#then frank comes home at exactly the wrong fucking time and figures out what's going on and has an entire morality crisis about it
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This has been eating away at my brain for the past like 24 hours but like. After the baby's first time smoking weed post and then the whole "frank makes a living as a drug dealer" I just keep thinking about how like. Gerard definitely watches old shitty b-movie horror flicks and of course drug use happens in them often. Anyways I like imagining Mikey asking Gerard 'what drug that couple did' right before a sex scene that ends in them getting murdered by the killer or w/e and Gerard tells him it's ecstasy and later Mikey asks Frank if he sells that at all and Frank being a bit of a cocky dumbass jokingly says "what do you wanna like try it or something". And of course Mikey says yes because if he says no then he'll look like a pussy because Frank totally just offered to let him try it out, he wouldn't offer if it were super dangerous right? And Frank's like oh well I guess if you actually do I could like. Give you a lil (he's a drug dealer he knows how titration goes he's sold it to full grown adults skinnier than this beanpole). But hey what's the fun in only one person being sober and only one person getting high so yeah sure he's done some before he knows what his limit is before it gets to be too much. Plus it's a pretty nice high, makes you feel real content, real happy, and everything feels real nice, the bedsheets feel a bit smoother, his skin feels so soft, and -- well what's the harm in a little close contact I mean he's already starting to get hard and looking rather desperate for some intimacy, and--
anyways. thanks for feeding my depraved desires keep up the good work --🦢
AAAAAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YES MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!! i am absolutely so glad you fucking cued in to frank getting a piece of mikey too and it being molly fuled is so fucking accurate lovely lovely i love you. so much. i just woke up im slightly delirious but yes this would absolutely happen. what does the swan mean
#the part i need to start working on very soon is basically the phase where frank starts giving mikey sleeping pills#so gway can jerk off on his face#like he feigns ingorance for so long and is extremely protective of mikey at first but then mikey starts asking for sleeping pills#all on his own#bc he cant sleep through his parents screaming at each other every other night#and gway takes them bc he doesnt trust mikey to dose himself and that very quickly devolves into gway cumming on his eyelashes#then frank comes home at exactly the wrong fucking time and figures out what's going on and has an entire morality crisis about it#for a few days#and is like fully prepared to call the cops on gway until he just like Sees mikey sleeping on the couch with his shirt rode up#twitching in some dream or another#and he realizes that he's no better than gway at all#the Fuck i want to fuck the kid moment is delicious#if i didn't already have a fic devoted to molly....intimacy lol id completely incorporate this but it will live on in my mental canon <3
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give it to me
relationship: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x fem!reader
summary: You come home after a terrible, frustrating day at work. Luckily, Matt and Frank give you exactly what you need
warnings: NSFW, porn without plot, no use of y/n, established relationship, pet names used for reader: sweetheart, good girl, good little slut, brat!reader, sex toys, oral (m and f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, light bondage, light dom/sub, objectification kink, light praise kink, some aftercare, cum-eating. You and Frank are kind of mean to each other but some of it's consensual and you apologize for what's not.
word count: 4.8k
a/n: happy national genocide day to everyone who's forced to deal with their shitty family today. i hope this helps you decompress lmao.
read it on ao3
Your day had been shit, and when you walked into the door of the apartment you shared with your partners, you wanted nothing more than to relax, to forget your day and let the weekend sweep away your stress.
“Sweetheart?” Frank called as you entered, and you toed off your shoes next to Matt’s before walking deeper into the apartment.
“Hey,” you called, and your voice sounded exhausted even to you.
“Dinner’ll be ready in an hour or so,” he said as you walked into the living space. “Go ahead and get changed, yeah?”
You nodded, even though he was facing away from you, and went to drop your work bag on the kitchen table when you found it covered in guns.
You knew about their work, loved them for how they kept the city safe as possible at their own expense. You knew that cleaning and fixing his firearms was part of that work. But you’d made it a policy that all weaponry had to be cleared from the kitchen table by the time you got home from work, thanks to one night a year ago when you’d gotten home and almost immediately sat down to dinner, only to pick up your napkin from the table and find gunpowder on it.
Frank was typically good at remembering. Still, seeing this now, after your already shitty day, turned frustration to anger. You meant to tell him, kindly, to please clean off the table before you sat down to dinner. Instead, what came out of your mouth was, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Frank put something in the oven then turned around to face you, face only just betraying his surprise. “What?”
You gestured angrily at the mess on the table. “What’s my rule? What’s my one fucking rule?”
“Yeah, I know, I was gonna clear it off once I got food in the oven. Got started a little late, and the lasagna takes an hour.”
“Dinner’s not even for another hour? Great!” you said rudely, already so hungry. “What were you even doing all day?” Frank didn’t work, not in the same sense as you and Matt. Though you’d never discussed it formally, he typically took care of most of the household tasks, and you were so grateful that it didn’t all fall to you. Now, though, you were pissed.
“Lost track of time,” he said, slowly, looking at you in confusion. “What, you want a snack?”
And you knew it was an apology, and a genuine offer. Still, all you heard in his voice was the condescension you’d just been subject to at work.
“Oh fuck off,” you snapped. “I’m not a child.”
He held up his hands in defense. “Never said you were, sweetheart.” He moved a step closer. “You alright?”
“Fine.” You turned to go to the bedroom to change, but Matt walked out at the same time, already out of his work clothes.
He walked closer to you, stopping a few feet away, head tilting. You knew he’d heard everything you’d just said, knew he’d clocked your mood just as well as Frank. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah?” he said, moving close enough to touch. His eyebrows were knit, mouth slightly open, and you knew he was trying to use every sign your body was giving to figure out what was wrong. “How was work?”
You didn’t want to think about work. You didn’t want to think.
“Fuck off,” you said, trying to find a way around him, but he reached out and grasped your upper arms, stopping you.
“I don’t think you want that,” he said, voice as gentle as his grasp.
You set your jaw, looked up at him. You could only imagine your expression was what Frank had once joked could scare off the people he and Matt went after before they got close enough to land a hit. You had the same rage under your skin as they did, just didn’t have the training or pain tolerance necessary to be a vigilante alongside them. It was part of what made your relationship work.
Matt stepped closer when you didn’t push him away, until your bodies brushed. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said. “Tell me you don’t want this. We can go to the gym, and you can hit something until you feel better. Hit me, if you want.”
You stayed silent, still watching him, the soft hazel of his eyes, the pretty red of his lips. He reached up to cradle your cheek in his hand, thumb brushing across your lips. Then he leaned in, close enough to kiss. “Color?”
“Green,” you said, all certainty, and pulled him in. Your lips moved together as you pushed your body flush against his.
He tried to reach out to unzip your dress, but you were impatient, pushing down his sweatpants and his boxers, then pushing him to sit on the couch behind you both. You straddled him, pushing up the skirt of your dress as you did, grinding against his half-hard cock.
“Sweetheart,” he said against your mouth, breaths already coming fast. “How do you want this, tonight?”
“I don’t want to think anymore,” you said, trying to keep that anger in the face of the pleasure that shot through you at his touch. “Make it so I can’t think anymore.”
“Fuck,” Frank muttered from somewhere behind you, and you were only just aware of him moving to lean against the table and watch you both.
Matt agreed with him, groaning. “Okay,” Matt said. “Alright. I have to take off your underwear. Lean back on the couch.”
You didn’t want to, didn’t want to lose the skin contact, the feeling of his now fully-erect cock against your cunt. “Make me,” you said, and he grabbed your hips and half-pushed, half-lifted you so you lay on your back on the couch, him looming above you. He pulled off your panties, tipped you on your side to unzip and pull off your dress, then rid himself of his clothes before bracing one arm on the armrest behind you, another on the back of the couch, and positioning the head of his cock at your entrance.
He pushed it against you a few times, wanting to make sure you were wet enough. You hadn’t taken so much as a finger inside of you yet, and you knew that he didn’t want to hurt you. Not like this. Not without you asking for it. “Sweetheart, is it-”
“What are you waiting for?” you snapped. “Hurry up and fuck me.” The position made it hard, but you wrapped your legs around his waist, used them as leverage to bring him closer.
“Okay, okay,” he gasped, then sunk in with a groan, face going loose in pleasure. Typically, seeing how good you made him feel would’ve gotten you halfway to orgasm, but now it wasn’t enough, wasn’t near enough. You moved your hips against him, taking him in until he filled you.
Your mind went blessedly blank for a moment, but it didn’t last nearly long enough. You began moving against him again, angling your hips so his cock brushed along your g-spot with every thrust.
The feeling forced a low oh out of you, and Matt murmured, “you sound so pretty, sweetheart. Love hearing how good I make you feel.” But it was nice, and good, and not at all what you wanted. You wrapped your hands around his biceps, feeling the corded muscle there, and sped up your pace.
“Hey,” Frank said, and you looked around Matt’s lithe frame to see him watching you. The only indication that he was affected by the scene before him was the erection prominent against his jeans. “Don’t be a brat. You’ll take what you’re given.”
“I wouldn’t have to be a brat if Matt fucked me properly,” you said, and Matt seemed to remember himself and your request at both your words, picking up his pace, with deep, harsh thrusts, grunting with each movement. You moaned and moved your hands from his biceps, no longer needing the leverage it gave you, and dug your nails into his powerful back muscles. It chased the thoughts to the back of your head only temporarily, and then they came creeping back in, telling you that you were useless, powerless, not even capable of taking charge in the bedroom, much less a boardroom.
You used the leverage of your legs to try to bring Matt down, try to flip him onto his back. He let you move him so you were on top, let you brace your hands against his shoulders and ride him with abandon. “Guess I have to take care of everything myself,” you said. You grabbed one of Matt’s hands and put it on your clit. “Get me off,” you ordered, and he began playing with it, knowing in the way he always did that this was what you needed. You rarely took the reins in the bedroom, but he admitted once that he loved when you did. Obediently, he played with your clit, finding the rhythm that had you moaning, and you fucked yourself on his cock like it was a toy until you felt your orgasm cresting. “Fill- me-“ you gasped, and came with a low noise. He kept up the movements of his hips and his fingers through your aftershocks, spilling within you with a pretty moan.
You rested against him for a moment, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of completeness as you both caught your breath.
Then arms reached for you, dragging you off of him. “You’re too nice to her, Red,” Frank said as he threw you over his shoulder and walked you to the bedroom. “Good sluts need to be ordered around, yeah?”
Typically, you would’ve said yes in an instant, would’ve let him take charge. You liked being the one to control Matt every now and then, but that was easy, with how pretty he was, the way he so rarely let his rage loose with you. Frank was different. Outside of the bedroom, he would never try to control you, rarely even raised his voice. It was only when you were naked beneath him that he let the need to possess, to claim, run loose.
But now, you were still tired from the day and overstimulated from how hard you had just fucked Matt. “Wait, Frank…”
He dropped you roughly on the bed. “If you’re talking, you’re thinking, yeah? Said you didn’t want that.” He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them off, and you moved up to your elbows to watch his erection spring free, head already pink and tip weeping. You felt that telltale dip of attraction in your stomach. Still, you couldn’t let go of control that easily.
“I don’t see how you think you’re gonna be able to fuck me any better than Matt,” you snipped, and he pulled back from where he had begun to crawl on the bed. “We both know he’s better than you.”
His expression turned hard, and when he spoke next it was low, angry. You had him right where you wanted him. “Get up,” he said, and you pushed yourself off the bed to stand next to him. He pointed at his feet. “Get on your knees.”
“No.”
He let lose an angry breath. “Come home, giving me shit. Ask for us to fuck you, still giving me shit. You need a fucking attitude adjustment.”
“I need another orgasm. Sucking you off isn’t going to do it.”
“You get what I’m giving you. You want to come again, stop misbehaving.” He spun you around by the hips, wrapped an arm around your waist then kicked your legs out from beneath you. He set you on your knees, and you steadied yourself on the edge of the bed. He moved to sit down on the bed and buried a hand in your hair before moving your mouth closer to the tip, pushing it against your lips and then inside.
You did your best to glare at him through the stretch of it, through the way his eyes went half-closed in pleasure, through his grunts. It was hard to stay mad when you had to focus on relaxing your jaw, on breathing around the thick length of him. It was even harder staying mad, knowing that you were making him feel this good. Feeling your own body react to being used like this, a tool for his pleasure.
Still, after a minute or so you pulled back, sucking and licking just on the head of his cock before letting him go altogether. His eyes snapped back open, and he glared at you. “What’re you doin’?” he said. “Didn’ say you were done.”
You began to stand. “I said I’m done.”
He pushed you back down by your shoulders. “Red,” he said, and you turned, realized that Matt must’ve stepped into the bedroom while you’d been going down on Frank. He now sat, still naked, on the extra chair in the corner of the room. “Grab me the ties. Guess she needs some extra encouragement to do as she’s told tonight.”
You watched from your knees as Matt smiled, then walked over to the top drawer of your dresser and pulled out the silk ties. “And grab me the vibrator, too,” Frank said. “The pink one.”
Matt threw an unimpressed look over his shoulder. “Which one?”
“C’mon. You know. The one for her clit that she likes.”
Your breath caught as you realized what Frank was planning, and Matt chuckled. “Oh, she liked that,” Matt said, and walked over to you. He set the vibrator on the bed then knelt, tying your wrists together behind you. You glanced between the vibrator and Frank’s cock. You didn’t use toys often but kept a small handful for when life got in the way, and for moments like this. The one Matt had grabbed was your favorite, capable of making you come in ninety seconds flat.
Matt grabbed the vibrator off the bed, and you spread your legs a bit to let him position it at your clit. You closed your legs again to keep it in place. He kept a finger on the bottom button to power it on, and you tensed, ready for the vibrations. “Frank’s going to fuck your mouth the way he wants,” Matt said, that velvet tone so different from Frank’s rough timbre, and you found yourself nodding in agreement before you’d even processed his words. “And you’re going to come, just like you want.” He dropped his other hand to your bound ones, tapped once against your skin. Green?
“Fuck you,” you said, trying desperately to keep that anger when the only thought in your head was how good they were about to make you feel. Matt put his hand against your fingers and you tapped once, clearly. Green.
He turned on the toy, and a moan ripped out from you before Frank pushed his cock into your mouth, fucking into it so fast and so deep that you couldn’t keep up, drool spilling from your lips. You moaned at the endless sensation against your clit, against the feeling of being used by him, and then he pushed far enough into your throat that you lost your air supply and your thoughts with it. You came so hard your vision whited out, your body going loose against him.
Frank slowed his pace, but the toy didn’t stop. “This what you wanted, sweetheart?” Frank said, half a grunt. “My cock in your mouth. Coming all over yourself.” You whimpered around him. It was too much. You never wanted it to stop. “Yeah. You’re a good little slut. ‘Course you want it.”
Frank pulled your mouth off his cock, but you quickly came again from the vibrations and his words. The world had gone soft around the edges, just as you wanted it. “Fran’… Ma’…” you slurred, not quite able to make the consonants. “Feel so goo’…”
You felt a hand between your legs, then a second later the toy turned off and was pulled away from you. “Wai…”
A pair of hands grabbed your upper arms and pulled you up, and you were too far gone to stop the moan that came as you rubbed your thighs together, feeling your slick and Matt’s cum coating them. You were pulled onto the bed, and moved around like a doll until you were on your back, hands unbound, muscles too weak to move.
Then, a form covered your own, a large hand grabbed your jaw, and you opened your eyes hazily to find Frank staring down at you. “Gonna come inside you now. S’what you want, yeah?”
You tried at a yes, and he pushed inside you with the same force he’d just taken your mouth. You were already so overstimulated, but he kept his hands off your clit, instead thrusting inside you desperately. You realized that he hadn’t come yet. “Fran’- please- inside me-” you begged. “Wan’ your cum. Please.”
He managed a few more thrusts before he moaned, his seed spilling inside of you. You closed your eyes and hummed in delight at the feeling. He collapsed half on you, not pulling out as he started to soften.
“Frank.” Matt’s voice came, and you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Let me taste her. Please.”
Frank nodded against you, then pulled away. Matt took his place, broad shoulders holding your legs apart. His hot breath brushed over the sensitive skin of your upper thighs. “You smell so good, sweetheart. Smell like him, like me. Love how you trust us to use you like this.”
“Ma’-“ you gasped, tried rutting your hips, but he moved his arm to hold them down, the pressure only increasing your arousal. “Please.”
“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, moving from your upper thighs to your cunt, lips brushing against your skin. “How many times do we have to get you off before you’re satisfied?”
That cut through the haze enough to reignite the anger. “Until I say so,” you snapped, and buried your hands in his hair to move him closer to your pussy.
He laughed, the feeling shooting through you, and then began to lap at the cum spilling from you. You moaned, eyes falling shut, and let him taste you as he wanted. You knew Matt loved this, would go down on both you and Frank without either of you even asking for it. It was one of his favorite things to do when you and Frank started a movie or a TV show marathon, seeing how long he could go down on you without making you come, or seeing how many times he could get Frank off in a short amount of time. You could never say no to him, not for this.
His tongue pushed inside you, the feeling and the obscene sounds that came with it enough to bring you close to another orgasm. His tongue slid out, and then he wrapped his lips around your opening and sucked, your back arching off the bed at the sudden, unfamiliar sensation. It took you a second to realize that he was sucking both of their cum out of you, tasting the three of you together. Based on the way he was grinding against the mattress, he must like it.
Matt went back to lapping at your cunt, and your body dropped with him, panting. A hand suddenly cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between two fingers. You opened your eyes to find Frank sitting next to you, hungrily watching the bud darken with his touch. “Fran’-k” you managed.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Feel goo’,” you sighed, eyes slipping closed.
You could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, yeah I know. There’s my good girl. Just needed my cock, and she calmed right down, huh?”
That was a challenge if you’d ever heard one. You opened your eyes again, pushed Matt’s face deeper in your cunt, taking control again. “Like hell it was. You’re lucky Matt’s so good with his mouth.”
For the first time since he’d started going down on you, Matt moved up to suck on your clit. Hard.
Frank kissed you, tongue sweeping into your mouth as both his hands cupped your breast, pinched your nipples, and your body contracted against him, his weight keeping you down as another orgasm rolled through you. Matt didn’t stop his motions through it, eagerly cleaning up your juices.
Your mind had gone blank again, the challenge Frank had thrown down forgotten. There was more movement around you, the loss of Matt’s mouth from your cunt, Frank’s body lifting from away. You wanted them to stay but couldn’t so much as whimper.
“On your hands and knees, sweetheart,” Matt’s voice came, and you felt hands turn you over onto your stomach. You tried lifting yourself up, got one hand underneath yourself, but fell back onto the mattress. “I want to fuck you again. Do you want that?”
Yes yes yes yes. You couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make a noise.
There was movement, and your breath caught in anticipation, but it was only one of their fingers, tapping once against your shoulder. Green?
An arm found its way beneath one of your hands, and you tapped once. Green.
The arm beneath your hands disappeared, and then another wrapped around your waist and pulled you up. You managed to get your knees and hands beneath you, wanting to feel them inside you again.
A hand steadied you on your hip, and you recognized it as Matt’s, thanks to the scar on the tip of his forefinger. He pushed inside, fast and rough. It shook loose a moan from your chest, a “yes” following it.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Frank rumbled, and it took you a moment to follow the order. He sat in front of you, pushing your sweaty hair away from your face. He tipped your chin up, forced you to make eye contact. “You should see her, Red. Looks so pretty when she’s ruined like this. Not a single fucking thought in her head, just our good little slut.”
That got another noise out of you, eyes slipping closed again. “Hey, did I say you could do that?” Frank said, and you opened your eyes again. All your anger, all your desire to take control, had fled with your last orgasm. You were fully theirs, now. Theirs to use. “Good girl,” he praised, and you moaned, gasping as Matt continued to fill you roughly, cruelly, through the overstimulation they’d caused. “So fucking pretty. Keep your mouth open, yeah. Just like that.”
Out of your peripheral vision, you could see Frank beginning to stroke himself, cock proud against his stomach, and you felt yourself begin to drool, imagining him filling your mouth again, this time as Matt fucked you from behind. You couldn’t find the words to ask.
Frank reached up a hand to cup your cheek, thumb pressing into your mouth, and you took what you could get, sucking at it eagerly. He tasted like sex, like his cum, like you.
You moaned, keeping your eyes on Frank as you sucked his finger, Matt rutting into you. One of Matt’s hand’s reached around to stroke your cunt, and you began moving your hips against him as another orgasm crested, his pace faltering until he came inside you again. You followed him a moment later.
Frank moved his thumb from your mouth and stood, disappearing behind you, and you closed your eyes, reveling in the pleasure of your peak. Matt pulled out, and you hummed happily, until you felt the head of Frank’s cock pushing at your entrance.
And it was so much, too much, you’d just come, you couldn’t- couldn’t-. You whimpered and tried crawling up the bed, away from the pressure, but his hands grabbed your hips and dragged you back to him. You thrashed in his grip. “No no no, Frank- can’t please no-“
His form caged yours in, voice rough in your ear. “You don’t have a choice, you hear me? Don’t have a single goddamn choice. Were bad earlier. Gotta be reminded who’s in charge here, yeah? Now be a good little slut and take my cock.”
You whimpered as he mounted you, the overstimulation painful.
“Wait, Frank-” Matt suddenly said, and Frank stilled. “Color, sweetheart.”
“Gree-!“ you gasped, and Frank grunted and pounded into you with deep, quick thrusts, hands holding your hips in place. The overstimulation quickly went from painful to pleasurable, and your hands dropped out from under you, face against the mattress. You were powerless against the waves of sensation, against his control.
Finally, your brain went quiet. It was what you’d been chasing since you came home, and you let it wash over and through you, taking you away.
When you came back to yourself, you were on your side between them. You blinked open your eyes, finding Frank looking at you. “Mm.”
He smiled. “Hey.”
You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his chest. “How long was I gone?”
“Not long.”
“You came again?”
“Yeah.” They’d cleaned you off at least, that much you could tell.
“Was that what you needed?” Matt asked from behind you.
“Yeah,” you sighed happily. “Thank you. Both of you.” You pressed a gentle kiss to Frank’s lips, then rolled over to give one to Matt as well.
You were all quiet for a long minute, enjoying the others’ presence. Matt finally said, “Are you ready to talk to us about work now?”
You sighed, kept your eyes closed. “It’s stupid.”
Matt hummed. “That’s the fifth time you’ve bratted in the three years we’ve been together. It’s not stupid.”
It took you a second to find the words. “Remember how I had that big presentation? That I had to give to the CEO of my company?” You’d been working on this project for several months, and you were so proud of it. It could change the way your company did business, and your research suggested that it might increase your revenue fivefold. Even being a lower-level worker in the company, your manager had been so impressed she’d passed it up the chain, and it’d gone all the way to land you in front of the e-suite. You’d put on the dress and heels that made you feel powerful, and walked in ready to wow.
“I walked into that presentation, and everyone ignored me. They didn’t realize I was who they were hearing from. The CEO asked me to get them coffee.”
Matt’s hand moved to your waist, thumb brushing against your skin to comfort. Frank gave a quiet, angry, “shit.”
“I gave them my name, explained why I was there, and they let me give my presentation.” The entire time, they’d seemed to be looking at your body more than your slideshow. When they weren’t checking their phones, that was. “And then afterwards, he said he would ‘think about it,’” you said, impersonating his tone. They’d made it clear that it was a no, that your idea wasn’t worth shit to them. All that stress, those months of work, for nothing.
Frank said, “do you want me to kill them?”
And you knew if you said yes, Frank would do it in a heartbeat. You also knew that Matt would never forgive you for it. “No, sweetheart.” you said. “I don’t want them dead, I just wish they hadn’t… hadn’t made me feel so useless.”
“You’re not useless,” Matt said, with conviction. “Sweetheart, if you were useless, Frank and I would’ve been dead fifteen times over. If they make you feel that way, then you don’t have to stay with them. We have the savings if you want to quit and find a new job.”
And you laughed, blinked back your grateful tears. He meant it, every word. You stitched them together night after night, watched them hurt themselves for other’s peace. You didn’t ask them for that, so they gave you this instead: unconditional support. Endless love. “I think I need to calm down, a bit. I’ll see how I feel on Monday.” You hesitated, then said, “thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Matt said. You smiled again, eyes slipping shut, and then an alarm went off.
You all startled, and Frank pulled away from you, standing. “Fuck, that’s the timer for the lasagna.” You’d forgotten about dinner. “I’m gonna go set the table. I’ll make sure to wipe it down, sweetheart.”
You rolled over to look at him. “I’m sorry I yelled, Frank. I was angry at them, and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.”
He smiled at you. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
#frank castle x you#frank castle x reader#matt murdock x you#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock smut#frank castle smut#matt murdock x frank castle x reader#reader insert#my fic
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Patron deity au. Someone has to work with Aizawa during a case and is just like "god this dude, who could even stand him in a personal relationship. He's so uptight (blah,blah,blah,etc, you get the idea)"
Aizawa, going home to his deity spouse and their 20+ kids and extreme amount of pets. "I haven't known peace in years and at this point I think I would hate it."
Oh yeah this would take place into the future of the verse and it'd be delightful:
Some rookie cop or young non-UA hero who recently relocated to Musutafu ends up working with Shouta on a case and absolutely does not know What's Up(TM).
And no one in the entire station plans on telling them. It's hands down funnier to watch them learn the truth on their own and they, to be frank, kind of deserve to be knocked down a few pegs.
(Because let's face it, by this point Ichigo is a well-known Musutafu cryptid and worship may or may not have spread out into the city itself thanks to the students. And although UA remains Ichigo's stronghold time finds him growing stronger and stronger as time passes. And Aizawa is Aizawa and thus is also a cryptid on his own.)
But this young non-Musutafu native just can't stand Aizawa/Eraserhead. He absolutely rubs this dude the wrong way.
Aizawa comes across as so straightlaced and fucking brutal when it comes to picking out flaws in plans. The only showboating he puts up with is when Mic is feeling dramatic and the only cowboying he doesn't immediately shut down is when Snipe is close by.
(Ichigo with all of his Ichigo-ness doesn't count in Shouta's eyes because there's some idiot hero or cop thinking they're invincible and then there's Ichigo. And those are very much two different situations. Besides, Shouta is a lot of things but the only time he's interested in fighting a literal force of nature is when Ichigo and him spar, mainly because he knows exactly how that's going to end.)
So when this baby-transplant finally figures out through pieced together overheard conversations that Aizawa is married??
Oh they are absolutely beside themselves. Who the fuck would marry that boring asshole? Dude has the energy and expression of a corpse.
Then, one day, after Aizawa has reamed them out for, once again, getting ahead of themselves on this case, they stomp out into the lobby of the station and immediately freeze.
Because the lobby is full of faces they recognize. There's Deku and Shouto standing huddled beside each other. Ground Zero and Creati are also there as well as Ingenium II and a few other faces they recognize. All members of the infamous 2-A, the UA class everyone says is going to absolutely destroy the hero rankings the moment they graduate. (There are even rumors that they're already messing with them and that Deku specifically has been ranking higher and higher each time despite not technically being eligible yet.)
But what really catches their attention is the man leaning against the wall. Dressed in an old fashion black yukata that's been left to gape open at the neck, arms folded across his chest, long vibrant orange hair pulled up into a high tail, and bright eyes watching over the gathered students, he's obviously a hero of some kind and he is, more importantly, absolutely gorgeous.
There's nothing on earth that could or would stop them from stepping forward and introducing themselves.
Not even the way the 2-A members seem to look between themselves, back at baby-transplant, and then towards the orange-haired man and immediately start snickering.
They slide up to the man's side, shoulders pulled back and chin tilted up proudly, and introduce themselves. Hero name first, of course.
"Hmm," the man hums, vibrant and kind of unsettling eyes cutting in their direction "you can call me, Kurosaki."
It's not the warm reception they were hoping for but it's better than nothing. They're willing to put in the work.
So they stand there chatting at Kurosaki for a bit before the door to the lobby swings open again.
They barely bite back a groan of irritation when Aizawa steps out into the lobby and heads towards the front desk but nothing stamps down the sneer that immediately crawls across their face.
"Someone you don't like?" Kurosaki abruptly asks, seemingly taking interest in the conversation for the first time.
"Just a complete asshole," they don't hesitate to throw Aizawa under the bus. "Some no-name Underground Hero who thinks he knows better than everyone else. If he was that good he'd be Limelight."
"Underground Heroes are important," Kurosaki points out mildly.
"Of course," they back peddle just a bit. "But that guy's just a cold fish. Doesn't have an ounce of the passion I do for anything as far as I've seen."
"Oh I bet," Kurosaki hums, mouth pulled up slightly at one corner.
Aizawa picks that moment to turn in their direction. He looks at the 2-A students first (who have all, for some reason, huddled together and now seem to be passing money between them) and then towards where they and Kurosaki are standing.
"Oh great," they huff as he starts in their direction. "Hopefully I can get rid of him fast and then, if you'd like, I'd love to take you out to talk some more?"
Aizawa's there before Kurosaki gets a chance to reply.
"Planning a date?" Aizawa asks, dead eyes staring into their face.
"What's it to you?" They snap back. "Pissed because you'll never get one?"
"Pretty sure my chances are better than yours," Aizawa states blandly, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders slouched like always.
Aizawa turns towards Kurosaki then, ignoring the way they sputter.
"What'd you say?" Aizawa asks.
"Hmm," Kurosaki hums again. "Not sure my husband would like that, me going on a date with some stranger. Might not be worth it"
Disappointment immediately slides down their spine because of course Kurosaki, as gorgeous as he is, is married.
But at least this means they get to see Aizawa flame out too.
"Don't know about that," Aizawa unexpectedly says. "Bet I could convince you."
"Oh," Kurosaki murmurs, low and almost intimate, "you're welcome to try."
And then Aizawa takes a step forward to crowd into Kurosaki's space and they can only watch in some kind of horror as Aizawa kisses Kurosaki.
It's deep and intimate, absolutely not something meant to happen in the middle of a police station lobby.
It takes too long for the kiss to break even as the 2-A members hoot and holler just a bit in the background, something about "Sensei and Ichi-nii are at it again".
They're beginning to believe they might have missed something here.
"How was that?" Aizawa asks when he finally breaks the kiss, something unexpectedly smug in his expression. "Not bad for a cold fish huh?"
And that's the exact moment they realize Aizawa must have heard every single thing they've ever said about him behind his back.
"Well," Kurosaki says, face flushed and lips just a bit swollen, "guess there's a reason I married you after all huh?"
They don't bother to stick around after that. Instead, they turn tail and head out onto the street.
That was more than enough humiliation for one day for them.
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hi 💛 i know this may be out of character for post-finale, but i was wondering if you could write a bit of angst (with happy ending of course) where mickey becomes more withdrawn from the gallagher fam cause he doesn’t feel like he really belongs (thinking of lip during the “mickey’s not family” kitchen scene and mickey&lip’s fight) - maybe mick is staying back at their westside apartment more often, not attending family events, only feels comfortable around ian, etc. - eventually ian catches on, they talk, and he makes it better 🥰
This went a little different and it's ooc for the other Gallaghers, but I think it still hits the general vibe so I just went with it.
---
The wake of Frank Gallagher’s death was filled with uncertainty. For the present, the future, the family. For Ian. Because for all Ian said he wouldn’t care when Frank died, for all he said he was done caring for, mourning for a man that used him, threw him aside…
When it came down to it, Ian was still a Gallagher. And Gallaghers didn’t let each other go that easily.
Mickey wasn’t a Gallagher. He never had been. And he had never felt that difference more strongly than now, standing behind the counter in the Gallagher family kitchen, feeling like an eavesdropper as he listened to them plan.
Plan for a wake no one wanted, a remembrance no one asked for. Plan out Frank’s goodbye while the man himself sat in ashes on the mantelpiece.
Ian looked tired sitting on the opposite side of the room, facing Mickey. His face was drawn, his eyes squinted thin and surrounded by red, and his mouth twisted as he argued with Lip over how much of the money from selling the house should go toward completely unnecessary arrangements.
“I’m just saying,” Ian said plainly, “that we don’t need to do anything fancy. There’s nothing wrong with a cheap party at the Alibi.”
“Party,” Lip snorted. “Don’t think this is the kind of thing we’re supposed to celebrate.”
“Why the fuck not?” Mickey couldn’t help himself from chiming in. “Frank was an asshole, and nobody cared when he was dyin’ on the goddamn sofa.”
It was true enough. They had all been rather unbothered by his imminent demise until they got the call, a few words over a tinny phone connection enough to suddenly make it real. To make it important.
“No matter how much we hated him, he was still our dad, Mickey,” Lip argued, wiping a hand over his face. He eyed the drink Carl held hungrily before taking a slow sip of his own cola, adding, “Not all of us can just leave family to fuckin’ rot.”
And that hurt. Felt like a fucking kick in the chest, over a heart already bruised. He could see Ian watching him, though, and his husband had enough to deal with without getting into Mickey’s shit again.
“He’s already cremated,” Mickey pointed out, putting on an unconcerned face for Ian’s benefit. “Nothing left to rot, man.”
“Well we can’t just do nothing,” Debbie said, for once on Lip’s side. “I mean yeah, he was a shitty dad, but it’s not like he was Terry.”
“Not a high bar,” Mickey countered. “Think he deserves some kind of parade just cause he didn’t try and kill any of ya on purpose?”
A brief moment, just one, as that went through the room. Then:
“Mickey,” Lip sighed, “just let us deal with this, yeah? This is kind of a—”
“Family only thing,” Mickey interrupted bitterly, repeating words that Lip had thrown around one too many times. “Yeah, I figured.”
Ian offered an apologetic look from across the table, but didn’t argue for him. Not like last time, when his first thought had been to defend Mickey’s place.
Mickey took the hint.
“I’ll be out back,” Mickey said shortly, directed at Ian, and marched toward the door. “You know, whenever fucking family time is over.”
“Mickey…” Ian called after him, but he didn’t get up. Didn’t follow. And as Mickey left, he could vaguely hear Ian making apologies.
So he didn’t stop when he went down the steps. And he didn’t stop at the gate. He didn’t stop at the sidewalk, or the street, or the edge of the neighborhood.
If he wasn’t fuckin’ family, he didn’t need to be at the family home. So he went to his new one instead.
---
“Mickey?” Ian called out as he entered the apartment, hours later. “Mickey, are you here?”
Mickey didn’t answer. Ian found him anyway.
“There you are,” he said with a sigh as he came into the living room, where Mickey lay sprawled over the sofa. He stopped at Mickey’s side, towering over him.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Ian complained, looking to the device Mickey held with both hands. “Why did you leave?”
“Why do you think?” Mickey answered. “Wasn’t exactly welcome.”
Ian had the grace to look chagrined.
“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “You know how Lip gets…”
“Stupid?” Mickey said, and Ian shrugged.
“I mean, yeah. Kind of.”
Mickey went back to playing on his phone, leaving Ian standing awkwardly at his side.
“I told them I’d come back once I found you,” Ian told him abruptly. “You should come with me.”
Mickey didn’t answer, eyes on his game.
“Will you come?” Ian pressed, and Mickey dropped his phone with a sigh.
“They don’t want me there,” he answered. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, and Ian caught it, pulled it away.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, voice earnest, his thumb tracing circles on Mickey’s wrist.
“Dunno,” Mickey lied, then caved immediately. “It’s a family thing,” he said. “And I ain’t family.”
“You’re my family,” Ian countered, but Mickey shook his head, pulling his hand free.
That wasn’t enough.
They were quiet, for a moment, and Mickey was about to give up and pick up his phone again when Ian broke the silence.
“You’re more family than Frank was, if you think about it,” he said suddenly. “Definitely more of a Gallagher, if you only count the good bits.”
“It’s cheating to only count the good parts of me,” Mickey argued, feeling bitter, and Ian knocked his shoulder with his hand.
“Meant only the good bits of being a Gallagher, Mick,” he corrected, rolling his eyes before they settled, soft, on Mickey’s face. “Stuff like being there, taking care of each other. Sticking together when things get rough.”
“Don’t think your brother agrees,” Mickey said flatly, then winced as Ian sat down hard on his outstretched legs.
“My brother,” Ian started, “is an idiot.”
Well, Mickey wasn’t going to argue with that.
“But believe it or not,” Ian continued, “he does think of you as family.” Mickey tried to cut in, but Ian glared at him until he closed his mouth, settling back against the arm of the sofa.
“You know what I heard him telling somebody the other day?” Ian asked. Not waiting for a reply, he said, “that if they had any trouble, he’d sic his brother-in-law on them.”
“Don’t think using me as a threat counts as me being part of the family,” Mickey grumbled, but Ian shook his head.
“Wasn’t a threat,” he explained. “He was offering your services. Cause you’re part of the family, now, and he knows you would help him.”
He would. Of course he would. Without a second thought, even for his least favorite in-law, even at risk for himself. But it was a surprise to hear that Lip knew that.
“Carl tells people you taught him how to fight,” Ian went on. “Brags that the infamous Mickey Milkovich taught him everything, and that’s why he makes a good cop.”
Mickey snorted. Of course that little fucker did.
“Didn’t think he’d grow up to be a pig, did I?” he said, and Ian just smiled.
“Liam tells the school bullies that if they mess with him, his brother will beat them up,” Ian continued. “Didn’t work very well until he said that brother was you.”
“Damn right I would,” Mickey agreed easily, scowling at the idea of anyone giving Liam a hard time. “He’s a good fucking kid.”
“And Franny fucking adores you,” Ian said, knowing it would make Mickey smile. “Which means Debbie does, too.” Ian scooted closer, sitting on Mickey’s thighs instead of his shins.
“You know I offered to babysit the other day, and the first thing Debs asked was if you would be there?” Ian laughed. “She almost said no until I promised you would be.”
“Little sis has good sense,” Mickey muttered, flushing to his ears, and Ian nodded.
“She does,” he agreed. “They all do.” He raised a hand to Mickey’s face, held his cheek. Stroked his thumb over it. “You’re family, Mickey,” he whispered. “And they love you. Just like I do.”
“Fucking sap,” Mickey murmured, leaning into the touch.
“You know it,” Ian said, and pulled him in for a kiss.
When they parted, Ian took Mickey’s worries with him.
“What do you say?” Ian asked softly, hand sliding down to Mickey’s neck. “Come home with me, let them apologize?”
“Thought this was home, now,” Mickey said.
“It is home, for us,” Ian answered. “But the house is home too. Family is home,” he stressed. “And you’re family.”
“Lip ain’t gonna apologize,” Mickey pointed out next, leaning in again, and Ian shrugged.
“Come home with me and tell him he’s an asshole?” Ian offered instead.
Mickey grinned, resting their foreheads together.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I can do that.”
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Burn The Witch 8 - Rookie Mistake [Bucky Barnes x Reader]
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤
Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.
Summary: Every agent makes mistakes.
Series Masterlist
You had no idea what you’d done for karma to hunt you down like this, but it was very clear that at some part in your life, you had messed up.
Maybe it was because you never bought recyclable giftwraps for Christmas even if everyone told you to.
Maybe it was because you still used too much sugar in your coffee.
Maybe it was because of all the targets you had killed.
A mystery, that one.
You groaned, pressing your forehead on the window of the car as you massaged your temples.
“Do I have a tracker on me or something?” you whined, “Is that it? What are the chances I run into my fake boyfriend twice while on a mission? It’s a huge city, it’s not supposed to be possible!”
“I don’t know about you but I’m shaking,” Keith reached out to wave his hand in front of your eyes while Chloe checked you both in the rear mirror, “I’m— my hands are all sweaty look—“
“Don’t touch me with your sweaty hands!” you batted his hands away when he tried to touch your face, “How did this happen? How is this possible? Chloe? Chloe answer me, how is this fucking possible?”
“Okay, let’s all take a breath and focus on the bright side of the situation,” she managed to say, keeping her eyes on the road, “Your cover wasn’t blown, he still has no idea you’re…well, you. And everyone is alive, yay!”
“I was on the same rooftop as the world’s most dangerous assassin,” Keith let out a breath, “He was right there when I got there, he was just…. That guy could kill us all!”
“Shrike, just give the order and we will—“
“Everyone stay where you are,” you touched your earpiece, “It’s under control.”
“Let me guess,” Bucky said as he took a step towards you, “Another member of HYDRA and you got here before me.”
“Are you following me or something?” you asked and he scoffed.
“Maybe you’re not the only person going after HYDRA.”
“Maybe I should be,” you said, “Don’t get me wrong, I kind of dig the whole vigilante vibe but my superiors have more…planned strategies for things like these.”
“And who do you work for, exactly?”
You let out a small laugh, “Every girl has her secrets,” you stated, “Why are you here?”
“Why are you?”
“Because I’m getting paid for it,” you said, “You’re not. Surely a handsome guy like you could fill his nighttime with different activities rather than doing….this.”
Even in the dark, you could tell that he shifted his weight uncomfortably.
“Aw, not a huge fan of flirting?”
“Not with you.”
You couldn’t help but scoff a laugh at the irony, “Why, you got a girl at home?”
The door slammed open and one of the agents –Keith, you assumed— stepped out, his rifle pointed at Bucky while he heaved a sigh, shaking his head slightly.
“Your friend has a scarf wrapped over his face to keep his identity hidden and you call me a vigilante?”
Keith almost looked like Daredevil with Chloe’s red scarf covering half of his face.
“Mystery is kind of our deal.” you said and motioned at Keith, “Put the gun down, he’s not going to hurt me. In fact, he’s going to let me walk away.”
Bucky tilted his head, “You think so?”
“I know so. I’d hate to mess up that beautiful face during combat.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.” you shrugged your shoulders and walked past him.
“Who are you?” he asked and you turned around to look at him.
“Come on, you know better than that.” You said and saluted him in a mocking manner before walking to the door, “Until next time, soldier.”
“I’m serious, feel my hands—“ you were pulled out of your thoughts when Keith reached out for you and you made a face, slapping his hand away once again.
“He told me he would stay at home tonight!” you exclaimed. “I can’t believe this, how dare—“
“It’s not like he said he was going to bed and ended up going to a club behind your back,” Chloe said, “Just saying, that happens a lot in some relationships.”
“Chloe, it’s not a real relationship!” you reminded her “What, my options were him having a one night stand and him going after the same target I was going to kill? By all means, he can go and get laid then!”
“But that would count as cheating!” Chloe said, “Besides, you know what they say. Targets over...ladies.”
“No one in the whole human history has ever said that honey.” Keith said helpfully and you looked out the window.
“Wait, where are we going?”
“The base.” Chloe said as if she was apologizing, “Dad wants to see you.”
You threw your head back and slipped a little on the leather seat.
“Great,” you muttered, “Tonight is getting better and better.”
***
Thankfully, General decided to let you go home after an hour of briefing. He had asked you whether you would like to be pulled out of other missions and instead just focus on Bucky but ignoring Keith’s glances, you had said no.
You had to prove yourself if you wanted to be a handler.
Thankfully it was Saturday so you could sleep until late and when you woke up, instead of going over the plans and rushing to the milkshake shop and coming up with strategy after strategy.
For some reason, you felt almost excited for your second date with Bucky. Maybe Chloe had a point, maybe you had to be extra careful not to lose yourself in your own cover. Just because you hadn’t had that problem before didn’t mean you could take it for granted.
You weren’t used to this kind of a mission. Not this long anyway, tricking a target was fine, it was expected but actually forming a relationship with them was much more complicated than a couple of lies here and there.
You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, looking in the mirror. You already knew Bucky would show up on his motorcycle, so you ditched the dresses and instead picked jeans and a nice blouse. When Chloe had first recreated your whole wardrobe for this mission, you whined for days but now you were slowly getting used to it.
Even though you were pretty sure you would never get used to the uniform.
Your phone started vibrating on the nightstand and you checked the caller I.D. before answering it.
“Hi!” you said, “Are you here?”
“Yes ma’am,” You could almost hear Bucky’s grin, “You ready?”
“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right there,” you said and hung up, then took a last look at your gun and put it beneath your pillow. Pushing your hair behind your ear, you locked the door behind you and made your way downstairs.
“Oh my goodness you were serious!” you said when you saw him leaning against a motorcycle and he looked you up and down, his face lighting up with a smile.
“Hi beautiful.”
Your stomach did a pleasant flip and you didn’t even have to fake mirroring his smile, “Hi,” you murmured and pointed at the motorcycle, “You were serious about that.”
“I was, but—“ he turned around to grab something from the top case on the motorcycle, then turned to you, holding a bouquet of flowers. You gasped and reached out to take them from him.
“As promised,” he joked as you buried your nose into the bouquet.
“Thank you,” you said, looking up at him before heaving a dramatic sigh. “Well, we had a deal. I’ll have to get on this deathtrap huh?”
“Oh if you’re the type to break deals, you don’t have to,” he taunted and you scrunched up your nose. “But where we’re going is a little away from here, just so you know.”
“Where are we going?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to explore the city?”
You nodded and stole a look at the motorcycle standing behind him, making him chuckle.
“You laugh now but if you drop me on the way—“
“I’m not going to drop you on the way.”
“Or if I die, I’m haunting you.” You pointed at him, “For the rest of your life.”
He nodded in a very solemn manner, “Deal.”
You placed the bouquet into the top case carefully and turned to him so that he could put the helmet over your head. The fond light in his eyes was impossible to miss as he fixed it and lifted the shield.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his hands still cradling the helmet and you grinned.
“Mm hm.” You said and got on the motorcycle after him, then wrapped your arms around his torso. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aftershave filled your nostrils, making you inhale and you adjusted your grip.
“Ready to do this?”
“Nope,” you said, making him laugh, “Let’s do it anyways.”
***
You had never been so good at dates. You always thought it was awkward and to be frank most of the time you felt like it was an unnecessary step to getting to know this person when you could just look them up or ask Chloe to do it for you.
Besides, the last time you had gone on a date it had ended up in what spies could get as close to a relationship as possible.
But now, much to your surprise you were actually enjoying yourself.
“Brooklyn!” you said, looking around, “Oh my God, I’ve wanted to come here for a while!”
“Have you?”
“Yeah!” you said, “Since I moved to New York. I saw it on um— I saw it on Gossip Girl.”
“Is that a magazine?”
“TV show.”
“Ah.”
“You grew up here right?” you asked and he nodded.
“Yeah! Yeah I grew up very close to this neighborhood actually.”
“Do I get to see it?”
He tilted his head, “Do you want to?”
“Yes!” you said, “It’d be fun, don’t you think?”
He hesitated only for a moment, “Right this way then,” he said and held out his hand. You bit down and smile and took it, then started walking beside him.
“There used to be a movie theatre there,” he motioned at one of the shops, “I was actually— I came around here right before I was shipped off.”
“Really?”
“Mm hm. We went to this Stark Exhibition, me and—“ he stopped talking and you looked up at him before it dawned on you.
Steve Rogers.
Of course. Figures.
You cleared your throat, desperate to pull him out of his own mind.
“I can actually see you growing up here,” you said, “And for some reason you’re wearing short pants and you have a cap? And you’re like running around with a newspaper under your— am I describing a movie? I think I’m describing a movie.”
“Weirdly enough, you’re actually right.”
Your jaw dropped, “Wait, are you serious?”
“Yeah I had short pants and a couple of caps while I was growing up,” he said, making you gasp.
“Aww!”
“No, don’t.”
“That’s such a cute mental image!”
“Stop imagining it.”
“Tiny baby Bucky Barnes with his tiny little hat—“ you started but he pulled you closer to cover your mouth while still walking, making you let out a muffled laugh.
“Hey you should see my baby pictures, they’re a mess,” you said, “I have this picture with strawberry jam covering my face and my hair— oh, I’ve heard about this shop before! They make these famous bagels, do you want to take a look?”
“Sure, why not?” he said and followed you into the shop.
“Oh come on…” he muttered as he took a look at the menu board “Why does everyone put everything in food nowadays?”
You stifled a laugh and turned to the woman behind the counter, “I’ll get a cereal rainbow bagel and he will get something….classic.”
“We have plain bagel with cheese?”
“That sounds good. When exactly did people start eating lavender?” he asked you and you shrugged,
“Pretty recently I think,” you said and reached for your wallet but Bucky shot you a look.
“Don’t even think about it,” he quoted you and paid for the food, then you both grabbed the small paper plates and sat down on the small bar stools. You crossed your legs, turning to look at him better.
“I could let you try mine?” you taunted him and he chuckled.
“No thank you.” He eyed your bagel as if it was going to come alive any time. “I like the smell but…”
You tore a part of your bagel and put it on his plate. “Live a little Bucky Barnes.”
He held up the piece as if toasting you and you held up your bagel to touch his, giggling.
“So,” you said, “Could you rest last night? At least a little?”
His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say.
“Yeah,” he said eventually, “I did.”
Right.
Of course he would lie, it wasn’t as if he could tell you—
“I just had to go outside for an hour but it was fine.”
Your eyes snapped up to his and you blinked a couple of times, taken by surprise at his honesty. It would’ve been so easy for him to flat out tell you a lie, but for some reason he chose against it. You knew he wouldn’t tell you the whole thing but the fact that he hadn’t brushed you off somehow made you feel all warm.
“Oh?” you asked, “Is—is everything okay? You were safe right?”
“Of course.”
You raised your brows, “Bucky.”
“There’s just this…crazy person I keep running into but it’s fine, no worries.”
Crazy person?!
You stared at him but you managed to pull yourself together and sat up straighter, picking at the cereal on top of the bagel.
“As long as you rested just a little, I still take that as a win,” you pointed out, making him smile.
“How about you?” he asked, “How was your night?”
I ran into you right after assassinating another member of HYDRA.
“It wasn’t as exciting as yours,” you took a bite of your bagel, “Surprising isn’t it? Here I thought I was the dangerously adventurous one.”
***
You were one hundred percent sure you were somehow doing this whole mission wrong. In fact scratch the mission, you were doing this date thing wrong.
You weren’t supposed to like it this much.
You had never enjoyed any of your earlier dates with other people this much. By the time you decided to go back, it was the middle of the night and you had spent the whole day together without even realizing it. It didn’t feel like it was a mission you had been put on, it almost—
It almost felt real.
You frowned at yourself, reminding yourself to keep your head in the game and got off the motorcycle when it stopped in front of the building your apartment was in. As soon as you took off your helmet, you started fixing your hair while he watched you with a smile on his face.
“I have a confession to make,” you said as you handed him the helmet for him to put it on the motorcycle.
“What is it?”
“There’s a slight possibility,” you said, bringing your thumb and pointer together close, “Very slight possibility that you may have been right about the motorcycle.”
“Oh was I now?” he asked, feigning surprise and you let out a giggle.
“Maybe,” you said, “I mean I didn’t die, that’s something.”
“That was an expectation?”
“That was a possibility,” you corrected him, “But I got on a motorcycle and you tried a weird bagel. As far as putting ourselves in dangerous situations on a second date, I’d say we’re even.”
“You know, thank you for acknowledging it,” he played along, “It was really intimidating at first, but I’d like to believe I pulled through in the end.”
“You did,” you said, “So proud of you. Maybe the next time you visit me at the shop, you can finally try Unicorn Cotton Candy.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said and shifted your weight, taking a deep breath.
“Thank you for today. I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”
“I’m glad,” he said with a smile, “Same here, aside from your quite disgusting taste in bagels, it was—”
“You didn’t like it?” you exclaimed and waved your hands in the air, “You know what, it’s fine. I have this strategy and you’ll—you’ll get there. We’re going to find something that is both completely modern and you like very much.”
“I think we already have,” he stated, his gaze locked in yours and you couldn’t help but smile at that.
“I’d hope so,” you replied, “Really.”
A silence fell upon you and you pushed your hair behind your ear.
“I should probably get going,” you pointed at the building with your thumb, “I have this very curious elderly neighbor, and trust me, she wouldn’t even wait for the morning to ask me about you if she saw us.”
“Oh we can’t have that, can we?” he said and you nodded your head, then gasped.
“Wait—Bucky, my flowers!” you said, “Give me my flowers.”
“Right,” he snapped his fingers and turned around to grab the bouquet from the top case, then paused.
“What?” you asked and he looked at you over his shoulder.
“Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to keep them in a very hot box whole day?” he asked and pulled out the bouquet, making you let out a whine at the sight. The flowers looked nearly withered and you took them from him, pressing your lips together.
“Okay, it’s not so bad,” you said as if trying to convince yourself, “It’s alright, I can fix this.”
“Darling I don’t think—“
“I can!” you insisted, “I’m gonna put them in water tonight or—or find some solution. I’m gonna google something, I’m pretty sure there are ways to save them.”
“Or I can just get you new ones.”
“That’s not how it works,” you pointed out, still holding the bouquet carefully over your chest as you assessed the damage, then looked up to find his eyes fixed on you.
“I’m—I should go now.”
“Okay.”
Neither of you moved for a moment before you took a deep breath, your heart slamming against your chest. You knew what your cover would or wouldn’t do, but somehow you had this urge that told you the situation probably called for your decisions, not your cover’s.
“Oh screw this,” you muttered as you stepped closer to him to stand on your tiptoes and pull him into a kiss.
Well, for you or your cover that felt like the best decision you had ever made on this mission.
He pressed you closer to his body, his hand cradling the back of your head and as if on cue, your stomach did a pleasant flip, giddiness filling your whole system. You rested a hand over his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat under your palm and let yourself get lost in the kiss until he pulled back slowly. A small giggle escaped from you as his arm around you got tighter, a smile lighting up his face.
“Well, you weren’t going to do it,” you commented, making him chuckle.
“I was waiting for the third date actually.”
“Oh how I’m glad the times have changed,” you said and caught the sight of the bouquet currently crushed between you two. You took a step back, tilting your head.
“Gosh, I don’t think I can fix this.”
“Yeah I’m pretty sure we just murdered them,” Bucky stated and you heaved a dramatic sigh.
“Worth it,” you grinned, “You win some you lose some.”
“New flowers next date, got it.”
A look of mischief crossed your face, “Deal. Good night Bucky.”
“Good night darling.”
You bit down a smile and made your way to the building, then hopped on the steps to get to your floor, somehow way too excited to get in the elevator and wait. As soon as you got into your apartment you leaned back to the door, closing your eyes.
Just your cover. You knew you had to act like your cover and that was why your heart was beating this fast, no other reason.
You pushed yourself off the door and stepped into the living room, still holding the flowers tight in your arms. You knew what you were supposed to do, back at the academy when you were being educated on seduction of the enemy, they always told you to draw the line between yourself and your cover. One of the easiest ways to do it was getting rid of every single thing your target would give you as a gift, keeping these gifts posed the danger of making you hesitant when it was time to bring the target in.
You couldn’t keep anything. You knew that.
It would be a rookie mistake.
You lingered on your steps, then approached the dinner table to touch the vase Chloe had put fake flowers in. You grabbed the fake flowers and pulled them out of the vase to throw them into the trashcan, then filled the vase to the brim with water and carefully placed the bouquet into it before putting it on the table again.
You were a professional spy. Keeping something as simple as flowers only for this one instance wouldn’t hurt anyone after all.
You were sure it would be fine.
You stepped back to take a look at the vase and shrugged your shoulders.
“My cover likes flowers,” you muttered to yourself and made your way to your bedroom.
Chapter 9
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#the falcon and the winter soldier#tfatws#falcon and the winter soldier#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes imagines#fatws#bucky barnes x you#marvel#burn the witch
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The Break of Dawn (Leo Barnes x f!Reader)
You work in a small diner not far from the bus station and try to get over a tragic event that happened to you three years ago. Leo Barnes is one of the steady customers, and at some point you realize there's mutual attraction between the two of you. There's no time for romance though - only one night left before the annual Purge, and Leo has an important job to keep Senator Roan safe as it's the only chance to finally put an end to the Purge.
Words: 3 656
Warnings: Sexual content (not super detailed, I would rate this story as Mature rather than Explicit, but still they f*ck), a bit of angst (trigger warning: loss), but Leo is a caring and protective guy who’s ready to hold you
A/N: My first time writing Leo Barnes or any Frank Grillo character, so please don't be mean :))
Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @skvatnavle, @lunamoon-87
“There he is.”
Stella pokes you with her elbow.
“What?”
“Your tough guy. He’s here,” she nods to the corner of the diner and you don’t even need to follow her gesture to know that Leo Barnes is sitting there, his usual spot. He’s a bit early today, and it’s understandable - you too find it harder to sleep well as the Purge is getting closer.
“He’s not my tough guy, Stells,” you roll your eyes.
“Oh yeah? Tell it to someone else,” she snorts. “So far I’m just wondering how long you’re gonna keep ignoring that sexual tension…”
“Stella, please.”
“What? Honestly, I don’t know why he’s being such a gentleman… But just FYI, y/n… You know it’s not the 19th century and you actually can make the first move?”
“Even if I wanted to, it’s not the right time,” you shrug. “You know he’s doing an important job. He’s got plenty of stuff to think about and it’s definitely not romance.”
“Who’s talking about romance, sis?” Stella laughs. “You’re both so goddamn tense, you need to blow off some steam. No, seriously. You need to get laid. He needs to get laid. It’s just way too obvious!”
“Oh dear god, just please shut up…” you groan.
“Fine,” she gives you a wicked smirk. “If you don’t want him, then I’m bringing his order.”
You chuckle at this.
“Don’t you dare.”
To be completely honest, you can’t deny that Stella is partly right. There is something between you and this grumpy silent man in the corner. But what exactly? You can’t really put it into words, it’s not just the attraction, or sexual tension as Stella says. You do find him handsome though, you admit that. A couple of times when he was wearing a t-shirt, you caught yourself staring at his muscular arms. Yes, guilty. And still… There’s more than that. You’d call it some sort of mutual understanding.
Leo Barnes works for Senator Roan. In the past, he used to be a cop, now he is the head of security for her. You learnt that one night when he was here, having his usual late dinner. The TV was on, evening news, something about the election of course. And suddenly you noticed him there, standing behind Roan’s back with another guy in a formal dark suit. You blinked, stared at the screen, then looked back at him. He caught your glance.
“Is that… you?” you blurted, realizing too late that you said it out loud. But he smiled, and in his smile there was no anger or annoyance.
“Apparently so,” he replied with a soft chuckle and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “How do I look?”
You started talking ever since then. Barnes usually came to the diner twice - in the morning he just had a mug of black coffee, and in the evening he ordered something to eat. Mornings were often crowded as many people passed the diner before heading to work in the city, so you were busy. But the evenings were mostly quiet.
You often stayed at work late, covering Stella who had to run to her kids or another date. You didn’t mind that since work was always your way to escape. Nobody was waiting for you at home anyways. Somehow, Leo Barnes started to keep you company. He wasn’t much of a talker and you were never into heartfelt conversations with the clients here, but something just clicked. Especially after you learnt about his job and it became clear that your views on the Purge are the same.
Many people hate The Purge, as well as many people support it. Some people hate it because they’re scared for their loved ones, their business (small shop owners who don’t have enough money to afford the Purge insurance often suffer), or they hate it just because they’re against violence in general. And the others… They have more personal reasons. You’re one of them. And somehow, even if you don’t know for sure, you just feel like Leo Barnes has personal reasons as well. He never really told you, and you don’t dare to ask because you know well enough how the memories can hurt. You didn’t tell him either. But still, you don’t know how exactly it worked, you just looked at each other and saw it. It’s like an unspoken secret between the two of you. The details don’t matter anyway. Your stories are in the past and you can’t change it, but what you can change is the future. If Senator Charlene Roan wins the election - the Purge will finally end. You can help with your vote, and Leo… Leo is determined to do anything to help her survive this year. Just this year, and hopefully no one would ever have to survive this nightmare again. You both want it more than anything else.
“Hey.”
You smile at Leo as you place a mug of coffee and a plate on the table in front of him.
“Hey…” he looks confused when he sees the food. Nothing really special: eggs, bacon, some beans and a toast. “What’s that? I... only asked for the usual…”
“Just thought you might need some extra fuel,” you shug. “Only one night left before the Purge, so… you must have a lot of work to do.”
“Yeah, you’re right… I actually do,” he gives you a tired smile. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” you nod and turn to leave, but Leo suddenly touches your arm and you freeze.
“Y/n?”
“Yeah?” you face him again.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
“Yes… Why are you asking?..” you give him a puzzled look.
“Well uh… To be honest I’d be happier if you took a day off… You know, just to make sure you’re safe…”
You feel the heat on your cheeks. Does… does he worry about you?.. The realization makes your heart shrink for a second. Apparently he’s not just someone who understands, he’s someone who cares. You already forgot what it feels like when someone really cares. Well, of course there are your parents, but they’re far away… And Leo, he’s right here.
“It’s okay,” you say, trying not to look too baffled. “Tomorrow we’re closing the diner earlier, right after lunchtime, so I’ll be home long before the Purge begins. There’s no need to worry, really.”
“Good,” Barnes nods. “I just… don’t think I’ll be able to come over and check on you tomorrow, so I just…” he stutters as if trying to figure out something to say.
“I just want you to be careful, okay?” he finally utters, and to your surprise his hand reaches yours, squeezing it lightly. “Just be careful, yeah?”
“Yeah, I... Of course I will,” you try to smile reassuringly. “I promise.”
*
There’s about five minutes left before closing hour when Leo appears. As usual, you’re still here, helping Mary, the chief and the owner’s wife with all the cleaning up after the working day. While she’s in the kitchen, you wipe the tables, TV-set is murmuring something in the corner. The election, the purge… Always the same.
“You’re closed?” he asks, meeting your gaze. “Sorry, I… Didn’t realize it’s that late already…”
“We’re about to close, but it’s fine, come in!” you assure smiling at him maybe a bit more brightly than you wanted to show. “We’ll get you something to eat, right, Mary?”
“Sure thing,” she replies from the kitchen door. You weren’t the only one who saw Barnes on TV. Since then, he became an always welcome guest as the diner owners supported Roan as well. Otherwise, to be honest you don’t think you could possibly be able to work for them.
You put a plate with food in front Leo as he takes a seat at the counter. While he’s eating silently, you wipe the coffee mugs and place them carefully on the shelf. The TV keeps talking. Something about the bloomimg economy and international murder tourists who keep coming to the US to take part in the annual Purge. You glance at the screen, see their gut-wrenchingly excited faces.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath and shake your head. “Fucking insane.”
“True,” you nearly jump at his words, as you didn’t realize Leo heard you. “I knew people who killed someone on Purge night for… different reasons. But those who kill just because they enjoy it, for fun or sport or whatever you call it - those are the most dangerous.”
“They’re just psychopaths. People like that should be kept in mental hospitals or something. But they just walk around as if nothing’s wrong with them. And the new founding fathers keep telling them how proud they are of them…”
“Roan’s gonna make it stop,” Mary joins the conversation. “This lady’s got some balls, am I right, sir?”
“Yes ma’am,” Barnes chuckles. “She absolutely got them.”
You leave the diner together with Leo. Mary chose to stay inside, waiting for her husband to come pick her up in a few minutes. The night is a bit chilly; you’re shivering, not sure if it’s the cold or the fact that you’re alone with him for the first time.
“Where’s your car?” he asks.
“Oh um… It’s in the service actually. So I’m going to the bus station right over there,” you point. Barnes frowns.
“What about tomorrow?”
“Stella promised to give me a ride home. Leo… I’ll be okay. It’s not the first Purge night in my life, you know.”
“Right,” he clears his throat. “Anyway, since I’m here I can drive you home.”
“You… sure it’s okay?” your voice betrays you a little. “I mean you must be tired…”
“I’m okay,” he assures, then nods at his car. “Come on. I insist.”
“Okay,” you hear yourself saying.
*
You’re mostly silent on the way. You feel a bit tense, but also kinda… weirdly excited to be in this car, next to him. Damn. Is Stella right, and you’re actually into him? Definitely so. But after all these years you almost completely forgot how it feels - to be into someone or how the relationships work. As if you’re a teenager again. Leo Barnes is the first man who actually made you think of something close to romantic longing since… That night.
“It’s here?” he asks as you reach your house. You nod, and he pulls over. You wait for him to say something, to tell you goodnight maybe, but he doesn’t. Without the sound of the car engine, the silence between you becomes even more awkward. You open your mouth to say goodbye to him, but instead different words suddenly come out.
“Leo, I…”
He looks at you intently. You stare down at your knees.
“Yeah?”
“I just… The fact that you worry about me - it’s very nice of you, really. And… I just wanted you to know that I worry about you too. I worry about you a lot actually…”
“Y/n…” his voice is quiet as he brings his hand to your face, gently urging you to look up at him. His eyes look darker than usual in the dim light of the street lamp nearby. You think if it’s possible to drown in someone’s eyes you’d already be gone.
“I’ll be fine, okay?” he says softly. “It’s gonna be a tough night for sure, but I’ll be fine, I have to be fine. You gotta trust me on this. You trust me?”
“Yes,” you barely whisper, unable to take your eyes from his, and when the tension becomes almost unbearable, his lips finally crush on yours.
You both expected and didn’t expect it, didn’t dare to admit even to yourself how much you really wanted it. Your breath hitches somewhere in your throat as you kiss him back eagerly, forgetting about everything and everyone for this moment that lasts so long and so painfully short at once. You’re both panting as your lips part, foreheads pressed together.
“I… I think I should go,” you mumble as a rush of panic suddenly overwhelms you.
“Yeah… Yeah…” he nods. “You should get some rest.”
“You too.”
You squeeze his hand for a second. Gosh, you didn’t even realize your hand was on his all this time.
“Good night,” you finally murmur, bracing yourself to get out of the car. You feel like something else needs to be said, but can’t really figure out what.
*
You enter the house and just lean against the door, heart hammering wildly inside your chest. You close your eyes and try to catch your breath. What the hell just happened? And why are you reacting like that? There’s nothing wrong about this kiss. You’re two single adults… Well, probably single. Leo doesn’t wear a ring, so… Damn it, you really got out of practice when it comes to relationships.
A knock on the door made your eyes snap open. As if in a daze, you slowly turn and reach the door handle, already knowing who you’re going to see.
Leo doesn’t say anything. And you can’t read the expression in his eyes, or you simply don’t have time for it, because the next moment he steps inside, his hands cup your cheeks and he kisses you with such longing and desperation it nearly kicks the breath out of your lungs. You don’t know what you’re doing any more, but your fingers are already in his dark hair, scratching the nape of his neck while his lips and tongue keep attacking your mouth. It feels like shockwaves running through your body, and for the first time in years you feel just so alive. All this time your feelings, passions and emotions were asleep, everything around you seemed pale and lifeless as if someone turned down the contrast, but something changed. Not right now, not in the snap of a finger, of course; it happened gradually. Something kept changing deep within you since the very first time your eyes met, and now - you’re finally ready to feel something. To let him in.
You don't think about it though. Or about anything else, to be honest. All you can focus on is what his lips are doing to you, how hot his breath is and how weirdly nice his stubble feels against your skin. Leo’s coat falls on the floor. His big hands seize your waist as he lifts you up, causing you to grip onto his broad shoulders. Pressing you against the nearest wall, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, the kisses are sloppy, open-mouthed, and you can't suppress a soft moan. He's big and strong, you feel small underneath him, but you like it.
You can’t even remember clearly how you finally reached the bedroom, frantically helping each other to get rid of the clothes. When you tumble down and he hovers over you, the skin to skin contact is overwhelming. He brushes your hair away from your flushed face, kisses you with sudden tenderness. The look in his hazel eyes is warm yet still full of passion as you cup his cheek and he presses his lips to your palm. An affectionate gesture that makes your heart skip a beat, but you both are too impatient to be soft right now. So he leans in, kissing you harder this time, grunting against your mouth when you pull him closer, craving as much of him as possible. You can feel him twitching against your lower belly as you wrap your legs around him, eager to get more pressure. He’s not even inside you yet, but it already feels so good you can’t help bucking your hips, earning a low groan from him at the friction. His lips trail along your jawline, down to the side of your neck, where he kisses and nibbles, and you just know there’s gonna be marks tomorrow, but damn, you can’t care less.
When he finally enters you and starts moving, you’re almost delirious. Clinging to him, you gasp and whisper his name into his skin, feel the muscles on his back tense as he thrusts deeper. The wave of bliss hits you so hard your vision turns blurry and for a few seconds it feels like you’re not there.
*
Reality comes back to you slowly, with all the dark and troubled thoughts you can’t escape. Leo is lying next to you with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, so you think he must be asleep. Good for him. Carefully, you slip out of the bed to get a glass of water. It doesn’t help you to get rid of the lump in your throat though. Back to the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed and let out a deep sigh, trying to fight back tears. Too many emotions for one night.
“Y/n.”
Leo’s voice doesn’t even seem sleepy. You can feel him shifting in bed to reach you, the warmth of his calloused hand stroking your back soothingly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, uh…” You shake your head, bringing your hand to rub your eyes. “I’m good. It’s just… It’s been a while since I… You know…”
“I know. It’s been a while for me as well.”
“I lost my boyfriend three years ago,” you blurt out, surprising yourself that you said it out loud. “During the Purge night. He um… He was a medical student. We lived in an apartment building and we heard someone crying for help. I wanted to stop him but he just couldn’t ignore someone who needed help, you know. He got shot accidentally, right into his head. There was no chance to save him.”
Leo’s hand gently squeezes your shoulder.
“Sorry, I… Don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I’ve never talked about him since the funeral…”
“It’s okay,” he moves closer, pressing a kiss against your shoulder blade.
“I was so angry at first, you know,” now that you start talking you seemingly cannot stop. “I wished I could find and kill them. But then I thought he wouldn’t want me to become a murderer...”
He presses his forehead against the back of your head for a moment. “I know how you feel, y/n.”
You finally turn to meet his gaze.
“I lost my son. I know what this anger feels like. Two years ago all I was thinking about on the Purge night was revenge. I was determined, almost obsessed.”
“Did… you do it?”
“No. I was close to it. Very close. But… One wise person made me realize that it wouldn’t help. Violence only brings more violence.”
“It has to be stopped,” you whisper.
“Yes,” he nods. “That’s why I left the police. Cops have to stay away from the Purge. I couldn’t any more. At least now I know I'm doing the right thing.”
“Right… Just… I’m just scared of losing you too,” you say very quietly, but he hears you anyway. His strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you closer, enclosing into his warmth. Making you feel safe.
“Hey, hey...” He whispers into your hair as he nuzzles into the top of your head. “It’s not gonna happen, you hear me? Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise.”
*
You have no doubt your colleagues noticed who drove you to work this morning. But today no one is in the mood for comments, not even Stella. Even though the work goes on as usual, there’s still this tension in the air before the Purge night.
Through the window you can see a bunch of guys gathered around the car with an open trunk full of baseball bats and other stuff you can’t discern. The owner proudly shows off his stuff, other guys laugh, they look pretty chill and relaxed, and your stomach nearly twists at the sight.
*
All night you could barely sleep a wink. A knock on the door drags you out of troubled slumber. At first you’re not even sure if you really heard it or it was in your dream. But the sounds repeat and you jump off the bed and without even caring to slip something over the huge t-shirt you sleep in. Barefoot, you rush to the door, open it with shaky hands.
He looks so exhausted it seems like he can barely stand. The collar of his shirt that used to be white is now stained with blood. And yet… He’s smiling.
“Leo!..” you gasp, stepping towards him and bringing your hand to his stubbly cheek. “Oh my god, are you… Everything okay?..”
“I’m great,” he breathes out huskily, and his smile slowly turns into a wide grin. “We did it, baby.”
You don’t even try to hold back tears as you fall into his arms, bury your face into his chest. He smells a bit like sweat and blood, but you absolutely don’t care. “I’m so glad you’re here,” you mumble into his ruined shirt. “I’m here,” he whispers back, stroking your hair. Then you realize the two of you are still standing at the porch.
“Alright,” you say, drawing back a little. “Let’s get you in, you need some rest… And you’re probably hungry too… And you definitely need a shower…”
“Wait, y/n. Let’s just… Stay here for a bit? I think we both need to catch a breath,” he chuckles crookedly, reaching out to wipe a tear from your cheek. You smile back.
“Okay.”
Sitting on the porch with your head on Leo’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around your frame, you watch the sky becoming lighter and lighter as the dawn breaks. You can hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. The city’s slowly getting back to life, waking up after another nightmare.
You both know it’s not the end, the war isn’t won yet, but at least you won this very important battle. And for the first time in what seems like ages you have a good feeling about the future.
*
Thanks for reading!
Hugs, Lucy
#the purge#leo barnes x reader#frank grillo#fanfiction#the purge fanfiction#the purge anarchy#the purge election year#lucy tries to write
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a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.
“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.
Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”
It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.
“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”
Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.
This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.
The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.
In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.
He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.
It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.
This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.
Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.
“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.
Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”
“For us. Definitely.”
They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.
How the fuck did they get here?
“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”
“Okay!”
With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.
“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.
“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”
“Oof. That’s rough.”
“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”
“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.
Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”
“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”
“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”
“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”
Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.
“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.
“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”
Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”
“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”
That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.
“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”
“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.
“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.
“Hah. No.”
“You told Mickey yet?”
Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”
From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.
“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”
“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”
The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.
“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.
“Polite,” Lip appraises.
Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”
“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”
They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.
“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.
“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”
Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”
“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”
Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.
“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.
Ian gives his brother a pointed look.
“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”
“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”
“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.
“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”
“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.
“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”
“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.
“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.
“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.
“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”
“Told you he was.”
“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”
“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.
Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”
Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”
Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”
Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”
Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”
“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”
“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.
Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.
“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”
Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.
Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?
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aggressive affection (round two!)
[ part two of this, with the now dateables. guess which one(s) i have a crush on—i am actually so embarrassed because i'm getting shy trying to write this, but it's a must that i put this into the universe. if you want to read this first, rather than the one with the brothers, here is the preface: ]
i’m not sure if this is something unique to younger people, but i am one hundred percent sure that younger people do it a lot, just going off of the behavior of my friends and i. (i’m gonna tell you now that this isn’t entirely sfw, so minors dni please and thank u)
but i’ve found that it’s pretty common for friends to be, like, aggressively affectionate with one another, for lack of a better phrase. if not aggressively affectionate, then just really flirtatious, often for no reason, and it is still meant entirely in a platonic sense. some examples of this that i have experienced include, but are not limited to:
“i’m gonna eat you,” “do u wanna make out,” “just remember, no matter WHAT happens, i will ALWAYS wanna make out with you,” “i have literally wanted to fuck all of you at some point,” “let’s have sex,” “stfu before i kiss you,” [points to lap] “is this seat taken?” “every day i’m like, ‘wow, [name] is so cool, we should make out,’” and so on and so forth.
so you can imagine the fun i’m about to have.
dia
you—why did you—look.
dia is a very nice, social guy; very smiley, you guys get along great, that's great!
he is still very much a demon (the prince of them, in fact) and very much not one of your friends from the human world, no matter how much he wants you to treat him as such.
you should've known better.
he'd invited you to the castle for tea and a nice chat—a regular occurrence between the two of you so that he could see how you were doing, how the program was going, talk about lucifer, play catch up; nothing out of the ordinary.
he complimented you on your performance thus far, telling you about how well you've done—which was just standard kindness—so would you like to explain to the class why your immediate response was, “so kiss me then,” ?
he was totally fine with it, but he was also very confused, so it was only fair that he pulled you into his lap to get a better understanding of what you meant. if you do the math, it adds up, i swear.
luckily, you don’t even have to explain yourself with this one because it seems like he already knows. this is good because, given his proximity to you at that moment, you wouldn’t have done a good job explaining yourself anyway.
“is this how you talk to your human friends?”
it was a simple question, with a simple answer, it’s just that you were nose-to-nose, and his eyes were hooded all of a sudden and his hand was cupping the side of your face so, naturally, you had some difficulty forming words—fortunately, you managed to nod instead of embarrassing yourself by trying to talk.
“and do they ever do what you ask?”
again, it would’ve been foolish of you to try and speak, so you just shook your head. you were doing a surprisingly nice job of maintaining your dignity, well done! this is nice compensation for the fact that you seemed to forget you were dealing with the demon of demons, but he was kind enough to remind you—
“well, i’m not one of them, so i’ll do as you say. you don’t mind, right?”
do you have a saving grace with this man? meh. he doesn’t want to do anything in front of the others, but he can literally go somewhere private with you under the guise of wanting to talk. it’s not like anyone is gonna tell him he can’t.
barbatos
you don’t make any sense. you watched black butler know that he’s the scariest person in the devildom, why did you think you could do this? he might be a menace not too far underneath that professional exterior, but that doesn’t mean you have to fuck around and find out. or maybe that’s exactly what that means.
all he did was bring you tea. he saw you sitting in the castle’s library doing schoolwork—dia offered to let you study there to enjoy some quiet that you wouldn’t have gotten at the house, and because you aren’t one to forgo such a kind gesture, you accepted.
he set it down on the table in front of you, much to your surprise.
“oh, thank you! you really didn’t have to,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.
“nonsense,” he started, smiling softly, “you’ve been working hard.”
you, for whatever reason, took this as an opportunity to pretend barbatos was one of your human friends.
“you shouldn’t say that unless—”
that’s all he let you say. what you were going to say was, “you shouldn’t say that unless you plan on making out with me.” trouble was, he already knew that. you must have forgotten who you were talking to.
before you could finish, his hand was under your chin, and his other hand was resting on the arm of your chair, effectively caging you in, and effectively keeping you from looking away.
his smile went from benevolent to teasing meaning you got the menace you wanted, as he asked,“unless what?”
he took more joy in your flustered state than he would care to admit, but he’d recently learned that you had an affinity for trying to catch people off guard, so he thought it was more than fair to do the same to you—as a treat, for him.
that said, it’s no surprise that you had to endure relentless teasing, him asking you what you wanted from him, why you were so shy all of a sudden, telling you not to be shy and that he wouldn’t bite, unless you asked nicely. what? he liked how warm your face made his hand.
“what’s wrong? don’t you want to kiss me?”
okay. that was the last straw. you never even hinted that you didn��t wanna kiss this man, and here he was, making assumptions about you as a person.
you, in your infinite confidence and assertive nature, said, “i—i never said i didn’t want to.”
and you know what, you really showed him because even though he laughed at you, even though he made a show of taking off his gloves, even though his hand moved from the arm of the chair to your thigh—even though he took every necessary step to remind you that he was in control, you still got what you wanted. and then some.
your only saving grace with him is the fact that he breathes professionalism and he’s always busy. when he isn’t busy, however. well.
simeon
you goddamn heathen. oh, you fucking freak. simeon has a reputation to uphold, you can’t treat him like one of your heathen little human friends, which means you can’t just say whatever pops into your head when you’re talking to him, which means—you should really learn to take compliments normally.
simeon is a nice guy, and he likes you a lot, so it only makes sense that he compliments you whenever he can. in other words, he dishes out anywhere from one to four compliments whenever the two of you are together. he can’t help it, he just thinks you’re neat!
the fact remains that you chose to be a menace to the angelic persona he is supposed to project at all times.
it was a simple compliment. he enjoyed spending time with you, and he told you so, just telling you that your presence was a pleasant one.
your response was actually normal—it was a simple, “i like being around you too!”
in a way, this is simeon’s fault, if you think about it. he could’ve just said, “thank you,” and kept it pushing, but instead, he said, “really?”
why would he think you didn’t like being around him? that was unacceptable, so, really, what choice did you have but to give him the most solid affirmation he would ever hear?
“of course! every day, i’m like, ‘wow, simeon is so cool, we should make out,’ you know?”
what you were expecting was for him to blush and laugh it off, call you silly, and maybe pat your head for good measure. that was a reasonable thing to expect, albeit that is not even close to what you got.
since you were being so casual, simeon figured that he could—that he should—do the same. it was only natural that he stop being a model angel for a little while, right?
oh, don’t look so flustered, it’s not like you’ve never been backed against a wall before. how many times has a demon done this to you? it’s only fair that an angel gets a turn.
“actually,” he started, lips already brushing against yours as he spoke. “i don’t know. would you mind showing me?”
if you are, understandably, too flustered to function, he will gladly make the first move, don’t worry, but if his first move happens to be taking your bottom lip between his teeth instead of kissing you, well… there’s not much you’re going to be able to do about it, so you may as well just enjoy.
i mean, you tempt an angel, and you get what’s coming to you—that’s all there is to it.
similar to barbatos, you will only be safe from this man when he’s in public or around a few of the others. if you’re alone with him and in private, he’s already under the impression that he doesn’t have to be an angel with you, so find joy in the side of him you’ve uncovered.
solomon (derogatory)
you two deserve each other, really. both of you are public enemies. he was just as terrible as your friends from back home, except he was always walking the line like a tightrope. he was always on the verge of making his teasing into a reality, and to be quite frank, you were starting to get fed up—and you were right to be. but this is what you get for being a dirty solomon enjoyer.
all of his empty threats and demands about kissing you, his lingering touches on your lower back or waist or thighs, his dumb little smirks on his dumb little face, his occasional bites wherever you were vulnerable, his habit of putting his hand around your throat for fun (or so he says)—those all came with the territory. he hasn’t had a friend to tease in ages (he can’t do it to asmo without it immediately turning into an hour long event), so you get it all at once, congratulations!
don’t look so upset, he’s an attractive guy, so this is still a win.
now, all of that said, you were hard pressed to find an opportunity to catch this man off guard, but once you got your chance, you latched onto it exactly as you should’ve.
the two of you were in his room, studying (“studying”) for an upcoming exam. he was sitting in a chair, and you were on his bed a few feet away. you needed something from your bag, which was on the side of his chair farthest from you, so you decided to walk by him to get it, like a normal person. look at you, acting regular for once.
evidently, that was a mistake. as soon as you were in front of him, his hand was on your waist, and you were pulled into his lap.
you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised and everything, and he seemed to have an explanation ready to go, paired with one of his signature smiles.
“i was wondering when i’d get to bother you again.”
this was your chance—probably the only chance you’d get in a while, so it made sense that you took this opportunity to be heinous, even though you were in a rather compromising position.
“either sleep with me or leave me alone.”
you did it. for a moment, you had him. the surprise plastered on his face was enough gratification to last you a lifetime, however fleeting it may have been. unfortunately for you, he had a wonderful recovery time.
before you could fully enjoy the look on his face, it was gone, replaced by a more sinister expression that almost made you regret your decision.
for what it’s worth, you didn’t have to see that menacing look of his for long because he turned you away from him to press your back into his chest. if that makes you feel any better.
“i’ll never leave you alone,” he hummed, teeth already grazing your neck. his hand moved from your waist to your inner thigh, slowly separating one leg from the other. “but you already knew that.”
you didn’t have a saving grace with this man before, and now you never will.
#COME GET YALL JUICE!#i acc considered doing an sfw platonic ver with luke as a bonus but then i got tired#also didn't want anyone to see his name and freak#anyway#it's acc not funny how shy i got writing this BYE#how do people write smut omg#literal gods good lord#obey me#obey me!#obey me headcanons#obey me imagines#obey me dia#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me solomon#obey me undateables
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I love the idea of time travel and I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here’s a little time travel story! Reworked this so it’s slightly different and longer! Planning on a part two soon.....
———
Ian had been standing in the kitchen of his and Mickey’s new apartment. He had been about to make some coffee and take it to his husband who was still sleeping. Everything had been normal and fine - he’d been idly thinking about what they were going to do that day. It was Saturday and Mickey had, the night before, demanded not to be woken early, but other than that, they had no plans. Maybe a dip in the pool? It was sunny, but not too warm, which was good because the slightly cool weather meant less people in the pool.
And, just as he was imagining swimming lazily in an empty pool with his husband, it seemed like he blinked and the whole world had shifted sharply. He felt dizzy and his vision swam, his body felt weak and he collapsed against a nearby wall, trying to catch his breath. It was like no feeling he’d ever experienced.
Blinking furiously, he noticed something alarming - he was not leaning against his kitchen wall, he was somewhere else. Somewhere he never thought he’d ever go again. Somewhere it was impossible to go again, but he recognised it immediately. The Milkovich house. He glanced around at his surroundings, struggling to understand how he could be standing outside Mickey’s old bedroom. What the fuck?? Was he dreaming? Or, worse, hallucinating? If he was dreaming or hallucinating, it was the most realistic thing he had ever experienced, there was nothing dreamlike about it. Everything looked exactly the same as he remembered - the signs on Mickey’s door, the dirt covered carpet, the dimly lit hallway - it even smelled the same - that stale mixture of smoke, beer and sweat.
It was too much - this situation he found himself in, it couldn’t be real, and yet, apparently it was. He felt a sharp burst of panic, his chest felt tight, and he reflexively clenched his hands, trying to calm himself. It was then he realised he was holding something. It was heavy and solid in his hand, and as he stared at it, it took him a few seconds to understand what he was seeing - it was a tire iron. And then everything began to click into place - he noted his worn, hand-me-down clothes and when he reached up to feel his hair with his free hand, his fingers found bangs. An overwhelming feeling of familiarity washed over him, he remembered these clothes, he remembered holding the tire iron and he remembered why he was holding the tire iron. Most importantly, he remembered this day. It was the day that everything changed between him and Mickey - the stolen gun, the fight, the sex - and he was in his teenage body. Shit.
Ian didn’t know what to do. This was impossible. There was simply no way it was possible. And yet, here he stood, years in the past. His mind began to race with possibilities - should he leave? and go where? back to the Gallagher house? or should he stay here and wait to see what happens? would anything happen? would he blink and be back in his kitchen? or was he stuck here in the past forever? He wanted to go home, to his apartment with Mickey, he wanted his husband. Mickey. A thought occurred to him - maybe Mickey, his Mickey, was here too? Not that would automatically fix everything, but at least Ian wouldn’t be alone. He stared at the door, he needed to know either way - either Mickey was also, somehow, here in the past, and they could figure this out together, or he was about to run into angry, teenage Mickey, who perhaps didn’t hate Ian as much as Ian had assumed at the time, but was definitely not his friend.
He paused outside the door, and as he took a deep breath, his hand tightened on the tire iron - unsure if he should just leave it on the floor. He definitely wasn’t going to hit Mickey with it, but if it was teenage Mickey in there, then Ian hoped the sight of the tire iron would stop Mickey from hitting him. Ian pushed open the door, and softly shut it behind him with a click. There was Mickey, laid out on the bed, face down, asleep, just as Ian remembered. It was bizarre seeing this again, at the time he had no idea how this day would change his life, but here it was - the moment that their lives began to become entwined.
This wasn’t the time to reminisce though. Ian gently, much more gently than he had done so originally, poked Mickey in the back with the end of the tire iron. Perhaps too gently, because Mickey didn’t move. This was promising - teenage Mickey was a light sleeper, but in the safety of their apartment, adult Mickey had began to sleep heavily, and Ian hoped that the fact Mickey didn’t move immediately meant that this was his husband.
“Mickey. Wake up.” Ian moved closer to the bed, and tapped him on the back with his free hand.
That did it, there was an annoyed groan, and Mickey turned his head, so Ian could now see his dirt-smudged face, but didn’t open his eyes, only muttering a tired, “No.” This was different to what had happened before, but Ian still wasn’t sure if this was his Mickey or teenage Mickey.
“Wake up.” Ian tried again, this time giving his shoulder a shake.
“Fucks sake, Ian, it’s the weekend....I wanna sleep in.” Mickey mumbled, sleepily. Still, he didn’t open his eyes, just reached out a hand, and when he didn’t feel anything but an empty space, he continued, “Come back to bed.”
It seemed like Mickey thought Ian should be in bed with him, and relief flooded through Ian. This was his Mickey! Now he just needed to actually wake the fuck up.
Feeling more confident, he sat down on the bed next to Mickey, dropped the tire iron on the floor, and ran a hand down his back. “Mick. Open your eyes. But don’t freak out.”
“What am I gonna freak -” And then he was speechless. His eyes were finally open and he looked at Ian in shock. “What the fuck?”
“I know.”
Mickey’s eyes darted around the room, back to Ian, down at himself, and then settled on Ian. He reached a hand out to touch Ian’s face softly, running his fingers over the freckles. “Fuck. What’s going on? How...”
“I don’t know?! I was in the kitchen, I was going to make coffee, and then suddenly I was here and shit, I thought I was dreaming, or hallucinating, but this is all so real. So it must be real?” The words tumbled out and Ian was so glad that he wasn’t going to have to deal with this alone.
“I don’t....the last thing I remember was going to bed with you.” Mickey sat up, and swung his legs around to sit close to Ian. “This is fucked up. It’s fucking impossible.” He ran a hand down his face, before turning to stare at Ian again in disbelief. And Ian couldn’t help but do the same back - he still couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What are we going to do?” Ian broke the silence, they couldn’t sit here staring at each other all day.
“Shit. I don’t fucking know.” Mickey frowned for a moment, as if considering something and then pinched Ian on the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“In case it’s a dream.”
“You’re supposed to pinch yourself.” Ian grumbled, as he pinched Mickey on the arm. “There. Feel real?”
“Hardly felt that, but yeah.” He looked around his room. “So, I guess we’re in the past. That means -”
Mickey didn’t have time to finish his sentence because the door opened and a ghost entered. Or rather, not a ghost, someone who was very much alive. Terry. Mickey instantly tensed up, his hands balling into fists. Terry made his way into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Ian didn’t think, he just pulled Mickey close, hugging him tight.
“Fuck. Shit.” Mickey let out a shuddering breath. “Ian, we can’t.” He moved away reluctantly. Ian felt his heart clench but nodded, shifting away to the end of the bed. Of course they couldn’t hug, not here, not now. Fuck. Ian wanted to punch the wall. Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, “I can’t fucking be here, man.” He jumped up and threw on some more clothes and some shoes.
Terry stumbled back out of the bathroom, and Mickey froze, his eyes wide, still unbelieving of what he was seeing. He kept staring at the door after Terry left. It was surreal seeing Terry alive, walking around like normal. And if Ian thought it was surreal, he couldn’t imagine what Mickey was thinking. Or rather, he probably could guess. His mind drifted to thoughts of Monica - she was alive here, what would it be like to see her again? Would he felt strange? Horrified? Upset? And Frank....shit, Frank had only just died, but right now, he was alive.
He pushed the thoughts away, they needed to leave. This was all too confusing. Mickey had only just finally come to terms with Terry’s death and this....this fucked up situation was only going to cause him pain. And Ian was still going through some pretty strange and surprisingly upsetting emotions about Frank’s death, it was all still so raw. Neither of them needed to be confronted by their dead fathers (did anyone ever?), especially not so close to said fathers deaths. The room felt too small, too hot, Ian knew they needed to leave. It was impossible to think here.
“Let’s get out of here.” Ian tugged on Mickey’s hand, squeezing it gently, before dropping it.
“Where?” Mickey questioned, shrugging on a coat.
“One of the abandoned buildings? At least then we know we’ll be alone. And we can try and figure out what we’re going to do.”
Mickey gave a whispered “yeah” and flung open his bedroom door, hurrying towards the front of the house, causing Ian to jog behind him to catch up. He was about to reach him when Mandy appeared. Ian’s stomach did a pleasant flip when he saw her - he’d missed her so much and here she was, looking exactly the same as he remembered. He fought the urge to hug her tightly.
“Ian? Are you ok?” Her eyes searched his face curiously, like she could tell something was wrong. But that was stupid, Ian thought, even if she could, she would never guess it was that Ian and Mickey had somehow time travelled from the present back to the future.
“Uh...yeah. I just...” He couldn’t help it - he glanced at Mickey who had paused by the front door, looking over his shoulder at Ian. “I gotta go home.”
“Ok. But-”
“Everything’s fine, Mandy. I’ll see ya.” He could hear the tremble in his voice and he could tell from the slight frown on her face that she was concerned. She looked back and forth between Ian and Mickey, her eyes narrowing and noticing Mickey’s hand on the door. “Where are you going, shithead?”
“Out.” And with that, Mickey practically flung himself through the doorway and made his way onto the sidewalk. Ian waved a hand in Mandy’s direction, wishing he could explain to her but knowing he couldn’t, and headed out, shutting the door behind him. He felt guilty brushing her off, but Mickey was his priority.
“Mick.” He called out as he caught up. He bumped his shoulder against Mickey’s and they began to make their way to one of the more isolated abandoned buildings, both knowing which one they should go to. They walked in silence, both of them struggling to make sense of where, and when, they found themselves. So, it was no surprise that neither of them noticed the figure that followed them.
——
Ian watched Mickey as he climbed the old, battered stairs in front of him, he could see the heavy tension in his shoulders. It was familiar but not something he had seen in awhile. Mickey was relaxed and happy, most of the time, they were finally settling into the West Side and things were good - safe and stable - and their days were filled with kisses and laughter, they just were enjoying being together. But, now, they had been thrown backwards to a time when things were dangerous and unstable and complicated.
There was a splintered door, which Mickey kicked open with his foot. He sighed heavily and Ian grasped his hand, leading him towards one of the walls. They sunk down onto the floor, backs against the cold brick. Ian moved to cuddle Mickey close, but it was awkward. He was used to being able to hold Mickey easily, but here, now, as they were a similar height, it was different. He had never had the luxury of being able to hug or be close to Mickey like this back then, so he wasn’t used to trying to hold him like this. Eventually, with some fumbling, they managed to find a good angle. Mickey slumped down a bit, and Ian put his arm around Mickey’s shoulders, they were pressed close, and Mickey threw one leg over Ian’s, and rested his head close to Ian’s neck.
“This isn’t fucking fair.” Mickey whispered. “What the fuck is this shit and why is it happening to us?”
“I’m scared.” Ian replied, using his free hand to grab one of Mickey’s. “What if we’re stuck here?”
“Your meds.” Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand. “What are we going to do about your meds?”
“I don’t....” Ian faltered. He hadn’t even considered that. What was he going to do? He hadn’t been diagnosed back then, now, so what did that mean in terms of his illness? The fear that had been bubbling under the surface suddenly began to overflow. What the fuck was he going to do? “I don’t know. Shit. Mick. I don’t-”
“We’ll figure it out.” Mickey put his free hand on top of his and Ian’s clasped ones. Ian wanted to believe Mickey but he didn’t feel convinced, and as confident as Mickey sounded, Ian could hear the worry.
“Ok. Yeah. We’ll figure it out. But, what are we going to do, like right now? We can’t stay here tonight.”
“I can’t go back there. I can’t see-”
“I know. I know. We’ll stay at my house.” Ian cut him off before he could say his father’s name. It felt strange saying that - my house - because it wasn’t, not anymore. His house, his home, was the apartment he shared with Mickey.
“And how the fuck do we explain that? And what about Frank? You gonna be able to deal with seeing him again?”
“Don’t care.” He heard Mickey snort. “I don’t care Mick, you’re my fucking husband, and I love you and we need to-”
“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is this?” A shocked voice cut through the air, startling both of them.
Ian and Mickey jerked their heads up at the same time to see Mandy standing in the doorway, a look of complete and utter disbelief on her face. They had been so wrapped up in their problem, that they hadn’t noticed her following them or heard her making her way up the steps of the building. They slowly disentangled from each other in a way that Ian noted would not have happened in their teenage years. Mickey would have shoved Ian off back then, but now, he was so used to not hiding or feeling afraid that he didn’t. As much as Ian would like to focus on the growth Mickey was showing, he knew he couldn’t. Because right now, the stakes were too high.
Ian’s heart pounded, he knew they needed to say something. He could trust Mandy. He had done so before. But fuck, there was so much more he knew in hindsight. So many more terrible, violent things that he knew he could not let any of them go through again.
Which is why he blurted out the first thing he thought of, “It’s cold. We were cold, so we were just warming up.”
Ian didn’t need to look at Mickey to know he was probably rolling his eyes.
“Cold?” Mandy folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “Thank fuck I’m not a cop Ian because you would not last-”
“What the fuck are you doing here? You follow us?” Mickey interrupted. “Go away.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Mandy pushed off the wall and walked to towards them. “Ian, what’s going on? I thought you and Kash-”
“Fuck him.”
“Shut up, Mickey. I’m talking to Ian.”
“Mandy, please. This isn’t what it.....can you just forget you came here? Please? And please don’t say anything. To anyone.” Ian pleaded. He needed her to go. He loved her, and he loved seeing her again, but fuck, this was not the time. He couldn’t think with her here. All he kept thinking of was when Terry found him and Mickey - that horrible morning that always made his stomach churn when he thought about it. He didn’t think Mandy would tell. But in that moment it felt like it was too much - someone else knowing - he just couldn’t handle it right now. He just wanted to be with Mickey. “I’m begging you, Mandy. Please.”
Mandy bit her lip, in the same way Ian had seen Mickey do a thousand times. She looked back and forth between them, uneasy and suspicious, Ian realised he had tears in his eyes and he could see the exact moment Mandy noticed. “Fine. But you owe me an explanation Ian. And so do you Mickey.”
“Yes.” Ian breathed in relief. And he watched her turn on her heel and leave. They stood in silence until they were sure she was gone.
“So, what now?” Mickey pulled Ian close, his arms winding around his waist.
“Maybe if we fall asleep, we’ll wake up back home?” Ian hoped more than anything that would be true.
“Thought you were awake when you came here. Back? Now? Whatever.”
“I was but....who the fuck knows right? It’s worth a try.”
“Yeah. Maybe. But we can’t sleep here.��
#gallavich#gallavich fic#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#shameless#headcanon#as always feel free to continue this or add to it!!#I think this idea would be great written by someone who is good at multi-chapter fics#I’m not great at that#so very happy if anyone wants to take this idea and do their own thing with it#or remix it or use parts of it#btw sorry but I’m probably not going to continue this#but they definitely get home safely
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2
The house you eventually park in front of is much like yours, just a bit bigger, since Colson didn't live alone. The sound of sirens outside is carried almost melodically in the freezing wind. You soak it all in, wondering about who else in this city felt so far from home and yet right in the thick of it.
"She's a beaut, huh?" Colson quips, motioning to the steps, "but at least we got it to ourselves tonight," his grin could stretch a city mile.
Once inside, Colson immediately turns on a nearby heater and clears the couch, grabbing his RAW tray off the busted up coffee table, almost muscle memory, it seems, for both of you. You lay a fat sack down on the rolling tray as he sweeps the papers out of the way.
"Damn, do you really got glaucoma?" He snorts, untwisting the top. "No wonder I can smell it thru your backpack." He is all smiles while he breaks it down. "Have a seat, make yourself at home," he offers, pointing to the couch cushion free next to him.
You sit down on the very edge, causing Colson to stop in his tracks.
"Aw, come on, don't do me like that," he pouts, pulling a folded blanket from the chair to his left. "I got blankies," he teased, knowing how drafty all these houses are the heater won't cut it. "I said, make yourself at home," he playfully insists, and unexpectedly, he grabs your thigh to pull you so close, you can feel the heat emitting from his jeans.
He continues as if nothing had even happened, luxurious tongue peeking out to seal the blunt. So you wrap the blanket across your laps, and act nonchalant, too, trying to force the lump in your throat all the way down.
"A backwoods, that's classic," you offer as a change of subject, watching mesmerized as the ambient lighting and warm tones of the fake flames of the heater danced across his chiseled face. Godddd, why couldn't you control yourself?
Colson smirked before running a lighter across it. "Only the best for my guest."
The two of you sit cozy under the blanket for a short period of time, passively hitting the blunt and savoring before passing, while Colson rigged up a speaker. As the hip hop played softly, you felt your muscles relax a bit, most they had in 6 years.
Colson began probing you with his eyes again, like he was about to start 20 questions back up.
"So, you're not really from around here, are you?" He digs, pressing a thigh against yours to turn to face you better.
"Ah, no," you say, nodding
"From....?" He prompts, rolling his hand before passing the blunt.
"Down South," you're ashamed the more you divulge.
Colson pulls a face. "You don't have an accent, though," he contests.
"Got rid of it," you shrug. "People think you're stupid," you smile back.
Colson takes a hand and begins rubbing your thigh softly, as if to comfort you, although he can feel the tension increasing doing just the opposite. "I wouldn't think you're stupid, at all," he husks quietly, serious.
You don't want to make a sound for fear it will come out as a squeak.
"Look, I would ask what brings you all the way out here, but..." He trails off before hitting the blunt hard. "I'm a blunt motherfucker, so I'll just say it. I know about the..." He is swallowing the wrong words, struggling despite his frankness. "Well, the whole crew knows about the... The statutory situation," he whispers, like someone is listening. "You don't really talk to nobody, so.. They got curious. There's... There's lots of articles."
You almost disassociate, so he takes it as a sign to continue.
"I couldn't imagine. So, if I'm making you uncomfortable..." He begins to look worried, the desire to backpedal immediately written across his face.
You physically snap back, and force him to stop leaning away from you.
"You're blunt, huh?" You ask, now trying to comfort him.
"Yeah. I'm sorry," he relaxes into your touch, though.
"You don't have any chains or ropes here, so I'm not here by force," you smile, darkly, almost transported back to 15 again.
Colson winces, sympathetically, before shaking his head (to no doubt clear images) the articles he had read that paint an all too vivid picture out of his mind like an etch a sketch.
"Look, I ... I really wanted to get to know you, and... Everybody told me it was a bad idea, you know? Like I would fuck up your life. But I just really can't resist, you seem so cool, so sweet," Colson trails off, realizing in your vulnerable state he had began being too vulnerable as well.
"Thanks. I know that sounds stupid, but, most people... Well, most guys, avoid me like the plague."
Colson melts back into the couch, into your warmth surrounding you, before beginning to pull a cigarette out for each of you. He passes it to you, so intuitive to how on edge you're feeling. He knows you too well already.
"You don't have to be scared, you know," you remind him, "you can keep playing 20 questions." You're joking but serious. "I've possibly purposefully not made any friends here yet. I salute you breaking the ice AND addressing the elephant in the room," you admit. "I like cutting thru the bullshit."
Colson takes a thoughtful drag from his cigarette while formulating his next question.
" okay," he sounds more at ease, "do you have a boyfriend?" He risks, wincing at how insensitive it sounds, but he correctly got the impression it was forgiven and you wanted to move forward exactly as he intended originally.
"Oooh, no, actually," you giggle at the spicy question. "Other than, the, ya know... Situation, shall I say, never been with a man before." You're shocked at how honest you're being.
Colson can't help his jaw dropping. "How... How old are--you're still a virgin??" He is stumbling over his words.
"21, and, yeah," you choke out, sudden shyness taking over.
It was so refreshing he considered you a virgin still that you could die on the spot.
"Whoa. Just.... Damn," Colson stuttered, as the etch a sketch cleaned his slate once again. Hopefully be was clearing thoughts of how tight you must be still, not how damaged you are.
"Do, um," he clears his throat while putting out his cigarette, "what kind of tattoos and piercings do you have?"
"None, of either, actually," you admit, eyes hungrily scanning Colson's inked up neck.
It seems he can't believe his ears.
"Are you.. Holy shit, no way? Prove it," he challenges.
You shrug the blanket and flannel off to expose your belly, shoulders, and lift your crop top to show nothing on collar bones. Colson looks like he would spit if he had water he was drinking. He wasn't expecting you to show him anything for real.
He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek to brush your hair behind the ear, "wow, no ear piercings, either. You're magical," he says heavily. "You're younger than me, by, like, a lot, but anyone... like you, I never would have guessed..."
You realize now that his knuckles still lay resting on your cheek, stroking it softly, and he'll be able to feel them burning red hot with embarrassment and desire
The shame, because you've never done this before, never been so close and intimate with someone, and the desire as well for the same reason.
"You're better than I ever even imagined," he admits before falling silent, soaking up your reaction fully,
Colson breaks the silence first. "I want to kiss you," he states, voice dripping with lust, and cracking slightly.
As you place a hand over his much larger on your cheek, he takes this as a sign to keep going. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Colson licks his lips and scans your face hungrily.
"Can I?" He prompts, impatient, pupils blown, and jaw tight with anticipation.
You feel like you barely nod, hand dropping off of his, before he grabs it tightly to put it around his neck.
"Like this, let me show you," he whispers, lips ghosting yours.
In one Swift motion he slides a hand under your lower back in order to lay you down gently on the couch, hovering above you, on the edge of deranged with desire, like a wolf standing over a downed deer. You figure Colson has never had to exhibit this much self control before.
"I wanna defile you, take your innocence," he rasps, thumb finding its way to your bottom lip, stroking gently, opening your mouth ever so slightly. "I want it to be mine, I've wanted this for so long," he smiles, his rock hard cock pressing with a ungodly heat against your pubic bone. He's not even hiding anything anymore, using your exposed tummy and clothed pussy to hump and grind softly in order take the edge off.
"Can I touch you?" He asks desperately, biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed. "I want to help you relax a little," Colson whispers, though you imagine it's just as much for him as it is you.
"Anything you want, Cols." You're almost choking.
He lets out a dark laugh at this, and in an instant his hands feel like they're all over you, exploring, finally coming to rest at your jugular, feeling the intense pounding underneath his fingertips.
"You're scared?" It's a question as much as it is a statement. "Or turned on?" Colson raises a brow, other hand massaging your thigh, slowly curling it around his waist, positioning and posing you like a ragdoll, your body defeated and limp to his touches. You are in a state of bliss and fear. "Maybe both," he concludes, smirking.
At this you close your eyes, expecting any second to wake up from this all too familiar dream, as you've pined for your coworker possibly even longer than he has.
Suddenly, Colson is at your ear, breath hot and desperate. "Don't be scared babydoll, you're in good hands," he reassures, nipping at your earlobe in such a way it sends a shiver all throughout your body. "I... Will go... Slowww," he teases out painstakingly, "slow as you need me to," he adds gently.
It was then you were startled into the reality of the situation by the sound of his belt coming undone, soft noises as it is expertly slipped out of his belt loops in one, fluid motion. Colson feels you panic underneath him, and he is quick to respond to this.
—-
Havent had a chance to read it yet but i wanted yall to have fhis lmfaoo. A gift from bigblakdix to me to you
#mgbrecommends#mgk#mgk smut#mgk fic#mgk blurb#colson baker concept#colson baker blurb#colson baker smut#submission
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Sunrise, Sunset
switching it up with a franklin and lamar centered fic (not exactly as a ship buuut more or less some one sided feelings?) jus a silly little idea i had that was originally gonna be a one shot sorta thing or whatever,, changed my mind tho n i’m jus gonna split it up, this is part one !!
i feel like lamar would be very oblivious about his feelings towards frank tbh LMFAOOO
//
Lamar and Franklin sometimes drove out to the highest point in Los Santos to watch the sunrise. Well, more Lamar than Franklin, seeing as Franklin preferred to sleep in. He often dragged him out of bed to go take Chop out and see the sun peak up from the horizon, lighting the city up with natural reds and yellows.
“C’mon you lazy fuck, we gon’ miss it!”
“Lamar, the sun rises every fuckin’ day! Trust me, it’ll be there tomorrow.”
“You jus’ a lazy bum who don’t wanna get his lazy bum ass outta bed. Man get up already!”
Chop barked, and Lamar nodded to him.
“Yeah, you right Chop. This muhfucker don’t wanna budge, huh? Don’t even wanna take his precious dog for a walk. You oughta be ashamed of yoself Frank.”
“Chop wasn’t even my dog to begin with!”
“Man fuck you, you became co-parent of him when you had to take him in!”
Franklin could only groan into his pillow, missing the blissful sleep he had been shaken awake from.
“Just go away Lamar! Damn!”
He felt the taller man looming over him, grabbing his shoulders to shake him further awake.
“We’re running outta time, fool. C’mon, I’ll let you ride shotgun this time.”
Chop barked in protest.
“Chop, it’s the only way we might get him out the house.”
Accepting that arguing would get him nowhere, Franklin sat up right, glaring at Lamar.
“For fucks sake man, fine. I’ll go. Jus’ lemme throw on some clothes that ain’t the shit I wore to bed.”
Lamar grinned widely at him.
“Fuck yeah! Chop, let’s go wait in the car.”
The small dog trotted not too far behind Lamar’s long legs. Franklin wondered what force he disturbed that landed him in this position. He sighed, knowing that he wasn’t exactly a saint, so there wasn’t much to wonder at all. If this was his punishment then so be it. The car ride wasn’t too long, especially not after Franklin moving out of Strawberry to Vinewood Hills, making it easier for them to get there. Minimal traffic because of how early it was helped too. Lamar never dropped his grin, just happy to do his favorite thing with his favorite person. Who wouldn’t love watching the sunrise with their best friend? Especially seeing the way the sun lit his face up, a delicate smile on his face seeing an excellent sunrise and- Woah. Where’d that come from? Lamar figured it was just his excitement to see a particularly gorgeous sunrise, using that as an excuse for the feeling that sat in his gut. As soon as they pulled up to the spot, he bounced out of his seat, keeping the door open for Chop.
“We here homie!”
“Mhm.. so where the fuck’s the sunrise?”
“Patience Frank, patience.”
“But you jus’ fuckin’ bitched at me for the last half hour about how we was gon’ miss it! Fuck you mean patience?!”
“It’s coming! Don’t ruin a moment that’s gon’ be special, F.”
He grunted in Lamar’s direction, turning around to go play with Chop for the time being. The sunrise crept up, a ray of sunlight hitting Lamar in the eye. He blocked the light with his hand, hitting Franklin with his free one.
“Ay Frank, look!”
The sunrise that crawled up from the depths of the horizon shone in glimmers of gold and pretty shades of orange. Lamar smiled again.
“Man.. look at that. It’s beautiful ain’t it-“ He turned to face Franklin, who was caught in a trance. The sun hit his face just right, and he looked incredible. Like some sort of focused statue or whatever. It was alright to admire your homies like that, right? Nothin’ wrong with admiring a dude. Franklin turned back to answer him.
“Yeah, it sure is.. you good man?”
Lamar coughed slightly, shifting his weight onto one of his feet.
“Uh.. yeah man, just thought I saw a bug crawling on yo face or sum’. But damn, I’m glad we caught this.”
“Me too. But I’m still pissed you dragged me outta bed so fuckin’ early.”
“Man what’d I say? Don’t bitch while we havin’ a moment!”
Franklin only laughed and Lamar felt something in him stir. It was good to hear him laugh.
“So now what?”
“Well, if we leave now by the time we get back into the city some of them diners should be open for breakfast.”
“This early in the day?”
“Believe it or not Frank but the rest of society does their shit earlier than you. So ya, people eat this early.”
They went back to the car, with Chop riding shotgun this time. Franklin wanted to rest his eyes until they got to whatever food place Lamar was taking them to, earning a snarky comment from him. Lamar wanted to pick a decent place to eat and eventually settled on an old diner they went to as kids. He poked Franklin, reanimating him back to life.
“Look where we at dog.”
“Ohh shit, this that diner we used to go to after school everyday! It’s still in business?”
“Guess so man. Let’s go!”
“Wait! What about Chop?”
Shit. Right. Chop looked at the two men, tilting his head sadly.
“You wanna jus’ bring the food back to yo crib?”
“Eh fuck it. Why not.”
They decided on some basic breakfast food and brought it back to Franklin’s place. The big windows in his kitchen would illuminate the room well enough, and Lamar could value the view from there.
“So tell me Lamar, why’s it you only wanna go see the sunrise? You never mention watchin’ the sunset dog.”
“Ion really know myself homie. One day I just started gettin’ up early wit’ Chop to go walkin’ n shit.”
“Can we watch the sunset sometime then? I am tired of gettin’ up at the asscrack of dawn.”
“That’s cuz you ain’t get yo 9 hours dog.”
“Man, shut the fuck up. Who the hell gets 9 hours at our age? Bozo.”
“I’m just sayin’ maybe if you got some normal sleep for fuckin’ once you wouldn’t be such a GD grouch.”
“Whatever you say bro.”
The two finished their food in comfortable silence, with Franklin scolding Lamar at least once or twice for feeding Chop table scraps.
“So whatchu wanna do now?”
“We could always go catch a movie or sum’, maybe go see that Meltdown movie ya boy Mike was talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Yeah, I never did get the chance to go see it, with all the chaotic bullshit goin’ on.”
They left Chop at home after a long goodbye from Lamar, telling him that as soon as they got back that he would get all the treats in the world and all that other mushy shit. Franklin mocked the high-pitched voice he used to speak to Chop, earning a smack in the arm from Lamar.
They arrived for a matinee showing at the the theater closest to Franklin’s house, getting a bunch of complimentary snacks and some drinks. The movie was awful, but in a way that it was enjoyable to watch. A movie so bad it was good. Franklin kept leaning in to whisper to Lamar how corny the whole thing was, saying that it was definitely right up Michael’s alley. He ignored the closeness between him and his friend as best as he could, but he still shuffled in his seat awkwardly.
“Hey uh, Frank. I’mma go to the bathroom real quick, stretch my legs n shit.”
“Aight, see you in a minute homie.”
His walk to the bathroom felt stagnant, and when he got there all he could do was look at himself in the mirror. What the fuck was his problem right now?
“Get it the fuck together LD. It’s just Frank, it’s nothing weird. Chill out.” He spoke aloud to himself.
He splashed water in his face and walked back to the room showing Meltdown. The movie was almost over and Franklin didn’t make anymore comments. Lamar sighed inwardly, just wanting to get out of there already, despite the whole going-to-see-a-movie thing being his idea to begin with. He didn’t know why he was feeling the way he did right now, and he didn’t know how to make it go away. Franklin leaned over to whisper in his ear once more, sending a chill down Lamar’s spine.
“Dog, this movie sucks and it’s almost over anyway, you wanna just get out of here?”
“Uh.. yeah, yeah. Chop’s prolly missin’ us right now anyway.”
Lamar drove them back this time, driving a lot faster than he should’ve been.
“Woah, homie slow down! What’s the fuckin’ rush for?!”
“I jus’.. Ion know I’m not feelin’ too hot right now and I really jus’ wanna get back to yo place. Maybe lie down or sum’..”
“That ain’t gon’ happen if we get in a fuckin’ car wreck though!”
He slowed it down a bit hearing Franklin’s concerned tone, frustrated by that feeling again. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. They pulled up into Frank’s driveway, Lamar nearly knocking over his recycling can, earning another disgruntled comment from Franklin.
“You been actin’ so weird bro, what’s goin’ on?”
“I honestly don’t know. Maybe the food we had jus’ not sittin’ right wit’ me.”
“Well, like you said go lie down or sum’. You wanna sleep in my bed for now? I’ll go take care of Chop or-“
“Uh sure, aight. I’mma go.. do that.”
Franklin looked at him like he had two heads, lifting a brow up in suspicion.
“Aight then, holla at me when you feel somewhat better.”
Lamar basically ran down the stairs to Franklin’s room, closing the door tight behind him. He slid down the door, looking straight ahead. Why did he feel so- so weird right now? He had a pleasant day overall with his best friend, what could possibly be bothering him?? He tossed his head back, making a small thud sound against the door. Groaning out loud, he did a walkthrough of today. He drove to Franklin’s, wanting to see the sunrise. Nothing unusual, this was a common thing they did. The sunrise was pretty, and lit everything up wonderfully. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Franklin wasn’t entirely a buzzkill when they made it there, if anything he looked tranquil, the sun making his brown eyes glow. Then what? They got food, which tasted just like how he remembered from when Frank and him were just teens. Went to a movie which they basically talked the whole way through, Franklin continuously whispering in his ear. His voice so low and close made him feel hot all over, but it was just because whispering was like that no matter who was doing it. So what the hell was his problem right now? He must not have noticed how long he was in there, because he heard a light tap at the door.
“Lamar? You good homie?”
He rushed to stand up, pretending like he just woke from a short nap.
“Uh, yeah dog, doin’ just fine. Think layin’ down helped.”
“Good. You want me to take you home or do you wanna stay here?”
Part of Lamar wanted to stay just to be around Franklin a little while longer. The other part of him wanted to run right out the door. He thought it over, and figured he might need time to himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to be around Franklin after such a strange day. At least, a strange day for him. Franklin was thankful for the fact they had one normal day to hangout without shenanigans on Lamar’s part… besides the way he had been acting up to now.
“I think I’mma jus’ head back.”
“Aight then.”
The car ride back was silent. Lamar felt like the air was suffocating him, like any minute he’d pass out. He shifted in his seat to look out the window, familiar streets coming up. He didn’t want to look at Franklin for some reason, turning away from him.
“Hey, we here.”
He sat up, getting ready to get out of the car, until Franklin grabbed his wrist. Lamar felt like he was burning him with the contact.
“Ay man, what the fuck’s your problem today?”
“I already told you, it was the food or sum’, chill out dog.”
He loosened his grip, looking unsatisfied with his answer.
“Man fine, but if you hidin’ somethin’ from me I wanna fuckin’ know.”
“I’m not, I promise you.”
“You better not be, you mysterious bitch. Remember, you dragged me out of bed to hangout today.”
He winced, feeling guilty somehow.
“Yeah F, I know.”
Lamar looked back at his house, not wanting to get caught in Franklin’s death stare.
“I’ll see ya later or sum’ Frank.”
“See ya homie.”
He turned back, watching Franklin drive away. Torn between a relieved mood, and a pang of loneliness. As he walked inside his house, he slammed the door in frustration. Franklin and him were on the same page- he didn’t know why he was acting the way he was. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he went to a last resort to get an idea of something. That stupid psychic shoutout website that was growing in popularity. At least it was free.
Hello. What brings you to Miss Marcy’s site?
fuck you think, lady. help me out here
What with?
some fuckin explanation for why i feel weird rn
Were you just with a friend?
uh yeah
kinda why i’m here to begin with
I see. How close are you to said friend?
well, he like a brother to me ig? idk
never thought 2 deeply abt it.
A family friend? Hmm… I’m seeing the letter F, or T.
damn, you kinda good. it’s f
Wait a minute, I’m getting another letter. L!
yeah! my name starts with l!
You wouldn’t happen to be… I see it now… Lamar?
woah, you really fuckin good lady.
Well, I know I’m a psychic, but I have a feeling I spoke to your friend already.
you did?
Since when did Franklin visit stupid sites like this? He felt a blush creeping onto his face, wondering if Franklin might’ve been in the same boat as him at some point.
Yes. I think I have the answer to your problem, Lamar
please.
anything’ll help
Are you absolutely sure you want to hear it?
When I spoke to your friend, he didn’t seem too pleased with what I had to say.
c’mon lady don’t be a cocktease rn i need help
Well… okay.
You love him.
uh duh
he’s my best friend
why wouldn’t i?
No, I mean
You’re… *in* love with him.
His jaw went slack. He stared blankly at the screen. What?
the fuck?
uh no
ain’t no way.
I’m seeing a long time friendship. Lots of pining.
you ain’t seeing shit lady
u got it wrong
I knew you would say this - you can be mad at me all you want, but think it over
seriously, just think it over.
SERVICE UNAVAILABLE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.
“Fuck.” He whispered to himself.
“Fuck!”
He tossed his phone across the room onto his worn down couch. That didn’t solve his problem. If anything, it just made it worse. Love? Franklin? Him? What the fuck was that bitch smoking? He threw his palms over his face, groaning. He didn’t wanna think about what the fuck she meant. Because there was no way in hell he was in love with Frank. He couldn’t be. That was his day one. His best friend. That would be wrong, right? He paced around his living room, mind racing too quick for his liking. That couldn’t be the explanation for today. No way. That’s just ridiculous. There’s no way… no way he-
Then he thought about it. Like, really thought about it. The gears in his head were running at full speed now.
“Oh shit.”
//end of pt 1!!!!! this is already long as is, and i think i’m gonna finish it in another part or so. apologies for any grammatical errors ofc 🏃♀️🏃♀️🏃♀️
#grand theft auto 5#lamar davis#franklin clinton#franklin/lamar#unrequited love#one sided pining#pining#framar
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constant craving 03 | jjk
⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader
[other members - seokjin]
⇢ genre: drabble series, ANGST, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, the same idiocy just in a different font
⇢ word count: 4k
⇢ warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption (drunk jungkook makes his first and final appearance enjoy it while you can), vehicular misdemeanor (drive the speed limit kids), an all out emotional and verbal brawling, a lack of communication on one end and a communicational vomit on the other, seokjin appearance for about .02 seconds, the entirety of this is just.... angst
⇢ summary: your dates with Seokjin had become a somewhat consistent fixture in your schedule, however, jungkook's itinerary seemed to clash with yours when he called you after a night of drinking for reasons you assumed to be him helplessly pleading for a safe return home.
♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪
╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)
a/n: whew, okay.... this was probably the most argumentative fic i have ever written so prepare yourself. i hope you all enjoy this god awfully angsty installment of the series! also, yes, jungkook is a sentimental drunk and you all know it
part three: i love you
It's true. It's always the biggest pills that are the most difficult to swallow. And if you could compare someone as elusive as Jungkook to anything, it would be the largest pill imaginable. The kind that hurts the first try, then when you drink half your body weight in water, the Jungkook-emblazoned pill forces down your esophagus no easier than the first gulp. You were still holding it in your mouth, pretending that pill wasn't about to dissolve and stain your mouth forever.
And that was the whole process, just to get over Jungkook. Because getting over him wasn't a one-step program. It was waking up everyday, training and retraining your mind not to think of him first thing in the morning. It was resisting the urge to press the send button on multiple texts and funny videos you knew would make him laugh. It was refusing his calls and every memory that would saunter in your mind and compel you to ask him to watch a movie or order takeout.
It was saying yes to Seokjin when he asked you on a date. And, it was doing your best to sever that instinct of yours to ask Jungkook for advice.
But old habits die hard, and this one still clung onto the bit of breath it wielded. That explained why your idiot of a best friend was sitting on your couch, offering half-hearted nods whenever you would walk out draped in a new outfit.
"Okay, this one?" You twirled around, as if doing so would make you any less skeptical of how you looked. And you were never one to scrutinize your appearance so closely, but this was the date. The one that might light the torch to a brighter romantic future and lead you to someone other than the man who could never be yours to begin with.
"Yeah. Cool." At this point, five outfits in, he wasn't paying any attention at all. He couldn't even bring himself to pretend, his eyes lazily fixed onto your dvd player.
"Jungkook, you didn't even look! Let me guess. You wanna play video games. Is that why you're giving fuck-me-eyes to my T.V. set?" You knew a laugh was far along, but you hoped that would get some sort of reaction out of him. Unfortunately, your words were barely registered for a good ten seconds, though, it felt much longer.
"Hm? Oh, sorry. Just tired, I guess." Jungkook said through barely parted lips. You knew when he couldn't even pronounce his words properly, something he took more seriously than others due to the hauntings of a certain speech impediment, there was definitely something wrong.
Things felt off from the moment he walked into your house. Judging from the way he avoided your hug, that alone suggested a sort of imbalance. It was a casual greeting exchanged between the two of you so often that when you lifted your arms to embrace him, it was born of reflexive association. Like Pavlov's dog, trained to hug him the moment you saw him. But the oddity of him almost discretely walking past you before any contact could be made wasn't where the tension bordered.
Following his arrival, he would have littered a few snarky remarks about how messy your kitchen was, while already scavenging through your fridge, just to get a rouse out of you. And Jungkook wouldn't call himself a connoisseur of all things fabric and fashion, but he surely would have a few thoughts consisting more than two-worded responses. But he just sat on your couch, armed with a face any poker player would commend, and gave you insincere cool's or nice's when need be.
"Okay, what's up? Is it Irene?" You sat down since taking a break to figure out what Jungkook was thinking felt better than continuing your self-absorbed fashion show.
"Kinda... We broke up. Well, she broke up with me or... I don't know. It was weird." It bothered you a bit too much that he didn't even look at you. But if he had, then you would have seen a film of red dousing his eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Kook. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? Want me to egg her house?" This time, he did laugh. You felt relieved he could at least ease slightly back into his expressive self, even if it was just a fraction of what he usually was. A fraction of Jungkook was more than enough for you.
"Nah, no need to go to jail for me. It's not like I didn't see it coming, and apparently she felt the same. Whatever." He let out a sigh that sounded trapped in for a while, then sat up. "We have more important things to worry about."
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. Jungkook, literally a week ago you told me she was the love of your life! And now you're just like 'yeah, whatever, I saw it coming.'" You used your notorious 'man voice', which was just yours lowered a few octaves, knowing it would crack another smile along Jungkook's lips. "Come on, I know you love her. This must hurt a lot. I wish... I wish there was something I could do."
You knew exactly what you were doing. Self-sabotage under the guise of consoling your friend. Clearly, it was selfish and regressive to use Jungkook's heartbreak as a means to avoid doing what you could never do before, what you knew deep down you probably would never be able to do: swallow that pill. And what felt even more pathetic than that was the stale, yet persisting hope that he would ask you to stay.
And that's when reality gave you the most gutting and obvious sign. Jungkook was your best friend, the man you had to lug home when he was too drunk to drive, let alone speak coherently or stand. He was the person that buys you ice cream when you're sad, but just as quick to cancel plans with you when Irene needed him. He was just a friend. You'd never be the person he chose, and it nearly made you angry at him for not seeing it all this time.
So, what he said next made everything he was most likely unaware of all too clear to you.
"No, you go have fun. I'll just... chill here?" It was his avoidant way of asking to stay the night, because you knew him to never sleep alone when he had an ache in his heart. "Maybe raid your pantry and use your Netflix account to binge some shows?"
"Fine. Only 'cause I can't say no to you when you're like this." His smile was reimbursement enough for all the food you'd have to restock and the electricity bill that would be higher than usual.
But what he did next, you could almost never forgive him for. It was so subtle, as though it could have passed as an accident or an act he was trying to perform secretly, without any intention of you even noticing. And how could you not notice? The far too temporary and entirely disarming linger of his hand on yours.
Now, you were always one to decipher his most subtle mannerisms, but this one felt beyond the reins of your perceptiveness. It could have been a small gesture of a thank you, but the gentle, and what one could even describe as sentimental, way his skin pressed against yours bore no semblance of a mere expression of gratitude. And it wasn't possible this was a caress of love, because he was already low on currency in that field, spending it completely on Irene.
So, what was it?
How would you describe the way he rested his hand on yours, as if asking you to stay without words, yet punctuating it quick enough to justify it a coincidental form of contact, that your hand just happened to be where his hand was?
"Well, I'm gonna go eat through my problems." Jungkook stood up before you could bat away the wetness in your eyes from your momentary refusal to blink, as if that would somehow help you visualize the meaning of what just happened.
"Oh- Okay. I, um... I should get going." So you did. You walked out your door, and made a decision beyond the demands of your devotion to Jungkook.
Because it probably meant nothing, and he was your best friend, after all.
---
It was easy with Seokjin. And surprisingly enough, that wasn't a bad thing.
You had come to realize everyone craves that passionate kind of love because, in the movies, that's the blueprint for what love should feel like. But that's all it is, something pretty and shiny enough to work into a film. Make believe. And it could never extend beyond the realm of silver screens, where best friends don't magically fall in love and passion awarded more broken hearts than you could count.
Besides, your heart was worn.
See, your heart is a muscle. It works itself to the bone keeping you alive, willing your lungs to breathe, administering blood to each vein and so on. To strain it for someone who was already in love was functionally inefficient. The heart, like any other muscle, grows tired. It can exhaust itself the same way your hand aches after writing for too long.
You needed a break from the gripping emotional aerobics that is and was loving Jeon Jungkook. So, it sufficed that Seokjin was easy. No more overexertion, no more aches and pains and residual soreness occupying your chest, no more of any of that. Because you knew Seokjin liked you, which was safe and easy knowing there was no point mapping out the possible meanings of every inflected word or shrug or smile. They were simply words and shrugs and smiles with him.
And yet, the thing about giving your heart a 'break' is the period succeeding it. When you were finished resting, you knew who would be waiting for you. Who you would always wait for.
"___! Hello?! I can't hear you! It's too loud!" It wasn't really that loud, your idiot of a best friend was just that drunk. You couldn't tell what concerned you more, the fact that his hearing degenerated when he was, from the sound of it, seven shots deep or that this was the third of alcohol-induced call for this week.
"Where are you?" You asked through a sigh, eyes trained on your Twitter feed and ears occupied with the urgent voice blaring through the speaker phone.
And since it was the third time this week, you were not even half-amused by the repetitive stunt he was pulling.
"I don't know... I walked out and now I'm out and I don't know." The hiccup following his messy sentence was comically textbook 'too drunk'. “Hey, we should take a trip! We should, like, go somewhere!”
“The only place you should be going is home.”
“See, I would totally do that, but I have no idea where I am. Why are these street signs so hard to read?” The end and beginning of each word blended together, rendering that sentence one long, slurred word.
By now, the step by step plan synthesized by you had been memorized. And even though you labored your brain to rewire any feelings leaving you at his beck and call, it clearly hadn't been proficient since your keys had already been gathered and his whereabouts programmed in your GPS via his location services.
"You're so annoying." It might have been rude of you to want him to feel guilty, but it was just as rude of him to interrupt your one night off, which was supposed to be spent with Seokjin, with his intoxicated antics. "I'm coming to pick you up."
"Yo- u are? I love you sooo much. You're the best friend ever, ya know that?" Overly emotional professions was your que to drive fifteen miles over the speed limit so he didn't do something stupid enough to land himself in an ICU.
"Okay, I'm almost there. I think I see you. Wave for me?"
The slumped silhouette you were squinting at began to frantically throw its arms side to side, making you both laugh and pull over so he could drag himself into your passenger seat. And, if you were being honest, he looked better as the blackened shadow of himself.
Jungkook, in all his glory, had his shirt almost fully turned backwards, hair ruffled into a mess, and face as red as the time you and him laid on the beach until your skin punished you with a second degree burn. And all those factors didn't amount to how he smelled like he bathed for hours inside a hand sanitizer bottle.
"God, you're a mess, Jungkook." You said that as jokingly as possible, but meant the sternness embedded in each word. Jungkook was a mess, physically and mentally.
"Hey! You're judging me! Stop being th-o mean, ___." Whenever he was this drunk, his lisp made more appearances in his speech than when he wasn't.
You hated how easily it reminded you of when you were in middle school and he was still navigating and rehearsing through his speech patterns. In middle school, when he was the sweet boy with his only fault being his lisp, who gave you his hoodie and a compassionate smile upon meeting you because your current bully plotted the embarrassment of a lifetime with that piece of chocolate on your seat. In middle school, when Jungkook was the only person in your grade who was kind enough to be kind and true to his word when he pledged his loyalty as your best friend. Forever.
With just one word, you were that timid little middle schooler again, helplessly and unconditionally in love with Jungkook.
Hauling Jungkook, who was more muscle than bone and flesh, over to his door was an art form you had trained, practiced, and mastered about thirty or so times before this one. He weighed about twice as much as you could normally carry, and nonetheless, he was out of your car and in his house in no time.
After you locked the door, you turned around to meet Jungkook, rendering the door frame into a crutch and effectively detaining you between his body and the solid wood behind you.
If you weren't so reminiscent in the car seconds before this, then the vodka-scented souvenir on his breath would have gagged you. However, being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body consuming and overpowering yours, just made you want to sink into him even more and give him everything you had to offer.
His head was hung so when you looked up, you were greeted with Jungkook's lazy smile that gave his lips a boyish asymmetry and draped his eyelids halfway down his irises. And he had you spooled around him so tightly, this look just made him all the more appetizing.
"Kook, we gotta get you to bed, buddy." You tried to ward him off by weaponizing the most strictly platonic nickname you could think of, partnered with a neighborly pat on the back.
It was mostly to remind yourself that this man, who was an inch too close to your face, was your friend, and that in less than ten minutes you were expected to see Seokjin, but from the way he was looking at you, as if he reached into the depths of your heart to devour all your feelings for him and make them his own, you had to remind him of the universally accepted best friend boundaries.
No deep, romantic gazing into each other's eyes. No intimate activity that could be a precursor to anything more affectionate than a hug. No doing exactly what you two were doing as of now.
"Don't call me that." You hoped his aggression against what you said was merely his inebriated irrationally talking, and as always, his emotions were far beyond his control.
And, shamefully, you also hoped it was because he actually did feel the way you felt. What if he wanted the date that Seokjin was going to get tonight and he wanted all the hand holding and none of the back patting, a 'baby' instead of a 'buddy'?
"What? You're drunk-"
"Don't." Before you could drag him by the arm to his bed, a firm palm settled on your torso and closed the gap between you and the door while widening the gap an inch further between Jungkook and his bed, where he would fall asleep without the warmth of the only person he wanted. "___, please."
His voice was strangled with desperation and Jungkook was depleted of all resistance. He just needed to drink you up. To fill himself with the nourishments of your lips, your body, you.
"What-" He could have silenced you easily with a 'shh' or a finger to your lips. Or anything to your lips except his lips.
His lips. They were greedy and giving all at once. Making soft and intimate ministrations against yours as he kissed you before you had the chance to register what was going on. And even when you did, you let his tongue slide into your mouth. This moment was brimming with all the spontaneity you could ever be prepared for, and though it was new, there was no denying that kissing him felt like finally coming home just from the amount of times you had played this moment out in your daydreams. Plus, Jungkook seemed to ease his tongue along yours a bit too confidently for this to be the first time the idea of kissing you has ran through his mind.
You're being stupid, you told yourself and Jungkook, but that didn't matter when you were finally allowed a taste of what it felt like to be kissed and touched and possibly even loved by Jungkook.
Your shirt was bunched halfway up your torso, his body pressed to your front a reprisal for the chill of the door against your back. Jungkook was, admittedly, a phenomenal kisser even when the lens of sobriety wasn't available to him. The way he ran his hands along the bare of your back like some desperate pilgrimage to discover the undiscovered parts of your body and took your bottom lip between his teeth like it was his to begin with was nearly enough to undress you from all your defenses, from all your clothing, from every single barrier that kept you from Jungkook for the past twelve years and let him have you. And finally have him. It was nearly enough.
Your hands divorced his body from yours before your lips and heart were ready to let go. It was painful, but the heartbroken look wringing his face into a tearful frown was even more so.
"No." You pushed him away further only to walk past him and seek refuge in the open space of his living room. "You don't get to do this."
"What? What does-"
"You don't get to drunkenly kiss me, Jungkook. You don't get to hold me and kiss me like you love me. It's not fair."
"Hey-"
"Because you don't. You don't love me..." If you weren't too busy finally permissing the hot words to boil over from pure anger, then you would have felt the even hotter tears wetting the expanse of your cheek.
"Well, how the hell would you know that?" His voice drowned out the loud pumps of blood beating in your ears like a drum.
"Because it would have happened ten years ago, Jungkook! Jesus, it would have been obvious from the beginning. So if you love me, if you really love me, then it wouldn't be happening now, like this. When you were drunk out of your mind and still vulnerable from Irene."
"You don't know anything." If that were the case, then Jungkook somehow knew even less than you.
"Yeah, clearly. I didn't know you'd stoop this low. I thought I was a lot of things to you. But I never thought I'd be some rebound."
"A rebound? You think that's what this is?" Jungkook seemed upset, but to your knowledge he had absolutely no reason to be angry with you.
He was, as always, displacing the burdens he didn't feel like dealing with on you, moderating you into an emotional punching bag. But what hurt more than those scrapes and bruises, was the aftermath of letting him fuck his worries away which would have consisted of him telling you the next morning that it meant nothing, expecting you to nod demurely, maybe even console him, and act like your chest hadn't been emptied and filled with his baggage in the most murderous way.
"Fuck you."
"Wow. You're really being like this? You really wanna talk about this now?
"You know what? Yeah I wanna talk about it. I wanna talk about the years. The years, Jungkook, that I've spent loving you! I- I wanna talk about the amount of times I've spent thinking about you when you were with her, and I probably didn't even cross your mind. Or how about the fucking thousands of times I've spent crying over you because I knew I was never going to be the one you'd want to wake up next to! And I had to watch! I had to fucking watch you fall in love over and over and probably wonder why I didn't fall in love either. It was you. It was always you, Jungkook."
"___, I-"
"No." His attempt to intervene was quickly denied. You were too angry to let him speak, too tired to carry these grievances any longer. "You don't get to talk. It's all out there. I loved you. I still love you! Fuck, I'm trying to get over you. And it's like you know. It's like you can read my mind or something and strike right when I'm about to recover from the last wound."
Your breathing was as heavy as Jungkook's was shallow. He could only stand, breathlessly, only curse himself for ever being so blind and regret taking advantage of your love even if it were entirely unknowingly, just to let his heart sink deeper until it fell completely out of his chest while his tears fell just as heavily.
"I'm done, Jungkook. I'm tired of trying to outrun you in this race that you're not even competing in. I'm tired of loving you. So, I'm done."
All the words Jungkook wanted to say, the words pleading for sound, carving deep gashes in his throat and leaving him vocally impaired, could never amount to the apology you deserved. Maybe this once, he wouldn't leave you wounded. He would gather the nobility to shut up and let you move on from him. Because you wouldn't know from his lapse of silence that he was empathizing with every bit of pain he caused you, and he hated himself more than you did right now for allowing such a pain to ever fall in your hands. But, where you knew you could someday forgive him for it, he knew he would never forgive himself.
He could scrounge for a few things to respond with, pour the weight of his emotions into the scarcity of his words, but he needed to let you leave and be selfless for once in his life.
"I should go. Drink some water before bed, okay?" You mumbled to choke back your tears, though it wouldn't matter letting a few more tears escape since you were previously sob-ranting and he'd seen you cry like this a hundred times before. He was the shoulder you never thought you'd have to miss leaning on, but walking out of his door punctured a hole in you. An empty space in your heart designed for the one person who had crushed the rest of it.
If this were a movie, with star-crossed lovers and a fiery infatuation blooming into what everyone secretly wants: true love, then Jungkook would have ran out of his door and held you close, professing his undying love for you. He would have won you back, reassembled your broken heart into fullness, kissed you beneath the brilliance of the moon, and lived happily ever after.
But this wasn't a movie, and he did none of those things.
Instead, he stumbled his way into his kitchen. He poured himself that cup of water you advised. He thought about how even when you swore to him you were done, you spared a bit of compassion to remind him to take care of himself. He wondered how deserving he was of everything you are. He touched his lips, searching for the echo of yours. He fell into his queen-sized bed meant for two, alone, and whispered the words that were ever eclipsing to the space beside him where he longed for you to lay so you could hear them for yourself.
"I love you."
a/n: sorry to put you through that, but the idea was born and i am but a humble vessel to bring it to life <3 hehe thank you all so much for reading and like i said, don't worry there will be a happy ending!!! (and possibly a longer-than-drabble final chapter to this series)
#bangtanarmynet#btsgoldnet#ficswithluv#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts angst#bts writing#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfic#jungkook angst#jungkook bestfriend!au#bts drabble#jungkook drabble#constant craving#rubycoast
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"Solid as Stone" Ian Gallagher x Mickey Milkovich
Summary: What if when Monica came back, Ian went to find Mandy that day, but found Mickey. Instead of going right to the store for a hookup, Ian runs away distraught after not finding his best friend. Mickey can't help but follow and comfort the redhead he has clearly fallen for.
Or when Ian is freaking out, Mickey is there to comfort him.
Word Count: 2679
Warning: Swearing
Song I Wrote To: “Stone" by Jaymes Young
Note: This is just a bit of an AU what if kind of thing. I just liked it and I love comforting and soft Mickey and I know that day he could tell that Ian was torn.
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Monica was back and Ian didn’t know how to deal with any of it.
As soon as she rolled back into town, Ian felt as if he was suffocating and he had to get out. He didn’t even care if Terry was home at that moment, he needed to see Mandy.
His thoughts kept flicking to Mickey but he knew that regardless of the kind of situation they were in, Mickey would throttle him before he even considered offering Ian a comforting hand. Mickey had been very clear about the nature of their relationship if you could even call it that. Ian knew that there was more to them just random hookups, but he didn’t have time to unpack any of it at the moment.
Mandy had to be the one and he needed her now.
Ian arrived at the front of the Milkovich house and barrelled up the steps, his breathing still labored. His fist made contact with the wooden door, frantically begging someone to open up. It took a moment before the front door was wrenched open and it wasn’t the Milkovich sibling Ian had wanted to see right then, but one he was always wishing to see no matter what. Mickey, who had a cigarette in his mouth, seemed surprised at Ian’s frantic look. “Gallagher?” he asked.
“Mandy, is she here?” Ian breathed out, trying to see behind Mickey and into the house.
“What?”
“Is Mandy here?” Ian asked again, his breathing still sporadic. “I need to see her.” Mickey frowned as he took in the state of Ian as the younger boy seemed to be running off pure anxiety. Something was definitely wrong with him and it surprised Mickey as he realized he was incredibly concerned about Ian Gallagher. However, after all the time he had spent around the kid, he had come to pick up on all of Ian’s idiosyncrasies.
“She’s not here,” Mickey told him, glancing over his shoulder where Terry was passed out on the couch. “She went away with Iggy for a couple of days.” Ian let out a breath, still very jumpy, as he looked back and forth, trying to figure out what he was going to do. “Gallagher, the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he rushed out as he glanced behind him, almost as if he expected Monica to be running after him, but the street remained silent. “I… I gotta go,” he stammered before nodding to himself, turning around, and half-stumbling down the steps. Mickey watched after him for a few seconds, still very confused at Ian’s behaviors. Ian shuffled out into the street and then Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the redhead. Honking blared through the neighborhood as the man behind the wheel cursed at Ian who was raising his hands in apologies.
As soon as Ian was out of the street, the car sped off, leaving Ian to stare at it for only a second before he moved to run down an alley in between the houses, still somewhat out of it. Mickey glanced back inside his house for a second before swearing, “Fucking Gallagher.” Grabbing his coat, he shut the door behind him and took off after the redhead.
It didn’t take long for Mickey to pick up on Ian’s trail as the kid had the loudest footsteps on the Southside. Mickey kept telling himself that the only reason he was doing this was that he wanted to know if Ian was on something and if he could get a hit. However, behind the denial, he knew the truth. He did care about Gallagher and he could tell Ian was going through something.
It was only another block that Mickey finally found him. Ian was on the ground, his back against the wall of the empty alleyway and he was breathing harder than he was when he had shown up on Mickey’s porch. Slowly, Mickey approached him, keeping an eye on the redhead’s hands. He knew Ian well enough to know that the kid could punch just as well as anyone on the Southside and he wasn’t looking forward to being on the other side of one of those freckled fists if he startled him.
“Gallagher?” Mickey tried, but Ian remained frozen, his eyes only on the cold asphalt. “Gallagher,” he tried again, but still, Ian remained oblivious to his presence. With a sigh, Mickey ran a hand through his hair before finally stepping right into the other boy’s view. “Ian?” he asked, softer this time. Ian’s breath stuttered for a second before his eyes flicked to the worried blue ones above him.
“What do you want?” Ian asked and while the words sent a dagger to Mickey’s heart, it was a valid question. Why had he followed him? Ian had no reason to trust that Mickey Milkovich cared for him. Mickey hated that he had led him to believe that he was only using him for sex, but he understood. Mickey was never one for affection, but it wasn’t as if he had any role models to learn from. Colin had tried to somewhat raise his younger siblings, but there was only so much he could do. Mickey was on his own in this department, but he was hoping Ian could be the beginning of his effort to show the compassion he clearly felt.
“What happened?” Mickey asked, finally crouching down to get on Ian’s level. The boy in front of him looked frailer than Mickey had ever seen him. The Gallaghers were known to be tough sons of bitches, but everyone had their breaking point, Mickey supposed.
“My mom,” Ian said. “My mom came home and just fucked it all up.” Mickey nodded, understanding immediately. If you knew about the Gallaghers and especially if you knew about Frank, you knew about Monica. Terry hated the woman and Mickey finally could see why. If the way Ian was acting was evidence of how her kids felt when she came back, she definitely should have stayed gone.
“Hurricane Monica,” Mickey simply said. Ian looked at him in surprise. Mickey sank to the ground next to Ian, their shoulders almost touching. “Fiona’s mentioned her a few times at the Alibi, Frank, too. I think we all get the picture enough to know she ain’t exactly mother of the fucking year.”
“That’s an understatement,” Ian said and Mickey was glad to hear that his breathing was sounding a little better. Ian let his head fall back to rest on the bricks behind him. “She always does this, Mickey,” Ian began and Mickey remained quiet, just letting Ian talk. “She comes into town and makes it seem like she’s going to stay. Debbie and Carl don’t deserve that shit.”
“Neither do you,” Mickey said automatically. Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s who was just staring in front of him, his hands playing with the cigarette he still held.
“She’s my mom,” Ian tried to rationalize.
“So?” Mickey said, finally looking at him again. “Frank is your dad and he’s a piece of shit. Terry is my dad and he’s...he’s… fuck he’s the fucking worse.” Ian could hear the hesitancy in Mickey’s voice. Everyone knew how horrible Terry was, but Ian was starting to think there was more to the racist asshole than nobody else knew. “My father hates me,” Mickey finally continued. “He hates me and he doesn’t even know that…”
“That you hook up with guys?” Ian offered, not wanting to push Mickey by slapping the “gay” label on him. He had learned his lesson with that before.
“He’d kill me if he knew,” Mickey said. “And if I had the chance to get the hell out of dodge to be away from him, I would. I don’t care if they’re our parents, they don’t owe us shit if they’ve never been parents, you know?” Ian was quiet for a minute before he nodded, letting out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know what to do, Mick,” Ian said, casually dropping the nickname he had been trying out for a while. If it was any other time, Mickey would have made a comment about it, but he just enjoyed the rush that went through him at Ian saying his name.
“What do you want to do?” Mickey asked. “Cause that’s all up to you, man.”
“I want her to get the fuck out,” Ian said. “If she’s leaving again, it’s gonna be on our terms this time, not hers.” Ian struggled to keep his hands still and his emotions in check. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey. This was why he needed Mandy.
However, Mickey Milkovich surprised him as he always did.
Tattooed fingers suddenly covered freckled ones and Ian’s hand was enveloped in a warm and firm grip. Ian looked up at Mickey who was looking at him with actual concern.
“Don’t let her ruin you,” Mickey said firmly.
“She’s already done that,” Ian said, trying not to focus too much on the hand in his.
“Says who, huh?” Mickey countered. “Who says you’re fucking ruined? You’re not. You’re…” Mickey trailed off for a second. His eyes flickered from Ian’s lips and then back to his face. “You’re damn solid, Gallagher. A fucking tower of stone, so don’t think that some woman can just come back and fuck with you just because she’s your blood. Blood don’t mean shit when it comes to family anyways.”
Ian was looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He had never seen this side of Mickey and he was already mourning the fact that he may never again for a while once they left that alley. In case he was right, Ian clutched onto Mickey’s hand tighter, letting him feel the other boy’s pulse beneath his fingers.
“Thanks,” he breathed, almost afraid to speak any louder in case it shattered whatever peace they had built.
“Still wish Mandy was here instead?” Mickey asked and there was no malice behind it.
“Absolutely not,” Ian admitted as he glanced down at Mickey’s mouth. They were silent for a moment before Ian asked about something Mickey had just said. “Would you really leave to get away from Terry?”
“I wouldn’t go far,” Mickey admitted, looking at him through hooded eyes. “I could never go too far from you, could I? Who’d run after you when you’re going out of your fucking mind?” Ian smiled, trying not to laugh.
“I don’t know, I’m sure I could find someone,” he said and then boldly continued, “maybe Kash has a friend around his age.”
That did it.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mickey growled as he grabbed onto Ian’s neck and slammed his lips against the other boy's mouth. Ian reacted immediately, tugging Mickey closer to him. Mickey’s heart was slamming in his chest and he knew it was risky to kiss Ian out in the open, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He had been wanting to kiss him since the first time he had seen Ian smile. It wasn’t until they had sex for the first time that that need to kiss him had intensified tenfold. Mickey grabbed at Ian’s coat, trying to make the distance between them nonexistent.
When Ian slipped his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, Mickey was done for. He could never go back to just having sex after this. This was...indescribable and he needed it all. Mickey was as inexperienced as it got when it came to kissing men, but Ian seemed to be a master according to Milkovich. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s arms and then up to his neck where his large hands took hold of Mickey’s face as he continued to devour the other boy’s mouth.
Eventually, they both needed to breathe and Mickey was the first to pull back, though he didn’t go far. “That was…” Ian began, his breathing heavy but this time for a completely different reason.
“Long overdue,” Mickey finished, his breath matching pace with Ian’s. “I didn’t mean to do that like this. You know in a shithole,” he said, gesturing to the disgusting alley.
“Our whole neighborhood is a shithole,” Ian pointed out causing Mickey to smile slightly. Ian couldn’t help himself as he pressed another kiss to Mickey’s lips before leaning back again. “Don’t think I’m not going to take advantage of being allowed to do that now.”
“Who says this ain’t a one-time thing, firecrotch?” Mickey asked, raising one of his very expressive eyebrows.
“Me,” Ian said simply and Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t move away from Ian. His expression then turned concerned once again.
“Feeling better?” Mickey asked and Ian nodded.
“Getting there,” Ian admitted, referring back to his Monica meltdown. “You helped quite a bit,” he said cheekily and Mickey just snorted. “Thanks, Mick,” Ian said and Mickey could hear all the sincerity behind his words. Mickey nodded and then sat back beside Ian, their shoulders pressed together as if they were afraid to not be touching each other.
“Don’t think you can’t come to me when you’re in trouble, Gallagher,” Mickey said. “I ain’t gonna fucking turn you away. Not you.” Ian nodded again and then leaned his head on Mickey’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to go home,” Ian admitted. Mickey leaned into Ian and nodded.
“Me either,” said Mickey as he thought about his father back on their worn-out couch.
“Monica has to go,” Ian whispered.
“I could make that happen, you know?” Mickey said casually. “I still have that uncle down at the foundry.” Ian jabbed him in the ribs, but Mickey knew he was smiling.
“No thanks,” Ian said with a sigh. “Murder wouldn’t look good on you.”
“Please,” Mickey scoffed, “everything looks good on me.”
“And off, too,” Ian added and that got Mickey’s attention. Ian was looking up at him and when Mickey met his eyes, he could see just a hint of mischief in his green eyes.
“Are you coming onto me, Gallagher,” Mickey said.
“Always,” Ian said as his hands pushed into Mickey’s dark hair.
“I ain’t havin’ you get on me in some back alley,” Mickey said. “I have standards, asshole.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have keys to the store,” Ian said with a lower voice. Mickey chewed on that thought for a second before jumping to his feet and dragging Ian with him.
“You are a fucking menace,” Mickey whispered to Ian who just beamed at him, and then Ian’s smile turned softer.
“So, I’m solid huh?” Ian asked, looking at Mickey who wasn’t running away for once.
“As stone,” Mickey agreed. “You’re gonna be just fine, Red. Monica issues or not, you,” he said, poking Ian in the chest, “are gonna be fine.” Ian could have cried then, but he settled on grabbing Mickey by his coat and kissing him hard. Mickey kissed him back, still trying to get used to the feel, but he figured he’d get the hang of it soon.
Ian pulled back first this time and smiled at Mickey, grateful that he had been the Milkovich sibling to answer the damn door. “Thanks,” he whispered.
“You already said that,” Mickey reminded him.
“And I’ll keep saying it, dumbass,” Ian teased and then began walking backward, gesturing to Mickey to follow him.
Mickey just smiled and jogged to catch up with Ian. As the two of them headed to the store, Mickey forced himself to watch where he was going because all he could focus on was that Ian was back to being Ian and he, Mickey, had helped bring that smile back. Cautiously, he took Ian’s hand for just a fraction of a second before letting go. It was brief, but Ian knew what it meant. Sure, he was solid, unmoving, but to Mickey, Ian was his rock, the one that kept him grounded when everything else was trying to pull him away and if he’d let him, Mickey also wanted to be that for Ian.
#Ian x Mickey#Ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#gallavich#shameless#shameless fics#shameless fanfiction#Ian and Mickey fics#Gallavich fanfic
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Riding High
Ch24: Kintsugi
Chapter Summary: Fliss has a final show down with her ex-John…
Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Very light smut…NSFW and NO UNDER 18s!!!
Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher
A/N: Please bear with me…I’m a Brit so don’t have a wonderful knowledge of the US Health service… thanks to those of you who helped me with this one, you know who you are… ;-)
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Chapter 23
If I never get to see the Northern Lights, or if I never get to see the Eiffel tower at night, oh if all I got his your hand in my hand, baby I could die a happy man.
Fliss stared at her ex-husband as she continued to reverse, until her back hit the side of the kitchen unit.
“No hello?” John asked, cocking his head to one side.
“How did you…” Fliss took a deep breath “How did you know I was here?”
“Guess” John said with a shrug as he looked around the kitchen, his cold grey eyes scanning the wooden units, matching counter tops and stainless steel appliances. He wrinkled his nose, the décor clearly not to his taste, before he turned back to Fliss. “It’s not that hard to figure out really, Sugar…”
Fliss swallowed as she stared at him, pondering whether or not screaming for Evelyn was the right thing to do. If she did so she alerted him to the fact that someone else was in the house, and risked riling him. He always hated it when she screamed. If she kept him talking, kept him calm, then Evelyn had to come downstairs at some point…surely…
Or at least she hoped.
She licked her lips and looked at John, giving him a shrug “How could you know I was back in the area?”
“I didn’t…” he said, “Not until this afternoon anyway…”
And then the penny dropped. And Fliss felt like such a fucking idiot.
“Richard…” she let out a breath, cursing herself for not even considering the fact that his brother could have been in the hospital.
“Clever girl…” John smiled “Turns out Orthopaedic Surgeons are in short supply…he was doing some Locum work and spotted you.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you got this address.”
“I didn’t. I followed you.”
“You…you followed me?” Fliss frowned “So you were what? Watching me at the hospital?”
“Watching the main door but…yeah…”
Fliss shook her head, a soft huff escaping her “You that desperate to see me John? Seriously…”
“Watch your mouth…” he said, sternly “You know I don’t like it when you take an attitude, Felicity.”
“You didn’t like anything full stop.” Fliss said, looking at him. “When I had an attitude, when I didn’t…”
“I won’t tell you again…” John stepped forward.
Fliss swallowed, she was scared, there was no denying that. But as she stared back at John’s face, she realised that something was different. It felt like a different fear. She was afraid of being hurt, yes, but she wasn’t afraid of John. It was strange, almost liberating in a way to know that, despite the fact she understood she was in a precarious position, the man in front of her held no power over her now.
She was free, free from his mental abuse, free from his hold. Because she had a new life, a new home, both with Frank and Mary. And a new love, a real love, a love that was gentle and nurturing and…fucking normal.
All John could do now was hurt her, physically, and if he gave her a beating…so fucking what?
She’d heal…just like she had before, but this time the only healing she’d need would be physical, because her soul and her mind had already mended. She was whole again, and no matter what he did or said John wouldn’t break her that way again.
She tipped her chin up to look at him, defiantly, and she saw the anger flick across his face. He hated it when she made eye contact with him like this, he saw it as challenging his authority.
Well that was exactly what she was fucking doing.
“You have no right to be here John.” she said, her voice calm and firm. “You’ll be back inside tomorrow…do yourself a favour and go home before your ankle bracelet sends a trip to say you’ve broken your curfew.”
John’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he looked at Fliss, before he gave a snort.
“I know full well what’s at stake.” he shrugged “I go back inside, serve the rest of my sentence…be out in another 2 years…I’ll track you down again.”
“Course you will.” Fliss said, shrugging “And then what? You come kick the shit out of me? And go back inside…it’ll be a never ending circle John, and for what?”
At that John’s hand raised and he back handed her straight across the face. It was enough to knock her side ways and she stumbled slightly, before she steadied herself and raised her hand to wipe the thin trickle of blood away from her split lip. Taking a look around she realised he’d inadvertently knocked her towards the door that led to the lounge. If she could just make it in there, she had a chance…a chance of out running him…maybe.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” he snarled and her attention flicked back to him as he strode towards her. “You’re mine…you always will be…”
“No I’m not.” she spat, glaring at him, standing her ground. “I don’t belong to anyone…”
“Not even Frank?” John looked at her and she shook her head.
“I love Frank, I don’t belong to him, there’s a difference.” she shook her head “I’m not a fucking possession, I’m his girlfriend…”
“You’re my Felicity…” John’s voice was gathering in pitch and volume, the way it always did when he was annoyed but Fliss felt nothing but anger in response at that fact that he still thought he had any claim to her whatsoever.
“I’m Frank’s Lissy…” she shot back
“YOU’RE MY WIFE!” John roared.
“NOT ANY MORE!” Fliss screamed back “You were the worst mistake of my life!”
John’s hand flew out and he gripped her chin, painfully, forcing her to look at him.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” he looked at her, shaking his head, his dark grey eyes flashing with rage.
“I’ll speak to you how I want…” Fliss grit through her teeth, as his left hand tightened its grip on her face before his right grabbed her wrist painfully and he twisted the joint sharply, an action she knew was designed to break it. As always, he stopped short of the point where he knew he would snap the bone and he looked at her curiously, as she stood stock still, not a whimper of pain nor a word of pleading or begging for him to stop slipped through from her lips. Instead she looked at him, and smiled.
“You can break every bone in my body and it won’t matter” she looked at him “Because you broke me, in a way I never thought possible, you isolated me, made me feel I was worth nothing. But you’re wrong. I’m worth everything!”
“And I suppose Frank tells you that?” John said, his hand twisting a little more.
“Yes he does.” she said simply “But more importantly, he makes me feel it. Because he loves me with everything he has. He’s gentle, kind, warm. He cares about me, how I am, how I feel. And that makes him ten times the man you’ll ever be.”
She knew that would rile him, and as she watched his face contorted into a snarl. The hand that was gripping her wrist let go and moved to the side ready to strike again, but Fliss lashed out with her foot and kicked him as hard as she could in the shin. John, having severely underestimated exactly how different Fliss now was, hadn’t been expecting that. She’d never hit back before. His hand released her wrist and Fliss turned on the spot and ran for the door. However, he was quicker and she felt him grab hold of her hair, and at that point she started to scream.
She screamed and screamed as she kicked out behind her, and with a sharp tug she was yanked backwards. John turned them both, sending her flying back into the kitchen where she stumbled and her head connected with the corner of the wooden unit. With a pop she felt the skin split on her temple and the warm flow of blood as it trickled down her face. Dazed, she began to push herself up, scrambling forward but John was there again, his hand once more fisting in her hair as he pulled her to her feet.
“You little bitch!” He snarled, his hands closing around her neck as he pushed her up against the wall, “I’ll fucking kill you…”
With that be began to squeeze her neck, the fury etched into every line of his face. Still fighting, Fliss hit out with everything she had, her hands connecting with his face, chest, shoulders, but the fact was he was simply too strong. As his grip tightened further, a silence started to wash over her, almost like she was floating, a sense she had felt once before when he had almost drowned her in the bath. But unlike then, she had something to fight for, something to live for. Or more specifically someone. She gripped at his fingers with her own, attempting to prise them off her throat but to no avail. So, instead she raised her knee, but the lack of oxygen was making her weak and John simply sneered, forcing his knees in between her legs, effectively rendering them useless.
The white spots started to float in front of her vision, and her mind flicked to Frank and Mary…before she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She allowed her lids shut and she clung to the image of her Sailor, of their little blonde-haired Short Stack…because she was damned if John’s face was going to be the last thing she ever saw.
But suddenly the pressure was gone and her throat opened again. Her legs buckled and she slumped to the floor coughing and spluttering as she took a huge, painful gasp of air. She continued to breathe deeply, her lungs felt like they were on fire, and then a pair of gentle hands softly came to rest on her cheeks.
“Fliss…” Evelyn spoke, looking at her, “It’s ok…you’re ok…”
Fliss coughed some more, Evelyn smoothing her hair back, speaking softly to her and as Fliss began to focus, her hand flew to her painful neck whilst her eyes fixed on the floor behind Evelyn. John lay face down, unmoving, fragments of shattered glass all over the floor, glistening in the soft kitchen lights. Fliss tried to speak, to ask Evelyn what had happened but her words wouldn’t form and the woman gently shook her head.
“Shhh” she soothed gently “Just breathe…”
“Police…” Fliss managed to croak and Evelyn nodded.
“Already on their way.” she said, “I called them as soon as I heard the screaming.”
The tears then began to sting Fliss’ eyes and Evelyn gently wrapped her arms around her as she shook, staring down at John on the floor. Fliss gave an involuntary gasp as she saw the crimson liquid billowing around his head like some kind of macabre halo. Evelyn turned to look at him and gave a tut.
“That’s not blood, more’s the pity, it’s Malbec. And a damned good one too. What a waste.” Evelyn sighed as Fliss looked at her, before both their eyes darted to John as he stirred a little on the floor. “Can you stand?” Evelyn said and Fliss nodded. Together they both rose, Evelyn keeping hold of Fliss as she was a little shaky, led her down the hallway where she grabbed two jackets from the coat stand along with a set of keys and led her outside, locking the door behind them. She sat Fliss down on the step and gently draped a jacket over her shoulder, before she pulled one on over the towelled robe she was wearing and sat next to her, not saying a word.
Before long the sounds of sirens filled their ears and Fliss glanced up to see a number of flashing lights in the distance. A police car zoomed up the drive and skidded to a halt just in front of where they sat. Evelyn gave Fliss’ shoulder a squeeze as she stood up to greet the officers and spoke to them both before one of them nodded and walked to Fliss, crouching down in front of her.
“Ma’am?” his voice was quiet and kind. Fliss looked at him and he gave her a soft smile “You wanna sit in the car whilst we go inside?”
“Yeah…” Fliss nodded. The officer helped her to her feet and walked her slowly down the steps, sitting her in the back of the car before he straightened up and spoke into his radio, before he looked at his colleague who gave him a nod. Evelyn said something and they followed her up the steps to the door which she unlocked and then moved back to allow the two men to step inside.
The rest of what happened was pretty much a blur to Fliss. She was aware of an ambulance arriving, and a paramedic checking her over, declaring that her neck would be sore for a while, as would her face…but Fliss knew that from various previous experiences of his beatings. However, the gash on her temple needed attention, or sutures to be specific. Evelyn assured the paramedic that she would have Fliss taken to the hospital to avoid them having to call another ambulance, and satisfied with that, the paramedic covered the wound temporarily and then headed into the house to where her colleague was attending to John.
The police spoke again to Fliss, this time asking her questions, and she explained what had happened. She told them how John had found her, how he had gotten into the house, how he had attacked her. The two officers were satisfied it was a pretty clear cut case of self-defence, especially as they had enough history on John as it was. He’d also broken his curfew too, which meant there was an instant warrant for his arrest even without this incident.
Eventually they wheeled John out of the house, he was moving and groaning slightly. Fliss followed him with her eyes before she heard Evelyn’s indignant voice hit her ears.
“Stay in the area in case you need to speak to me again? My son’s girlfriend has just been attacked, my granddaughter is currently in hospital recovering from an operation, where the hell do you think I’m going to go? Cape Fucking Verde for a holiday?”
Fliss turned to look at Evelyn, a small smile flickered across her face as the woman was glaring at the police officer, who was looking a little abashed at her fury.
“I know I’m not going to be winning any Mother of the Year prizes any time soon but give me some bloody credit…” Evelyn shook her head before as she glanced at Fliss and her face softened a little before she looked back at the police officer “Now, I’m going to go back into my house, get dressed and then how about you make yourself useful and drop us at the hospital so I don’t have to call my driver?”
*******
Frank was dozing in the chair when the door to Mary’s room opened. He looked up, blinking and frowned as he saw his Mother. She was dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a large, oversized knitted sweater.
“What…” he began to say but she jerked her head, gesturing for him to step outside the room. With a glance at Mary who was sleeping, he stood up and headed into the corridor.
“There’s been an incident…” Evelyn spoke.
“Incident, what do you mean?” he asked, before he realised she was on her own “Where’s Lissy?”
“She’s downstairs…” Evelyn said, her voice calm.
“Downstairs?” Frank’s brow furrowed as his throat went dry “What the fuck is going on?”
“Her ex-husband…” Evelyn said and Frank felt his chest constrict “He followed her home, got into the house…”
Frank let out a loud yell, and Evelyn softly touched his arm “She’s ok, Frank, just a few bruises…”
“I’ll fucking kill him.” Frank snarled and Evelyn shook her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll end up inside yourself!”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“No, it won’t.” Evelyn said simply “The police have him. But if it makes you feel any better I gave him a good whack on the back of the head with a wine bottle…”
Frank blinked, and he looked at his mother for a second, before his brain kicked in again.
“I need to see her…”
“Yes, I know.” she said “I’ll stay with Mary, you go. She’s down on the ER…”
“Ok…thanks…” He said, and without so much as a glance back he sprinted off towards the stairs, deciding not to wait for the elevator. He took the steps 2 at a time, ignoring the curious and occasionally annoyed glances he got from people he either dodged round or bumped into.
He burst out of the stairwell onto the ward and stopped, glancing around for someone to point him in the right direction when he did a double take as he saw a stretcher being wheeled in his direction, which was accompanied by a police officer and a security guard. He paused, and as it neared him he recognised the man on it instantly from the photo’s he had seen and felt the blood beginning to pound in his ears. Frank stood, stock still, chest heaving, fists clenching by his side as it came closer and then he got the first proper up-close look at the man who’d made his girl’s life hell. The group paused by the elevator opposite him and he watched as John looked round. When he spotted Frank his face fell into a look of recognition.
“Ah, here he is…” John smirked, “The boyfriend…”
Frank’s eyes locked onto John's steel grey ones, the sneer on the man's face grew wider, goading, taunting him as he continued to speak, making various comments about Fliss, and Frank made towards the gurney, his striding matching his mood, murderous. He was going to kill the bastard, rip him limb from limb.
But, as he crossed the linoleum floor, his Mother’s voice flickered in his head and then for some reason the warning she had departed less than 5 minutes earlier morphed into something Bill had said to him once as they had been sat outside with a beer…
"He's a master manipulator, Frank. Anything anyone gave him could and would find a way to use it, and that's the only thing that stopped me beating him within an inch of his life that evening, the fact that it might have jeopardised the case against him."
He stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. As it stood, John was fucked. He had breached his parole in countless ways and there was a fresh assault charge too. He was going back inside and he knew that, so he was trying to goad Frank into doing something stupid, something that would put him behind bars too, leaving Fliss broken. Because that's what this was about. Breaking Fliss. Frank knew that John would have realised by now that he couldn't break her in the way he once could. The card and calls would have proven that, which is why he sent the photo of Mary and why he was goading Frank.
He was going for the one area in which he knows she has a weakness. Her Achilles heel...the people she loved.
“What you stopping for?” John practically yelled as a police officer told him to shut up. “You know she told me before how gentle you are with her…we all know how rough she likes it at times…”
Frank's chest heaved as John's taunts about Fliss continued to ring in his ears. As some further crude remark about her bedroom antics hit his consciousness Frank clenched his fist, simply trying to think of something to say, something that left the cunt in no uncertain terms as to why exactly he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, and be goaded into kicking 7 bells of shit out of him...
And then he suddenly why should he?
If he gave the bastard the satisfaction of realising that the very thing Frank wanted to do he couldn't then he was letting John gain a victory. A small one, but a victory none the less...
And Frank was giving him fuck all, well, almost fuck all. Because there was one thing he could do that would show the bastard the utter level of contempt he deserved.
In a flash Frank lunged forward, and as the officer by John's bed stepped into his path, Frank leaned round him, snapped his head back, and spat right in John's face.
There was a moment’s pause before John yelled out, jerking the hand that wasn't cuffed to the bed to his face, screaming every name under the sun at Frank who took a step back as the police officer sternly gave him a warning.
"You're an irrelevant sack of shit." Frank snarled, looking at John, before he backed away completely, hands up in surrender to the officer who was pushing him back.
"That the best you got?" John yelled, "what about the promise you made to my brother, about killing me if I came near your family or her?"
At that Frank let out a bark of a laugh "I never said I'd kill you, just put you in hospital...but looks like my mother beat me to it. How does that feel, huh, ass hole? Being put in here by a 65 year old woman?"
Another growl of rage and this time the police officer turned to Frank "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave...I'm assuming you're Miss Gallagher's partner?"
Shit...Fliss... he needed to be with her. She was far more important.
He nodded to the officer "I'm going..." and the man gave him a curt nod as he turned to leave.
“How does it feel to know Felicity will never be over me?" John's voice continued to follow him as he walked. "That she's so broken and ruined? She ran from Boston even when I wasn't there anymore, what does that tell you, huh?”
Oh now that really was pathetic! A desperate, final shot and Frank barked out a laugh as he turned around, folding his arms.
"Kintsugi." He said simply "Ever heard of it? It's an ancient Japanese art form. Broken ceramics, things like that are fixed with a glue laced with powdered gold. The repaired item is different, but no less beautiful than it was before, often even more so in some eyes." Frank shrugged with a smile "And that's Fliss. Is she the same person she was before she met you? Probably not…but I tell you something I will love the person she is now for a lifetime."
John's face slipped, and in that moment Frank knew he had won. He had refused to give John any semblance of control and he couldn't help the satisfied smirk that spread across his face.
"But you are right about one thing." Frank added "She did run. And she ran to South Pass, where I met her...so for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
John sat still for a moment before he jerked up and began to try and get off the gurney, screaming threats of murder and whatever else he could conjure. Frank smirked as the police officers all piled in to restrain John, and he took one last look before he turned and strode away. Beating John on a cerebral level might not have given Frank the physical relief of kicking the crap out of him, but he knew that his words would stick with him much longer than a few broken bones and that was far more satisfying.
Frank eventually stopped a Nurse who kindly directed him to where he could find Fliss and he strode onto the ward where he headed towards the minor treatment room at the back. He yanked the door open and saw a Doctor was gently examining her temple which now sported a cut and a few stitches. But that wasn’t what got to Frank, it was the finger shaped bruises that covered her neck which made his breath hitch and he looked at Fliss as her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Honey…” he stuttered out and crossed the room. The doctor tactfully stepped away and Frank dropped onto the bed next to her as he pulled her to him and she buried her face into his neck as he pressed a kiss to the top of the head. He looked at the Doctor who gave him a small nod before he left the room, closing the door. Frank couldn’t think of anything to say, nor did he actually trust his voice at this moment so he simply held her close, his face pressed into her hair. Eventually he felt her pull back slightly, and he glanced down at her, taking her face in her hands.
“Let me see you…” he said gently, his eyes scanning the injuries he hadn’t already noticed and saw that her right eye was slightly swollen, and there was an angry red mark on her cheek which was going to bruise. She raised her right hand to gently place her hand over his and he saw the angry marks around her wrist too.
“I’m so sorry….” Frank looked at her, his eyes filling with tears.
“Hey…” Fliss said softly, her voice was raspy as her hands cupped his cheeks “This is not your fault.”
Frank shook his head, closing his eyes as Fliss gently placed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I fought back” she said, pulling away to look at him “Something I would never have had the courage to do if it hadn’t been for you. The last year we’ve spent together, you taught me I was worth so much more, and knowing that today…well, I wasn’t the same meek old little lamb he used to knock about.”
“The lamb became a lion, huh?” Frank smiled, brushing her hair back.
“Something like that.” Fliss shrugged “And he’s going back in side. The Police reckon he’ll serve the original 2 years he had left and be looking at another couple for Assault, violation of his probation terms, breaking his curfew…”
“With a bit of luck someone will kill him when he’s inside.” Frank spat and Fliss arched her eyebrow. “Sorry…” he said as she smiled, and shook her head. “I love you.” he said again after a moment’s pause, his forehead pressing against hers “I don’t ever want to be without you. Ever.”
“You won’t be.” she looked at him “I promise.”
Frank smiled again, giving her a soft kiss before he pulled her back into her arms and she sighed, the tension in her shoulders, melting away at his embrace.
It wasn’t too long before the doctor came back and stated that, provided Fliss had someone at home, he was happy to discharge her. Frank assured him that she wouldn’t be alone and so, with care sheet that Fliss really didn’t need they both made their way back up to Mary’s room…well, that is after Frank made Fliss face up to the one call she didn’t want to make…
Bill was absolutely raging when he found out what was happening, so much so Fliss couldn’t deal with speaking to him so she passed the phone to Frank who had thankfully found his calm head at this point. After he spoke to Fliss’ dad, he managed to convince him not to hop on the next available flight, instead told them to come tomorrow when Mary had been discharged and things had calmed down a little. He knew it was slightly hypocritical, given the way he had hot footed immediately to Boston to be with Mary, but Fliss had begged him to put them off for at least a night as she was talked out after being interviewed by the police and wanted to rest. With a final gruff goodbye, Bill hung up and Frank curled his arm round Fliss as they walked towards Mary’s room.
They had been back in there for about 5 minutes when the Ward Sister appeared and at first was rather shitty with Frank at the fact Mary’s room was sporting 2 additional visitors out of bounds, until she spotted Fliss’ injuries. Her demeanour softened slightly but she was still insistent that Fliss and Evelyn needed to leave, but did allow them to wait in the room instead of the main reception until their car arrived.
Frank didn’t want his girl out of his sight, he wanted nothing more than to hold her all night long, humming songs into her ear the way he often did when they were huddled together, making her laugh as he changed the lyrics to various songs to include her name, his, Mary’s, Thor’s, Fred’s Cap’s, Heidi’s…or whoever else came to mind. He wanted her safe in his arms, wanted to be there when she woke up, but he knew she needed a good rest and even if she could stay, she wouldn’t get that on a camp bed. So, when the time came he reluctantly released her from where she had been sat on his lap and after she gently dropped a kiss on Mary’s head, the girl having slept through all of this, he followed them out into the corridor.
Evelyn turned to Frank but before she could speak he swept her into a hug and pressed his face into her hair, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.
“Thank you.” he said softly, before he released her. Evelyn stepped back, tears in her eyes as she gave him a small smile then turned to the elevator, leaving him to say goodnight to Fliss.
“Get some rest…and if you need me for anything, if you can’t sleep…whatever, call me ok?” he asked, his large hands gently cupping her face. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” she said softly as his lips met hers in a soft but lingering kiss. He pressed his forehead to hers, their noses gently bumping against one another before she smiled and stepped away “I’ll see you tomorrow.
He held her hand for as long as he could, her fingers gently slipping out of his until eventually her hand was free and she turned and headed after Evelyn. He stood watching until they were in the elevator, giving them both one last wave before he turned back into the room. Once in there he cast a look at Mary before he slumped down on the chair he’d been in, the weariness seeping into every bone in his body as he bent forward, arms resting on his knees, face buried into his hands and he began to cry.
****
Frank climbed out of the car and lifted Mary onto his hip as he followed his Mother and Fliss into the cool hallway and he set Mary down and looked around his once childhood home. It looked, smelt, felt the same. He could almost see Diane sliding down the banister, him catching her at the bottom until their stepfather found them and threatened to flay them both alive if he caught them doing it again for fear of them breaking their necks. He could remember playing basketball on the large drive after Walter put a hoop up for him over the garage, the long nights of homework in the study, essays his mother made him re-write over when they weren’t good enough, always groaning when he was told it was time to practice his piano…he doubted he could even remember a single scale now, what a waste of time and money…
“Why don’t you go get some sleep.” Fliss looked at him, and her voice once again made him want to cry. It was so soft and croaky, but the doctor had said it might take a week or so for her vocal chords to recover. Another reminder of what the fucker had done to her. “I’ll wake you in a few hours when it’s time to go get Mum and Dad.”
“You’re in your old room.” Evelyn said gently
Frank nodded and turned to Mary. “Don’t be running around like a lunatic, you heard what the doctor said.”
Mary looked at him, her hands on her hips “I’m not stupid.”
“Jury’s out.” he teased and she glared at him.
“We’ll watch some TV.” Fliss assured him, her hand rubbing at his back.
“Was kinda hoping you’d come lay with me.” he said softy.
“That sounds like a good idea.” Evelyn nodded, “Me and Mary can occupy ourselves.”
“Oh, can we do some of those equations…”
Frank glared at Evelyn, who held her hands up “I haven’t once made her do maths…”
“They were in a book I found.” Mary looked at Frank. “They look really interesting…”
“Frank…” Fliss soothed “If she wants to do Math, what harm is it gonna do? She’s gonna be missing a few weeks of school.”
“Fine.” he sighed “But…oh,I dunno, just…”
He trailed off shaking his head, he was too beat to argue anymore. He turned and headed up the stairs without another word.
“Is he mad at me?” Mary asked, her eyes wide.
“No, honey of course not.” Fliss shook her head, her hand cupping Mary’s cheek “He’s just tired, it’s been a long few days…”
“Are you feeling ok now? Frank told me you got attacked but I wasn’t supposed to ask you, but I wanted to…”
“I’m fine.” Fliss assured her. “Just bruised…nowhere near as much recovery to do as you.”
Satisfied Mary nodded and Evelyn told her to go and sit on the sofa and Fliss headed upstairs. Frank was already in the shower by the time she got into the room so she kicked off her trainers and flicked on the TV, absentmindedly watching the news channel that filled the screen. She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the closed door of the en-suite. She knew Frank was hurting, beating himself up about both her and Mary, and there was nothing to do other than let him sleep for a while and hopefully wake with a clear head.
Her mind began to wander back over the last 12 months and everything they’d been through. From nearly not actually getting together thanks to his little Friday night fuck with Bonnie, to that day she had bared her soul, told him everything. With a fond smile she remembered how he’d held her that night, the way he’d tenderly washed her in the shower when she was too broken to do anything herself…and then an idea came to her. Maybe she could show him some of that strength he always provided her.
She stripped off, adjusted her pony tail so her hair was piled up on her head, out of the way, and walked into the en-suite, casting a look as Frank was in the large cubicle, his head bowed, water beating down on him. His head turned to look at her and he gave her a questioning look as she stepped in next to him.
“Lissy?” he asked, and she gently took his hands, lacing her fingers into his before she stood on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss.
“Turn round.” she said softly.
He did as he was told, his back to her and she gently slid her hands up his back and began to work at his shoulders which were ever so tense. With a soft sigh he relaxed into her touch, her thumbs working at the stiff muscles along the blades and his neck. He rolled his head from side to side, and stayed still, hissing slightly as she hit a particularly bad spot but then told her not to stop as she eased off. It was bliss. Eventually he felt her touch lighten before she instructed him to stay where he was, reaching round for the shampoo that was hooked on the shelves at the side. She began to massage his scalp, her nails scratching at his skin and he gave a soft moan tipping his head back. When she was done he turned, rinsing off and then glancing down he gave Fliss a soft smile as he dipped his head and kissed her softly.
“Feeling better?” she asked and he smiled, nodding.
“Should be me doing that for you.” he said softly, and she shook her head.
“Frank, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t mean to be so crabby.” he sighed, and she shrugged.
“You’re tired.” she said, reaching behind him to turn the water off. “Tell me honestly, how much sleep did you get?”
“3, maybe 3 and a half hours” he sighed as she stepped out of the cubicle and wrapped herself in a robe, handing him a towel. He quickly dried himself off, wrapped it around his waist and followed her into the bed room. Fliss picked up her phone and smiled.
“Mum and Dad are at the airport already.” she said, “They’ll be here in about 5 hours…which means you can get some sleep.”
Frank nodded before he pulled the towel away, slipped on a pair of clean boxers and then roughly rubbed at his hair. Fliss laughed softly as he emerged, his dark brown strands stuck up everywhere and she moved over, smoothing them down with her hands. Once they were finished they both slipped under the duvet and she gestured so that Frank could lay his head on her chest. She softly placed a kiss to his forehead, her fingers running through his hair.
Less than 10 minutes later, he was out for the count.
He slept for a good 3 hours and when he woke he felt a lot better. Things slid into perspective a little. Yes, John had hurt Fliss, but she was ok, and he was out of their lives. Yes, Mary had been taken ill, but the operation on the whole had been small all things considering and in a week or so post a final check-up she should be cleared to fly home. Alan had messaged him telling him not to worry about work, so he knew he could stay with Mary here until the time was right, and his mother wasn’t irritating him half as much as he thought she would. In fact, she was being positively maternal, making him a sandwich and a coffee, fussing over him as he sat at the table in the kitchen. Another time it might have freaked him out but not now. He knew something had shifted over the last 48 hours and so he wasn’t going to dwell on it, he was going to simply let it roll. Whilst she was playing ball, so would he.
Frank declined Evelyn’s offer of sending a driver for Bill and Verity, because he knew Fliss would want to be there in person, and as did he. So at just after 3 and an argument with Mary about the fact she was absolutely not going with them on account of her needing to recover, to which she had replied some smart arsed remark about Fliss also being hurt, which his mother had simply stepped in and uttered a line he had heard so many times growing up ‘you do as we say, not as we do…” she stropped off to the living room, seething and that had allowed them to slip out, borrowing his mother’s Mercedes SUV for the trip.
It wasn’t a long drive through to Logan, and they chatted away as they headed over into the city, Fliss smiling and telling him how much she was looking forward to New York, that is if Mary was ok enough to go. Frank had assured her she would be, the recovery time wasn’t that long and knew full well Mary would have a tantrum to end all tantrums if he stated it was a no-go. Besides, he himself had big plans for that trip. There was no way in hell they were missing it.
They parked up, strode through to the arrivals and bought themselves a coffee, settling down to wait and it was about half an hour later Fliss’s eyes flicked to a spot over his shoulder and she gave a huge grin. She pushed her chair back and jogged across the lounge, throwing herself at her father.
“Oh, Titch…” Bill mumbled into her hair, his voice cracking as she wrapped her arms round him and Verity joined them, the 3 of them embracing. Frank hung back a little, until Verity waved him over and he walked over, giving V a hug before he shook Bill’s hand, the man pulling him into a huge embrace. He didn’t miss the angry look on Bill’s face as he took in Fliss’ injuries, nor the tears in Verity’s but neither of them said anything about it. As they all moved to head to the exit, Frank offered to take their case, but Bill declined.
“Not quite over the hill yet, Frank.” he teased and Frank laughed.
“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting so.” he grinned as they made their way over towards the car.
“How’s Mary?” Verity asked, as Frank opened the trunk to allow Bill to toss his bag in.
“Still a pain in the ass.” Frank said, and Verity scoffed.
“You leave my little Pudding alone.” she said.
“She had a tantrum.” Fliss grinned “Frank made her stay home to rest. She didn’t appreciate being left behind.”
“Clearly desperate to see me.” Bill said simply, as Fliss told him to get into the front passenger seat. “Everyone knows I’m her favourite.”
“That’s because you ruin her.” Frank said simply. Bill shrugged, a smirk on his face.
“Isn’t that what Granddads do?” he asked. Frank smiled, and looked at him as Bill’s smirk grew wider and Frank sighed.
“What did you bring her?”
“Nothing…” he protested, “Well, except a new pair of Tigger Pyjamas and a few books…”
Frank rolled his eyes “Like I said, ruined.”
The drive home was pleasant. Frank took the long way round so that Bill and Verity who, despite Fliss having lived here for some time, had never spent long in the city because of John, could see the sights. They made arrangements to have a day out, Fliss gushing about the shops she could visit to buy some stuff for New York, Frank smiling at her in the rear-view mirror, before he glanced at Bill, the man’s jovial nature seemed to be ebbing away with each mile they drove.
Once they arrived back home, Fliss led Verity up the steps to the house whilst Frank hung back with Bill, heading to the trunk. As soon as the women were inside, Bill rounded on him.
“What the fuck happened?” he said, his eyes searching Frank’s “How did he find her?”
Frank took a deep breath and explained all about Richard tipping him off, how he had followed her, how she wasn’t alone but his mother was upstairs, how she’d stupidly not closed the door properly, how Fliss had fought him back, but he’d still overpowered her until his Mother had smashed a bottle over his head. He didn’t miss the pained expression that crossed Bill’s face as the large man simply shook his head a growl erupting from his throat.
“I’m so sorry Bill.” Frank hung his head, and at that Bill’s eyes turned to see the man in front of him, looking down at his feet.
“Sorry?” Bill frowned “What the hell are you sorry for?”
“I wasn’t there…I should have kept her safe…”
“You weren’t there because your little girl was in hospital.” Bill said, looking at him. “Frank, you couldn’t have been in two places at once…”
“She wouldn’t have been in Boston if it wasn’t for me…I should have made her stay home…”
“Right, you listen to me…” Bill said, his hand gripping Frank’s shoulder. “Look at me Frank.”
Frank turned his head up to look at Bill, who stared straight back.
“You DO NOT blame yourself, Son.” Bill shook his head. “You hear me? Christ knows I tortured myself for long enough about keeping her safe. She’s my daughter and…” he trailed off, his own eyes misting up. “But one thing I realised over the last few years, this is no one’s fault but his.”
Frank sniffed and looked away. He knew Bill was right, but that still didn’t ease the enormous ball of guilt he felt in his gut.
“You said she fought back?” Bill said and Frank nodded. “Well, if you want any evidence of exactly how much you have kept her safe that’s it right there…she’s a different person. She’s the old Fliss, the one we knew way back before he ever turned up.” Bill wiped at his eyes as he glanced at the house then back to Frank. “And I cannot begin to thank you for the change we’ve seen in her.”
“Me?” Frank frowned.
“Yes, you.” Bill insisted “None of us can go back, Frank. The only thing we can do is move forward and you’ve helped her do that. You’ve given her something, something else to focus on other than her work and memories…” he took a deep breath, his hand falling back to Frank’s shoulder, his eyes locking onto his “…and when the time comes, I want you to know you don’t need to ask my permission, because there’s no one else on this earth I’d trust more than you to care for her for the rest of her life.”
Bill’s words sunk in and Frank looked at him, his eyes misting over before the man pulled him in for a fatherly hug, gently slapping his back.
“Right, now that’s over with…” Bill stepped away, turning for his bag “Please tell me your mother has some decent scotch because fuck do I need a stiff drink.”
******
None of them stayed up late that night. They retired to bed at little after 9 and Fliss snuggled up next to Frank, her head laying on his chest. The only problem with that, was that Frank then woke at 3 the next morning, and couldn’t get back to sleep. He glanced at Fliss who was fast asleep besides him and gently climbed out of bed. The chilly air hit him and he shivered slightly, grabbing a t-shirt off the side which he shrugged on before he headed down stairs to grab a bottle of water. As he reached the bottom steps the soft sound of classical music hit his ears and there was a chink of light flowing from underneath the study door. He knew instantly it was his mother. He headed into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and was about to head back upstairs when he paused, his eyes drifting to the study door. He hesitated, before he made his decision and walked back gently pushing it open.
Evelyn looked up, frowning slightly “Frank?”
“Needed a drink, saw the light was on.” he said simply “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Something like that.” she mused.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
With a soft smile she beckoned him over and he walked into the room, noticing for the first time she had a photo album open. Frank peered down and felt his own smile creep across his face as he looked at the photo of him, along with his Mother, Father and Diane on Francis Street Beach in Nantucket. It was the year before his Father died.
“I remember that trip.” Frank said softly. “Spur of the moment decision to go for a long weekend in the holidays. Dad capsized the kayak on purpose because I kept splashing him.”
“You were so excited to go.” Evelyn smiled. “Because the beach had the same name as you.”
Frank huffed a laugh.
“I know you’ve heard me say this countless times but you really are ridiculously like Preston.” Evelyn looked at him and Frank looked down at her as he straightened back up, cracking open the bottle of water he had. “Seeing you with Fliss…” she trailed off and sighed, “I loved Walter...but it was nothing compared to how I felt about your father.”
Frank looked at her, as she gently ran her hand over the photo on the page “I often wonder if he had still been here how different things would have been, but then I remind myself that he was-“ she trailed off and stopped dead. “Anyway, no point-“
“He was what?” Frank frowned.
“Nothing…”
“Mother.” he said sternly. Evelyn looked at him and he stared straight back before she took a deep breath and hung her head slightly.
"He was leaving me. He said he didn't love me anymore...hadn't for a while and once the issue with Diane’s schooling was sorted, he was moving out."
Frank blinked. That had surprised him because as far as he had been aware his mother and father had been solid as a rock until his Fathers accident. He looked at his mother who was looking back down at the photo album, her face sad…and suddenly to Frank it all made sense.
"That's why you wanted to hurt me, all the business with Mary?" Frank looked at her, folding his arms and Evelyn shifted slightly "Because I hurt you first. I left you, just like dad?"
Evelyn sighed "I'm not proud if it...but yes, I expect some psychologist could boil it down to that. But, it wasn’t all about hurting you Frank…I failed Diane and when I heard about Mary, how she had inherited your sister’s talents…I saw it as a perfect opportunity to try and make amends”
Frank rubbed at his eyes. He didn’t have it in him to be angry about any of this. Maybe last year, but not now. His mother had simply confirmed what he had suspected, but he was glad she’d admitted it finally. That it had been partly spite, and partly because she accepted some responsibility over Diane. Evelyn wasn’t to blame for Diane’s death, he knew that and would never in a million years dream of accusing her of such, but Diane had suffered from a mental illness which Evelyn had chosen to ignore. But he now understood that she hadn’t been ignoring it because she thought it was a weakness, she had feared it.
“I'm not proud of how I behaved Frank” Evelyn looked at him and his eyes flickered back to her. “Far from it. But knowing Mary now, I'm not sure I'd change it because...I love her. And I'm glad she’s in my life. And you too for that matter.”
“What’s done is done.” he said gently, “I’m tired of being angry and bitter about it.”
“Me too.” Evelyn said.
“Well…” Frank said, thinking back to what Bill had said to him earlier “There’s nothing we can do about the past. I suppose it’s how we choose to deal with things going forward that matters.”
Kintsugi…
Evelyn looked at him “That’s very philosophical” she teased and Frank gave a chuckle.
“Old habits die hard.” he shrugged before he sighed "Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly, “About Dad?”
"Preston was your hero.” Evelyn looked at him, smiling softy “And rightly so, he was an amazing man. And I thought you deserved to at least have some good memories of one parent"
Frank looked at her as she held his gaze, her words echoing around his brain. She’d been trying to protect him, behaving again in a way that she thought was best. Shielding him from hurt and anger and pain.
Being a mom.
With a soft nod he acknowledged her point and with a final smile he bid her goodnight and headed upstairs. Slipping back into bed, he gently pressed a kiss to Fliss’ neck, holding her close to his chest, simply laying still, and then she shifted and turned to face him.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked softly and she shook her head.
“No, but I woke up and you weren’t here…” she yawned as he brushed her waves off her face, his thumb gently skating her bruised cheek “Where did you go?”
“To grab a drink. Then I was talking to Mother.”
“Everything ok?” Fliss asked and he took a deep breath, nodding.
“Yeah, yeah I think it is, or at least it will be.”
She smiled softly at him in the dim light and he dipped his head to kiss her gently, his hand dropping to her hip. She moved closer, tipping her pelvis up to meet his and he gave a sigh into her mouth as he felt her rub up against his crotch.
“You want something?” he asked, and she gave a soft chuckle.
“You gonna make me beg?” she asked.
“Never, baby girl…” he smiled, rolling her over onto her back.
Before long they were both naked, sharing kisses, soft teasing touches. Frank’s mouth softly caressed her bruised neck, her collar bone before moving down to her breasts, lavishing affection at her pebbled nipples causing her to arch her back, pressing into his touch. He loved the way she keened underneath him, her body begging him for more, so needy and so ready for him. When neither of them could stand it any longer, both aching for one another, Frank’s hands gently cupped her face as he pushed into her, causing her to gasp slightly. He gently rolled his hips, his movements slow, deep, rocking into her as opposed to thrusting, not wanting any inch of his body to be away from hers.
It was slow, soft and quiet. Everything about it was pure love and affection, not for one single moment about chasing that surge of ecstasy. But when that relief inevitably came, Fliss head tipped back in a silent cry, as Frank nuzzled at her jaw with his nose before he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply before he himself came, hard, with a surge that he wasn’t quite sure he’d felt before. As they lay there, tangled around one another, soft kisses and touches being shared in the afterglow, Frank found himself wondering just how on Earth she kept managing to make him fall deeper in love with her by the day.
He knew he would probably never get the answer to that, but he didn’t care. All he knew was this woman was his world, his home.
And he was going to make her his wife.
****
Chapter 25
#riding high#frank adler#frank adler x ofc#frank adler x original female character#gifted#gifted fan fic#chris evans#chris evans characters
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could you do 38??
I can 👀 [not accepting more prompts]
Getting into the party had been easy enough.
Percy, in a dark blue Italian suit, exited the town car and held out his hand for Annabeth, who climbed out wearing a silver v-neck cocktail dress.
“Did I mention how beautiful you look, Mrs. Carmichael?” he asked as they walked up to the front door.
Annabeth squeezed his arm lightly. “Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. I must say, you look quite handsome yourself.”
They smiled at each other as they strolled right past the security guards along with a small crowd of other party guests who they followed through the house and into a large ballroom. After twenty minutes of champagne and mingling with other guests, they made their way to the north west corner of the room and gave the signal.
Frank, dressed as a waiter on the other side of the room, pulled his clumsy act and dropped a tray full of champagne glasses near the party’s host, a retired General. The General’s security team rushed forward to attend to their employer creating a window for Percy and Annabeth to sneak past the velvet rope that blocked off the stairs.
Leo, who sat out in a decoy catering van, led Percy and Annabeth through the labyrinthian home until they reached their destination: the General’s private office.
“If you had to guess,” Percy asked as he looked through a series of files in the desk’s bottom right drawer. “How much would you say the Agency’s clothes budget is?”
Annabeth huffed as she scanned the titles on a bookshelf, clearly not finding what she was looking for. “I don’t know, a few million maybe?”
“And these wedding rings they got us, how much do you think they were?”
“Well mine is a ten carat diamond with a diamond platinum band so probably half a million, maybe more.”
“Unbelievable,” Percy said as he shook his head and started in on a new file. “I gotta ask for a raise.”
Annabeth smiled over her shoulder at him, as her hand pulled a leatherbound copy of Atlas Shrugged. “The six figures just not cutting it for you anymore?”
Percy laughed. “It’s about the principal, Annabeth. Those suits sit in an air conditioned office all day and we’re out in the field doing all the leg work.”
Annabeth turned around with a smug smile, revealing the hollowed out book with a flash drive inside. “Now that you mention it, I could go for a raise right now too.”
“How’d you know what book to grab?” Percy asked as he continued looking through files.
Annabeth leaned against the desk as she slipped the flash drive into the inside of her dress. “The reports Chiron gave us said the General is working on something called The Atlas Project,” she said with a shrug. “Seemed obvious.”
Percy set down the file he was going through and dropped his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?”
He dug through the small pile of papers he built, pulling out a file at the very bottom and held it up for Annabeth to see. “That was the first fucking file I grabbed.”
Annabeth laughed. “How have you survived the job this long?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say my charm and quick wit.”
Annabeth scrunched up her face and shook her head. “No, that can’t be it.”
Percy rolled his eyes and shoved the file into Annabeth’s hands. She folded it up and put it into her clutch as he began putting the other files away when the sound of at least three gruff voices began carrying down the hallway.
“Fuck!” they both quietly said in unison, rushing to shove the left over papers back into the drawer.
They scanned the room but couldn’t find any reasonable exits, leaving them totally exposed as the sounds of the voices seemed to be just outside the door.
“They’re coming. Kiss me!” Annabeth said in a stage whisper as she grabbed Percy’s jacket and pulled him to her.
Percy responded immediately, hooking his arms under Annabeth’s thighs and lifting her onto the desk in one fluid motion as their lips stayed locked. He tore his jacket off and tossed it aside as Annabeth undid the first three buttons of his shirt and pushed her dress strap off her shoulder.
Percy dragged his lips down to Annabeth’s neck, his hands sliding up the sides of her thighs just as the office door swung open.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” one voice asked.
The couple pulled apart and looked up to see a man their intel identified as the head of security, Thorn, blocking the doorway. He stepped into the room as his two companions matched his movement to take up Percy and Annabeth’s only exit.
Annabeth instinctually tilted her head, and began twisting one of her ringlets around her finger before playfully smacking Percy’s chest. “Babe, I told you we were gonna get in trouble for this!”
Percy shrugged at the three large men conspiratorially. “I’m really sorry, guys, but I mean, can you blame me?”
The men all looked at Annabeth and then each other. They all shook their heads with dismissive smiles, and Thorn nodded to his men who then cleared the path.
“Get out of here, you two,” Thorn said, giving a supportive wink.
Percy helped Annabeth down from the desk, picking up his jacket from the floor as she pulled down her dress, then offering her his arm to escort her out of the room.
As they calmly walked back downstairs, Percy could feel his heart still thundering in his chest.
“That was, um… something,” he says, hoping his voice sounded more composed than it felt.
Annabeth cleared her throat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you know what they say at the Academy: the best way to stay alive is authenticity in everything you do.”
Percy nodded in agreement, and decided to take a leap. “Well, since it seems like the Carmichaels are gonna be around for a while, maybe later we could, I don’t know… work on our technique. You know, just to be more convincing. For next time.”
Annabeth looked down and did her best to bite back a smile but failed tremendously. “You know, I think that’s probably best. Chiron did say this mission would be a long one so probably best to be practical.”
“Practical. Exactly,” Percy agreed.
“Listen, I’m as excited as the next guy that this is finally happening but can we get out of here before something goes wrong?” Leo said over the comm system.
They exchanged a quick glance, something small and unspoken passing between them.
“Shall we, Mrs. Carmichael?” Percy asked, gesturing towards the mansion’s front door.
Annabeth smiled playfully. “Mr. Carmichael, are you trying to seduce me?”
And as Frank pulled the catering van out onto the main road while complaining about the lack of dairy free dessert options at the party, and Leo sat at his monitors mumbling about being the greatest hacker alive, Percy and Annabeth sat silently with their hands intertwined, as the hope of something authentic bloomed between them.
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strawberries & cigarettes by troye whatshisface but it's winteriron (idk if this is a prompt or just a statement you can take it as either)
Bucky doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to a stupid fucking private school. He doesn’t like that this is his mother’s sacrifice, that she stays up late with the bills and works another job so that he can go there and make a living.
He doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life, that’s the thing. Mom thinks that he’s going to be a really good businessman and she doesn’t know that he smokes outside his window and sometimes just doesn’t retain any sort of information at school because he has to be good.
“I sacrifice so much for you,” she tells him one night. “You need to make a good living for yourself. Promise me.”
And he does. Hell if he knows how he’s going to keep it, but that’s the promise.
-
The one kid that he absolutely hates at school is Tony Stark. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a whole silverware drawer at the ready in case he doesn’t like the spoon.
Tony’s kind of wealth is the kind that is so astronomically high that at some point you have to wonder what it means to him. Because it doesn’t seem to mean anything.
He shows up in the shittiest sneakers he’s ever seen, held together with tape and drawn on by someone else. His hair is never styled, his uniform is never washed, and yet he just exudes that kind of confidence that comes with knowing that your life is better than anyone else’s, kind of.
He’s also an ass in class. Correcting teachers, derailing the topic, and acting like it all is beneath him.
They say he’s a genius, going to take over his father’s company. He has his future set in stone, and so there’s nothing else for him to learn. Bucky’s not really sure if he’s a genius or not, because he’s pretty sure a genius could figure out when to leave shit alone.
Everyone at St. Anthony’s knows that Bucky is an individual who does well on his own. At most, you say hello and move on. He doesn’t talk to anyone, he makes sure he doesn’t look like he talks to anyone, and he’s said multiple times that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
Tony Stark, however, talks. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, he talks.
Bucky gets nicknames. Because of his...frigid demeanor, this means that Tony calls him shit like “Ice Pop,” “Icicle,” “Mr. Freeze,” and any other nickname that’s applicable to cold.
“Hey Snowball,” Tony says in class. “You finished with your presentation for English class? Mine still sucks, although I’m sure it’ll be better than Hammer’s.”
“That’s not saying a lot,” Bucky mutters. “At all. Now shut up. It’s class.”
“We all know it’s going to be boring,” Tony says. “Sitwell has the personality of a tumbleweed, and you’re so much more interesting to talk to.”
Bucky doesn’t respond to that.
“Ah, so we’re at the no-talking stage, darling. I’ll make it up to you. Ice cream? Dinner? Elaborate cruise trip in summer?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony quiets for roll call, but says one last comment.
“I think I’m going to do the presentation in Comic Sans. Thoughts?”
“I wish you didn’t have thoughts, then maybe you’d leave me alone.”
Tony laughs.
“You’re cute, Barnes. Cute. You know I don’t leave anyone alone.”
-
There’s a bad day. Bucky gets those sometimes. Every day of his life is a bad day, almost, but this one? The absolute worst.
He had nightmares, barely got any sleep, and found out that his little sister used up the last of his shampoo, so he had to use his mom’s and now he smells like “Strawberry Paradise.”
He hates the day, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet.
Tony Stark, of course, makes it worse. He talks incessantly about something related to robotics or the weather or music or whatever, and Bucky just sees red.
"Can you shut up for one fucking second of your life?” he hisses at him. “Oh my fucking god, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters at all to me.”
-
Tony’s heard a lot of shit like that. Like, a lot. Probably worse.
But for some reason, it’s hurting more coming from Bucky Barnes.
Tony doesn’t shut up. He knows that. Everyone knows that. He has legitimately given people headaches. His dad has timed his talking and limited him to about two minutes. It would’ve been even less, but at family therapy they’re trying to work on “empathy for others.”
(A crock of bullshit, because Tony’s fairly sure his dad doesn’t know what that is.)
Bucky’s...he’s different. Sure, he hates Tony. Everyone does, and to be completely frank, Tony likes it that way. You know where you stand, how you can be interpreted if people only feel one thing about you.
But Bucky is perhaps the only interesting person Tony knows at this hellhole of a school. He works really hard on his assignments, has more to work on than other kids. He looks frustrated at math equations, but stays and pores over textbooks after school.
He brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. Tony thinks the last time he had one was at a birthday party when he was twelve, and even then it wasn’t really a sandwich but more of a deconstructed concept thing that probably cost two hundred bucks a plate.
-
Now that Tony’s ruminating on it, it’s probably because no one has exactly told him that what he says doesn’t matter. They just say they don’t wanna hear about it. The two concepts are honestly very different. Tony has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to go into a tailspin about this on a Thursday night at two in the morning.
Ha. On a Thursday night at two in the morning. What odd phrasing that is, why is that so weird? It’s night, but it’s morning and you’re supposed to be asleep but morning is a wake-up time, so--
Oh, there’s the meaning.
Why would you discuss a night and a morning? Why does it matter? On a Thursday?
Tony wonders how much shit he’s said that just ultimately doesn’t matter.
This gets him thinking about how much nothing in his life matters. Don’t get him wrong, he knew it.
Knew it in the way everyone tells him he’ll be the next Howard Stark.
Knows it in the way that his own father isn’t exactly all too fond of him and Tony has a problem looking at anything with dear old Captain America because of comparisons that his father makes and honestly he probably almost named Tony “Steve.”
Could you imagine him having the name of Steve? God, he’d barf.
-
For some reason, this is the worst he’s ever felt. Sure his father hates him and his mother could be considered an absentee at best, but what gets him to cry into his pillow and rethink his entire existence is a guy who has eye circles darker than anyone else’s and thinks that wearing any bright color is “branching out into alternative fashion.”
God, he wishes he had a break.
Nothing you say matters to me.
This is the phrase that gets him. Tony is pretty sure it’s because it’s what everyone thinks.
-
Ever since then, Tony doesn’t talk to Bucky. Ever.
And that’s...that’s weird to Bucky. It was routine. Tony annoys him, he snaps a bit, and then it starts all over.
Tony looks at him, sometimes. As if he’s some sort of impossible problem he can’t figure out.
When Bucky actually thinks about it, Tony hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s still himself, which is irritating, but he’s not talking about anything and everything and filling up space.
It’s...odd.
He feels a little bit bad because what he said was super shitty and he shouldn’t have said it, but now it’s too late to just kind of awkwardly apologize, and Bucky’s already shit at apologizing anyway.
-
Summer arrives with a bang. School is let out ,and in comes the ninety-degree-days that melt your damn head off. Bucky’s apartment doesn’t have AC, so their windows are permanently open and fans are blasting as they swear they’re melting.
Bucky needs a job. Preferably one with air conditioning.
He finds one as a driver. Rich people hate taxis, it’s a huge health hazard or whatever they wanna say. He’s not gonna ask. But a nice man named Edwin hands him keys to a damn Cadillac and tells him not to drive too close to the other cars and be careful, because he wasn’t supposed to start the job quite yet, but “something came up.”
-
Tony fucking Stark. That’s who he’s fucking driving.
“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. He sees Tony get into the car.
“Hey, Jarvis told me I had a new driver, it’s really nice to--oh my fucking god.”
“Where are you driving to.”
“Queens.”
“Queens, seriously?”
Queens isn’t the type of place for someone like Stark to go to. He’s supposed to say Saks Fifth Avenue or Gucci or wherever the hell rich people go when they’re not vacationing in Europe or elsewhere. Not Queens. Especially not Queens.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m going so long as you know where to drive,” Tony says.
“Sheesh. Okay.”
The rest of the drive is silent. It’s not like Bucky can do small-talk. Jesus, he’d rather take his other arm off than do that.
And Tony, obviously, is not going to say anything. Not after hearing that stellar set of remarks from school.
It’s a school. There are kids out front, who practically swarm the vehicle.
“Should I be concerned?”
“No, they do this every week. If you drive the car back home, Jarvis will explain more. You were kind of an ‘on the spot’ hire for us.”
“Got it.”
-
Jarvis is a kindly old man who Bucky would trust with his Social Security number.
He is also extremely loyal to Tony, at least.
“He helps out with some after-school program at one of the local schools,” Jarvis says, smiling softly. “Has a spot in his heart for the children.”
“What’s he do?”
“Oh, helps them with schoolwork. I think he does some improvement type jobs around there, but he won’t let us know. Secretive, that one.”
Bucky sips his tea and doesn’t say anything about how Tony once told everyone in the class that he was wearing neon yellow boxers and they were the comfiest damn boxers he had. It’s just not pertinent to this conversation.
“You know him, Mr. Barnes?”
“Um, yeah. We go to school together. I’ve seen him around.”
“He’s a good student. Always getting straight A’s. Doesn’t always seem like it, but he listens well. Just has a different method.”
“That’s for sure.”
-
For the next two weeks, it’s silence. Always. Bucky will turn on the radio and that’s it. The only thing that Tony has said is to “please change the channel to literally anything” when Belinda Carlisle’s infamously terrible “Heaven is a Place on Earth” came on.
And that’s it. Seriously.
When it is two weeks and four days, Bucky can’t take it anymore.
“Look. I have this job for at least two more months. I’m talking to you. So tell me what you’re doing today.”
“Teaching.”
“Wow, way to be descriptive,” Bucky says sarcastically.
Tony knows he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. But honestly, truly, this is pissing him off.
“Oh I’m sorry, does what I say matter to you now? Is that what this is?”
“Oh come on. That was months ago.”
"Not the point!” Tony says. “I’m getting out now. Feel free to pick me up or not. I don’t give a fuck. But don’t you pretend for a damn minute that you give a shit about my reaction since you’ve already made your point.”
The car door is slammed.
Bucky is in somewhat of a pickle.
-
Sam tells him that he’s, quote, “the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”
And then hangs up.
thank you for being such a good friend sam. really appreciate it.
aw look at the little bitch boy mad because i called him stupid. shut up i’m on a date and don’t care once about you. at all.
i think what i really like about our friendship is how open and empathetic you are to my feelings
do you know how unattractive you are? on a scale of one to ten? prussia.
you can’t count now?
no i can count i’m just saying you shouldn’t exist.
god i hate you. i’ll talk to you next month
(Yes, they have a time limit to texts. Once a month. And Bucky used his to try to get advice like an idiot. He should’ve just asked Steve. Steve probably would’ve sent him money for a milkshake.)
-
Sharon, upon reading his text, sends him back one message:
so i read this but i’m not emotionally invested. can u make a playlist and send it to me?
oh my god. you have got to be kidding me.
i’m not. i told you that u need to b more creative in life. b spontaneous!!!
He leaves her on read after that.
-
Bucky has to figure out how to apologize. Genuinely. Because nothing’s worse than having an apology made but knowing that the person isn’t really meaning it, they’re only saying it to make people more comfortable.
(He wonders how many times someone’s apologized to Tony because of this reason.)
He’s not exactly sure how to go about apologizing.
But he figures it’s sooner rather than later, so he takes the subway to Manhattan and then gets a bike (that’s not exactly his, but he’s bringing it back) and starts the trek to the mansion. It’s a good and solid thirty minute bike ride.
-
Tony is having a rather uncomfortable family birthday dinner. Howard’s, to be specific. He’s not sure why they didn’t just go out, but maybe his father is tired of acting like a happy family in public. God knows Tony is.
(“What’s your favorite thing about your son?” An interviewer had asked cheerily, blush lipstick stretching widely as she smiled.
“Well, it’s certainly not his sense of style,” Howard had joked.
He didn’t know what his favorite thing about his son was. He couldn’t answer the fucking question.)
Jarvis mentions that “Sir Anthony” has a visitor at the door.
“Are you serious, kid?” Howard says, hissing. “You told someone to come over? During a family event?”
"No, of course not,” Tony says hurriedly. He doesn’t have anyone over to the house period. Too much risk, not enough payoff. There was also the fact that the house is basically like a mausoleum because both of his parents would rather be caught dead than spend time in one another’s company anymore.
“I’ll go...I’ll go check who it is.”
-
Bucky. Fucking. Barnes.
“What are you doing here?” Tony hisses.
“I came to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For telling you that your words don’t matter?” Bucky says, more of a question. “I don’t know what else I would apologize for. Maybe for mean-mugging you. I don’t know.”
“Why?” Tony asks, tiredly. “Why would you apologize for that?”
“Because it’s obviously affecting you and also I know I was in the wrong? That’s why people apologize?” Bucky answers. “What I did was shitty. What you say matters, I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It obviously stuck with you a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I’m apologizing.”
No one besides Jarvis has ever apologized to Tony. Ever. Not in a genuine way.
“Did you...did you bike here? You have a bike?”
“What? No.”
“You walked here?” Tony asks, incredulous.
“Of course not, then I’d be arriving, like, an hour later. No, the bike isn’t mine.”
“Who’s is it?”
“I don’t know, some hipster’s from Brooklyn.”
“You stole a bike?”
“The circumstances weren’t ideal, but I don’t have a car to drive to your freakishly large house,” Bucky said bluntly.
Tony grins.
“Well then, Buckster, welcome. Let me give you a ride home.”
He pokes his head into the dining room, where the plates are already being cleared.
“Hey, I gotta give my friend a ride home. Car broke down a couple miles from here.”
“Why don’t you just fix it?” Howard asks. “You’re a Stark.”
“A Stark who would need to order a part for a 1980 Ford Crown Victoria.”
“Tell him to get a better car.”
“Sure, pops.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Alright, Dear Father of Mine.”
“Just go, damn it!”
-
Bucky is led to a garage full of luxury cars that probably cost more than his whole block put together.
“Which one you wanna go in?”
“Am I allowed in one of these? Holy fuck these are nice.”
Tony grins.
“Best part about having a car is driving it. Choose one.”
Bucky chooses a bright red car, a smooth Cadillac.
“Holy hell, this is cool.”
Tony drives.
He’s a good driver once you get past the fact that you will fear for your life for at least twenty minutes. He is also notoriously terrible in the city traffic, yelling at drivers and pedestrians alike.
“How are you still alive with the way you drive?” Bucky asks.
“We made it, didn’t we?” Tony asks, grinning. “Now go return your bike and don’t try to walk to my house again.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Naturally.”
-
Tony talks a lot. But Bucky finds himself listening. It still takes a while, but he talks.
Tony really is smart. His mind just works quickly, and that’s why at school he never really seems to absorb anything.
Bucky tells him about his neighborhood and how much he hates his neighbor because she keeps blasting music at one in the morning.
“So? Blast it in the morning,” Tony says. “That’s what I’d do.”
“Ma would say no.”
“Then don’t tell her!”
-
When it all changes, it’s when Bucky picks him up from a gala. He gets the following text:
pls come pick me up!! please! i’m begging!
It’s eleven at night, but Bucky sighs and goes to get the car and goes to pick him up.
Tony’s swaying outside. Bucky gets out, getting a pack of Marlboro out of his jacket.
“Shouldn’t smoke,” Tony says.
“You drunk?”
“No, can’t risk it when Howard and Maria aren’t here--mom and dad.”
He almost never calls his parents mom and dad. Ever. Only in public settings.
Bucky lights up anyway. Tony stares at the orange embers flaring up.
“Why did you need a ride?”
“Kind of avoiding an old...enemy. Slash ex-boyfriend.”
“The worst kind of enemy to have. He trying to talk to you?”
“It’s been an all-night event, so--”
The doors burst open.
Out walks the sleaziest guy that Bucky’s ever seen. His suit is garishly designer, the kind that borders on being confused for a tacky suit that you find in a thrift store for two dollars total.
“Tony, baby! Where have you been? I wanted to discuss things with you...in private.”
He gives Bucky a once-over.
“And who are you, catering?”
Bucky immediately wants to clock this guy in the damn mouth.
“Actually this is James, my boyfriend,” Tony says, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist.
At this point, he’ll just have to go with it. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened.
“And who are you?” Bucky asks. “Sweetheart, you never mentioned you knew someone with such a...unique take on style.”
“I’m Ty, an old and close friend,” he says. He sticks his hand out. Bucky makes him switch hands by holding out his metal hand.
“Nice to see you,” he says. “But unfortunately, I have to take my guy back home. Plans and all that, you know how it is.”
“Bye Ty!” Tony says.
Bucky throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, bringing him close. A ghost of a kiss to the forehead completes the lie, and Bucky looks back towards Ty, who has his eyes narrowed.
He flips him off with his right hand. (It’s satisfying.)
“Thank you so much for going along with that,” Tony says, looking up.
The cigarette is still in his mouth. He takes a drag, letting embers fall down and disintegrate into the pavement.
“He seemed like a shitty kind of person.”
“Not the best of people, that’s for sure,” Tony mutters. “You wanna go get ice cream?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
-
Getting late night ice cream is like going into a different dimension. Bucky’s not sure if it’s the overbearing, fluorescent white light that gets to him, but Tony seems tired. At ease, but tired.
He gets strawberry ice cream, and Bucky gets chocolate.
They sit and eat for a moment.
“Why do you go to St. Anthony’s?” Tony asks. “It’s clear you hate it.”
“You don’t?”
“Not the worst school I’ve been sent to.”
“You don’t want to be there either?”
“There are a lot of places I don’t want to be, but this isn’t about me, I’m asking about you. You wanna share with the class or get a hall pass?”
Bucky snorts.
“Geez, okay. My mom really wants a good education for me.”
"She know that you don’t know what to do?”
“And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.
“You wouldn’t be working as a chauffeur for the rich kid if you knew what you were working towards,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seen it happen before. Usually I don’t know who they are, but you figure out commonalities pretty quickly.”
That makes too much sense.
“I have no fucking clue how I’m living my life and my mom wants me to become a businessman.”
“You wanna do that?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy that wants to wear a suit?”
“You look like you’d look good in a suit, not that you’d wear one.”
Bucky laughs. Takes a bite of ice cream, and readjusts the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
-
Over the summer, he and Tony get closer. They take walks in the park and Tony drags him into overpriced shops to look at clothes that are the ugliest goddamn things they’ve ever seen.
At some point, they hold hands and discuss secrets of the world of theirs that is unique to them.
Bucky kisses him one night while they’re just leaving perhaps the worst restaurant in the entire state of New York and god Tony didn’t think he’d ever not mind being wrapped up in fake-strawberry scented hair and cigarette smoke clinging to clothing, but he doesn’t mind it.
The whole summer, they’re inseparable. Tony chatters in the front seat of the car, now, and Bucky smiles a little bit more.
They walk in parks together and show each other funny little jokes and make inside understandings and look at sunsets and sunrises and get coffee and look at each other across the room.
-
It’s love, honest and true. But it’s not love like the never-ending kind. The thing about love is that it is not included in any toolbox, physical or mental. There is one thing that everyone knows regardless of whether it is admitted or not:
Love does not solve everything. It does not fix everything. And one should never rely on it to do anything but exist and work through your person to the best of its ability.
-
Howard comes back from a business trip. Sees Tony kiss Bucky goodbye, and that is that.
You can’t something like that as a son. It just...it won’t work for business.
Tony is sent to a boarding school upstate. Stricter guidelines, more controlling.
Bucky only hears one thing from Tony:
I’m sorry.
And he doesn’t believe it.
When you’re young, you think love is invincible. You think it survives through everything if you really want it to.
Love doesn’t do that.
Bucky writes letters, calls Jarvis, and mourns the loss of young love. He smokes a little bit more, leaves it clinging to his skin as a reminder that Tony would always wrinkle his nose in that adorable way, but it served to show Bucky that he had a bad habit.
He was in the middle of quitting.
His mother notices it.
Tells him that he needs to get his own shampoo.
“You can’t just use mine all the time,” she says playfully.
He remembers Tony’s hands gently threading through his hair in disbelief as Bucky kissed the living hell out of him.
Now there’s barely any trace.
He stops in his tracks when he sees an old coffee cup of Tony’s in his kitchen cabinet.
“When did you get this one?” Becca asks. She’s drinking out of it. He remembers Tony smiling over it at their little coffee shop that was hidden away. “I love it. It’s so cute.”
“From a thrift store,” Bucky says. “You can have it.”
“Really? Thanks!”
-
Tony pauses at the smell of cigarette smoke. Remembers blue eyes blazing along with orange embers, smoke curling around long hair and long summer nights.
His roommate at this new school asks if he smokes, if he can get him a pack.
“Uh, no. Just used to know someone who did.”
“You think they could get me a pack?”
“They don’t go here.”
“You can’t call them?”
Tony doesn’t respond.
You can’t call them?
He’s almost texted him about twenty times. Called him about thirty.
He knows the number by heart.
But he knows that Howard made him get a new phone, and now the memories are fading. He wishes he still had the pictures.
-
Love does not always last. Sometimes it is not meant to. Tony tries to tell himself that as he wakes up with tears streaming down his cheeks.
You always wish it would.
#i am sorry if this doesn't show up with a read more link on my dash but i'm too lazy to fix and i have work in uhhhhhh now#lovelyirony writes#this is sad i know#buckytony#winteriron#tony stark#bucky barnes#mention of sam wilson and sharon carter because i love them#i think i love this a lot#it gives me very specific vibes but also eh#ALSO YEAH DID YOU KNOW IF YOU WALK FROM BROOKLYN TO QUEENS OR WHATEVER IT'S THREE HOURS#IDK WHY I LOOKED THAT UP#anyways i know nothing about new yrok#i thought queens nad brooklyn were not far apart#anyways i don't exactly care about that but oh well#bucky is tough and tony is not and together they are soft and good#anyways yeah the last couple lines. yeah. that's my mindset right now
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