetry. His long hair swished down his back in long, silky strands, and Laxus had found himself wondering what it would feel like to run his hand through.

The man was serving the president, who didn't give him a second glance. He brought water, food, and cutlery without making his presence known, and yet Laxus was transfixed. He was quietly elegant in his movements, walking with the slightest sway and it felt like he was dancing around the room with each step.

How was nobody else being affected by this?

Maybe they were, and just hid it. That's what Laxus was forced to do. He stood as part of a circle of six, allowing the president to eat safely in the public restaurant. No doubt the people around them posed no actual threat; even if the stop in the restaurant looked impromptu, it had been planned months in advance and no doubt all the people had booked upon hearing it, and had been checked over time and time again. It was all for show; just a gentle reminder that, although the Italian people might not be pleased about the president's actions during the war, they couldn't do anything about it. They needed to look stone faced and intimidating.

The waiter wasn't at all intimidated. He was completely uncaring towards the fact the president was before him, and instead acted as though he was any other customer. He'd even asked the president a question directly, and was unblinking at the glare he was given for his rudeness.

Watching the man was like watching a show. Laxus just didn't know how it would end.

By the time, the main course had been brought out, Laxus had regained his focus. He was there to protect the man sitting and eating, not to be quietly fascinated by the man who was bringing him his food. Laxus got passing fancies on men often, it was natural given his inclination for men and the inability to actually follow through on anything because of his duties. This was no more than seeing a man he would like to dance with at a club. The waiter just had the unfamiliar addition of not being American, and therefore felt somewhat exotic.

He'd told himself that, and convinced himself it was true, until the desserts were brought out. The waiter placed them before the president and his party and, just as he turned to return to the kitchen, he looked to Laxus and smiled.

Laxus felt like he'd been struck.

No smile had affected him, not in any way. Laxus was hardly a romantic person, and the idea that someone might smile at you and turn your world around was overly sweetened crap written in books to appeal to lonely people. But as the waiter looked at him for just the smallest of moments, hair falling across his face slightly as his white teeth split apart, he felt nauseous and ignited all at once. He couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

The man went back to the kitchen, and Laxus knew his stance had wavered and his concentration gone. For a moment he stood in a gaping silence, wanting to both flee the scene and to storm into the kitchen to demand an explanation for what had happened. Instead, he caught the eye of his commander, who glared him back to attention.

He just had to ignore the waiter. Push him to the back of his mind, and within the hour he'd be gone.

---

"What are you eating?"

The words were a silky-smooth sensation, and deeply Italian. Laxus took a moment to realise that he was being addressed, and turned with the smallest of frowns to see who had spoken to him. He was alone, and he certainly didn't know anyone who spoke in such a chocolatey accent. Nobody on his team had even half the rumbling baritone, and he found himself wondering who that voice would belong to.

When he turned and saw the waiter, he froze.

How was the man here? It was the evening now, and Laxus was nowhere near the restaurant the waiter worked at. He was somewhere tucked away, not in the tourist areas of the city but not exactly near the residential areas. He supposed this was where a pretentious man might call the 'Real Italy.' Did the man live here?

Before he could fall into questions, he realised what the waiter had asked. He looked down to the chalky lettuce and cheese sandwich he'd been given for his evening meal, then back to the man who was frowning at him.

"A sandwich," Laxus said, because what else could he say.

"A sandwich," The waiter parroted.

"Yes."

"You realise that you're insulting everyone from my country by eating that here, don't you?"

"If you wanna take it up with my commander, feel free."

"You could not buy something more respectable?"

"Not allowed to carry money around."

Why was he talking with the man? Well, he knew at least in part it was because he had been truly spellbound by the man, and the revelation of his incredible voice had only further added to the man's majesty. Laxus was not one to shy away from strong emotions – not that he felt them often – and he wasn't going to cower now that an opportunity had presented itself to him. But why were they talking about his dinner?

The man, in the dimming sun, looked radiant. He still wore the uniform of the restaurant, but his hair hung loose now, and he seemed more relaxed. Now, without the need to watch his charge, Laxus could see the sharp cut of the man's jaw and the deceptive fragility of his skin. He truly was beautiful.

"That is ridiculous, and certainly not acceptable," The waiter sounded affronted. "Come."

Laxus processed the demand a moment later, and found himself following him before he could think. Both survival instincts and training deemed this a stupid idea – he was following a total stranger through an unfamiliar city – and yet he did it anyway. The man had authority, and Laxus had been attracted by it.

"I would have thought you'd be looking after that repulsive man you deemed fit to lead you," The waiter commented when Laxus was in step with him. So he had remembered Laxus then; he hadn't been sure.

"Night off," Laxus shrugged. "And I don't think he's fit to lead. But the vote said that he was."

"And yet you still serve him?"

"It's a living."

"Hardly seems like living when you're leaning against a building eating bread and cheese because of your commander while in a cultural monolith known for its delicacies," The man hummed aloud, turning a corner, and increasing his pace. "In my mind, that it more a way to get money than a way to live."

"It is what it is."

"Your employer ate at a lavish restaurant, had four courses and larger servings than normal," The man shrugged. "It was expensive. The money could have been diverted from him to you."

"That's not how it works."

The waiter didn't say anything after that. He kept walking, and Laxus kept following.

Eventually, an open-air marketplace appeared, and the waiter walked directly towards it. Laxus kept in pace, allowing himself to be guided through the vendors who shouted for their attention and custom. Laxus' Italian was bad at best, and so the shouting merged into a mess of unfamiliar slang, and so he let the waiter take the lead completely. He spoke to vendors, passers-by, and did so with beautifully fluent Italian. Logically Laxus knew that would be the case – the man was Italian for god's sake – but it was beautiful to hear.

Quickly, they were at the other end of the market, and the waiter had accrued a hamper of food and a bottle of wine. He'd paid for it all himself and, as their conversation hadn't continued, Laxus found himself wondering where his place in the situation was. Still, he followed.

"Sit," The waiter said again, motioning to a small stone wall overlooking a stream.

"You're demanding," Laxus commented, but he did sit.

"And you work a job where you follow orders of a man you don't like, so I suspect it won't bother you," The waiter sat on the wall also, and placed the hamper between them. "My name is Freed. What's yours?"

"Laxus."

"It's strong," Freed commented, unwrapping some of the food from the hamper. He made a gesture towards the food as he uncorked the wine. "Eat."

"What?"

"Eat."

Laxus looked down to the hamper of food. It was filled mainly with fresh and colourful looking fruit, but also wrapped packets of cheese, biscuits and two small pastries. He hesitated for a moment, and glanced up towards Freed. The man was looking at him with a peculiar mix of intensity and patience, and Laxus felt himself flushing slightly as he reached into the hamper and tentatively picked up a strawberry. Freed waited patiently, watching Laxus as he slowly brought the strawberry to his lips and bit into it.

Well, he certainly didn't expect it to taste quite so… vibrant.

Apparently, his expression must have betrayed his shock, as Freed laughed openly. Laxus wanted to glare, but instead found himself hypnotised as Freed lifted the opened wine to his lips and drank straight from the bottle. Good god, did the man know what he was doing to Laxus?

"You must have travelled a lot over the past few weeks," Freed stated, reaching into the hamper, and pulling out the wrapped cheese. He pulled out a chunk of it, crumbled it and placed it onto a cracker. He then picked up a single grape, placed it atop the cheese and ate it. Laxus found himself following the movement of his neck as Freed swallowed.

"Suppose so," Laxus nodded.

"Anywhere particularly interesting to you?"

"Not really," Laxus replied. He hesitated for a moment, then looked down to the hamper of food and pulled out an apple. He bit into it before he could second-guess himself. "It's my second night off since we landed, and the first night was at a docking town so hardly beautiful."

"Good," Freed commented. "Rome will look rather good in comparison then."

"So far, yeah."

"Perhaps one day you will return as a tourist?"

"Doubt it, can't afford it."

"Shame," Freed hummed, looking towards Laxus with the same beautiful smile that sent a flicker through Laxus' spine. "You should make the most of your night here."

"Suppose I should."

They were quiet, and Laxus could feel Freed's eyes roaming over him unapologetically. Laxus didn't do anything to stop it, and instead took a bite of his apple and allowed the man's eyes to wander. He might have tensed his bicep when he knew Freed was looking at his arms, and Freed laughed but made no complaint.

He looked beautiful when he laughed and Laxus wondered how he could get better. He was quickly answered because what Freed did made him radiant.

It was nothing, really. He simply had taken one of the large peaches that he'd brought and bit into it. That was hardly anything, and yet it made Laxus' stomach churn. The way the mans eyes closed, the way his teeth closed around the fruit, the way the juice seemed to intentionally drip down his throat, coating it in an indescribable sheen of fruit-flavoured droplets that reflected the flickering lights surrounding them.

When Freed's eyes opened again, he looked directly to Laxus. He paused for a moment, eyes scanning Laxus' face, before he grinned a little. It was a private sight, and Laxus found himself copying the expression.

"As I said," Freed spoke again, voice quieter. "Make the most of it while you're here."

Laxus didn't need to be told twice. He leant forward and pressed their lips together, the tantalising taste of fruit and cheese melding as they leant into one another. Laxus did what he'd wanted to do the moment he saw Freed, and wrapped a hand deep into his hair, and slowly began to stroke it as he leant into the man. Freed groaned slightly, tilting his chin, and kissing him deeper.

He didn't care that someone might see him, it didn't matter. He was in an unknown city from a foreign country where nobody knew him, and he would indulge himself. He would take what he wanted, and delight in the company of this beautiful man and take whatever he would be given.

He deserved this, and if nothing else, he would always have the memory of kissing the enchantingly handsome man. An untainted memory for him to cherish.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #Bodyguard Au #1920s AU #Word Count 2.5k

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guigz1-coldwar · 4 years ago

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'The Final Countdown' : new chapter of "Fighting Spirit of a Once Innocent Girl" is out !

"The Final Countdown"

Chapter Summary : Samantha is ready for the final battle against the man who destroyed her life apart....and her friend she thought to have lost.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +4200

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It is it.....the Endgame ! After all we have done for the past few week, we finally found out exactly where Monty was hiding : away from the public, on the Solovetsky Islands in the north of the Soviet Union, his Omega ultimate and final base in the entire world. We all got the impression ad we all hoped too that it will be soon the end of everything for Monty, we are not going just to stop a simple terrorist who want to blow the Purplelight Arsenal and destroy Europe but we are trying to stop a elder god to take over the Universe....and the Multiverse !

We were the only persons who are able to stop him from achieving his goals and we couldn't do it alone with just me, Helen, Nikolai, Greta & Yirina. We needed help from Requiem and we all preferred to put our differences aside for just this final mission. We still have our grudge on them for everything they have done against us but their help could be crucial if we want to win that battle we are going to make against the Dark Aether.

Nikolai, I brought him in because I knew that he would be able to convince everyone about everything : he told them basically everything about Monty....about the Dark Aether....and about me. He told them the truth but there's parts he never mentioned to others like exactly who he was, claiming he was my 'protector' and nothing else and he didn't talk about the Multiverse because I could see in him that he was suspicious of Requiem in case they would like to know more about that if he told them about the Multiverse.

When he was finished about this, everyone had their minds blowed away from all of these and after that, a lot of calls were made from Hudson and Weaver respectively. They decided to bring the best firepower and the best mens for this crucial mission because now, everyone know that we can't afford at one little second to fail, it's the entire Multiverse that it's at stakes right now. After our little reunion with Greta & Yirina....and the death of Lazar, we didn't lose time at all and we were on our way to Solovetsky.

We took more than 2 days to approach Solovetsky by using an american aircraft carrier as Nikolai told us that it was impossible for him to transport everyone on the islant because Monty would have spotted us directly and we wouldn't have a simple chance to act. Our powers could still be used on the island but not before we're on it. More we were getting close to the island, more everyone were starting to get nervous about this but everyone kept their cool, trying to all think about a victory and never to a defeat.

During the travel in the helicopter that were bringing us to the rendez-vous point on the island, I was rethinking about everything that happened to me in just weeks : I was given back the powers I thought I have lost for a long time, I rekindled my relationship with Helen even if it was complicated at firs and I found back the only friends that are now standing with me at my side but everything wasn't really good at all : I realized that Requiem used me for an long time and lied to everyone, even Weaver were included in it.

But the worst......was to discover that Eddie.....was Perseus. The person I've been fighting for months is the friend I lost where I arrived in this new universe. He was controlled by Monty himself and I'm going to make sure that this will end soon. I'm going to save Eddie after all these years....and I'm going to kill Monty. I have made myself that promise and I will be sure to do it today.

"Approaching the LZ." The helicopter said loudly, breaking me from my thoughts and I looked outside, we were already arrived at destination. On the helicopter, there were me, Helen, Greta & Yirina awaiting that the helicopter landed until we were on the ground. We were the first to arrive at the scene, waiting now for the other team to go out.

"Finally." Greta exclaimed, getting out first from the helicopter "My legs weren't able to hold any longer." She stretched her legs outside as we are also getting out

"It was always a problem with you." Yirina got next to her, getting her hands on her shoulders as me & Helen stayed away, looking at them. "Now, how do you feel ?" Greta looked at Yirina with lovely eyes

"More happy.....with your hands on me." Greta in an surprise, got her arms around Yirina wraist, putting the two more closer than before.

"Always been flirting, Greta !" Yirina whispered before the two pull out to kiss each other....until they stopped to look at us, we weren't very discreet.

"What ?" Greta fainted an incomprehesion towards us

"Uhm...nothing." Helen replied, blushing from their sight as we decided to look away, focusing back to ourselves. "They're looking cute together." She added....well, not looking anymore but still focused on them apparently.

"Well, I never thought that of them first but yeah...." I started, giving a little look to them before getting my eyes back on Helen "You're right, they're cute."

"I think they're taking their time before the others arrive." Helen said, looking worried "So, this is it, right ?" She asked

"Yes, the endgame." I replied, surely

"We all sure that we can't afford to lose today." Helen told me, looking in the direction of the monastery

"Everything will end tonight for Monty and I really hope that we can save Eddie." I exclaimed, crossing my arms, leaning against the helicopter

"I was thinking : what will happen next ?" She raised an eyebrow at me.

"When everything will be done ?" She nodded "I don't know : sure to install ourselves in Nikolai's House with Greta & Yirina but after ? I don't know."

"Maybe we can finally have our night." She said in a lovely voice, causing me to smile.

"I'm sure we will." I laughed with her before we all start to hear some helicopters arriving on the scene, meaning that we had to put our thoughts on the side to focus back on the mission we are going to do.

Those who arrived were Adler, accompanied by his team and Requiem and by the looks on their faces, they weren't any moments and occasions to have a simple laugh at all and I could understand that. Everyone was so nervous and stressed but in them, I could see their determination and their bravery to come in here and to face a threat no one ever thought to face.

Once everyone were gathered up, Adler decided to repear everything from the plan....their plan : everyone will be tasked to deal with the AA Guns covering the monastery site to allow the bombers to release hell on the radars sector and to help them, they will use a EMP bomb to give everyone time to get the thing done as for us, we decided to take things in our own hands and it will be hard.

While everyone else will be fighting inside the monastery, me & the girls will strike the radar sector to deal with Monty himself as he was reported to be staying at this particular sector before the bombers took this place apart. It was just going to be the four of us against maybe an entire platoon of Omega soldiers that will stand between us and him but with our powers, we can make it worth it.

After that, we all got to our respectives trucks that was given to us thanks to Belikov and we were the first group to leave the scene as we needed to take another road from the others. Yirina was driving the truck as we were looking around us, all in our thoughts. Nikolai was communicating with us throught our minds as we didn't have any radios to talk with the others. It was just going to be us and Nikolai will help us throught the following battle.

"Everyone." We could start to hear Nikolai in our heads "Monty is staying at the radar site, he's awaiting for you to come."

"Anything to be worried about ?" I asked

"He has the Agarthan Device with him." He replied and I could hear him biting his lips "You will have to watch out when you will fight him."

"Do you know exactly what are we going to face in the base ?" Helen said, looking forwards to the road.

"Mainly the last Omega elite soldiers at first but since Monty is alone near the radar, be prepared for anything." We all looked in front of us as we were arriving near the radar sector of the monastery and Yirina stopped the truck on top of a hill, overlooking the monastery.

"Thanks....dad." Yirina whispered in a very low voice before she sniffed away. I was surprised to hear that because I didn't witness Nikolai telling her who he was. I crouched to get next to Yirina.

"You're okay, Yirina ?" I asked, seeing her getting kind of sad

"He told me everything." She said, in the same previous voice "He was the father I were never able to had and like that, he's back."

"I know, I couldn't believe it either too." I exclaimed to her with an smile, trying to give some recomfort before I could feel an hand on my shoulder, I looked up to see Helen, looking away.

"They are starting their attack !" She said and when I got up to verify her claims, I could see a lot of military trucks getting down an hill at full speed from afar, meaning the beginning of our last mission.

I let Yirina drive off at full speed too, letting us hold ourselves on the truck as she wasn't going easy with the speed. Then, a big white light exploded above the monastery....the Requiem EMP bomb. Everything electronics on the base were not going to work for an while and we will have approximatively more than 15 minutes to get the job done but me....I know that we will need more time to fight Monty. Anyway, fighting him could make him busy to not launch the Purplelight detonation order.

When the EMP bomb exploded, a loud noise could be heard, making some sort of ringing bells in our ears and then, the blast of the EMP was getting felt as it hit our truck. Yirina almost lost control of the truck because of that but she managed to kept her hands on the wheel and to stabilize the truck as we were going down the hill at full speed. At a least 300 meters from the radar sector entrance, I prepared my Ray Gin and at 100 meters, the first bullet arrived on our truck as we started to blast with our guns too.

With my Ray Gun, I was able to destroy one of the BTR keeping the entrance with 3 hits....that gun is very powerful.....before Yirina used the truck to literally force the big door open, allowing us to enter a yard composed of a lot of Omega materials.....and a lot of Omega soldiers, awaiting for us. Yirina got the truck stop in the middle of the fight, giving us some time to get into cover before she got out too and let a surprise on the truck. Once she did it while we cover her, we were surprised to see the truck drive by itself, directly towards an guard tower and then blow up, getting the tower down.

After the explosion that confused the enemy soldiers, we decided to split up : me & Helen were going directly to the radar control room inside the main building of the radar sector as Yirina & Greta will take care of the numerous enemy soldier, covering us each time we moved cover to cover. Our powers combined allowed them to neutralize easily a large part of the Omega soldiers, we even succeeded to lift a heavy tank off the ground to launch into another heavy tank and to the soldiers guarding it.

When the sounds of the fight were getting lowered, we parted away, focused on getting to the radar control room while they were keeping our backs in case. When we entered the building, we were surprised to see the electricity coming back.....Monty has really planned everything....a back-up generator hidden somewhere but we took the decision to continue instead of trying to find that generator.

After a minute and when we were starting to get close from the radar control room, clearing our way to it, we started to hear some gunshots inside of it and it was strange for us. We forced open the door to realize what was going on.....Ravenov ?......Ravenov was here !.......When we entered the room, he was fighting with two Omega soldiers and he took care of one of them with his gun before the other were smashed brutally on a table by him.

"Requiem !" He exclaimed, having seeing us for a second before looking at us for good. "Maxis ?"

"Ravenov !" I said, surprised "What are you doing here ?"

"Just doing my job : avoiding Omega to use Purplelight." He looked at the soldier he smashed on the table before throwing it on the ground "I thought that Requiem had locked you up."

"Exactly but I got freed." I rolled my eyes "It was better for them." I added as he was getting next to a control panel.

"Ravenov, where's Monty ?" Helen asked, staying next to the door in case

"That svoloch'.....been waiting at the radar's foots." He replied, getting focused on looking on the multiple screens in front of him "He's been watching the fight going inside the monastery before he will launch the detonation order but not with me, messing with the radars." He looked at us "Go face him, I will make sure the radar are not used."

"I think it's better that you got out of here safe, Requiem bombers will soon put this place down." I exclaimed as I tried to get next to him but he put his arm towards me, meaning to stay away from him

"I can't !" He almost yelled at me. "I'm sorry, Maxis but....I don't think I can make it."

"Why are you saying this ?" Helen said, worried

"He....he infected today with some Aetherium, like he did to everyone." He replied, his voice cracking "I've been trying to find a way to control it but nothing. I will soon become one of these monsters but I will not let this happen."

"You can't be serious ?" I told him before he remove one of his coat sleeve, making me see a part of his veins going black and sort of purple "No...." I whispered "We can save you."

"It's impossible, can't be undone." He put his coat sleeve back on as he was getting focused on making the radars go crazy. "Go, kill him. I'm doing this for you....for the Motherland.....it's is...the only way." I realized that nothing can save him, not even our powers and I had no choice but to leave him like that here.

"Good luck, Ravenov." I said, my voice cracking before I left the room with Helen

Damn it....not him. Ravenov was a good guy....a good russian and I wasn't able to save him from Monty....like I wasn't able to save Lazar. The worst of it is when I closed the door of the room and walked a few steps that me & Helen heard a shot inside the room. I closed my eyes, not to think about it but I was getting more angrier about everything right now. I'm losing friends, one by one and now, I'm fearing for Helen....for Greta....for Yirina.

Keep control, Samantha....keep control....I started to think as we were finding a way to get out of the building and to join the radar's foots, clearing our way from every of our enemies that was on it. And to say, I wasn't getting easy on them and Helen started to share the same anger as me like me, using our upgraded guns and our powers combined. That was at this moment we realized that the little device Nikolai gave to us worked indeed.

When we found our way out, I took a deep breath, knowing that we were going to face Monty himself after all these times in person. I opened the door, followed by Helen, walking slowly towards the radar's foots until we got him in sight....sitting and watching the carnage happening inside the monastery. When we were getting closer, he turned his head slowly towards us,

"Samantha." He said, sounding sort of happy "I knew you will come." He then got up before he removed his mask, allowing us to see his face

"Eddie." I whispered and he laughed

"His body, not his soul !" He exclaimed, spreading his arms to look around

"Give him back to me." I ordered him, he shook his idea.

"Aw, Samantha, you should stop been persistent." He rolled his eyes in the dark skies "You will not have him and if I had to give him back to you, he will be dead."

"Give him back..." I repeated, getting my anger growing inside of me

"Don't you understand ?" He started "I'm a freakin' god ! I'm the master of this world, to this whole fucking multiverse."

"You're just an idiot." I added in anger "You're just trying to do something that you can't longer control." I smiled nervously to his face "They stopped you for a while....I will finish the job !"

"Them ? You ? You will do nothing, Samantha." He replied "You can't do a thing : you can't protect your friends, you have lost everything to stand for." I then see Helen clenching her fists in anger, she had heard enough.

"You took.....everything from her !" She exclaimed, her eyes going fully purple

"I don't even know who you are !" He said, looking at her before I got my eyes purple too, angry and then, I started to levitate off the ground,

"You will !" I said and then, the final showdown was about to begin.

When I levitate off the ground with Helen at my side, we were able to grab heavy objects around us, levitating too before we throw them to Monty who started to run at us but these objects were doing nothing to him at all, not even stopping him to run towards us. At this moment, I got back on the ground to face him, taking the Path of Sorrows in my hands as Helen tried to do the same by firying bullets at him with no effects before Monty was able to put his hands on her and threw her away against a radar foot and hopefully, her powers were stronger, allowing her to have nothing from it.

I started to give him some cuts with the katana but I then realized that these cuts were like healing instantly. I tried to give him multiple cuts at the same time while avoiding his powerfuls punchs but each time, his wounds were like healing in a second. I tried to grab the Agarthan Device that was hooked to his belt but unfortunately, I took my guard down for a second, allowing him to throw me as well far away on the ground, losing the Path of Sorrows in the process.

With my powers, I started to make the katan fly to get back in my hands but when I was about to catch it....Monty got it first, grabbing it in his own hands before trying to attack me with it. I put my hands on the blade to stop him but he was gaining the advantage and I could only scream in pain as the blade were hurting my hands even if I had gloves until the end of the blade start to hit my shoulder but before he was able to do that, the Katana somehow started to tremble in his hands before it hit him in the face and fly away.....to land perfectly in Helen's hands standing up.

When I saw that, I was amazed because I thought that I was the only one to use the Path of Sorrows and when I see running against Monty with it in hands, I realized that she was able to use it too and her strikes and swings were damn perfect. However, no time to think about that as I got up rapidly to help her to fight out him but even with us two, Monty were able to stay strong until I succeeded to get my hands on the Agarthan Device and once I've got it in hands, Helen give Monty a big cut on the legs and surprisely, it wasn't healing anymore.

Then, I realized that this Device....was the source of his powers. If we destroyed it, we can kill him.....but we are going to kill Eddie too. Before I could do a thing, Monty gained the advantage and threw me and Helen, having his hand back on the Device before he start to levitate by himself and....the radars were getting moved by themselves.....he was the one doing it, nullifying Ravenov's work to stop the radars, he was creating an big purple orb above him with the Device....ready to launch Purplelight.

It was going to be the end of it and our fight was getting useless.....until the orb was destroyed by something from afar behind us and him, we looked out to realized that Greta and Yirina was there and was the one to have destroyed it. However, it did something to Monty as he got back on the ground, holding his head with his hands, in pain.

"Let me free !" That.....Eddie ? It was Eddie's voice talking, not Monty's one

"No !" It was Monty's voice. Shit, the two were fighting for Eddie's body keys, both were trying to take control. "You're my key to my future !" He added, shouting.

"You controlled me for years !" Eddie exclaimed "You corrupted me, you did make me fight Samantha."

"She's weak and you're strong !" Monty yelled "Let me fight, let me win."

"Not anymore." Eddie fell on his knees on the ground holding the Agarthan Device in hands, putting it on the ground before looking at me. "I'm sorry, Samantha, this....is the only way !"

"NOOOOO !" I screamed, trying to move to get to him at the same time as Monty before with his hands, Eddie crushed down the Device, causing an white light to blind everyone around it.

When I opened my eyes after been blinded by that light, I was laying down on the ground and the silence was taking over the place, no more sounds of fightings, no more gunshots.....a death silence....getting heard everywhere. When I looked up, Helen, Yirina and Greta were also grounded and slowly recovering and then, we saw.....Monty.....Monty standing up.....the Monty who killed my father.....the Monty in his true form, looking lost as he was having his eyes on the monastery before sitting on the ground.

"You won." He said in fear as I was slowly getting up "You did it, for the sake of this stupid world." He looked at me, not trying a thing anymore "However, the Dark Aether....is still living....and it will always be there."

"We will make sure that this threat will be no more." I exclaimed to him, mixed between calm and anger "How does it feels to....lost something ?"

"I don't know." He replied "How about you ?" He tried to smile with his hideous mouth before parts of his body started to disappear in dust. "Goodbye."

"Go to hell !" I said before he was finally gone out of my sight and then, I started to hear some groans behind me...Eddie....in pain, part of his face burned along with a part of his body, leaned against a broken radar's foot on the ground "Eddie !"

"Sama-Samanth-Samantha." He tried to speak with difficulty "You....you didn't changed a lot."

"It's gonna be okay, Eddie." I smiled, trying to recomfort him

"No, I don't think I can." He replied with a low voice

"Eddie, please, not after what I have done to found you." I pleaded, getting my hands on the part of his face that wasn't burned "I can heal you."

"No." He then looked behind me "Isn't that right, Nik....Nikolai ?" I then looked behind me and was surprised to see Nikolai standing up, with Helen, Yirina and Greta at his side, looking sad

"I'm sorry, Samantha." Nikolai breathed "We can't help him and what he did is irreversible."

"What I did....was only to secure a better tomorrow." Eddie said in a low voice, his hands getting on my shoulders "I'm proud of you."

"Eddie...." I whispered

"Only....for a better tomorrow." He smiled before looking away from me and then.....he was no more.

His lact act was to smile, feeling free as me, I could only cry in pain.....I couldn't save him. I was crying and I don't know if I can move on with it. I dedicated my life to found him again and that's what I did but I would never be able to catch the lost time with him. I could feel Helen's hands on me and she was crying too, like if she has lost someone too. We all lost someone...and losing Eddie was....so hard for me. Then, we could start to hear upcoming noises in the skies : Requiem bombers coming to bomb the radars. Nikolai moved to open a portal and once he was done, he looked at us as I grabbed Eddie's body in my arms,

"Let's go home !"

#black ops cold war #bocw #call of duty cold war #cod cw #cod black ops cold war #cod cold war #fanfic #helen park #samantha maxis

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years ago

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Nancy & Ava

Nancy: Hey Ava: Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit! Nancy: 🍀🧡🎩🌈💚 Nancy: impressed that you're not too 🍻 to type that out Nancy: anyone else would be disappointed, like Ava: Dad would say its a language you need a slur to speak properly Ava: but quietly 'cos he sounds too English for that to be a self-read Ava: Hope you demanded double complimentary drinks on the flight, it's your God-given right today Ava: every day might be a stretch, even on British Airways Nancy: You don't need to worry about repeating anything dad would say Nancy: on today of all days Nancy: unless you're gonna do it to make a point about our own accents Ava: Not like any of us are that Irish we need the translation Ava: There goes my speech though Nancy: Speak for yourself 'cause there's my excuse gone in the big 🍎 if not Nancy: and speaking of... Nancy: no need to worry about getting yourself to the airport either Ava: Americans can't understand anyone who doesn't speak through their nose and at full volume, facts Ava: Oh? Nancy: Yeah, I know Nancy: I've been working on the volume thing for a while now, I think I'm finally getting somewhere 🤞 Nancy: I'm sorry, Av Nancy: I'm not gonna make it back Ava: Sounds like hard work Ava: It's fine Ava: Priorities Nancy: You know what both mum and dad would have to say about hard work Nancy: Priorities too Ava: Exactly Nancy: I miss you though Nancy: catch me up Ava: When were you last here? Ava: Christmas? Ava: Hard to summarize three months really Nancy: It feels like forever Nancy: which is why I'm starting with you and not Saint Nancy: your larger vocab also helps, of course 😏 Ava: To say he's catching up is less and less offensive each day Ava: Probably a better conversationalist than you find Dad Nancy: No lie detected Nancy: but your dog is more fun to talk to than he is so Ava: Don't drag Frank into your petty feud Nancy: it'd only be petty if it started years ago for literally no reason and dragged on and on Nancy: oh wait... Nancy: yeah nevermind 🙄 Ava: Mhmm Ava: Not to mention one-sided Nancy: well he knows which side he picked Ava: 🙄 Nancy: those sessions where he joined me for therapy were definitely worth every penny Ava: Its psychiatry, not miraclework Nancy: 😂 Nancy: obviously should've 🙏 Ava: It's about self-improvement, is it not Ava: Not changing your parents Nancy: Ouch Nancy: am I not improved? Nancy: besides, wanting it all regardless is the McKenna mindset and getting your money's worth even more so Ava: 🤷 Nancy: wanting to drag me to Dublin for the festivities, understandable if not relatable but dragging me to hell Nancy: quite far tbh Ava: Its not like I knew you then or now Ava: And I'm pretty sure it's about internal validation too so I don't feel any need to comment Nancy: okay Ava: Have a nice day then Ava: Get a shamrock shake or go to a fake Irish bar Nancy: Oh lord Nancy: I won't be doing any of that, Americans who think they're Irish are vocal enough about it on every other day Nancy: they hear my last name and wanna tell me their great grandparents life story or something Ava: You're missing out Ava: But how many times can I repeat that either Nancy: You don't have to, I heard you the first time Nancy: my apologies can be repeated as many times as you like though Nancy: 'Cause I mean it, yeah? Nancy: I'll call mum, get you here soon instead Ava: Sure Ava: Easter, maybe Ava: I'm going away with my friends this summer Nancy: Definitely Nancy: Are you still with....? Help me out there, like Ava: Lyla Ava: and yeah Nancy: Right! Maybe you can bring her Ava: Cool Nancy: I promise not to point a camera in your faces the WHOLE time Ava: I don't care Ava: but she will give you an in-depth lecture on her angle, not plural so Nancy: if I can handle Ri's demands, I don't think I've got anything to worry about Ava: Possibly Ava: but I doubt Wren Taylor-Thompson ever commented on her 87 chins Nancy: point taken Ava: Next time I'll get a girlfriend who's less no flash photography Nancy: like you said, hard work and priorities Ava: Meh, not really Ava: Are you going to talk to Ri and Buster/Saint or am I passing on a message? Nancy: I'm sure he'll be too drunk to form a coherent sentence soon if he isn't already Nancy: but I'm sure I'll catch her Ava: It is a party here, after-all Nancy: Yeah Nancy: I remember what they're like Ava: Do you? Nancy: unavoidably so Nancy: my long term memory's the reliable one Ava: Sure Nancy: what? Ava: What? Nancy: if there's something you wanna say Ava: No? Nancy: okay then Ava: Bye then Nancy: I'll call mum this week about arranging Easter so I don't forget Ava: 'Course Ava: Don't do it now, we're all wasted Nancy: she'd never hear the phone over all that good craic Nancy: and Shane McGowan 🎵 Ava: As if they've not trained themselves to pick up vibrate from ten paces in any situation Nancy: 100 paces if it's a work call Nancy: but she knows I know better than to dial on such a holy day Nancy: it'd have to be life and death Ava: If she knew that she'd be waiting at the airport, like Nancy: she doesn't do waiting at airports Ava: Not for the forseeable Nancy: I'm doing her a favour and everyone else who'd have to endure how angry not being able to see through the crowds makes her Ava: Far as excuses go Ava: You can do better Nancy: if you wanna slag me off, you can do better too Ava: I don't Ava: I've got partying to do Nancy: 'course Ava: Don't try to put your feeling bad onto me Ava: or anyone else Nancy: I don't feel bad Ava: That's why you're convinced I'm slagging you off Ava: and you've spent the convo doing as much to everyone else Ava: sign of a clear conscience, that Nancy: convinced is a strong word Nancy: and I'm not slagging anyone off Ava: You've only felt the need to bring it up twice Nancy: I'm obviously reading this all wrong Ava: Obviously is a strong word Nancy: like you said, I must be projecting something Nancy: since nothing's wrong and you're well in the party mood Nancy: I've been working too hard, my 🧠 is clearly the only one mad at me Ava: Have you told mum and dad you aren't coming? Ava: 'Cos your 🧠 ain't nothing in comparison if not Nancy: they aren't actually expecting me Nancy: they know me better than you do Nancy: and that I'd already be there Ava: Not mad, disappointed Ava: Gotcha Nancy: exactly Ava: 👍 Nancy: go tell Buster to call me when he sobers up Nancy: but not a second before Ava: Maybe you should have a drink instead Ava: get on the level Nancy: drunk photography sounds better in theory Nancy: it never develops how you think it will and not in a good way Nancy: have one for me Ava: Its a holy day Ava: take it off Nancy: If I believed that I'd be there Ava: You said it Nancy: that they see it as one, yeah Ava: Mhmm Nancy: I don't drink unless I'm 💔 everyone knows that Ava: It's not compulsory Nancy: being the only sober adult in the room that isn't pregnant isn't my idea of how to spend a holy day well Ava: And working is? Ava: 🤷 Nancy: yeah Ava: Okay Nancy: so go make the most of yours Nancy: I'll be in touch Ava: 👋 Nancy: 💚 Slán 🧡

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boycottphil · 5 years ago

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Omg if you're writing usuk can you please do something involving the Beatles/Beatlemania or the British Invasion in general? Theres so much good material there but no one really writes about it. I will love you forever

For context, I am taking fanfic requests!

This was a lot of fun to write! I wasn’t too sure if this is what you meant, anon, but if it’s not, feel free to send another ask! I’d be happy to write more. Anyway, enjoy!

Pairing: UsUk Rating: T Warnings: Strong language, mentions of blood, smoking (cigarettes) Word count: 2026

Imagine hundreds of thousands of people screaming your name. Imagine hundreds of thousands of people obsessing over your every step, word, move… Imagine loving every second of the intrusive behaviour displayed by fans.

Arthur, the lead singer of the “best band in history,” lived off of such things. Fame… It brought him joy, joy which he previously thought was impossible for him to feel. He was surrounded by security, yet his favourite moments were those when a fan managed to get to him, and looked at him with amazement in their eyes…

Looked at him as if he were a god.

[[MORE]]

Now, one could say that such thoughts and such behaviour was perhaps a bit… unhealthy. And one would be right. Arthur was sick; getting off on his own fame, and as he gathered more and more fans all over the world with each tour, he felt better. And better.

His band was good, not the best band in the world, per say, but definitely good. Their music was largely enjoyed by a female audience. Girls loved to imagine the songs being sung to them personally. They were written to be perceived that way. No names of girls were mentioned… no hints at any particular gender were given either.

Now, there were rumours, as there always are surrounding any band as huge as Arthur’s. Rumours like selling their souls to the devil, rumours like being robots invested by the government. Rumours like… being gay.

Arthur could only benefit from rumours that claimed he was an alien. It added more mystery to his character, more reasons for people to check out his music, come to his concerts. However…

Rumours that claimed he was gay could destroy his career. The thing is… he is gay. He does not fancy women at all. He couldn’t care less when girls form whole crowds and take off their shirts and bras. He didn’t care about his bandmate’s groupies offering threesomes or foursomes or ogies. He’d rather bang his bandmates if he didn’t despise them all.

He came quite close to having his career ruined, though.

One day, while touring the United States, they stopped in middle-of-nowhere-town of some State that Arthur thought was made up by the Americans to make it to 50 states in the first place. He was still convinced there aren’t 50 of them, but 10 divided into five parts each. But he would not express that opinion. Lest someone shot him for even mentioning the USA in any context that doesn’t presents it as the best country on the planet.

It was a town they were merely passing through, but they had to stop for fuel and food and for the drivers to rest a bit as well. Arthur wore his sunglasses and had clothes on that he wasn’t known for wearing, and decided to walk around town a bit. They had a few hours, and he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to stretch his legs and turn off his brain a bit. Touring meant little walking and too much work, so moments such as those were few and far between.

He had purchased a box of cigarettes, which he planned to get through before he had to be locked in a fast moving vehicle again; in which he wasn’t allowed to smoke. With a fag already lit and dangling off his lips, he walked out onto the pavement, ready to resume his walk just when…

He was bumped into by some 5 foot 6 tall boy. He groaned as his cigarette fell into a puddle, together with his sunglasses. He grumbled and hurried to retrieve his glasses but, well… the kid already saw.

“Arthur Kirkland?! No way!!” He yelled too loudly, his voice far too deep for what Arthur assumed was a 13 year old boy.

“Shh!” Arthur shushed and then wrapped an arm around the other’s head and covered his mouth so he couldn’t make more noise. He felt screaming behind his hand and the boy seemed to be losing his mind just from being touched. Arthur did love attention… but not in some hick town when he was looking for a quiet place to smoke and meditate until he had to leave again.

He dragged the other into an alley- not a suspicious thing to do at all- and shushed him until the other stopped freaking out. He rambled about being touched and carried by Arthur, all of which was technically true, but it sounded so much more dramatic coming out of the kid’s mouth.

“Okay, listen here, kid-” he started, but was promptly interrupted.

“Kid? I’m 19!” He argued.

Arthur looked annoyed, but slightly less on-edge about dragging him into a dark alley. “Whatever, mate. Just stop screaming like a bloody schoolgirl. I don’t want this whole town to know we’re here. The paparazzi would hound us for hundreds of miles, like they did in the last town this happened in.” He explained as he lit his second cigarette- he was mourning the first.

“So you really are Arthur Kirkland?” The other asked, already taking off the backpack he had on and reaching for the first paper and pen he had. “Would you please sign this?” He asked, his bright blue eyes shining in anticipation.

Arthur frowned, but he took the pen and, without really looking or even thinking about it, produced a perfect loopy signature.

“Whoaa… That’s so cool! My name’s Alfred so could you…”

Arthur added, ‘for Alfred, stay cute’ at the bottom, as he does for all signatures, merely replacing the name.

“You think I’m cute?! Wow, Arthur Kirkland thinks I’m cute!!” Alfred said, his voice so high pitched in excitement that Arthur almost really did think he was cute.

“No, mate- I write that for everyone. Most of my fans are girls, you see and-” once again, he was interrupted.

“But you do think I’m cute! I can tell. You keep looking at me,” Alfred insisted, perhaps a bit cheekily. Arthur blinked, trying not to seem too taken aback.

“I, uh… I don’t… What?” He was usually never speechless. He always had a way to make a fan swoon over him with smooth comebacks and flirty lines that made girls go absolutely mad. But this was a boy. A boy who had called him out on his obvious interest in him, and a boy who, while excited to see him, clearly didn’t think he was a god.

Weird. He was supposed to always be seen as a god. What else could he be seen as?

“So… if you could keep this meeting to yourself for the next 24 hours, that would be bloody fantastic. Now, if you excuse me…” he mumbled and started walking away. He thought Alfred would be satisfied enough with that; he got an autograph and a hug- sort of. But no…

“So where are you headed now?” Came the American voice of the 19 year old who just decided to tag along.

Arthur felt his blood beginning to boil just a bit. “That is literally none of your business. Literally.” He sighed, exasperated.

Alfred fell into step beside him, keeping up easily even as the Brit tried to speed up. “Aw, come on! I won’t tell. I know how to keep secrets! I’m great at it. This one time, my cousin Austin, he told me that he and his aunt on his mum’s side-”

Arthur stopped abruptly. “How the fuck are you good at keeping secrets?”

“Well… I… You don’t know my cousin Austin, do you?”

Arthur groaned and kept walking, now deciding to ignore Alfred entirely. The teen though; he decided that he would ignore Arthur ignoring him. The Brit continued walking and smoking his cigarette as if Alfred wasn’t right there, and talking his ears off about dinosaurs and spaceships and how much he loved boys and how he knew Arthur could relate and-

Wait.

They had at that point reached a park, which was perhaps the size of two average backyards. There was no one around, and Arthur really appreciated it.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, his blood really getting to a simmer.

“Well, you know… You’ve never been seen with a girl, you never touch girls, you don’t talk about girls, you don’t even seem interested to all the girls we just passed while getting here. At all. You’re gay, and I can tell,” Alfred claimed.

“I have absolutely no idea where you get those ideas from. How would you know what I do in my free time?” He crossed his arms, perhaps a bit defensively.

“You look at my lips and arms so much, and you’ve looked at my ass too. I’m not dumb, you know! There’s no shame in being gay, Arthur. It’s all just-”

Arthur was angry at that point. He threw his half finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, then turned to face Alfred. “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re gay and you think making up lies is going to turn me gay, then forget about it. All right? I don’t even mess with groupies in the first place. Would you kindly leave me the fuck alone now?” He said loudly, keeping his composure enough not to yell at this kid.

“You’re just mean and in denial because you think if you come out that girls will stop obsessing over you. That’s okay. If you don’t want a groupie because all of them are girls, that’s understandable. But I mean… I’m free. I ran away from home a week ago. I have nowhere to be so… I could come with you. Warm your bed at night. Maybe do a few more other things too. Like ride you while you-”

Arthur punched him. He got too heated, too angry, amd he just… threw the punch. His knuckles ached after, and Alfred was holding onto his bleeding nose. It didn’t seem broken, but knowing the consequences of literally punching someone, Arthur began briskly walking away.

He should have expected to see the American again, before he even managed to walk down half a block. How he could cradle a bloody nose and run after him was a miracle.

“That was so rude!! I did not deserve to be fucking punched, man! I was just teasing you, dude! It’s literally not my fault that you are hiding your repressed homosexuality-”

“Stop. Calling. Me. Gay.” He growled, taking one step closer to the teen with each word uttered.

Alfred was practically pinned to a wall just then, looking up at the Brit with wide blue eyes. He was tall and handsome and…

And he kissed Alfred before he could get socked again. Instead of being pushed away and hit, as Alfred expected he would, he was pulled closer and kissed intensely enough to have all the air sucked out of his lungs.

Arthur pulled away seconds later, practically pushing himself off Alfred. Even behind his sunglasses, his eyes looked wide and shocked at what he had done. He looked around, then took Alfred’s hand and ran toward the bus.

He fucked up. He fucked up big time. But that’s okay… No one saw. And if he just kept Alfred with him on tour at all times… No one would find out that he was gay. At all.

“Is everything you need in that backpack?” He asked Alfred, out of breath from running, once they arrived at the bus.

“Yeah, why?” He asked and took off his backpack so he could take some tissues out and clean the blood off his face.

“Good. You’ll be coming with us on tour,” Arthur stated bluntly, not even bothering to listen for a yes or a no. Alfred grinned like a kid and hopped into the bus behind Arthur, already reaching out to cop a feel of his favourite singer’s ass.

Needless to say, Arthur did get himself a groupie. Involuntarily. And now every day became a series of “I almost outed myself to my millions of crazy fans.” It could be worse. At least he sleeps with a cute and annoying twink every night.

#hetalia #Anonymous #usuk #ukus #aph england #aph america #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones #beatlemania #i think #i mean i tried rlly hard n i think i did well #aph

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karahalloway · 2 years ago

Text

OMG that dog gif is so precious! And you have no idea how touched that comment made me feel!

Already off to a stellar start! Disgruntled by a woman Drake just does something to me..........

There is something strangely sexy about a sexually frustrated man, huh? 😇

Poor guy 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Drake will hate me for saying this, but these little moments of frustration were actually quite a lot of fun to write 😆

Listen. You know how to build the damn sexual tension. Like, damn!

Aww thank you! To be honest, I always feel like I could do better 😅 Like when I read your or Harley’s stuff, I’m like ‘Damn - there’s some palatable tension right there!’

SEE??????

...okay, I guess I do

This particular group of words....the phrasing here...just....just....

Again, one of this situations where the whole paragraph just popped into my head fully formed

I love their banter!!!!🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Literally my favourite thing to write with these two 🥰

This reminds me of the part in Uncommon Attraction where he buys her the phone. Such a heart melt moment either way!!

It should! 😇 I modelled it after that scene deliberately - because this is an AU, so the characters are ultimately the same, so they’re going to react the same in a given situation as in UA/Intentions. And the race up the stairs harkened to the snowboarding race as well 🙃

There's the brit coming out in you in that particular turn of phrase! And I love it!

Lol - like I said, Drake’s vernacular is mostly American but there are random bits of ‘Britishness’ in there (to account for his European upbringing).

If they don't fuck in this chapter, I might actually die.....The sexual tension is off the fucking charts!

So... about that...

Yeah. That's why she does it. 😏

Yup!

The whole race up the stairs and her top and her dropping her stuff.... and why, Walker, why wouldn't you just go inside? You're killing me man!

Bc he keeps convincing himself that he hasn’t got a shot - even though Harper is in the exact same boat as him (she thinks that she keeps missing the mark with him as well). And I actually love exploring that mental tension inside of him - one one hand he wants it so much, but on the other hand he’s like ‘no... must resist...!!’ But he ends up caving each time.

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHOOO! So satisfying getting here! 😅

I 10000% approve of this imagery!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you! I think fire is a very appropriate metaphore for how Drake feels when he is this invested in a girl

......😳😳😳😳

kladsskfalkjd

...and I couldn’t resist nodding to their first time in Intentions 😇

😳😳😳😳

So a lot of people commented on Drake’s time with Freya as being hot, but a bit strange that he was doing it with someone other than Harper. So I wanted to take the opportunity to explore how this particular scenario could’ve gone with Harper. Glad it hit the mark 😇

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Listen, I get how important it was...but like three more seconds and she would have at least finished!

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

(A) because I am mean, (B) because I need the tension to remain high, and (C) there is another reason that will get mentioned in approx. 2 chapter’s time 😇

I hate you in the best possible way. I need more and I need it NOW!!!

I’m writing it, I’m writing it!!

...though admittedly I’ve been mentally distracted by the whole rewrite project 😅

This whole chapter makes me want to toss my laptop in the garbage

No! Don’t say that! I love your stuff! The way you do reveals and humour and smut... God, I don’t think I can ever write those things the way you do! Please don’t stop writing your stuff!

Thanks so much for reading, writing and reblogging!!!

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 7 - Take My Breath

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Synopsis: This is a short-story series written from Drake’s POV that explores an AU where Drake meets Harper (my OC from (Un)Common Attraction) by himself before the boys come to the bar on the last night of Christian’s bachelor party.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Harper and Drake arrive back at Harper's apartment... where more than one surprise awaits Drake.

Word Count: 5,800

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, Drake massively overthinking, lemons(?))

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Sorry this took so long to get out! Real life has been unexpected busy (even though I'd been hoping it would calm down lol) and this chapter ended up being quite a beast to wrangle into shape (I think I rewrote most parts of it like 6 times... 😅). But hopefully the contents will make up for the wait!

A/N2: I am participating in @fictober-event's Fictober 2022 event, and I (belatedly) used the Day 21 prompt: "I never said that" (which appears in bold within the text).

A/N3: I tagged this installment on the basis of my updated Tag List (which I will be posting tomorrow). If you were not tagged, and would like to be, let me know!

Chapter 7 - Take My Breath

"My... my jacket?" I blabber stupidly, hand frozen half-way to my ear like a moron... which, at this moment, I completely was.

Because my mind was spinning from the bombshell invitation that she'd just dropped on me...

...and the potential implications.

"Yeah," she confirms with infinite patience. "The one you lent me last night."

"I wasn't expecting it back," I mutter while desperately searching her face, her eyes, her body language for any kind of clue as to what her true motivations actually were.

Because if she meant what I thought she meant then—

"I know," she shrugs. "But it's yours. So it's not right for me to keep it. Especially since you're leaving tomorrow."

I kick myself as she turns away to pad back towards the main road.

I'm such an idiot...

Her words confirmed that which I should've known all along — that the invitation was completely platonic. And that it was my own dumbass fault for trying to read something into the situation that wasn't even on the table.

At least not anymore.

Because whatever mood we'd managed to spark tonight got left in that damn elevator when I high-tailed us outta there.

And now it was too late to get it back.

Because I'd ended up hurting her.

And despite the fact that she'd forgiven me for the incident, there was no way she'd want to take things further.

Not tonight, anyway...

...even though tonight was all we had left.

I raise my gaze beseechingly to the heavens.

Why didn't I just go for Korean BBQ last night...? Then I never would've met her, she never would've gotten fired, and I wouldn't be feeling like—

"NYC Yellow Cab Company. Where are you going this evening?"

The sound of the operator's voice jars me from my thoughts. "Yeah. Um... I'd like to order a cab to..."

I trail off, realising that I actually had no idea where we were.

I cast my eyes around, trying to find a street sign, or an obvious landmark. But apart from the inky waters of the Hudson behind me and the yellow glow of the streetlamps along the sidewalk, I see nothing.

"Err... hold on a sec, will—"

The sharp sound of a whistle rends the air.

Throwing my head around, I spot Gale leaning out into the road with her arm in the air.

"...actually, never mind," I say, hanging up as a cab pulls up obediently next to us.

"One New York taxi," declares Gale triumphantly as she steps in front of me to yank the passenger door open.

Dropping my phone back in my pocket, I throw her a sidelong glance. "Thought you said cabs were a waste of time and money."

She shrugs back at me. "They are. But you were going to call one anyway, so I thought I'd save you the trouble... and the overpriced roaming bill."

I shake my head wryly. "And here I thought I was doin' you a favour."

"Who says the favour can't go both ways, cowboy?" she counters with a wink before climbing into the cab.

I stare at her ass painedly.

Now, why did she have to go and say something like that...?

Because despite the fact that she'd made it clear literally a minute ago that I shouldn't expect anything when we got back to hers, that one comment had kicked my dirty, sex-deprived imagination into overdrive again...

...and now all I could think about was eating her out while she went down on me, 69-style.

"You coming, or what, pal?"

The driver's voice snaps me from my thoughts.

Swallowing a groan, I slide into the backseat — careful not to touch her, even accidentally, because then all bets were gonna get blown off — and pull the cab door closed with an agitated bang.

Sweet Jesus, I was a horny mess...

I couldn't seem to get through one conversation with this girl without my mind — and my dick — going wild with everything I wanted to do to her.

And that wasn't like me.

Sure. I'd been turned on by girls before. Even been handcuffed, made to wait for gratification until I was literally sweating with need.

But never like this — outside of the bedroom, where the proverbial screw just kept getting pulled tighter and tighter without any assurance of release.

No. This was completely uncharted territory for me.

Because any other girl, any other situation, I'd've closed the deal by now. And moved on.

So maybe that was the problem — the fact that every time I seemed to be getting somewhere, I ended up getting cock-blocked with a meticulous precision that seemed nothing short of premeditated.

By her asshole boss. By her infatuated coworker. By the cabbie. By Leo. By the pricks at the club.

Not to mention by myself. Because I kept saying and doing the wrong things. So that fact that she was still talking to me was basically a miracle.

And even though I'd somehow managed to salvage each and every fuck up — just — it hadn't been enough.

Because I was still sitting on square one.

But I'd run outta time.

And that grated me no end.

Especially considering how narrowly I'd missed the end zone.

My head drops back against the head rest.

Christ, I needed to fuck...

The adrenaline, the cortisol — not to mention the testosterone spliced with all the built-up thirst — was still roiling through my veins, setting my teeth on edge, begging for release.

And while I completely respected Gale's decision to not want to take things further after everything she'd been through tonight, I knew I'd never be able to catch anything even remotely resembling sleep until I'd blown off some steam.

And if it wasn't gonna happen with Gale — even though I wanted it to, desperately — I needed to cut my losses and come up with a Plan B...

...though the idea of going back out again, to a noisy bar or club to scour the crowd for a potential hook-up was not appetising in the slightest. Especially since there was no guarantee of a decent score.

Might just need to bite the bullet and steal a page out of Tariq's pathetic playbook by calling up a damned hooker.

I clench my eyes shut.

Sweet Jesus, I really must be desperate.

But as tantalising as the idea may seem at first blush, the thought of actually having sex with someone who was only in it for the money turned me off faster than flipping a kill switch.

I heave a resigned sigh.

Jacking off under a cold shower it is... Christ, this night couldn't get any worse...

I feel the taxi slow.

Glancing out the window, I see that we'd arrived on a residential street comprised of tightly packed multistorey brownstones.

"That'll be $24.56," declares the driver, putting the car into park.

"Thanks," acknowledges Gale, reaching for her clutch.

But I've already pulled my wallet out. "Keep the change," I tell him, handing over a ten and a twenty.

Gale's head snaps up. "Hey!"

"You want a receipt?" asks the cabbie, palming the money.

"Nope," I tell him, already halfway out the car.

The sooner we got this done, and the sooner I got gone, the better.

Flicking the door closed behind me, I walk quickly 'round to the other side of the cab to help Gale out.

Because even though I may not be getting laid tonight, I wasn't going to be an asshole about it. My parents had raised me better than that.

Gale greets me with a terse glare from the backseat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I raise a brow. "Opening the door for you?"

"We agreed to share the fare!"

I heave a breath. Christ, not again... "No. We didn't."

"Yes. We did," she insists sternly, gathering her things. "Because I said—"

"I know what you said," I reply calmly, pulling the door wider. "But we never agreed."

Her mouth drops open in surprise. "But—"

"In fact," I continue, holding out a hand to help her out of the cab, "I specifically disagreed with your proposition. Because it's not right for you to fork out cash you don't have on a cab that you only needed because of me."

"I have $12!" she hits back, ignoring my offer of assistance even as she struggles to climb out of the backseat with shoes, bag, and jacket in hand.

"No. You don't."

She freezes, half-in, half-out of the cab, staring at me in disbelief.

I meet her eye pointedly. "You lost your job, remember?"

"Yeah, but—"

"So my point stands," I conclude, reaching out to steady her as she pushes herself up to stand. "You don't have $12 to spend on a cab. And since that's my fault, it's only right that I foot the fare."

She lets out a low breath. "Drake, you don't need t—"

"I do," I insist, shutting the cab door behind her. "Especially since I never finished apologising back at the club."

She flicks her gaze up with a coy smile. "We did get very rudely interrupted, didn't we?"

"Very," I agree, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face as the car pulls away. "So it's only right that I make it up to you some other way."

Dammit, why couldn't I keep my hands off her...?

Something flutters in her expression. "And that's very sweet of you. But I can't keep taking your money."

"Pretty sure it was the cabbie who took my money..." I murmur softly.

She swings her Jimmy Choos at me. "You know what I mean!"

"Harper," I say firmly, letting the shoes ping harmlessly off my arm. "It's fine. Honestly. I'm not gonna begrudge twenty bucks — or even ten times that — if it helps you get home safe. After the way I gatecrashed your life, it's the least I can do."

She opens her mouth to protest.

I meet her gaze calmly, but steadfastly.

Her shoulders drop. "Okay, fine. But just so we're clear, this is the last time I'm letting you do this."

"Spend my own money?" I ask, quirking a brow.

"Blame yourself for what happened."

Her words pull me up short. "But—"

"You didn't gatecrash my life. If anything, you kinda did me a favour because I actually hated working at that bar," she admits. "The place was a dive, the hours were erratic, and Jovan was—"

"—a right piece of shit," I offer.

"I was going to say 'moody bastard', but sure," she grins. "The only reason I stuck it out for as long as I did was because the tips were relatively good and I was able to hit my monthly savings goal after I'd paid—"

"Savings goal?" I cut in. "What were you—?"

A blush colours her face. "It... It doesn't matter. Point is, I can get another job. And until I do, I have enough to cover the rent. So, it's not like you've ruined my life, or plunged me into debt, or homelessness..."

"Yeah, but—"

She lays a finger against my lips, silencing me. "I said it's fine... Really. You don't owe me anything, Drake. You never did."

I struggle for breath. "Har—"

"But I do owe you your jacket back," she reminds me, giving my nose a tap with her finger. "And you probably want to get back to your bachelor party. So, up and at 'em, cowboy."

The breath I didn't realise I was holding explodes out of me as she turns away.

Fuck.

This girl really was try'na kill me.

Every time she got up in my space like that, touched me like that, called me cowboy like that, she pushed my self-control — and my sanity — right to the limit.

And at this rate, what little rein I had left on my composure was going to snap, and she was gonna find herself on the receiving end of a very different kind of 'up and at 'em'... the kind where she was up against the wall and I was up and inside her.

I force myself to take a steadying breath as I follow after her.

Keep it together, Walker. As she made it clear — again — that's not the reason you're here. And unless she changes her mind, you can't overstep the mark.

She leads me to the squatter of two buildings on the block. Stopping in front of a narrow door that was tucked next to the shuttered store front of a second-hand bookshop that occupied the ground floor, she reaches for the numerical access panel and taps the six digit code in.

The lock clicks back and I reach forward to push the door open.

"Thanks," she says with a smile, stepping through the opening.

"Anytime," I murmur, trying — and failing — to not breathe in her honey-camomile scent as she slides past me.

Dammit, why did she have to smell so good...?

"Hope you like cardio..."

I snap my head up just in time to catch the wry glance she throws me over her shoulder.

"...'cause it's a bit of a trek up to the fifth floor."

I let the door bang shut behind me with a sigh.

Yup. She was definitely try'na kill me.

Because apparently it wasn't enough that I'd already had to suffer through a burlesque routine and a sexually charged turn on the dancefloor that had basically been foreplay.

She was now going to make me stare at her ass while we climbed five flights for stairs.

Fuck my fuckin' life...

But, short of walking out on her like a high-strung douchebag, I didn't really have a choice.

Unless...

"Up and at 'em, Gale!" I prompt as I dart past her.

Her mouth drops. "Wha—?"

"Thought you wanted to be quick about this," I say, pausing on the landing to look back down at her.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to race you up the stairs!"

I raise a brow. "Who said anything 'bout a race?"

"You did. Just now."

I lean over the banister. "I just offered to up the pace. But if you aren't up for it—"

Her eyes narrow. "I never said that..."

"Then I'll see you at the top," I shrug, resuming my jog up the stairs.

Even if she ended up trailing behind, at least I'd've had a chance to blow off some much needed steam before we got to her apartment.

"Bet your ass you will, Walker!" she shouts, blowing past me as she takes the steps three at a time.

I snort despite myself, throwing myself into a sprint to catch up to her.

This girl...

She kept managing to surprise me.

I hadn't intended for this to turn into a head-to-head. But apparently she had a mean competitive streak and couldn't resist another chance to try and show me up. Even when she was barefoot.

I catch up to her on the next level.

"Nice try, Gale," I chuckle, using the handrail to pull myself past her on the corner of the landing. "But you ain't winning this."

"Speak for yourself, Walker!" she cries, grabbing the back of my shirt to use me as a counterweight to propel herself into the lead again.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" I huff, reaching out to grab her around the waist.

My fingers brush against her bare skin...

...but before I can close the hold, she's twisted away.

"Close, but no cigar!" she taunts with a smug look.

"Closer than you think," I grin, pulling past her through the opening she's unintentionally afforded me.

A shocked gasp rises up behind me. "You bastard!"

"Don't dish it if you can't take it, girl!" I call as I round the final corner.

Pushing through the burn in my thighs, I bound up the steps, pausing at the top to catch my breath.

Doing that every day'll sure keep you fit! No wonder she had such great legs...

The sound of bare feet slapping against concrete echoes up the stairwell.

Glancing behind me, I spot Gale stomping up the steps with a murderous expression, her arms crossed over her chest.

"The fuck was that, Walker?" she demands angrily as she draws level with me.

"A fair win?"

"How the hell was that fair!"

"Hey," I say, holding my hands up. "I was just playin' by your rules, Gale... So, don't tell me you've got double standards."

"I didn't rip your shirt off!" she protests vehemently, aiming a kick at my shin.

I dodge out of the way...

...and suddenly realise why she was so pissed when I see that her arms are still wrapped around her chest.

When I'd tried to grab her, my fingers must've accidentally pulled the tie of her shimmery crop top loose at the back. And now she was desperately trying to keep the flimsy covering from falling off her body completely while holding onto everything else she was carrying.

An inadvertent snort escapes me at the absurdity of the situation.

"Oh, yeah. Hilarious!" she snips sarcastically, shoving past me. "Jackass..."

Her comment hits me like a kick to the gut. Goddammit...

Of all the ways I'd imagined undressing her — and there had been a lot of ways! — this had definitely not been one of them. By mistake... In the most asinine and juvenile way possible.

Because now she was pissed at me. Again.

"Gale, hold up," I plead, stepping after her. "I swear I didn't—"

"Save it, Walker," she snaps, arriving at a nondescript door marked with the number 502 and reaching for her bag without looking at me.

Shit. She really was fit to be tied.

"Look. You're right," I sigh. "It isn't funny. I shouldn't've laughed. It wasn't cool and— You okay?"

"I'm fine," she grits, struggling to open her clutch while keeping her top in some semblance of decency and juggling her shoes and jacket as well.

"You sure...?" I ask, unconvinced. "'Cause you look like y—"

Her hazel-green gaze snaps irately up to mine. "I said I'm—!"

As if on cue, the tenuous hold she had on her bag slips, taking the rest of her precariously balanced stuff with it to the floor in a heap.

She grabs after the lot instinctively...

...only to realise she'd let go of her top.

"Shit!" she gasps, grasping the sparkly fabric after a moment of stunned indecision.

I slant her a deadpan look. "You were sayin'?"

"Just... shut up," she groans exasperatedly, managing to save her decency...

...but not quite quick enough.

My eyes widen. "Yes, ma'am," I affirm, quickly bending down to start picking everything up.

She heaves an aggravated breath. "Drake, I don't need—"

"I got it," I assure her, scooping her jacket and shoes before she can get to them. "You... you got more top-level problems to deal with."

I hear her suck in a shocked gasp, followed by the rustling of fabric on skin as she hastens to adjust the wayward scrap of material.

I keep my attention focused on rounding up the various items that had escaped her bag, and not on the dozen different ways I suddenly wanted to tease the nipple she'd accidentally flashed me before I'd remembered to look away.

I clench my eyes shut. Sweet Jesus, how was I gonna—?

I feel her fingers brush against mine. "Thanks..."

My eyes snap open to find her crouched in front of me with a wry, slightly embarrassed look.

"...for the save," she adds, not quite meeting my eye.

"An-anytime," I reply hoarsely, handing the now refilled clutch back to her. "And I'm sorry. About earlier. I hadn't planned on—"

The colour rises up her cheeks as she drops her gaze and takes the bag. "I know. And I'm sorry for flipping out on you. It's just... my brother Tyler used to pull stunts like that when we were younger and—"

"You still have a bad taste in your mouth about it," I finish for her. "I know."

She lifts her gaze to mine. "Sounds like you speak from experience..."

I nod tightly. "There are things my sister's probably not forgiven me for either."

"The joys of sibling-hood," she observes dryly, straightening back up to return her attention to the door.

"Yeah..." I mumble, feeling that all-too familiar emptiness settle in my gut as the ghost of Savs' face rises through the spectre of my memories.

The rattle of keys jars me from my thoughts.

Looking up, I see that Gale had located her keyring — adorned with a made-in-China, plastic Statue of Liberty — and was in the process of slotting a brass-coloured key into the lock. The tumbler clicks back and the door swings open.

I hang back on the threshold as she steps into the narrow hallway to flick on the hallway light. The golden glow reveals the outlines of a small, open-plan kitchen-living area within.

"Do you want to—?" she asks, pausing on the threshold to look back at me.

I shake my head. "I'm good."

I didn't know if I could trust myself to behave if I followed her inside. And I didn't want to burn what little goodwill I probably had left with her.

She nods quickly. "Okay. Let me just grab your jacket and—"

"Don't forget these," I remind her, holding her own jacket and shoes out to her.

"Oh. Right. Thanks," she blushes again as she takes them. "I...I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," I murmur as she disappears into the flat.

On one hand, I was desperate to get outta here while I still had some semblance of sanity left. But, on the other hand, I knew that as soon as I turned away, and she shut the door, that was it. She was out of my life.

For good.

And I wasn't sure I was ready for that.

But short of bringing her back to Cordonia with me, or ditching the return flight — neither of which was an option — I didn't really have a choice.

Because let's face it. I'd known the girl less than a day. It was irrational to want to—

"Sorry, it's a bit rumpled," she apologises as she reappears, blazer in hand, and errant crop-top exchanged for a white, 'I ❤️ NY' t-shirt. "It fell off the hanger."

"Don't worry about it."

She holds the jacket out over the threshold. "Thanks again for lending it to me..."

I reach out to take it. "You don't need to thank me, girl..."

Her chest rises. "I do. Because—"

My fingers brush against hers. "I just did what anyone would've done."

Her hazel-green eyes meet mine. "No."

The intensity of her declaration knocks the air from my chest.

"You did the exact opposite of what anyone else would've done," she continues decidedly. "You went out of your way to help a total stranger. Not once, but several times. Without expecting anything in return. So it's me who owes you, Drake; not the other way around..."

I shake my head. "Harper, you know you don't—"

"...and I've yet to properly thank you."

My head snaps up.

Our eyes lock.

Her mouth parts.

And the world falls away.

I have no idea who moves first. Me or her. Maybe it's mutual...

But the next thing I know, the damned blazer is tossed to the floor and we're at each other's throats, devouring each other like a pair of rabid maniacs.

Because we both suddenly realise that we'd been fuckin' fools for letting ourselves get jackknifed by the very circumstances that kept propelling us together. For keeping our cards close to our chests when we should've been throwing them — and each other — down on the table.

Because we'd been too distracted by all the auxiliary bullshit to realise that we've wanted the same thing from the very start.

Each other.

"Fuck, baby," I groan against her mouth. "You don't owe me anything..."

"But I—" She gasps as I grab her by the ass to yank her against me.

"How 'bout we call us even?" I growl, hoisting her up into the air.

A surprised squeak escapes her.

But I don't give her a chance to protest the matter because my mouth is already back on hers, wanting more, taking more, giving her no quarter as I march her back into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind me.

Because now that we'd stumbled onto the same page, I was taking control of the narrative. No more pussyfooting around... No more second guessing.

Because we'd wasted too much goddamn time already and to say that I needed her was an understatement. I yearned for her... Fuckin' burned for her with an intensity that was borderline obsessive.

So in what few hours I had left with her, I wanted one thing, and one thing only. To set her world on fire the same way she'd torched mine just by stepping into it.

My teeth scrape against hers as I shove my tongue down her throat, giving her a promise of what was to come.

She moans into my mouth, and I nearly lose it right then and there.

Christ, she tasted good...!

She was a heady mix of sweet and zest that was straight up intoxicating. Like summer raspberries and honey wine. And I curse myself for not letting myself kiss her sooner.

The sound of ripping thread rends the air.

My eyes fly open.

"Now we're even," she declares with a smirk, sending the dislocated buttons flying as she throws the top of my shirt open.

I scoff at the irony as I carry her into the small kitchenette. "Thought you wanted to save this shirt."

"That was before you ripped my top," she counters saucily, raking her nails down my chest.

A low groan escapes me as I deposit her onto the countertop. "You're lucky I waited this long, girl. I've been wanting to tear that damn thing off you since the start of the night."

"Got something against my clothes, Walker?" she asks, tugging the shirttails out from the waistband of my pants.

"Yeah," I confirm, reaching for the hem of her t-shirt. "You're still wearing them."

She lifts her arms with a wry look. "That's kind of the point of clothes..."

"Trust me," I counter, pulling the top over her head and tossing it to the side. "You ain't gonna need them. Not for what I've got planned..."

"Oh, yeah?" she purrs, grabbing my belt. "And what's that, cowboy?"

"Knockin' your fuckin' boots off."

She cries out as I dive down to catch her now fully exposed nipple in my mouth, not able to wait a second longer to have her under my tongue.

I'd of course gotten a sense of her thanks to that barely there crop top and skin-tight jeans she'd been wearing. So I knew that she was slim yet toned, tending towards athletic instead of shapely, though still possessing some curvature to her bust and waist.

But clothes — no matter how revealing — were never gonna tell the full story. Which is why I'd been dying to see — and feel — her as nature had intended. Without any superfluities or accruements in the way.

And sweet Jesus, had it been worth the wait!

Because Gale naked — or as good as — exceeded even my wildest dreams. Her hips curved into the palms of my hands, her skin had that same enthralling scent as her hair, and while her breasts were on the smaller side, they perfectly soft and natural, with pert nipples that I already knew I could get addicted to after just one taste.

And the way she was responding to me? Christ, she was gonna drive me straight to the edge just with the sounds she was making as my hands coasted over her body.

"Drake..." she moans, fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer as she wraps her legs around my waist.

I hear myself groan in abandon as she arches up towards me, tits thrusting up into my face, begging for more.

I heed her unspoken plea and switch my attentions to her other breast, sucking hard.

She gasps out loud, thrusting herself against me uninhibitedly. And if my giant hard-on hadn't already been ready to gouge a motherfuckin' hole through the front of my pants, it sure as hell was about to now.

Because nothing was hotter than a girl who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it.

And damn right I was gonna give it to her.

My hands drop to the front of her jeans.

"Someone's... impatient," she gasps as I slide my tongue up her neck.

"Girl, you have no idea," I breathe, making quick work of the top button and fly. "You've been driving me to the edge of reason the whole night."

"Really?" she purrs. "I wouldn't have guessed..."

I lift my gaze sardonically as I secure a hold on the waistband of the denim. "Why d'you think I was downing shots like those things had an expiration date?"

"Performance anxiety?" she asks with a sly grin, raising her hips off the counter in anticipation.

"Never," I assure her, wrenching her jeans down.

"Drake!" she cries out in surprise.

I look up from between her legs. "You okay?"

She nods shakily. "Yeah. I... I just didn't expect you to do that..."

I quirk a brow as I manoeuvre the denim off her ankles, careful to avoid the blisters. "Undress you?"

She scoffs breathlessly. "Rip my jeans off me."

I slant her a glance as I trail my hands back up the inside of her thighs. "You and I have very different definitions of 'rip', girl."

"Oh, yeah?" she pants, struggling with the remaining buttons of my shirt as my fingers skirt upwards, brushing over the lace of her thong to round her hips. "What's your definition?"

I hook my fingers into the elastic of her underwear. "The literal one."

I tear the flimsy scrap of lace off her in one forceful motion.

She jolts as she finds herself suddenly exposed before me. "I should've guessed..."

I meet her eye. "Tell me it didn't turn you on..."

She sucks in a shuddering breath as I drop to my knees in front of her. "Guess you're about to find out..."

"Damn fuckin' right," I confirm, wrenching her knees apart.

An impassioned cry is torn from her lips as my mouth collides with the slickness of her arousal. Her earthy sweetness engulfs my senses and I inhale deeply, losing myself in her sultry heat as I rake my tongue hungrily over her already throbbing clit.

Her body tips back in ecstasy, but I throw a hand out over her ass, keeping her lower half pinned in place so I could chart every inch of her.

She moans loudly, spreading her legs wider, pulling at my hair to try and guide me where she needed me most as she arcs up into my face.

My eyes shudder closed. Oh, sweet Jesus...!

If this wasn't the gateway to Heaven, I had no idea what was. Because very few things in life could top the addictive interplay between trust, submission, and eroticism that came from pleasuring someone with your mouth until they fell apart in front of you.

And the feeling of finally being able to experience it with Gale...? Shit, it was better than gettin' higher than a fucking kite.

Opening my eyes, I glance up at her.

She is panting above me, eyes closed, lips parted and head thrown back, raw bliss written all over her face as my mouth and tongue tug her inexorably towards complete implosion, her fingers fisted almost painfully into my hair.

Fuck, she was gorgeous.

And I could see she was close. So I double down on my efforts with a low growl, tracing my tongue around her heated clit in ever-tightening circles as she starts to crest, moaning my name like a benediction.

"Oh, my God! Drake...!"

I feel the vibrations start before the inevitable noise...

...and my heart drops to the floor.

"Fuck..." I groan as the opening rift of Kenny Loggin's Danger Zone shatters the mood of the room.

Of all the million and one moments tonight, this is the one that gets fuckin' interrupted?

The sweet baby Jesus sure had a fucked up sense of humour...

But as much as I wanted to ignore the incoming call, I knew I couldn't.

Because this ringtone meant one thing and one thing only — my night was about to go to complete and utter shit.

I drop my head in defeat. "I'm sorry, baby... I... I gotta take this."

She whines in protest, reaching desperately for me as I pull away, as nettled by the sudden halt to the proceedings as I was... If not more so, considering that I was leaving her in the lurch at the worst possible moment.

Like a fuckin' ass...

But unfortunately for both of us, the situation couldn't be helped. Because there were some things in life that were more important than getting off.

Like the safety of a high-status foreign national...

...who also happened to be my best friend.

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I reach resignedly for my phone, knowing that I was not gonna like what I was about to hear.

"Wh-who is it...?" stammers Gale hoarsely, face still flushed from the intensity of our disrupted foreplay.

"Bad news..." I mutter, answering the call without looking at the caller ID.

Because I already knew who was calling.

"Oui?" I ask, switching to French on autopilot.

Gale's eyes widen.

But I don't have time to mitigate her surprise, or provide an explanation because Schweitzer is already barking down the phone at me.

"Vous voyez l'appât?" he demands without preamble.

I steel myself. "Non. Je—"

A low growl of frustration. "Putain de merde..."

"Attendez," I interject, forcing myself to stay calm, even though my gut had already twisted itself tighter than barbed wire. "Que s'est-il passé?"

"Nous ne savons pas," he grits. "Une minute, nous avions une ligne de visée sur lui, mais la suivante, il a plus simplament disparu."

I frown. "Comment ça, 'disparu'?"

"Comme une fantôme!" Schweitzer — now bereft of all semblance of calm — shouts down the line.

"Non, non," I interject with a shake of my head, the rapidly building stress causing me to start pacing around the small flat. "C'est impossible. Même si nous ne pouvons pas le voir, nous pouvons toujours—"

"Nous avons perdu son signal!"

His words — and the blood-curdling implications — slam into me with all the force of an armour-piercing round.

"FUCK!"

The story continues in Chapter 8 — Coming Soon!

A/N1: So, in the context of researching certain details for this chapter, I discovered that — in contrast to e.g. the whole of Europe — it is pretty much impossible to call a cab in New York using your phone, because there is no official NYC cab company phone number (or if there is, it's guarded with a CIA-level of secrecy 😅). Instead, if you need a cab, you go out onto the street and hail one (like Harper does). However, by the time I found this out, I'd already written the corresponding scene of Drake calling a cab on his phone both on this chapter (and in Chapter 2), so I decided to leave it in, because it helps with pacing, etc. Consequently, I instead offer my belated apologies to any New Yorkers reading this!

A/N2:As always, translations for the French:

Drake: Yes?

Schweitzer: Do you have eyes on the asset?

Drake: No, I—

Schweitzer: Fucking hell... (lit. trans. of 'putain de merde' is 'shitty whore' but connotatively it's used the same way as the way I've translated above)

Drake: Wait. What happened?

Schweitzer: We don't know. One minute, we had eyes on him, and the next, he just fucking* disappeared.

Drake: What do you mean, 'disappeared'?

Schweitzer: [I mean] like a fucking* ghost!

Drake: No... That's impossible. Even if we don't have a line of sight on him we can still— (I know I wrote 'no' twice in the French; it's a common form of emphasis)

Schweitzer: We lost his fucking* signal!

* So, as far as I've been able to determine, French doesn't have a term that can be inserted into a sentence to emphasise frustration/disbelief/anger the same way that English speakers use 'fuck' — this is achieved more through tone and volume. So the intent of Schweitzer's expression is as I have translated.

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Picture Credits: Stairs - Hell's Kitchen - Kiss - Harper - Taxi - Tease - Drake - Shirt

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