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starssaroundmyscarssblog · 7 months ago

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𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

pairing: teen!noel gallagher x fem!oc (fern gibson <3)

summary: in which noel tries not to get jealous over someone who he knows he shouldn't be worried about, and fern gets high for the first time to soothe the blow

word count: 2.92k

warnings: smoking, swearing, sexual references, mentions of past relationships with people who are now in a position of authority,

PART TWO IS HERE

noel was fucking fuming.

he tapped out the butt of his cigarette against the low pillars of the gates, grumbling and crushing it under his shoe. the bell had gone ten minutes ago, and there was still no sign of fern emerging from the brick building. noel was about to light up another and he drew a cigarette out of the packet with his teeth as his other hand reached into his jacket pocket for a lighter.

chesc and eloise emerged from around the corner, giggling behind their hands as they walked down the road to the bus stop. before they managed to cross, noel whistled out of the corner of his mouth and he beckoned the girls over when they looked up at the noise.

"have yous seen fern anywhere?"

chesc shook her head, "sorry, no. i can't remember what she had last."

he muttered again and was about to spin around on his heel to leave, thinking that waiting by her car would be a better idea. eloise pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket before he could leave, though. she adjusted her glasses onto her nose. "yeah, that's it. she's had philosophy."

"oh." noel nodded. then upon his second drag after offering it over to eloise, "ah. that does sound familiar now you say. how long d'you think she'll be?"

"anyone's guess. i'm sure they'd let you wait inside for her if you want."

he could have laughed at the notion. "nah, you're all righ'. your, er," he gestured down the road, "the bus is here if that's useful for ya."

eloise made an angry grab at his hand and pulled it closer to her mouth for one last, final drag and she exhaled slowly. "c'mon you," chesc pulled at the sleeve of her blazer, "if we don't hurry up all of the good seats'll be gone."

both girls crossed the road and chorused out "bye, noel" over their shoulders. then, just his luck as the last embers of his cigarette died out on his finger tips, fat drops of rain fell one by one from the rolling grey clouds. he dropped the butt out of mild shock and out of irritancy he hiked his shoulders up to his ears and walked through the gates.

he hadn't ever been too far into fern's school, only really up to the top of the stairs where they sometimes sat together during her lunch break in the summer term. noel pushed forwards through the open doors, sidling up to the reception desk where the receptionist was staring down rather intently at a form requesting absence during term time.

noel cleared his throat. "'ello." he said, tapping his knuckles awkwardly on the desk, "i'm looking for fern gibson. she's, er, late for her driving lesson." he hoped his lie would work.

the receptionist clicked her pen and held it from one end in her claw-like fingers, using it to push his hands away. "her last class of the day was philosophy with mr watson. however if she's not there i'm afraid i can't help you as it is technically after school hours."

"right . . . thanks?" noel remained rooted to the spot.

"will that be everything?" she asked, sighing heavily as she looked up once again from the document, expecting his to have gone.

"no, could you tell me which classroom it was? just in case she's there."

"h7, up the stairs and all the way down the corridor, take a left and then three rights. you'll see it, can't be missed."

noel's feet propelled him down the languages corridor off the main hall and away from the receptionist. he traipsed up the stairs and was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable in the environment. it was all polished wooden floors and high ceilings, long windows with even longer curtains and framed pictures as far as the eye could see.

he tried to imagine fern walking around between classes, sitting at desks and listening intently; it wasn't a hard task. what was tricky, though, was trying to see her walking around his catholic secondary school, sans blazer and clearly out of her depth amongst the sort of people who flocked through the blue gates every morning.

instead he could see fern perched in window sills along corridors with eloise and chesc, whispering to each other and talking about their weekend plans. at some point he hoped fern would talk about him, perhaps what film she'd forced him to watch or how nice he could actually be when he felt like the world and its mother wasn't watching him.

right at the end of the second right turn was the sports corridor, and noel's attention was dragged away from daydreaming about fern to looking at the glossy pictures secured behind hand-crafted frames. football teams were lined up next to newspaper clippings and cut outs from scoresheets at inter-school competitions.

in one about tennis, where a year eleven had won out in a city-based championship, there was a picture of a twelve year old girl running frantically across the court. noel recognised the name, lottie reid, because liam had come home one day swearing blind she was the squarest girl he'd ever met.

he complained as he kicked the football at the wall, complained as he was forced to sit at the dinner table and complete his spelling homework, and complained as he and noel were brushing their teeth much later that evening.

further along and finally in the corridor after the third right turning, were copied and framed prize-winning essays written by students. he saw something fern had written about the reformation, an essay by the girl she hated, jessica, about the harrying of the north, and something eloise had written about pride within 'othello'.

the door of h7 appeared halfway along, and noel breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw the back of fern's head through the sliver of glass. his relief was short lived however, when he noticed fern was leaning closer to talk over the desk towards a student teacher.

something in him clicked then, his beaten up leather jacket and scuffed trainers weighing heavily on his shoulders and feet in a school he shouldn't ever have been anywhere near. noel knocked on the door and regretted it as soon as he did, though fern's face breaking out into a wide smile when she turned and saw him settled an unease lurking at the back of his mind.

she walked steadily over to the door and opened it, pulling him in with a hand around his arm. "noel!" if his reluctancy wasn't obvious by his slow steps then he didn't know how he was going to tell fern, without grabbing her by the shoulders and telling it to her face, how he was increasingly uncomfortable and wanted to leave as soon as possible.

he stood near the door and cast his eyes around the room, much bigger than any class than he could remember at barlow r.c. there were desks placed two by two, covered in ink stains and spills running through the knots of wood on the surface. fern's place, in the middle of the room, was obvious. her blazer was draped over the back and she'd hooked her bag over her chair delicately.

noel looked at her looking intently at her teacher who looked vaguely familiar. fern was nodding and humming, occasionally pointing her pen at something she agreed with before writing it down at the end of her essay. he tapped his fingers against his thigh in impatience, looking at the hands of the clock inch further round the numbers, and noel wished he wouldn't ever start thinking that looking at fern was boring.

there was a slight smudge of eyeliner out of place from where she'd rubbed at it. behind her ear was a pink bruise blossoming into a deeper shade of mauve, and noel knew there was a matching one on the back of her calf. right on the tip of her chin was a dash of pen in the colour he knew eloise used. her nails drummed rhythmically on the back of her refill pad in a constant meter. fern's leg was bouncing up and down in a tell that noel knew meant she was impatient to leave.

"but i think that's everything for you there, fern, so if you get the chance to add some improvements leave it on my desk monday morning and i'll get it back to you as soon as i can."

noel nearly let out an audible sigh of relief as fern started to pack her things away into her bag. she winked at him as she pulled her blazer on and hiked the straps of her bag higher up her shoulder. "thanks, sir. sorry to keep you."

he followed fern as she walked closer to noel, wrapping her hand over his wrist in preparation to drag him out of the classroom. "no no, it's no trouble at all miss gibson. i'm here whenever you need me."

it was noel who was ready to grab fern and run then, when her teacher, who's face had just been connected to a name in his mind, left his hand on her shoulder. he hoped she wouldn't blush. a light tinge flooded from fern's nose and she cleared her throat to rush out a thank you before wrenching the door open and shutting it firmly behind her.

she looked at noel guiltily, and avoided his stern gaze by pretending to pat her pockets down for something. "don't even start i'm not in the mood for it," she said and shot off down the corridor without another look behind her.

fern marched around corners and down the large stair case. she shoved open the doors to the school with her shoulder, leaving just enough time for noel to grab them and slip out behind her. the receptionist had gone home, leaving half-completed paperwork abandoned on the desk.

it was still raining when fern reached her car, and her hand slipped from the handle when she tried too hard too quickly to open it. when noel eventually caught up with her, fern was leaning diagonally with her forehead planted against the roof of her car, bag hanging open on her shoulder.

noel gently took her car keys from her hand and opened the car for her, feeling like he was folding her up and unravelling her in the drivers seat. fern slumped forwards and lay, rather dramatically, over the steering wheel as noel sat in awkward silence. he began to shuffle through the cassette tapes he'd filled the glovebox with in an effort to distract himself from fern's theatrical display of emotion.

eventually, fern slowly fixed herself upright. "sorry," she sighed, "i didn't know he was coming back. really."

when fern pulled onto her driveway, rather quickly sending her and noel jolting sideways, she was still arguing with him. "i'm telling you, i didn't know he'd come back." she unlocked the front door and stormed up the stairs, and noel heard a crash he assumed was her school bag being thrown into a corner of her room.

"that's not what i care about, fern, and ye fucking know it." noel yelled back, hanging his jacket over the banister at the foot of the stairs. she blazed past him still in her uniform and beelined for the kitchen. noel followed her, ignoring her setting up her notebook on the breakfast bar. he stood on the other side of the counter, arms folded over his chest.

fern glared up at him, pen held so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "well then what is it you do care about, noel?"

"that you didn't tell me when he did come back. you know i can't fuckin stand him and you never even thought to pissin' tell me!" he argued back, fighting the urge to grab the essay fern had written, that was covered in his handwriting, in both hands and tear it apart.

she scoffed behind her hand. "like that would have gone well."

noel pulled his head up to look right at her. fern had her eyes cast down to where she was re-writing parts of her homework onto a blank piece of paper, chin balanced on her hand as her eyebrows raised in anticipation for his response. he could hear her smirk and when she let out a little scoff and mumbled "thought so" noel opened the french doors and stepped out onto the patio.

fern watched out of the corner of her eye as he brushed down one of the chairs from the set of patio furniture and lit up a cigarette. against her better judgement, fern stared at the flex of his vein as noel clicked his lighter a few times, tucking it into his pocket once the cigarette he held in his lips caught the flame.

she tried to look at her essay and really take in the feedback she'd gotten from mr watson, but the glint in his eye when he told fern that noel was shuffling about outside the classroom kept her mind away from school work. outside, noel reached out to tap the end of his cigarette out in the ash tray abandoned in the middle of the table, but when he noticed fern shuffle her chair slightly closer to the doors noel moved his hand to the side.

fern was out of her chair and right infront of him faster than he could blink. "do you mind not tapping it out on the actual table? there's an ash tray for a reason."

"thought you were too busy reading what hugo's written specially."

if anyone else had spoken to her like that, noel would have expected fern to flounce away with a sharp turn of her heel. instead all he did was simply hold out the cigarette to her. she put her hand out to take it from him but noel only gestured with his head for her to sit down next to him. eyeing him cautiously, fern sank into the chair and leaned closer.

noel lifted up the cigarette to her lips and fern took a long drag, exhaling heavily. "come on. i'm really sorry."

"yeah, i know."

it wasn't that noel didn't like hugo (it really was, he fucking hated the cunt), it was more the fact that fern had a thing with him before he left to become a teacher. hugo was a year older than fern and noel, and while noel didn't associate with anyone or anywhere related to st augistine's day and boarding school, it left him with an uneasy feeling of dread whenever fern or her friends would mention her old boyfriend around him.

he had trouble with saying the words 'i'm sorry' even to fern, so offering her the rest of his cigarette was the next best thing. noel watched her cheeks hollow as she took the last three drags, and patted his knee when felix came streaking around from the side of the garden shed to preen around his legs. the small cat hopped up onto noel's lap and settled there, contently purring away, until a bird landed in the middle of the garden.

felix dug his claws in and pounced, using noel as a spring board and, not looking back at the small "fuck" that sent fern's eyebrows raising into her fringe, stretched his small body out for the bird that fluttered away as quickly as it had landed.

as felix settled into the middle of the garden, stalking away into the bushes to claw his way up the trees where the birds were chirping eagerly, noel thought enough time had passed to allow him to broach the question to fern. "are you still okay to drop me off at mike's tonight?"

she hummed. "i was thinking of coming with you, actually."

"that'll be-" noel had half-risen from his chair and remained so still it was like he'd been paused. "what?"

fern looked at him, feigning confusion. "last night, you said i could come with you if i wanted to."

"ha, um, look fern i wasn't really thinking perfectly straight when i said that." she pulled the same face at him that she'd done the night before. the one she made right before she pulled him into her room after mrs gibson had let him in through the front door, and pushed him down onto the middle of her bed only for fern to get halfway through palming him through his trousers when she declared she had homework to do.

upon recollection, in his haze of fleeting pleasure, there was a slight chance that noel had let the question slip. the look in fern's eye was far too much to take even for him, and he would have given in there and then if it wasn't for the chance that one of her neighbours could look out of their window to see a pair of teenagers getting it on in her parent's garden.

if anything, noel knew he had to make up for his overreaction to fern choosing, probably for the better because he knew he could be a miserable cunt at the best of times, not to tell him about hugo watson. he sighed and led her back inside, only to ask if he could use the phone.

"fine, you can come. but none of this prissy princess bullshit, and don't smoke, eat or drink anything that i don't give directly to you."

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🎸

#noel gallagher #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x oc #noel gallagher fluff #noel gallagher smut #oasis #britpop #fluff #manchester #90s #fem!reader #fem!oc #oasis x reader #noel gallagher x fem!oc #oasis x fem!oc #oasis x oc

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melancholicheart · 1 year ago

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All This Time- Chapter 2

cw: trans male pregnancy (past, mentioned), angst, miscommunication, fluff and happy ending

Simon pales and looks up at Johnny who is groaning a little and bending down to pick the small girl up who wriggles out of his grasp and runs to Simon.

“Uh, I’m not your-“ Johnny speaks to Simon for the first time, shouting his name and shaking his head, so Simon manages a smile to the small girl, “So, you’re Elizabeth, huh?”

Johnny manages to grab his daughter and he crouches to her level, talking to her quietly, “Now darling, I know you’re excited and Daddy being here is very exciting but I need you to listen to me now sweetie. Tonight, we’re going to see if you can sleep with Sarah whilst Papa talks with Daddy-

“- I promise first thing that me and Daddy will come and get you and we will spend the day together, I just need to do some grown up talk with Daddy tonight, okay Lizzie?”

She looks like she wants to argue, looking back up at Simon who is still white as a sheet and gawping at the child in shock.

“Daddy will still be here?” She whispers to Johnny.

He places a kiss on her forehead and holds her tightly, hiding his own shocked face in her tiny shoulder, “Of course, love.”

Though when Johnny looks back at Simon, he appears like he might just run away that second.

It takes a lot out of all of them, barely thirty minutes pass from the door knocking to Elizabeth being dropped at their neighbours, but Simon hasn’t spoken since and neither had Johnny.

Johnny kisses Elizabeth’s forehead, pressing her stuffed dinosaur into her arms and leaves her with Sarah, a promise of an explanation in his wake.

Simon is sat on the couch when Johnny returns, staring off at the photo album on the table. The blasted thing is still open on the picture of them both.

Johnny groans and heads into the kitchen, quickly making a cup of tea for Simon in the hopes to ease his anxiety.

He sits on the other side of the chair, after placing the tea on the table, and he mulls everything over in his head.

Johnny isn’t sure if he is angry at Simon or if his heart is aching in pity for him. Sure the base stopped Johnny from ringing but surely they couldn’t stop Simon from calling? Still, finding out you have a daughter like this makes for a difficult conversation.

“I’m sorry.” They both say in unison, surprising one another after their extended silence.

“You’re sorry?” They both say, incredulously before Johnny sighs, chuckles a little, and gestures for Simon to speak.

“I’m sorry I never came sooner. Or got in touch. I see now that you were busy. Very busy by the looks of things.” He chuckles weakly.

“I tried to get in touch. I rang every week to talk like we were doing but I was blocked from calling the base. Was told that I needed to lose the number since I no longer work there.”

Simon looks incredulous, “You what? By who?”

“The receptionist and the General. I even pretended to be someone else so I could get through to you or Price but they threatened me with legal action.” Johnny explains.

“What the fuck? Y-you were trying to reach us? I thought you’d moved on, gotten fed up of me or whatever and didn’t want to hear from me anymore.” Simon pales even further. Johnny thinks he’s almost transparent.

“I sent letters too,” Johnny says, reaching for the box and fishing out the letters still in their envelopes with the offending ‘Return to Sender’ sign printed on the front.

“They really didn’t want me talking to you, I guess.”

Simon gestures to the handful of letters, “May I?”

Johnny hands them over, letting Simon pour through the words quickly as he sees the man’s face shatter as he absorbs the words.

“Fuck me.” Simon grumbles, “Fuck! If I’d have just- shit!”

“Simon,” Johnny sighs, “It all seems like a big misunderstanding. An awful lot of miscommunication on both parts, ay?”

“How can you be so calm about this? Y-you did all of this on your own!”

Johnny looks down at the book on the table, a few loose pictures from the box littering the glass surface. His daughters beaming face, barely six months old, smiles back at him and he instinctively smiles back.

“Jesus Johnny you- I let you do all that alone. You fuckin’ had a kid.”

“You didn’t let me do anything, Simon. Like I say, it’s just miscommunication.”

“It’s more than miscommunication when it causes shit like this! I swear to fuck I’m going to rip that General a new one when I next see him.” Simon fumes, squeezing a letter in his hands.

“Si, calm down,” Johnny shuffles closer, “I know it’s a lot to take in and you’re probably angry and upset but it’s okay. I’m not angry with you. Elizabeth isn’t angry with you either.”

“Elizabeth,” Simon mumbles, eyes meeting Johnny’s, “Her name- is it?”

Johnny nods, “After your mum. And a little bit for Beth too, I suppose.”

Simon nods and feels his heart clenching in his chest, “She called me.. she said I’m her-”

“You are.” Johnny mumbles, “There’s been no one since you, Simon.”

He nods again and looks to the book on the table, the picture of him and Johnny right there. He picks it up and looks at it intently.

“So you’ve told her all about me?”

Johnny nods, “She looks at the picture every day. Always asking about you. I told her the truth, that you’re busy at war and fighting to protect her from bad guys.”

Simon turns the page to the front, the picture of baby Elizabeth there with her birth date and time beneath it in the arms of Johnny in a hospital bed.

“October,” Simon chuckles, thumb running over the silky photo, “Near mine.”

Simon’s birthday is November the 6th, very close to Elizabeth’s, whereas Johnny’s is May the 17th, much further away.

“She looks a lot like you,” Johnny says, “Sometimes when I- when I miss you I grab ahold of her and hold her tight. Won’t let her go.”

“She’s beautiful,” Simon muses, “And you are incredible, Johnny. Fuckin’ ‘ell you gave birth.”

Johnny chuckles, “Well, I was cut open. She was an emergency C-Section. She was stuck and the chord was wrapped around her throat. They thought she might choke herself so they whipped her out the top.”

Johnny lifts his shirt, a faded pale pink scar runs along the base of his stomach, “Didn’t get her out before making me sit there in pain for sixteen hours. They tried to move her around too, with their hands up me, but she was a stubborn one.”

“Like me?”

Johnny laughs, “Yeah, just like you.”

“If it’s okay with you then,” Simon whispers, “After we’ve talked some more, of course, I would like to properly meet her.”

Johnny beams wide, nodding, “Of course, Si. I’ll tell you all about her.”

Johnny sits there for the next three hours. He pours through the photo album with Simon, making comment and talking about their daughter.

Their daughter. Johnny was losing hope on that front, often dreaming of the day that Elizabeth could be introduced as ‘our daughter’ rather than just his own.

Maybe the time is now.

#call of duty #ghostsoap #mw2 #mw2 2022 #soapghost #family #ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap #trans man #trans mpreg

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bangtaninborderland · 1 year ago

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JHS - Twisted Feelings (13)

Summary: After working at an award show for 2 years everything had become normal, idols were no longer exciting to see, performances became dull and every day blended together, that was until an unexpected man asked for your help.

Warnings: mentions of stalking, kind of near death experience, elevator trauma atp

A/N: so considering someone in my inbox said no one wanted to read my bullshit I thought id share some more bullshit for you all to enjoy! I'm trying to be more frequent with the twisted feeling updates, I just feel so sad now hobi isn't here :( also pls stop sending hate to my inbox whoever u are today was a hard day and hearing hurtful things really brings me down.

Prev | MasterList | Next

NaRae fell asleep two hours after you got there, she’d explained in detail how she was taking her regular route home, your parents house not being too far from her own to make the commute on foot when she was pushed against a wall on a dingy slip road and had the pictures snatched from her bag.

You’d reassured her that you weren’t mad, not at her anyway. It was a difficult situation and if anything you were truly angry with whoever was doing this. You couldn’t let the attack on Narae go amiss but there wasn’t much that could be done as of right now. Involving the police would only bring unwanted attention to the situation, it could jeopardise your job, your career, NaRae, and your parents not to mention the members themselves.

It would be a lie to say you’d slept well, the entire night you’d sat up, watching out of your window trying to piece together who was doing this, if it truly was a random fan how would they know about Jung-woo?

You shivered at the thought of it being him, although NaRae seemed to think it wasn’t, not believing the man brave enough to risk more jail time by breaching his restraining order. You’d quickly busied yourself with writing whatever you could, admittedly it wasn’t much, but you wanted to distract yourself, unable to sleep and thinking about the worst thing that ever happened to you certainly wasn’t something you wanted to do.

The hours passed quickly and soon enough you were dabbing concealer under your eyes trying to cover the bags forming from your restless night. The taxi ride was a quick one, traffic being clear.

In all honesty, everything was quite a blur, you had texted NaRae continuously all morning even sending her a food delivery gift card so she could buy herself breakfast. A sickening ball of guilt pooled in your stomach at the thought of someone you loved being hurt because of you.

You force yourself to will the thoughts away when you see Hoseok and Yoongi standing in the lobby, talking to the receptionist.

They both greeted you as you joined them, the receptionist's face going from happy to sour at the sight of you. Clearly, someone was jealous. Hoseok seemed to notice and dropped the smile he had worn with her, visibly irritated by the disgusted looks she shot you as she checked you in.

“How are you?” You asked them both as you walked to the elevator, waiting for the people inside to leave before the three of you entered the empty space.

“I’m good.” Yoongi nodded, he was always short-spoken but never rude and you appreciated that.

“I’m okay.” Hoseok seemed happier today, the stress he had been exhibiting the past few days seemed to have lessened. “Going with Hyung now to finish a song.”

“That’s good.” You were genuinely happy to hear everything coming together nicely. “What’s-“

Thud.

A screeching noise had all three of you covering your ears with your hands, your ID card and phone falling to the floor as the elevator shook.

“What’s happening?” Hoseok asked, his voice shaky.

The screeching noise continued before the elevator dropped, far too fast. It was at that moment you knew something was wrong.

“Lay down on your back right now.” You shouted to them both. “Put your arms over your face.” You followed your own instructions as they did, all three of you cramped lying on your backs in the small space.

The elevator was still falling, everything happening so fast before it abruptly came to a stop, all three of you jolting upwards.

All you could hear for a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours, was the laboured breathing of Yoongi and Hoseok beside you. You felt your own heart thinking against your chest, if you weren’t lying down you’d be shaking.

“Is everyone okay?” Yoongi asked from his position closest to the doors.

You took a moment to think, nothing hurt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m fucking terrified.” Hoseok spat out. “I can’t do this Hyung.”

“I know hope-ah, it will be okay. Hyung is going to press the emergency button okay?” Yoongi carefully slid closer to the panel, his body lifting just a little to hit the red “HELP” button.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge Hoseok, genuinely worried about the way the man has his eyes closed shut, the grip on his shirt so tight his knuckles have gone white.

“I have a fear- fear of elevators.” He gasped, chest resting and falling far too fast.

You knew how close he was to having a panic attack, your eye caught Yoongi who too seemed to be aware of the current situation.

Yoongi opened his mouth but the intercom inside the elevator went off, someone talking. “The elevator has malfunctioned, we have called for help they will be here soon. Try not to move much, it may cause it to drop down completely. You’re on floor 5 so do not move, do not stand, a drop from this height could be fatal if you do. ”

“At least someone is coming to help us.” Hoseok muttered out, none of you mentioning the warning of possible death. “Hyung I can’t do this.”

“You can hoba, come on this is nothing compared to some things we have done. Let’s just lay here and talk, try taking deep breaths.” Yoongi was calm, much calmer than you felt considering your current predicament but secretly you were grateful for his ability to remain clear-headed, although you weren’t panicking as much as you were scared.

“YN? You’re quiet are you okay?” Yoongi asked, peeking over Hoseok just a little. You suddenly realised just how small the space truly was when Hoseok also turned his head to look at you, his eyes meeting yours instantly. “Yn?” Hoseok whispered too.

You nodded, forcing a smile as best you could. “I’m okay just scared.”

“The fire department will be here soon.” Hosoek reassured you, putting his own fears to the side to comfort you. “Right Hyung?”

“Yeah, we should distract ourselves, what did you all do yesterday?” Yoongi asked and you bristled at that, you didn’t want to think about the night spent cradling NaRae's face in your lap after helping clean the cuts and scrapes over her face and hands. You couldn’t help but feel sick at the thought that you could die here and NaRae could be hurt again, Your parents could be stalked whoever is doing this clearly knows their address, even if you do live what’s so say they don’t have yours. It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over you.

“I need my phone.” You explained, cutting off whoever was talking, you’d apologise later right now you had to text NaRae, warn her, maybe warn your parents, if you died at least they would know. “In the corner by the door, can you reach it Yoongi-ssi?”

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked at the same time Yoongi mumbled “Let me see.”

Yoongi could in fact reach the device, pulling it closer with his foot before holding it out to you, the screen had cracked and just your luck it wouldn’t turn on. “Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, tears welling up under your eyes.

“Yn?” Hoseoks's frown deepened at the sound of your sniffles. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no.” You hiccuped, voice barely above a whisper. “We might die.”

“Don’t say that.” Hoseok had a horrified look on his face. “We will get out of here.”

You wanted to agree, to comfort the man who was so clearly scared, even if Yoongi wasn’t showing it you were sure he was scared too but you couldn’t, all you could think about was someone you loved being hurt because of you and you no longer being here to tell them. It was a bad idea to tell anyone, and it was an awful idea to tell the members but they were the only people here, if you died at least one of them may live, and one of them may be able to make sure whoever is stalking and threatening you and those you love won’t actually hurt anyone.

You took a deep breath, preparing for any questions. “I have a stalker and I’m not sure who it is.”

“What?” They both gasped in unison.

Hoseoks hand brushed against yours and without thinking you linked your pinkies together. “I have a stalker, it started with phone calls, yesterday they sent pictures of me with you and the other members to my parents’ house, my friend was there and found them before my parents could but she was attacked on the way home. I spent the day yesterday cleaning her cuts and trying to help her feel safe. They don’t want me around you.”The elevator fell into silence as you give them a moment to process what you’ve said.

“Shit.” Was the first thing that came from Yoongis mouth, you turned to look at Hoseok who had his jaw clenched, was he angry?

“How long?” Hoseok asked, finger tightening around yours. “When did it start?”

“It started with the whole translating thing, basically the whole time I worked here. They knew some personal things, things no one else knows…” You trailed off sparing them the details of the issue of jung-woo. “If something happens here, if I die in here and you live then please tell my parents they have to move. They aren’t safe at home anymore.”

“Don’t say that, don’t say things like that.” Yoongi interjected. “You aren’t going to die, none of us are.”

“Please Yoongi-ssi. I need to know my family will be okay.” You were grateful for Hoseok being between you, the sounds of your tears were embarrassing enough.

“If anything happens, which it won’t, I will personally make sure your parents are safe.” Hoseok looks at you with such a determination it can only be taken as a promise. “Have you gone to the police? Reported it to the company? It could be a sasaeng.”

“No, no I can’t do that. If I do it will just get worse, they said they would tell people personal things if I do. I can figure out who it is, I just need a little time.” You really had no idea where to start looking but you didn’t tell them that, truthfully you felt awful telling them something like this and then swearing them to secrecy but you didn’t see any other options available to you.

“We can’t keep this a secret, YN-ssi. It may be someone who has stalked us, we have had our fair share of encounters. We can help, the company can help.” Yoongi sounded sincere, sounded like he genuinely wanted to help.

You remembered NaRaes’ detailed explanation of the photos. “They have pictures of me inside the building, it must be someone who has access enough to take pictures of me with you all. They have the addresses of those I care about, at this point, I’m unsure if they know my address.”

Yoongi jolts upward, only stopping himself when he remembers where he is. “They have pictures of us.”

“So it could be a staff member.” Hoseok supplies.

Yoongi sighs. “That’s all the more reason to tell management. Who knows what kind of picture they have of us hoba, what if they have pictures of the others? Personal information? Relationship information? We have a lot to lose.”

“Hyung.” Hoseok paused, finally realising just how bad the situation had been. “You really think that?”

“Yes.” Yoongi nodded. “We have to protect ourselves. I’m sorry YN but I can’t sacrifice everyone and everything I care about for you.”

You didn’t say anything, Yoongis's words sounded so bitter, that you hated the way you instantly felt less than them. Of course, what they needed was more important than you, You were never blind to that fact but you hadn’t expected for them to both disregard the danger you and your family plus NaRae would be in if they did.

“We will tell Sejin once we get out. YN can you come? He will need to hear first-hand from you what happened, I know after everything today it’s probably too much but they need to know so they can stop any information about us being released or scandals happening. I promise you we will make sure you don’t get fired, you haven’t done anything anyway as long as you’re honest with him.” Yoongi is lying down once again, out of your eyesight and you are glad he is, otherwise, he may have noticed the sad scowl across your face. You shifted your head enough to look at the wall away, turned enough so Hoseok couldn’t see your frown.

Logically you understood they had more to lose, their image, and their lives could be ruined if someone had caught the wrong conversation. Although you could lose your job it would be nothing compared to the scandal that could happen if someone leaked important information about BTS. It didn’t matter that you had people who were at risk, at least not against important people.

Hoseok went to say something, whatever it was you weren’t entirely sure. A noise outside had you all a little startled before a voice started. “The fire department has arrived, we will begin to remove you now. Stay still until we can get the doors open.”

“Thank Fuck.” Yoongi huffed.

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starsfic · 2 years ago

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may I humbly ask for more SWK & Nezha stuff, fluff or hurt/comfort no hurt pls 😃🔫 maybe something more to that SWK plans to put his name back in the Book of Death ficlet

The receptionist to Sun Wukong’s lawyer didn’t say a word as Nezha stormed past. Based on what he knew from this firm’s biggest client, he was willing to bet Wukong didn’t wait to be let in.

No. He couldn’t think about him right now. If he did, he would start crying again. Nezha instead focused on this so-called lawyer. Wukong apparently had a will drawn up with her and everything.

Nezha wasn’t exactly sure why he was going for the lawyer.

He slammed the doors open.

The office was posh and fancy. It was large, with a large window revealing a view of the city street, and a desk neatly arranged. A small fridge was set into the wall. Photos decorated its surface, including a strip of what looked like photo booth pictures, with Wukong and a young woman. The same young woman sat behind the desk, tapping at a laptop.

Her eyes briefly looked up. “Li Nezha?”

He paused. “You know who I am?” Nezha couldn’t sense anything mystical about her, although the air smelled oddly sweet.

The explanation was actually simple, gestured to with a flick of a perfectly manicured finger. “Wukong called ahead. He warned me that you were pissed.” Her gaze never looked up from her laptop. “Give me a moment. I need to finish this email.”

Nezha bit back the urge to pull out his spear and instead pulled out a chair. He glanced out the window. It was a stunning view, but he was too angry to really take it in. He looked away when the laptop shut. "I was informed that you want to look at Wukong's will?"

"No. I want to..." The lawyer raised a brow and Nezha paused. He had a feeling that this wouldn't get far with this woman. He wasn't sure why Wukong's will was available to be seen now. Still, maybe he could use it. "Yes."

Shaoqing nodded and pulled out a drawer. The file she pulled out was yellow, with a familiar little monkey symbol drawn on it, and Nezha's heart lurched. She pulled out a piece of paper and laid it on the table. "Section three."

"Three?" Nezha opened it and scanned it. There was the whole sound body and mind thing which was debatable. The first and longest section was Qi Xiaotian's inheritance. It was almost everything, which made sense. The second section was surprisingly Xiaotian's father, laying out something about missed work hours and profits. He raised a brow at the amount. And then section three.

He read it. He read it again.

He didn't realize he was crying until the tears dripped onto the paper.

#my writing #Prince Nezha #Li Nezha #LMK #Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic

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winderlylandchime · 1 year ago

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Hello! So to recap my day: took the dude to the doctor. He in all seriousness during HIS OWN IMPORTANT CHECK UP, asked the doctor about testicular cancer and what can happen to a person. The doctor obviously got a bit worried and started checking his test results thinking he missed something. My brother continued to ask questions about it, such as ‘how can chemo affect sex? Is chemo or radiation the same for testicular cancer as it is for other cancers?’ And so on. I am trying to intervene to stop this madness and my brother talks over me so it’s as if im not even in the room. And mid questioning, the doctor is going through the test results looking kinda more and more worried until you could actually see a lightbulb go off and he just stopped dead in his tracks and went ‘(his name), please for the love of god, tell me that this is NOT about that guy from the tv show and that you have a legitimate reason as to why you’re asking me this’ And this idiot goes ‘okay, sure…but i think we both know the truth.’ The doctor got a little angry at him and had to explain that his check up is real life and Brian’s cancer is fake and my brother actually fucking gasped! Hand on his fucking chest! And went ‘well its real to me, it literally just happened!….hey did i tell you, I got a cat named Brian?’ Then he started showing pictures of Brian the cat to the nurses and the doctor had to bribe him with a coffee (for the next check up) if he focused on and i quote ‘himself and not a version of brian human OR feline’ also keep in mind, he is wearing his Team Brian shirt while all this is happening.

ANYWAY, then we got to the vet. And for some reason i thought he got all his weird energy out of him. Wrong. We walked in and he was holding the fucking cat like a baby. Mind you he IS STILL WEARING THE FUCKING SHIRT. He explains he is there to get any type of papers he would need and shots and all that for his new cat. I’m thinking wow look at him actually acting like an adult. Just to set the scene: it’s a waiting room with a counter and there were 3 people behind it, two are standing behind the receptionist (one was the vet and the other vet tech). And theyre like helping her with the cats file she’s putting together. She asks for his info and is writing it down and then she goes ‘and the cat’s name?’ And he looks at them (while he is holding the cat like a baby) and goes ‘this sweet little baby here, is Brian’ and they all look down at the file and she goes ‘…Brian. Okay’ and then they all stop and just slowly look up and look at his shirt and he’s confused and looks down and goes ‘oh no, that’s a different Brian. *long pause* he’s also a sweet little baby…except when he’s a dick’ And I’m dying inside but i think we can all tell by now I’ve experienced worse with him. So the vet asks to go with him and we’re in his office and he casually points to the shirt while checking the cat and goes ‘so who’s that Brian?’ This man went ‘okay so. My Brian is named after my other Brian’ and the vet tech nicely goes (thinking she’s dealing with a normal person) ‘oh so is that your boyfriend?’ and he goes ‘ha, i wish. No, it’s a tv character..besides he’s already taken so not like id have a shot’ and the vet tech clearly still trying to make conversation asks him ‘what tv character is that?’ And then all hell broke loose. It was like a kid in a candy store that was on speed. In a span of 5-10 minutes, he managed to tell the entire plot of season 1-3. And then he finished it off with ‘now I’m on season 4. They just broke up…again. AND HE HAS CANCER! On his balls! That’s just cruel. And now he’s all sick and Justin is gone and I am so so so scared. Thank god, i have my other Brian’ and then the receptionist walks in with papers and no knowledge what all happened and goes ‘so Brian is now all yours to take home’ and the fucking vet goes ‘i bet you wish she was talking about the other one, huh?’ And then when we got home, he called our parents on zoom to introduce the cat and that’s also a whole other story.

Dear sweet anon! I had a few minutes between meetings today and read these messages and showed up to a meeting where I'm the boss completely laughing and with tears streaming down my face.

Your brother is doing research about testicular cancer with his actual doctor. I'm dying. This is some fanfic prep he's doing. (Also, can we discuss Brian's death wish for a cancer with a 99% survival rate? And he calls Justin dramatic!)

‘oh so is that your boyfriend?’ and he goes ‘ha, i wish. No, it’s a tv character..besides he’s already taken so not like id have a shot’

DEAD. He, too, has a crush on Gale. Lesbians and straight men, I guess!

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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mymentalvice · 5 months ago

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My luck with psychologists: The odd. The sad. The misdirected. The bizarre.

The odd: The first time I saw a psychologist was fifty four years ago. I was 20 years old. I was working at MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology). {spoiler alert; at that time, MIT had the distinction of having the highest suicide rate of any university or college in the country}

I was walking down a hallway in the main building on campus. All of a sudden my heart started beating fast… extremely fast. I kept walking until I came to a clock and stopped. I can still remember every detail; where I was standing in the busy hallway, the location of the clock, what it looked like, and the sweeping second’s hand on the face as it made its journey around the numbers. I was feeling the fast beating of my heart in my chest as I put a finger on the pulse point of my wrist: 260 beats per minute.

The university’ infirmary was in the same hallway and very close, so I turned around and headed back to it, panicked that I was dying. I got to the infirmary and anxiously told the receptionist what was happening to me. She handed me a form on a clipboard and told to fill it out. My first thought was feeling exasperated in my time of dire need.

I sat down and started to answer a bunch of questions. (Two pages.). I’m feeling scared, resentful, angry, and frustrated that I just can’t be seen immediately… I’M DYING!

As I’m dutifully filling out a bunch of questions, (half of which don’t apply or I don’t know the answer to) a Doctor is leaning against a door to his office, chatting away with the receptionist. I’m looking at him, worried and thinking, ’m dying and you’re just standing there socializing.’ I can remember looking at him, and he was looking directly at me, and I wondered, ‘does he not see I might be dying?’ ‘Why can’t he see I’m in such a dangerous situation and why won’t he see me immediately?

I quickly finish with the forms and got up to hand it back to the receptionist. Without even looking at it she hands it to the Doctor she had been chatting with, and The Doctor goes into his office. I immediately take my pulse while looking at the second hand on an identical clock as the hallway; 220 bpm. The Doctor then appears in the doorway of his office and motions for me. He asks me what was happening. I told him and he takes my pulse; It has dropped to 180 bpm. I asked him if I was having a heart attack. “No, but I want you to see a psychologist tomorrow.” He then hands me an MIT business card with a psychologists name and information on it. Her office is located a few doors down from the infirmary.

I took the card and left the office, walking back down the same hallway, to get to work. I kept looking at the card. The psychologist was a woman and the name appeared to be of Greek heritage. This was a momentous occasion for me. I’m about to see my first psychologist. (I did have a post adolescent judgement about the fact that it was a woman, and not a man) Every stereo-typical idea about psychologists flooded my brain: What would it be like,? What would I say? All I could do was think about it. A huge turning point in my life.

The next day I walked into the psychologists office. It was a nice, refined looking atmosphere; Greek antiques, relics, pictures, and oriental rugs. I introduced myself, and then the very first thing she say’s to me; “Do you mind if I knit? It relaxes me.”

Of course I say yes. I vaguely remember only one thing that I talked about and mostly remember just being nervous. Nothing was exchanged that had any insight or impact. I only remember rambling on about some challenges and adjustments to my life. She just listened, all the while knitting.

When it was time to end, she looks at me as says; “I recommend you look into participating in an ‘encounter group.’ “OK,” I say and leave the room. I’m wondering, what is an encounter group? I can guess, but where are they? ( This is before computers and the internet.) She provided me with no resources or recommendations.

Nothing happened. And I was harboring deep unresolved issues that my heart was sending me a message about. So, as it goes with (many) PTSD survivors, I just figured out, as I’d been doing for the previous 7 years, that I was on my own.

The sad. Fast forward five years (or so). I knew I needed to talk with someone for help (but had no clue what I needed) and decided to contact an acquaintance of the community I was connected with, someone I knew casually. I recently had an episode of a subconscious, overwhelming sadness. A sadness that caused me to fight, with every once of strength, not to cry. It was intense; the effort to not allow the tears, to not give in, to not yield to the most intense urge to cry I had ever experienced. My body felt an intensity of struggle and resistance. And I had no idea exactly what was behind it.

I decided to try again, and booked a session. His office was also nice, rustic South West decor, comfortable feeling. I started to talk about some of the traumatic experiences of my life. This was a time before the development trauma therapy and PTSD. I continued to relate (for the first time) some of my history. He started to cry. He just sat in front of me, quietly, as tears filled his eyes, and I felt the immediate need to take care of him. (An old script of mine.)

All I rememember is the odd feeling I had, as I took out my checkbook to pay him. And then, later, thinking, ‘That’s strange, I just paid a psychologist to cry and I got absolutely no help or guidance.’ There was not even a sense that anything was accomplished, other than I caused someone to cry when revealing details about my past. Looking back, this was also before trauma therapy was developed.

The misdirected.

Fast forward 20 years. I’m working in a bookstore and was sorting through a shipment of newly arrived books. One of them was entitled PTSD, (with a subtitle I can’t remember.) This book had been ordered by a customer, who had paid a deposit for it because the store did not normally carry it. {No Amazon in those days.} The book was from an academic publisher, geared for professionals. It talked about the phenomena of trauma and PTSD. I took the book home, read it, and was amazed and excited. Finally I was learning about, and becoming aware of, something that I knew I was suffering with. I returned the book to the store and called the person {no text message, cell phones still not invented} to tell him the book had arrived and was available.

A few days later, I was working and happened to be at the counter when he came to pick the book up. I didn’t tell him I’d taken it home to read, but did make some small talk about PTSD (sounding well informed, I might add.).

He came into the store a few times, and each time I’d chat with him. I had been a counselor myself, for a few years, at a Residential Treatment program for teenage boys, ‘at risk’ (basically called ‘juvenile delinquents’ until that term became politically incorrect, and changed to ‘emotionally handicapped.’) To qualify for the program, you needed to be arrested several times for stealing a car (grand theft auto) Breaking into homes (B&E) truancy from school, and all from dysfunctional or abusive homes. There were many other reasons too.

We developed a rapport and met for lunch a couple of times. One day, at lunch, I asked him if he would be willing to see me sometime. “Of course, when do you want to meet again?” I replied, “I mean, would you be willing to see me professionally?” He responds that he doesn’t do individual counseling but he might be able to connect me with someone.”

I’m excited. Finally, after reading that book about PTSD, and discovering a language that describes my unresolved (trauma) issues, and the profound effect it has on my life, that I’m finally being connected to someone that can help me.

The first session went well. Two hours. I talked, (a lot). At the end of the session I pulled out my check book. I asked how much to make it out for. “Oh, I don’t know, you work in a bookstore, so $20 is OK. “

He ran the largest treatment program in Phoenix that provided care on several levels, at several facilities, for a broad spectrum of those in need of help, assistance, or counseling. Our appointments were at 5:30. This was a convenience to him, after his professional responsibilities of the day. As far as I could guess, I was his only client in this capacity, outside of his professional commitment to the program he ran as the Director.

Our almost weekly sessions averaged about 2 hours. Unheard of by traditional (American) psychiatric services. A few sessions ran over that 2 hours. I’d talk, and talk, and talk. Finally, I found someone that would listen to what happened to me. The details of what I experienced. I thought that is what I needed to do; If I just described in detail what happened in my life, growing up, it would resolve the issues that were unconsciously impacting my life in negative ways.

Early on, I brought him a book I thought he’d be interested in, “You work in a bookstore, why not just trade me a book for a session.” Given I got books at a 40% discount, I was basically receiving traditional psychotherapy for pennies.

It helped at the time, but looking back, and experiencing what subsequently happened in my life, I realized (too late) that the trauma’s and PTSD issues were never really dealt with. I was enjoying the psychotherapy, but not receiving the PTSD help I really needed. I didn’t realize then, what I know now. All that I was to learn, more deeply and fully about PTSD came later (recently) and was from books, or in depth google searches, blogs on the internet, and time.

A few years later I had a series of intense, overwhelming life’s circumstances hit me. I was no longer in Arizona. I emailed my therapist with lengthy, detailed letters describing my unresolved grief, and the emotional pain I was in. He always sent me insightful guidance, but it was not helping. I stopped emailing him after I got a very brutal explanation about my history. It was meant to put everything in perspective. It had the opposite effect.

Very recently, on my own, have I begun to experience a better understanding of the PTSD that seems to rule the underworld of my unconscious, and conscious thoughts. I’m learning to be present… with myself. I’m learning, at 74, that resolution is real and possible.

The bizarre: A year ago, I was struggling, I felt mentally exhausted. I was looking into doing Ketamine therapy at a clinic. I thought I would be helped if I could just disconnect from my mental anguish about my past. I did not have any idea what to do. I called a friend, who has a PH.D in psychology, and decided to take a risk and reveal to him, on the phone, that I needed help and was looking into ketamine and what did he think about ketamine? After giving him an extremely abbreviated description of what was happening in my life, he said, “It sounds like you’re just having an existential crisis.” I replied, “I feel like I abrogated my destiny.” His response; “That’s nice, write a poem about it.”

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mad-hunts · 8 months ago

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｡゜(｀Д´)゜｡ ( go crazy hehe )

miserable. absolutely miserable is the only way that barton could describe what he was feeling right now. and yet, that didn't even seem to begin to cover the kind of horror that was in his dream at the same time. or, well, perhaps calling it a nightmare would be more appropriate. what he was seeing, or picturing in his head more like, felt so realistic that it seemed as if he'd somehow been brought back to that moment in time at first; even though that would be logically impossible. the moment in question unearthed a part of barton that he'd tried so hard to tuck away during his daily life, but was always there, waiting for some sort of catalyst so it could properly break free from the confines of his mind. it was the part of him that felt broken.

from the moment he saw the light streaming out from beside him between the slats of the closet he had hidden in at the time and the sounds of angry, almost manic shouting coming from wesley, his father... barton knew where this was going. there would be crashes in the house after that, as if wesley had become so filled with red-hot rage, that he couldn't physically contain it. the blonde had never been the religious type, even as a child, but he remembered praying to himself while he sat in that dark and cramped closet that he wouldn't be caught by him. barton had just wanted to help his father by getting rid of that nasty stuff he used to drink as he used to consider it, or more specifically alochol, by hiding it all in some place he'd never find it.

but wesley didn't take it that way at all and now he was on the war-path to do something that would leave a permanent scar on barton. he could practically smell the foul stench coming off of him had made now whenever it happened once again, brought about by someone who was supposed to love him, through... the blonde suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder shake him awake and he jolted up in his seat then as if he was scared out of his wits. which, considering what he had just waken up from, was kind of understandable. one of the first things he was able to comprehend upon waking was that his whole body was shaking and he couldn't get it to stop. his pulse was thundering in his ears, too, adrenaline coursing through his veins with such a fervor that it was almost like it was always meant to do that. he was cold, also, but felt the distinct feeling of sweat clinging to his body.

was he even really here right now? barton looked around like he was expecting something to pop out at him, paranoia seemingly getting the best of him. there was something making it hard for him to see. it was tears, he soon realized, them falling down his cheeks freely while he still was feeling slightly suspicious that maybe that was the reality and what he'd just woken up to was fake. barton said nothing to the stranger that had woken him up at first, for he literally couldn't form the proper words to explain what exactly he was going through, hands covering the entire upper half of his face. the shaking of his body seemed like something that would not be going away anytime soon. so, barton just let it happen.

after a few moments spent in silence, he finally was able to face the stranger next to him, voice coming out slightly nasally and like he was out of breath, ❝ um... i, i'm sorry. this doesn't usually happen to me while i'm — at the office. ahh, how'd you get in here? there is supposed to be a receptionist in the front that you check in with, ❞ barton sniffled as he got up slightly unsteadily from his chair and let out a dry laugh at just how awkward this must've been for mya. she'd probably just come here to get checked out, then stumbled across this, ❝ just give me a minute, and i'll be right with you for whatever you need. whenever you came in here today, this is probably not at all what you were expecting on seeing, huh? ❞

another dry laugh at his own expense. god's, why did this have to happen to him?

#furiaei #alright... well i heard ' go crazy ' and the writer in me immediately went ' BET ' / j lol #no but seriously i hope this starter is alright with you! i don't want to make anyone uncomfy on here since i know that ab*se can be a very #triggering topic so just let me know if i need to change anything about this if you are and i will!! buttt yeah. i know this-#might be... more than a little sad to say the least though i tried my best to match the feeling of what it's like to wake up from a-#nightmare the best i could. so here we go as it's probablyyy only going to get more angsty from here #tw: mentions of child abuse.#tw: mentions of an very unhealthy family dynamic.#tw: nightmares.

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clefairymuke · 3 years ago

Text

eloquent | one

pairings: levi x reader | eren x reader (fwb)

word count: 4799

tw: [chapter]: swearing, alcohol consumption, references to marking (hickeys), drunk sex

[fic]: age gap, professor/student pairing, smut, hate sex, angry sex, casual sex, i’ll add more as i go

themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies to lovers, slow burn (smut is immediate but feelings aren’t), professor levi, authority kink, extremely smutty, i should be ashamed, teasing & edging, pining so hard it's embarrassing, dom levi/sub reader

note from the author: sorry i disappeared i’ve literally written so much of this fic but i had really bad block for the beginning but inspiration struck today i hope you like it

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You recline your head against the cold black leather of the sofa, eyes squinting up at the analog clock on the wall above you. 11:06. You glance at your phone once more for good measure, the reminder banner still bright and undismissed.

September 7, 2021 Advising Dr. Ackerman - Johnson Building R 19 10:30 A.M.

Looking at the great dark oak door across from you sends ice through your veins and unease to your stomach. The receptionist — a rather unkind woman with frizzy blonde hair who wore a nametag that read “Cheryl” on her painfully lime green blouse — has assured you, regardless of her level of sarcasm, that Dr. Ackerman had not forgotten you, and was simply a very busy man. Forty minutes late, though? You ask yourself, your finger twirling idly in the front of your hair. You sigh. Published author or not, he would at least shoot me an E-mail. You glance at Cheryl again and straighten your back, pointing a fake grin her way as her eyes pry at you from behind her thick, round glasses.

“I’m sure he’s wrapping it up,” she says, her nasally voice shrill in your ears. “Dr. Ackerman entertains a lot of visitors. He’ll get to you when he gets to you.”

You nod back at her, turning your head away before she can see the look of annoyance on your face. You see the manilla folder on the sofa next to you, a bit too thick to close completely. It was your last years’ work — scattered scenes, chapters, and ideas for your latest project. It was your only project, really, since the sins of your past will likely lie dormant in your Google Drive to never be seen again. This one, however, is your blood, sweat, and tears. You can’t bear to think too deeply about the words on the pages right now. You’re patiently waiting at the gate of the lion’s den.

Your eyes have wandered the walls twice by now, but they’re drawn back to the neatly arranged frames that surround the oak door. Pulitzer Prize in Fiction. Dr. Ackerman in the most expensive suit you’ve ever seen shaking hands with Harper Lee. Edgar Award for Best Novel. Doctorate’s degree in English. Dr. Ackerman, no older than 24, holding a copy of his novel Serpentine on the set of Good Morning America. He’s a fucking legend.

As if that isn’t intimidating enough, he has a reputation. He tends to lose his temper and can be a rather unconstructive critic when presented with the works of others. He trended on Twitter last year when a life-long fan of L. K. Ackerman and indie author sent him their debut novel and asked for his critiques — he tweeted pictures of the pages he disliked most with insulting annotations in the margins, captioned, “Abysmal. Consider a less difficult career.” He proceeded to block most everyone who sent him backlash, including his own social media manager and the First Lady of the United States of America.

And the cherry atop it all, the thing that’s been crawling underneath your skin and breathing down your neck since you first received your advisor assignment: the signed copies of each of Dr. Ackerman’s novels on the tip-top of your bookshelf, alongside the photo of you and your favorite author, L. K. Ackerman, at a signing for his latest book, and a special limited edition Serpentine bookmark with a note on the back:

thank you for your support.

if you really dream about writing, never let anything get in your way.

levi

Will he recognize you? That’s a tough one. Sure, you’ve been to multiple signings and have “met” him many times. Still, you doubt people like him remember the faces of people like you. The crowds likely got very annoying, and he probably said the same script and wrote the same note to you as he did every other person in line. At least, you hope so. Dr. Ackerman thinking you’re obsessed with him wouldn’t be very helpful to your teacher-student relationship. You look up to him a great deal, and his books are easily your favorite stories you’ve ever read, but you aren’t obsessed with the author himself. If he does unfortunately recognize you, you hope he’ll understand that. You wince a bit at the thought of him laughing in your face.

The door handle rattles at 11:18. Dr. Ackerman strolls out, a wrinkle-free brown blazer draped neatly over his arm and his pinstripe tie hanging fashionably loose atop a grey button-down shirt. The woman who follows behind him, however, looks rather disheveled; her blonde hair is all but falling out of what looks like it used to be a neatly-braided bun, and little black mascara stains shine just below her lash line. Her tight-fitting blouse has a button blown open right at her chest, which she nonchalantly tries to cover with her cardigan. Your mouth threatens to drop open as she walks by and your eyes catch a deep purple hickey on her left breast.

This was the meeting that pushed nearly an hour over? You feel your eyebrows pinch together in anger before she’s out the door and you force them to relax again. Fuck it. You think, picking up the file folder next to you. No point in arguing. You lift your eyes to look at Dr. Ackerman again, watching as he takes long strides to the desk where Cheryl, who is training to work the reception desk in Hell, sits and paints her nails. “Tell me I’m done for the day, Cheryl,” he says, his tone both bored and irritated. You want to scoff, but you decide against it. He wasn’t this inconsiderate when it was the fans that line his pockets.

“Sorry, boss, that little bird over there is waiting on you,” she sighs, rolling her eyes and pointing your way. Your gaze moves from her stubby finger to Dr. Ackerman’s disappointed face. He looks at you, his eyes shooting from your head to your feet, and then back to your eyes again. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, jutting out his chin and accentuating the sharpness of his jaw. You feel like all but your terribly dry mouth has turned to jello.

“Oh?” he questions, straightening and taking a step toward you. “What do you need?” The question sounds almost rude, as if he’s rushing you out the door. You try not to take it personally. You clear your throat.

“I had an advising appointment scheduled with you for 10:30 A.M., Dr. Ackerman. Sorry if it’s any inconvenience,” you tell him, ignoring the fact that he’s wasted an hour of your day already. Whatever satisfaction you might get from chewing him out isn’t worth a bad first impression.

“Am I supposed to already know your name or something?” he asks. You furrow your brow, your face contorting in anxiety. So, he does recognize you. This just became the worst day of your life.

You chuckle nervously, gripping the manilla folder a little tighter than you should. “I was actually really hoping you wouldn’t recognize me. Um, I —” you break off, laughing again. “I’ve been to each of your book signings. But I’m not a fangirl or anything, I promise. I didn’t expect you to remember my name, don’t worry about it.” You wish there was some way to just swallow every word you just said back inside of you. Dr. Ackerman now looks uncomfortable, and Lilith, mother of all monsters, also known as Cheryl, is giggling not-so-silently into her hands.

He raises one eyebrow at you, and then holds out his hand to shake yours. “I just meant you neglected to introduce yourself. If you’re always this nervous, I think a Xanax prescription would be very helpful. Your name?” He asks dryly.

You take his hand and tell him your name, trying to shake off the pure mortification you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I just admire your work and I’ve met you a few times as a result. I was worried I’d look like a crazy superfan,” you tell him, the little voice in your head screaming at you to stop talking.

He chuckles and places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to his office. “My first piece of advice for you is to work on your people skills. You must be awful at networking.” His bluntness shocks you, but you just push the anger away and focus your attention on the room in front of you. Despite the unfortunate events that took place in this office for at least the past hour, it’s utterly spotless. A great mahogany desk sits at the center of the room in front of a tall, black-framed window that sat overviewing Lake Mustang, the unusually large pond that adorns the west side of campus. It’s a beautiful view, and you can tell by the reading nook nestled in the corner that he enjoys it often. Two large bookshelves sit on each of the walls to your sides, brimming with pristinely cared-for hardcover books, old and new. A floral-patterned armchair sits facing his desk, and he motions for you to sit in it with long, slender fingers.

The romance author in you sees a student who desperately wants an “A” and the dark-academia-esque English professor with dark eyes and slender fingers who could give her extra credit, if. . .

As much as you may see where the romance author in you is coming from, now is not the time. You try to shake the thoughts free from your skull. Guesses at where Dr. Ackerman laid out the blonde from the lobby poke at the very back of your brain — he probably bent her over his desk (and over his lap), or sat in his big leather chair while she climbed on top. A thought crosses your mind about the versatility of an office space, and you tuck an idea for a love scene away in your mental filing cabinet.

He sits in his desk chair across from you, holding his hand out for the manila folder you’re digging your nude-painted fingernails into. You suck in a cold breath through your teeth. You hand it to him, loosening your iron grip and trying as hard as you can to shake the nervousness that overwhelms you. You can’t help but assume he’s going to hate it. When the rough yellow paper leaves your palm, it feels like your heart is trying to burst from your chest and go with it.

You put your hand to your mouth and clear your throat, watching carefully as he bends the scarcely attached clasp and pulls the typed papers from the safety of the folder. “The first page is a synopsis of the plot and a table of contents. You’ll see a key for the colored tabs. First are the scenes and excerpts that I feel are my most sound work. I thought that would be a good starting ground.” You search his ash-colored eyes for any signs of opinion, studying his face. He looks very young for his age, his jaw sharp and his skin soft and clear. His eyes are stormy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so truly grey, nor ones with such intensity. If looks could kill, they would come from this man, you think. Still, his face is charming. Even pushing 40, he’s incredibly handsome.

The sound of the papers thudding against the desk pulls your thoughts back to the present. “I don’t care to read all of this shit when I have the author in front of me. I prefer organic responses anyway,” he states, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the desk. “Is this the piece you sent in an excerpt of? I remember your application.”

You freeze, biting at the inside of your lip before opening your mouth to speak again. You remembered your submission; you hadn’t yet titled it, but you called it “The Bane of My Existence” in writing workshops and conversations with your friends. The title had nothing to do with the plot, only your honest feelings about the grueling slowburn that laid claim over three entire years of your life. “Uh, no, sir, I unfortunately abandoned that project a while ago. But this one is much more —”

He cuts you off with a laugh, and you can tell by the tone that it’s at your expense. You shrink. “I’m sorry, I guess we’ll have to reschedule. Pull that project back out and bring me some good pages. I chose you for that piece. I’ll be the one to let you know if you should abandon it,” he tells you, an authoritative edge in his voice. Before you can even register that he’s kicking you out, Dr. Ackerman is up and opening the door, motioning you out with his arm.

Autopilot overpowers the shock that's moving through your limbs to grab your folder and walk out the door, saving at least a little bit of face on what’s lining up to be your most mortifying experience yet. You don’t tell him goodbye, since the tears pushing behind your eyeballs would surely break free if you did; still, you feel his eyes trained on your back as you pass him. “It was nice to meet you,” he tells you insincerely. “Come back at the same time on Thursday with something I want to read.”

You squeak out, “Yes, sir,” as you pass Cheryl at her desk. You try not to look at her, afraid that she’ll see the tear that’s now traveling down your cheekbone, but the horrible sound as she sucks her teeth and snickers beneath her breath confirms your fears. You silently hope that the devil is ready for her to transfer to his front desk very soon.

The automatic door opens out to campus, and the sunlight feels like pure relief on your face. For a moment, you consider dropping out and heading home — Zeke might be upset to have to find a new roommate, but at least you’d never have to face Dr. Ackerman again. Your friends would be supportive. You could go to cosmetology school, or write for your hometown newspaper.

You need to call someone before you actually start packing your things and booking a flight. You pull out your phone as you walk down the cobblestone path, dodging incoming grad students on your trek to the parking lot. Leaves blow over your boots every few moments, the breeze slipping through the holes of your knit sweater. Autumn is beginning to settle in. You scroll through your recent call log. Mom (3), Zeke, Eren, Mom (2), Zeke (4), Tinder Jean, and, finally, Mom (2). You sigh. Your social life needs work.

In your defense, your mother is an excellent conversationalist, and your roommate and his little brother should definitely count as friends. Tinder Jean was a mistake, though, and you can’t defend yourself for that. You frown before hitting the FaceTime button next to Zeke’s name. Your eyes fall on the front of your car, only a few feet away. You pick up the pace and grab the driver’s door handle, throwing yourself in and slamming the door. You can cry now.

Zeke’s face appears on your screen, a pen tucked into the blond hair above his ear and the clear glow of a computer screen in a dark room falling across his face. “Make it quick,” he says, “I think I’m having a breakthrough.” Before you can respond, you see him look away from the computer and at your face, your eyes a little swollen and your lip quivering like a child’s. You hear him mutter the word “Fuck,” before the light switches on and his computer turns off. He picks up the phone from its place on the desk and holds his face square in frame. “What happened, kid?”

“I’m sick of this shit, Laura. I mean it,” he said sternly, his voice getting louder and more desperate with each word. He could see her nails digging into her palms. His eyes followed one drop of blood as it flowed from the inside of her hand to the tip of her manicured thumb. His breathing grew ragged.

Laura, however, didn’t say a word. She knew there was no undoing what she just did to him. Everyone was going to hate her. But she hated him, and she wanted to hurt him, and he deserved it, and fuck everything else. Because Laura is a terribly written character and I would kill her off if she wasn’t half of the romance in this romance novel.

Fuck this scene. This is the worst thing I’ve ever written. Fsadjgfg

You watch the cursor blink a few times before you drag it across the two pages you just wrote and smash the delete button. The Bane of Your Existence, once your proudest work and now your most infuriating. Of course this is what Dr. Ackerman wants. Maybe Cheryl already works for the devil, and his name is Levi.

You groan before fishing your phone from your back pocket, opening Snapchat and tapping Eren’s avatar hesitantly.

party tonight?

Before you can lock your phone again, he’s typing. You stifle a relieved grin. You need to relax.

i’ll pick you up @ 9

Zeke is not a friend that attends parties at your side by any means. You’ve never seen Zeke be more adventurous than bong rips in his bedroom or cheap whiskey on the rocks on the sofa. His brother, on the other hand, is the frat boy of your mother’s nightmares. You’re closer to Eren’s age, anyway, but Zeke — albeit a late bloomer— was the more intelligent brother, and was often your first choice to work with. Once you finished up general education, Eren wasn’t in fiction writing courses anyway. He still attends the state school a half hour away for undergrad, but he and Zeke are too close for you not to see him often.

Zeke has been holed up in his room since he started working on a new short story last week — he writes horror, and he’s nothing to bat your eyes at. He has an immense amount of talent for creating suspense and making typewritten letters genuinely frightening. You hope he’ll let you sample his new one soon. You smile to yourself when you hear his fingers clicking furiously on his keyboard as you pass his bedroom. Your eyes lock on the oven clock as you enter your kitchen, the bright green digital numbers reading, “6:37.” Not too much time to kill.

You pull the pantry door open by its cool metal handle, rummaging through endless empty boxes until you reach the snack cakes in the very back. You retrieve two before putting back the now-empty box; you and Zeke are currently at war until he starts cleaning up his beard hairs immediately after he trims. It’s disgusting. So, you aim to get his hopes up that his favorite snacks are waiting safely in the pantry only to be met with heartbreaking disappointment.

You walk through the wide arch that separates your kitchen and living room and plop down on the shitty Wal-Mart futon, grabbing the remote on your way down. You turn on the cooking channel and turn your attention to your phone, opening Tinder and shoveling half of a cream-filled cupcake into your mouth.

The dating pool in this town is rather weak, you decide. Of course, it is a college town directly adjacent to another college town, and you are on what is traditionally used as a hookup app; still, you lament on your limited choices. College and relationships haven’t melded very well for you in the past. Even on breaks, you get far too immersed in writing to spend enough time with your significant other to satisfy them. Your mom tells you that it’s a good thing, and that it shows your motivation for school — but you just don’t care to bother with it. Still, you have needs just like everyone else. And every writer draws inspiration from something. You close it out with a deep sigh before sinking your remaining time into a farming game you saw an ad for on Facebook. You’re debating spending ten dollars of your hard earned money on gems when Eren texts you.

omw

You close out the godforsaken game and retreat to your bedroom to get dressed. You pull on a tight-fitting black sweater dress falling at your mid-thigh; you want to be sexy, but not cold. The breeze had chilled you a bit earlier. You sit on your bed and tug your favorite fall boots just over your knees, taking a minute to lace them before standing again. Your hair and makeup from your advising appointment are passable enough, you figure, looking in the mirror quickly before getting your purse and going to Zeke’s door.

You knock twice and wait a second before nudging the door open and poking your head in. You see him in the same spot as earlier, hunched over his keyboard with the lights turned off. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know me and Eren are going to a party tonight. He’s on his way to get me,” you tell him, already starting to close the door before he can reply.

“Be safe,” he calls out to you. “Call me if you need a ride, Ubers are high around here.” You shoot him a thumbs up before pulling the door shut and turning on your heel. Your phone vibrates again as you walk down the hallway.

here

You take your keys off the hook by the door and make sure to lock it behind you before turning and scanning for Eren’s red Ford Focus. You practically skip down the steps when you spot him, more than ready to put your day behind you. You pull the handle and settle in, breathing in the smell of cigarettes, weed, 5 gum, and the floral air freshener plugged in on his AC vent. Eren greets you with a squeeze on your knee, a cigarette sitting between his lips and his hair falling in his eyes from the half-up bun he’s made his trademark. He grabs the pack of Marlboros and gestures it your way, and you shake your head. “Do I ever accept the offer?” You ask him.

“After a few drinks,” he snorts, spinning the volume dial on his radio until some screamo song is audible. He swings his arm around and rests his hand on the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking space, leaving it there for a few minutes as you begin your journey to Eren’s frat house. The two of you discuss your experience with Dr. Ackerman as you make your way down the highway, and you try your best to keep calm. Try as you might, though, you can’t seem to be an optimist. Your greatest inspiration refused to read your most prized work. A lesser author might jump off a cliff. You haven’t decided how low you’ve sunk yet, but you’re starting to get there.

“Fuck ‘im,” Eren says nonchalantly after listening to you whine for a few minutes. “Bring him the other shit, let him read it, and don’t worry about what he says. Plenty of people have written plenty of books without the help of that fucker.” He looks at you and shrugs his shoulders, and his green eyes look sincere.

You smile and shake your head at him. “I’m stuck with him unless he sticks me with another advisor. His opinions affect my degree progression.”

Eren sucks his teeth, tossing his finished cigarette butt out the window. “Then make him reassign you. Be a hellish bitch. I’m sure it won’t be that hard,” he teases you, poking your side and making you yelp.

Still, his idea isn’t awful. “Good plan, Eren,” you tell him, and you mean it. “If he already hates me, it can’t be that hard of a push. I’ll just be a hellish bitch.”

Eren bares his white teeth at you in a playful smile before getting another cigarette from his cup holder and lighting it expertly despite the wind. He turns up his music one more time, now a bit too loud for conversation. “I need to get in the zone for the party,” he shouts, accidentally blowing a bit of smoke in your face. You cough. “I need to get laid tonight.”

“Me, too,” you shout back, running your hand through your hair. “I’ll find someone for you if you find someone for me. Wingman me.”

“Deal.”

Several hours and drinks later, you aren’t quite sure who you’re dancing on. Although that would typically be alarming, you don’t consider it. The only thing you’re considering is how secure his hands feel on either side of your waist and how warm his lips feel on your neck (and how it feels when he grinds against you, but you’re trying to ignore that part before you get all drunk and desperate). You see Eren — two blurry versions of him, really — drunkenly grinding on a redhead, and you start to stumble his way, the drink in your hand spilling out and your former dance partner shooting a hurt look at your back. By the time you’re halfway there he’s noticed you already, and has nudged the redhead over to the next guy, waving you over with a smile on his face.

“Are you having fun?” He shouts as soon as you’re in earshot, slurring through his words.

“Hell yeah!” you tell him, closer now. You stumble right into him and use his shoulders for stability, causing him to wobble and nearly take you both down. You giggle when you catch yourself, laying your head on his chest and breathing out in relief — relief from what, you aren’t quite sure.

“Do you want to dance?” he asks over the music, wrapping his arms around you and clumsily trying to turn you around. You oblige him and pull his hands to your hips, turning around and starting to move to the rhythm of the hip hop song blaring from the sound system. You feel his long fingers fasten around your waist, and he pulls you in closer, letting you grind on him to the music. The two of you are too drunk to care, and it won’t be weird in the morning. You two have spent the night together after a few too many parties, but it’s probably better than fucking a stranger and having to go get tested afterwards. You don’t seem to want to have sex with each other when liquor isn’t involved, anyway, so preserving your friendship is never really a concern.

Not that you’re able to think about this right now, of course. You’re too many drinks deep to focus on anything but Eren’s jeans growing tighter behind you as you rub against him. When his lips fall to your neck, the crowded room starts spinning even faster than it already was. You wrap your arms around his neck as he leans in behind you, securing his mouth on you as you wiggle your hips playfully. You feel his teeth prick against your sensitive skin as he smiles against you. “Come on,” he says into your shoulder. “Bathroom.”

You release each other from your holds and stagger together to the bathroom down the hall. Hopefully you don’t remember how obvious it was in the morning. Apparently all it takes is seven shots to make you try to pull Eren’s shirt off in the hallway in front of other party attendees. Still, the two of you stumble into the bathroom, you feeling around desperately for the light switch while Eren shuts and locks the door. When his lips finally crash on yours, your tongues needy and sloppy and your hands wandering each other’s bodies without reserve, you feel a hunger you didn’t know you were neglecting. You push your hands up his shirt, combing your fingers across his warm skin and toned muscles, letting out a breathy moan.

With his right hand, Eren grips the back of your thigh, his rough hands warm against your skin as he hoists you against the cold tile wall and wraps your legs loosely around his hips. With his left, he starts at his belt. Fuck, you think, a fleeting moment of clarity before you let Eren really make you forget about everything for a while. Zeke got so pissed off last time we did it.

But, just like that, the thought is gone again, and he pulls your panties to the side.

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bonus scene [eren x reader | nsfw]

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years ago

Text

The one where Ethan is pretending

Description | When you bump into Ethan in Paris, you fail to mention that you know exactly who he is. You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to keep it up when he asks you out for a drink.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | Ethan x gn!Reader (with the exception of one female pet name)

Word Count | 2071

Taglist | @ginny-lily @ethaneskin @tabi-toast @mywritingonlyfans

***

There was no way you were staying in the same place that Måneskin had just arrived at. There was no way, you kept telling yourself. Paris was a massive city, the number of available hotels in the hundreds, maybe thousands if you had to guess. And yet, somehow, you had managed to pick the one place one of your new favourite obsessions would spend their time. You knew it didn't mean much, the hotel had more than a couple of rooms and with your luck, you wouldn't even catch a glimpse of them. But as you kept scrolling through Instagram, seeing pictures of people meeting the four Italians in front of the place you had checked into mere days ago, you couldn't fight a little bubble of excitement forming in your chest.

Well, you told yourself you wouldn't get your hopes up. And you definitely wouldn't hang around in front of the hotel or in the lobby. You had booked your solo trip to Paris months ago, after dreaming about visiting the city for most of your life, and you would be damned if you wouldn't stick to your itinerary and enjoy your holiday. However - you had gotten up at what felt like dawn to go queue up for the Louvre and spent the last couple of hours there, so you decided that a nap was the way to go if you wanted to continue exploring the city in the evening. Fortunately, the walk back to the hotel wasn't long.

You had made it to the last corner before entering the street you were aiming for, when two giggling girls ran past you, unceremoniously bumping your shoulder and sending you tumbling. You were fully expecting to hit the ground, but instead, a pair of strong arms caught you and brought you back to your feet. A pair of strong arms belonging to a strong chest that you came face-to-face with, belonging to a gorgeous face, belonging to Ethan Torchio.

"Tu vas bien?" His broad French accent confused you, momentarily forgetting about the little detail that you were, in fact, in France, as you stared at the drummer in front of you, who was still protectively holding onto your upper arms.

"Huh?" Was the immensely intelligent answer that thus left your mouth.

"Oh, not French?"

"No, definitely not French." You finally said, taking a step back from him to avoid the increasing awkwardness you were feeling about being touched by him, while the two girls who had previously knocked you down were now lingering around the two of you suspiciously, not coming close enough to be rude, but obviously desperate to get their own piece of Ethan. "No, just a tourist."

"Me too," Ethan smiled. "A tourist, I mean. Well, kind of. I'm here with my band so it's not like we have time to do a lot of sightseeing."

He briefly turned around to look at the two girls who still seemed frustrated at you hogging his time and gave a small wave before turning back to you. It was the movement that made you realise he had the most gorgeous red rose tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Well, it used to be the most gorgeous rose - after your little crash, it had bent in the middle, the top hanging only by a thread, in the most miserable fashion.

"Oh, no I am so sorry!" You gasped, carefully grasping the delicate petals that were on the verge of breaking off. "I must have crashed into it when you caught me."

"Don't worry about it," Ethan said, softly, and pulled the stem from his waistband. The flower looked even more tragic now, in all its crushed glory. "A fan gave it to me a few minutes ago."

"Huh?" You surely proved yourself articulate in this conversation. You mentally hit yourself, angry at yourself for being so easily flustered.

"There are a few fans waiting in front of our hotel, because we're in a ... band ... and things."

Apparently, your awkwardness was contagious. Also, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Ethan thought that you had no idea who he was.

"Let me get you a new one," you suggested. "There's a flower shop just two doors down from the hotel - I mean, I am staying there, too, so I know."

He smiled at you with a serenity and calmness that had your heart soaring. You decided you'd be willing to buy him a million roses if only he kept smiling at you like that for a little longer.

"Well, I've got to go now, but it would be rude to refuse your offer. Meet you in the bar of the hotel at 8 tonight?"

No way this was happening. You almost gasped, but at the last moment managed to keep your cool, outwardly. On the inside, you were a mess. Bumping into the drummer of one of your favourite bands was a wonderful chance meeting as it was - but this almost sounded like a date. Now, of course, Ethan wouldn't be asking you out on a date. That would be ridiculous. But there was also no way you would miss out on a chance to meet him again. Preferably without those two giggling girls that were still standing behind him, watching every move of your interaction but luckily too far away to hear what you were saying.

"It's a d- uh, deal," you quickly recovered before almost spitting out the word date instead. Ethan chuckled.

"Right, see you later, then, for our... deal."

He had seen right through you anyway, you thought. But he was still laughing, so it wasn't all that bad - right?

With another quick touch to your upper arm, Ethan walked past you, turning around just one last time.

"My name is Ethan, by the way. You can tell me yours tonight."

Oh, you would.

***

The rest of the day was... well, restless. You couldn't nap because your mind was a whirlwind and your stomach was twisting with excitement. So instead, you had made sure to get the prettiest red rose you could find in the flower shop down the street - while slightly wincing at the price that a shop in the center of the city of love demanded - and put it in a glass the hotel receptionist had been nice to give to you. Then you had decided that there was no way you would manage to relax before 8, so you allowed yourself a few hours simply wandering through the city, no real destination, no itinerary for once, just a nice long stroll with nothing but your thoughts.

At five past eight - being slightly late was still cool, right? - you did a quick check-up in the mirror, realised you were not going to get any happier with your appearance whatever you tried to do at this point, grabbed the rose from its makeshift vase, and left your room.

It only took you a second to see him when you entered the little bar on the ground floor of the hotel. Even in the dim light, the white blouse that he had already been wearing when you met for the first time stood out like a sore thumb. Long dark hair fell over his back in a silky fashion. You had never wanted to touch anyone's hair more.

You took one more deep breath and then walked over to Ethan, smile on your face and rose in your hand.

"A rose for the handsome gentleman?"

Ethan almost jumped, apparently not having heard you coming, but quickly a smirk spread over his face while he stood up.

"I'll take the rose and your name, then."

"It's Y/n."

Ethan greeted you with a soft kiss to your cheek, before taking the rose, pulling your chair back, and inviting you to sit. It was almost ridiculously romantic and if it had been anyone else it would have seemed over-the-top and off-putting, but with Ethan it seemed sincere and fitting.

"Glass of wine, Y/n?" He asked as he casually waved the waiter over to your table.

"Just one. I want to get up early tomorrow for some more sightseeing."

***

It didn't end up being just one glass. It ended up another one and then a bottle shared. But it also ended up with three hours of talking, laughing, teasing, and slowly moving your chairs closer together until you were basically sitting on the same side of the table. You had asked him about his band - still trying to cover up that you knew exactly who they were out of pure fear that he'd reject you for being a fan - and he has asked about your job, your life, your family. In fact, you only left the bar when the waiter had started throwing you annoyed looks while demonstratively cleaning the tables around you.

"I'll bring you to your room," Ethan chuckled lightly as you waited for the elevator. His hand was on the small of your back and it was spreading tingles all through your body. You were standing close enough that you could smell his perfume, a light yet musky scent that encapsulated everything about him.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he lightly pushed you inside and you found yourself not minding him leading you like this. You pressed the button for your floor, leaning against the wall as you studied the man in front of you. He was a thing of beauty, no question about it, and when he smiled down at you the way he was right then and there, he made you feel like one, too.

"I had a lovely evening, Y/n. Is there any chance I could get your number?"

What a question, you thought to yourself. You'd be mad to refuse him!

You dug your phone out of your cluttered bag. You had switched numbers just a few weeks ago and had not yet learned the new digits by heart. Quickly, you switched it on - and your heart sank. Oh crap. You had completely forgotten about this.

The lockscreen of your phone was a picture of Måneskin.

As you looked up, you realized Ethan had seen. And, contrarily to the reaction that you were anticipating, he was wearing a massive grin.

"Ethan, I am so sorry, I should have told you immediately when we met but I kind of just stumbled into this and you were explaining you were in a band and I didn't know how to say-"

"Dolcezza, calm down. I've known all along."

"Wait - what?"

He didn't explain. Instead, he pointed to your bag - your tote bag - your Måneskin tote bag.

You truly felt like the least intelligent life form on earth.

"I've been carrying that around all day, haven't I?"

While your embarrassment grew, face heating up, Ethan grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his body. His arms tightly wrapped around your body and you could feel his giggles in his chest, as your head was pressed against it. You didn't hesitate in reciprocating, clinging onto his torso, slowly swinging from side to side. Both of you caught in a tipsy stupor.

You only stopped when the elevator arrived at your floor, both of you stumbling out and dragging each other to your door while clinging on. When you reached your room, you let your back lean against it, pulling Ethan along so you were standing face to face, smiling at each other shily and yet never breaking eye contact.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You finally asked. He stroked your cheek, leaving goosebumps. He had now gotten so close that you could feel his breath on your, drowning in each other.

"I liked pretending."

And then he kissed you. Boldly, unafraid and passionate. You melted like putty under him, letting him take control while letting yourself fall, as his lips moved against yours.

You only pulled away enough to get another glance at him, before once again searching your bag, now one-handed, so you never quite had to let go of him. A small triumphant sound escaped you as you located the key card. Holding it up next to your face, you shot the man in front of you another smirk.

"Why don't we keep pretending? At least for tonight."

It wasn't an offer he was going to refuse.

#ethan torchio #maneskin #ethan torchio imagine #ethan torchio fiction #ethan tochio x you #ethan torchio x reader #maneskin imagine #maneskin fiction #fluff #my writings

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littlepadika · 4 years ago

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Calling Home (5) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues…

Rating: E (18+ only)

Warnings: age gap (legal), dilf!frankie, praise kink, voice kink, size kink, low self esteem, discussion of addiction/ptsd/trauma/triggers, divorce drama, no use of y/n, no beta reader, DDLG🎀, unprotected piv sex, oral m and oral f, hickies galore👅, mild BDSM (cuffs⛓, choking).

Masterlist here

AN: Whatta ride... but all things come to an end🥺. i'm blown away by the support for this fic. Thank you all 💕.

Chapter Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie had his own mental list of stuff he needed to do before you would arrive. He dunged out his closet to make room for your clothes. It was long overdue. He had a lot of things he didn’t wear anymore that needed to go. He went out and bought some more plates and silverware since his two plates and Rosie’s plastic plates would not do. He no longer looked around his home with a sense of loneliness, now he pictured all the places you could fit in. He could see you reading by the window in the living room so he bought a comfy new chair to put there. He noticed your small plant collection in your apartment and thought you’d maybe like a bigger one in the back yard so he bought a planter box.

He was reading your novel, titled Our Little Kingdom, while your candle burned. You didn't give it to him at first. While you were in the bathroom and Frankie washed your dishes, he noticed a stack of papers poking out in the trash. It was your manuscript. When you came back and saw him reading it you tried to take it back but Frankie insisted and you caved. It was good. Frankie wasn't just saying that because he loved you. He could see how great writers had influenced you and still it was uniquely your voice. The story, too, was compelling. He couldn't help but imagine you as the protagonist as she was just as sweet and clever.

You were making good progress on your list. You had put in your two weeks notice and started to applying to jobs in Miami. You enjoyed working with veterans so you hoped you could do something similar again. As two weeks went by you were disappointed you still hadn't heard back from job interviews. Packing was a little more difficult. You didn’t know what was worth taking and what was worth leaving. You knew Frankie had most everything already so it was a matter of picking your most special things. The rest you were slowing taking to Goodwill in batches.

You had completely forgotten you sent your book in to publishers until a flurry of emails came in on the same day.

Frankie woke up in the middle of the night to his phone ringing. He sat up pulling the phone towards him. It was you. Why would you be calling so late? Maybe something was wrong?

“Frankie?” You sounded congested. He heard a sniffle. Frankie furrowed his brow at that.

“Hey. Is everything all right?”

“ They-they-“ you could barely get it out “they rejected me.”

“Who?”

“All of them. All of the book agencies.” You threw yourself onto your bed, hot tears running down your face.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, sweet pea.” Frankie didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. He thought your book was amazing. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. “They’re idiots. Every one of them.”

“They’re experts, Frankie.” You felt more tears leak from your eyes. “Maybe I’m just not a good writer. Maybe-Maybe-" You hiccuped and low cry slipped from your mouth. You covered your mouth, taking in raking breaths. It was agony to admit this to him when he believed in you most. You felt like you had let him down. Frankie's heart literally ached in his chest as he listened to your quiet weeping over the phone. He waited for you to continue, feeling his own eyes grow misty.

“Don’t disappear on me, little pea. Let me hear that voice of yours.”

You were unable to speak. Scared of what may come out. You felt like your walls were closing in around you and mocking you. How did you ever think you could be a writer like all your favorite authors? You were so stupid, you thought.

“I let you down.” You said shakily.

“No no no, little pea.” Frankie said quickly. “You could never let me down. I don’t need to a book agent to tell me you’re a good writer. I know you’re writing is beautiful and perfect. Just like you.”

His praise caused another wave of tears from you.

“Daddy…” You bawled.

“I hear you, baby.” Frankie heard his own voice shake with emotion. He never hated the distance more than he did in this moment. He needed to wrap you up in his arms. “Close your eyes, sweet pea. Use that big imagination of yours. Pretend I’m there with you.”

“Imagination isn’t good enough, daddy.” You blubbered, fat tears slipping from your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Frankie’s heart was breaking. “But try for me okay?”

You clamped your eyes shut and tried to focus in on his breathing on the other end of the phone. Frankie did the same, closing his eyes.

“Good, sweet pea. Focus on daddy.” He wished he was there to comfort you, wrap you up in his arms and shield you from the cruel cruel world. “I’m next to you. I’m holding you so tight.”

“Hold me tighter!” You begged holding your pillow pet to your chest.

“Okay. I just did.” Frankie whispered closing his eyes as if it would be more real. “Feel that?”

“Yeah…” A moment went by as you steadied your breathing. Tears eventually stopped falling, drying against your cheeks. Frankie’s steady breathing anchored you.

“I loved your book. It was really really good. And fuck it, I’ll publish it myself.” Frankie couldn't help but raise his voice.

“Silly.” You sniffled.

“I’m serious, sweet pea. Who needs those stuck up assholes.”

“Hmm yeah, you’re right.” You agreed, voice softening with sleepiness. You pushed your face into your pillow. You could still smell Frankie if you really focused. "I miss you, Frankie."

"I miss you, too."

"I still haven't heard from any jobs. And- maybe I'm just not good enough and-" You felt more tears fill your eyes.

"Shhh shhh" Frankie interrupted "Listen to me. You are the best. The right thing will turn up i'm sure of it."

"But it's the only thing left on the list!"

"I know..." Frankie pulled over your copy of the list that you wrote for him. He had crossed things off as you reported to him. "Let's see if they get back to you tomorrow." Maybe he was being too hard on you, making you get a job first. He only wanted to put it on there to give you some independence over the move. He didn't want you to feel like you had nothing to do once you got here.

Frankie waited until your breathing evened out. He called your name quietly. When he got no response he assumed you fell asleep. He didn’t want to hang up. He missed you so fucking much and he felt helpless.

When he woke up the next morning, he said goodbye to Rosalia as usual, called in sick, and started driving north. Fuck the list. You were coming home with him now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course Frankie called you telling you he was on his way. You felt bad for making him miss work but your excitement overpowered any guilt. You set a timer for 14 hours and started packing with new energy. Your eyes were still puffy from your tears last night. But you repeated what Frankie said like a mantra. Who needs those stuck up assholes. There were tons of ways to self publish nowadays. It didn’t have to be through a publishing house.

When you ran out of things to clean up and pack, you watched out the window waiting to see Frankie’s blue pick up. You had changed into sleep shorts and a t shirt. While you had a plan to dress more sexy you ended up accidentally packing that surprise in one of the boxes earlier today. It was getting dark when Frankie finally pulled up. He looked exhausted but still… Frankie. He was wearing his favorite hat and grey t shirt. You ran down to the street to meet him. He’s pulling empty boxes from the bed of the truck when he sees you sprinting towards him.

“Sweet pea!” He smiled as you launched yourself into his arms. “Oof.” You buried you face in his shirt inhaling his scent. He rubbed your back affectionately enjoying having you back in his arms. “Aw… it’s okay. It’s okay now.” He murmured when he heard you sniffle. He oddly felt his chest swell with pride at how much you missed him. He never had to worry about how you felt about him. He peeled your head off him by stroking your head. You looked up at him with a watery smile. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You snickered at his dad phases. “I’m ready. Well… I still have some stuff I need to pack up. Too heavy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Frankie kissed you chastely. You pulled him in for more though, fisting his shirt in your hands. “Mmm no no. Work first. Play later.” Frankie pulled back. You pouted but have to agree with his logic. The faster you packed the faster you could leave.

Back in your apartment Frankie got to work taking apart your bed and dresser. You finished packing your clothes and dusting.

“Hey what’s this? It was under the bed.” Frankie walked over holding a gift bag with pink tissue paper sticking up.

“Oh…” You quickly grabbed it away. “That’s supposed to be a surprise. For Rosie.”

“You got her a present?” Frankie was touched by your thoughtfulness.

“Yeah I mean… I figured it might make her like me more.”

“She already likes you, but she can never have too many toys.” Frankie stepped further into your space. You realize at that moment how sweaty he was from moving all the furniture. It was so late at night and you were both exhausted but the sudden rush of his thicker smell made you feel wide awake. “Can I see what you got her?”

You handed the package back over, watching him gingerly move the tissue paper to the side. His eyes softened when he saw the pink unicorn pillow pet sitting in the bag. A mini version of yours.

“Am I too presumptuous making us matching? I don’t know if she likes unicorns and-" Frankie cut you off, dropping the bag and kissing you up against the wall. He wasn't even sure what part of that turned him on, just your sweetness and wanting to be a part of his family. He held your face in his hands, his grip forcing your mouth open. You felt yourself start to grow wet. You loved when he just went caveman on you. Sometimes he didn’t have the words to express how much he loved you so he reverted to touch; to deep kisses and deep thrusts. His hands trailed down your exposed legs so he could lift you up on his hips. You held onto his shoulders as he swung you around. The bed was gone, the couch was gone.

"Fuck. Hang on."

You laughed as he ran you out to the kitchen to set you down on the counter. You pawed at his pants trying to undo his belt, but Frankie was faster, unhooking your bra from under your shirt and then pulling your shirt over your head. He took your hand and placed it over his large bulge between his legs.

“Feel what you do to me…” He gritted through his teeth his chest rising and falling sharply.

 “Frankie- oh my god-please let me” You pulled he belt loose. At first he stops you. “I didn’t get to last time. Please?” He bit his lip considering your plea. He really just wanted to give and give and give to you. But he had been mean last time, not letting you touch his cock. So this time he doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his pants and pull him out of his boxers. You licked your lips as his cock fell into your hand, curving up towards you.

You hopped off the counter, getting onto your knees before him. “Take off your shirt… please?” He obliged. You kissed down his belly feeling it tighten against your lips. He watched you with fire in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. You pushed the rest of his pants and boxers down. You stroked him slowly with both hands.

“You have to tell me what you like…” You held his cock and licked a long stripe from the base to the head making him moan weakly. You repeat the motion adding a few kitten licks at the end, lapping up the stray drops of salty precum. Frankie was struggling to think let alone speak. He gripped the countertop above you, his other hand going to the back of your head.

“Just- go slow.” You followed his instructions, slowly taking his length in your mouth. “Good-good girl.” He clenched his jaw staring down at the sight. Your hot mouth felt like heaven and your innocent eyes staring up at him was just the cherry on top. You took his dick as far as you could before you choked lightly. You were by no means an expert at giving blowjobs but you were frustrated you couldn't go further. Your jaw was already aching from his girth.

“Mm don’t hurt yourself, baby.” He hissed unable to hold his hips still, he jerked a little against you making you whine. “Come back up, remember to breathe.”

You slowly pulled off his cock before going down again. Frankie’s hand on your head gently guided you so you didn’t hurt your throat. You added suction, applying pressure on the underside of his cock. You started to find what he liked based on his sounds. You still couldn’t take him all the way in your mouth, tears gathered in corner of your eyes from the effort. Your hand pumped the rest that wouldn’t fit.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie gasped his hips jerking again making his cock slide back into your mouth. You moved one of your hands to his hips looking up at him to say it was okay. “Are you-you want me to fuck your mouth, sweet pea?” You nodded eagerly. You put one of you hands on his length where he wouldn’t fit. He gathered up some of your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly thrust into your mouth. Like he always did, he waited for you to nod and give him the okay. When you did, he couldn’t help the growl that left his throat. Drool leaked from your mouth onto your chest as he sped up using your head more forcefully. You were sure you had soaked through your panties. It turned you on so much to see him take control, use you for his pleasure, but still his grip on you was firm and gentle. Every grunt went straight to your pussy. “Such a good girl letting me use this hole, too.” He rasped. “You’re crying around my cock.”

“Mmhm” You hummed around his dick making him groan. He was close. He was battering the back of your throat. You could recognize the furrowed brow and the tightening of his balls. You intensified your ministrations.

“Good girl, good-I’m gonna cum in your little mouth.” He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Stick out your tongue, sweet pea.” He ordered. You obeyed, watching greedily as he fisted himself harshly the tip of his cock hitting your tongue. You placed your hands on either side of his tummy, anticipating his load. His chest was flush and his eyes were fluttering shut. When he came he yanked your head up harshly as cum splashed onto your tongue. You loved this perspective, watching his face contort with pleasure. You tried to take every drop but some dripped down your chin. “Swallow.” Frankie ordered roughly still maintaining his grip on your head. You swallowed, his warm cum sliding down your throat.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled up at him, wiping some of the stray cum off your chin. He let go of your hair, now stroking your head then your jaw. “Did I do well?”

“So good.” He chuckled and helped you stand, his breath still ragged. You squirmed pressing your thighs together. The move not missed by Frankie. “Did sucking my cock make you wet, sweet pea?”

You nodded shyly before saying “It’s okay though. You don’t have to-it’s late and we have a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re always looking out for me but what kind of man would I be if I left you all needy. But you have to ask for it, sweet pea.”

“I kinda just want your mouth if that’s okay?” You asked feeling too tired for a full round of sex.

“Of course.” Frankie smiled. “Your mattress is still in the bedroom.” He led you in and helped settle you on the center of the mattress. He pulled your shorts and underwear off, staring at your slick reddened pussy. "You soaked your little panties, sweet pea. Did you touch your little flower while I was gone?" Frankie asked, pulling apart your legs.

"I-I tried to. But it wasn't the same."

"How come, little pea?" His patronizing tone had your cunt clenching. He was teasing you.

"It wasn't your fingers. I needed you." You huffed, trying to push his head down onto you.

"Mmm poor thing." Frankie chuckled, the rich sound giving you goosebumps. He felt his cock start to harden again despite you just sucked the soul out of him moments ago. He slowly licked up your slit moaning at the taste of you. Your head tipped back as he he slowly inserted a finger into you. "Eyes on me." He instructed. You forced your head back down so you could make eye contact. "Play with your tits for me." You obeyed, squeezing the flesh in your hand. He returned to his task, taking your clit in between his lips, quickly escalating your climax. Your hands never stood a chance. He inserted a second finger, curling it against you. They were so thick and long it hit that spot deep inside you it made you gush.

"Oh my god. Daddy-I'm-" You teetered on the precipice your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body erupted in flames as your mouth open in a silent scream. Frankie's eyes widened as your pussy strangled his fingers before fluttering uncontrollably. Your cum dripped onto his hand, he quickly replaced his fingers with his tongue trying to catch it all.

"That's it." He felt you finally take a shaking inhale. "Breathe, sweet pea. Breathe." Exhaustion hit you hard as every muscle relaxed.

"I'm sleepy..." You slurred.

"It's okay. You can go to sleep." Frankie leaned up kissing you, smearing your slick all over your mouth. He returned to licking your pussy less aggressively though. "I got you."

You nodded before drifting off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you dump the last of your stuff at goodwill, packed the truck, turned in your key, and hit the road. You were bouncing in your seat with excitement. You hadn’t ever traveled south of DC. The landscape was beautiful. You and Frankie took turns driving, belting Fleetwood Mac on repeat. You forced Frankie to take obligatory selfies to remember the journey at rest stops or whenever the view was worthy. Over halfway to Miami you paused at a rest stop for a quick nap. Frankie was anxious to get you home and he didn’t want to stay put for too long. He was used to long drives and quick naps, but you weren’t. He didn’t want to exhaust you because there was so much he wanted to show you when you arrived. You laid across the backseat of the truck with your head in Frankie’s lap as the sun was going down.

In the early morning Frankie finished the drive. His own excitement increased when he was back in the city. You had your head nearly sticking out of the window looking at everything. You couldn’t believe how sunny and warm it was here. Frankie turned down a residential street. “Almost there.” He said. You buzzed in your seat.

Frankie made one last turn into a driveway. You instantly got warm feelings looking at the house. It was painted seagull grey with white trim. It was wonderfully symmetrical with two windows on the first and second floor with window boxes outside the first floor window. The front yard was nicely mowed.

“Your house is so cute!” You hopped out of the car, your legs enjoying the chance to stretch. The air smelled slightly salty being so close to the beach. The sun felt wonderful on your skin. You could have laid down in the grass and just fallen asleep.

Frankie showed you around his house with your hand in his, pointing out random things of importance in his giddy state. You followed him around with bright adoring eyes. Despite looking forward to this moment for a while, you barely looked at anything except for him. You could care less about where the tile for the fireplace came from. You didn’t remember Frankie’s story about how Will messed up his back moving in Frankie’s couch in because it was hitting you over and over again that you were home with Frankie. You didn’t pay attention to the story behind Rosie’s crib because Frankie was here with you. His warm hand holding you close like you may disappear. He was here with that damn cute excited voice as he showed you around his home, soon to be your home.

“Sweet pea? Earth to sweet pea?”

“Hmmm?” You smiled apologetically. Standing in the kitchen, the sun pouring in from the window above the sink bathed Frankie in golden light making him look ethereal.

“I said- we should start moving boxes in before it gets dark.”

“You haven’t shown me everything yet.” You realized.

“What did I miss?”

“Your room…” You swung your entwined hands back and forth.

“Our room, sweet pea.”

“So I won’t be sleeping on the floor?” You laughed.

“Never.” He kissed you briefly. “I just haven’t cleaned up in there and I need to make some space for your stuff and-“

“Frankie.” You quiet his rambling with another kiss. You couldn’t stop kissing him. “Your house is immaculate. That’s the room I want to see.”

He swallowed harshly before he led you up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to his room. While showing you the garden and the other rooms he was giddy but now he seemed more flustered. When you opened the door you could see why. Your candle was sitting on his bedside table. It was the first thing you saw when you walked in.

You immediately break away from him, going to inspect his bedside table. Glimpses of Frankie that made you love him all the more. Your candle, your books, your list, his sergeant pin, and an old alarm clock.

“Was this what you’re so embarrassed about?” You asked picking up the candle. It was almost used up. He averted his gaze. The back of his neck bright red which you recognized as a sign of his nervousness. “Frankie…” You set it down and took both his hands in yours. You couldn’t even convey what it meant to you. He had missed you that much that he burned your candle.

“I have the real thing now.” He said pulling you against his chest, dragging his nose over your cheek in reverence. You hummed in contentment. “This is our room, sweet pea. Our home.” He whispered.

“Our bed.” You added moving his hands to rest on your ass, wrapping your own around his neck.

 “Eager girl.” He tutted, kissing just below your ear, squeezing your ass lightly.

“I can’t help it. I’ve waited so long, Frankie.” You tilt your head up resting your forehead against his.

“You’ll never have to wait again, princesa pea. I’m here.”

“Then I want you now.” You tugged him towards the bed. Falling down onto his comforter you were hit by a puff of his scent. Laundry detergent, old spice, and that indescribable musk that was Frankie. You barely got a chance to enjoy it before Frankie is falling on top of you. You laughed as he pulled you up the bed until you’re against the pillows. He's about to rip your clothes from you but-

“Wait wait- I have a gift for you.” His eyes lit up.

“Frankie…” You smiled “You didn’t have to get me anything.” He pushed away from you, walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a small package.

 “Here.” He handed it to you.

You sat up. You felt guilty you didn’t get him a gift. You slowly peeled back the tape trying to save the paper. It was wrapped so nicely.

“Come on, rip it up. It’s just paper.”

“No… I wanna save it.” You argued, pulling it open finally. You stared down at the contents in your lap. It was a book with a pink cover and loopy writing. Our Little Kingdom. “Frankie… this is- this is my book.” You felt your eyes swim with tears.

“I know.” Frankie knelt in front of you. “I read it and it was so good. I wanted to get it bound. I was serious when I said want to publish it. I want to make it happen. But if you don’t want to at least we can enjoy it how it’s meant to be enjoyed.”

You flipped through the pages smelling the fresh paper. You reached the end and noticed Frankie had slipped in something as a book mark. It was a torn half of a check. “This is…”

“The check I tore up. I use it as a bookmark so I thought you would-“

You launched yourself at Frankie, a habit you learned from him when words were just simply not enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were surrounded by Frankie’s scent, warm sun hitting your face. Frankie wasn't there. You heard movement downstairs. You threw on the first shirt of Frankie's you could find. You practically skipped down the stairs, heart leaping when you saw Frankie in his PJ pants and nothing else sitting at the kitchen table. His body was lit up in the morning sun, he looked like a goddamn dream. He was shoveling some cereal into his mouth but he stopped when he noticed you. He still looked so sexy to you in this moment, his strong arms and big hand gripping the small spoon. His chest littered with small hickies you made. You blinked a couple of times wanting to imprint this image into your brain forever.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“The sun woke me up!”

“Shit. I would have made you some breakfast or something.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled going to stand in front of him. You kissed him, licking some of the milk from his lips. Your hands rested on his bare golden shoulders. You loved how wide they were and how solid and warm they felt.

“Mmm is this mine, sweet pea?” He tugged at the Fleetwood Mac shirt hanging down to your thighs.

“No, it’s another boys.” You teased.

“Don’t joke about that, little pea.” Frankie warned with a small swipe to your ass.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You giggled. “I was only joking. No one else has cool shirts like you.”

“You want some cereal? I can also make eggs or pancakes or-“

“I want-” You slipped your hand over his pants. You could feel his slightly hard cock sitting below. “This.”

“You already had some last night and you still want more?” Frankie groaned his thighs spreading further around you. “I thought you’d be sore, sweet pea.”

“I am.” You admitted kissing him quickly. “but I still want you.”

“Mmm…” Frankie pulled your hand away watching you pout. “I think you need to eat something first.”

“No I don’t!”

“Come on, I’ll let you sit on your special seat.” He tapped his thigh. You debated this. You decided to do what he asked, not wanting to test your luck so early in the day. You hopped up on his lap wiggling back until his semi hard cock was pressed against your back. Your thighs sitting over his legs, your pussy peaking out from his shirt. Frankie rested his big hands on your bare thighs rubbing the skin back and forth. You closed your eyes enjoying his touch. You could feel his breath against your neck as he looked down at the sight.

“Do I look good on my special seat, daddy?” You asked looking up at him.

“Perfect, my little pea.” Frankie smiled. He pulled the cereal over and you popped a bite in your mouth. You didn’t normally like cereal but since Frankie asked…

“Okay, done. I’ve eaten.”

“Woah I hardly call that eating.” Frankie shook his head. He placed a hand on your stomach, fingers splayed out over the entire width almost. He applied a little pressure which had you squirming again. God his hands were so big and warm just above where you needed him. “I can feel little rumblings telling me you’re hungry, sweet pea.” You rock against him more intentionally making him catch his breath.

“Not for cereal.” You bit your lip.

“One more bite, sweet pea. For daddy?” He rubbed his beard into your neck which never failed to make you to laugh.

 You took another spoonful of the soggy cereal before looking up at him for approval. He chuckled as you chewed quickly. You looked so cute with your cheeks full. It made cock ache.

“Good job, sweet pea.” He smirked when you swallowed it all. He lowered his hand down to cup your pussy which was already dripping. You hand flew to his thick forearm.

You melted against him as he rubs your clit slowly. Last night was hurried and desperate but now it was like he had all the time in the world. You listened to him take large inhale against your neck, smelling you.

“You look so beautiful, sweet pea. In my shirt. In our kitchen.”

“Fuck…” You moaned. His fingers felt so wonderful and thick against you. You fucking loved the sound of that. Ours.

“I’m gonna fuck you on our table.”

He lifted you up with ease, pushing your back down on the table. The sun coming through the window bathed your body in soft light. You looked divine. Frankie had your legs spread wide, tongue on that pussy before you could even blink. “Holy shit. Daddy!” Your hands clenched into fists at your side.

“Sweet pea.” Frankie pulled off, lips wetted by your slick. You blushed under his hot gaze. “Why don’t you pull my hair?”

You whimpered as he took your little fist and put it in his beautiful locks. “I want to but… the last person I was with didn’t like it.” You turned your head to the side trying to hide your embarrassment. His hair felt like silk in your hands.

“Hey-“ Frankie gently grabbed your chin and turned you to look at him. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.” He was leaning over you, invading all your senses, but of course the aspect that hit you hardest was his voice. Soft and reassuring. That rich baritone that made you fall in love in the first place. “Pull my hair, baby, I wanna know how well I treat this pussy. You won’t hurt me.”

You nodded feeling your eyes wet with tears. His affection never ceased to shock you. He kissed you, softening your worried look with each stroke of his tongue. When you were relaxed, he returned to your pussy. He was a fast learner for the times, applying the pressure you needed with his tongue while hitting that spot inside your walls with his fingers. Your hands were laced in his soft hair tugging almost unconsciously.

“Fuck-Daddy" You gasped feeling your breath. Your stomach tightened but you still felt like you weren't quite to your breaking point. "I can't- I need- I need-"

"What, sweet pea, what do you need?" Frankie paused, looking at you struggle above him. You grabbed his hand which was holding your hip and moved it to your throat. "Holy shit." Frankie's eyes widened.

"I need you to push me over-" you struggled to think of how to explain it but Frankie started applying light pressure over your throat making your cunt tighten around his fingers. The strain on your airway finally brought you to the edge. He returned to your clit and didn’t let up even as your walls clamped and gushed around his fingers. Didn’t stop as your back arched off the table, your toes curled, and your hands pulled his hair almost painfully. He let go of your throat when you tapped his wrist and your breath returned ragged and sharp, extending your orgasm. You brushed some of Frankie’s hair from his forehead and he looked up, making eye contact, as his lips suckled on your clit lightly. You didn’t say anything for a moment, feeling your body come down from that peak, basking in Frankie’s loving gaze between your legs. You felt boneless.

“I love you.” You murmured. Frankie surged up, capturing your lips in a wet kiss. He pulled back and kissed the happy tears falling from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“I love you, too. I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m home.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, needing to feel that promise inside you. Needing his promise filling you up.

“Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

“I’m sure.” You ran your hand through his hair, now addicted to the feeling of it.

Frankie slowly eased himself into your pussy. It was harder without lube. You winced a little once he was fully inside. Fuck he was so big.

"Am I hurting you?" Frankie felt bad and started to pull out.

"No please." You arched your back trying to hold him inside. "I'm okay. I want- I want-."

"Sweet pea..." He bit his lip as he struggled to resist thrusting into you.

"And if I can't walk- then you can carry me." You wiggled your hips. Frankie couldn't help but laugh at that not that he minded carrying you around. "Please, daddy." You asked one last time as you dug your heels into his lower back. Frankie placed his hands on your waist and started fucking into you slowly, withdrawing almost all the way out before thrusting back in again.

“I’m so proud of you… taking my cock like a good girl.” He kissed you softly, moving to kiss a train down your neck to your nipples and back up. "You're home now." You nodded in agreement. "This is our little kingdom, sweet pea.” Your shallow breaths slowly transformed into moans. You felt your muscles relax a little and signaled he could start moving faster.

Needless to say the cereal on the table shook and spilled as he fucked you. Spilled milk on your table. His cum spilled inside you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankie enjoyed hosting so much since Rosie’s birthday he wanted to have a Fourth of July barbecue. With your help he took the decorations to the next level. Hanging fairy lights over the patio, and renting a bouncy castle for the kids. In an act of irrational niceness, you had said it was okay if Laura came by, that way Rosalia would be there too.

Frankie was clear he had no desire to hide you. He wanted to show you off. Still, you dreaded meeting Frankie's ex. Rosalia had warmed to you quickly even preferring you to hold her. You already loved her so much. Today she wanted you to follow her everywhere and watch her play. Frankie was stuck behind the grill but he still could watch his girls playing. You were wearing a lovely red sundress which Frankie was looking forward to stripping off. It brushed your thighs in the breeze and it was perfect height for Rosalia to tug on when she wanted to be picked up.

“You’ve done a great job with the decor.” Laura appeared at Frankie’s side.

“Thanks.” Frankie smiled tightly. Her surprised tone confirmed that she always underestimated him.

“You’ve been happier lately.” Laura studied Frankie.

“I guess.” Frankie shrugged turning one of the hot dogs for something to do.

“It just has me remembering the old days. Before everything with you happened.” Frankie prickled at that last statement. Everything with you. She always put it on him totally forgetting how she also made things worse.

“Frankie?” You appeared at his other side, eyeing Laura warily and doing little to hide your dislike. You had seen from yards away how Frankie tensed up, looking down. You wouldn’t let that slide so you went over. Finally removing your glare from his ex wife you look up at him, laying a reassuring hand over his forearm. “Uh- people are getting hungry. How soon until it’s done?”

“It’s ready now.” Frankie smiled down at you, instantly feeling more at ease. His answer let you know he was okay.

“Great I’ll wrangle everyone.” You smiled before darting back to the crowd.

“Who is that?” Laura frowned. “Someone's babysitter?”

“No.” Frankie shut off the grill facing his ex wife face to face. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Laura sounded skeptical. “She’s 12.”

“She’s a woman.” Frankie corrected her. “A woman I love very much.” He wasn’t going to listen to anyone look down on you.

“You should have talked to me before you brought her around Rosie.” Laura huffed, putting a hand on her hip.

“You had no problem parading your boyfriends around during our divorce.” Frankie shot back quickly looking to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “It’s in the court records so I doubt you want to bring it up.”

“Frankie…” Laura seemed to regret what she said.

“Let’s just… move on.” Frankie said as people started to draw near.

“Papa!” He heard Rosie squeal, toddling towards him.

“Rosie!” He picked her up, his anger instantly melting away. “Ready for your hot dog?”

As Frankie and the others started filling up their plates Laura crept closer to you as you were cleaning up some of the kid’s mess by the pool.

“Excuse me. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura.” She extended her hand. She was taller than you. Her face was tight as if she was holding in her sneer.

“Hi.” You decided to be nice, shaking the woman’s hand. You introduced yourself.

“So… you and Frankie. “

“Yes.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“A few months.” You said keeping it vague.

“And it’s going well?”

“Yes.” You grew annoyed by her vague questioning. Obviously it was going well since you were here. Her eyes were the total opposite of Frankie's. Hard and cold and icy blue. You quietly thanked god that Rosalia had inherited Frankie's eyes.

“Hmm he’s not doing that crazy thing anymore?”

“What thing?” You frowned.

“Well one time while we were together he stayed up the whole night because he thought some criminal or something was after us.” Laura laughed cruelly. You wanted to slap her for her lack of sympathy. What was funny about Frankie’s fear? “The psychiatrist said there would be delusions but that was just too much.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” You snipped, trying to keep at least a polite facade. There were people just a few feet away. You prayed the couldn’t hear.

“Hey I’m sorry.” She schooled her features. “Don’t think I’m cruel. It wasn’t easy being with someone like that. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Thanks for that. I think I'm good though.” You finished picking up the last pool toy and walked away before Laura could say more. You wanted to turn back and say something mean but you were determined to be the bigger person. You didn’t want to start drama that would hurt Frankie and Rosalia. You spent a good minute in the garage after putting the toys back, positively fuming.

“Sweet pea?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts, joining you in the garage. “Aren’t you hungry?”

"I was just cleaning up.” You said though your hands were empty.

“I saw Laura talking to you.” He watched you warily. Fear lapped at him. What did Laura tell you...“Everything okay?”

“She just… a bitch.” You huffed. Your word choice made Frankie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry I know you married her but how? She’s awful and rude and judgmental.”

“I know.” Frankie quieted his laughter, pulling you into his chest. “It wasn’t meant to last.”

“Because she’s a bitch.” You grumbled into his chest making Frankie laugh again. His tummy bounced against yours with his laughter. You loved it. You thought again about what Laura said. How cruel she had been in the face of Frankie’s PTSD. “If she says one more rude thing I may have to smack her.”

“You’re hot when you’re possessive, you know that?” Frankie smiled tickling your sides. “Come on, we should get back before our guests start to notice.”

“Alright.” You agreed, taking his hand and following him out of the garage. You felt Laura’s eyes on you two when you came back to the yard. Frankie got your burger set up for you before doing his. It’s the simple things that got you going; how giving he is. You tried to hide your blush from the onlookers as Frankie asked you ketchup or mustard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once everyone went home you and Frankie laid out a blanket in the back so you could watch the fireworks happening on the beach a mile away. He was quiet, at least more than he usually is. You didn’t know what to say to reassure him so again you reverted to touch. You placed your hand on his thigh reassuringly.

“Frankie?” You turned to him. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No.” He seemed taken aback by your question.

“Okay.” You moved closer to him until you were tucked into his side.

“You mean about Laura.” Frankie said after a moment. “Just- she didn’t say anything to you to make you upset right? She doesn’t get under my skin anymore. I don’t want her to get under yours.”

“She didn’t get under my skin.” You replied. She said nothing to make you insecure, just make you angry at her is all. “I’m just protective of you, you know. It seems like she was awful to you.”

“It’s fine.” Frankie shrugged.

“No.” You moved to sit on his lap, straddling him. “It’s not. You came back from your deployment probably in need of some comfort and all she gave you was judgment."

“She told you about that night.” Frankie hung his head in humiliation. You didn’t deny it. You didn’t want to upset him but part of you knew he should talk about this. Laura shouldn’t be the only one who holds this memory over his head. “It was my first night back. I just- I swore I heard gunfire. I was freaking out. I was probably acting really scary. I thought they came for me and she-Laura called the cops on me.”

“How could she…” You teared up on behalf of Frankie.

“I ran.” He continued, his voice thick. “I stayed a Will’s and calmed down. That was the end of the marriage.” He rubbed up and down your thighs under your dress. It always comforted him. You tried to think of what to say. His wife, the person who was supposed to love him the most, ostracized him and criminalized him.

Frankie was anticipating you to be afraid of him or push him away, but to his surprised you pulled him into a hug, holding his head against your neck like he was a child. He felt a sob rise in his throat and tears wet his eyes. You were so... kind. It was something he was still learning to accept and realize he deserved .

“You’re right.” You took a breath to relax yourself. “It doesn’t matter what she says. You’re mine now. Not hers.” You kissed Frankie on his nose then kissed his mouth.

“Always, sweet pea.” He rubbed his thumb over the area of your brow that furrowed in residual anger.

“I just wish there were some way…” you chewed your lip. “I have these-“ you pulled his dog tags out from where they hung between your breasts. “Reminds me I’m yours.”

“Maybe I need a necklace too.” Frankie smiled squeezing your thighs. That got you thinking…

“Can I try something?” You asked. Frankie nodded looking amused. You tugged at his shirt pulling it over his head. You never got over how broad he was. His toned arms were flexed holding himself up. You leaned forward planting a wet kiss on Frankie’s neck where it met his shoulder.

“Mmm gonna mark me up?”

You nodded and sucked harder till you were satisfied it would leave a mark. Pulling back you admired the red blooming where your mouth had been. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it did but you loved that he had a physical mark from you. He had scars here and there from cross fire and stab wounds. Some he wouldn’t go into detail. You loved them all but for once you wanted him to have a mark born out of love.

“I’m gonna give you a necklace, daddy.” You murmured tracing the path you would forge, down and around to the other side of his neck. You were gonna make hicks all around his neck like a chain. You leaned back down and planted another mark below and slightly to the right.

“Holy shit.” Frankie groaned, tilting his head back. He felt his cock start to harden under your attention. You slowly made your way across his hot skin until you had seven little wet hickies starting to show through the skin. You traced them with your finger, connecting the dots.

Frankie looked down, watching in fascination. His dog tags were a bittersweet thing, symbolizing his commitment to the military, but you wanted them. You wore them proudly, giving him more closure than 100 hours of therapy. But this... this new chain on his skin represented his belonging to you. “Beautiful, baby girl. Thank you.” He kissed you sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You pulled away before he could deepen it. You start to lean down again like you were going to plant another hickie on him. He pushed you back and rolled the both of you over.

“Daddy! I wasn’t done yet.” You wiggled against the soft blanket.

“No it’s daddy’s turn now.” He pushed the straps of your dress down your arms, tugging your neckline down.

“But I already have a necklace.” You felt Frankie’s dog tags lying in your cleavage.

“Now you’ll have two. I spoil my girl like that.” Frankie teased. He kissed up and down your neck before settling on his starting place. When he started sucking it sent a lightning bolt straight to your clit. You gasped. You could feel him hard against your thigh, not fully yet. You rocked your hips impatiently, clutching his head against you.

“Be patient, baby.” He warned, pausing his work. You stilled your hips with a pout. “Good girl.” He resumed. You wanted to be naughty but you knew you’d never win that fight. Problem was you were loving his attention on your neck so much you couldn’t help but start grinding against his leg again. Your hand reached down and tried to stroke his hardening cock. Frankie pulled back, his lips swollen from giving you hickies. He was only halfway around your chest now.

“You’re being naughty…” Frankie chided, lightly slapping your hand away from him. You continued squirming under his gaze though you at least look apologetic. Frankie pulled away. “You don’t want your necklace?” Frankie pretended to be hurt.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” You turned on the puppy dog eyes. “Just- your mouth feels so good.”

“If you’re not gonna behave I’m gonna have to make you behave.” Frankie’s mouth curled into a smirk. Your stomach flipped around in excitement. “Sit back up on your knees.” He ordered. You eagerly sat up on your knees, placing your hands on your thighs. Your dress hung around your waist. Frankie stood up and started undoing his belt. You got excited thinking he was going to let you suck his cock but instead he just pulled his belt from his pants and knelt down again. “Remember just say stop if you want to stop.” Frankie reminds you.

You nodded your eyes dilating, staring at the leather in his hands.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” He instructed. You obeyed your knees widening subconsciously. He tied his belt around your wrists. It’s not tight enough to hurt but you certainly could not move your hands without really trying. Frankie licked his lips, staring down at your vulnerable position. “Good little sweet pea.” He cooed. “Now you won’t be able to be naughty. What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You whispered feeling your cheeks burn at the depravity of your position. The smooth leather of his belt rubbed against your pulse point and Frankie’s smell filled your nose. You’re out in the open. Sure there was a fence but it still heightened your arousal. You were dripping you were sure of it. He knelt before you again to finish his hickies. He held your hair pulling it back to give himself more room.

You tried to lift up your arms multiple times but got stopped by the belt. You whined as he sucked another mark into you and you couldn’t get any stimulation in this position. Frankie let you moan and whine for him but he didn’t stop his mission. He finally pulled back, his hooded eyes evaluated at his work.

“Look at it, baby.”

You looked down at the curved line of hickies running from collarbone to collarbone. “Thank you, daddy, for my necklace. I love it so much.” You looked at his chest. You were matching now. Your lust was momentarily paused as a fresh wave of adoration washed over you. It was so much deeper than sex. Frankie noticed your change in expression and kissed you softly, bringing you back to the moment.

“You sat still for me so good. Now you can ask for what you want.” He strokes your hair softly.

“I wanna-I wanna suck you cock please?”

“Are you sure?” Frankie smiled. “You don’t want my mouth on you or-"

“No.” You shook your head. The emotions swirling in you from lust to love made you hungry for one thing. “I wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He groaned before kissing you hard, licking into your mouth. He never had someone as giving and kind and protective of him as you. He could have cried but there was no need because you were his forever. No yearning just living. He reached around to pull off the belt but you stopped him with a small voice.

“Leave it on.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Frankie stood quickly. You sat up further, your hands still restrained behind your back. Your head was tilted up at him, your dress bunched around your waist, it was the most beautiful fucking sight.

Red blue and white fireworks dazzled the sky above. He picked you up bridal style and carried you inside as quickly as he could while you giggled in delight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things started clicking into place like you were growing along some metaphorical ladder. You were finally where you needed to be. You got a job working at the VA in Miami, running their re-entry program. A small publishing house in Miami loved your book and agreed to publish it for a short run. Frankie took some money out of the Colombia account to cover the rest of the contract. Frankie had the book for sale at the shop pushing it on anyone who would enter. He was so proud of you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Frankie unironically planted sweet pea in the garden, telling you how they are slow to grow, but their delicate flower and sweet smell is worth the wait; just like you. Sweet peas were climbers, with the right support, they would bend to any shape. You knew you could go as high as the sky with Frankie by your side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @floraandfrost @agingerindenial, @heythere-mel, @icanbeyourjedi, @linnie0119, @pedrosmustache, @thisshipwillsail316, @peterhollandkait, @leias-rebelion, @phoenix-of-loki, @prettypedros, @kennedywxlsh, @punkerthanpascal, @the-witty-pen-name, @twentyfirstcenturyfox, @madslorian, @sarahjkl82-blog, @bison-writes, @lightning-fast54, @maievdenoir, @nicolethered, @kenoobiwan, @danniburgh, @janebby, @dihra-vesa, @yespolkadotkitty, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @headinthestarz, @tanyaherondale, @christina-loves, @dobbyjen, @fangirl-316

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #calling home series #daddy!frankie

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beerecordings · 2 years ago

Text

Marvin's Brothers

I'm bringing him home, but I've got to take him right to the hospital. Needed to get him out of Germany, but he's not well.

What's wrong with him? Can I talk to him?

No, he's not up for it.

What's wrong with him?

Meet me at St. Margaret's. We'll get in around three in the morning.

I want to see him, send me a picture at least. You're scaring me.

Seen at 11:46 PM.

Marvin's hands quail as he checks his phone again, scrolling back through the message like a secret code might appear to tell him what's wrong. He switches tabs to an old picture of Henrik grinning, one he's had pulled up in the background since Jackie texted him back for the first time in months.

I got into a mess, I got into a big fucking mess and I couldn't get back to my phone for the longest time. But I found him, Marvin. He's alive.

Alive but not well. Marvin bites down hard on the nail of his thumb, feeling it bend between his teeth.

“I'm, um. Maybe a little worried about Schneep,” says Chase, adding a breathy laugh to the sounds of the late-night stragglers and rumbling cars moving around them. Marvin's gaze flinches over to him to find Chase flipping his cap repeatedly in his hands, his grin twisted up frenetically.

Fuck's sake, if Chase thinks that's a surprise admission, then maybe Marvin's actually hiding the gut-spinning anxiety shooting pains all the way up his back better than he thought he was. He considers Chase pretty emotionally intelligent, but if he hasn't noticed that Marvin's about to start breathing fire all over the pavement outside St. Margaret's like a bloated wyrm, they're probably both so stuck in their own heads you couldn't get them out with pliers and a bonesaw.

Dammit, he wishes JJ were here. He could really use his reckless son-of-a-bitch younger brother to help deal with his reckless son-of-a-bitch older brother, but it's out of the question. Jackie still doesn't know. Marvin couldn't even begin to imagine how to text him the news, and soon he'll have to tell him, to his face, that his precious baby brother –

Okay, okay, okay. Son-of-a-bitch indeed. One thing at a time, Marvin, holy shit.

“You know Henrik,” he manages finally, slinging an arm around Chase's shoulder. “Tough as jerky. He'll be okay.”

“Anti's had him for nine months,” Chase whimpers back. It's almost his I-just-got-off-the-phone-with-Stacy-and-she-wants-me-to-drug-test whine, but a little less self-pitying. “He could have done anything to him.” “'Anything' is not worth thinking about, amata. He'll be here soon and then we'll know for sure.”

And then we can stop imagining Anti putting nails through his gums, won't that be nice?

If he pukes right here outside the hospital, do you think someone would come check on him, or would the nurses just blink at him from the windows?

His phone buzzes and he scrabbles at it.

Jackie: They checked us in, room 312

“How the hell did he get past us?” cries Chase, jumping off the bench so suddenly his phone falls out of his pocket and he has to go ducking after it. “Goddammit, goddammit.”

Marvin pushes past him and into the hospital, approaching the receptionist's desk like he just might flip it. He can feel his own heat, knows he looks like he's running a fever, knows he could have frost in one hand and flame in the other in a second if he wanted to, Marvin, you have to keep it the fuck together.

“Hi,” he breathes, eyes flashing. “I'm here to see my brother in 312.”

He gets a visitor form and then Chase takes it from him with a tentative look. Marvin's head swims.

“You're hot to the touch, Marvel,” Chase whispers.

“I'm under control, I'm fine.”

“Are you angry at Jackie?”

“No.”

“Angry at Anti, then, I get it,” mumbles Chase.

And Marvin doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's not angry at all, just scared.

The elevator buzzes like a fly. Marvin closes his eyes. His phone grumbles again.

JJ: Any update?

Marvin pockets his phone without answering and steps out of the elevator behind Chase. Room 310. Holy hell. He's right here, just two doors away.

And Jackie's right there outside of it, blank-faced, standing up beside the door and staring at the wall.

“Jackie!” screams Chase, and he launches himself at him. Jackie jolts up from some haze inside his head and turns, eyes fixing on Chase, and then his arms lock around him too, and Jackie picks Chase fully off the floor, breathing out a sigh as loud as a cry as he presses their heads together and squeezes him.

Marvin finds he has no reaction to it at all. He moves past Jackie without touching him and presses open the door to room 312.

“Hey, I said to wait outside for a moment,” reprimands the nurse by the bed. “You...”

She cuts herself off and Marvin knows she's realized he's not Jackie. It doesn't matter.

“Henrik.” The word comes out of him unauthorized. Didn't mean to say it.

“You must be the other brother,” says the nurse finally. “I'm done, just try not to disturb him.”

He waits for her to leave, and she does, giving him a look he can't care to decipher. He steps towards the bed.

“Henrik,” he repeats, like he expects him to reply. But that's stupid. Henrik's so... so far away. He feels it like a physical distance. Like he could reach out and keep walking forever, and he still wouldn't ever touch him. Never ever ever. “Henrik, come here, it's me.”

He's unconscious on the hospital bed.

“If you get up, we'll go home,” Marvin says. “Henrik.”

“Marvin. Hey.” Hands grab his shoulders, hold him steady. “They medicated him. Let him sleep.”

Marvin turns and sees Jackie looking at him. His brother has a mottled bruise all down the side of his face, and he's so wan he could probably pass out on command. He looks older, too. So much older. Marvin reaches out and touches him, just with the pads of his fingers, just brushing across his cheek, and then his bedraggled beard.

“You did bring him home,” he whispers.

Jackie bites down on his mouth. “I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm sorry I stopped answering, I just... phones weren't safe.”

“Uh-huh,” Marvin manages wisely.

Chase is pushing past both of them, curling over Henrik to touch him. “My brother, my brother,” he half-sobs. “What happened? He's so cut up, did Anti – Jackie, please, he – ”

Jackie leaves him to tend to Chase, and Marvin sinks into a chair by the door. He doesn't think he can get any closer. Didn't he tell these fuckers to stop getting sent to the hospital? If Henrik were awake and reaching out for a hug, he would say that out loud, and it would make Henrik smile. Didn't I tell you, you little fucker? You're only allowed inside hospitals if you're working in them.

And he'd give him a kiss on the side of his head that meant mein schatz, thank God you're here. I cried so much for you.

But Henrik's not awake.

“Found him locked in a bedroom,” he can hear Jackie explaining, in this soft tone he seems to have been practicing, unnatural for somebody who's meant to be so loud, like a lion that starts singing arias. “Blood on the floors, but just sitting in a blanket with his glasses broken on his nose, eating cashews and painkillers. It was when we were getting away that his leg...”

Marvin closes his eyes.

“How'd you get on a flight with his leg like this?” Chase asks.

“We took trains. And a boat.”

“What?” Marvin demands, eyes snapping back open. “Are you kidding? He's been this hurt and you didn't fly him out here?”

“I had to get him out of Germany,” Jackie shoots back. “He wasn't getting on a plane with that leg, and they're too easily traceable anyway. On trains you can steal other people's tickets or slip onboard, if you're careful. Anti thinks we're still hiding out in Munich, and the longer he's looking there, the better.” “He would have been better off in Germany going right to a hospital. You should have called me out there. I would have hidden you like I hid Sean. I can weave those spells in an hour.”

“No way. We were in enough danger without bringing you in too. He would have grabbed you the second you were in the country.”

“They've got him on fucking oxygen and you took days to get him medical help?”

“Guys, are you kidding me? Don't fight,” snaps Chase.

Marvin stares at Jackie. Jackie stares back. His posture's so tight, so worn. Marvin feels his own shoulders sink a little. His big brother. His Jackie.

“You missed each other,” says Chase softly. “Give each other a hug.” It says a lot about the kind of brother he's been since they lost Henrik that Jackie just reaches out like he might pat Marvin on the shoulder or something equally repressed, but he's past caring. He's not that person anymore. Jackie's missed so much, and Marvin... where does he even start?

His eyes are burning. He can't believe he's lecturing Jackie about medical decisions when he was the one who... the one who was here while JJ...

“Marvin?” asks Jackie, bewildered to see him starting to cry.

“Jackie,” groans Marvin, and he steps towards him and falls into his arms, sobbing.

For a long moment, Jackie just wraps around him, like a tree growing around a corpse.

And then:

“Something's happened,” Jackie whispers. “What's happened?”

“JJ wanted to be there when we told you,” Chase says.

And well, if Jackie had any color left in his face, it's gone in that moment.

A stir from somewhere behind him raises Marvin from his brother's shoulder, and Chase sits up too, immediately attentive. “Schneep?” he whispers, reaching out to touch his hand.

Henrik yanks his hand back, blinking. He stares around at all of them with dazed, round eyes.

“Henrik.” Marvin ducks towards him, hands outstretched. “You're here, you're here. It's – it's me, love. You're safe here. Jackie brought you home.”

Henrik just stares at him, reaching up to touch his own head. Chase reaches forward again, but again, Henrik rears back.

“Schneep, are you with us?” asks Chase softly.

And he just... looks.

He just looks.

Marvin smiles frailly at him. “Henrik,” he says again.

Henrik's gaze falls away. He looks around the hospital room. He doesn't say anything. His mouth is slightly parted, his eyes glassy.

No... guarded. That's the word Marvin's looking for. His eyes are guarded, flashing in all directions. Chase tries to come towards him one more time, and Henrik holds his hand out in warning, as though pushing him back telekinetically, his lip pulling back into a snarl, soundless. He shakes his head slowly, once, twice, thrice. A rhythm. He keeps shaking his head, back and forth, back and forth, slow. Like there's music in his head, and nothing outside it.

Marvin and Chase both turn to Jackie together. Chase grips Marvin's hand for a second, and it's clammy against his own.

Jackie won't look back at them. His shoulders are shaking. His hands are clenched into fists.

“He hasn't been himself,” he whispers, something dark and heady as a riptide beneath his voice. “Chase, stay with him. Marvin, take me to James. Now.”

Marvin tries to sit him down when he starts screaming, but he can't make him stop.

“My baby!” Jackie howls, reaching for him, trying to grab at him, but JJ just backs away, because he's trying to sign, and Jackie doesn't know that. Jackie doesn't speak BSL. “Who did that to you, who did this? Not this, not you too!”

“Jackie, Jackie,” Marvin cries. “He's trying to talk to you! The hole in his throat – it's medical, okay, he's okay – ”

“Cut my brother open,” Jackie screams. “Someone cut my brother open. How could you let this happen? Jameson! Jameson! No, talk to me!”

JJ's been keeping it together so well. Been so calm, so determined. But Jackie starts screaming his name and Marvin sees his eyes well up, his face scrunch, his lip tremble.

“I love you, I love you,” he's signing, over and over again. “Please listen to me. It's okay. I'm okay with it.”

“Please say something,” Jackie shrieks, grabbing his shoulders, and then his face, and then his hands, face red as a salt-heavy Indian sea. “Please tell me this isn't true.”

Marvin tries to shove his way between them. “He's trying to talk,” he insists, and he's got to be calm, he knows he's got to be calm, but he can't, because Henrik's far away even in the hospital, and JJ's trying so hard, and Jackie can't take it, and it's all Marvin's fault, all your fault, you know exactly how you treated him, how you hated him, how you prayed he would be gone and Henrik would be here instead. All your fucking fault.

“You were supposed to be safe here, Marvin was supposed to keep you safe,” sobs Jackie. “Not this, not this! Say something! Jameson! Jameson!”

“He's trying!” Marvin screams back. “Jackie, you're scaring him!”

Jameson starts sinking to his knees, eyes squeezing shut in despair. Jackie lurches to grab him, scooping him off the floor and dragging him against his chest, crying and screaming into his shoulder.

“Talk to me! Talk to me! Say something, please, Jameson! Jameson! Jameson!”

Marvin sinks to the floor against the couch, covering his face with his hands, and his magic pours out of him in a flood of water, beginning to rain from the ceiling above them, soaking their living room. Jackie dry-heaves, begging between gasps of air, begging for Sean's forgiveness, for this to stop, for this not to have happened, he's sorry, he's sorry.

"Marvin was supposed to keep you safe," weeps Jackie. "Please say something, please, Jamie, I love you."

JJ sobs too, but it doesn't make much noise. Just breathy bids for air, and his tears hitting the floor alongside the rain.

#marvin's brothers #snippet sequel? you guys remember this fic? a classic #tw hospitalization #tw cancer mention #bee writes

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seabass17 · 3 years ago

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All that’s left | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/n: This is my first time writing something based on a video I found on TikTok, it’s not exactly the same, but it is kinda the idea. I hope you like it and please let me know if you might want a part two. Also, I apologize if you find some errors, im doing my best since English is not my first language. Anyway, happy reading!!

All that’s left masterlist

Pt. 2

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries (broken ribs, cuts, dislocated shoulder)

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: She still can’t get used to the feeling of being left behind by the people she once called family. After being hurt, she decides that she will give them a chance, and when they failed, she then makes the decision to disappear and start brand new. Of course, she leaves a letter that will left the team standing in the dark, and with more questions than answers about a lot of things, while discovering that she has more of one past that she let to know.

The sound of the rain hitting against the window of my living room was the only thing that could be heard in the silence of my apartment. I looked over my desk where the paper is waiting for me to pick up the pen and get this over with, but somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, a part is waiting, holding on to the smallest of hope that maybe, just maybe, he is going to come knocking to my door asking why the i haven’t showed up to the compound for the last three days, or why i didn’t text nor call the rest of the team. I wanted to see if they would notice my absence so I left the compound on Thursday. I got the answer to my question when Sunday arrived and my inbox was clear; no one noticed. Today is Tuesday, my apartment is thirteen minutes away, fifthteen if you literally fly or speed up, but still, no one came or text.

To be honest, I'm not surprised, that doesn’t mean it hurts less though. I know i should probably think this through instead of making the impulse decision of grabbing my things and get the hell out of here, going somewhere i can start fresh, somewhere i can start over and get a chance to get over all the things that happened, find people that actually cared for me, or maybe not finding anyone at all and die alone.

I stand up from my bed and go to my desk, it’s time to get this over with. I start writing the only thing that they get to keep.

“Dear Avengers, You’re probably wondering where I am, or you just don’t care, maybe you don’t even find this. If someone from the building finds this, keep it in case they ever come looking for me; thank you. So, this is it, this is my goodbye. You should consider yourselves lucky, given the fact that none of you even deserves a goodbye because you are the ones causing it. I could tell you the reason why I'm leaving, and you know what, I will tell you. I chose to trust you. The one thing I feared the most was trusting people, but when I joined the team, I thought ‘well, maybe i can trust them, they are my team’, guess what, I was wrong. You should really look out for your teammates Stark, oh, and by the way, you might want to look deeper into why the operation that saved those 30 civilians on may 20, didn’t go south, you might even discover its the very same reason of why i didn’t showed up in the compound for a week, yeah, they were busy torturing the information out of me for a week; information that, by the way, i didn't give, hence why the operation went great. Something even more funny, is that behind every mistake, every wrong that each one of you have ever done, I’m the one that suffered the consequences. Don’t believe me? Then you might want to do your homework, because dear teammates, I’m the one you couldn’t protect. By the time you find out the things you’ve done, I will be long gone. I'm very good at disappearing, Natasha (once she figures it out) can confirm that. I wish things would be different and we could be… family, but that’s never going to happen; not anymore. As of now, there will be no record of my name ever existing, everything that once belonged to me, will be burned, and as of me, well, I am no one.”

I fold the piece of paper and put it in the envelope, once sealed, I write down the word my name in the center so they know. I take a last look at my apartment. Everything is intact, the furniture that came with it is the same as always, the only thing different is that it seems empty without all my belongings. I grabbed my luggage and exited the apartment and then went downstairs.

“Hey Richard” I say to the man that is in the reception like I always do

“Hey miss, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm leaving, for good. If someone comes asking for me, my friends, you tell them that you haven’t seen me. Oh, I left a letter for them upstairs, could you please make sure that it gets to them? Only if the show up, do not sent it”

He looked at me a little sad and confused.

“Oh, well, you will me missed miss, I hope you find happiness and yes, i promised i will make sure they get your letter”

“Thank you Richard, for everything, oh, and this is for you” I handed him an envelope with some cash. He looked like he was about to say something about how he couldn’t accept it but I cut him off. “Please, just take it, please”. He sighs but takes the envelope.

“Thank you miss…”

I smiled at him and then turned around to grab a cab. I'm supposed to be in the airport in 30 minutes. Once in the airport, the only thing left is to start again, be someone brand new.

*3rd person POV*

Friday morning was a little colder than usual in the avengers compound, everyone on the team was up and in the kitchen having breakfast. Everything was normal, until someone noticed that someone was missing.

“Hey guys” Bucky said right before taking a bite of the pancakes Wanda made earlier for everyone. “Have any of you seen y/n?”

The team stayed quiet, realizing that they haven’t seen her for quite a while, not until Barnes brought it up.

“Uh… maybe she took a trip?” Steve broke the silence while the rest started thinking when was the last time they had seen her.

“No, she was here when we arrived from the Jersey mission, it must have been like what, two days, maybe three?” Tony said. Bucky could feel his insides burning and twisting.

“No… that was eight days ago” Vision intervened. The avengers felt like someone just blew up the white house. Her teammate was missing for eight days and no one even noticed. Bucky was the first one to react by getting up and running to her dorm, only to find it exactly the way it was when he last saw her. He searched her dorm looking for something out of place that could tell him that maybe you were in trouble and that he has to come save you, but he is left desperate when he doesn’t find anything.

“She’s not here, everything is intact” He informs once he is back in the kitchen.

“Everyone” Steve calls out, “get dressed, we’re going to look for her. Let’s start in her apartment”

The team leaves to change their clothes and next thing they know, they are in her building. Without saying a word to the receptionist, they all made their way up to her apartment.

“Hey! wait-” he goes unnoticed because the avengers are already on her door. Wanda knocks on the door.

“Y/n? You there?” no one responds. “Y/n come on, don’t be mad at us” Natasha says.

After a few seconds they all start to worry when the door is unlocked, and they worry even more once they see the apartment completely empty.

“What the-” Bucky says

“Where are her things?” Wanda asks to no one especifically

“Where is she?” Thor says

“What the hell is going on?” Tony says a little louder

Bucky storms out of the empty apartment and goes to the man in the reception

“What the hell happened to apartment 108, where is y/n y/l/n?” he asks with worry and anxiety in his voice.

“I’m sorry, but, who are you?” the man asks the rather intimidating group of people in front of him.

“We’re the Avengers man” Peter says and the man suddenly realizes and his face changes from a confused one, to a sad one that makes the team’s stomach drop.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he sighs, “She left me indicated to give this to you” he hands them an envelope that looks like it's been sitting there for a while. Bucky stares at the envelope like it's some kind of nuclear weapon that if you touch it, it could kill you. Wanda notices, grabs the envelope and stares at the paper in her hands.

“When did she leave this?” She asked

“Three days ago”

“And why didn’t you send it to us?” Tony asked, getting angry at the poor man.

“Because she specifically said to handed it to you, if you ever came looking for her”

Bucky could feel the tears in his eyes start to form.

“She said that? `Ever’?” Bucky asked almost to himself. The man slowly nodded. Natasha could feel how her stomach started burning from the guilt and the pain of not noticing that her friend was missing for eight days, little does she know that the entire team felt exactly the same.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y pull the records on the mission on may 20 and also show me the status of y/n on that time” Tony said to the AI and after a few seconds later, pictures of the building that that was about to be blown out by HYDRA with 30 civilians inside showed up. While the avengers were sitting in the conference room looking at the pictures, the AI started talking.

“Mission of may 20. Information was given that HYDRA kept 30 civilians inside the building with the intention of blowing it up with them inside. Source of the information unknown. The Avengers came to the building and successfully rescued the civilians safely moments before the building was blown up. Agent y/n y/l/n was on an undercover mission on a HYDRA facility at the same time, the communication was lost three days before the civilians situation, and around the same time, the information about the building was given anonymously the very same day that communication with Agent y/l/n was lost; Agent y/l/n returned a week later. Medical record found, access denied”

“Override, Tony Stark” Tony said after a good couple of seconds, the pieces starting to fall in place.

“Access complete. Medical records of Agent y/l/n on may 27th. Access restrained: Agent y/l/n. She presented with several cuts all over her body, three broken ribs, a second grade concussion, a sprained ankle and a dislocated shoulder. Patient refused treatment and was only given medication for the pain”

The seconds were passing and no one in the room would break the silence. The pieces were starting to fall in place, Tony felt nauseous. He yelled at her for being irresponsible for staying a little longer than she should have in the undercover mission, given the fact that she checked in on june 10th, meaning that she waited two weeks for her injuries to heal enough so that he could yell at her for not being good enough. He fell down to his chair, feeling like if he stayed up, he might throw up.

“She was the one that gave us the information about the building” Sam broke the silence. “She was the one that got tortured, and still managed to pass through the data so that we, could be the heroes while she was the one that got beaten up”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, where is she?” Natasha asked the AI, and it responded after a few seconds.

“No information found”

Natasha frowned, Bucky looked up to the screen to see the red sentence. It only made him want to scream more.

“What does ‘no information found’ mean?” Bucky asked on the edge of falling apart.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve called

“No information available” it said this time.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, look for y/n y/l/n” Tony said, thinking maybe he needed to check what was wrong with the AI.

“No records found for y/n y/l/n”

“Detail,” Stark said.

The AI showed what it said before, there was no record of her name, it was like it never existed. No phone number, no mail address, no nothing, just a little picture of an abandoned building or mansion somewhere in the world.

“Wait” Natasha said, “I know that building, F.R.I.D.A.Y, do a close up on that picture”

“What is it?” Wanda asked

“It was where The Red Room used to operate” tha AI responded

“Why does it appear related to her?” Bucky asked, fearing the answer

“The picture was taken when a girl escaped The Red Room in 2002, she eliminated four people on the way, the age or who it was is still unknown” the AI responded.

“Oh god…” Natasha whispered but Bucky manage it to hear it

“Natasha, what is it?” he asked

“2002, that’s three years after i managed to escape, there was a girl, we were some sort of friends, i promised that i was going to get us out of here, but i couldn’t take her with me so i left her. Two years later I contacted someone on the inside so that I could get to her and plan her escape, but she was angry at me and said that she was fine, a year later she did escape, killing four people on her way” Natasha explained. Everything makes sense now, why she looked familiar, why she had exactly the same skills as Natasha. The team noticed it too, but they assumed it was because she had trained very hard to be an avenger.

“What was her name?” Vision asked.

“Eliza” Natasha said

“Wait a minute…” Bucky said, lifting her head looking at Natasha. “Was that her real name?”

“No, she didn’t wanted to say her real one” Natasha said

“Eliza, that’s y/n’s grandmother’s name” Bucky said and the room fell into a silence where you could hear the wind outside.

“In the letter…” Steve started, “She said that you could confirm that she was good at disappearing completely once you figured it out, so, does this mean that…”

“Y/n is Eliza” Natasha concluded

“She was in The Red Room” Bucky added.

“She said in her letter that all of us did her wrong,” Sam said, “how are we supposed to know what the hell we do to her? She’s been in the team for what, two and a half years? And just now we realized that she was the one that gave us the data that saved 30 people and got her tortured, and that she was trained in The Red Room like Black Widow here. What else are we missing?” he added.

“Guess there’s only one thing we can do” Steve said, looking at Tony.

“And what’s that?” Wanda asked

“We find her”

#avengers #bucky barnes #imagines #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #the red room #natasha romonova #tony stark #steve rogers #wanda maximoff #peter parker #hydra

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