#bus booking and management system | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alexandralyman · 1 day

Text

Frankie Morales x Reader fic

A little "friends with benefits" Frankie fic for my partner in crime @meanderingcaptainswanmusings - who loves Frankie Morales like I love Dave York!

Summary: You and Frankie are friends. Just friends and nothing more. But after a bad breakup with your dickhead ex and a failed attempt at a Tinder hookup, you find yourself on Frankie's doorstep one Saturday night in a bodycon dress and fuck-me heels. Turns out, Frankie is more than willing to oblige. After all, what are friends for?

8,221 words, rated E for general sexytimes and Frankie's skill with his mouth. AO3 link here

Hope you Frankie fans enjoy!

Frankie With Benefits

You step out of the Uber, muttering your thanks to the driver while closing the door with your phone already in hand to give him five stars and a good tip despite your foul mood. It wasn’t his fault that your date was such a disaster after all, plus he didn’t try to make small talk and played good music instead of some douchey podcast. You can still hear the faint Cuban rhythms as he drives off into the sultry Florida night, it’s both hot and humid as per usual and the contrast between the ice-cold AC in the car to the nearly triple-digit temps outside is a shock to your system that distracts you from noticing something is off until it’s too late.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

While the building in front of you is very familiar, it’s decidedly not your apartment complex. Your plans of changing out of your tight dress and fuck-me heels into some ratty old pjs and killing the bottle of wine chilling away in your fridge while you delete Tinder for good because men fucking suck has just been thrown a major curveball. You open Uber back up to check your ride history and squint at the screen through the false eyelashes that took forever to put on, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you must have tapped on the wrong destination when you left the bar in such a rush while telling your date where to shove it. That’s the only explanation as to why you’re not currently looking at your front entrance.

You’re looking directly at Frankie’s house instead.

Fuck.

Standing at the end of his driveway feeling very self-conscious in your bodycon dress with your driver already long gone, you go to book a new ride so you can slip away before any of Frankie’s nosy neighbors start to wonder about the woman loitering on their quiet little street in an outfit that’s decidedly not “family friendly.” Or worse, before Frankie sees you. A minute ticks by, then two, and no drivers pop up, not even with ridiculous surge pricing that you’ll gladly pay just to get home.

“C’mon, c’mon. Ugh!”

You finally give up as the streets nearby stay frustratingly empty on the little map, stuffing your phone into your purse with a sigh and turning to face Frankie’s house. His living room light is on so he’s obviously home and not out with the guys tonight, you can see the soft yellow glow through the curtains like a beacon offering safe harbor after a shitty evening.

It’s Frankie. If you can’t be alone in your apartment drowning your sorrows in grocery store wine, there’s really nowhere else you’d rather be.

“He needs to resurface his driveway,” you mutter under your breath as you carefully pick your way up the asphalt towards his front door. You’re certainly not wobbling with every step because you wore stilettos that make your butt look great but you can’t actually walk properly in. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You manage to make it all the way without breaking an ankle, knocking and wondering if it would be less embarrassing to head barefoot to the bus stop at the corner instead of admitting why you’re here. But before you can kick them off and make a break for it Frankie answers, blinking in confusion when he sees you standing on his doorstep in a dress with a neckline that plunges more than an Olympic diver and shoes that cost half a month’s rent, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to scratch behind his neck as he takes you in with those dark, expressive eyes of his. “Um…did we have plans tonight, or something?

He stares openly at your cleavage for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to your face with a sheepish look. If it was any other man you’d be annoyed, but Frankie has never ogled or leered at you in all the time you’ve been friends, and you did just show up unannounced at his door with your tits on full display, after all. You don’t mind if he takes a peek, someone might as well get to appreciate them tonight.

“No,” you reassure him. “Can I come in? I just bailed on a shitty date and must have accidentally picked your address when I ordered an Uber instead of mine. I tried to book another one to take me home but there’s no drivers around right now.”

Frankie nods. “Sure, sure, of course,” he says, shuffling aside to let you in and closing the door behind you with a soft click. You kick off your heels with a sigh because it would be rude to wear them in his house and not because they’re absolutely killing your feet, letting them tangle with his sneakers and already feeling a little better.

“Mi casa et su casa,” he adds with a gallant sweep of his arm once you’re safely inside.

You’ve spent a decent amount of time at Casa Morales since you first met Frankie a few years ago and quickly became friends with him, coming over for everything from backyard BBQs with his Delta Force buddies and their families, to movie nights on his couch just the two of you, to hauling your laundry over in his truck when the machines in your building went out of order again and he insisted that you use his instead of spending money at a laundromat. You know your way around his place. His house is small, but it’s bright and airy just like the ones you sigh over while browsing Zillow in your apartment, and while Frankie’s life can be messy at times (mainly thanks to said Delta Force buddies, Santiago Garcia in particular) he keeps his home neat and tidy and welcoming. When you go into the living room there’s nothing out of place, just a half-eaten bowl of chips and a bottle of beer on the coffee table. On a coaster, no less. The TV is still on, he was obviously enjoying a quiet night in for one when you crashed his evening in a dress that revealed more than it covered and shoes your credit card and arches were both still recovering from.

He follows you in, his presence at your back familiar and comforting despite your current “men fucking suck” state of mind. Frankie’s the lone exception at the moment.

“I’d drive you home but I’ve already had a few beers tonight. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You wave off the apology in his voice. “It’s fine, I’ll just give it a few minutes and book another ride.”

“Uh, about that….”

You turn and look at him, confused. He gives you a “don’t shoot the messenger” look with both hands raised and nods towards the TV.

“The game just finished. All the Uber drivers are going to be down at the stadium by now.”

“Son of a bitch,” you swear, closing your eyes in frustration. You couldn’t have picked a worse night to get stranded without a ride, everyone within a twenty mile radius of the stadium knows it’s impossible to get an Uber after any big event. Frankie knows it, you know it, you just didn’t plan on your date being a lying asshole and having to compete with twenty thousand sportsball fans for a lift home. That’s it, you were done with dating apps for good, if you hadn’t downloaded Tinder again you could be at home in bed right now having a threesome with your wine and your vibrator and as a bonus your feet wouldn’t hurt.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you have a few blisters. The damn shoes were just like men, looked so great at first and then rubbed you in all the wrong places.

“Sooooo,” Frankie drawls when you flop down ungracefully on his couch, eyeing you carefully from his tactical position behind the coffee table. “You were on a date tonight? I thought you said you’d given up on dating after Dickface McDickhead….oh fuck, please tell me you’re not back together with that asshole again?”

His nickname for your ex always makes you snort. Frankie was never his biggest fan. He wasn’t Frankie’s either, hating the fact that you two were such good friends. When you finally broke up with him for good, Frankie threw a BBQ the following weekend and grilled you the best steak you’d ever eaten with a huge smile on his face.

”What are we celebrating?” Santi asked when he arrived, putting down the beer he’d brought and eyeing the streamers and balloons decorating Frankie’s backyard in confusion.

“The fact that I won’t go to jail for throwing trash out of my helicopter,” Frankie said.

Santi stared blankly at him. “The fuck are you on about, Fish?”

Frankie just grinned at you over Santi’s shoulder while you rolled your eyes and grabbed one of the drinks. He even had a party hat perched jauntily on top of his ballcap, and a piñata hanging up in the yard, “for the kids”.

You took a few good swings at it with the bat he handed you while picturing your ex’s face on the paper-mache.

The mere thought of getting back with Drew, aka Dickface, makes you shudder. “No, I’m not back with him, and I’m still done with dating.”

You swipe some chips out of the bowl and tuck your legs under you, ignoring how high it makes your dress ride up your thighs with only a token effort to tug it back down.

“You’re done with dating, but you were out on a date? Little confused here.”

Frankie sits down on the other end of the couch, muting the post-game recap on the TV and turning so that he’s facing you. He’s all casual in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders when he twists, hair falling on his forehead in a mop of messy curls without his usual hat to cover them. You should feel out of place in your sexy little dress, full-glam makeup and the “effortless beachy waves” that took you an hour, three different tutorials and a whole fucking lot of effort to achieve, but you’re far more comfortable here with him than you were with the man you ditched back at the trendy bar full of wannabe influencers with insanely overpriced cocktails. Comfortable enough to tell him the truth, with a little help from the tequila in the deconstructed margaritas that you drank.

“It was supposed to be a hookup,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks go warm in a combination of embarrassment and alcohol.

His eyes go wide at that and he lets out a little cough of surprise. “That explains the dress,” he says, glancing down at it again before quickly looking back up at your face.

You wave a hand up and down yourself. “Dress, shoes, lip gloss,” you list off, not mentioning the rather skimpy new underwear that you’re one wrong move away from flashing him with. “I was tired of sitting home alone on Saturday nights, you know?”

”Hey!” he protests, and you duck your head with a wince. It’s Saturday night and he was sitting home alone until you showed up.

“Sorry. No offense, Frankie.”

“None taken, cariño. But only because it’s you.”

The casual endearment makes you feel even warmer, or maybe it’s just the Patrón you downed before leaving Mr. Talk, Dark, and Liar Liar Pants on Fire back at the bar hitting your system.

“Deconstructed margarita” your ass, it was a shot of triple sec and a shot of tequila with a hideous up charge, and they didn’t even include the lime.

You could leave it at that, suggest watching a shitty Netflix movie to pass the time until you can finally book an Uber and go home to change into something that isn’t squeezing your ribs into new and interesting positions and drink the finest chardonnay Publix had for under ten dollars. Frankie won’t push, won’t judge, you’ve been friends long enough to know that. You’ve seen each other through various highs and lows over the years, he was the first person you called when you got a promotion that you’d worked your ass off for, and when he found out his ex-fiancée was getting married you were the one who picked him up at the bar where he was drowning his sorrows and brought him home to drunkenly cry on your shoulder until he passed out.

If there’s anyone in the world who you can trust with this, it’s him.

“Those last few months with You Know Who,” you start, meaning your ex and not Voldemort despite their many similarities, “we were fighting like all the time. I knew deep down our relationship had become this flaming dumpster fire, but for some stupid reason I kept splashing water on it trying to put it out instead of walking away. And then we had the worst fight ever, and he said…he said-”

You could really do with another shot of tequila for some liquid courage right now. You settle for drinking the last of Frankie’s beer instead while he watches you carefully, tipping the bottle back to get every drop and then setting it down on the coaster with an audible thump.

“-he said I was a frigid bitch in bed and he would have better sex fucking a blow up doll instead of me. That’s what finally did it, I told him we were over. He tried to apologize and begged for another chance, but I just kept hearing it over and over again in my head and I was done. Finally done.”

A muscle ticks in Frankie’s jaw like the countdown clock on a bomb, you can see it even through the scruff of his patchy beard. He glances away for a second and you see his eyes close while he mutters under his breath in Spanish too soft and too fast for you to understand before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I take it back, he’s not a dickhead,” he says, sounding completely calm. “That’s an insult to actual dickheads. And he’s going to be lucky if he can still run his mouth like that once I’ve knocked out all his teeth.”

Even though he’s ex-military Frankie has never been one for that bullshit macho posturing, which is one of the things you like so much about him. He breaks up bar fights, he doesn’t start them. To see him now, so calm and collected but with such an intense expression and not a hint on his face that he’s kidding or exaggerating, it sends a jolt right through you. His threat to your dickhead of an ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be so sexy, but….

Damn.

You reach out and flick him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, and I really don’t want to have to bail your ass out of jail at three in the morning again, Morales.”

“Hey, that was one time!” he protests, adding in a mumble. “And it was Santi’s dumb idea.”

His annoyed pout just makes you laugh, shaking your head at how closely he resembles his namesake when he juts his lower lip out like that. Cutest catfish ever.

“So,” he drawls, after you stop chuckling, “since you didn’t go back to that asshole, thank fuck, then who was the lucky guy tonight? Or unlucky guy, since you ditched him for far better company.”

You shrug, plucking idly at the fabric of your dress. “Just someone I matched with on Tinder. I really wanted to prove Dickface wrong, you know? That I wasn’t uptight and sucked in bed. Swiped right on someone who didn’t have a douchey shirtless mirror selfie in his profile, we met for drinks and everything was going great until a text popped up on his phone while he was showing me a picture of his dog. From his wife.”

Frankie winces. “Seriously?”

The notification lingered on the screen while he frantically tried to swipe it away, not that it would do any good. You were a fast reader, you’d already read the whole thing.

“Yeah. Letting him know there were leftovers waiting for him in the fridge when he got home from work, with a bunch of kiss emojis and a ‘love you babe’. He tried to do the whole, ‘it’s not what you think, we have an open marriage’ bullshit, which sure, I bet he does, so I told him to call his wife and put her on speaker so we could clear that right up.”

“That’s my girl,” Frankie grins.

The praise flows through you like the tequila, remembering how your date went pale as a ghost while you stared him down and his immediate attempts to backpedal.

“Obviously he suddenly had a million reasons why he couldn’t, so I stuck him with the bill and left. Hope he had the decency to tip, at least.”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline rush you’ve been riding since you told off Dickhead McDickface the Second and stormed out of the bar on your fuck-me heels is wearing off. You got fucked all right, fucked over.

“I really can pick em, can’t I?” you ask, a rhetorical question if ever there was one. “Went from one asshole to another. A married asshole, no less.”

There’s a rustle of movement to your left and a touch to your shoulder that makes you turn your head to see Frankie has shifted closer to you on the couch and tilted his head to match the angle of yours while he brushes his knuckles lightly down your arm.

“Hey, do you remember that woman I went on a first date with last year who brought her fifteen year old brother along? And we were supposed to see Poor Things? Who brings their brother on a date, let alone to a movie with that many sex scenes? Really, really, explicit sex scenes?”

You do remember, thanks to the texts he sent you with increasing speed until he was blowing up your phone and you’d barely finished one before the next popped up.

She brought her kid with her?

Wait, not her kid, it’s her brother.

Dude’s like 13, what the hell?????

Okay, apparently he’s 15 he’s just “short”. THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!!!!!!

WE’RE SEEING POOR THINGS??!!!!!

WHAT?

WTF?????????

PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S ANOTHER MOVIE WITH THE SAME TITLE THAT DOESN’T HAVE NAKED EMMA STONE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, what do I do?

This is so fucking weird!!!!!!!! SHE BROUGHT HER BROTHER TO THE WEIRD NAKED EMMA STONE SEX MOVIE!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His bewilderment came right through the screen with the increasing number of exclamation points and the memory makes you giggle. You still can’t think of Poor Things as anything except The Weird Naked Emma Stone Sex Movie thanks to Frankie.

“See?” he says with a smile, “I can’t pick ‘em either. First date was over before the movie even started and I’d already spent like fifty bucks on popcorn and drinks. Still follow her brother on Instagram though, he’s cool.”

You laugh even harder at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Dating suuuucks,” you whine in your best angsty teenager impression.

“It sucks so much,” Frankie agrees. “Fuck that married guy. Wait, no, don’t fuck that married guy.”

Now you’re both laughing, so close to each other on the couch that you’re practically touching at the knees. You think to yourself that Frankie has such a nice smile, none of that closed-mouth, thin-lipped thing some guys do as if smiling is an affront to their manhood. Frankie’s smile takes over his whole face, his eyes going squinty and crinkling adorably at the corners.

“I promise I won’t fuck that married guy,” you swear with mock solemnity, crossing your fingers over your heart like a Boy Scout when you finally stop laughing. You let your hand drop to the cushion in between the two of you and close your eyes with a sigh. “Even though I really, really, really need to get laid.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you freeze, scarcely daring to breathe even as you’re sure you hear a sharp inhale from Frankie at the unguarded confession. He’s so close to you on the couch. So close.

When you gather the courage to open your eyes and meet his dark gaze the air around you has changed, heavy with the weight of what you just said. Neither one of you moves to put a platonic distance back between you like so many other evenings on this couch when you get too close, sharing pizza and drinks and conversation for hours.

Maybe it wasn’t such an accident that you ended up here, with him, tonight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asks in a voice so low and thick with promise that it makes your stomach flip and a sharp throb hits you even lower down.

“Anything?” you repeat, your own voice higher than normal. Is he really offering that?

Frankie picks up your hand from where it lays on the couch, lifting it and keeping your eyes locked while he raises it to his mouth and brushes a slow, deliberate kiss along the back that makes you shiver as every last nerve ending rises to attention and begs for more.

“Anything,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say the word.”

His large thumb strokes over the fluttering pulse in your wrist, back and forth, back and forth, while his heavy-lidded eyes stare into yours.

You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, because you definitely have. Frankie’s stupidly attractive, with those thick curls that always escape out from under his baseball caps and his Roman coin profile. But when you first met he was still with his ex, and then he was single but you weren’t, the timing never quite working out for anything between you except friendship and nothing else. Hell, by now he’s pretty much your best friend, the one you would call if you needed to bury a body knowing he’d bring the shovel. There’s no one else you trust as much as Frankie Morales, and there’s no one else you want as much as you want him, right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, saying the words you always wanted to say to him.

He shuffles closer, his other hand sliding behind your neck as he brings your lips together. It’s a little clumsy at first, your nose bumping his before he fits his mouth to yours. You feel his fingers press to the nape of your neck and the brush of his knee against your while he kisses you carefully, so soft and sweet and gentle.

At first.

Heat washes over you and it’s all because of Frankie, his kiss turning hot and hungry and demanding. You gasp into his mouth and kiss him back just as eagerly, hands fisting in his T-shirt to pull him closer. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat that you can practically feel, a sexy cross between a groan and a grunt, and pulls away from your mouth far too soon. But before you can protest the loss with more than a pout and pull him back, he’s dusting more kisses under the hinge of your jaw and along your neck, mapping a hot trail down the wide swath of bare skin your dress reveals between your breasts and nuzzling his face right into your cleavage. His hands go to your hips, bunching the fabric and pulling it up impatiently to your waist as he moves even lower. Everything happens so fast that it makes your head spin far more than the tequila and you lean back on the couch for support with your chest heaving and groping for any part of him you can reach. Frankie kneels on the floor, pulling your new underwear off as he goes and you lift your hips to help with anticipation pooling low in your stomach at the realization of what he’s planning to do.

He spreads your thighs apart and looks down between them at where you’re now completely bare and practically dripping with a rush of arousal. His gaze is dark, hungry, a look like nothing you’ve ever seen before on his face replacing his usual easygoing expression.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he says in that low voice, staring straight at your pussy. “All pink and perfect and needy for some attention, isn’t she? Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take very good care of her.”

The breath catches in your throat at that, more than a little shocked by the filthy promise in his words. No man you’ve ever been with has ever said anything remotely like that. Your nipples are firm points against your dress and you must be glistening with how wet you already are. Frankie kisses your inner thigh and mumbles, “lie back a little more for me,” while pulling gently on your hips to position you the way he wants. You’re not about to refuse him anything at this point and you slide lower, feeling your dress ride up even more as you do. While you’re not fully naked yet you feel so exposed, lying with your legs wide open on the same couch where you’ve watched so many bad movies and argued over words while playing Scrabble, because military acronyms don’t fucking count, Catfish! Now he’s nestled between your bare thighs with his wide shoulders wedging them apart and you wonder dimly why you spent all that time not doing this, his insanely kissable mouth so close to your pussy that you can feel his warm breath when he exhales. It makes you tremble with anticipation and Frankie looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question behind them. You nod, answering without words. You want this.

He licks you, a slow, broad swipe with the flat of his tongue that has your head falling back and your legs spreading shamelessly wider. Then he does it again, and again, and again, burying his face so deep that you wonder vaguely how he’s even managing to breathe. He doesn’t come up for air anytime soon, holding you firm against his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and seeking out every last spot that makes you writhe and grind against him with moans and cries that you can’t hold back spilling from your lips. It’s loud, both the noises you make and the wet sound of him eating you out like you’re a feast and he’s been starved for days. Frankie makes his tongue a firm point and thrusts it inside you while keeping you spread, the feeling so intimate and erotic that your clit throbs and you absently cup a breast to ease the ache in your stiff nipple. He fucks you with his tongue a few times before he gives you another one of those long, slow licks that go the full length from bottom to top and he zeroes in on your needy clit as if he had a map leading him right to it. You feel his lips close around the swollen bud with a hard suck that has you squeezing your breast with one hand and sinking the other into his messy curls.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to gasp, “Frankie, it’s so good. So good.”

He finally pulls back long enough to rasp, “I want you to come all over my face, baby,” before diving back in. You feel the prod of a thick finger against your dripping entrance, slipping in easily and soon it’s moving in tandem with the flick of his tongue over your clit. The dual sensation makes you whimper, tugging on his hair to urge him closer and rocking your hips. Another finger joins the first, stretching you even more and pressing along your velvety inner walls until he suddenly curls them and hits that spot, the one you almost forgot was there. He strokes it and it’s nothing but bone-melting, toe-curling pleasure that builds and builds relentlessly under your skin until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

You cry out, your climax hitting with the force of a tidal wave and crashing over you. Frankie groans, a low rumble coming from his position between your legs as he clearly feels it in the squeeze around his fingers and the rush of more hot arousal that makes you even wetter and slicker. He rubs it all over his face just like he wanted, his fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm in and out of you until it’s finally over and you’re left limp and boneless on his couch with your dress bunched to your waist and one strap hanging off your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you ended up like this, from knocking on his door ready to swear off men forever less than an hour ago to half-naked and panting from the best orgasm you’ve had since….ever. When you manage to lift your head from the cushion to look at him his expression is just as dazed as yours must be even as his lips gleam and his cheeks and chin are damp with you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving under his T-shirt like he just ran a marathon. “Fuck, are you okay? Was that okay?”

Even with the AC blasting there’s still not enough air in the room, it takes you a moment to find some so you can answer him. “Yeah….yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Okay is an understatement, you don’t even smoke and yet you’re ready for a cigarette now. You don’t even make any move to tug your dress down and cover yourself, one leg still loosely propped on Frankie’s shoulder. He rubs a soothing hand on your thigh and carefully dislodges it so he can stand up, revealing the prominent bulge in his jeans that’s now perfectly at your eye level. Your pussy clenches and throbs at the sight, he got that hard just from going down on you? He follows your gaze and smirks a little when he sees where you’re looking, brushing his hand against his fly.

“All for you, baby,” he says, and reaches to pull you to your feet. “Not on the couch though. Bedroom. I want you in my bed.”

Bed, couch, floor, you really don’t care and you’re already fumbling with his belt buckle and tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. You drag your nails along the sensitive skin of his stomach right above his waistband and relish the way it makes him shudder, the muscles contracting under your touch. When you look up again he immediately swoops down and kisses you, this time with the taste of you still clinging to his lips and your scent all over his face. It’s raw and messy, tongues and teeth and the little sound of triumph you make when you finally get his belt open. You feel him smile against your mouth while he starts to walk backwards and you have to follow him to work on your next goal, getting his T-shirt off. He’s leading you towards his bedroom, and thank God his house is a bungalow so you don’t have to waste time going up stairs. All that’s between the two of you and his bed is a hallway, and it might as well be one of those funhouse corridors at the county fair with the way you’re both bumping against the walls and tripping over your own feet trying to navigate it. Frankie unabashedly gropes your ass with those large hands of his while he kisses you, not paying attention to where he’s going and knocking pictures on the wall askew with his shoulders. You keep tugging and pulling at his T-shirt, trying to get it off and thwarted by the fact that he won’t let go of your butt long enough to lift his arms.

“Frankie,” you whine against his mouth, shoving fistfuls of cotton up his back, “off!”

He finally pulls back and yanks the shirt over his head with enough force that you’re sure he just completely stretched out the neck, tossing it aside without bothering to see where it lands. The warm expanse of his broad chest presses against you almost immediately, with what feels like miles and miles of bare skin under your exploring hands. His lips fasten to your neck and you tilt your head back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. You’ll have to cover it before work on Monday, but, fuck it. That’s what concealer is for. If he wants to cover you in hickies like you’re teenagers having their first makeout session, you’ll let him. You’ll let him do whatever he wants at this point.

“Hang on.”

“It’s the only warning you get before he hauls you up with his hands under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carries you the last few steps into the bedroom and closes the door with a kick of his foot that makes it slam shut. The sound makes you start before you grin down at him.

“Impatient, much?”

“To have you in my bed at last?” he says, matching your grin with his own goofy smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You can take the man out of the military but you can’t take the military out of the man, Frankie’s bed is made with such sharp precision that it seems a shame to mess it up.

Almost.

The mattress dips when he sets you down, knocking a pillow aside and the duvet no longer perfectly crisp at the edges. You go up on your knees while he stands next to the bed, reaching for where his belt hangs open and using it to tug him closer. It doesn’t take much work to pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting shockingly loud against the quiet of the room. You reach a hand in and feel the heat of his skin even through the soft material of his underwear, while he stands as still as a statue except for the rise and fall of his chest. He lets you touch and explore and you trace the very long and thick outline of his erection as it twitches and presses eagerly against your hand. Fuck, Frankie is big. The kind of big that’s going to stretch you so deliciously. The kind of big that you’re going to feel the day after. Maybe even longer.

And it’s all yours tonight.

His jeans are quickly joined on the floor by your dress, as you go from bodycon to full frontal. You might have been nervous about finally getting completely naked, if it wasn’t for the unexpected sight of the pattern on his boxer-briefs.

“Frankie,” you laugh, “you actually have fish themed underwear?”

Sure enough, there’s several different types of fish swimming around on the fabric, including his whiskered namesake. When you look back up from the cartoon catfish smiling jauntily across his groin you can see that his ears have gone bright red in embarrassment.

“It was a gag gift from the guys,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes, “they’re really comfortable, and well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to take my pants off in front of anyone tonight, you know.”

You rest your hands on the waistband and trace a nail along the bare skin just above, trying and failing to stifle the urge to giggle.

“Wanna put your pants back on then?” you ask, teasing the sensitive spot below his navel.

“Fuck no.”

His lips crash back down on yours again, his arms circling your waist. The Finding Nemo joke you were about to make is immediately forgotten as you blindly peel the boxers off, letting the school of fish puddle at his feet and immediately get kicked away. You wrap a hand around his cock, so long and thick that it makes you ache with the thought of having it inside you. God, you need this. You need him.

Frankie lets out a deep groan against your mouth when you start to stroke, dragging your hand up and down the length of him from root to tip and back again. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and twist your fingers under the crown, teasing out all the sensitive spots and figuring out what he likes. A hard grip, bordering on rough, has his chest heaving and his hips jerking while his cock throbs in your hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he bites out. “Like that, baby, just like that.”

The sheer unguarded pleasure on his face gives you everything you wanted tonight with your dress and the heels and the lacy underwear. You feel sexy. Desired. Powerful. Able to bring a man to his knees with your touch. Literally, Frankie’s legs start to buckle and he has to brace himself against the bed to stay upright. You keep stroking him until he finally pulls your hand away gently and kisses your open palm before joining you on the bed. He practically jumps onto it in his eagerness, making you bounce with the movement.

“Condom?” he asks, twisting towards his nightstand, “I have some-“

“I’m good,” you interrupt. You want to feel him inside you without that barrier. “I’m on the pill.”

His arm drops from where he was reaching for the drawer. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all month.”

You never would have fucked your Tinder date without a condom, but this is Frankie. Your Frankie. You trust him. He rolls on top of you and your trust only grows when he hesitates, looking down into your eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? We can always stop.”

He pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a gentle touch and you know without a doubt that if you wanted to stop he would without complaint even though he hasn’t come yet. You run your hands up his arms and feel the tension in his biceps, the strain of holding himself back. He’s braced above you, his hair a complete mess, gorgeously naked and hard as a rock, and you are one hundred percent sure about this.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, a perfect fit between your thighs. Frankie angles his hips while he leans down for another kiss and you feel the hot slide of his cock as he finds your entrance with that pilot’s accuracy of his, then the press of the blunt head as he starts to push inside. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn. And it does burn, in the very best way. It’s been months since you’ve had sex, and far longer since you’ve had good sex, your frustration had built to a fever pitch under your skin and Frankie just lit a match. You both feel it when you open for him fully, that final slide is smooth and easy and he buries himself right to the hilt.

“Fuuuck,” he bites out. “Took me so fucking good, perfect fucking pussy.”

His dick is pretty damn perfect too, in your opinion, filling you up and creating the most delicious friction when he starts to move. You pull his head down for another kiss before he buries his face in your neck and rocks his hips into yours, gradually building the rhythm while you run your hands along his back and feel the muscles ripple and flex with each thrust. It’s everything you needed and more, the thick drag of him inside you has you arching your back and crying out and it only seems to spur him on even more. He plants a knee on the bed and lifts your leg, shifting his hips so that he can go even deeper. You clutch helplessly at his sheets when the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot and make a noise you don’t even recognize, a throaty moan pulls from your throat while your toes curl and your pussy throbs.

“Frankie,” you manage to gasp, clutching both his shoulders and gripping him even tighter from the inside, “oh god, there! Right there!”

“That’s it baby,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come all over my cock.”

He leans over you, thrusting hard and balancing on one hand to reach down with the other so he can work your swollen clit. The first swipe of his fingers on the sensitive bud sends a jolt through your entire body that melts into sheer unadulterated pleasure. With a few more you’re teetering right on the edge, and then Frankie grinds especially deep on his next thrust and presses down hard with his thumb. It grips you and doesn’t let go, your second climax of the night is even stronger than the first and has you squeezing him as if you’re trying to drag him even further inside, contracting along the length of his cock while he grits his teeth and fucks you through it. When the aftershocks finally stop and you relax back into the mattress with a sigh Frankie pulls out, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips and laying down next to you.

It takes you a few moments in your post-orgasmic haze to notice that he’s still hard, his cock is practically flush to his stomach and glistening with your arousal.

“You didn’t?” you ask, confused as you glance down.

He follows your gaze with a strangely bashful look. “Not yet. I want…I want you to ride me.”

That sends another hot rush right between your legs, suddenly wanting it desperately too. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to walk afterwards, especially not in those stupid heels, but it’s going to be so fucking worth it.

Frankie stretches out fully on the bed, those long legs and broad shoulders taking up so much space on it. Luckily there’s more than enough room for you right there on his lap. You swing a leg over, hands pressing down on his chest for balance while he looks up at you with that crooked grin he always gets when he’s especially pleased about something. A sinful roll of your hips along his thick erection only makes his smile wider when he feels how wet you still are.

“Take me in,” he begs shamelessly, hips moving under you and hands roaming over your skin. “Please, baby.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s another delicious stretch, sliding down his thick erection and feeling him rub you in all sorts of interesting new ways from this angle. Once you’re seated fully you give yourself a moment before you start to move, his heart racing under your palm and his cock held snug and warm deep inside you.

Frankie’s done so much already for you tonight, this is for him. You want to give him just as much pleasure as he gave you, make it just as good for him when you start to roll your hips again to take him in again and again and again. His hands find your thighs and flex against them while he watches with a rapt expression, eyes glued to where you’re joined before looking up to take in the full sight of you riding him just as he wanted.

“Good?” you ask, gasping the word out.

“So fucking good,” he groans. His hips lift under you right as you go down on the next stroke and it’s even better, the way you just fit. You use muscles you didn’t even know you had, increasing your pace and riding him hard. The cords on his neck pop when he throws his head back against the pillow, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring with each exhale of breath. He has to be close, you can sense it in the increasingly desperate noises he makes and the way his fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady on top of him. Your breasts bounce and your thighs are burning with the effort of maintaining the rhythm but you don’t stop, can’t stop, you need Frankie to fall apart just like he’s done for you twice already. You want to see the look on his face and hear the noises he makes when he comes, adding a circle of your hips that makes his eyes close and his body jerk under you. He feels even harder now, and your legs aren’t the only thing that’s burning. Frankie is hitting every sweet spot inside of you, filling you so deep and full that the familiar prickle and spark is starting again. You weren’t expecting to come for a third time, but then again you weren’t expecting anything else that happened tonight and it’s definitely happening. Frankie thrusts up with a growl, yanking you down on him with the same motion and holding you there while you feel him pulse hot and he lets out a long, loud moan like no other noise he’s made all night. The sound and the sensation make you molten, almost there and even deep in the throes of his own pleasure he reaches for your clit and gives it a pinch that’s all you need to fall over the edge with him. With your hands braced on his chest you throw your head back and let it wash over you while you keep rolling your hips to draw out more and more of those gorgeous sounds out of him until he finally starts to soften. You collapse in a heap on his chest and his arms immediately wrap around you, lips brushing against the top of your head while you bury your face against his sweaty chest and your heartbeats slowly go back to normal.

It’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

You could get used to it.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You’re just friends.

Friends who just fucked rather spectacularly.

Fuck.

After a few moments you slide off of him to lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at him. Now things are going to be all weird and awkward and as amazing as the sex was, it wasn’t worth the inevitable end of your friendship. Silence stretches between you and creates more and more space in its wake.

“There’s probably Ubers available now,” you say at last, keeping your gaze away from his face so you don’t see his expression shift from lover to stranger. By the time the driver gets here you’ll have your dress back on and your feet shoved into your shoes and you and Frankie can start pretending this never happened. Maybe that will work.

There’s a snort from next to you. “Yeah. That’s not happening, I’m driving you home tomorrow. After we sleep. And shower. And stop at that diner on 53rd cause I’m gonna need one of those giant lumberjack breakfasts to recover from this.”

You feel yourself flush a bit, as ridiculous as it is considering you’re naked in his bed with “this” still sticky on your inner thighs.

“I’m not going to a diner in that dress,” you say, still looking at the ceiling and adding silently, “or those shoes that could double as torture devices.”

“So you wear one of my T-shirts or something,” Frankie’s voice trails away into a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. Fuck, you really did a number on me.”

Yawning is contagious, you can feel one building and you’re suddenly on the verge of falling asleep thanks to the number he did on you and the incredibly comfortable bed that you never want to leave. Best sex you’ve had in….ever, all thanks to Frankie. But you don’t give in to the urge to just close your eyes and go to sleep, as tempting as it is, turning your head to look at your best friend instead and finding him looking back at you in the dark.

He’s still Frankie. You’re still you.

You’re still friends.

“Frankie? Will we figure…this out in the morning?”

His fingers lace with yours under the blankets and he gives you a soft smile.

“Yeah. We will, baby, I promise.”

When you fall asleep you’re on your side with Frankie plastered to your bare back, his arm firm around your waist like he’s afraid you might try to sneak away in the middle of the night. The thought had occurred to you, to escape all the morning after awkwardness. Frankie isn’t just a hookup or a one-night stand though, he means so much more to you than that. So you lay your hand over his and relax into his embrace with a sigh, wondering as you drift off if he’ll let you borrow his prized vintage AC/DC T-shirt to wear home…..

….and if he’d be up for another round in the shower in the morning.

The answer to both turns out to be a resounding yes.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #my fic

27 notes · View notes

zazima · 9 months

Text

im rusty. so rusty. and also extremely late for christmas. i may as well have waited 350 days until the holidays came around again, but im trying to write more this year, so hear you go? eek im nervous. please pardon any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. enjoy! also tumblr doesn't seem to have line breaks so sorry if any time jumps are confusing.

also a warning for language and mentions of wanting to step in front of a bus as an extreme response to being embarrassed. i swear this is all fluff otherwise.

Harry doesn't know what to get Sirius for Christmas.

Well, to clarify, Harry doesn't know if he can get Sirius anything adequately worth a damn. Because how can a game (magical or not) or piece of art or trinket or any sort of anything say hey Merry Christmas and by the way, thanks for saving me from my horrible abusive household where I lived in a cupboard and for wrangling a fucked up wizarding judicial system so that it both exonerates you from a murder you didn't commit and lets you adopt a kid you only properly met six months ago.

Harry would also like the gift (if he ever manages to find something) to say also thank you for giving me my own bedroom and for making pancakes every Saturday morning and for letting me visit my friends and for playing two-man Quidditch with me and for ruffling my hair and for always letting me pick the film that we watch and for telling me stories about my parents and for always being just enough and for not pushing me when I have nothing to say and for calling me by my name instead of shouting boy angrily-

Harry figures that he should cut himself off there. Any more gratitudes and the gift will literally be impossible to find, lest it be the size of Hogwarts in an effort to cram any and all unspoken messages Harry doesn't have the courage to voice out loud.

So Harry does what he usually does in a sticky situation. He turns to his friends.

No clue mate, Ron writes. I normally get Mum perfume and Dad whatever Muggle trinket he's been obsessing over. So unless Sirius wants a rubber duck, I probably won't be much help. But you could probably give him one and he'd be ecstatic. You're pretty much his favorite person right now.

Ah bloody hell. Do you think I should get Sirius something as a thanks for Pig?

Even though he's sure Ron's right (although Padfoot might enjoy a rubber duck more than Sirius), Harry doesn't have time to add Ron's own gift conundrum to his list of problems, so he turns to Hermione, who ends up being a bit more helpful.

I know you said that Sirius was interested in curse-breaking and how it can be used to help with cleaning up Grimmauld Place, so maybe something pertaining to that? A book or starter kit? Or perhaps something a bit more personal, something he couldn't just buy in a shop. Don't worry too much, Harry. He'll love whatever it is you give him because it's you.

Harry disregards the book suggestion immediately. Sirius does read; over the holiday break the two of them have taken to sitting quietly on opposite sides of the couch in the sitting room, reading books from the Black family library and munching on the latest treat Mrs. Weasley has sent them while flames blaze in the fireplace, only breaking the peaceful quiet occasionally to share whatever interesting passage has just been read. But Harry doesn't want to give a present that reminds Sirius of the exhausting work they do every day trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable home.

Hermione's other suggestion, however, gets Harry thinking. Something he couldn't just buy in a shop. That obviously eliminates all of the last-resort items Harry had on his mental list, as they were dumb things he had planned to frantically order by mail once he gave up on the idea of finding something good enough for Sirius. But it also opens up a new idea, something that Harry himself had appreciated when he had received it a few years ago.

He begins firing off letters and mail-in order forms with an efficiency Hermione would admire. The owls return in quick fashion, up to three or four a day. Sirius doesn't notice anything at first, but when Hedwig taps on the kitchen window for the second time that day during breakfast, he gets up and lets her in with a raised eyebrow at Harry.

"Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment?" he asks, somewhat incredulously, peering at the label on the package. "Harry, love, you know we can just go to Diagon Alley whenever you'd like. No need to rely on owl post if you're running low on supplies."

Harry flushes and snatches the small, soft package from Hedwig, stuffing it under his armpit and looking determinedly at his porridge. He hopes he doesn't have ACTUALLY IT'S PART OF YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT written all over his face.

"It's fine," he shrugs, aiming for casual nonchalance with his tone. "It's just a small thing. No point in going all the way down to Diagon Alley. Besides, the crowds would drive you crazy. They'd probably give you a concussion trying to get a picture."

Sirius grimaces, probably thinking of their last attempt to go for an ice cream at Fortescue's shortly before Harry had left for the fall term. They'd returned to Grimmauld Place ice cream-less and with a giant tear down the front of Harry's robes.

"Nothing a Glamour Charm wouldn't fix," he responds, grabbing his own empty bowl and bringing it to the sink. "Anyway, it's not fair for us to be shut up in this damned house because some people can't behave themselves in public. You just let me know whenever you want to go out, alright? I promise I won't breathe down your neck while you look at potions ingredients and whatnot. Even if they all suspiciously happen to be ingredients for an Enlarging Potion."

He manages to ruffle Harry's hair before the boy squawks out a "Sirius!" and darts out the kitchen, cackling in response to Harry's sputtered "I'm not... I wouldn't... SIRIUS!"

As Christmas approaches, Harry begins to stay up later and later into the night, working frantically to finish Sirius' present. One late night (or early morning, really), he hears a gentle knock on his door. He jumps and shoves the half completed project under his comforter.

"Come in!"

Sirius peeks his head through the cracked open door. "Are you alright? I was getting a glass of water and noticed your light was still on."

Harry nods, trying to convey a casualness he doesn't feel beneath the stress of wanting to have the present ready by Christmas morning. "Yes. Fine. I was just... reading." He reaches for his nightstand and holds up the latest book he's knicked from the Black family library for this exact purpose.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I've read that one before. Couldn't last more than thirty seconds at a time without falling asleep."

Harry glances at the cover. He hasn't even cracked it open yet. "It's actually quite interesting. I've always been fascinated by... the evolution of wizarding legalese from 1500 to 1800." He internally winces as the subject matter is finally made apparent to his sleep-deprived brain.

Sirius pauses, clearly sensing that something's up. He must decide that now's not the time to probe further because he says, "Alright. You're stronger than me, then. Let me know if you need anything though." He begins to retreat and close the bedroom door but stops right before he actually does. "I forgot, " he murmurs, opening the door wide and stepping fully into Harry's bedroom. He approaches Harry where he's sitting on his bed. Harry tries to discretely shove the half-finished present further under the covers. "You had a letter downstairs. We must have missed it earlier. I only saw it when I was getting water." He hands over a rather thick envelope to Harry, who flips it over, notes the name of the sender, and smiles, relieved.

Sirius lets out a small puff of air, and Harry looks up at the sound. Sirius pastes on a rather strained smile. "Do you often write to Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry's brain scrambles for a response. "Erm. Not really."

He doesn't say anything else, unsure how to explain away the situation convincingly. A rather awkward silence settles between them. Sirius looks as if he's summoning the courage to say something.

Sirius takes a deep breath. "I'm here if you ever want to talk, Harry. I know the Weasley's have always been great to you, and I never want to feel like you're getting that taken away. But, I just want you to know that I'm also here, in addition to them. For anything. No questions asked or judgement cast. Alright?"

The letter slips out of Harry's grip, as he frantically waves his hands in front of him, desperate to correct Sirius' perception of the situation. "Oh, no, Sirius, I know! I swear it. We were just... planning Ron's birthday present this year. They wanted to throw him a party." The fib comes easily.

Sirius visibly relaxes. "Oh. Ron's birthday's not until April though."

"Yes," Harry's brain scrambles for an explanation. "But you know how Mrs. Weasley is. Always trying to stay ahead. She's already starting to plan the menu. Fretting between bacon sandwiches or chicken legs for the main course."

Sirius shakes his head, a genuine smile starting to form on his face. "Well you know my vote is always for chicken legs. Assuming I'm invited of course."

"You know you're always invited. Mrs. Weasley always wants an opportunity to make sure you're feeding me properly," Harry rolls his eyes. "And Ron thinks you're pretty cool too. Even though you broke his leg."

Sirius gives him a mock scowl. "Hey now! I wasn't in my right mind that night. And I gave him an owl to make up for it! Even though I was probably doing myself more of a favor than him. That damned owl was driving me mad."

Harry giggles, and Sirius' smile grows wider at the sound. He lets out a dramatic sigh and leans over to ruffle Harry's hair, ignoring the sounds of protest that come in response to the action.

"Alright then, love. I'm off to bed. Shout if you need anything, and I'll be here in faster than you can say chicken legs. You hear me?"

Harry nods. "Yes sir."

Sirius scowls for real this time. "None of that now, remember?"

Harry nods again, this time rather sheepishly. Sirius bends over to kiss his forehead before heading out of the bedroom, shouting a "Good night!" over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.

Harry sighs in relief, pulls the present out from underneath the comforter, tears open Mrs. Weasley's letter, and gets back to work.

The morning of the 25th is bright and cold.

Harry is a ball of nerves as the breakfast plates get cleared away and the two of them prepare to go to the sitting room to open presents. Padfoot had barged into Harry's room at half past seven, barking loudly and leaping onto the bed, nearly giving Harry a heart attack in the process. He'd only finished Sirius' present in the wee hours of the morning and had barely managed to shove it into his desk drawer before he'd fallen asleep.

Sirius had dragged Harry into the kitchen for special Christmas chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate but had only allowed Harry to start eating once he agreed to don a ridiculously oversized Santa hat that matched the one Sirius had on his own head.

"If I'd known you liked Christmas so much, I'd have taken you to the Muggle mall to get a picture with Santa," Harry grumbles only half-heartedly as he watches the milk heat up on the hob. Sirius was adamant about making hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.

Sirius laughs loudly and hooks his arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead with a loud smack. "It's our first Christmas together, kiddo! First of many. You can get past your anti-morning attitude for that, can't you?"

"I gueeeeeeees," Harry mock-whines, drawing out the word as he adds the chopped chocolate to the steaming milk. He's secretly pleased that Sirius seems to somewhat enjoy his company. It shows he's not such a terrible charge.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," Sirius states dramatically. He gives Harry one last squeeze before releasing him. "Now come on, let's get to presents. I call going first!" He darts off to the sitting room where, overnight, a large pile of presents has piled in front of the eight-foot tall tree Sirius had dragged home one afternoon (with lots of swearing).

Harry gulps nervously as he pours hot chocolate into two mugs and tops them both with a handful of marshmallows. His hands are slightly shaking as he brings them both to the sitting room. Sirius is poking around the heap of gifts as he enters the room, and Harry spots the hastily wrapped, lumpy package he completed only a few hours ago.

Please like it, please like it, please like it, he silently begs as he sets the mugs on the coffee table. The sight of the gift is almost nauseating, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the hot chocolate.

Sirius turns at the sound to spot Harry and grins. "Alrighty, kiddo, what do you want to unwrap first? I did go a bit overboard this year, you'll have to forgive me. But there's plenty here from your friends!" He's practically vibrating with excitement.

Harry straightens his back and clears his throat. "Actually, do you mind if you do the opening first?"

Sirius pauses. "Are you sure? I swear mine are quite good."

Harry nods vigorously. "Yes. You can start with mine. It's right on top. The green wrapping." Let's just get this over with, he thinks.

Sirius picks up the package and shakes it gently. It makes no noise, and Harry can't help but let out a chuckle despite the knots in his stomach. Sirius grins at him and begins to carefully unwrap the gift.

Harry's legs suddenly feel like treacle tart filling. He lowers himself onto the couch so he doesn't pass out.

The wrapper paper gently falls to the ground, revealing a mound of knit material. Sirius unravels the pile to reveal a rather lumpy, oversized navy blue sweater with a slightly misshapen black dog woven onto the front.

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's heart drops to his stomach. He opens his mouth, desperate to explain away the situation. "It's uh... it's... erm... it's a sweater? I made it?" As if that wasn't fucking obvious, he internally snarls at himself. He shakes his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "Yes, I, um, I made it. That's uh... that's Padfoot. On the front of it. I knitted it."

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's words start coming out faster and faster, hoping something comes out that remedies this clusterfuck of an event. "Mrs. Weasley helped me. She sent me instructions. And the patterns? That 's why she was sending me so many letters. I didn't know how to do it. They aren't throwing a party for Ron."

Sirius still doesn't say anything.

Oh fuck! Harry thinks wildly. He's probably livid I lied. Oh fuck fuck fuck. "I'm sorry I lied to you! I just wanted it to be a surprise," he manages to get out. "That's why I was ordering so much through owl post. I had to get the yarn and the needles. And I kept having to order more yarn because I kept getting frustrated and messing up a lot. I didn't want you to know. Until now, that is. Obviously."

Sirius. Still. Doesn't. Say. Anything.

Harry wants to crawl into a hole and die. But for some stupid, idiotic reason, he keeps speaking. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the color? I actually realized that I don't know what your favorite color is. But whenever Mrs. Weasley makes one for me or for the Weasley kids, she usually does our favorite color. Or house colors. But I figured you have lots of things in Gryffindor colors? Like your wand holster. And then I noticed that you wear a lot of navy. So I thought that might be nice."

If Sirius doesn't say anything, Harry just might call the Knight Bus so he can step in front of it. He decides to get everything off of his chest before he has to do so.

"Mrs... uh... Mrs. Weasley made me one," he explains softly. "My first year. And every year after that. It means a lot to me. I think it was probably the first gift I ever got. And it kind of made me feel like part of their family? A little bit at least. So... so I wanted to give you one. Not from her, of course. But from me. So you could feel like a part of... our family?" His sentence embarrassingly ends like a question, so he hastily tacks on, "If you want to, of course."

Sirius finally moves, and Harry shuts his mouth. He gently sets the sweater down on the armchair next to him, walks over to where Harry is sitting, and pulls him up into the tightest, fiercest hug Harry has ever experienced.

Neither say anything for a few moments. Until Harry can't deal with not being able to breathe and squeaks out, "Uh? Sirius? I can't really inhale."

Sirius releases him quickly and takes a step back. "Sorry."

Harry feels awkward again. He clears his throat, hoping to fill the silence with something. "I hope you like it. But I know it's not done very well. So I can take it apart if you'd rather that. The shop said they'd take the yarn back as long as it wasn't too worn."

Sirius' head snaps up. "What? Harry, my love, I don't not like it. I love it."

Harry's mouth goes dry. "What?"

Sirius gives him a small smile. His eyes look suspiciously glassy. "Harry. You made this for me. You made this for me! It's my favorite color, and it's got me on it! Of course I love it. Not just because you took the time and the effort to make something for me. Because, my goodness, how do you even start with something like this? It must have taken you ages. But also because, well, you said it yourself. I mean, I already felt like part of the same family with the whole adoption bit and knowing you since you were a baby and whatnot, but it's always nice to know you feel the same. And I'm so honored to be a part of your family. Always will be. You have to know that, alright?" Sirius presses their foreheads together. "Alright?"

Harry nods, feeling a little something catch in his throat. He nods.

"Thank you for my gift," Sirius says softly. "I love it. No talk about talking it apart. I'll be proper mad if you do, you hear me?"

Harry nods again. Sirius releases him. He grabs the sweater from the armchair and pulls it over his head. The hem is uneven and the dog looks more like a cat once the sweater settles on his body, but Sirius only looks down at it and grins.

"Now come on, it's your turn to open presents. I don't think any of mine are as good as a handmade sweater, but I hope you like them anyway. And that's got me thinking, we ought to do a Christmas card no? Especially now that I've got a nice sweater on. Mrs. Weasley might tear up at the sight of a photo of the two us. Come on, come on, pick a present."

Harry rolls his eyes without any real heat behind the action. And he doesn't say anything later when he feels a burst of pride when he sees the photo they take in front of the Christmas tree that afternoon, Sirius wearing the sweater with the biggest, proudest smile Harry has ever seen.

He just bottles the feeling and hopes to remember it forever.

#hi i write sometimes #sirius and harry #sirius black #harry potter #good godfather sirius black #dadfoot #sirius raising harry #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshot

68 notes · View notes

sleepy-vix · 5 months

Text

oh yeah btw i went into the city with my sister today and it was a very nice day :) i'm now going to tell you all about it bc i need to learn to be more positive. also, i will add random photos from pinterest so this post looks mildly interesting

here i go:

- first we watched an anzac day march (i live in australia, yeah. idrm u guys knowing that. basically anzac day is a day where we show respects to soldiers who fought in the war/s) for a whole hour (yeah... it was very tiring but atleast all we had to do was sit and watch. its not exactly hard i suppose)

- then, we went to a cafe where we drank iced matcha latte and shared a chocolate cake slice. the cafe was so cozy and it had jaz music and it was dark wood + green + overgrown vines type of vibe :)

- then, we went to....

drumroll please

a second hand bookstore !!!

*dies, comes alive, dies, comes alive* (x4)

there were a million books in there (or so the sign at the front claimed) and it was such a lovely place

it smelled like old books. i nearly suffocated because the smell was so strong (but i didnt mjnd at all ofc)

in the back, there was a big space with no shelves and a few tables and chairs to sit and read (i assume?) (tho there were still shelves along the wall)

in the front+middle, there were shelves everywhere, with only space for 2 people in between each shelf

it was very cluttered. i struggled to understand the system because many shelves were unlabelled, but i think that adds to the charm and i loved having to look through all the shelves

at the very front, there is the cash register and a bunch ( a BUNCH) of book stacks on the floor with no price (bc the owner hadnt priced the books yet. the shop is personally owned and they price books by writing it in pencil on the first page. isnt that so charming??)

the books werent insanely cheap, but its a food place to fins different/collectable covers of certain books

i saw a red hardbound version of dead souls by nikolai gogol, which i was going to get bc i really want to read that, but it was falling apart so badly (like the spine was 4/5 off the book) that i felt like it was unwise to purchase haha :,)

in the end, i didnt get to look at everything bc my sister got restless but i did manage to buy 3 books that i am very happy abt:

1. "the adventures of tom sawyer" by mark twain :) this was 7.50 and it had a really pretry cover (also it was small sized, which i think is so charming and pocketable)

2. "the tenant of wildfell hall" by anna brontë. i have read none of the brontë sisters' works, but i really want to:) this was also only 7.50 and the cover was pretty, and it was also pretty small

3. "quiet" by susan cain. it seems so interesting and it was only $10, whereas its going for $20 on amazon 💀 :)

also the owner gave me a bookmark that looked old and it was beige + black and it had the shop name on it, contact info, promo stuff but also it was so cool bc the font was fancy and there was an olden day sketch of an oldman reading to a child in the middle of the bookmark :)

also the owner was a nice and chill old man. also there was classical music !

i cant wait to revisit that store :) i will be opting to purchase all of my classics there because they have covers that ive never seen before.

---

then we took the bus home

the end

#sleepy vix #vix's journal

24 notes · View notes

t-top-apologist · 2 months

Text

The thing you have to understand about Soviet cars is that if you judge communism by its ability to create an automobile, it becomes immediately apparent that Communism was an immediate failure.

This is of course not a salient metric with which to judge any economic system, but its fascinating to give the workers of the world the means of production, infinite supply of raw materials, and a little help from American and Italian engineers through licensing deals, and they still managed to pump out a tin box of failure that manages to pollute just as much as the boat-sized American cadillac whose trunk the soviet car could fit in.

A finnish man with no flight school training managed to build multiple functioning airplanes in his barn with a VW bus engine and a hand carved propeller but the entire might of the Soviet Union wasn't able to engineer a mode of transportation more functional than what you see the flintstones use. And you will be flintstoning these cars because the bottom rusts out faster than you can say "Workers of the world, unite!"

The thing is, I love bad cars. I really love bad cars. My dream car is a corvair, a machine that would kill you if you flipped over, if Ralph Nader is to be believed (unless this was a plot to maintain communist supremacy over terrible automobiles), I've fully bought in to cars that are not good. And nothing is as dismal as a soviet automobile.

The thing is, they're also little guys. And I love them. They just funky little dudes after all. Just as the USSR set out to create the lumpiest helicopter on earth, it developed cars without the pesky capitalist values of customer satisfaction. This meant designs that were not as pretty as the capitalist running dog corvettes or ferraris, but held the honest working man's personality and soul. And also looked real weird, which is a plus in my book.

AC is bourgeois, or at least that's what I tell myself in my 70s muscle car, another branch on the tree of terrible machines to ride in.

12 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 2 years

Text

Review: Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents

I am still trying to log my reading more diligently! And this one is the latest. Now there’s a title that makes it tough to recommend to people without a lot of disclaimers. :D

My psychiatrist is a specialist in medication management, and while he does see patients therapeutically, I’m not one of them; he sees me to prescribe ADHD medication and make sure I’m not having side-effects or misusing it. But of course part of the meeting is just chatting so he can gauge my behavior for himself, and in our last meeting we got onto the topic how I haven’t told my parents about my diagnosis because I don’t think any good can come of it. After explaining my somewhat complex relationship to my mother and stepfather, who I love but who also can be difficult, he recommended Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents (subtitle: “How to heal from distant, rejecting, or self-involved parents”) by Lindsay Gibson.

It’s kind of a shame the book title is so direct, because I think my mother could actually really use to read it, but if you recommend a book like that to your parents it means you also read it and that...does not send a super great message about how you feel about them.

I did a lot of highlighting.

Although, in the end, not for the reasons one would think. In part, while I recognized parental behaviors described in the book, I also recognized behaviors in myself. About halfway through, especially when Gibson was writing about how emotionally immature parents generally come from emotionally immature parenting themselves, I had to stop and think, “Oh. Maybe this is also me.” Fortunately I’m not a parent nor likely to become one, but it’s still a bit of a hard truth to see yourself in that kind of thing. I’m not much one to cause drama, at least not intentionally, and I try to be a generally good and emotionally supportive friend, but some of the stuff -- shallow emotional affect, difficulty with empathy and intimacy, anxiety surrounding strong emotion and personal relationships -- landed kind of close to home.

The problem with self-help books and books like this which are on the edge of the self-help genre is that they tend to be written very structurally. They have a specific way of being, which if you’re already part of the way to the conclusions they’re presenting (or familiar with the scammier ones) can be less helpful. For one, because they are aimed at people who tend to be wounded and confused, they lay out whatever they’re discussing in a very systematized way, and human behavior often defies systems. I was seeing aspects of behavior in my parents and myself here and there, but none of us fit into the categories the book lays out. Most people won’t fit precisely, but being an outlier doesn’t really help.

And, honestly, the case studies that are meant to resonate tended not to, simply because I looked at them and went “Oh, that person was abused. Those behaviors happened to me, but not at that level, and not in those ways.” I struggled too with the “workbook” aspects, where you’re asked to answer specific questions or make a list of things. One of the questions was “I wish people would just ______” where you fill in the blank, and like...I don’t have wishes like that. I’m still trying to figure out what I would even put there. Not stand in front of bus doorways so often? Stop voting Republican? I suspect that’s not what they’re reaching for.

And when you get a little distance on stuff like the categories and case studies, what you start to see is a book that, like many books in this vein, could be half the length it is. So much of this book is designed to cause a resonance with the reader and then reinforce and reinforce and reinforce that resonance -- there’s a lot of repetition of theme in order to pull someone emotionally further and further into the book, meanwhile not really presenting new information, just the same information framed within a different anecdote. I don’t condemn that; it’s what you have to do to sell the book, and to sell the ideas within it to some people. Otherwise it’s not super publishable, and I get that. But once you see the manipulation going on it’s hard not to react poorly to it.

A shorter, more informative book wouldn’t necessarily appeal to people who are pulled into the book via those reinforcements, but I started to do a lot of skimming because I knew I could. In that sense it’s a fast read, but I’m sure I missed some information here and there.

And the real problem is that the solutions presented for how to deal with emotionally immature parents as an adult are all things I was already doing, which after all the emotional build of earlier was quite disappointing. The reason I’m capable of having a pretty positive relationship with my parents is that I know how to handle them without taking too much psychic damage, enough that it’s worth maintaining a relationship, and apparently that’s as good as it’s going to get. There’s a lot healing from the harm inflicted just in those behaviors, but also for anyone wanting to DIY the rest, there’s not much good advice -- it circles back around to “Go to therapy and heal your childhood wounds” which is fine, I guess, but not a super executable solution for me. It reminded me powerfully of reading a book about autism when I was younger; there was a chapter about resources for family members of people with autism, and within that chapter there was one paragraph about siblings. I can give it to you in a sentence: “Asking your neurotypical child to help their autistic sibling is very character-building and will teach them responsibility.” Sure, but could we not dig for something a little deeper?

So, insightful book, potentially very useful if you do have a fraught relationship with your parents, but unfortunately not terribly helpful to me personally. Still, worth getting out of the library.

#book reccs #parental relationships

189 notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 2 years

Note

can you write a Joe and reader where she has a bad migraine and he takes care of her?? Love your writing!!!

baaaaabe ive experienced a migraine but ONCE in my life, so... thats all the reference ive got... all right, here ya go! Wordcount: 1.4K

---

Warmth, Comfort, Darkness, Silence

You weren’t scared of flying – there honestly wasn’t any real fear there, is what you kept telling yourself. But saying you were relaxed and didn’t have your mind whirling at absolute top speed would be lying. Joe knew and had been holding onto your sweaty palms any second he had been able to.

You were glad you didn’t have to travel alone this time and were even happier that you’d managed to last minute get seats together with Joe. You hadn’t been expecting to – you’d already accepted that you’d be on opposite ends of the plane since you booked so very last minute.

Your plan had been to just sleep throughout the full 9 hours, and you’d hoped you could doze off before take-off just to omit the full thing entirely.

Squeezed into your isle seat, you couldn’t stop fidgeting with your fingers. Joe squeezed a hand in between your sweaty ones. “Try to relax,” he smiled. Of course, there was not a hint of nerves in Joe’s system. He’d been on way more flights than you, but even when you were younger and you had the same amount of in-flight-experience, Joe always looked like he was simply sat on the bus – so very casually relaxed, it almost angered you that he didn’t take flying a little more seriously.

The headache you’d been feeling since this morning certainly didn’t help, and the prospects of being in a pressurized cabin for hours without escape added onto your discomfort. When you reached for your bottle of water to take another ibuprofen, Joe stopped you.

“Can I try something?”

Joe reached, hesitated, but when you didn’t stop him, he continued to place his palm over your forehead. The bottom of it, the part just above his wrist, was placed just above the bridge of your nose. He brought his other hand up to the back of your head, and just when you were about to ask what the fuck Joe was doing, he started applying pressure. The strength applied to your forehead was strong, and you realized the hand in your hair was just there for leverage. To keep you in place. And then you felt it, as if by magic the pressure inside your skull that had been plaguing you since that morning vanished. It just…slipped down your body, like water would cascade down your frame in the shower. You kept your eyes closed, and upon the relief, you fully relaxed into Joe’s hands. Joe felt it and smirked slightly. He held onto you for a little longer before very slowly lessening the pressure, until eventually completely letting go.

“Better?”

You blinked up at him, awestruck.

“What kind of crazy voodoo did you just use on me?”

“Voodoo mum used to apply to me when I was little. Always worked. Something to do with pressure points, I don’t know.”

It helped immensely, and it had helped you stay mellow through take-off. But with the altitude changing rapidly, you had also felt your headache creep back in slowly, the pressure inside your skull doing an absolute number on its hollow cavities. It was a dull ache that you could feel behind your eyes and slowly spread towards your ears. Your ears that desperately needed to be popped, but no matter how many sips of water you took, just didn’t seem to want to. They left you with muffled hearing.

It was about an hour in that you started noticing your vision going.

“Oh no,” you said, your voice muted by the loud engines of the plane. Joe was watching a film and had his headphones on, so he hadn’t heard you. You focused and tried to see what you couldn’t – the outside edges of your vision seemed to have gone. Slightly fuzzy there too.

You grabbed Joe’s arm, slightly panicked and with way too strong of a grip for Joe to ignore you.

When he saw your wide eyes, darting to see where your peripheral vision started and trying to remember what you were used to, he took off his headphones and sat up, grabbing both your hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Migraine. It’s a migraine attack.” You felt your fingers start to tingle, confirming that you were right. But you were on a plane. Surrounded by other people. With no possible way out.

“Shit,” Joe cursed, entirely unaware of how to help. He’d been with you through quite a few of your migraines, and what always seemed to help best was for you to climb on top of him in the bed, your head snuggly tucked into the crevice of his neck underneath his chin, body engulfed by covers, be in complete darkness, and have Joe hug you tightly and keep quiet. You would sink into him and endure the feeling of your eyes trying to escape your skull whilst trying your best to focus on Joe’s heartbeat to distract you from it all until you’d fall asleep. Warmth, comfort, darkness, and silence. Four things impossible to give to you on a cramped and crowded commercial airplane with the airconditioning blaring somewhere high above the Atlantic.

“Water. Do you need water? Excuse me, can we get some water?” Joe asked a flight attendant that whizzed past. She didn’t hear him. You hadn’t even said you wanted water, but Joe was already up out of his seat, awkwardly climbed over you and followed the flight attendant to the back of the plane.

The passenger on the other side of Joe that was in the window seat made eye contact with you. They were blurry to you which you knew logically they shouldn’t be. They reached over for you and turned off your overhead light, as well as the one above themselves and then they slid their window blind down. “Thank you,” you muttered, unable to tell if they could even hear you.

When Joe returned with two water bottles, he motioned for you to move over into his chair, and as you did, he put the water bottles in your seat and reached up to get something from your luggage. A flight attendant made their way over to help Joe. You weren’t able to follow their hushed conversation at all, but she seemed very strict, and Joe seemed very apologetic until he became frustrated.

“She’s got an upcoming migraine and nowhere to go,”

“I’m sorry sir, there’s no other seats available, we’re fully booked.”

You checked behind her and saw another flight attendant waiting, waiting for Joe to get out of the way. You reached to pull him into your seat, but Joe pulled down his hand-luggage from the overhead storage and plonked it into your seat as well. It prompted the flight attendant to close the bin above you right after, and she told Joe to store the suitcase under the seat in front of him.

“That was rude,” Joe muttered. It hadn’t been rude, she’d just done her job, but she hadn’t been helpful which annoyed him. Joe’d gotten two of his sweaters out of his luggage and passed them to you. You didn’t know what you were going to be doing with two of his sweaters, but Joe looked like a man with a plan.

“There’s an eye mask… eye mask, front pocket somewhere,” you felt nausea creeping in fast.

After storing the trolley where he was told to do so, he switched the sweaters and the eye mask in your hands with a water bottle and instructed you to drink. “Lots. Just, down it.” So, you did.

“You’re going to have to go to sleep, and it’s not going to be an easy task. Put this on,” Joe pulled one of his sweaters over your head, his touch entirely too careful around the collar in fear of doing you more harm than good, and you apologized to your new neighbour when you tried to get your arms in. Warmth.

Joe started rolling up the other sweater and fashioned it into a neck pillow for you. Comfort.

“Lean forward,”

You did as you were told, terrified but immensely comforted by the care Joe showed for you as he softly wrapped it around your neck and then fit the eye mask around your head. Darkness.

“I’d make you sit on my lap if there was enough room,” Joe said, entirely too loud into your ear even though his voice sounded far away. You just needed him close to you and quiet – not a peep from him. He took one of your sweaty palms into his fist and you tried to get as comfortable in your seat as you could, resting your pounding head against Joe’s shoulder. “I’ll shut up.” Joe read your mind. Silence.

---

The Taglisted: @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @bagelofthelord67 @nobody-000 @lluviamg06 @thatonefan-girl @kylakins88 - add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #fanfiction #warmth comfort darkness silence #fluff #joe x reader #joseph x reader #requested #one shot

272 notes · View notes

watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 4 months

Text

Stage fright

i struggled a lot to write this week, exam season had started and I'm dying, but I managed to catch a little break today, so here you go

Taglist: @ziptiesnfries @lumpofsand, @fleur-a-whump

TW: asphyxiation (collar too tight), manhandling, dehumanisation, Oli can't catch a break

previous masterlist next

They were on the way to a concert, as much as Oliver understood, it was a promotional event at a small venue, and the pictures taken mattered more than the music they played. They sat in the tour bus, as prepared as they managed to be on their own, since Diana had bigger fish to fry that afternoon, her absence left them in a rather relaxed, almost cheerful mood. Granted, they were far from as well put together as usual and they were late, they were talking to each other, joking and laughing about the upcoming performance.

When they arrived at the venue, the driver could barely pull up by the entrance. They could all hear the deafening screaming and chanting from the fans waiting for them already. Eddie and Will immediately stood and looked out the window, waving and throwing kisses, much to the crowd’s pleasure, while the other two anxiously checked to make sure the security guards got to the door to escort them through.

Oliver sat quietly, with his hands folded in his lap over the book he brought with himself, so he could stay entertained while the band played. He planned to stay on his appointed couch and finish at least two more chapters; his luck seemed to have run out, though, because the last moment before leaving the bus, James decided to bring him with, and grabbed him harshly by the collar.

Being pulled into the crowd of people felt like being dropped in the middle of the ocean with no lifebuoy to hold him up, he was immediately pulled underwater. He remembered bitterly when he thought the couple of PAs and makeup assistants at the studio was a crowd, he had to redefine the term really quick.

The sheer volume of people was nothing Oliver had ever seen before, it was dizzying to look around and see the hundreds of faces staring back at him, yelling things he couldn’t even make sense of, and while the boys were shielded but the guards bodies, safe from the eager hands reaching to touch them, they arrived at the entrance perfectly unscathed, only Eddie had to run a hand through his hair so it sat just right.

Oliver was far from that lucky, the guard simply grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him behind as if he was part of the luggage they carried their instruments in. He was not safe from the hands touching and grabbing at his clothes and hair, pulling him in all directions but the entrance. He felt the book, he still held onto as if his life depended on it, rip and he hoped it wasn’t missing crucial parts.

When he was finally pushed in the entrance of the building by the guard, his hair fell in his face, bruises littered his upper arms and the book in his hand was missing it’s cover. He sniffled quietly, trying to hide how badly he was hurt. Khai shook his head.

“Next time don’t let the crowd rip him apart” he told the guard, who dismissively waved a hand at him. At least Khai tried. They arrived at a semi-open area behind the stage, where they were already setting up the sound system and bringing several instruments on stage, a few of which Oliver recognised as Khai and Will’s guitars they comfortably forgot in the living room on multiple occasions before, earning Oli a slap for touching it the first time he tried to bring it back to his room. The instruments were treated as sacred objects in the household.

He was led to sit on the ground next to a row of chairs that were meant for the artists, none of whom actually sat down to rest. He counted the names of at least four more artists and bands outside them scribbled across boxes and other equipment. He wondered if they would be up first so they could leave.

As the afternoon turned to evening, and darkness started settling above the stage the noise coming from the crowd became louder and louder chanting songs and names they wanted on the stage.

The performers didn’t seem bothered by it, they continued to stand around and chat mostly near the area a bar was set up in. There were many people rushing around, some with colourful lanyards dangling from their necks, some with microphones and headsets, it was the already familiar chaos of public appearances.

He was delighted, when the lights were turned on above him, as he finally had a chance to open his roughed up book and continue to read and escape reality for a little while.

His newfound quietude wasn’t long lived though, as he saw a heavily tattooed arm reach into his view and took away the book. He looked up to find himself being stared down by Eddie looming over him.

“What do you think you’re doing, puppy?” he asked, barely hiding his annoyance as Oliver felt his eyes piercing deep to his soul.

“Reading?” he answered quietly. He wasn’t sure what it was again he messed up, but he knew that he would face whatever consequences the singer saw fit.

“Do you know how rude that is?” he asked, and fiddled with the book he took from the pet, turning the pages absentmindedly. Oliver watched his every move with wary eyes. Please just don’t rip the book apart. He shook his head.

“New rule, you don’t distract yourself when were performing” Oliver barely had time to react, as the singer dropped the item on the ground and stepped on it, just to grab him by the collar and pull him up so they were eye to eye.

“Do you understand?” the singer shook him, when he didn’t reply. He nodded.

“You’re fucking useless” Eddie spat and dropped him back on his knees “You know what?” his eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, he got an idea. He lifted Oli’s chin with a rough motion as he unbuckled and readjusted the collar. The band was announced on stage, he could see the other three guys line up at the stage waiting for the singer, who just waved at them to go before turning back to the boy.

He tried to pull away, when he figured out what the singer planned to do, earning him a strong backhanded slap, that stung more than it should have. Eddie fastened the collar around his throat restricting the airflow.

“All you have to do now is listen” he smiled, eyes void of all emotion, and he ran after the others earning a roar of applause as he got on stage.

Oliver really did try to hear anything from the concert, but all he managed to make out were half words and the crowd growing louder with each set. His head was pounding, he felt every single heartbeat in his throat, as the blood fought its way past the tight leather. He tried to ask for help, but he couldn’t force enough air in or out to alert anyone around, not like they seemed to notice his existence at all. He worked hard for every breath, and tried to ignore the dark spots that started appearing all around the periphery of his vision, total darkness threatening to encapsulate him fully.

Only one thing snapped him out of his deep concentration for a brief second, when he noticed something running down on the side of his face. He reached up to his cheek that still stung from Eddie’s blow, to pull his hand away with red on his fingertips to his horror.

One of the singer’s rings must’ve caught his skin, leaving a large horizontal wound on the right side of his face.

He reached up to unbuckle the collar, but his mind froze up with the heavily trained muscle memory of never being allowed to touch the leather around his neck, so he let his hand fall back into his lap, periodically trying to reach up again, and failing again.

He barely noticed when the performance ended, he slumped back to the wall behind him to keep himself upright. His vision cleared suddenly, and he could suck in a deep breath. He couldn’t keep the relief for long, as a coughing fit took over his body, seizing his chest and throat.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay” came the gentle shushes and soothing headpats, he recognised from James “I adjusted it, it’s okay you can breathe now”

As the coughs died down, a new broken sound of sobs bubbled up from his chest. The feeling of the collar around his neck was heavier than usual, and it was all he could think of. The feeling of choking on nothing burnt permanently in his mind.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he managed to whine into James’ shirt as he clung to him.

“It’s okay, darling, you’re okay” he shushed again, and turned the boy’s face towards himself with a frown “What the fuck happened to your face?” he asked, perplexed. Oliver’s hair fell all over his face successfully covering the bloody cut on his cheek. The drummer pushed it behind his ear to take a better look at.

“Eddie’s ring” Oliver sobbed, and immediately tensed up. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to tell. It was a guess anyway. It might have been something he hit his head on while struggling with the collar.

“Okay, okay, we’ll take a better look at it at home” James urged him to get up. He managed to grab his book, before stumbling forward to be caught by the boy “Fuck, can you even walk?” he asked sharply, making Oli recoil with fear, fortunately the anger in his voice wasn’t directed at him.

#whump #whump writing #oc whump #whump community #multiple whumpers #asphyxiation tw #dehumanisation tw #manhandling tw

15 notes · View notes

codewareltd · 1 year

Text

Online Bus Ticketing System - Bus Booking Software

In today's fast-paced world, where convenience and efficiency are paramount, the evolution of transportation systems has significantly impacted how people travel. One such essential component of modern transportation is the bus booking system. This article delves into the intricacies and advantages of bus booking systems, shedding light on the technology, benefits, and the convenience they bring to travelers.

FAQs

Is it safe to book bus tickets online?

Yes, reputable bus booking platforms use secure payment gateways to protect your information.

Can I change my travel date after booking a ticket?

It depends on the bus operator's policy. Check the terms and conditions before booking.

Are there discounts for group bookings?

Some bus operators offer discounts for group bookings. Check the platform for details.

What should I do if my bus is delayed?

Stay informed by checking real-time updates on the bus booking system or contacting customer support.

Can I book tickets for intercity travel?

Yes, most bus booking systems cover both intercity and intracity travel. Check the available routes on the platform.

#bus booking system #bus ticketing system #bus ticketing software #best bus booking app #bus booking mobile app #bus booking #online ticketing system #ticketing software #booking application #bus ticket booking system #book online bus ticket #ticket booking software #ticket booking and management software #bus ticketing apps

0 notes

mxtxfanatic · 22 days

Text

Book of the Week: She Is the Protagonist

Author: Re Dao Hun Jue (热到昏厥)

Genre: transmigration, rebirth, modern-day showbiz, baihe

Rating: T

My Synopsis: Tang Hanqiu has finally managed to free herself from the control of her system after throwing herself off the edge of a building in her first life. On the other side, Yu Rubing has discovered that her system is a little bit more stubborn with her refusal to play along. When the fated "love rivals" meet, they both take it as a chance to finally thwart the beings trying to control their lives, but will they successfully escape the shackles of systems hellbent on charting out their life course?

My Actual Review: As the first and currently only baihe that I have read, finished, and thoroughly enjoyed, I absolutely love this story. Yu Rubing is a character that takes no shit from the moment she wakes up as the protagonist, and her team-up with Tang Hanqiu matches both of their energies so well. Also, the romance is so perfect. I must say I am a sucker for characters who realize their affections early on and get together before the final arc of the story. The surprise (surprise?) villain was honestly kinda terrifying when paired with the rules of the world(s) that the characters were unknowingly living under, and I hope that the author writes another novel set in this very same universe because the drama behind the system was fascinating. Also, loved the extras! I love when the main couple has children! I feel like I should add this as a content warning, but both MCs commit suicide multiple times throughout the story but as ways to escape the control of the system and not as an expression of a wish to die.

The translation is alright. It's a little clunky in places, and I was definitely annoyed by translation notes that just felt like I was being walked through every single metaphor (even ones that are common in English!) but it is by far one of the better-quality translations to read.

Translation: complete

#human promotes #she is the protagonist #my first foray into baihe!#oh this book has a special place in my heart #cause Yu Rubing is an absolute gem #as is Tang Hanqiu #love how they just ‘support women’ their way out of a shitty situation #and into the love of a lifetime #guess girlbossing works sometimes #or jumping off of buildings idk

6 notes · View notes

litcityblues · 1 month

Text

'Ashes of Victory' --A Review

The ninth novel in the Honorverse series serves as a conclusion to a three-book arc in the series that begins with In Enemy Hands, continues with Echoes of Honor, and concludes here. Honor Harrington is alive, and well and has returned home with half a million prisoners from the Havenite Prison Planet known as Hell.

Ashes of Victory is the story of her triumphant return home. I would say the first third of the book or so is centered around just Honor coming to grips with having been declared/believed to be dead. She has an emotional reunion with her parents (her mother had given birth to twins, which satisfied the requirement Grayson had for an heir to her Steading) and her cousin Devon has inherited her Manticoran title (Honor is amused by this, as she can imagine his horror at the news-- while we don't meet him, he's described as a bookish/Professorial type who would very much not interested in things like a title.) She also has to face the facts: the extent of her injuries is going to keep her from active naval duty for at least a couple of years since she'll need reconstructive surgery.

There's a heart-wrenching moment for Nimitz as well-- as the extent of his injuries becomes clear and the humans realize he has lost his ability to communicate with his fellow Treecats, though his bond with Honor remains intact and as strong as ever. It's unclear if he recovers some ability to communicate with his fellow Treecats, but what Honor does is manage to help prove that Treecats are as intelligent as humans and full communication starts to become possible thanks to sign language systems.

Honor gets her battlefield promotion confirmed (and becomes Admiral) and, since she's out of the fighting for a bit, starts teaching at the Saganami Island Naval Academy to shape the minds of future generations of naval officers-- not just from Manticore, but from Grayson as well.

Hey, remember Steadholder Mueller? He was sort of kind of involved in a plot to overthrow Protector Benjamin that got somebody else beheaded and he frantically threw everyone he possibly could under the bus to avoid being implicated himself? (Flag In Exile, fifth book of the series.) Well, he's back and he's been biding his time and martialling his power and he's emerged as the leader of the Opposition on Grayson. He doesn't know it, but he's also under investigation but before that can come to fruition, his conspirators are revealed to be agents of Masada. There is unease on Grayson- especially when rumors start flying that annexation into the Star Kingdom is being discussed. (It's not precisely that: the famously independent San Martin has joined, but it's... kind of a commonwealth situation? They maintain their autonomy but also have representation of some kind in Manticore's Parliament?) Poor Mueller is in over his head and doesn't realize until it's too late.

Meanwhile, on Haven, things are going great, and by great I mean that Rob Pierre is dead. Admiral McQueen tries to launch a coup. Oscar Saint-Just detonates a hidden nuke underneath the Octagon and decimates McQueen, her forces, and a hefty amount of the military leadership to boot. Admiral Theisman is recalled to take charge of the Capital Fleet. Admirals Tourville and Giscard are believed to be next on the list of Admirals to go (i.e. be shot) and the military situation collapses on them. They are on the verge of utter defeat thanks to Manticore's new offensive and technologies to boot.

But, a surprise assassination attempt on the combined leadership of Manticore and Grayson fails- but kills Manticore's Prime Minister which leads to a change of government. The opposition comes in and demands a halt to the fighting, believing Haven to be defeated. Queen Elizabeth is fucking pissed about it but has no choice. A ceasefire follows along with negotiations and Admiral Theisman launches a coup of his own, killing Oscar Saint-Just.

Y'all...

I am not sure how to feel about this book. The first third to half of it is just about perfect. Pays off so many plot lines laid down in the previous two books of this arc. There are great character moments as Honor returns home and is reunited with friends and family and faces up to the cost of her injuries and time on Planet Hell. (The weird awkward romance between her and White Haven is touched upon, but we don't get back around to that-- I'm thinking we will at some point though.)

But the ending to this one leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It's... awkward. To his credit, Weber acknowledges that he had to make a mild retcon in an afterword. Basically, eagle-eyed readers noted that in an earlier book, the Prime Minister of Manticore must command a majority in the Commons. Weber tweaked that here to make it the House of Lords. That change is small, but significant and explains how the Opposition was able to force a change in government-- and, it turns out that Monarchs of Manticore are required to marry a commoner. I am assuming that this will be paid off in future volumes... somehow. But a political short-circuit on Manticore's part also covers up for the fact that Haven is a hot mess.

How can any polity survive such instability? It's all coups and counter-coups and counter-counter-coups and nukes going off and just randomly killed a million people or so. I don't see how you can have that instability without some kind of popular unrest breaking out.

I mean, on the one hand, I get it: the Honorverse train keeps on rolling. But on the other hand: this is kind of a wet fart noise of an ending to a really excellent three-book arc to this series. (Also, there's a lot of really technical exposition in this one-- maybe more than in previous novels, I don't know. And yes, it's military sci-fi, so what did I expect, but it slows this book down in parts in ways I did not like.)

Overall: Starts strong, but the ending is not particularly satisfying-- however, these three book-arc have sold me on keeping on keeping on when it comes to the Honorverse, so I guess we'll see what's next. My Grade: *** out of ****

#ashes of victory #david weber #honor harrington #honorverse #book nine

3 notes · View notes

fights4users · 1 year

Text

Additional lore from the novel

Now not everyone considers novelization’s cannon, which is a real shame as they add on a ton to the film. Especially ones made back in the day as they’re A lot closer to the script etc.

Here’s a bunch of stuff from the novelization I either shared (or haven’t) that made me lose my mind. Between lore, world building and extra bits of characterization. I love learning more about this world and oh boy does the book do that

Tron is a hope symbol and champion long before he’s free or defeats the MCP. He has managed to survive in the games for so long without breaking - he hasn’t lost and never gave up his faith. This program is that little bit of hope for all the user-believers captured or otherwise.

Encom is already a mega corporation in 1982- like the MCP takes systems, it gobbles up smaller tech companies. It’s actually hard to pinpoint what they actually *do* there besides “everything”

Tron has a slew of trauma from his time in captivity, both from being worked into a killing machine and from the isolation the cells can bring (it’s also made clear that the schedules of working them through the games lead to socialization, both being in cells to talk is very little)

The MCP controls the color of circuits and how a program presents them. The spectrum is limited to Blue user believers and Red elite. As well as the patterns being much more natural and flowy, but made so harsh under his regime.

The novel shows us a lot about power , the transfer of it as both an act of love and a life Source. By restricting it to such an extent half the population is essentially zombie worker drones without much function- they move and communicate but there’s no thought behind any of it. With warriors there’s just enough given to them to keep going, to fight but not much else there either. It also goes into how it can be transferred to save another’s life or… uhhhhh other reasons. (These two acts are different and very specialized, you have to have intent so transfer is not inherently sexual)

Circuits are described by Flynn to look almost like acupuncture lines… sensitive circuits confirmed? (There you go nsfw tronblr lmao)

Circuits are moodrings! But they’re also a show of power level. As when we first see Yori as an automated worker she’s extremely dim.

Yori was a premier design coordinator before the takeover, like Lora she’s high ranked and undisplayable at her job.

Like Alan, Tron hates waste

Tron and Yori have an apartment together. It is important you know this.

Confirmed! Game grid is not part of the main computer and is in “another domain” considering how the Crom/Flynn match showed up on a bus station’s game machine. It is a massive area. (Opens the potential of games across the country being used in the gladitorial style)

#tron #tronblr #tron 1982 #tron lore #the grid #the game grid #Encom #Encom system #tron novelization #master control program #MCP #yori tron #ram Tron #character study #lore #Tron programs #lora baines #alan bradley

28 notes · View notes

fandomsnstuff · 11 months

Text

The fates of @taznovembercelebration gave me permission to write my parent blupjeans propaganda

Day 2: baby

Lup comes in for work after the winter break and meets a new kid.

Read on AO3

First day back from the winter holidays, and Lup's running late. Every year there's a blizzard, and every year the entire bus system goes to shit. She left two hours early, but still runs into the daycare an hour late. She apologises profusely to her manager, but she waves her off. With the weather, they aren't nearly as hectic as they usually are in the mornings. Most of the kids are late or at home.

Lup puts her stuff away and sheds her outer layers. She observes the room of children, trying to decide where to start. There's not even ten of them. She's about to start towards a small group colouring together when a shrill scream rings out. She looks and sees a little girl she doesn't know in the corner. She's clutching a teddy bear and sobbing as one of the four year olds stomps away.

She walks over and crouches in front of the crying girl. "Hey hun, what happened?"

"He's b'oken," she sobs, holding out the bear. One of its arms is half torn off.

"Oh no," the bear has a blue ribbon tied around its neck with a plastic tag attached, identifying it as a toy from home. The tag is flipped the wrong way, so she can't see the girl's name. "That's really sad, huh?"

The girl presses the bear to her face and nods, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Can I see him?"

She clutches the bear tighter and eyes Lup suspiciously. "Why?"

"I want to see how hurt he is. I might be able to fix him."

Her eyes widen, "really?"

"Sure, I think he just needs stitches. Do you want to walk to the front desk with me?" They've got a small sewing kit in one of the drawers for this exact reason.

Lup takes the girl's hand and brings her to the front of the room. She crouches in front of her again and says, "can I see your friend now? I promise I'll take really good care of him."

She hesitates for a second. "He's scared."

"Oh yeah?"

"He's never been in the big kid room before."

"I see," Lup says, very seriously. She must have turned three over the break and been moved up to this room. Explains why she's never seen her before. "How about I fix his arm, and then I can help you show him how much fun the big kid room can be?"

After taking a moment to deeply think this over, she hands the bear over with the most care Lup's ever seen in a toddler.

Upon inspection, the tear isn't that bad. Maybe an inch long and exactly on the seam, it's an easy fix. When she's done, she ties off the thread and snips away the excess. "There," she says, smoothing her thumb over the seam, "all better."

"Can I see?"

"Sure." She hands the bear down and says, "it's like it never happened."

The girl beams and hugs the bear tight. "Thank you Miss… uh… um…"

"Lup."

"Oh!" She perks up. "Like daddy's friend!"

"...what?"

"Lup, like daddy's friend."

Well. The only Lup she's ever met is herself, and as far as she knows none of her friends have kids. She gets on the girl's level and says, "who's your dad?"

She cocks her head to the side. "He's daddy."

To make this whole conversation shorter, Lup reaches out and flips the tag around the bear's neck. In the same slanted, scratchy handwriting she sees in the notebook next to hers every Friday night at DnD is written, Lilliana Bluejeans.

"Well would you look at that," she says, "I do know your dad."

Lilliana smiles and yeah. She sees it now. She could recognise that smile from down the street.

"Can I be your friend too?" Lup asks.

Lilli seems like she's vibrating with excitement, "yeah!"

Around 5:30, Lilli's name gets called and she bolts up from where Lup was reading her a book. Lup follows, grabbing Lilli's little coat and backpack from her cubby. She leans against the front desk, but Barry doesn't notice her. He's crouched to Lilli's level as she talks his ear off.

"-but then Lup came an' fixed him an' we played all day!"

His brow furrows the same way as when he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"Hey stranger," Lup says.

He looks up, surprised. "Lup!" He stands. "I didn't know you worked here."

"And I didn't know you had the cutest kid in the city." She holds out Lilli's coat.

He takes it. "Have I never mentioned that?" He helps her put it on. "I swear I have."

"Nope. I would've remembered a thing like that."

"Well," he lifts Lilli into his arms, "that's an oversight on my part." He looks at Lilli, "what do you say?"

"Thank you Miss Lup! See you tomorrow!"

Lup laughs and hands Barry the little backpack. "I'll see you tomorrow, punkin."

He smiles at her and Lup's heart melts. He walks out and she rests her head in her hand as she watches them go.

"Oh, you've got it bad." One of her coworkers says from behind her.

She goes scarlet and whips around to face them. "No I don't! Shut up!"

"Miss Lup you can't say shut up," a nearby kid says.

Her coworker snickers. Lup signs and runs her hands over her face. The worst part is that they're right. She has it so bad. And this changes absolutely nothing. If anything it makes it worse.

She's fucked.

#taz fic #blupjeans #blupjeans fic #lup taz #barry bluejeans #ive made a very dumb decision on how im gonna title these on ao3 #but ive comitted now

12 notes · View notes

hoedamn-eron · 2 years

Text

200 follower special - prompt 27

"Don't you dare touch them."

Warnings: Almost mugging/robbery. Jokes about foot fetish. Some swearing. Violence (Marc can get scary). An almost panic attack. Angsty, but happy-ish ending. This took a turn as it wasn't supposed to end up with Marc punching anyone. Also it got away from me and I'm not 100% happy with it. Not proof-read. Word count: 2,680 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Requested by @jupitersmoon167 for my 200 follower special. Let's ignore the fact this was supposed to be out two days ago, I had something going on with my son and his school which needed sorting.

It had been a long and trying month. It was nearly the year end and your company was tying up all its loose ends, including audits and finalising accounts and payments, which meant strict deadlines and pissed off managers who were just as stressed as you and took it out on you lowly workers. After this particularly bad week, you were seriously debating not bothering to come back in again on Monday.

To top it off, there was another tube strike, so you had to get the bus home; with what seemed like the rest of London. You’d sent the system a text about how late you’d be home, that it was downright freezing and you wished that working from home was still an option. Steven had sent back a text telling you he’d pop the kettle on for when you were home, and he’d have your cosiest pyjamas laid out for you, and you could both cuddle in the blanket watching terrible Friday night TV.

You held back a groan of relief. It sounded like heaven.

But when you actually got back to your shared flat with the boys, it wasn’t Steven who greeted you at the door. Marc had forgoed all of Steven’s warm, cosy plans, and had actually booked a last-minute table at your favourite restaurant by Covent Garden.

Ideally, you would rather have gone with Steven’s plan, something that didn’t involve you taking another step out of the flat but you couldn’t say no to Marc. As of late, he’d been working long hours and you had barely seen him, even when it was his fronting days, it was usually Steven or Jake to greet you at the door. You’d missed Marc.

So you made yourself get ready as quickly as you could, wearing that nice new shirt you had been meaning to wear, with the boots that Marc liked on you. You didn’t miss the appreciative look he gave you, biting his lip and rubbing at his neck as he averted his gaze from you, muttering you were going to be late if you both didn’t get a move on.

You made a teasing quip about having to leave at all, something Marc had chuckled at as he locked the flat up.

You both decided to get a taxi to Coven Garden, something you tried to avoid with the boys since Jake always had something to say about the taxi drivers and what a ‘bad job they’re doing’. Traffic had calmed a little since you go home, although still busy and you barely made it to the restaurant.

“So tough day at work?” Marc asked you as you sat at your table.

“Tough month, but this week was particularly bad,” you replied, not being able to resist rolling your eyes at the thought of having to go back into work on Monday and do it all again.

“Tell me about it,” Marc said, sliding his hand into yours, giving you that smile that you loved so much.

Dinner was wonderful. You’d tried to keep the ‘shop talk’ to a minimum, but it was hard when Marc was being so caring and telling you how you could do so much better than a place like that. You decided then and there to make your New Year’s Resolution to leave and find somewhere else. As Marc said, “Your talents are wasted there.”

You had chuckled at him as the waitress had cleared your plates. “I wouldn’t say my Excel skills are ‘talents’ but thank you. Maybe I can write a book or something. Or go on FeetFinder and put my piggies to work.”

Marc snorted with laughter into his wine glass as the waitress gave you a comical look, her own cheeks red as she looked between you both. “Will we be looking at dessert tonight?”

Marc shook his head as he placed his now empty wineglass down. “Just the bill, please, thank you.”

The waitress nodded before walking away. You looked at Marc with a raised eyebrow. “You usually love dessert.”

“Jake’s got a tub of Viennetta ice cream back at the flat that I’ve been eyeing up and he hasn’t opened it yet.”

You grinned before giving him a mockingly scathing look. “Jake won’t be happy about that.”

“Well he decided to leave it unattended with me around, so that’s his own fault.”

The smile slowly fell from your face before you cleared your throat. “So…why did you front tonight?”

Marc raised an eyebrow at you, his look going stern.

You shook your head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that Steven was fronting when I left work, but it was you when I got home. You’ve been…busy, I suppose. I haven’t seen you for a while.”

Marc studied you for a moment before sighing, reaching over the table to cup your hands in his own, giving them a squeeze as he looked into your eyes. You felt yourself melt on the inside. You found yourself on multiple occasions getting lost in those brown eyes, with all your boys. The eyes were always different; Steven’s were always soft, and they looked at you like you hung the stars. Jake looked at you, always, with uncertainty, like you were about to bolt. But he was just as touch starved as Marc was and was always stuck by your side.

Marc always looked at you like a saviour. Like you gave him air, that you were the light of his life, always the one to bring him back to whatever dark place he went to sometimes. He couldn’t survive without you, and didn’t you know it by the look in his eyes. But like Jake, he too, thought you would leave at the drop of a hat, unable to handle the baggage he carried.

You wouldn’t ever leave them. Never ever.

“I’m sorry,” Marc answered. “I did realise how absent I was being and that’s why I told him I was going to take you out tonight. He argued with me, obviously, but yeah…”

You give a smile as the waitress brought over your bill, Marc already digging for his wallet in his pocket, asking for the card machine. He paid swiftly, leaving a generous tip, before standing and helping you with your jacket. You grit your teeth, mentally preparing yourself for going back out into the cold.

“Winter has never been your season,” Marc chuckled at you as you both left the restaurant, your arms around your middle against the chill.

You couldn’t reply, your teeth already chattering together as Marc lead you towards the taxi rank a few streets down. As if the cold didn’t affect him, Marc wrapped his arm around you and chatted away, telling you about how there was still time for a hot drink and a hot bath, and you giggled at the way he seductively mentioned he could join you. He buried his head into your neck, giving a few light kisses, causing you to giggle more.

You turned the corner onto the quiet street where the taxis usually were, but it was empty. You mentally cursed the closures of the tube stations and the shortage of taxis, not sure how willing you were to wait any longer in the cold. You were about to turn to Marc and suggest getting the next available bus, but you were cut off by an alarmed voice, a bit too loud on the quiet street.

“You best give me your wallets and any valuables.”

You looked at the person stood in front of you, a chill going through your body and it wasn’t because of the cold weather. He had a hood up and a medical mask over the bottom half of his face, leaving no features available. In his hand, he had a knife sat casually (a casually as a robbery could be) by his hip, his other hand out towards you and Marc, waiting oddly patient.

Marc almost chuckled. “You don’t want to do this, buddy.”

“Don’t ’buddy’ me,” the man snapped, taking a step towards you both. You grip Marc’s arm hard, your eyes wide as you try to breathe, the fear sitting icy in your chest. “Give me your shit before you get hurt.”

“Hey, back the fuck off,” Marc said, taking a step forward. You grip his arm even tighter, your fingers feeling numb against Marc’s jacket.

“Marc,” you whispered, pulling him back a little, but it was as if he didn’t hear you.

“Don’t mess with me, mate,” said the robber. He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing you. You let out a scream as the man started to force himself in your pockets, but he was pulled from you just as quickly as he was on you.

“Don't you dare touch them.” Marc threw the man to the floor so violently, you were surprised he hadn’t cracked the pavement.

Marc was on top of the man in a blink, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt roughly. You had seen Marc pissed; you were around for the last few ‘favours’ he owed Khonshu…but this was something else.

It was like Marc had been taken over by an angry demon. He sent punch after punch to the man’s face, until the robber was about to black out. He wasn’t stopping. You could hear him repeating not to touch you, to never touch you. If he didn’t stop, he would kill this man, and you know he wouldn’t be able to live with that, even if the man was trying to rob you both. You reached forward, placing your hand on Marc’s shoulder as you called him, jumping back when he looked at you with wide eyes, looking at you as if he just remembered where he was. He looked down at the man underneath him, who was groaning, his mask crooked and splattered with blood.

Marc scrambled up, standing quickly as he looked at his hands. He was shaking, his breathing heavy but you could see the panic in his eyes. He looked at you desperately, before he started shaking his head. “I’m…I’m sorry, I don’t…I can’t – “

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” you said, reaching towards him gently, like a deer on the verge of bolting, before sliding your hand up his arm, resting your palm on his cheek. “It’s fine. You just made a snap judgement, we were both in danger. Would you feel better calling an ambulance?”

At that, the man on the floor groaned again, turning on his side, coughing a little. Marc stared at the man for a few moments before nodding his head. You knew he wasn’t far from going into the headspace, so you took it upon yourself to call for an ambulance, and you asked for to police too (the guy was still trying to rob you at knife point).

By the time the police and ambulance arrived, you had given your statemen to the police, Marc having taken a sit down a while ago at the doorstep of a building, his head buried in his hands. The police had taken the knife as evidence and took down your details, letting you know that if anything needed to be taken further, then they would call you, but it had sounded like self defence so there was probably nothing to worry about. You thanked them again before turning back to Marc, whose breathing seemed to have calmed down.

“Shall we go home?” You weren’t sure who you were talking to.

It took a few moments, but when those brown eyes looked up at you when he lifted his head, it was still Marc. He looked at you with a scared look on his face, before slowly nodding at you. You stood, slipping his hand into yours, holding it so tightly that you were afraid he was going to cut off your circulation. You both walked in silence, silently and mutually deciding that getting a taxi somewhere else was probably for the best. You needed to get away from that taxi rank.

“I’m sorry.”

You look at Marc with wide eyes. He was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. He wasn’t looking at you, but at the floor, the anguish still on his face. You frowned at him before shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologise, you were just protecting me.”

“I could’ve killed him. He put his hands on you and I saw red.”

“But you didn’t,” you said, Marc finally looking at you, an uncertain look on his face. “You didn’t kill him. It didn’t get that far. He was even still conscious. Barely, but still conscious.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

You stopped walking, pulling him towards you so he’d look at you square in the face. You let go of his hand, cupping his cheeks. “Now listen to me. It was a very scary situation and he wasn’t a good guy. He was going to steal from us. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing if you were still working for Khonshu?”

Marc grimaced.

You pulled a face. “I know, sorry. That was a bad example.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this ever again. Not since we cut ties with the stupid bird.”

Your heart was breaking for him. He didn’t deserve to feel the way he was. He was the most loving man you’d ever met, even when he’d had a lot thrown at him. Marc deserved everything good in the world, even when things got bad. He was your rock like you were his. He need to know he was worthy of forgiveness and love and warmth and security, even when he slipped.

“That feeling won’t ever go away, but it doesn’t make you a bad person, Marc,” you said, your hands landing on his shoulders. “I think because you feel remorse it makes you a good person. You had a debt and you were dealt a shitty hand and you were used. It’s not your fault.”

The tears pooling in his eyes made your heart break just that little bit more. Marc sniffed loudly as he turned away from you again, looking down at the floor. You know that he didn’t believe you; you know he wanted to, but he wasn’t quite there yet. But with the help of you, Steven, and Jake, and even Layla, Marc was safe, and secure, and he would get there one day.

“Let’s go home,” you finally say. “Let’s go home, and we can have that hot bath that I’ve been thinking about all evening, and we can cuddle in bed. I’ll even bring out the electric blanket.”

Marc lets out a quiet, small chuckle, finally looking back at you. The spark to his eyes had come back a little. Not much, but it was there. “Really splashing out, huh?”

“It’s freezing,” you complained again, slipping your hand back into Marc’s as you both walk to the busier streets of London, a few more cars on the road. You felt safer with more people around too. “Also, we need to get our hands on that Viennetta before Jake.”

There was silence for a few moment and you wondered if Marc had gone back into his head again, only for him to stop you abruptly to cup your face and meet your lips with his own. Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a small groan, enough for him to grin into the kiss, instantly warming you from the inside. You leaned into him, practically trying to get into his skin, wanting to be as close as possible before he parted from you.

You take in a sharp breath as you open your eyes, looking at him with such love and devotion that the events of earlier that evening momentarily left Marc’s mind. He looked at you with an equal look of adoration. “I love you. Thank you for loving me.”

You smile, leaning into him again like a lovestruck teenager (which you wouldn’t deny). “And thank you for loving me.”

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc x reader #marc spector x gn!reader #marc spector #oscar isaac #200 follower special

113 notes · View notes

sayonarasanity · 1 year

Text

Keep Me

this story is part two of “dandelion” but it can be read separately

link to AO3

"And I froze, and I reckon I missed it When all of the rain came down In the shape of everything"

The first time saw her, it was raining.

It had started to rain sometime after dawn. The roads were wet, dark, dreary clouds mobile, and on top of the lampposts were settled the crows. Levi watched them with squinted eyes and a discontent face. He never fancied the weather and the fact that the cuffs of his trousers were getting soaked despite his best efforts wasn’t helping either. Moreover, he absolutely disliked carrying an umbrella which in this case was a necessity he very much loathed and it irked him even further.

When he was merely steps away from the bus stop, he saw her. She was standing under the shelter, wearing a ridiculous, lilac-coloured raincoat, a pair of canvas trainers—which he did not understand the logic behind wearing in such weather—her hair was slightly wet as well as her glasses which were slipping down her nose and which was buried deep into whatever she was reading.

But none of that had piqued his interest, rather the fact that she was standing under the shelter and still carrying an umbrella was what annoyed him. Because why bother carrying it if it wasn’t functional anymore? But apparently, she was so preoccupied with her book that she hadn’t even noticed the double shelter and that there was no point in bending her arm to keep that thing above her head.

Anyway, none of his business. He gladly put down his own umbrella when he took shelter under the bus stop. Carefully folding it back and shaking off the raindrops so that it didn’t accidentally wet his coat. He merely threw one last glance at the woman to see if there was any progress. There wasn’t. Then he looked away and waited for his bus.

By the end of the day, he had long forgotten about her.

Or so he thought.

Levi hadn’t meant to sit down next to her. He genuinely hadn’t.

It had been a shitty week. Levi was almost a hundred per cent sure that his boss very much despised him. He must’ve done something to somehow cause the man to hold a grudge against him. There was no other explanation for the tones of work he had piled up on top of his desk. Even his co-workers, Erwin and Mike, had sent sympathetic glances towards him and it had annoyed him to no end. He needed no pity. The only thing he needed was peace and quiet. Maybe a house on top of a mountain, where no one could find him, a cat, tea, and a fireplace. Perhaps he would become a monk. It was better than having to find his way through such a fucked-up system.

As it turned out, they were taking the same bus to and from work. Levi wasn’t sure where she was getting on the bus in the evenings but after that rainy day at the bus stop, he was seeing her almost every morning. Not that they ever exchanged any words. She was most of the time busy reading books which varied every time he saw her. And later he also started to see her on his way home as well. The bus was usually packed, for it was rush hour, and it did no good to his quite intense nerves which were ready to snap any time like overly strained guitar strings. But even among the crowd of people somehow, she managed to stand out.

It was another day, Friday to be specific, and yet again the bus was fully packed, and Levi was on edge, literally. He almost punched a man who tried to squeeze next to him despite the fact that there was no place, not even the tiniest space in the goddamn bus to be squeezed in.

He did manage to stay calm, fortunately. And the bus pretty much emptied after two stops. His lungs were so glad to welcome the newfound oxygen that he had forgotten to sit down on one of the now empty seats.

Then, abruptly, he felt a pull on his coat and initially, he thought it was another stray brat of one of the passengers and he turned his head, sharply to glare at the poor child, only to find out that it was her. She was looking up at him from where she was seated and smiled when she saw him glaring at her. She didn’t seem even a slightly bit intimidated.

She patted the empty seat next to her, that smile never leaving her mouth. And he didn’t know what possessed him, or what controlled his body at the moment, yet he sat down next to her silently, without a word. Was he supposed to thank her? Did it matter? Was there anything to thank for? The seat was already empty, he would’ve sat down without her saying something anyway. But why did she—

“You seemed quite tense,” she talked, suddenly. Her voice was soft like cotton. And when he looked aside slightly bewildered, she offered him another smile. So easily. She seemed like she was doing it a lot. “And tired.”

Levi ignored that in order to realize those emotions she must’ve observed him throughout the drive. Although it didn’t require much of a study to see that he was absolutely tense and exhausted. And frankly, he didn’t understand why she would care about it either. “Thanks,” he said, dryly.

“No problem,” she chuckled.

That was the end of the conversation.

In the morning, Levi made a decision. Not that it took much of his time. The moment he had stepped out of the bus yesterday evening and the two of them went on with their separate ways without another exchange of words, he had settled his mind. That if he were to see her again this morning he would absolutely, without a doubt or hesitation ignore her. And if she were to try and talk to him again, he would keep his usual attitude. Stone-cold face and nonchalant eyes to show that he wasn’t interested in being friendly. It had always done the trick.

Hence you have no friends, the voice inside his head which so irritatingly resembled Mike, reminded him. He scoffed at his reflection in the mirror before leaving his home. Fixed his quite neat tie, smoothened his already perfectly straight coat, brushed off the invisible dust from his shoulders and walked out.

She didn’t come.

“You look grumpier than usual,” Mike told him, looking down at him from above the divide that separated them. It had been merely two hours since he sat down in front of this godforsaken computer, and the asshole was already being a headache. “What happened? Couldn’t find enough time to iron your boxers?”

“Not that,” Levi responded, staring up at him coldly. “But I’ll make sure to iron your dic—"

“You can talk to us if something is bothering you,” Erwin cut in. He was leaning to the side, picking a glance at where he was from the corner of the divide. Levi watched him briefly before carrying his eyes back to the computer. Erwin was being sincere, he knew. But there was nothing to talk about.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and by the tone of his voice, it was evident. The conversation was over.

The next day, she got into the bus seconds before the door was about to close. Levi watched her from where he stood, holding onto one of the handles above. She was out of breath and her face had flushed red. She must’ve run to catch the bus; her hair was so wildly scattered that Levi was surprised the hair tie was still in its respective place. And despite her quite strewn condition she graced the bus driver with a huge smile as she touched her card on the reader, saluting him with a very, unnecessarily, cheerful “Morning!”

Levi forced his gaze away when she started to walk into the bus. There was no seat available to sit, and the bus was already crowded enough for her to walk down any further. So, inevitably, or perhaps just because she felt like it, she came to a stop next to him, raising her hand to hold onto one of the handles.

His fingers curled tighter out of his control around the one he was grabbing, and he determinedly watched the view through the window across from him. Willed his mind to focus on the blurry images of the trees, buildings, billboards, rushing people, rolling cars… anything really, other than the fact that she was watching him as he could sense from the corner of his eye.

And he didn’t understand the reason why, they had only talked once and that was all. A couple of brief encounters and a small dialogue which barely contained any context meant nothing. Yet there she was, possibly about to make an attempt at small talk with him which was something he deeply—

“Morning.”

It wasn’t as festal as the one she had sent to the bus driver, yet Levi found himself directing his gaze towards her-- his indifferent gaze mind you, he was still adamant about the decision he had made. And she was smiling at him with twinkling, hazel-brown eyes which varied in colour when the rays of the morning sun touched them. It also highlighted the colour of her hair too which was something between chestnut brown and crimson sunset.

But why was he observing her? He blinked once, whisked the thought inside his head, then nodded curtly—just to show her that he appreciated it but also to indicate that he wasn’t interested in any further banter—then proceeded to watch the scene in front of him again.

And then when he least expected it, he heard her chuckle, again. Knitting his brows, he turned back to her.

“You’re not so chatty, are you?”

Her eyes were glinting with amusement. She wasn’t affected by his dismissive behaviour. Not at all. Then he would try another method. “Glad you noticed.”

She hummed, that smile seemed to be plastered on her face. It never left. “I am observant enough.”

Levi doubted it. She barely lifted her head from her books. Yet he remembered how she had noticed him being tired and tense that day. Although it wasn’t that hard to tell. She must’ve paid attention. But why? It shouldn’t be anything. She seemed like an outgoing person and clearly overly eager to make friends with everyone. Including the bus drivers and someone who so obviously did not share the same interest.

“It’s not rocket science,” he briefly said.

“Right, you’re easy to read.” When she saw him knitting his brows even deeper, she laughed. “No offence. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Don’t care.” He looked away, once more. This time determined to never turn back again. He didn’t want her to talk anymore. Or… did he? What was this thing inside his stomach? Expectation, or dare he say hope?

Get a hold of yourself, man! The voice inside his head chided him. Holy God above, why was he hearing that bearded bastard’s voice even inside his head? Was peace really a no option for him?

The bus stopped, opening its doors for the new coming passengers. A little girl was the last one to get in. She was at most ten or eleven years old, wearing a pink coat and a purple backpack. Her hair was tied in two neatly done braids, falling down each of her shoulders. Her eyes scanned around as she walked down the bus, possibly in search of a safe place for her to stand. And just as she was about to pass by in front of him the bus made a sudden hard stop causing the little girl to lose her balance.

Levi didn’t think as he reflexively reached out to grab her arm so that she didn’t fall. And he waited until the girl was standing on her two feet again, securely. “Careful,” he told her as he let go of her arm.

The girl looked up at him and smiled, revealing her irregular teeth “Thank you,” she said before she turned around to hold onto the pole behind her.

It took him several seconds to realize that the person next to him was staring at him, again.

And that he was smiling.

“Not bad,” she whispered, hiding her smile by turning her head away when she saw him glaring at her after he wiped that stupid, barely visible smile off his face.

It seemed that for the first time in his life, Levi Ackerman had failed at not making a friend. And he didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad thing.

These brief conversations, and despite his best efforts to avoid them, the small talk slowly became something like a routine. Levi never initiated them though and they didn’t see each other every day. Sometimes he only saw her after work, but the bus would be so crowded to get near to each other. At times she managed to find a seat to settle she would be sleeping, head bouncing against the window and mouth parted. Her book left open and forgotten on top of her knees. If she wasn’t sleeping, she would bother him instead. Reluctantly, he would sit next to her when the bus emptied most of the passengers and she patted the available seat on her right or left.

In the mornings they mostly stood next to each other. Often it was quiet, much to his pleasure, yet she somehow found topics to talk about even though he was still pretty much a complete stranger to her. It was a capability out of the ordinary for sure. At least for Levi. And one he greatly lacked at that.

Her name was Hanji, he hadn’t asked but she seemed like she enjoyed answering his non-existent questions, and she was doing her PhD in physics. Levi had figured she was smart, but clearly, she was above the average. She was also clumsy—she tripled two times already while getting off the bus, thankfully he was there to save her ass—and kind. Too kind even. Even the fact that she was talking and for some reason trying to befriend him out of all people was evident enough.

To say that he wasn’t, at least even the tiniest bit, looking forward to these short encounters would be a lie. But each morning when he opened his eyes and realized that getting up from bed didn’t feel like labour and he was rushing his breakfast so as to not miss the bus and walked faster to the bus stop so that he would have a few more minutes for a cigarette and perhaps a couple of words he told himself that it wasn’t because of her.

But he had never been good at lying.

“What’s wrong?” Hanji asked after a couple of silent minutes since he sat down next to her.

They were on their way home and the bus was more or less empty. He had a terrible, hideous headache, one that stung as if someone was digging his temples with a pair of screwdrivers. Levi didn’t feel like talking but he also didn’t want to reflect his sour mood on her. She had nothing to do with it anyway.

He could feel her curious gaze and can already imagine the expression on her face without even having a look. Rounded, expectant eyes, raised eyebrows, slightly slipped glasses and sunset on messy hair. And a brief, quick glance in her direction was enough for him to confirm the image in his mind. “Nothing,” he replied tersely.

A lie.

Hanji hummed like she didn’t believe him. She hadn’t, of course. And it didn’t take her long to move her interrogation even further. “Did you have a bad day at work?”

“I always have a bad day at work.”

“Come on. No way it’s that bad.”

“It is that bad.”

“What exactly makes you so irritated about it?”

“Everything, simply.”

“Then why don’t you just quit it?”

Levi paused, carrying his eyes slowly at her. There it was again. That easy smile. The one that was soft and subtle, the one that twinkled her eyes and touched somewhere within his heart. Somewhere far away, deserted, and empty. He didn’t like to accept it, but it moved something in his soul too. Like a leaf which had long forgotten the touch of the wind and lay motionless on lifeless, immobile sand and now meeting the gentle touch of a breeze. “I can’t,” he managed to say.

“Why?”

“Because I need money.”

“You’ll find another job.”

“There is no guarantee it won’t be as shitty as this one, maybe even worse.”

This time it was Hanji who hesitated for a second before responding, “Why don’t you like your current job?” she asked, and she was curious about the answer as it was clear from the ever-present glint in her eyes. Levi wondered, maybe for the thousandth time, about why she cared and why she seemed so genuinely interested in everything he had to say. And he wondered, quite unreasonably yet inevitably if it meant something, anything at all.

“Because my boss is the very definition of an asshole.”

“Oh?” Hanji said, voice hoarse, clearly amused. “Is that the reason why you seem so riled up?”

Levi grunted instead of giving a verbal, clearer answer. Even remembering the look on that sorry excuse of a man’s smug face while he said there was nothing he could do for an increase in salary which Levi very much deserved was enough to make his headache grow even stronger. He closed his eyes, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right,” Hanji responded, “Sorry.”

He didn’t want her to feel sorry, he realized. It caused a twisted, uneasy feeling in his stomach. So, he decided to change the subject. “My head is killing me.”

As expected, she easily accommodated. “Would you like some painkillers?”

He shook his head, “I already took some.”

“I see,” Hanji said and for a while, the only thing he heard was the howl of the engine, the chatter of the other passengers, the robotic voice of the lady announcing the name of the bus stops they were getting nearer to and the hammer like pulsing inside his head. There shouldn’t be much to their bus stop but there was still some traffic as understood from the regular stop-and-go of the bus. So probably it was going to take more or less 20-25 minutes for them to arrive and 30 for him to take a nice, hot shower, change into fresh evening clothes and put his head on his soft, beloved pillow.

“You know, legend says,” Hanji started because that was the longest time interval in which she could stay silent. It was unnaturally long even. She must’ve been enjoying the view outside. He figured she liked sunsets. Somehow, it suited her. “That Pythagoras’s student Hippasus of Metapontum said to have discovered the irrational number √2 was punished as an act of divine retribution.”

Levi had gotten used to Hanji giving him strange and most possibly unnecessary and at times admittedly intriguing information which she seemed to be overly excited and passionate about. And he listened mostly because there was nothing better for him to do other than watching exhausted passengers and disgusting teenagers displaying public affection in the middle of the bus. But also, because there was something almost addicting in her frantic hand gestures, wide, brilliant eyes and that bright smile that made it hard for him to shut her up.

But now, he found himself staring at her, stunned, “For real?”

“For real,” Hanji confirmed, nodding her head along for emphasis.

“Damn,” Levi said, forgetting his headache for a moment. “What’s with √2?

“It’s an irrational number but rational numbers were something almost deemed holy by the Pythagoreans, and they had absolute dominance, or so they thought,” Hanji explained, pushing her glasses up her nose. “√2 turned their whole world upside down because it was unexplainable, it had no end. It doesn’t have an exact numerical value. There is literally not enough paper in the entire universe to write it down completely. It was a shocking revelation, especially to Pythagoras himself. Some say Hippasus was drowned because the gods punished him, and some say it was Pythagoras who killed him.”*

Hanji’s eyes were focused on the glass doors of the bus while she was speaking but then she directed her eyes towards him only to see the surprised look on his face. She laughed, “You look so shocked.”

Levi scoffed, “I thought the Greeks were supposed to be wise.”

“They are wise.”

“I am pretty convinced otherwise.”

“People react in unexpected ways when their whole world is upside down,” Hanji told him, head tilted sideways just slightly. The setting sun disappeared behind a building for a brief moment before reappearing again, illuminating the side of her face. “Don’t you think?”

And Levi thought and thought and pondered about it even after going home, as he took a nice, hot shower; ate dinner and later that night while watching the ceiling, hoping for the shadows to form coherent sentences and give him an answer. He thought if he understood what she meant if he had that kind of a moment when his whole world was upside down and he didn’t know what to do, how to react, how to live from then on. He wondered what he would do if he were to come up against something as such. Something that turned his whole world upside down, something that would make him do stupid things, irrelevant, unexpected things that would maybe make him feel human again.

And he wondered if that something might also be someone as well.

Erwin had learned about Nile and Marry’s engagement from an Instagram post. A photo of a happy and grinning Marry who was showing the diamond ring on her finger and Nile who was still kneeling in front of her, holding the little, red open box of the engagement ring and smiling up at her fiancé.

Levi eyed Erwin, who was holding a cigarette, his third, between his lips and observing the photo with narrowed eyes as he inhaled the smoke deeply, then released it slowly. Shaking off the ash of the cigarette with his index finger, he sighed. “I need a drink.”

As it turned out, what he needed wasn’t just a drink.

“Slow down,” Levi warned him as the blond man lowered his fourth glass of whisky on the black, marble surface of the bar they were currently in.

Erwin gestured for the bartender to fill his glass once more, ignoring his remark. Levi sighed. It was Saturday, hence there was no work tomorrow. Mike hadn’t come with them, saying that he was too sleepy to choose a night out over his beloved bed. Levi knew better though. He just hadn’t wanted to deal with a drunk-ass Erwin. Sneaky asshole.

The sound of the lighter snatched him out of his thoughts. Levi watched Erwin as he lighted up his cigarette. He had lost count of how much he had smoked today. Erwin usually wasn’t that much into it but since he seemed like he needed the quite temporary relief it provided Levi didn’t make any comment on his unusual desire towards it. He placed one between his lips instead. Then securing it between his two fingers, he leaned over a little for Erwin to light it up. Flicking the lighter, Erwin held it near the end of his cigarette. Levi drew in a deep breath, heard the faint crackle at the bottom and felt the way the fume filling inside his chest. He had decided not to drink tonight. At least not much.

Lost in thought, Levi shook off the ashes with his thumb. He guessed the reason behind Erwin’s current, sombre state, but wasn’t sure whether to make a comment on it or not. His relationship with Marie was something Levi only had heard of, and Erwin had never given him much detail. He observed the blond man’s side profile, the thoughtful stare he had fixed on his half-full glass, the cigarette dangling between his fingers, forgotten.

After giving it some thought, he decided to ask. “You still love her?”

Erwin didn’t seem to be taken aback by his quite straightforward question. Calmly, he placed the cigarette between his lips to take another deep drag. And when he spoke again after he blew out the smoke, there was no hesitation in his voice, “No.”

Levi felt relieved, for some reason. He never knew what to say when it came to anything romantic-related. He had no such experience except for a couple of hookups over the years which never went beyond one night—whether it was good or bad—and he had never gotten emotionally, and romantically for that matter, attached to anyone for his whole life.

But now, just as these thoughts crossed his mind a certain brunette accompanied them. And Levi let himself, for a brief millisecond, to ponder about her kind, brown eyes, warm, genuine smile and soothing voice. Her curious mind, her cleverness, clumsiness and foolishness. Like newly brewed tea spilling all over the surface of a table, he felt something warm spreading all over his body.

Then shaking his head, he shooed her image out of his mind. Frowning and scolding himself inside he reached for his glass of whisky and gulped down the last remnants in it. Then carrying his focus back to the actual subject of the conversation, he asked, “What’s the problem then?”

Erwin finished his own glass, but his eyes didn’t leave the little pieces of melted ice inside it, and they moved as he circled the glass with his hand. “I feel stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

His friend eventually looked at him. “I don’t think I’m living the life I want to live.”

Levi scoffed, taking a drag from his cigarette, and let the white fume leave his mouth lazily, “Can’t believe an Instagram post got you into an existential crisis.”

Erwin laughed, pressing the butt of his cigarette on the ashtray. Taking one last drag Levi followed him. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time,” Erwin went on, his words melding, already tipsy. “Maybe I’m just being greedy.”

“You are a greedy bastard for sure.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I was greedy enough.”

“Don’t think too much about it,” said Levi, pushing his empty glass away from him. He wasn’t a good adviser. Though he felt like he understood what Erwin meant, deep down. No one ever lived the life they wanted to live. It was in humans’ nature to ask for more. “It’s the way of the world.”

Erwin snorted; he had already knocked another one over. Cheeks and ears red, he lit up one more cigarette. “You should’ve been a therapist.”

Reaching out Levi snatched the thing out of his hand to put it out in the ashtray. “Hey!” Erwin protested, making a move to stop him. Levi slapped his hand and got on his feet, pulling his friend along with him by holding his arm. He dropped Erwin’s coat on his shoulders, left a couple of banknotes on top of the counter and pushed the whining man towards the exit. Enough drama for today.

Outside, the streets were luminous and fulgurant. Trees bare of leaves had been adorned with superficial yet colourful little lights. The air was chilly, autumn cold causing goosebumps on his skin through his thick clothing. While they were waiting for a taxi, with Erwin practically stooping over him with his arm around Levi’s shoulders, and Levi gritting his teeth tight enough to break a stone and trying to hold his feet glued to the ground so that he didn’t stumble toward the road with near-to-drunk Erwin—he saw her.

It wasn’t much of a coincidence. The bar was about fifteen minutes away from his house by car and during one of their earlier conversations he had learned that she lived nearby. Across the road at one of the cafes lined throughout the street, she was sitting on one of the tables outside. With two men and a raven black-haired woman. One of the men had dark blond hair and a beard of the same colour. He wore glasses—silly looking if you’d asked Levi—and had an arm around Hanji.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He barely even knew her; they couldn’t even be considered friends. Yet as he watched the way she laughed at something the man just said, and the wind carried the sound till it reached his ears he felt a fire coming alive inside his stomach. Bright and vicious. Flames ascended, up to his throat. He then found himself scolding, chiding himself. It shouldn’t have bothered him. Then why was he feeling like this?

Another burst of laughter rose from the table they were sitting on. This time because of something she had said. Levi watched her, slightly bewildered, realising now that she is among her friends, the people she was familiar with, she shone even brighter. Just like the lights wrapped around the naked branches of the autumn trees. Colourful and radiant.

Hanji looked up, just then, as if she had sensed the way he watched her, like he was hypnotised, captured by some kind of wonder he hadn’t realized was just before his eyes all this time. And he saw the moment her expression changed from surprise to recognition. The corners of her mouth moved upwards then she raised a hand most probably to salute him.

And Levi did the thing he was the most masterful at. He looked away, choosing to ignore, and forget that he even saw her at all.

“Levi,” Erwin murmured, his cheek pressed on top of his head. Levi had found out, much to his discontent, that Erwin was unusually chummy when he was drunk. “You’re a good friend.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Levi said, rolling his eyes. He was giving an intense battle not to carry his stare back to where she was. But he was afraid to face the possible disappointment on her face.

“I know you care about me.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You love me more than you love Mike, don’t you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I hate that bastard.”

Erwin snorted and then started to laugh uncontrollably. Levi sighed. He was going to kill the said bastard first thing on Monday. He was sure of it.

Much to his relief the taxi finally came to a stop in front of them. Levi helped Erwin get onto the back seat, with much struggle. After he somehow managed to settle him for good, he got ready to get in himself. Yet just before that, he risked another glance at the table across the road only to find her already staring at him. It lasted for a split second, for this time it was her who moved her eyes which were sombre and thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy, away from him.

Sunday passed by in a state of ennui. After he safely dropped Erwin at his place last night he got back home, drained and vexed for reasons he couldn’t find in himself to unveil and ultimately—inevitably—face. He woke up when the sun was high up in the sky, the birds had long stopped chirping and the crows had taken over with their high-pitched croaking. It was quite natural, given the fact that he had spent the whole night lying on his bed, on his back watching the dark ceiling or on his side staring at the immobile curtain and listening to the tick-tocks of the clock on the hall.

He didn’t have much of anything to do. After a brief and insufficient breakfast, he talked to his mom on the phone, then vacuumed the house, cleaned the bathroom, read a book then dropped it halfway because he couldn’t focus. And he basically spent the rest of the day just going through Netflix to find something decent to watch and eventually opted for watching a ridiculous rom-com and eating popcorn without actually tasting or enjoying it. He then fell asleep on the couch, with only the company of the noises coming from the TV. Overly cheerful and superficial laughter in the background, opposing the one in his dream.

The first day of that week was another rainy day and given his current sombre and already uneasy mood, he was displeased with the weather even more than usual. Yet while walking closer and closer to the bus stop his heartbeats got inevitably faster and his nerves tenser. To be completely honest he had thought about taking a taxi rather than using the bus this time but being the grown, middle-aged, goddamn adult that he was whose teenage years had been long lost and forgotten, he had chosen not to.

But when he spotted Hanji waiting under the shelter of the bus stop, wearing that ugly, lilac raincoat with her hands inside of her pockets and absently playing around with a little rock on the pavement, rolling it with the nose of her shoe and her face, like the sky over their heads, dreary and pensive, hiding the sun behind dark clouds Levi thought, briefly, if he had made the right choice.

A bus came to a stop in front of the bus stop and the few other passengers got in as Levi paused, steps away from where Hanji stood, holding his umbrella over his head and watched her as she watched the bus and the people getting in one by one, thoughtfully. Soon after the bus left, she blinked, her mouth hanging open, and eyes growing wide as she realized a little too late that it was her bus, their bus and both of them had missed it.

“Shit,” she cursed, taking a few, redundant steps forwards and exposing herself to the rain and looking after the bus she had just missed with forlorn and remorseful eyes. It wasn’t raining heavily but still, her hair was getting wetter slowly as well as her glasses and her face when she laid her head backwards.

And Levi didn’t know why he stood there rather than walking closer to her as he usually did. But he didn’t move and couldn’t speak. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so loudly and why his head felt like he had been caught in a tornado, spinning unreasonably. And he thought about irrational numbers, Hippasus of Metapontum and divine retribution. He thought about how he hated the rain, loathed the way it wetted the cuffs of his trousers and now he witnessed how she absorbed it, eyes closed, surrendered and even though she had just missed the bus and would have to wait for maybe another thirty minutes. And while the rain washed over her face recklessly, she smiled like she didn’t care.

Levi let the umbrella down, slowly. Raindrops caressed his face, wetted his hair, and the wind ruffled his hair. Maybe it was the way of nature loving somebody. Loving so tenderly because she loved it just as kindly.

“People react in unexpected ways when their whole world is upside down, don’t you think?”

“Hey,” he greeted her, his face wet and hair sticking to his forehead. His umbrella was folded and secure inside his palm and his heartbeats calm because he knew why he did what he did.

Hanji’s eyes were shaped like two surprised circles when she saw him standing next to her. She had taken her glasses off for they had no function whatsoever anymore. “Hey,” she smiled but Levi realized it was a forced smile. “Looks like we both missed the car, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

An uncomfortable yet inevitable silence settled between them during which his mind was filled with a vicious rumble as he thought about the other night. Levi wanted to apologize for ignoring her and to tell her that it had nothing to do with her. It was just him and his inability to make friends or maybe his cowardness to admit to himself that he didn’t want her just as a friend. And he wanted to ask about that man too, the one who had an arm around her shoulders and to learn what he was to Hanji.

Silenced stretched for so long that in the end Hanji cleared her throat, “Maybe we should take a taxi—”

“You said,” he cut off her sentence. That was a thing they would take care of later just like how they were still standing under the rain while the bus stop was merely centimetres away from them and plus, he had an umbrella in his hand. But they were topics to be discussed later. “You said people react in unexpected ways.”

Levi stared at her, his lips pressed, eyes narrowed –because of the rain—and hair wet. He was so obviously, so stupidly tense. And he waited for the gears in her head to settle for good and as he followed from the look in her eyes –confused and hesitating—it took a while. But then she nodded, “Yeah?”

“That’s why—” he looked away; he felt the tips of his ears burning. “You know. I didn’t want to ignore you. I just didn’t know what to do.”

A brief pause. Then she said, “Oh!”

Levi glared at her, blinking. “What?”

“You’re saying—” she made a stupid hang gesture while she was trying to organize her thoughts. “So, you’re apologizing?”

“I guess?”

“Oh!” she said again and abruptly started laughing. Levi watched her, bewildered. “I thought I offended you!”

He blinked. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you were with your friend. I thought—I don’t know.” Hanji sighed, seemingly relieved while Levi stood there, dumbfounded, realizing that he had misunderstood the whole thing. “And I was with my college friends. I thought that you didn’t want to get in all the trouble of meeting everyone there and I understand! Totally.”

“Well,” he said, his mind felt numb. “I don’t really like meeting other people.”

Hanji laughed, nodding. It felt genuine and all of a sudden, his chest felt warm. “I figured.”

The rain had ceased. The sun peaked from between the dark clouds, and its rays fell on Hanji’s wet hair, highlighting the chestnut strands and stars twinkled inside her eyes. His heart throbbed inside his chest like a ping-pong ball. Levi realized then that he never knew what its real function was. Other than pumping blood to his body. But it wasn’t only there to keep him alive, it was also there to make him feel alive. And that’s what he lacked throughout his life.

“Would you like to have some coffee after work?”

His sudden and unexpected question quite understandably startled her but she recovered easily. Her smile widened. Levi suspected it had something to do with the blush he felt spreading on his cheeks. She might not know it but asking that question had taken at least ten years from his life span.

“I’d like that,” Hanji replied, her voice was soft, velvet-like. And Levi felt something strange in his stomach. Like a bunch of sparrows flipping their wings. It was an odd feeling, but it was nice. “But first let’s get a taxi, shall we?”

A few weeks passed. The “coffee dates” –Hanji had named them so—had become a routine though it happened at most one or two times a week. Their schedules didn’t always match with each other and sometimes Levi had to leave work later than he normally did and there were times Hanji would be so sleepy she had barely kept her head up on the way home. But in spite of himself, Levi was looking forward to having some free time so that he could listen to Hanji talking briskly almost nonstop about her research or something she learned from the book she was currently reading or had just finished. It was strangely soothing. During those moments she would be surrounded by a bizarre, almost otherworldly aura as if she was the first mortal to have tasted ambrosia and had gotten drunk with merely a dribble of it.

Even more strange was her listening to him with nearly the same caution with both her palms supporting her cheeks, elbows on top of the table and lips curled with a gentle, sweet smile while behind her glasses the reflection of yellow, dim café lights danced inside her eyes. Levi wasn’t a talker. He didn’t like giving unnecessary information and didn’t enjoy receiving it too for that matter. Yet with Hanji he found himself talking maybe just a little bit too much.

“You know when you talk like that,” Hanji had said to him one day after they left the café and were walking quietly home. The weather was refreshing though a little chilly. The streets were more or less empty, and on the dark, starless sky the moon was almost full. Hanji was wearing a green coat and flat-footed, brown boots under her high-waisted trousers. Her cheeks were the colour of pink, spring flowers and her lips a pretty shade of red. “I feel like I was given a key to a room full of wonders.”

This is what people mean when they say they are falling, Levi had thought staring at her face, brilliant with superficial city lights, burning with a fire innate in her. Falling so hard yet so slow. It feels like it will never end.

i’m thinking about going for a walk, wanna join?

Levi stared at the text on his phone screen and then at the pile of work he had to take care of today. There was a high chance he wouldn’t be able to leave at his usual hour. Disappointed and overly irritated he took his phone to write a reply.

go ahead. it’ll take me a while to leave

He left the phone and then turned back to his computer. Everyone had started to pack up. The office was filled with the ruckus of the end of the day. Soon they would all go, and everything would settle back to silence again.

His phone vibrated with a new text message.

He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth stir upwards and he hid it behind his teacup, taking a long sip. Just when he put the cup back in its place, she sent another message.

how long will it take?

Levi glanced at the clock on the right corner of his computer screen. 5.38 pm.

He typed a reply: two hours at least

Hanji replied quickly with a crying emoji which again made him hide his expanding smile behind his teacup. Then she sent another text saying, lmk if you leave early

If only Levi thought grimly then typed a short ok and turned back to his work.

Almost two and a half hours later he stepped out into a pleasant, autumn evening. It was somewhat chilly, but it felt good after being stuck inside the office for so long. He decided to light up a cigarette while walking towards the bus stop.

He had taken at most two drags when he spotted someone sitting at the bench of the bus stop and one more until he realized that it was Hanji.

He was so shocked that he almost forgot to let the smoke out after taking it in. Part of the fume went out of his nostrils and the cigarette dangled between his fingers. “Hanji?”

She had been strolling down on her phone. She was surprised too at first when she heard him calling out to her. Yet she quickly recovered and jumped off to her feet, grinning widely. “Hey, Levi!”

Levi was still too stunned to speak. It took him a while to ask, “What are doing here?”

Hanji shrugged, putting her hands inside the pockets of her denim jacket. She was wearing a thick hoodie underneath it, but Levi doubted it provided enough warmth for her to wait outside in this weather. “I was waiting for you.”

Her cheekbones as well as the tip of her nose were almost red, so it wasn’t that hard to guess but he had to ask, “For how long?”

“Umm,” she glanced at her watch briefly. “Almost an hour, I guess.”

“An hour!” Levi yelled, unable to hide his shock. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Well, not really—”

“You want to get sick that bad?”

“I mean, it’s not that cold—”

“Tch,” he grunted. He put out his half-smoked cigarette in a nearby trash bin and then threw it inside. “It’s autumn idiot, of course, it is that cold.”

“You know,” Hanji said, and Levi sensed her walking closer to him. He glanced sideways to see her smiling, her eyes wrinkling at the sides. “You have a weird way of caring about people.”

He looked away, feeling the rising heat on the tip of his ears and that weird feeling in his stomach coming alive again. Little birds chirping, doing a wild dance inside. Then he started to walk, and Hanji joined, falling into steps with him silently. As much as he enjoyed listening to her rambling on and on, he also liked to be just quiet with her. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It reminded him of the quietness of winter and snow. Calm and peaceful.

“Say, Levi,” Hanji started, following the few minutes of their silent walk. Levi looked at her curiously, searching her face to guess what she had to say. “What do you think would happen if the sun never existed?”

Levi bent his head backwards to look at the sky. It was dark and had a lack of stars tonight. Only a few of them sparkled here and there. “How the hell would I know?”

“It’s a hypothetical question,” Hanji explained as if talking to a five-year-old.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Levi murmured, sighing and staring back at the road ahead of them. What if the sun never existed, huh? “It would be cold.”

Hanji chuckled, “Duh,” she grinned when Levi glared at her. “What else?”

He grumbled, overly annoyed but he figured he couldn’t say no to her. “It would be dark.”

“Hmm…”

“Lifeless.”

“Obviously.”

“It would…” he trailed off, glancing at Hanji to find her watching him with amused eyes and an equally amused smile on her lips. He thought about his life before he met her and how boring and stagnant everything was. There was no difference between day and night, sleeping and being awake, going out or staying inside, living or not living. Everything felt the same and nothing made him feel anything. There was no colour around him, no light, no warmth. Suddenly he felt like he had been talking about himself.

At last, to sum it all he said, “Apocalypse.”

She laughed boisterously. “Most probably, yeah.” Then she went on, “What if a universe without the earth?”

“Peaceful,” he said darkly.

“And what if there were no stars?”

He looked up again, feeling mournful all of a sudden. “Dull.”

They were going through a walking trail. The number of people around was little and the lampposts on the side of the road along with the trees created a soft, tranquil atmosphere. There was seemingly no end to Hanji’s hypothetical questions, but Levi realized he enjoyed answering them though his answers were barely sufficient and absolute nonsense. But Hanji didn’t seem to care if her bubbling laughter and the wide grin on her face were any evidence. He thought he liked the sound of her laughter especially when she laughed at something he said. It made him feel warm as if the sun had decided to move inside his ribcage.

“What do you think would happen if we had never met?”

Levi hesitated before answering, “I’d rather not think about that.”

“Why not?” Hanji asked curiously, her eyes wide, trying to find an answer in his eyes. Levi observed her features, trying to decide whether or not he should say that if they’d never met, he would go on his life like an earth that had never met the sun.

“Because I’m glad we did,” he told her instead. “I really am.”

Hanji exhaled, creating a white, puff of smoke. The light of the moon was filtering through the branches of the trees and the lampposts weren’t quite luminous enough but even so he could see the moment the expression in her eyes changed to something more sentimental, solid. It was so tangible that Levi felt like he could catch them with his hands and hold them inside his fists like something so precious, so rare. Like pearls hidden in the depths of the oceans.

“Levi,” she breathed then, her voice reflecting the emotions her eyes carried. “Not hypothetically. What do you think would happen if I were to kiss you now?”

He didn’t notice he had been holding his breath until he exhaled with a long, shivering sigh. He wasn’t even aware that they had stopped walking until he realized he couldn’t move his legs. His heart was beating so fast he barely heard his own breaths. All around them trees danced, leaves whispered secret lyrics to the wind and Hanji was looking at him, waiting for him to do something or maybe just to say something.

It took him seconds which felt like an eternity until finally his mind started functioning again. “Only one way to find out,” he whispered, hoping his voice wasn’t lost to the wind.

Her chest moved with a sigh of relief. “Right,” she whispered too, her lips curving with a pretty smile. Then she walked close enough to him to grab his shoulders and bring her face near to his. His fingers twitched on his sides, and he couldn’t look away from her lips. “Brace yourself,” she said, her breath warm on his mouth and his cheeks.

Levi only had the time to let out a soft chuckle before Hanji closed the little distance between them to finally, finally, press her lips tightly to his.

Her lips were soft, hot, and tasted like the raspberry-flavoured candy she carried in her bag all the time. It was dizzying. And as if a match falling on a puddle of gasoline, a hunger came to life inside him. Sudden and unexpected. It moved fast, travelling through his veins to the tips of his fingers, setting his skin on fire. He couldn’t control his body, couldn’t stop his arms from wrapping around her waist to pull her against him closer and closer until he felt the warmth of her body and the fast rise and fall of her chest. He followed the movements of her lips and chased after her when she parted from him long enough to breathe.

Seconds or minutes after when they pulled apart, panting, he watched her smile, addictively. “Go out with me,” she said, out of breath.

Levi had to reluctantly pull apart to look her in the eyes to see if she was serious. He blinked, “Huh?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she smirked, one of her hands was holding his nape and her thumb moved up and down on his skin. It distracted him.

Levi thought he understood now what it meant for your whole world to be upside down. He felt as if he had the sky underneath his feet, vast and boundless. But infinity didn’t scare him. Falling didn’t seem like the worst option when the clouds seem like a safe place to land.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Hanji grinned, her face illuminating with a different kind of light. Happiness, he thought. It was easy to recognize when he himself felt the same, so profoundly that he was sure it was going to keep him awake all night.

“This was easier than I thought,” Hanji said as she took one step back and he grudgingly let go of her. But then she reached out to grab his hand, tightly.

Levi stared down at their intertwined hands then up at her with inquiring eyes. “What do you mean?”

They started to walk again. “I’ve been planning this since the moment I saw you,” Hanji explained, laughing when she saw the stunned look on his face. “Don’t be so surprised. You’re quite attractive for a man your height.”

His shock quickly switched with annoyance as he glared at her harshly and tried to free his hand from hers. But tightening her hand around his, Hanji didn’t let him, “Just joking,” she said, chuckling.

“You have a shitty sense of humour.”

“But I still got you, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” Levi said, blankly. “I can change my mind any moment.”

“Sorry,” Hanji smiled, victoriously, “Too late now.”

“Tch,” he grunted, suppressing the smile threatening to take over his lips and turning his head to the other side to hide the redness he felt in his ears. “Lame.”

Hanji gasped, “How dare you!”

He held her hand tighter and thought about the nights he took this road to walk home with a lonely soul and an exhausted heart, with the mere company of his own shadow stretching before him. Then he looked ahead at their shadows on the pavement, two silhouettes hand in hand. And this time he couldn’t stop his lips to curl upwards to shape a little, soft smile.

He could get used to this.

#levihan #levihanfic

18 notes · View notes