#but today this man gave me THREE AND A HALF pieces of catfish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danniburgh · 3 years

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Evergreen Intrusion (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

Summary: You never knew what happened or why it did; at nights, when you wrapped yourself around his body and he held you in place so you wouldn’t slip away from him, you talked about it, always coming to the same conclusion right before falling asleep. It was real.

Word count: +8.2k

Warnings: angst, hints of grief, smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), this is my attempt at magical realism, bear with me.

A/N: okay guys, this took me over 2 months to finish, i left it incomplete bc sex with frankie intimidated me but i sat today and said "youre gonna get done bitch" and it did, with major changes, but it did. anyway, thanks <3 and i wanna thank @mouthymandalorian because since the start i ranted everything to her and she read it in april and said “its good bitch” and wow, i love her so much i wanna cry

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // playlist // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

moodboard by me // gifs: @pajamasecrets and @conveniently-available

Many years later, when Frankie thought of the smell of the thick fog making contact with the grass, petrichor, is called, he would recall the time he spent with you on that place, in that time, and he would remember the eerie aura that you had carried with you during your stay, you glowed. It wasn’t like the feeling the rain gave him when he heard it. It was something else, something he couldn’t name, even decades after it happened.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” you sighed out, looking around you and seeing nothing but thick high pine trees.

Your feet ached because of how long you two had been walking together; Frankie decided the previous day that as you both had your weekend off, maybe some hiking would do you good. He had found a location he liked three and a half hours away from the racket and hustle of the city; he had driven you both in and guided you both inside. The air inside the forest was chilly, the ambient was silent, and at the height you were currently in, a thin layer of fog was roaming and settling right above your heads.

The view was breathtaking, though. The trees made a shelter high above your bodies, the leaves and tweaks and small bushes under your feet were soft, almost mushy, the moss around the tree trunks adorned them in different, formless patterns that you could make out if you were close enough to them, and if you touched them, they whispered the secrets of their host.

It was a weird time in your relationship with Frankie, he had just finished his therapy sessions and he had just recovered his pilot’s license, but he could still get lost into himself at times, he could still sit silent in a room full of people, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He had changed, the Frankie you knew and loved had changed since Santiago had practically dragged him to Colombia for a job. And when they came back, Santiago sent to you pieces of a man, poorly glued together.

Helping Frankie re-build himself was a challenge in itself, first you had to help him find himself among the mess that he was when he came back home. And slowly you had to help cleanse himself from the metaphorical dirt he had carried with him, dirt that was so embedded into his skin; under his nails, behind his ears, entangled in his hair, between his fingers, under his feet, that you had found yourself taking off time from work, and basically life to help him scrub it all off.

All to aid him become himself again. Not lost time. Completely worth it. Because when you had finished helping him, he had looked at you, deep in the eyes, and he had thanked you in the best way he knew how.

But he could still get lost into himself at times.

“No, we are not lost, babe,” Frankie’s voice was low, he was trying to get the map on his hand in some other direction to locate himself.

“Frankie, we are lost,” your hand dropped to his shoulder and he raised his eyes to you, his gaze glistening with the soft light that shone through the pine branches that hovered feet above you, making them look like fine pieces of dried amber, almost hypnotizing.

“Okay yeah, I have no idea where we are,” he sounded resigned to admit it, his shoulders dropped as his head moved so he could take your surroundings in, taking his cap off, brushing his curls back and putting it back on. His eyes for a second got fixated on something far away and you tried to follow the direction his gaze was going, finding nothing but trees, dirt and bushes. His head turned slowly back to you and he left out a sigh when he saw you smile at him.

“What?” Frankie muttered, you bit your lip as you saw his preoccupied quirk, his eyes were trying to find some reassurance in yours, as if he thought you had an answer to a question he had yet to ask.

“We can always walk back from where we came, don’t we?” you suggested, shrugging lightly, trying to get Frankie to loosen up a bit. If he started to freak out, then you knew everything had gone to shit. And you didn’t want that.

Frankie looked at you and he looked behind you at the path you had come from, considering the suggestion.

“I mean, yeah,” his eyes fixated again on something or somewhere and then his brow furrowed, you followed his eyes and yet again, you found nothing but trees, “I jus–what the fuck?” you widened your eyes.

“Frankie?” your voice was as thin and disperse as the fog above you and it seemingly didn’t reach Frankie’s ears, because you had to find your air and put it all in your diaphragm to almost shout at him “Frankie!”

He looked around him slowly, his brown eyes were roaming around trying to locate something, anything and his worried stance and his shocked face made your stomach churn in something closer to fear than expectation.

“I can’t find the way we came from,” he whispered, and you saw the fog slowly turn into a transparent arm and reach to his mouth, eating his voiced words. Delightful, the fog said.

“Don’t play with me,” you pleaded, shivering as you felt as well the fog’s arm feel out the confines of your mouth, tasting your words, not liking them and spitting them on the floor.

Frankie looked at you, his eyes telling you he wasn’t lying, his brows were almost touching each other and his mouth was open in bewilderment, he shook his head slowly a few times and you felt your legs flutter and a heavy weight fall onto your shoulders.

“Look for it,” you mouthed, Frankie saw you breathing heavily and he rushed to you, he dropped his backpack to the floor. His hands on your body felt electrifying. His touch was heavy with preoccupation, his face was quirked in confusion as he guided your breaths in and out, in and out, in and out.

Once the air entered your lungs and exited them as food for the trees around you he tried again to look for the narrowed path you two had walked into the forest.

“C’mon, I think is this way,” he pointed in a random direction and you whined. The fog’s arm rejected it as well, and it fell in front of your feet; you looked at it and found out why the fog didn’t like it, it was stale, incorporeal, bland.

“Are you sure?” your question felt like a prayer and a plea and a beg. Frankie nodded. He wasn’t but he nodded.

Frankie took your hand and turned around to put on his backpack. But the backpack was gone and the ground where it was thrown onto before was ruffling about it.

“Fuck,” he swore and brushed a hand on his forehead to wipe the thin layer of fog that was clinging to his skin, mimicking sweat. “let’s go,” you nodded and gripped his hand as hard as you could, your other hand gripped the shoulder strap of your own backpack and for a second you glanced at the space on the ground that had eaten Frankie’s and it growled softly.

You and Frankie walked for what it felt like hours upon hours upon hours. And you got nowhere.

At that point the forest looked like a carbon copy of itself, the moss was showing the same secrets and you started to be sad, and angry, and scared, and Frankie noticed and the forest noticed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Frankie muttered to you, you felt an ever so known and unwelcomed sting in your throat, “I’m so sorry,” his arms found you and he held you close to his chest, he kept muttering apologies. For getting you two lost, for choosing that place, for wanting to hike, for not giving you the time you needed, for making you lose a piece of yourself in the works of putting him together. He was sorry. And you felt it. And the forest felt it too.

You cried, as everything felt like you weren’t going home anytime soon.

And Frankie held you, because he was the only piece of home you had left, and you were the only piece of home he had left.

Your tears escaped your eyes and the fog’s arm feasted on them, and you let it. It was the only delicious thing you could offer to it, anyway.

You didn’t know for how long he had been embracing you and letting you damp his shirt with the tears that the fog’s arm didn’t choose to eat when you heard it.

But you didn’t hear it, you felt it entering your head, roaming around your ears and getting itself settled in your mind.

A whisper from the forest. It sounded like a tree’s secret, but sadder, needier, stronger, bigger, heavier, darker and lighter.

“I wanna go home,” you whispered out, to him. To Frankie.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he broke the embrace and his hands slid to cup your face, he brought you to him slowly and took your lips in his.

He kissed you with gentle desperation. His mouth moved at the rhythm of an unheard, newly made up song, chordless, lyricless, soundless; his grasp on your head felt like the silk of the sheets you never lied on, the sound of his tongue sliding into your mouth was lewd and warm and happy and there. You grasped his wrists and held onto him as if he were your home. Not letting you go. Not letting him go. No one was going anywhere.

You kissed for what it felt like hours upon hours upon hours and when he stopped kissing you; you chased his mouth and kissed him again and the songless song began again, and the never owned softness stayed in there, and the ever so present warmness became warmer.

When the air of your lungs faded into the leaves and the pinecones screamed at you and the moss stopped whispering their host’s secrets at the surprise of you kissing for so long, you stopped.

And Frankie’s big, warm, brown eyes felt ever more present, as if they had been there for years and years.

He smiled at you. And you were sure the thin fog that invaded the space faded away because of it.

“You wanna try again?” he asked softly, and you nodded, replying to his smile with one of yours.

So Frankie grabbed your hand again, and you two started walking in whatever direction you two felt like walking.

Soon enough you would be home.

“Oh” Frankie let out, tightening the grip on your hand, you looked at him with anticipation and question in your eyes. His gaze seemed to be fixated on something and you, yet again, followed his eyes, not really expecting to find anything. But you were surprised at what your gaze encountered.

“Wow,” you sighed out. You felt Frankie's eyes on your face and you turned to see him. His eyes bewildered, his smile giddy, contagious, child-like. His. It was him.

“Shall we?” he asked. You nodded enthusiastically, giving him the brightest smile he thought he had ever seen in all his years on the earthly plane.

You had found a house.

A small, old-looking house.

The outside was battered, the pass of the life’s years had darkened its wooden walls, made them look like wrinkles in an old person’s face, the small, squared windows on the front were foggy and covered with white, fine dust and an even thinner layer of mist, it had a small rot-wooden deck, moss and mold and a bright green vine covered the steps. From the spot you were standing at, you could see the way the climbing plants and the secret teller moss adorned the single slope roof.

Tiny droplets of water that had grasped and clung tenaciously onto the roof edge from the fog that had faded into the sky were succumbing to the gravity and fell onto the floor, sounding like some form of a song you were sure you knew but never heard.

As you two walked hand in hand, you noticed the open door. The house felt old; it felt weak; it felt blight, yet so warm, so bright, so inviting, so welcoming.

So you entered.

Frankie let out a soft gasp at the sight.

The inside was even more tainted.

The walls were partially covered with the remains of a rotten, tattered, poorly kept wallpaper, the color had faded and the only noticeable feature of it was the flower print that seemed to adorn it after years and years of exposure to everything around you.

The wooden floors looked long-lived; some of the wood tiles were cracking, some of them looked sturdy, some others were rotten and there were a few places around where there were no tiles and it was just wet, dark dirt.

You looked at Frankie with a smile adorning your face and he was looking at the ceiling; you looked up as well and saw the wooden beams above you, angled and darkened, some weathered and damp, some robust and dry. They looked relaxed, yet hefty. Soft yet firm. Some of the climbing plants you had seen creeping on the roof had crawled and slithered and found themselves at home in the beams.

It was beautiful.

“C’mon,” you tugged at Frankie's hand and pulled him further inside. He followed close. The first room, the biggest, had on one side a worn out, misted loveseat in the middle of the space and a stone fireplace that the time and the weather and the forest and the fog had taken care of turning green. On the other side there was a small table, topped with fallen leaves from the climbing plants, a wood stove right below a window and a legged stained sink with a copper faucet.

You bit your lip and narrowed your eyes, thinking.

“What?” Frankie asked when he saw your face, you smiled and walked towards the sink, with him following you, with your free hand you reached the faucet handle and twisted it. The pipes started moaning in protest after being awakened so rudely and without notice and then, clear water started pouring from it.

Frankie barked out a laugh. And you smiled at him, your eyes bright and shiny as if the moon was stationed inside them.

You got rid of your backpack and left it on the floor while Frankie washed his hands and cupped them to gather water and drink it, after he finished he left them under the faucet and nodded his chin to them. You leaned down and drank from his hands. The water tasted sweet; it tasted like rain; it tasted like a summer night breeze, and the early days of winter before a snowstorm. It tasted like home.

Frankie’s skin was warm at the touch, despite the outside's brisk temperature. When you finished drinking, your throat happy and satiated, you smiled at him as he twisted the handle to stop the stream of water. You wiped your mouth dry with the sleeve of your shirt and your eyes meandered around the space, taking in the colors of the wood, the small crevices of the teared wallpaper, the way the window adorned herself with tiny specks of dust that formed a thin yet thick white cover all over the glass, and the way Frankie seemed to fit like a puzzle piece in the middle of the room. As if he was part of it. As if he was meant to stand in the middle of the rotten wooden floor, among the fallen leaves of the climbing plants that never seemed to die.

“You’re really pretty,” Frankie muttered, his brown yet amber eyes glistened with the anticipation of what was about to come but you didn’t know yet. The great something-about-to-happen. You smiled at him and his chest fluttered, swollen with the extensive, deep love he had for you.

“Let’s go see the rest,” you suggested, Frankie nodded as he saw your voice eagerly come out of your lips in crescent waves of light, and smiled back at you when you took his hand again, intertwining his fingers with yours, sending his spine a few shocks of loving electricity.

You walked to the center of the big room that functioned as both an impressively functioning kitchen and a rotten living room and at the end, on the wall, there were two doors, both medium tall, dark, mahogany doors, one of them closed, the other halfway open.

Frankie followed you as you tugged gently at his hand, you walked first to the one closed and the doorknob felt like room temperature butter when you twisted it open, it was a plain and simple bathroom, the three essentials, a misty, foggy, dusty mirror on the wall and a misty, foggy, dusty window in front of you, you smiled to yourself when you saw the way the climbing plant was creeping its way inside the room from a little crack on the upper left corner of the window.

Walking back you stepped towards the halfway open door and you pushed it open with two fingers. The hinges howled softly as the door moved to the side and let you enter through it. You scoffed as you saw a double, tubular bed in the middle of the room, the green bedding seemed plush and cozy, it looked like a giant sheet of that secret telling moss that gave you the warm welcome when you were walking towards the house.

Directly next to the bed there was a bigger window, still covered and hidden by the dust and the fog and the white mist that apparently covered every single glass surface around the house, as if it was its job, but it still let the light come through to the room, illuminating it with the smiles of the little sunlight that the trees allowed to enter their space.

In front of the bed there was a dusty mirror, the frame of it was bigger than the glass but fitting, and it reflected the tiny, thin, imperceptible sun rays that the window happily let through.

The room felt colder than the bigger space outside and you didn’t like it.

“Let’s take that outside, it feels like a freezer here,” Frankie said and you nodded. Both of you walked and each one grabbed an edge of the bedding. You looked at Frankie with your eyebrows raised and asked without asking if he was feeling the same thing around your hands.

The sheet felt like velvet and moss and the single petal of a rose that fell on a table when you put its owner on a small vase, it felt soft as the whispers of love you would give Frankie when he slipped inside of you, soft as the whispers of the forest you had heard earlier, but happier, relaxed, lovelier.

Frankie then looked through the window and he narrowed his eyes a bit.

“I think the sun is about to set, baby,” he mumbled, you agreed with him without looking at the window “come on, we have to rest.”

You two walked outside the room with the thick sheet on your hands and let it fall carelessly on the floor of the rotten living room, between the tattered loveseat and the green stone fireplace.

You felt Frankie’s hand leave yours and find its place on your waist, soothing you even when you didn’t need to be soothed. Caressing you, knowing you always wanted to be caressed.

You turned your head to see him and he reached in to grab your lips in his, his mouth tasted sweet and earthy, his lips told you what he was thinking without saying it and you turned around so your bodies could talk to each other.

“I love you,” he inserted in your mouth the words without having to break the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the curls that escaped eagerly from his cap and your skin felt like it was melting and mixing with his, your scents got to know each other again and for a brief, brief moment, it felt like you were floating several inches from the floor.

A soft crack above you interrupted your kiss and you and Frankie turned your heads up to follow the sound, one of the ceiling beams was moving, slowly. Frankie moved you gently, pushing your waist and you stood there, watching how the middle of it cracked itself open from two different points. The soft noises the wood made as it opened itself sounded like an egg hatching, you narrowed your eyes when the cracking stopped and then, a single, almost perfectly squared piece of the ceiling beam fell to the floor, landing next to your feet with a soft thud.

Frankie let go of your waist and leaned down to pick the piece of wood up with curious eyes.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered to himself and to you.

“What?” you questioned, narrowing your eyes in amusement at his soft expression and his small smile.

Frankie then reached inside the beam and slowly pulled out a thin, small purple flower.

“Oh,” you gasped, covering your mouth with one hand, Frankie, ever so delicately finished taking out the flower from the wood with everything and roots and admired it closer, smiled to himself and then gave it to you.

“Una flor para otra flor,” (a flower for another) he whispered and you both chuckled, taking the small flower from his fingers.

“So fucking cheesy,” you teased, reaching to his cheek to cup his face with your other hand, brushing softly over his patchy beard with your thumb, taking in the sight of your boyfriend’s face, the dimmed light that the windows allowed to get through them gave him an aura of safety and his skin seemed like it was sparkling.

You looked down to the small flower, still cupping his face, and you smiled at the way the purple petals danced on the stem, stirring as if the wey stretching after a long while dormant and encapsulated inside the wood of the beam. You brought it to your nose and the petals brushed the tip of it as you inhaled softly the scent of its core.

The flower smelled like the garden of your childhood home, like the perfume that your grandma used. It smelled like the mixed berries Frankie liked to munch standing in front of the open fridge in the middle of the night, it smelled like the dream you had the night Frankie came home after Colombia and that you couldn’t wipe out from your head.

You looked back at Frankie; he was grinning at the way the flower seemed to hug your nose as you smelled it.

“What?” you asked him, reciprocating his smile. He shook his head. Nothing. He inserted in your mind without parting his lips. You slid your hand to his neck and pulled him softly to you, he reached out, knowing what you wanted. Frankie always knew what you wanted.

When his lips brushed yours, you lifted your other hand and pushed the small flower between your mouths.

Frankie let out a chuckle at the action and sighed into your mouth when the flower opened up its petals to kiss you both back.

You let the flower fall to the floor when Frankie’s hands found their home on your waist again and pulled you to him, bringing you flush to his broad chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

Frankie’s lips tasted like the flower’s pollen and a faint hint of the fog that had tasted his words

His lips stole a moan from your throat as he used his tongue to open yours and you both heard the way the flower imitated your moan on her newfound place on the floor, making you both smile at the soft, almost imperceptible sound.

The air became warmer, thicker with all the love that exuded from your bodies. You both heard the secret teller moss yell at the way he was kissing you so the forest found out and it made you incredibly proud to have a man like him devouring your lips ever so softly.

“Make love to me, Frankie,” you whispered on his lips, carefully reaching into his throat and pulling out a soft groan out of it with your words. He just nodded in response and slowly guided your body to kneel on the sheet and kept kissing you.

Your mind reeled at the way Frankie used his lips to make you feel safe, protected, loved, cared for. By the way he, with a few movements of his lips, could make you feel like you had been kissing him and kissing him and kissing him for years and years and years.

Frankie’s hands roamed around your waist and the small of your back, without hurry they got under your shirt and you sighed at the warmness, soft roughness of his touch on your skin, you took his cap off and let it fall on the floor, next to the flower.

The flower crawled towards the cap as you continued praying against Frankie’s lips and snuggled next to the brim.

He broke the kiss, and you felt a gentle, faint breeze cover your body when Frankie took off your shirt, it felt as if it was caressing you softly, and it made the hairs on your skin rise.

Frankie stole your kiss again and hands trailed to cup your tits over the fabric of your bra and you let out a low whimper when he teased your nipples over it. You slid your hands from his neck to his chest and worked slowly to unbutton his plaid shirt. Your feathery touch on his warm, sun kissed skin made him moan softly, and the flower mimicked the sound again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured on your lips when you made him take off the shirt. You smiled on his kiss, with him on you, on any part of you, you always believed him.

His lips traveled down to your chin, where he left a soft bite and ripped another soft moan out of you.

As you helped him to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, Frankie liked a stripe of skin from your chin to your neck and you smiled, your eyes were closed when his plush lips started nibbling at your tender, fog tasted flesh and once his belt was unbuckled and his pants were unbuttoned, he slid them down.

“Take off yours, baby,” he whispered, you bit your lip and did it; you undressed as he did and once you were completely naked, bared and vulnerable in front of him, he stopped his own movements to admire your body, “gorgeous.” the word slipped from his lips like thick, raw honey and fell onto the blanket, smearing on it, the fabric sensed it and absorbed the word and your eyes, as he reached for your naked waist, saw it disappear inside it.

Frankie brought you to him once again and his kisses fell on your skin like soft, summer rain; warm and light and all over you; your hands found themselves caressing any part of his body they could reach, making him drop little moans and whimpers on your skin, marking it, leaving it tainted with the soft noises that he produced as you enjoyed the softness of his body.

He laid you down on the sheet and it made itself cushioned under you, it was fresh, comfortable, soft and stirred ever so slightly under your body; it made you shiver softly.

Frankie’s lips went down your neck, his warm, soft tongue played with your nipples as his hands roamed up and down your torso, you buried your fingers inside his curls; scratched his scalp gently with your nails, making him grunt against your breast.

“Frankie,” you whispered out, his name floating all the way up like an inflated balloon and crashing onto the wooden beams with an unhearable thud, Frankie hummed in response with his mouth worshipping your other breast, his beard making the most gentle burns onto your skin “eat me.” you begged, closing your eyes when he smirked against the tender, already sensitive flesh of your chest.

Without saying more words his kissed trailed down your body, several of them on your lower abdomen, you chuckled and opened your eyes, lifting your head to look at him; Frankie was already looking at you; his deep, brown and amber looking eyes telling you without hesitance what he wanted, what he had been asking for months and months and months. You threw your head back on the sheet with a smile adorning your face as he took your thighs and gently opened them up for him; his face buried inside you and he inhaled the scent of your deepest corner.

With kitten licks, Frankie started tasting you; making you moan when his tongue went deeper, he opened you further and buried his tongue inside you, prompting a groan out of you; guttural, soft. Frankie smiled against your folds, proud and enamoured of the sounds he was making you produce.

Your hand pushed him further deeper inside you, Frankie eagerly opened his mouth around your core and started sucking and licking and nibbling and tasting. You threw your head to the side and your heavy lids opened just enough for you to look at the small purple flower that was snuggled right next to the seam of Frankie’s cap. It was lying on the floor almost lazily, its roots were stirring and stretching and you smiled at it; it was feeling it too.

Frankie’s fingers found your entrance and pushed inside, starting to curl and press and push to the sides and upwards, making you lift your back off the sheet and hatch your hips on his face, you moaned as he pulled his fingers out and in again at a tantalizing rhythm he knew you loved; his lips nibbled at your clit and his tongue teased at it in synchrony with his fingers, you let out a long moan and Frankie groaned against your core. The vibrations of his voice against your tender, swollen pussy made you stiffen and hold your breath, you gasped when he sucked at your clit rather hoarsely and the air that left your lungs through your lips traveled like a feather falling through the air and fell directly on the purple flower.

Frankie sucked and curled his fingers inside you and you rolled your hips against his face, he had built a coil inside you that was getting warmer and warmer with each wet lick on you; your hand fisted his hair and as the coil snapped in half, you pulled it, making Frankie grunt against you. He helped you ride your orgasm and as you came down from one of the highest climaxes he had made you feel in what it felt like years and years and years, he crawled slowly upwards between your legs, covering you with his body.

“Hey,” he whispered above your face, you opened your eyes and smiled when you saw his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his inches from you “you okay?” he asked. You nodded and cupped his slick covered face with both your hands, closing the distance between your mouths and tasting yourself in the process of devouring his lips.

Frankie whimpered at the depth of your kiss and when he broke it, you heard the slightest of sounds; a yelp that sounded both from afar and up close. You turned to the side at the same time and you let out a soft chuckle when you saw the purple flower standing. Its roots well planted into the wood tiles of the floor. An almost imperceptible coat of transparent slick covered its petals.

You turned to Frankie and he smiled at you, falling onto your lips once more.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his neck and your legs opened up for him to brush the underside of his duck against your wet folds; you shivered, feeling the way he was throbbing for you.

“I love you.” he whispered without whispering and you rolled your hips closer to him. He slid inside of you with any other intervention than the sole need you had for each other; he moaned softly against your mouth as his hips started thrusting inside you at a gentle pace you didn’t know he was capable of going at.

You stopped kissing him and pulled his body to rest on yours; one of his hands rested on your hip as the other moved to frame your head and he ground into you slowly; deeply; harder while his rhythm wasn’t strong.

Frankie hid his face in the crook of your neck and you wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle for both, you moaned when his cock started grazing a soft spot inside you that made you close your eyes and see the stars up close.

“More.” you heard a voice that wasn’t yours but sounded like you, and Frankie whined against your skin, licking you. He picked up the rhythm and went faster enough so you gushed around him and the noise of him pumping inside you inundated the room; as he drove into you and your throat made the most sweet and soft noises he swore he had ever heard you make, you heard the fog creeping into the house; it slithered in through the small openings the creeping plants were watching you make love from. You felt the weight of the fog falling on top of you and when it covered you whole, Frankie started pounding into you.

“Oh, god.” you moaned out. Frankie held you in place with a hand on your head and another on your waist and went impossibly faster, the noises that your skins made when they clashed together were being muffled by the fog, whose arm formed once more and caressed you both in places you wouldn’t let anyone else touch.

You heard another yelp from afar and your eyes looked for it in the purple flower, but it had turned its back to you and you noticed how, from the seams of the wood tiles on the floor, little purple nubs and buds started growing.

You gasped when Frankie changed the angle, sliding in and out faster than before, hitting your g-spot with more strength, and your breath hitched when he started grunting inside your neck. You turned your head to the other side and saw more of the purple buds. Some of them were opening already, and you felt your eyes water when you saw several small, slick covered purple flowers stretching their petals to the ceiling.

A deep, particular thrust of Frankie into you made your legs tremble. He started kissing your neck and your jaw and your chin, still driving into you at that murdering pace of his you had never felt before. You felt his beard tickling your skin, and you grew aware of every inch of sweaty, fog covered skin you owned; when he kissed your lips and ate the small moans you didn’t realize you were letting out, you grew aware of everything that rested inside your body, and you felt it move, grow, swell and deflate at the same time.

“Frankie,” you whispered against his lips, his cock driving into you and making you squirm beneath him “Frankie.” you gasped, his mouth trapped yours and you felt him throb inside your cunt.

“You’re here.” he muttered against your lips. The sudden, overwhelming emotion of being wrapped around him made you cum almost immediately with your eyes closed shut and your mouth opened at the fog’s mercy, that ate your moans with fervency.

Frankie slid in and out of you for more time than he had ever done before after your orgasms, he was whispering to you words you didn’t understand; you felt your eyes shed the tears they had held as you came at the sight of all the nubs and buds opening as Frankie thrusted into you. All of them opened as beautiful, small, slick covered purple flowers; carbon copies of the one he had found inside the piece of beam and gifted to you.

“They’re ours,” you gasped, Frankie hummed in affirmation, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth agape, his breath hitting your face, you cupped his face. “let go,” you whispered to him, caressing the flush skin of his face. “it’s enough, let go.”

Frankie moaned out and grunted, locking his hips with his cock fully inside you as he filled you with himself as deep as he could. He opened his eyes once the last drop of his seed was poured into you and gazed at you.

“How are they?” he asked, panting and trying to recover from his orgasm.

“They’re beautiful.” you replied with a teary smile, Frankie kissed you softly and turned his head to the sides, still inside you, looking at all the precious, tiny purple flowers that surrounded you.

“They’re ours.” he said with a smile adorning his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” the scream Santiago let out made you flinch, and you fisted and gripped Frankie's dampened clothes. His hold on your body tightened, and you felt another errant tear escape from your eyes.

“Pope.” Frankie could only let out that sole word, his throat was closed shut and the only thing that was keeping him from falling knees first onto the floor was your body and your need to be supported so you didn’t fall to the floor as well.

“Fish, what the fuck, man?” Santiago frowned at the look you two were carrying; your clothes were soaked wet and dirty, your hair was dripping muddy water. Frankie had wet knots on his hair and for Santiago it was odd looking at him without his cap on. You were shaking and almost climbing onto Frankie’s body.

Frankie didn’t answer. Santi looked at your feet and neither of you were wearing shoes.

“C’mon, c’mon in,” he stepped to the side and Frankie whispered in your ear to move, but he ended up almost carrying you inside. “you need a shower,” Santiago muttered when the both of you got inside and the swampy smell that clung to you brushed his nose. Frankie nodded and slowly walked inside Sant’s home towards the bathroom “Fish,” he heard the voice of his best friend behind him and stopped walking, not bothering to turn around “man, it’s been a year, where were you?”

You sobbed into Frankie’s shoulder and lifted your head to look at Santiago, who frowned when he looked into your bloodshot eyes.

“Living.” you whispered out, missing the fog’s arm, that was not there to eat at your words.

After a thirty-minute shower; in which both of you sat on the shower’s floor and Frankie attempted to unknot your hair as gently as he could while you shared furtive glances, feathery touches, kisses of understanding and heavy; painful tears, you were sitting on Santiago’s dining table wrapped in his clothes and a blanket, gripping each other’s hands as hard as you could.

“Where were you?” Santi asked, his voice soft, his eyes on you and the way Frankie didn’t seem to separate an inch from you.

“The forest.” Frankie muttered. Santiago sighed and tried to look away from you.

“For a year?” he let out in an incredulous whisper.

“It didn’t feel like a year.” you murmured, your voice thin as a thread, your eyes on Frankie’s side, you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What do you mean it didn’t feel like a year?” Santiago raised his voice and immediately caught himself and tried to calm down “we were about to pronounce you dead,” he tightened his jaw and his finger pressed on the wood of the table, you smirked at the parallels; his finger almost looked like Soleil, the first flower that you and Frankie gave birth to “both of you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, Santi.” you whispered, looking at him from Frankie’s shoulder.

“Explain it to me, then.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest, Frankie let out a huff.

“No.” Frankie said.

“We got lost,” you started. Frankie stiffened next to you and turned to the side to face you; he looked at your pleading face and with his eyes asked you if you were sure. You cupped his face, scratched his short beard and nodded ever so slightly; missing the way he would slip his words inside your mind when he didn’t feel like talking, “we got lost in the forest.” you said, still looking at Frankie.

Santiago stirred in his chair. He had never seen you do that, look into each other’s eyes so profoundly it felt like you two were sharing not only the same air, but the same brain; the same heart.

“And we found a house,” you turned to see him, teary-eyed and a soft smile adorning your face. Frankie hid his face inside the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply, your hand caressing his nearly knot-free hair. “and we stayed there.”

“For a year?” Santiago deepened his frown, you huffed and shook your head gently.

“For a week.” you whispered.

Santiago stood up from the chair and closed his eyes, he scratched his beard for a few seconds and turned to you.

“How?” you shrugged.

“We tried to make sense of it as we walked home,” you muttered. Santiago noticed how your eyes got lost in the space between you and him. “we don’t look like a year has passed, right?” you blinked a few times and focused on him. He shook his head “we were supposed to stay there until the sunrise, we just got lost.”

“What made you stay a week?” he asked, hesitantly.

You choked down a sob and felt Frankie’s hand slip out of your entanglement. He wrapped his arms around you.

“The babies.” he let out, his voice deep, his tone hurt. Santiago closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index.

“What babies?” he whispered out. Frankie scoffed at his friend’s reaction.

“Ours.” you let out.

Santiago sat down again and you felt yourself stiffen with the memory of them.

Frankie started talking, but his voice sounded far off and distorted.

Your mind could only focus on the hundred little flowers that were born out of you and Frankie, on how they would make space for you and him to walk around them, on how, if you stopped, they would wrap themselves around your feet, burying them with their soft petals and bathing you in their pollen.

You felt your throat clench at the memory of them waking you up in the mornings as your limbs were wrapped around Frankie’s body, of their smallest voices laughing at his bad jokes or at them bathing in the sheer sunlight that entered through the windows.

They were yours.

They were yours and Frankie’s.

“They died.” Frankie let out with a shaky breath. You felt your face wet with the tears your memories had brought to your eyes and Santiago looked at you; his face quirked in worry, his eyes wet with sympathy.

“How?” Santi dared to ask.

“A storm.” Frankie let out.

You buried your face in his shoulder and cried.

Frankie looked to the seamless ceiling of Santiago’s home and felt his chest turn and burn at the sound of your sobs.

The morning they died, Frankie woke up by the sound of a loud thunder that shook the house; he gripped your body absentmindedly, the memory of the hard rain burning inside his mind made him reach to you, he didn’t like the sound of pounding rain. He loathed it, but you were sleeping next to him and your body was giving him the warmth he didn’t have before.

You were woken up by the second thunder that made the flowers shake their pollen off in fear.

The two of you were naked and the dreadful sound of big drops of water made you sit on the blanket. You turned to look at each other just as the rumbling of another thunder made the misty, foggy, dusty windows shackle on their frames.

At the fourth roar of another thunder several windows broke and the sharp curl of sturdy wind came through the windows, you screamed to him and you dressed quickly and went to look for anything to cover the broken windows.

You tore the blanket apart in several pieces to cover some of the now opened windows, rushing to stop the ferocious wind from coming inside the house, but the storm was strong and gripped at the pieces, snatching them away from your hands every time you tried to use them as a barrier.

Frankie yelled at you to try to use the parts of the loveseat that you had moved to the middle of the kitchen space, and when you tried the deafening, thunderous sound of a sky-tearing thunder made the front door fly open and the rain to flood in.

You were soaked to the bone and you looked down at your feet; the flowers were trying to climb up to your calves but failed each time. The water started streaming into the house from invisible tears on the ceiling and the water level was rising quicker than either of you would’ve liked.

“They’re drowning!” you gasped, covering your mouth with your eyes to prevent from scaring them more than they already were; the tears you knew you were shedding had mixed with the rowdy water that came from each broken window. Frankie acted out of his own fears, he frowned and kneeled on the floor, trying to pick them up, but each time he picked up some, they fainted on his hand. “stop!” you yelled at him. He did it again, not listening to your pleas. You rushed to him and pulled him back “you’re killing them!”

“They’re already dying!” he yelled back at you, his eyes reddened and his jaw tensed in pain. You pulled him back again when he tried to pick up more. “stop!” he yelled, pushing you away from him “let me save them!”

“You can’t!” you screamed at him under another thunder that made the ceiling crack, both of you looked at the beams trying to hold together but they swell with water and were about to give in “Frankie!” you called him, he stood up and took your hand in his.

“Let’s go!” you nodded and let out a sob when you saw the purple petals of the flowers floating on the muddy water, lifeless. Frankie pulled you towards the open door and forced you to run out.

Your feet landed on puddles of swampy water that were ankle deep and you gripped Frankie’s hand as he pulled you away from the house; he tried to regulate his own breathing, the feeling of mud burying his bare feet reminded him too much of another time in his life he didn't want or liked to remember, the rain fell on your bodies like needles and stuck to your clothes, tainting them with a green, dirt color that made you feel disgusting.

You walked together for what felt like hours upon hours upon hours; the secret telling moss was dead as well; the floor that had eaten Frankie’s backpack was flooded with the sharp water that fell from the sky. Corpses of bushes and moss and bugs and birds floating around your legs. It smelled like life. It reminded Frankie of war.

“And then we got out of the forest.” Frankie sniffed out.

Santiago was looking at the both of you with sympathy and pain in his eyes. He stood up from his chair and walked around the table. He stood behind you and wrapped his arms around the both of you.

“I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed out louder.

Many years later, when Frankie thought of the smell of the thick fog making contact with the grass, petrichor, is called, he would recall the time he spent with you on that place, in that time, and he would remember the eerie aura that you had carried with you during your stay; that aura that wrapped your naked body and that followed you wherever you walked to, you glowed.

Whenever you played with the flowers, or their tiny petals wrapped themselves around his fingers and you let out the lightest, freest, most liberating of laughs; you shimmered.

You never knew what happened or why it did; at nights, when you wrapped yourself around his body and he held you in place so you wouldn’t slip away from him, you talked about it, always coming to the same conclusion right before falling asleep. It was real.

And the love you had for each other grew because of it. And the love you felt for your babies existed. And the feeling of peace that it made you feel was still there.

It wasn’t like the feeling the hard rain gave him when he heard it. It was something else, something he couldn’t name, even decades after it happened.

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a-bang-for-your-bucky · 3 years

Text

Playin' With Fire: Frankie's Secret

Playin’ With Fire: Frankie’s secret

Summary: Dani and Frankie have been friends for almost two years now. While at a party, Dani learns Frankie’s darkest secret. Will their friendship surpass this hurdle? WIll they finally cross that line they have been teetering on? Or will this be the wedge that drives them apart?

Warnings: DRUG USE (straight up use of cocaine), ANGST (It starts it off), explicit language, a heated make out session, implication of smut (but no details because I suck at writing smut), Hurt!Frankie because it breaks my heart. I hurt my own heart writing this.

Pairings: Dani x Frankie, Frankie x ofc, Dani x Santiago

Word Count: 4,280

A/N: Part 2! Y'all this story is a wild ride. I am not responsible for any tears that are shed while reading this.

Tags: @221bshrlocked @danniburgh (if you want to be tagged, LMK)

It wasn’t often that Dani went to a party that wasn’t being hosted by a Miller brother. Yet, here she was at some random house with a lot of random people. Will said it would be fun, that she needed to relax. Benny said that she wouldn’t be alone because Frankie would be there. So how in the hell did she find herself standing around with none of the guys in sight?

Dani wandered aimlessly through the crowd of people, looking for someone she knew. She came across a door, and it seemed to be quiet on the other end. She quickly turned the knob to see that it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, she revealed her best friend, with a half naked brunette in his lap, snorting what looked like coke.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. Dani couldn’t tell if it was because of the girl or the drug. “Tequila.” Frankie whimpered, but didn’t move a muscle. The girl in his lap twisted to see who opened the door.

“Either join in or get out.” The girl demanded, and Dani slammed the door shut. She knew she probably looked crazy; Tears running down her face, smearing her makeup, frantically looking for Will or Benny. She found the youngest Miller first, who immediately left the woman he was chatting up upon seeing Dani’s distressed state.

“Tequila, what happened?” He asked, wiping tears from her face. She tried to tell him, but it only came out in broken sobs. Benny was able to pick up “Frankie” and “cocaine”; After that, she was incoherent. Benny wrapped his arms around her, trying to give her some comfort. “Come on, let’s find Will and go.”

It took twenty minutes for Benny to track down Will, who was hooking up with the party host, Sara. Benny explained that Dani came up to him, sobbing and mentioned Frankie and coke. Will rushed to get dressed, apologizing for his hasty exit.

Dani was standing outside by Will’s jeep, eyes swollen and face red. Will rushed over, “Teq, I’m so sorry.” He comforted and placed a kiss to her head before ushering her into the car, just in time for Frankie to come running out the door. Benny took three large strides toward him before throwing a right hook that connected hard with his jaw.

“The fuck were you thinking, Fish? I thought you quit that shit!” Benny yelled at his friend who clutched his face where a red bruise was already starting to form, struggling to get up off the ground.

“Please, Benny.” Frankie started as he stood up, gesturing to the girl crying in the front seat “Let me talk to her.” He begged, trying to move toward the car. Will stepped in.

“You’ve done enough, Catfish. Leave her alone.” Will growled at the man before him. Frankie, exhaled a shaky breath and took a step back from his friends.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He yelled a little louder, hoping Dani could hear him through the window. She turned her head just in time to see the same brunette that was seated on his lap, start dragging him back inside.

Dani didn’t leave her room for three days. She barely touched anything Will or Benny brought her to eat. She barely slept, the image of Frankie doing lines of the white substance haunted her dreams. She tried to focus on the crappy ‘B’ rated horror movie playing on Netflix.

A knock on the door drew her from the screen. “It’s open.” She said numbly. It was Will. He came in carrying a tray of food and a few water bottles. Dani noticed and gave him a quiet ‘thank you’, before turning her attention back to her laptop.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asked her just like he had every day before. Today she seemed ready.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” She whispered, still looking at the screen. Will took a seat next to her on the bed.

“It wasn’t our story to tell. As far as we knew, he cleaned up after being discharged. Tequila, I promise you, if any of us knew, we would have told you.” Will tried to explain to her, knowing that his words weren’t going to help much.

Tears slowly started to trickle down her cheeks. She felt so stupid, letting herself get so close to him. Will pulled the computer away from her lap, sitting it on her bedside table. She instantly curled into him as sobs wracked her body. Will felt so helpless. On one hand, he has his best friend who has a drug problem and on the other, his best friend who has a broken heart. He didn’t know where to begin to fix either. Will noticed that the sobs finally stopped and her breathing evened out. She was finally asleep. He could have wiggled out from her hold, but instead, he made himself comfortable and fell asleep, too.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Frankie?” Benny’s voice stirred Will awake. He shot up off the bed and ran to the living room. He found Benny holding Catfish back from entering the doorway.

“I need to talk to her, Benny. I have to- shit, I have to explain myself.” Frankie begged his friend.

Will could see his brother getting angrier by the second, so he intervened. “Go check on her, make sure she’s still sleeping. I’ll handle this.” Will prompted his brother. Benny relaxed, moving away from Frankie. Will slid into his spot, blocking him from coming inside.

“Will, please.” Frankie begged. “I just want to see her. I’m sorry for this. I never wanted to hurt her.” All Frankie wanted was to make sure she was okay. He was about to speak again when Dani’s voice broke through the silence. Frankie took in her state, hair in a bun, eyes rimmed red and puffy.

“It’s okay, Ironhead.” She murmured, arms wrapped around herself in mock comfort. Will turned himself to face her. He brought a hand up to caress her face, erasing stray tears. He gave her his best ‘are you sure?’ look. She nodded, “I’ll be okay, Will. I’ll yell if I need you.” She tried to give him a smile, but she was so damn tired.

Will looked back at Frankie, “I love you, man, but she better not need me." The blonde threatened him and Frankie knew he meant it. He shook his head in agreement; Frankie would gladly let Will hurt him. He just wanted to make this right. Will moved over, letting Frankie pass him into the living room. Frankie looked around. Out of all the times he sat in the room, he never imagined himself sitting here because of this.

Dani moved to take a seat across from him. She gave Will a look to let him know that she was okay, and he left the room. She focused her attention back to the man in front of her. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept either. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had dark circles under them, which didn’t complement the five o’clock shadow that dusted his face. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of her or the drugs.

Frankie noticed Dani looking over his features, and he felt ashamed, like he didn’t deserve to have her look at him. He hung his head low, trying to avoid making eye contact with her. He knew he couldn’t hide his face forever, but for now, the floor was looking pretty good.

Dani shuffled in her seat, trying to get herself comfortable before diving into a conversation she really did not want to have. As she thought of what she was going to say, Frankie started to apologize.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Teq.” He raised his head, tears chasing each other down his face. “I know that sorry doesn’t mean much, but I am.” Frankie wiped his tears away as he finally made eye contact with her.

“Why, Frankie?” Her words were barely detectable, but Frankie heard them. Those two words put a vice grip around his heart and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know why. Why did he let himself fall off the wagon after so long? Why did he let Vanessa back into his life when he could have had Dani? He didn’t have any answers for her.

“Can I start from the beginning?” He asked her, hoping they could talk things out. Dani thought it over. Did she really want to hear this? The choice was obvious. she needed to know and gave Frankie a curt nod.

Frankie moved to the floor in front of her chair, sitting crossed legged, looking up at her. “It started after my first helo crash.” Frankie began.

“This is gonna be a bumpy ride boys,” Frankie yelled through the headset. He was maneuvering the helo through gunfire, trying to find a safe place to land.

“Fish, we got smoke back here!” Pope bellowed, hanging onto the doorway of the cockpit. Frankie looked back at his friend. How was he going to do this? He looked back down to the earth, and all he saw was desert sand. “Fish! We gotta land, man. Or this thing’s gonna blow!” Santiago reiterated.

Frankie found a spot far enough away from the flying bullets, that he could try to land as safely as possible. When he started to bring it down, alarms started blaring, lights flashed. “Fuck! Guys, buckle up. This isn’t going to be good.”

“That crash broke Benny’s arm. Since then, I was a nervous wreck behind the controls. I almost got everyone killed because I couldn’t land the damned helo. My mistake almost killed my friends.” Frankie paused to compose himself. “At first, I only did it to calm my nerves, then I just lost control of it, using whenever I could. I was discharged with my license suspended. I did a rehab program and luckily, I was able to get my license reinstated.”

Dani tried to comprehend what he was telling her. All of her medical training told her that he had a disease, an addiction. She wanted to reach out and console him, but he kept this from her. She had shared all of her secrets with him and he kept this huge one from her. “What about the girl?” She asked, knowing she had no right to be jealous. Frankie wasn’t hers.

“Vanessa was a fling, someone I would get high with. She was just there.” He gulped, “I wasn’t looking to get high. It was a moment of weakness. I hadn’t used it in almost thirteen months.” Since he met her. He was laying everything out for her and he was praying she would still accept him.

Dani sat there, staring at the man in front of her. He was unrecognizable. He looked sad, broken. Nowhere near the happy, flirty, person she met on Benny’s birthday. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to understand. She wanted to help him past this, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know if she was strong enough.

“Please say something, hermosa. Lo siento mucho.” Frankie apologized again, reaching to grab her hands. She didn’t pull away like he thought she would. Instead, she moved to kneel on the ground with him.

She released his hands to pull him in for a hug. The gesture was enough to completely destroy Frankie’s resolve. Frankie sobbed into her. “Lo siento mucho. Lo haré mejor, lo prometo.” Dani held him for what felt like forever, stroking his hair.

“I want to help you, Frankie.” She whispered into his hair, still holding him close. “But I need you to want to help yourself.” Frankie’s head bobbed in agreement. He needed this.

The following weeks were hard on Frankie. Detoxing off the drug was a lot harder than he remembered, but Dani was there every step of the way. The exhaustion, shakes, and cravings were tolerable, but when the nightmares started, Frankie didn’t know if he would make it.

Dani let herself into Frankie’s apartment after her shift at the hospital. “Frankie?” She called out but did not get a reply. She moved further inside, making her way to Frankie’s room. She heard the shower running as she walked into his bedroom. “Frankie?” She called out again.

As she got closer to the bathroom, she could hear Frankie’s broken sobs over the shower. She rushed in to see him sitting in the corner of the tub, knees drawn to his chest. He raised his head when the door slammed into the wall.

“Dani?” He choked out, like he was surprised to see her. She rushed over to him. Feeling that the water was freezing, she quickly turned it off. She grabbed a towel, throwing it over him to give him some form of cover.

“Fuck, fish. What’re you doing? Trying to give yourself hypothermia?” Dani moved to grab more towels. She was able to get him to stand up and move into the bedroom. She searched his room for warm clothing. “Here.” She handed him the sweats and hoodie she found. “I’m gonna make you something to eat while you get dressed.” She exited the room and closed the door behind her. She felt her own tears threatening to fall down her face. It was hard to see her friend like this. She wiped away the drops that strayed down, trying to compose herself.

Frankie emerged from his room and followed the savory smell coming from the kitchen. “Hermosa.” His voice cracks a little, but she still hears him. Smiling, she turns to see him, arms wrapped around himself. “Shit, Teq.” He walks over to her, bringing a hand up to caress her face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” He whispers, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m okay, Fish.” She mumbles into his chest. “I made bacon and eggs.” She wasn’t going to say that was all she could make with the contents in his kitchen because the man was already down.

“Thank you, Dani. For everything. I think the worst has finally passed.” Frankie told her as they sat down at his tiny dining table. She handed him his plate before placing her own in front of her. The two ate in a comfortable silence.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dani asked as Frankie cleared the table. Frankie placed the dishes in the sink and turned back to where she sat at the table.

“I keep having the same nightmare. I’m in a helo and it's going down. It’s just like that first crash, except you’re there. And there’s nothing I can do to save you.” Frankie describes his dream, fighting back the emotion that is pouring through him.

“I’m here, Frankie. I’m here.” She tells him as she walks over. Taking his hand and placing it over her heart. “Feel that? I’m alive.” She moves it over his own, “You are, too. We are going to figure this out together.” The tension between them is palpable. Frankie looks down at Dani, her blue orbs staring back at him and all he can think about his pressing his lips to hers. Instead, he pulls away. She deserves more than a fuck up like me, he thought.

“Thank you. For dinner, fuck, for everything. You should go home and get some rest.” He practically pushed her out the door. “I’ll be okay.” He reassured her one last time before she said good-bye. He watched her walk to her car, climb inside, and drive away.

After the almost kiss, Dani did her best to give Frankie space. She knew he was going through a lot and he was probably having a lot of conflicted emotions. She stayed away from his apartment for about a week, checking in via text. He always responded immediately.

It was Saturday evening, and she had just finished her ER shift. She had sent a text to Frankie earlier in the day and still had not heard from him. Deciding that a trip to his apartment was warranted, Dani made her way over.

She knocked on the door three times before it opened. “Vanessa?” Dani choked out as the brunette stood there, wrapped in a towel. “Where’s Frankie?” She asked, her voice a little shaky.

“He’s busy, sweetie. Go home.” Vanessa snarked with a smirk on her face. Dani rolled her eyes, before storming past her toward Frankie’s room. She all but kicked the door open, sending the handle smashing into the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Frankie yelled, coming out of his bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. The angry look on his face dropped as soon as he saw her. “Fuck.” He whispered, dropping his head. Dani knew immediately what was going on.

“Frankie, tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” She wished, pointing to the powdered substance on his dresser. He didn’t answer. “Frankie, please.” Her voice cracked, “Tell me you aren’t doing fucking coke again.” She pleaded. He raised his head to look at her, but did not answer.

She shook her head in disappointment before walking out of the room. “Dani!” Frankie called as he chased after her. “Dani, please, don’t go.” He begged her. She stopped in her tracks before she reached the door. Vanessa scoffed, muttering under her breath “to let her go”.

She slowly turned around. “Fuck you, Frankie Morales. Fuck you and fuck her.” She spat, pointing to Vanessa who was sitting on Frankie’s couch. Dani focused back on Frankie. “Thank you for wasting my time, my effort, my love. I told you when I started to help you that you had to want to get clean. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t. So, fuck you.” She blubbered, tears of regret and hurt welling in her eyes, spilling over her lashes.

She didn’t wait for a reply as she walked out of the door. It closed behind her with a loud thud. She got to her car and let out the sobs she was holding in. Dani had never felt anything like this. Even when she caught him at the party, it didn’t hurt this bad. She felt like some punched her in the stomach and could hear her heart pounding in her ears. What was she supposed to do now?

Dani pulled into her driveway to find Santiago sitting outside on the porch, like he was waiting on someone to come home. She put her car in park and he’s there to open her door. “¿Estás bien?” He asked as she stepped out.

She didn’t dare to look the brunette in the eyes, because she knew she'd break. “I’m fine.” She replied curtly, looking at the ground, walking toward the house. He followed quickly behind her. Once inside, she threw her bag onto the couch, going straight to the kitchen. She poured a shot of tequila, offering one for Santiago. He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Shit, Teq. What’s wrong?” He asks again, worry laced in his voice. He can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, and her face is blotchy. She downs the alcohol and pours another.

“He’s doing coke again.” She rasped out, throwing back the second drink. Slamming the glass on the counter, she left Santiago and walked to her room.

He ran a hand down his face before tailing her. What the fuck have you done, Catfish. He thought. He found Dani laying face first into her pillow. “What do you mean he’s doing coke again?” He questions, sitting next to her legs.

She rolled over and sat up. “I mean, I hadn’t heard from him all day. I was worried. I got to his apartment and Vanessa was there.” she hiccuped, falling back on the pillow again. “There was coke on his dresser.” Dani sniffled, a sickening feeling growing in her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Dani.” He whispered, not really sure if she heard him. He is sorry. He’s sorry that Frankie is being an idiot. He’s sorry that she’s hurting. And he’s sorry that all he wants to do is make it better.

Dani fought to push her sadness down. She wiped her tears away and moved to sit up again, so that she’s looking at him. “I’m sorry, you looked like you had something you wanted to say.” She apologized and gave him her full attention.

Santiago nodded. “Yeah. I’m um, I’m going to South America. Colombia. I got a contract with the military.” He told her. “I’m supposed to leave in a month.” Her face dropped, and for a second she wonders how much heartbreak a person can take.

“South America? For how long?” She asked in disbelief. How could Santi be going to a different country? She just lost Frankie, she couldn’t lose him, too.

“I’m not sure.” He was being honest. He didn’t know when or if he would be back. It wasn’t going to be the safest contract. Dani sat there staring at him, speechless. “Teq?” He said, and she lifted her sad eyes to his. Almost as if he could read her mind, he promised, “I’ll come back.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know that, Santi.” She mumbled, “What if you don’t come back?” The brunette shakes his head, telling her that she can’t think like that.

His cedar brown eyes met her blue ones. He reached out for her, pulling her into his embrace. He had an internal debate on whether or not he should say anything. It would be completely selfish of him, especially since he knew how Fish felt about her. That didn’t stop him from saying, "I have a contact down there who can get you certification to practice there. You could come with me, work in a hospital there."

Dani's body stiffened. Go to South America with Santi? She couldn't, could she? Santi could practically see the gears turning in her head. "It's not a marriage proposal, babe." He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Dani let out a breathy laugh, "Yeah, like I would ever assume you are proposing marriage." Santi rolled his eyes, squeezing her tighter.

"I could settle down for the right woman." He rebutted, and they both burst into laughter. They knew Santi wasn’t the ‘settle down’ type. His arms relaxed around her and she wiggled her way out of his hold to sit back down on her bed.

"Seriously though, Tequila. If you want to come, the option is there." He offered her again. She could look into it. She could help so many less fortunate people, the whole reason why she wanted to become a doctor. After tonight, maybe it would be for the best.

"Okay." She says and his eyes go wide, like he didn't hear her correctly. "I want to go." She reiterates. Now he knows he wasn't hearing things. A huge smile crossed his face and he scooped her up into his arms again. Dani sighed in contentment. He smelled like mint and leather, even though he wasn’t wearing any, with a hint of whiskey.

She leaned her head back, so that she could look up at him. She was surprised to find him staring back at her. Her eyes subconsciously flickered to his lips as his tongue swiped out to dampen them. She didn't know if it was the buzz from the alcohol earlier, but she pushed forward to crash her lips into his.

Santi froze at the feeling of her lips on his. It was if he had fallen into one of his dreams, where the blonde woman had been running rampant. His hand found purchase at the back of her head, pulling her closer as their lips moved in tandem.

Dani's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers playing in the curls growing at the base of his head. She felt his tongue dance along her bottom lip, as if to ask for permission to enter. She parted her lips, finally tasting him as their tongues met. He even tasted like mint and whiskey.

Santi nibbled her bottom lip, which drew a low moan from her. He knew right then that he wanted more sounds from her. He tightened the grip on the back of her head, pulling it to the side, so that he could have access to her neck. He broke the kiss unceremoniously, before attacking her neck, finding her sweet spot immediately.

"Santi," Dani whimpered with need. Santi groaned at the sound of his name coming off her lips. She sounded like an angel. He wanted to hear more.

He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes so dark with lust, Santi could barely see the baby blue. Her hair was a mess where he buried his fingers. She looked absolutely beautiful. "Fuck, Tequila." Santi said breathlessly. His hands caressed her face, one thumb swiping over her bottom lip. "Fuck, as much as I want to do this. I can't." He said as his hands dropped and he stepped back. "I'm sorry, Teq. You would hate me in the morning."

Dani, brain still fuzzy with need, nodded, "Yeah, yeah. You're right. It's best that we stop now." She hesitantly agreed, when really what she wanted was for him to make her forget. Make her forget Frankie. Make her forget work. Make her forget her own name.

Santi took a deep breath, running a hand across his face. His eyes met hers once more, trying to find any signs of regret. There were none. "We really shouldn't do this." He said one more time before connecting their lips again.

Translations:

Hermosa- Beautiful

Lo siento mucho- I’m really sorry.

Lo haré mejor, lo prometo- I’ll do better, I promise.

¿estás bien?- Are you okay?

#santiago garcia #frankie morales #will miller #benny miller #santiago garcia x ofc #frankie morales x ofc #frankie catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #frankie morales fic #santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia imagine #frankie morales imagine #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fic #frankie morales angst #angst #kat writes

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brinaedwards · 3 years

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Honey, I think We F*$#@# Up the Kids

The thing about this class that is really awesome is the fact that I can take a day to myself, watch movies and still call it homework. Euphoria took me a couple days of binge watching but still, it was nice to relax and take in films that I would have never watched on my own. Some I enjoyed like MID90's, some I did not, KIDS. Like I said in my last post, I would not want to watch that film again. I have no real reason as to why not other than the fact I just did not enjoy watching it. Well the scene where Capser sucks kool-aid out of a tampon, yeah that could be a reason why not to watch it again.Everything else was really good though, then again I could watch The Breakfast Club all the time.

As a common theme of these posts I have a list of questions that I am required to answer next to me. After watching these films/tv shows, the character that I identified with most is a combination of characters. Specifically from Euphoria because honesty that show is pretty close to society today. Kat is someone I can easily relate to because when I was in High School, I was very much overweight. I never noticed it because I was surrounded by friends that didn’t make me feel overweight. Like Kat, those friends were really skinny and included me in things like going out and having a good time. I forgot what year but sometime during high school I met a kid who I fell head over heels for, similar to how Jules fell for “Tyler”. However, I wasn’t catfished or anything like that but I was very manipulated by this dude, let's call him “Tyller #2”. . We were never together but I was like his side chick in a way. Similar to Jules, “Tyler #2” convinced me to do things that I would never think of doing but being in a vulnerable state at the time, it was easy for him to take advantage of certain situations. For the first time I was very conscious of my weight, and tried all the dieting techniques out there and none of it worked. I eventually ended up being with someone else who actually made me happy and confident. But “Tyler #2” got under my skin again and I eventually broke up with the dude I was with under the false promise of being with “Tyler #2”. For years I was under this man-child's thumb and like Kat I spiraled, desperate to try and find myself. I would confide in friends and they would tell me to get away from this dude but I never listened. This kept going on for years. I ended up becoming friends with some not so great people because of it. Thankfully I got away before anything super awful happened. But back to “Tyler #2”. It was about a year into college that I got over “Tyler #2”, and that's because I woke up one day. I will never forget this but I remember him saying to me, “Maybe you should lower your standards and then you can get a guy”. I don’t know why that hit me so hard but in that moment I came to this realization that I shouldn't have to lower my standards for anyone, if anything I need to raise them. And that is exactly what I did.I blocked “Tyler #2” from all my social media, and when he called me out on it one day I looked at him and said “you are a disgusting, sad piece of shit”. After that moment I felt free. Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I ended up losing a lot of weight and gained confidence back in myself. I found someone who exceeded my standards and I've been with him for three years now. I haven't seen or spoken to “Tyler #2” for a long time and I hope to keep it that way. There are things I know he has done to girls he was with, things that should have gotten him charged with assault but, of course nothing could ever be proven. That's why I can identify with Kat, Jules and come to think of it, even Maddy.

I guess that goes into the themes these films/tv shows portray in youth. Abuse, Social Pressure and Sex. When I would watch things like this around my parents or brothers when I was younger, they always gave me a look of shock and disbelief. As if things like that don’t happen in today's world or ever happened. And of course when trying to explain to them that things like that happen, they get defensive or even a bit disappointed that issues were never brought up. I think that’s because things like this aren’t easy to explain, it's more than words can explain. A lot of it has to do with social pressures today, I mean social pressures such as the pressures of getting good grades, meeting parental expectations, peer pressure and massive world pressure that is being forced on us today. Euphoria didn’t go too much into detail of social pressure as much as it did with abuse and sex but The Breakfast Club on the other hand oozed it. For example, characters such as Claire, Andrew and Brian each went through their own pressures. For Brian he is pressured by his mother to get good grades no matter what, eventually the pressure of failing a class was too much for him and he brought a gun into the school. Yes it was a flare gun but the principle is there. In an article from the Pew Research Center, a study showed that “61% of teens today feel pressure to get good grades” That alone can cause anyone to go off the edge not to mention the public expectations put on youth, for example, Andrew having to win and prove to his father that he is cool. And how Claire values what her friends would think if they knew she wanted to be friends with the others. All those things are sometimes built up in one person and it's absolutely terrifying. The Guardian article on how Euphoria captures teen melancholy briefly mentions how we are a generation of school shooter drills. (I don’t know if that is meant as a description of how we are as a generation but that's not the point of trying to make). What I am trying to get across is that social pressure placed on youth today is scary, especially since there was a time where every few weeks there was a school shooting. I don’t want to get into gun laws because that is a long post for another day. I just want to get into the mentality of it all because The Breakfast Club highlights an important issue to mental health and what kids even now go through.

I remember being in highschool and my school had a serious shooter threat. My parents still sent me to school because they felt that nothing would happen. Nothing did but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t absolutely terrified. I did not attend any classes that day, instead I stayed in the band room that day because if anything were to happenI could hide in a cubby or run out the back door. Even more recently a few years back when SUNY Orange got a shooter threat, I didn’t even go and neither did a lot of people.

I am so thrilled that mental health awareness is something that is being recognized and taken seriously. The stigma behind needing therapy and vocalizing feelings needs to end, especially the stigma of gender roles. Abuse is a theme that is presented in all the films/tv shows watched this week. The Breakfast Club shows insight on domestic physical abuse through John, Euphoria gets more into the psychological, emotional, physical and self abuse that teens go through. This theme especially is something that needs to become more recognized and addressed. Abuse is not just physical, it is mental and emotional. Nate abuses both mentally and physically by using Jules as duct tape to make problems go away by black mailing her. With Maddy he uses his control physically, verbally assaulting her about how she dresses, oh the list can go on and on.

Sex is a common theme in all the films/tv shows this week and that is something that every teen goes through. At that age your body goes through changes and it’s only natural that it is explored. In todays world sex is not much of a taboo like it was for our parents. But at the same time I feel that it is. When I was in highschool sex was not talked about. It was mentioned once in health class but that was it. No one went into detail, there was no explanation about stds, how females need to check for things, the list goes on. KIDS was a film that went into sex way more than all the other films/tv shows. It highlighted the horrors of unprotected sex, such as contracting HIV. As much as I disliked this film it is one that needs to be seen. The lectures talk about the “Disneyfication” of things today but it's that way of thinking that is hurting the youth of today. I can understand that parents don’t want their kids going through such trama at a young age, but if they are not being taught properly, not being educated they are going to find out on their own. Any issues kids face today parents right it off as a “part of growing up” but when your kid doesn't know what a condom is, or how to properly use birth control what do you expect is going to happen when the daughter is pregnant or the son has an std? That is not a part of growing up, that is just pure negligence on the parents and teachers. I could really go way into more of a rant but I feel that a topic like this needs its own blog and this one is already long af. Here are links to videos that I watched that go more into detail about education today. I promise they are not that long.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Yt6raj-S1M

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnC6IABJXOI

Long story short, abuse, social pressure and sex are themes that kids face on a daily basis. It’s amazing that there are shows out there like Euphoria or films such as KIDS and The Breakfast Club to make it known that this is real. The world is a scary place, but that does not mean censoring that bad stuff. It means that the youth need to be prepared for a shit world, and if they’re not shown or educated about things before the fact then honey, I think we f*$#@# up the kids.

To make this whole post a little lighter let's just talk about the music, the Euphoria soundtrack was all of today's music, which if you listen to half of them its all about getting laid and doing drugs. Sort of on theme of the show don’t you think?For MID90’s the soundtrack fitted the “skater” “punk” theme. A soundtrack is something that can spark a memory, make it feel relatable. Take you back to a time where you had a similar experience. For example, certain songs I listen to take me back to when I used to be at Billy Joes in Newburgh line dancing, getting wasted and then eating pancakes at the Alexis Diner. It makes me think of what kind of playlist would describe my adolescence. Oof, well isn’t that a trip down memory lane.

I grew up listening to metal, my brothers have their own metal band, so I would be the only toddler sitting on the amps coloring not giving a shit about all the grimey people in the audience haha. It would be only fitting that my playlist would consist of metal & rock. However, as I got older I enjoyed pop songs and a couple edm mixes. My list would probably be:

Fame - David Bowie

ARTPOP - Lady Gaga

Bring Me to Life - Evanescence

Everytime We Touch - Cascada

Evil Angel - Breaking Benjamin

Forest - System of a Down

Hype - NEFFEX

My Curse - Killswitch Engage

Nightmare - Avenged Sevenfold

Shout 2000 - Disturbed

https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/my-adolescents/pl.u-8aAVVgafjg0W9A

These would be songs I would listen to non-stop as teen in middle school/ high school. “Fame” is a song that just makes me dance. I mean who doesn’t love a good David Bowie song right? “ARTPOP” is something that brings me back to when me and my uncle went to NYC to see Lady Gaga at the opening of H&M. “Bring Me to Life” is a song that honestly, all kids that are exploring metal/rock come across, the same is said for “Nightmare” and “My Curse”. “Hype” and “Everytime We Touch” takes me back to when I used to go to parties. I don’t know why but these were songs that would be on, I think because everyone was probably too drunk to care. “Shout 2000” is a song that my brother introduced me to, he would have this specific Distrubed album playing non stop and im sure thats why the CD got all scratched up. Ahh the days of CD’s, I feel that I’m part of the generation that saw the last of those things. “Evil Angel” is a song that I played all the time on my ipod. Breaking Benjamin was the best band I ever heard and when I got the chance to see them live it was amazing! As for “Forest”, well, System of A Down has such a chaotic, emotional style that you can’t just help but to headbang to their songs. This was always one of my favorites. As I got older my music taste has expanded to musicals, classical, pop, jazz, kind of every genre but country haha. Sorry country.

WORK CITED

“The Sadness of Euphoria: How the Show Captures Teen Melancholy.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 25 June 2019, www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2019/jun/25/the-sadness-of-euphoria-how-the-show-captures-teen-melancholy.

Horowitz, Juliana Menasce, and Nikki Graf. “Most U.S. Teens SEE Anxiety, Depression as Major Problems.” Pew Research Center's Social & Demographic Trends Project, Pew Research Center, 30 May 2020, www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2019/02/20/most-u-s-teens-see-anxiety-and-depression-as-a-major-problem-among-their-peers/.

O'Keeffe, Gwenn Schurgin, et al. “The Impact of Social Media on Children, Adolescents, and Families.” American Academy of Pediatrics, American Academy of Pediatrics, 1 Apr. 2011, pediatrics.aappublications.org/content/127/4/800.

TEDxTalks, director. YouTube, YouTube, 2 May 2014, www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnC6IABJXOI.

TEDxTalks, director. YouTube, YouTube, 6 Feb. 2015, www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Yt6raj-S1M.

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audreysjensens-blog · 5 years

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central pines [elodie davis x reader] {part one}

heyyy lovelies! i just watched trinkets (please please pretty pleeeease go watch it it’s beyond good) and am in love w elodie’s character. i hope you guys like this one!

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fic playlist:

bon iver - hey, ma

dead girl in the pool. - girl in red

banana clip - miguel

let it happen - tame impala (song parts 6:15 to 6:38)

overlap - catfish and the bottlemen

this baby don’t cry - k.flay

alligator - of monsters and men

It had been two and a half months since you’d arrived at Central Pines.

The food was okay, and the air conditioning was subpar. Since you hadn’t been too keen on going there in the first place, and your dad’s incessant emails weren’t going to end until you left, your newfound safe haven wasn’t exactly going to be something you cared too much about.

It was nestled in the outskirts of Portland, surrounding by hulking pine trees and dense forest, hiking trails close to overpowering the tiny rehabilitation camp.

Rehab, right, you reminded yourself. I’m in rehab.

The people were the only reason why you hadn’t left yet. Well, that, and your “family issues”, which is what the counselors had so fondly filed you under in their massive stack of patients.

Everyone seemed to be remotely friendly, and the people that you’d met had honestly made a decent impression on you. You’d leave if you were willing to jeopardize it, but going home wasn’t an option. Leaving meant getting caught, and getting caught meant that you’d have to go home. Plus, police, which was something you weren’t too happy to think about again.

You got up and out of bed, shaking out your messy Y/H/C curls and slipping your feet into your sandals. After your bed had been made (a small progression of what your counselors thought was a “good stride”), you took sleepy steps over to the closet and got changed for the day, finishing off your look with an embroidered jean jacket and a pair of loose slacks. You’d seen Booksmart a few weeks ago, and despite the fact that you loved the characters for who they were, you really goddamn wanted Amy’s jacket.

You looked to the other side of the room, barren with nothing to reveal any inpatients. Probably because you didn’t have a roommate. When you’d first gotten there, a girl named Safi was moving out, so there was no overlap between the two of you. You’d taken over your side, she’d left hers, and while your side was filled with posters of bands, movies, and corkboards with your friends’ photos, the other side contained peeling wallpaper and a sad-looking twin bed.

You checked your phone and saw that it was almost nine, which meant that you had to check in with Counselor Adams (or Tracey, depending on who you’d ask) before you could get any sort of breakfast. It was fine, because you’d rather die than go without your beloved coffee that came from Adams’s office, but you were kind of hungry. Regardless, you started making your way down the long dormitory hallways, seeing your peripheral friends getting ready for the day ahead and leaving their dorm doors open.

Adams’s office wasn’t the sort of place that made you feel like you were in an actual rehab center, but more like a therapist’s office, which you actually had grown to like. There were little photos of her family everywhere, along with comfy chairs, glowing twinkly lights, and tiny ceramic animals adorning the chair that sat opposite your couch. Well, not your couch, but you didn’t really have anything else in this facility besides your belongings, and damn it if that old, overstuffed linen didn’t feel somewhat like home.

“Ahh, Little Miss Caffeine,” Tracey groaned, flopping down in her Frankenstein’d athletic ball/old couch chair. “My espresso hasn’t hit yet, but we still have a couple minutes. Keurig’s up and running.”

“Thank God,” you sighed in relief, shutting the door behind the two of you and going to tap what you wanted into the machine. “You still have that almond milk creamer?”

“How could I not?” Tracey chuckled, taking another sip from her mug. “I use so much of the Folgers original creamer that I’m on the toilet for days with diarrhea. You suggesting an alternative was quite literally the only thing saving me from a life of bathroom hell.”

You giggled then, letting your hot mug sit for a second before splashing in the Splenda and the creamer. “Oh, so we’re blaming the milk for it now, huh?”

“I refuse to believe it’s the caffeine,” Tracey said strongly, wild hand movements indicating her opinion. “If it is, I might go crazy trying new methods of waking up so early.”

You looked up at the clock, seeing that it was exactly 9 on the dot, and sat down on the couch, ready to start your session.

Tracey leaned forward, pushing a piece of her curly brown hair back behind her ear and adjusting her blazer and her Central Pines t-shirt. “So. Let’s talk. Weekly update?”

“Sure!” you said, swatting your hand over your drink to make sure it wouldn’t destroy your tongue upon the first sip. “So, I’m doing okay. I do a lot of hiking, and I went into town last week on the free day. Which was nice.” “Ugh, free days are the absolute best,” Tracey said, crossing her legs over her chair. “I remember when I used to go on them. I was obsessed with the coffee place at the end of the street that gave you those little donut things. I mean, it’s gone now, but, fuck, they were so amazing! Oh, sorry, keep going.”

You laughed again at her habit of constantly interrupting you, and kept going. “Well, uh, it’s been different here. I mean, I know you guys pretty well, but friends-wise, I don’t really have too many here. I think a lot of people kind of just want to keep themselves going while they’re here. Not like, I want to speak for them or anything. I don’t know what’s going on with the others, and I really hope they’re all doing well, but I don’t really know how to you know, bridge that gap. You know?”

Tracey’s face took on a slightly sad and concerned expression, and she leaned back in her chair, nodding at your statement. “I understand. It’s hard enough trying to make sure you’re okay, while also trying to reach out to others. I’m sure that people will come around. Everyone has their personal demons, and when you’re here, we can’t always fully stop them from amplifying. But there’s always outlets. If anything, come here if you’re feeling lonely. You know that I have an armory of snacks and food and conversation, and I’m sure people not reaching out isn’t anything to do with you. I promise.”

You felt tears sparking up in your eyes then, and you looked up at the positive sticky notes on the ceiling, trying to enunciate them in your head to give the tears time to go away. Tracey gave you a moment before speaking up again, this time in a gentler tone of voice.

“Everything’s going to be fine. In fact, you have a new roommate coming at the end of the day today.”

You snapped your head back down to meet Tracey’s eyes, your fidgeting hands ceasing the incessant folding and unfolding and folding of the cuffs of your jacket. You couldn’t help but feel the rush of hope and excitement a new person brought, but quickly shut down the feeling. It was probably someone who didn’t want to be bothered with you, let alone be as furtive as you were to make friends. Squash the hope, you told yourself, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Really?” you said, trying to keep your voice level and break-free. “Are you allowed to… Tell me about them?”

“Sure! A little bit, at least,” Tracey said, reaching over and pulling a manila folder from beside her coffee table. She opened the folder, sliding out a packet or so before speaking.

“Okay, so her name’s Elodie. She’s coming here from a few towns over from you, and she’s going to be with us for a little while. Apparently her father and some other family’s helping her to move in. I haven’t met her yet, but John in admissions did, and he seemed to get a somewhat okay feeling from her. You know, people leaving their hometown and friends and all that, it’s not easy,” Tracey said, sliding the packet back into the folder and replacing it on the table. “At least, she has people here who get what it’s like.”

You poked your tongue in on the side of your cheek and took a deep breath, flattening out your pants with your palms. She was right.

“If you need someone to show her around other than John, whose niche TV show reference I’m sure she loves hearing, I’ll do it.”

The words left your mouth before you could take them back, and you felt almost like you were going to slap your palm against your head. What the fuck! I don’t wanna do that? Do I? What if she’s cute? Fuck! Stop! She’s probably not interested. It doesn’t matter. Ugh, this whole internal guilt thing blows-

“Really?” Tracey squealed, clasping her hands together in excitement. “I mean, I was hoping I could find someone that could show her around that wouldn’t say ‘Bazinga!’ every three seconds.”

A grin took over your face, and you stood up, turning to put your shoes back on and leave the carpeted room. It was officially 9:30, and the next person to be counseled was going to come in any second. “What time are they getting here?”

“Noon!” Tracey said, scarfing down her drink before her next patient. “Thank you so much again, kiddo. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, man!” you said, shooting finger guns at her before internally cringing and kicking yourself for the weird ass motion.

You said goodbye to Tracey and headed to the cafeteria, sitting down in one of the worn wooden chairs with a Clif bar in front of you.

Hello, Elodie, you thought to yourself. At least you’ll have a cool roommate.

#trinkets #trinkets netflix #netflix #elodie davis #elodie #elodie trinkets #brianna hildebrand #wlw #gxg #lgbt #pride #tabitha foster #moe truax #elodie davis fic

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coeurdastronaute · 6 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Kiwi 2

previously on Kiwi

I know you play guitar, but if I were a drum, I’d let you bang me all night.

Lexa smiled to herself as she read the message. It was cute and it was really funny, though she wasn’t sure what it might mean, or if it was just a laugh for the stranger on the other end. Once more, to reacquaint herself, she looked through the pictures of the blonde with the terrible pick up line. Morning was there, and she didn’t mind it because she didn’t leave the bed. She had time to peruse someone’s manufactured self.

The first, the stranger was blowing a kiss at the camera, all squinted and adorable, with a kind of sultriness to her. She was all blonde hair and a square face. The next she was muddy from a marathon, smiling so wide her cheeks were tugging at her eyes, as she held a medal up, surrounded by a group of people dressed in a similar fashion. The last, she was at a bar and pouring shots, giving the camera a nice little wink.

All that Lexa could tell was that she was pure trouble, but by far the most interesting person she came across in her meandering around the app. No one gave her a good pick up line and looked like that in a sports bra. She should have deleted the app. Her sister would have told her to do that. Her manager would have told her to do that. But Lexa had a self-destructive streak that she often forgot she didn’t have full control of just yet.

The radio thing was over, and so she should have turned off the app, or deleted it completely-- she knew that. Today, she had a full day of rehearsals and meetings. She didn’t have to respond to the wild child of a girl. The message came at three in the morning, and Lexa assumed it was with the help of a drink or two.

But she sure as hell did. Lexa had addictions. She had plenty of them. One of them was pretty girls who looked like they’d leave her with a hangover in her heart. And since she wasn’t allowed to partake of her other proclivities, she sure as hell messaged back.

I do play guitar, and I’d sure like to strum your g-string.

It was short, it was flirty, it was terrible and hopefully funny enough. Lexa was oddly rusty with the entirety of the whole thing. She was an amateur at online flirting and bad pick up lines, but it felt right. But as soon as she sent it, she felt the tinge of embarrassment that would follow her for possibly the rest of her life if no one answered.

With a sigh, Lexa finally opened her curtains and greeted the day.

“Strum your g-string,” Clarke read with a squint as she chuckled to herself.

The light of the day was squarely in the sky, and she was still tired and oddly smelling like stale beer despite her best efforts. Her bartender hours didn’t mesh so well with her passion projects, but still, she woke herself up around noon.

For some reason, before bed, she remembered perusing the stranger’s profile again, attempting to determine who would use such a terrible choice as a catfish. Clearly everyone would know Lexa Woods. Clearly, everyone would know it was not her. There certainly was just no possible way that she was flirting with that Lexa Woods.

Fresh out of those, but if you want, you can tickle my ivories anytime, girl.

Satisfied with herself, she smiled and let her phone fall to her chest as she dug the heel of her palm into her eyes and tried to find some kind of energy to confront the waiting day. Her upstairs neighbor was already vacuuming. Her downstairs neighbor was already listening to the news at an obscene volume. In reality, she’d never sleep again, she decided. But she could afford the shit hole on the fourth floor, and that was where she remained. Debt-free and comfortable enough, which was somewhat of a leg up on some of her former classmates who were neck deep in debt and brunching away the pain.

I have been known to finger more than a guitar. I’m Lexa, by the way.

To her credit, Clarke wasn’t sure why she found herself answering a fraud. Maybe it was stupid optimism. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t come close to getting laid in too long to admit. Either way, she thought it was a nice distraction from the tedium of her internship.

She thought over her response, carefully calculating it as she slid on old jeans and a shirt, brushed her teeth, grabbed her bag, and emerged into the world on her way to the studio. In just under ten minutes, she was rushing through the door and out into life, no time for much thought towards living.

It was getting complicated now that it wasn’t just pick up lines.

You’re Lexa Woods, and I’m Gwyneth Paltrow.

She didn’t mean to do it, but as she climbed down to her subway, Clarke slipped in her headphones and found herself playing a familiar song that dominated the radio recently-- one that she couldn’t escape, and oddly enough didn’t want to just yet. She hummed along and tucked into the book she borrowed from her neighbor as she slushed her way across town.

The internship was an accident, one that she still wasn’t certain how she got, though she was not looking any horses in the mouth. All she did was run around and get coffees for her boss, but sometimes, she got to watch him work, and that was more than enough. He also critiqued her work, from time to time. It was mostly negative, but she was still finding herself, he promised. She snorted at how real it was.

I’ve met her, and you look nothing like Gwyn. Though, I suppose your pictures could be a rouse to seduce a silly singer such as myself.

Clarke mulled as she handed out coffees. Her boss stole all of her attention as they began to pack up for a photoshoot at the park. She didn’t think about the stranger for at least fifteen minutes. Of course, she couldn’t really stop.

And Lexa Woods is really on Tinder. You didn’t steal those pictures?

“Tell me what lens you would use,” her boss interrupted. She shoved her phone into her pocket.

Clarke didn’t stop moving. She missed her friend’s texts about plans for that night. She tossed herself into her passion, excited to just be there, to soak up what she could, even half-exhausted from her long night at work and the night in front of her. For just a bit, she was eager to learn and become better.

She is, and she’s chatting you up. How am I doing so far? Should I tell you that I find you gorgeous or funny, first?

Once again, Clarke found herself putting headphones into her ear as she traversed the city toward job number three. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the chill of the window and the rocking of the cars rock her softly. This was sometimes all she got for a few days. She listened more intently than ever before to the words that came out over the thick guitar. For some reason, she almost believed she could hear something different in the voice.

You always start with gorgeous. Didn’t they teach you anything in rockstar school?

What if. What if, Clarke asked herself.

I don’t know if I’d call myself a rockstar. Just a musician is fine. What is it you do, gorgeous girl?

I’ll tell you about me when you prove your not a weird, middle-aged man.

That felt like enough of a challenge. Proud of herself, Clarke climbed the steps and emerged in the city, now without sunshine and effectively night. With a glance at her watch, she set off a little quicker toward the bar.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Lexa sighed as she tossed her phone to the side and toyed with her guitar a little more.

All was quiet in her living room as she sat on the floor and tapped her pen against the notebook beside her. The only reason she had furniture was because her sister made her. She was more comfortable on the floor. She felt less distracted when she was uncomfortable.

But her sister got her way, and the apartment had furniture. It had a nice long sofa, which was Lexa’s only stipulation-- she had to fit on it. The kitchen was fully stocked and decked out in all manner of gadgets, though she stuck with avoiding an open flame to cook. There was art on the walls, somewhat. Mostly gig posters and pieces that the decorator swore were expensive. It wasn’t huge or grand or even luxurious, at least not comparably, but it was starting to feel like home, and as a creature of habit, Lexa was almost sad to leave it. She kept it spartan and simple because that helped keep her mind focused.

Unfortunately, that also meant she had nothing else to think about beside the girl on her phone. There was half a song she’d been toying with half-heartedly, but that wasn’t nearly as interesting, nor did it look half as good in a low-cut shirt.

She didn’t want to prove who she was to the stranger. She kind of liked the snark that came with thinking she was just someone else on the internet. It didn’t stop her though. With a stupid face, she snapped a picture and sent it.

Would you like one with a newspaper and the date as well?

It hadn’t been quick responses, and so she didn’t expect the noise on her phone so quickly, though she practically jumped at the chance to see the reply. For the entire day, she felt herself glancing more toward her phone than normal. Often, she forgot it or handed it off to Indra. She liked being present in the moment, and she liked proving that she was a hard worker, now. But for some reason, she was eager to check between every interview and during every spare moment. But that was fine. It was strictly because she hadn’t had sex in two months and she was a masochist.

Well fuck me. I just used terrible and gross pick up lines on Lexa Woods. If you need me, I’ll just be digging a hole to crawl into.

Lexa chuckled at the reply and did a little shimmy of victory, though for what, she wasn’t entirely sure just yet.

To be fair, mine were worse. It’s nice to meet you Clarke. I’m heading out of town for a bit, and I think I’m going to delete this app, but if you want to chat, here’s my number.

‘Heading out of town for a bit’ meant a small Australian tour.

Clarke stared at her phone as she scrolled through the Twitter feed, the most recent update a picture of a small suitcase and a guitar by a large door in what must be the singer’s apartment. It was captioned ‘homeward bound in a few hours.’

She alternated between googling the singer and trying to figure out if it was really her, and not a picture from somewhere that she missed, and the blank message with a rock stars phone number. As soon as the picture came through though, she knew she wouldn’t find it anywhere else-- it was her.

There was a video she watched of a live performance and swallowed. There couldn’t have been anymore more beautiful than Lexa with the guitar and the rolled up sleeves and the messy hair and the long necklace and the tattoo peaking out on her bicep and the way she closed her eyes and sang.

Clarke clicked around and saw more pictures, saw more stories. She never thought to think about Lexa Woods. She just knew her in general. Now she felt like a super stalker.

Her heart went a little numb though, when the next video to play was from a few days before at a local radio station where Lexa, sure enough, was on Tinder, fielding random girls with limited to no success. So she was on the app. That didn’t mean she was talking to Lexa Woods though.

If you’re Lexa Woods, post a picture on Twitter of you, with the name of your favorite president written on your hand, and a backwards hat, with your left eye closed.

Satisfied with it, she texted the stranger and went back to scrolling in the wee hours of her after-work haze. There was no real reason that a superstar would be messaging her, or keep messaging her. It didn’t make sense at all. It wasn’t what Clarke needed.

What she did need, however, was sleep. She needed to focus on her life and the internship that was running her ragged, combined with her own small photography business of stupid wedding pictures and, on her off days, bands and artists, coupled with two bartending jobs to pay the rent. Clarke could barely breathe, and she didn’t have time for a gross, elderly dude pretending to be someone else.

I’m currently somewhere over the Atlantic. Wasn’t I charming enough for you to believe me?

Clarke snorted.

They were pretty impressive lines.

How do I know you’re really the beautiful girl from the pictures?

She hadn’t expected that part. But Clarke couldn’t expect for her to prove it, and not herself. It all made sense, and so she snapped a picture. Actually, she snapped twelve, before deciding on one.

Wow. Yeah, you’re gorgeous. This is a problem.

You’re up next, hot stuff.

Can’t we just get to know each other?

I’ll keep it cool, but there’s no way I can take you seriously if I’m not sure who you are.

Dammit.

There was a kind of dread and hope that happened at the same time. Clarke opened up Twitter on her phone and tugged down, refreshing it repeatedly. The more minutes that ticked by, the more convinced that she’d never hear from that number again. She hadn’t realized she’d hoped for it though.

About twenty minutes later, her phone buzzed, though she’d long since fallen asleep. Not even the vibration made her aware that things were happening.

There you go, princess.

Hi. I’m Clarke.

Lexa smiled to herself as she read the message when she woke. Something about being back home, and two oceans away from the stranger was oddly comforting. She didn’t mind the travel, and she certainly didn’t mind tugging herself away from the temptation.

Do you feel weird now, knowing it’s really me?

Her clock said it was just after ten, but she felt as if she’d been awake for years. Though she did nap on and off during the flight, something about waiting for a response kept her from an easy rest that normally came when she travelled. Hell, Lexa considered herself an expert on sleeping anywhere, anytime.

When she opened the curtains of her room, she saw Sydney in all of its sunshine and glory. It’d be hot and miserable out there, and she was ready for it. A year ago she wouldn’t have been excited to go running, but now she craved the hurt that came with it. It was a new addiction.

It definitely changes things a little. But who wouldn’t dream of being chatted up by you?

I should warn you-- I’m much better at this in person.

“Hey, Lex,” a knock at her door wiped away the smile and the apparent pacing she was doing, unable to keep still. “We’re going to grab some breakfast, want to come?”

“I’m going for a run,” she smiled as she opened the door. “Isn’t it just a great day?”

“Should I be worried?” Anya furrowed, balancing the baby on her hip. “You’re in a really good mood.”

“We’re home. I’m high on life. I’m about to go for a run, and then I’ll meet you for breakfast, okay?”

“You’re going to crash. You barely slept on the plane.”

I might hold you to that when you get back ;)

“I’ll be fine,” she shrugged and tugged on an old shirt and shoving her phone in a pocket. “I’m going to meet Gus downstairs.”

With a kiss of her nephew’s cheek and one for her sister, she made her way down the hall and toward her bodyguard in the lobby who got her into running.

I really hope you do.

Lexa was home and flirting with a girl on purpose, of her own volition, and not because it was expected or required. It was about making her own decisions, and ever since everything that her past few years were, she felt ridiculously good about such a simple decision.

Consider it a date then.

Should we get the first date questions out of the way then?

Clarke stopped right on the stairs as she climbed out from her subway ride. Done with her internship and on her way to a gig taking some pictures, she shivered slightly as the cold came down in a whipping wind from the street. People pushed past her and just two days ago she was a perfectly normal member of society.

With a shake of her head she made her way out into the world, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, the heavy bag carrying the precious camera supplies she’d saved and scraped everything she ever made, to own.

For a solid three hours, she was able to forget that there was a grammy-winner waiting for a reply.

Then what would we do on the first date?

There weren’t many nights that Clarke found herself without work. Her schedule was tight and she liked it like that. Kept her busy, kept her focused, kept her out of too much trouble, or at least the kind that she didn’t choose. She definitely chose a lot of it.

“I need to talk to you,” Clarke said as she reached over the bar and poured herself a drink, not bothering to wait for her best friend. “It’s urgent.”

“Everything okay?” Raven furrowed and watched the weird behavior.

There wasn’t enough time to answer and drink, so Clarke took a shot and let out a shaky breath. For some reason, she’d been holding it in like a secret, and it was too much. She couldn’t handle it. She wasn’t as cool or calm or collected as she originally intended.

After pouring herself another one, she locked eyes with her best friend and waited for the words to come, her jaw set tight and firm while she gripped the glass tightly.

“I’m currently flirting with Lexa Woods. Yes, that Lexa Woods. She has my phone number and we’ve been flirting, and she’s charming and hot and I am this close,” Clarke explained, holding up her fingers so that they were very close together, “From believing that this is something that could happen. That I get to hook up with the most gorgeous and talented girl on the planet. I need you to pinch me and break my phone, in that order.”

When she was done talking, Clarke tossed back the drink and hissed again, the liquor making its way deep into her belly, burning a hole right through her.

Despite the noise from the surrounding customers, despite the music playing and the day-to-day sounds of the bar, all she could hear was the thumping of the blood in her ears as the booze made her feel queasy. The booze and Lexa Woods.

“I need more of an explanation to go on than this,” Raven finally ventured, shaking her head. “I don’t think--”

“It’s her,” Clarke nodded, pulling out her phone and holding it up with the messages. “I made sure.”

She poured herself a generous drink once more while her friend leaned over the counter and read everything, her eyes growing wide when she got to the picture.

“What would we talk about on the first date,” Raven read, still amazed. “She answered, did you see it? Just your breakfast order. Damn. That’s good.”

“I am getting hit on by Lexa Woods,” Clarke repeated, pouring another. “Help me.”

To her credit, Raven looked back at the phone before taking the bottle away. She put the phone down in front of her friend, beside the glass of vodka and softened slightly. There was such a look of worry that she wasn’t sure how to convince Clarke that it was alright.

“Finn was a dick who cheated on you, left your bruised and fucked, and you need to get rid of him in your head. You have the chance to fuck Lexa Woods. What could make you forget someone else quicker?”

At first, she wanted to argue, but Clarke considered the words and snapped her mouth shut as she stared at her phone.

Promise me you won’t fall in love, or make me fall in love with you.

As soon as she sent it, she downed her drink and collapsed on the stool, letting her head toss back and forth in a wallowing and miserable state. Her friend just chuckled and patted her back as best she could from behind the bar.

I would never dream of it. You and me and absolutely no emotions. I get back the day after Christmas.

French toast and coffee with two creams and two sugars.

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