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shootingstarwritings · 3 years

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Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

#male possession #dilf possession #jock possession #possession #male body possession

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holylulusworld · 3 years

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Single Parent

Title: Single parent

Square Filled: Relationship break-up

Ship: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Benny LaFitte

Rating: Mature

Summary: Your arranged bond with Dean grows fruits but you can’t be happy as you should.

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, unrequited feelings, sad reader, abandonment, Dean being a douche, giving birth (no description), shitty relationship, pregnant reader

A/N: I already outlined the story before I got the request. I changed the ending and a few scenes to make it fit.

Word Count: 3.5 k

Written/Created for: @spnmixedbingo

Divider by @firefly-graphics

2021 SPN Mixed BINGO Masterlist

Now…

“No John, I’m done,” you cry, running your hand over your baby bump. “You could force me to marry your son, to stay with him and have his heir,” you sniff, looking around the guest room you chose over your comfortable bedroom. “But you can’t force me to play the obedient housewife. I tried, John—I really tried but Dean doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s just a little stubborn and rough on the outside like me, doll,” John tries to reason with you. “Show him the latest ultrasound and he’ll change.”

“No, he won’t,” voice bitter you sit on the bed, shaking your head lightly. “That’s the problem. I-I’m nothing more than a breeder to your son. I know he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I had hoped he’ll be kinder to me when he sees me swollen with his child. I know he cares for the baby, but sadly I’m not sure it’s because he loves them or as you want an heir.”

“Y/N,” sitting next to you John watches you tear up. Months of rejection and coldness took a toll on you. “I didn’t know it’s that bad.”

“He told Sam I’m nothing but a vessel for his child, John. I could be dead, and he wouldn’t care,” choking out a sob you give John a sad smile. “Did you know he never came to the doctor with me? He never showed and my gynecologist believes I am a single parent – and maybe I am.”

“What happened last week? Why did you suddenly move out of your shared bedroom, doll? Did Dean hurt you?”

“Not physically-“ you huff, looking at the wedding band around your finger. “I was at my doctor’s practice for the next check-up, as usual, Dean didn’t show, even though, he promised to be there,” sniffling you take the wedding band off, dropping it onto the bed, not wanting to feel it on your skin right now.

“We had a meeting, I’m sorry for keeping Dean away from you,” John lies, you can see it in his eyes and his voice is a little too low. He doesn’t realize you know him too well to not see through his lies. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Y/N.”

“I saw all those happy couples and excited dad’s pacing around the waiting room and realized, Dean gives a shit on me and his child. I can’t leave, but at the same time I won’t pretend Dean is not the cold-hearted man he is,” sadly you can’t hide you are still in love with his son, but your try your hardest.

“What happened, Y/N? I heard you fought with your husband. Did he hurt you?” John presses. “I need to know…”

“You really want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you everything happening that day-“

One week earlier…

“Mrs. Winchester,” the nurse chirps, leading you into the room. “Where’s your husband? Didn’t he want to join us today?”

“He wanted but as always, business comes first,” you grumble, handing the young woman a business card. “That’s my brothers-in-law’s number. If I ever need help, please call him.”

“What about your husband?” confused the nurse looks at you, blinking a few times before she recognizes your teary eyes. “Ah, got it. I will call Sam Winchester if it’s necessary. We will add it to your medical record.”

“Thank you,” giving the nurse a sad smile you try to push the tears away. “As I said, my husband is always busy, and Sam offered his help. If not, call the second number, that’s my father-in-law.”

“No problem, Mrs. Winchester. Now let’s turn our attention toward your baby. Are you excited to find out about the gender?” nodding you swallow the lump in your throat, hiding you wished Dean would’ve come to find out with you.

“All done, Cher?” watching you walk out of the practice, a soft smile on his lips Benny offers his hand to you. “So, did they tell you the gender today?”

“It’s a boy,” you choke out, done fighting the tears. “You’re the first one I told, Benny-“ ignoring people watch you cry outside of your doctor’s practice you hide your face in Benny’s chest.

“He should’ve been here, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always sorry; everyone but Dean,” angrily fisting Benny’s jacket you look up at your bodyguard. “I’m done trying, Benny. This is ridiculous. He’s not interested in me or the baby.”

“Dean cares about the baby, Cher,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “It’s true.”

“Dean only cares about my son as he needs an heir. There is no love in him. I-I wanted to share this with him. Dean, he should’ve been here with me, experience every step but he refuses to even give me that. My first pregnancy should’ve been something special but now, it only makes me sad.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks, awaiting your report as usual.

“Still alive. Benny got the ultrasound if you want to see them. If you want to know about the gender, ask your friend too,” you quip, walking toward the walk-in-wardrobe to get your favorite pajamas, you ignore Dean follows you. “Unlike other people he was there.”

“I had a meeting, Y/N,” arguing Dean watches you gather more clothes, frowning as you didn’t jump on him to tell him every single detail about your appointment.

Usually, you would excitedly tell him about the baby, forcing him to look at the ultrasound picture and demand his attention. Today, you barely said two words, not even tried to talk to him.

“A meeting, sex with one of your girls – I don’t care Dean. I’m tired of this, of you. To give you the space you need, I’ll go and have lunch with Charlie. Don’t wait for me–“ you chuckle, humorlessly. “Ah, yeah I forgot. You wouldn’t care if I never return.” walking out of the room, leaving a speechless Dean behind, you slam the door shut, making him flinch.

“Benny, my wife is gone; just like all of her belongings, we need to find her! She’s pregnant with my child.”

“You only care about the baby, huh? Do you even know it’s a boy, Dean?” Benny sneers, placing the ultrasound picture into Dean’s hand. “Y/N is not gone, she simply moved into the guestroom next to John’s room. I helped her while you were out, doing god knows.”

“Wait – she moved into the guestroom? Why?”

“Seriously, Dean? You promised to be there, at least to get to know about the gender, and yet, you didn’t come to the practice. I think Y/N gave up trying,” huffing Dean watches you step out of the guestroom, ignoring he glares at you.

“Y/N, you can’t just move out of our bedroom!” muttering the words Dean watches you walk past him.

“Oh, you meant me. I thought I’m only a vessel, a breeder to carry your heir,” whipping your head toward Dean you give him a cold glare. Your heart races and you can feel fresh tears well-up to your eyes, but you need to get this out before you can return to your room and cry some more.

“I’m talking to you, Y/N. What if you go into labor and I’m not close by?” Dean mutters.

“I think it’s for the best you keep on ignoring me and give your whores all of your attention,” brushing past Dean you slap his hand away when he tries to touch you.

“Y/N!”

“Don’t Winchester-“ you growl. “I fulfilled my duty and got pregnant. Now you can stick your dick into any pussy and stay the fuck away from me and don’t worry about my labor. I will, just like anything else since I got pregnant, handle this on my own. If I should need help at any point of my pregnancy, Sam and John offered to be there for me.”

Now …

“Dean messed up epically, huh?” John carefully tries when you get up to walk toward the nursery next to the guestroom. “What are you going to do?“

"Nothing, John. Just like the first four months of my pregnancy, I will try to do what’s best for my son,“ John’s eyes light up when you tell him he’s going to have a grandson. “Today I’ll focus on finishing the nursery. Benny and Sam helped me with the wallpaper and cradle. I must check on the bears I painted and will make a list of what I will need.”

“I can help,“ offering you a cracked smile John holds out his hand. “I got you into this shitshow, let me at least try to make things easier for you, doll.”

“You could check on the shelves and cradle,” you sniff. “I just wish I had a man like you or Sam by my side. I see the way Sam cares about his wife and children. I know Dean is a little closed-off, like you but he’s kind to everyone he likes. Must be me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” slinging one arm around your shoulders John leads you out of your chosen bedroom. “You still got people caring about you. Sammy and I will be there and help you.”

“I know…”

“You’re talented,” looking at the bears you painted John smiles. “Mommy bear and baby bear,” he hums, admiring your painting. “Where’s the dad?”

“I’m a single parent, John. Why should I paint a daddy bear if he gives a shit on me and his son?” Dean stands in the doorframe, watching his father help you fix one of the shelves, swallowing thickly. “You know, every single woman at my doctor’s practice looks so happy, they glow and I just-“

“I get it, Y/N. You wanted your pregnancy to be special,” nodding you look at the bears. “You could draw an Uncle Sammy and Granddad John bear.”

“I’ll think about it, John,” with a small smile on your lips you watch John place the plushies onto one of the shelves. “You know, he didn’t even care about my morning sickness or cravings. I had this image in my mind. Dean the devoted soon-to-be dad helping me during my pregnancy. I know he doesn’t love me, I’m not delusional. But a bit more attention would’ve been nice.”

Two months later…

Used to being on your own you walk into your doctor’s practice. This time you don’t look at all the happy couples wishing it were you and Dean. Over the last weeks, you made up your mind.

Only as you don’t get to leave Dean doesn’t mean you must bear his behavior. So, you decided to keep your distance and only ask John, Sam, or Benny for help with the nursery.

You no longer tell Dean about your check-ups or try to include him in your pregnancy.

“Morning, Mrs. Winchester,” you flinch when the nurse calls your name. “How are you feeling today? Will the baby daddy be here today too?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Let’s be honest, Sally.” giving the young nurse a sad smile, you point toward the other pairs. “I know you are only trying to be friendly but anytime you are asking about my non-present husband it stings. Why don’t you treat me like a single parent? Cause that’s what I am.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks again, following you toward the nursery. “Listen, I know you try to punish me but not telling me about our baby breaks one of my rules.”

“The baby is still alive. He grows fast and the ultrasound picture lies on your desk. If you have more questions, call my gynecologist or,” turning around you give Dean a cold look, “you could move your ass to the practice next time but I get it – you were busy.”

“I got the right to know about my son,” growling the words Dean steps closer but this time, he doesn’t intimidate you with his size. “Tell me everything.”

“Weight and size are average. His heartbeat is strong, and he sucked his thumb today,” you scoff at Dean’s sudden interest. “You would know more about your child if you actually cared. He started to be more active, I can feel our little boy kick me harder but so far, only John felt our baby kick.”

Walking away you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it to take a deep breath.

“He’s my son too! You can’t shut me out!” Dean yells from the hallway.

“Sperm donator, you son of a bitch,” you growl. “If it were up to me, I’d file for divorce.”

“YOU WON’T!” he mutters. “I will not allow you to leave me.”

“I got that, but you should know that our marriage is over to me. If you dare to get close to me ever again, you’ll lose your hands or cock. Go and fuck one of your sluts.”

“I should-“ frustrated Dean kicks your door. “You’re still my wife, Y/N. I expect you to respect me and our bond.”

“Fuck that,” feeling exhausted you lie on your bed, gently running one hand over your belly. “He’ll not ruin your life, baby boy. I promise to protect you from your asshole father.”

“I heard that.”

“I don’t fucking care,” you cry. “Now leave me alone. You got the information you need. Don’t worry, your heir is still healthy. Even though, you didn’t help me at all…”

Two months, two weeks, and five days later…

“Looks good,” John hums, glancing at the ultrasound picture. “How are you, doll? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” looking at your wedding band you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Is there a way to protect my child from Dean? Can you add something to the prenup? Please.”

“I will not allow Dean to hurt your son, Y/N. I don’t think Dean would ever lay a finger on him-“

“That’s not what I meant. Being around Dean is unhealthy for me. What will he do to our child? How shall I explain to my baby boy that his father hates me? That I’m only a breeder to him, a body he could use to get a child.”

“Are you fucking my father?” ludicrously you look at Dean when he storms into your room, your solace. “That’s the reason you moved out of our bedroom – huh? You spread your legs for John Winchester.”

“What the fuck, Dean?” you sniff, reluctantly leaving the bed. “Over the last week I barely left my room as I didn’t feel well, and you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t have the time to fuck anyone. Unlike you, I had to take care of anything-“ whimpering you feel a piercing pain ripple through your womb. “Oh, god-“

“Y/N?” paling Dean watches you crouch down in front of your bed, crying out in pain. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Go and get your father or Sam,” you pant, while you try to remember everything the midwife taught you. “I think the baby wants to get out.”

“No, it’s too early,” panicked Dean rushes to your side to help you sit on the bed. “I’ll call an ambulance, Y/N.”

“O-okay-“ you scream, feeling another painful contraction approach. “No, no. My water just broke.” tears run down your cheeks when John and Sam stumble into the room. They heard your screams and try to help.

“Fuck, doll,” John mumbles, kneeling in front of you to calm you. “Sammy, call an ambulance and tell Benny to get Y/N’s bags. I’ll stay here to help her.”

“I already called an ambulance. Stop acting as if that’s your son,” Dean growls, glaring at his father.

“Do you want to help the mother of your child or fight with me right now, son? I think you showed how much you are interested in your child. Now shut the fuck up and help me here,” John would like to give his son a piece of mind but right now, he must take care of you.

“John,” grasping for your father-in-law’s hand, “promise me he won’t be there. I don’t want Dean inside the room while I give birth.”

"That’s my wife and child in there! Lemme inside,” Dean growls, fighting against one of the security guards. “Let me pass.”

“DEAN,” John’s voice booms through the hallway. “Your wife is in there. She’s in pain, scared, and tries to give birth to your baby. Stop acting like an idiot. You had it coming.”

“You didn’t care about your child or wife for over eight months. Did you honestly believe she wants you in there?” Sam huffs, squeezing Jess’s hand. “I was with Jess the whole time. I heard the heartbeat, saw my baby, felt it kick. I can’t believe you didn’t want to experience any of it.“

“I-I never wanted to marry Y/N. It was an arranged bond,” Dean sniffs, hearing you cry out in pain.

“This doesn’t change she’s your wife and that she needed you. Even more important, your son needed you. I believe babies bond with their parents in the womb. You could’ve talked to him, played music, or feel him kick.”

“Look at you baby boy,” cooing your son you feel your heart swell. Even if Dean is not going to show any affection toward your child, you’ll give the little boy all your love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I finally see him too?” Dean mutters, sneaking into your room. “How could you let my father, Sam, and Jess see my son first?”

“I didn’t think you will find the time to visit me and your baby. If you would excuse me now, I want to concentrate on Robert Maximilian Winchester.”

“What?” gaping at you Dean feels his stomach churn. “You named him Robert? But-but we agreed to name him Dean jr. How could you not only keep me away while giving birth but also deciding on a name without me? That’s cruel.” Dean sniffs, looking at your son in your arms.

“Cruel–?” you take a deep breath, try to ignore the burning rage running through your veins. “Do you know what cruel means, Winchester? Cruel means that your husband, the man you love with all your heart ignores you completely. Cruel means that he never shows affection or at least cares about you during pregnancy.��

“I’m his father!”

“Sperm donator,” you retort. “We are only a breeder and a sperm donator. You are not a father, and never will be. You’ll not hurt my baby boy and push him away as you did with me. You can lay claim on him when he turns 18, until then I’ll give him all the love he deserves.”

“He’s my baby boy too,” sniffling Dean looks at your child, tearing up. “Let me at least hold him. Please.”

“Not today,” adamant you defend your son, not giving in. It’s your turn to be selfish and not to show any compassion. Dean can cry as much as he wants to.

Today, you’ll be the cruel one – even if it kills you.

“She doesn’t let me hold my son,” outside of your room Dean starts to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby boy. How can she be so cruel?”

“I say it again – you had it coming,” John shrugs, ignoring he feels sorry for his son. “Y/N never was cruel. All she wanted was a bit of affection. Why couldn’t you give her that?”

“I just didn’t feel like pretending. But I care about our baby and want to hold him.”

Dean doesn’t leave your side. He sits next to your bed, still looking at his son.

“Please let me hold him, Y/N.”

“Five minutes,” you whisper, not looking at Dean. “You can hold him for five minutes and after that, you can pretend we do not exist until you need your heir.”

“It’s not like that,” with trembling fingers Dean takes Robert Maximillian out of your hands. “He’s so beautiful and tiny.”

“It’s a baby, what did you expect,” turning around to not watch Dean with your son you close your eyes. “Tell me when you are done playing daddy, Dean.”

“Why are you so cold. This isn’t you, Y/N.”

“That’s what happens to a loving person when she gives up. If you don’t like me the way I am now, you can always ask your dad to let me out of this marriage...”

“Look this is your room, baby boy,” cooing your baby you walk around the room. “There is a teddy bear, and over there is a cute duck. Maybe you’ll like the cat Sammy bought for you?”

“He doesn’t like cats,” Dean grumbles, walking into the nursery. “I bet he’s allergic like me.” hopefully looking at you Dean holds out his hands. “Come on, lemme hold him for a while.”

“I will leave you to your son, Dean. If you are done pretending you are a father, holler and I’ll take care of Robert,” carefully placing your son into Dean’s arms you ignore he tries to talk to you.

“Y/N, we should talk about a few things.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Dean. I’m stuck in this marriage, but this doesn’t mean I let you walk all over me ever again. I am a single parent, and this will not change…”

>> Part 2

SPN Forever Tags

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--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

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@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

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#Single Parent #dean winchester #SPNMixedBingo #dean winchester fanfic #mobster!dean x reader #MOBSTER!AU #angst #unrequited love #pregnant reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x you #mobster!dean winchester x reader

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perlukafarinn · 3 years

Text

sequel to this fic (read it for context. or don’t, i’m not the boss of you). i blame @hermywolf for this.

Things were tense for a while.

Now, Dean knew why he was awkward. He’d offered himself up as Benny’s personal human juicebox and something in his fucked up, wires-crossed brain had gotten so turned on by the act, he’d been about point three seconds away from grinding on his friend like a sophomore at prom.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Benny or Cas acting so weird.

Benny, and there was no other way to put it, had gotten really touchy-feely. Dean hadn’t realized how rare a non-violent touch was in Purgatory until it wasn’t anymore, until Benny kept putting his hands on Dean’s body, on his back, his shoulder, even his knee as they sat by the fire pit at night. Every touch casual and yet rife with some meaning Dean couldn’t comprehend, and every single one leaving Dean yearning for more.

And then there was Cas. When he wasn’t hovering over Dean, constantly appearing between him and Benny, he was lingering somewhere behind them, sour-faced and glowering off into the distance.

So yeah, tense.

It was the first time Dean was actually thankful for the unending stream of monsters in Purgatory. The near constant combat didn’t leave much time to worry about anything else. Dean was almost convinced that they could get past this whole episode without mention, given enough time and distance and distraction by monsters.

Then Benny had to go and get hurt again.

It wasn’t life or death this time but it was close enough, a lucky swipe from a werewolf nearly tearing a hole open in Benny’s chest.

Cas got to him first again, heaving Benny to his feet and easily holding his weight when it turned out Benny’s legs couldn’t quite support him. Dean got there second, a few moments later, heart pounding as he surveyed the damage.

He met Cas’ eyes.

“Dean, no,” Cas said, catching on almost quicker than the idea had passed through Dean’s mind. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Dean said, face growing warm for reasons he really didn’t wanna examine. “You’ll heal me after, right?”

Cas sighed. “You know I will.”

“He’s right, cher,” Benny spoke up. “Gimme an hour or two to heal, an’ I’ll be fine. You don’t gotta do this.”

Dean ignored him, stepping in close and pulling down his collar. “Shut up and let me help you.”

Benny laughed, low and strained. “If you insist...”

He leaned in and Dean closed his eyes in anticipation, one hand grasping Benny’s shoulder to steady himself. It wasn’t enough, the sudden pain of fangs sliding into flesh sending him stumbling against Benny until an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him still.

Heat stirred in Dean’s gut and he quickly tried to focus on the pain, on the unnatural pull of Benny’s mouth, on his knees still aching from the earlier fight.

It didn’t work. Somehow, the pain just threw the pleasure into sharper relief. It was all too much; Benny’s warmth against his side, his mouth hungry and insistent, his fingertips digging into Dean’s skin as he tried to pull him even impossibly closer.

Dean opened his eyes and oh, big mistake. Cas was right there, inches away, still holding Benny upright as he drank his fill of Dean’s blood, staring into Dean’s eyes with a look that might almost be mistaken for hunger.

Dean should have looked away but he couldn’t. He felt trapped, pinned down by the monster at his throat and the divine creature staring him down.

A pained gasp escaped Dean’s lips as Benny pulled away his fangs. He didn’t back off completely though, mouth remaining at Dean’s throat as he carefully licked up every drop of blood. Dean shivered, knowing he should be recoiling in disgust and not fighting off every instinct to lean in closer.

Finally, it was Cas who put an end to it, grabbing Benny by his hair and pulling him off. “Enough.”

Benny shot him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Easy there, chief. Can’t a man enjoy a meal in peace?”

He wasn’t being serious, Dean knew. He was just trying to rile Cas up.

Did that make it more or less fucked up that hearing Benny refer to him as ‘a meal’ kind of turned him on?

“You are not a man,” Cas said, voice low and dangerous. “And Dean is not yours to consume with reckless abandon.”

Holy fuck.

Dean glanced between them as they now stared at each other, Cas all righteous anger, Benny stubborn as a mule. The moment stretched on, tension building, and as Dean was sure something was about to snap, Benny looked away.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, laughing breathlessly.

Dean shot him a curious look but he didn’t say anything else, letting go off Dean and backing away. Dean stumbled on unsteady legs but Cas was there in an instant, arm around his lower back and hand raised to cover the wound on his neck.

It was too much, too fast. Dean’s head was spinning, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few minutes and drawing a blank on any plausible explanation. He felt lightheaded too, the blood loss finally catching up with him, and as warmth poured from Cas’ hand, healing him, all he could think was

Have Cas’ hands always been that big?

The third time it happened, it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination necessary.

Still, Benny had broken his leg. Even if it would only take a few hours to heal it would still slow them in the meantime. And even if he could still fight in this condition, why make an already difficult situation even worse when they had such an easy solution?

Cas didn’t protest this time. He took one look at Dean and sighed, sounding defeated. “If you must.”

Guilt stirred in Dean’s chest, strangely enough. “It’s easier for all of us this way, right?”

Cas didn’t look like he agreed. “Let me know when you need me to heal you.”

And he stormed off. Dean watched him go, the guilt growing stronger. Which was ridiculous, what the hell did he have to feel guilty about? Cas healed him without complaint after any other kind of injury. What made this so different?

Dean looked at Benny, who was sitting on the ground with his broken leg, watching the proceedings with an odd look on his face. His expression softened when he met Dean’s eyes.

“I hope you don’t feel obligated to do this,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, you gotta know that.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I just wanna - it’s not a big deal.”

He walked up to Benny, kneeling down on the ground next to him, straddling one thigh as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“You keep saying that,” Benny said.

He put his hand on Dean’s waist, steering him closer as if it were second nature.

“Cause it’s not.”

Benny hummed, eyes hooded, gaze unfocused and hungry as Dean leaned in. “It is to me.”

He bit down, lighting fast, saving Dean from coming up with a response. Dean didn’t bother to silence his whimper or to resist the urge to sit down on Benny’s lap fully, drinking in the touch of him as Benny drank his life’s blood in slow, deep pulls.

He didn’t take much this time, barely giving Dean time to get used to the pain before he was pulling his fangs out again, laving his tongue over the wound to soothe the sting of their exit.

“This isn’t a one-way street, you know,” Benny muttered, lips still pressed against Dean’s neck. His tongue darted out again, licking up a stray drop of blood. “I’m sure there’s something you want I could give in return.”

And Dean didn’t doubt for one second just what he was implying. It was hard to, really, with Benny’s dick growing hard against his ass, feeling impossibly hot even through the layers separating them.

It was tempting. No one had touched him that way in far too long and Benny was willing, more than. He wanted it as badly as Dean did and they were already half-way there, practically dry-humping on the cold, damp ground of Purgatory.

But… “Cas.”

Benny sighed. Pulled away and Dean missed the warmth as soon as it was gone. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” Benny looked up at him, a teasing glint entering his eye. “You know, he wouldn’t have to be a problem. I wouldn’t mind him joining in on the fun.”

A fuse blew in Dean’s brain. He shot to his feet, nearly stumbling over Benny in the process.

“That’s - I don’t -” Dean stuttered. “He wouldn’t!”

Benny gave him a meaningful look, though what meaning was completely lost on Dean, and got to his feet.

Instinctively, Dean held out his hand. Benny grabbed it, grasping it tight even as he got to his feet, steady as if he’d never gotten hurt at all. He leaned in and Dean didn’t even think, staying perfectly still as Benny kissed him.

He tasted like copper, blooming bitter on Dean’s tongue.

“Offer still stands,” Benny said, pulling away with a grin. “If you change your mind.”

Dean stared.

“Now go find your angel and get patched up.”

An order. Okay, Dean could follow that, even if his mind was becoming more of a jumbled mess by the minute. He walked away, going in the direction Cas had disappeared to and finding him a short distance away, standing in the middle of a clearing.

He looked up as Dean approached, opening his mouth to speak but whatever he had to say dying on his tongue. Dean stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling wrong-footed and uncertain.

Cas closed the distance between them, slowly walking up to Dean, into his personal space and then closer still. He raised his hand but he didn’t reach for Dean’s neck, for the still-bleeding wound just below his jaw.

Instead, he softly cupped Dean’s face, placing his thumb on his lower lip. Dean froze, breath caught in his throat, heart beating wildly against the cage of his ribs like a frightened animal.

“Did he-” Cas started then stopped.

He dropped his hand. Dean followed it with his eyes, spotting the dark smear of blood on Cas’ thumb. Dean’s blood, left on his lips by Benny.

Oh.

“Be careful,” Cas said, finally placing a hand - his other hand - on Dean’s neck and healing Benny’s bite. “Behaving recklessly in Purgatory has too steep a price.”

The warning rankled something deep in Dean’s chest. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to disobey, to lean in and smear his blood on Cas’ lips like Benny had done to him.

He ignored it. Reckless or no, Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew a rejection when he saw one.

#deancas #deanbenny #destiel #spn fanfic #blood drinking cw #team purgatory #purgatory #violence cw #perlukafarinn writes

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honestlywtfisgoingon · 3 years

Text

A Match Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 2685 Damn

Warnings: Alcohol and also a little sad?

Notes: hehe the plot continues... also please give feedback I’m still new to writing and can use the help 🥺

Your first date with Benny was like all your experiences with Benny. It started out ordinary, and ended up somewhere completely different.

He took you to a small cafe, one of those hidden spots known only to New York natives.

You and Benny sat down in a little corner of your own, and you felt an imbalance when he didn’t look nervous at all. After you ordered you relaxed a bit, finding out that he was just as anxious as you were. Sure, Benny had an incredible poker face, but the way he kept tapping his cheek while he leaned his chin on his hand had been the tell.

On the outside it looked as though the two of you were on a regular date, exchanging all the usual smiles and small flirtations, but that’s where it got a little more interesting.

Benny wasn’t conventional and didn’t care to be, and you were always trying to get past the surface of things. Neither of you cared for menial small talk, and instead went straight into a passionate exchange of thoughts and views. You ended up talking like you had known each other for years. There was a connection there, an obvious chemistry that you hadn’t found before.

There was a second date after that, and it was even better than the last. He had taken you to dinner that time, and once again you found yourselves falling back into discussion about various thoughts and ideas, nothing boring or ordinary.

As you cracked jokes back and forth and learned more about each other, you had a warm feeling. You recognized that for all these last few months, being with Benny was the first time you really felt at home in New York.

That was before, but this is now. Now is when a part of you shattered. Now is just after you got a devastating call that your father was sick.

“Thank you,” you said before hearing the click of placing the phone back on the receiver.

Thank you for what? You were just told your father was dying and you were supposed to say thank you? You had finally gotten the chance to go beyond your small town, thinking everything at home was safe, that it was taken care of. It was your father that convinced you of that.

Living where you did had it’s limits, and there wasn’t much for you there. He pushed you to get out and explore, telling you that you didn’t need to worry about him.

You were taken from your thoughts when you looked at the time, realizing Benny would be picking you up soon. You could’ve canceled, considering the recent circumstances, but you were grasping for normalcy at the moment, trying to shove away the awful reality you were just hit with. You told yourself it wasn’t because you were running away, you were just being considerate of benny. Yes, you were just being considerate. That meant you could push off thinking about all this until you got home.

This time, you and Benny were walking together in Central Park, and you were trying to pay attention to what he was saying as best you could.

“Hey, y/n?” You heard benny’s voice break through the numbness.

“Sorry, what?” You were embarrassed that he caught you blatantly ignoring what he was saying.

“I was asking if you were able to come to to the championship, but I think you’ve got other things on your mind.” He didn’t seem offended, more concerned.

“I’d love to, I know how important chess is for you, and I haven’t gotten the chance to see you get really competitive.” He would’ve been happier to hear your answer had he not seen straight though you.

“Right now, you’re what’s really important to me. Just tell me what’s really going on.” His admittance for caring about you would’ve made filled your heart yesterday, but today it made you want to run away.

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’ve been off the whole day, I just want to know why.”

“Nothing is going on. Why are you so convinced that there is?” Your tone became slightly more aggressive.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me right-“

“Just leave it Benny!” You snapped, letting go of his hand and and walking away from him. You didn’t know why you took off from someone you liked so much, but you didn’t really know why anything was happening at all.

You were stopped as Benny ran after you and grabbed you hand firmly. You tried to pull away, but he was stronger than you. He spun you around to face him. You became acutely aware of the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Looking up into his eyes was your breaking point.

You let out a sob before caving into him. You felt his arms wrap around you before letting him usher you to a bench. He held you for what seemed like forever, until you were too tired to cry anymore. He was rubbing you back and gave you a little smile when you faced him. You apologized and hastily wiped away your tears, but he insisted that it was ridiculous of you to be sorry. You still felt guilty after your breakdown, so you explained what was going on to make it up to Benny. You couldn’t exactly run away anymore, physically or emotionally.

“It’s my dad. I got a call this morning. He’s sick, but he wants me to stay here. How am I supposed to stay here, dealing with a new job, a new life really, while my dad’s back home dying?” You let Benny see all the stress you were under, ready for him to leave now that he’s seen you as a mess.

“All those things, you have to take one at a time. If your dad’s what’s important right now, just focus on that.” It was easier said than done, but Benny wasn’t the emotional type and he didn’t know exactly what to say, but he cared, that much was clear. You just nodded, trying to pull yourself back together. “Are you going to listen to him? Are you going to stay here?” You could tell that behind his question, he was scared that you would say no.

“I- I don’t know yet.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.” He said as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. It was smooth and warm and you wanted to lean into it, but you snapped out of it.

“Maybe what we both need is for you not to here.” You didn’t want to hurt him, but your walls had rushed back up. You had so many things going on, and the last thing you needed was a boyfriend. It pained you to say it, but you wanted to be honest.

“I don’t have to be here as... whatever we have going on now... but I can be here as a friend.” As of today, romance was off the table for you, but a friend was different, and Benny wasn’t the type to let go of you so easily, even if a friendship was all he could get.

You just nodded and looked down into your lap, not knowing what to do now. Benny knew it was time for silence, so he held your face in his hands so you looked up at him. He didn’t say anything as he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears sitting on your cheeks. It wasn’t a romantic act, it was more endearing, a quiet action as if to say that he was willing to catch you if you fell.

You let out a small laugh at his little gesture. His eyes radiated a sort of comfort now that you he was edging into a part of your life that even you avoided.

With the intention of continuing your date that wasn’t really a date anymore, he grabbed your hand to pull you up from the bench. When he tried to let go, you didn’t let him. He looked at you curiously but he didn’t question it. You didn’t even know why you did it, still mentally screaming to push him away. You both just ended up going along with it, holding hands for the rest of the day until he walked you back home.

Nearly 3 weeks had passed since then and you hadn’t gone out or had contact with anyone. Despite your moment with Benny, you had still distanced yourself from him. Holed up in your apartment, existing off of gin, cigarettes, and frozen foods; ignoring calls, presumably from your friends.

You sat in the middle of the living room floor, forcing yourself to sketch. It had been therapeutic for you before, but now you found yourself more agitated as your drawings felt forced.

“Argh!” You yelled out into the room as you threw the papers across the floor. The one thing that you could always turn to was your ability to do art, and now you felt a block.

After taking a swig of gin, you laid back on the floor. You had turned to alcohol after another call with your father. He demanded that you stay in New York and that you go on with your life. Instead you felt like you were at a standstill, unable to keep going knowing that the one person left in your life wouldn’t make it another couple of months, and yet you were unable to see him. It made you hurt and angry that he didn’t want you home, but you wouldn’t go against his dying wishes.

You groaned when you heard the sound of the phone. You dragged your hands across your face when it wouldn’t stop ringing, forcing yourself up to confront whoever was pestering you.

“What the fuck!”

“Glad to know you’re alive.” Bennys voice greeted you.

“Can’t you tell when someone wants to be alone?” You missed Benny, but you were slightly drunk and your defenses were up.

“What someone wants and what someone needs are two very different things.”

“Well then tell me what I need.” You said sarcastically.

“You should come out with us. We’ve been calling, Cleo and Annette and the rest of us. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Well the reason you haven’t heard from me is because I haven’t been answering.”

“Funny,” he said humorlessly, “we all miss you.” He paused, “I miss you. And I said I’d always be here so I have to make good on my promise.”

You paused. You had to admit, you missed them and Benny too, but everything just seemed so scary right now. For all your philosophies and ideas, you were hiding from your own thoughts. Going out with people would only expose them.

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to have a night out, but have coffee with me at least.”

“Benny I-“

“Great. I’ll be there in five.”

“What? Benny no-“ He hung up. The bastard hung up on you. His audacity was what actually made you laugh for the first time in days. After a minute of laying on the floor, you gathered energy to trudge over to the bathroom and make an attempt to clean yourself up. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you made a grimace at your reflection. You brushed your hair and washed your face, brushing your teeth twice to get rid of the alcohol on your breath. You swiped some face makeup to conceal your dark circles and changed out of the pajamas you had been living in.

You buzzed Benny in, expecting him to wait downstairs in the lobby like usual. Instead you heard a knock at the door in the middle of clearing things up. You got flustered as you rushed around to pick up glasses, pillows and other articles littering the floor.

“I thought we were going for coffee,”You said as you opened the door, panting slightly.

“I thought I would make things easy, come to you.” He said as he made his way in, slinging his arm around your shoulder, “plus ive never been in here.” He took a look around, making no comments about the state of your apartment. He made himself comfortable, going through your kitchen, presumably looking for coffee or something to eat. “Do you want anything? More gin maybe?” He said as he picked up an empty bottle sitting on the counter.

“Benny-“ you warned, silencing him. He joined you on the couch with some chips he found in the cabinets and a can of coke.

“We don’t have to talk about anything serious, I just don’t want you to be alone. For my own sake really.” He turned his head away from you while saying the last part.

“You know I should be a dick more often, I’m making you all soft.” You nudged him in the shoulder as a small smile crept up on his lips, lightening the mood. Something about him being there made you unconsciously drop your facade. You had to admit it was nice to relax for a moment.

“Hey don’t go telling everyone.”

You didn’t talk about anything serious like Benny said you wouldn’t. After a while you eased into laughing and chatting casually. Eventually the conversation reached a comfortable lull.

“I missed you too you know. I didn’t say it over the phone.” You told him. Having him here with you made you feel bad for your outburst. You admired his patience for you.

“I knew.” He shrugged as he gave you a sideways little smirk.

“cocky bastard.” You said jokingly.

“Your favorite cocky bastard” he tilted his head towards you as he lifted his brow, smiling.

“Top 3 maybe.” You leaned back like you were pretending to think about it.

Suddenly you remembered what you talked about before the little breakdown you had on your walk.

“The championship! Do you still want me to go?” You sat up with your sudden remembrance.

“Course I do. I didn’t know you would still be up for it.” Benny looked happy, but you could tell he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I didn’t think I was, but I didn’t want to miss you winning.” You ruffled his fluffy blonde hair. He gave you that cocky smirk again. You really won points by stroking bennys ego.

“Well we can drive together then. It’s next week.” He said it nonchalantly, but he smiled as he took a sip of his drink.

You paused, not realizing the championship was so soon. You thought you had at least a month. You didn’t feel as though you were ready to enter back into the world yet. Just Benny was alright but having to hold your own with all those people while Benny played scared you. Benny caught your hesitation and went to hold your hand. They were chess players hands, soft with long fingers that intertwined with yours. They were cold and his rings were a bit uncomfortable, but your breath still hitched a bit.

No. You said you wouldn’t get involved with him. Still, you kept your hand in his. It was probably the one mildly romantic thing either of you could get without risking the friendship falling apart at this time.

“How exciting,” you finally continued. You lifted your coke and you and Benny cheers-ed together. Once again that warm feeling of home crept in, that feeling you got when being with Benny. No matter how many walls you built up, Benny, someone you hadn’t even known for more than a couple months, had an amazing way of bursting through.

Just this morning you were firmly committed to becoming a hermit, and now you were planning a road trip. You chalked it up to Benny being special to you. No, you pushed that thought away again. Special in a friend way. That’s what you needed, and that’s what he was willing to be. You were in a state of conflict around him, shoving him away and holding his hand to pull him close. You shook off your thoughts and looked at Benny, and there was a moment where his eyes shone with admiration, and then it was gone as he turned his head away and continued to talk about one of his chess feats while you listened attentively, just happy to be around him again, even if it was unwillingly at first.

#benny watts x reader #benny watts fanfiction #benny watts imagine #benny watts fluff #benny watts smut #the queen’s gambit #queen’s gambit #benny watts #Thomas Brodie-Sangster

319 notes · View notes

wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

Text

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane."

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

191 notes · View notes

ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

safe

part 9 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: none, lots of kissing

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you discover how truly committed you are to a man you’ve only been on one real date with.

notes: just a head’s up, next week will be the last chapter of this series! I’ll give a proper thank-you then, but I also have a couple (at least three) one-shots in the universe because I... want to. hope that’s okay!

When you were younger and you attended the baseball games under the summer heat with James, you spent more time watching the people in the crowd than the players. Vague knowledge of the rules and even your grandfather’s enthusiasm weren’t nearly enough to keep you interested during the long stretches of advertisements. Now, the moments when Santi was getting strike after strike were exhilarating instead of boring and you grinned with pride, like it was personal each time the ball found it’s home in Frankie’s glove.

This season had been a whirlwind as you began to appreciate the game because of the players, and you didn’t think you had any more room for excitement.

That was, until Francisco’s mother decided she wanted to attend with you and James.

The sweet catcher hadn’t even had time to apologize and offer an alternative before your grandfather stepped in, and the rest was history. You didn’t mind, of course you didn’t, how could you? It was strange, spending time with her so early in the relationship but it made you happy that she was so excited about you. The two of them hung on your elbows, and you laughed at how awkward it made walking through the narrow gap to your seats.

From somewhere in her bag, she produced an entire tupperware of homemade pan dulce, sugar filling the grooves on the bottom, and you settled in. You were fairly sure that wasn’t allowed but you were helpless against her sweet, determined face so it only made sense security would be too.

It wasn’t work, talking to her, she felt like an auntie or a friend’s friend – someone you half already knew, and who certainly knew you. She filled the silence with stories and questions and only heard the first half of your answer before excitedly pointing at her son and his friends on the field. It felt like you were at a kids baseball game, how she clicked her tongue and freely gave them advice as if they could hear her.

At some point, Will stole second base and her and James began a conversation around you. She called them niños and matched your grandfather in her personalized affection for them. You wondered if you should feel guilty for your lingering eyes on the son of the woman next to you, but she half encouraged it, telling you he got his legs from his padre.

When the opposing team was up a point, she muttered pobrecitos and grabbed your hand and prayed for Benny’s next hit.

You caught pieces of Frankie, in her. Or more accurately, you realized what parts of her he had grown into, and learned about his younger self from her eyes and her tone and her smile. Your poor grandfather was probably exhausted but you drank it in.

“Francisco was saving all his money from his work for the neighbors – his team was taking him to watch a game at this very stadium!” Without even looking she handed you a pastry, shaking sugar onto your lap until you took it. “But then his escuela collected donations for the orphanage. I told him, you know? I told him if he gave all his money I couldn’t help him, he wouldn’t get anything from the stadium.”

Her eyes were warm in yours and she squeezed your arm, trying to communicate her pride. “Mi frijol gave it all! And he did not even complain, not even once!” You smiled at her, trying to answer however you could that you understood. Maybe not completely but you saw how much he cared about other people, how hard he tried.

Around the eighth inning, she quieted, smiling gratefully when you produced an extra water bottle. Her hand was soft and maternal as it rubbed your shoulder, a foreign but pleasant feeling.

“His hermana tests him all the time,” she murmured, and you nodded cautiously. When she resolutely added, “You give him strength, hija,” you almost cried right there in the stands.

You settled for covering her hand with yours and squeezing back.

When they won, no one cheered louder, no one was prouder, but you and James gave it your best shot.

“So,” Frankie looked at you, his big brown eyes full of questions. Alone, you couldn’t resist him, much more when the rest of them matched his gaze.

You were all at Tom’s rental, unexpectedly. He didn’t tell anyone, but he had burst into Molly’s office, only to find it empty. It had bothered him, and when he was bothered, he took extra effort to pretend that he was not. The new opportunity to spend post-game evenings with decks of cards and childish snacks had already become the highlight to his friends, so he figured he could do that. Just a little bigger, a little better. And it’s not like any of you had enough information to say no.

The elders had long since gone home, and now they all wanted to know what secrets his mother had spilled about them.

You laughed at their faces, feeling a little devious with the power. Before giving anything up, you stuck your tongue out at Santi and meandered to the kitchen, feeling them watch you as your filled your champagne flute with apple juice.

“She didn’t say anything,” you said with exaggerated elegance, lounging against an unnecessary column.

The act broke when you had to dodge a pillow.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your free hand in surrender. You looked at your catcher with a wink before grinning almost maliciously at Santiago. “She told me she had to bring Santi socks twice last season, and one time she saw Benny eat a hot dog off the ground.”

They erupted in teasing and you waited for it to quiet a moment before you added, “And she shared that Tom,” you drew out his name for extra emphasis, “Goes to the same hairdresser as her, and she once threatened to dye Will’s pants pink for calling her ma’am one too many times.” The men were howling with laughter like they hadn’t since college, shoving each other and half tackling one another, shouting their defenses and stories alike.

When Frankie extracted himself he found you curled on the armrest of the couch, watching with amusement. His hair was messed up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “What did she say about me?” he asked under the noise and he settled next to you, trying to be confidant as he wrapped his arm around you shoulders.

He liked that he could feel your shrug.

“That you’re practically perfect in every way,” you relaxed into him and it felt so natural he could hardly imagine it wasn’t always like this.

Francisco was spending his day off with his family, doing some projects around the home, but so it surprised you when your phone rang.

It surprised you even more that it was Benny, inviting you to lunch. Just to talk, I’m not being weird, he said, backpedaling when you teased him about being a little late to ask you on a date. Is that okay? He seemed just a little bit nervous, which made you laugh. Of course, you were more than happy to.

The longer you knew him, the more you understood why they all treated him like a little brother.

He was already at the restaurant – Thai food, his choice – as friendly and kind as the first time you had met him. Unlike then, you weren't even a little bit nervous sitting across from him, despite the glares of the women at an adjacent talking the two of you were still new friends, so it wasn’t quite effortless, by the made up for it with his genuine enthusiasm.

If he had something on his mind, he didn’t get to it right away, the first half of your lunch hour spent talking about you. For how loud his personality seemed sometimes, he was well spike and well mannered, and curious about almost everything. You checked the time, before finally asking if everything was okay with him, and the shortstop ran his fingers through his hair, looking past away.

His foot tapped on the rug, and you used your chopsticks to push your remaining food into a small mound in the middle of your plate.

“I’m paying, by the way,” you looked up, back into his eyes, your own eyebrows drawing together to shake your head.

“I owe you,” he defended himself before you could voice your dissent, and when he added, “for looking out for me,” you softened.

“Relationships aren’t transactional, Benjamin.” It was a gentle scold, true, but relenting.

Broad shoulders shrugged.

“Think of it as a thank you,” he said, and you let him talk. For all that his brother and the guys worried over him, he wasn’t as young and naïve as they thought of him. His eyes and ears were sharp and it’s not like he hadn’t heard the stories, seen what they were protecting him from.

“You help us look after each other,” it was almost like he rehearsed it, and his blue eyes confirmed he had been meaning to say this to you for awhile.

“And you look after me.” That nervousness from before came back, and you wondered if he still hadn’t quite gotten to the part he was meaning to say. Ben launched into a story in between flagging down the waiter and you let him pay, but even when the receipt came, he didn’t stand.

The story stuttered to a halt and you rested your chin in your palm.

“Will and Frankie have been talking about Tom – saying he’s been off.” It was abrupt, and you waited. He was restless, his habit of changing the topic becoming even more prominent. Both of you knew what he meant.

It was messy, hard, existing with them.

“Would you… will you stay?”

There was a burst of warmth in your chest, a wave of affection as if he confessed outright how much you mattered to them.

You stood, smiling and offering your hand, as if he needed help standing.

“Yeah, Ben, what are friends for?”

He looked so relieved that you hugged him. Although, you suspected he would’ve hugged you regardless, if you had given him a moment.

After work you had a voicemail and a text from your… from Francisco, and you drove over to his place. Walking up the stairs in the cooling evening air felt strange, like it was humming with potential.

He greeted you with slow kisses, his rough hands wandering your skin and clothes like he was still grasping that you were real. If you could’ve thought, you might’ve wondered why he called you over or looked around his apartment but it didn’t matter because all you could think of what him. The gentle scrape of the hairs on his face over your cheek, your neck, the needy pull of his fingers as he curled his fists into your outer layer.

His mouth, moving in ways you’d thought you’d never quite felt before, leaving you breathless.

It didn’t escalate, neither of you pushing for more, but when he finally moved away, he was pulling you onto the couch and under his arm.

“Hi,” he said, looking flushed and happy, despite the flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Hi,” you figured you mirrored him, and you let out a rough cough of laughter.

Francisco joined, and your head found a rest on his shoulder, cheek squishing from the closeness. The tips of his fingers wandered over your skin, and it felt like a habit years in the making, to catch up with him about his day, his family. A stretch of silence followed, and your realized he was tired.

“I should probably make you dinner or something,” he whispered, almost to himself, dark eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly you felt shy, aching because you should’ve brought something, should cook or… he was the one who had a long day, but this was his home.

You had memorized the feeling of his hairs on your waist, and yet you didn’t know if he would be okay with you cooking in his home. Actually, you didn’t even know anything about his home.

Looking around, you compromised.

“I’m good, Frankie, I had a big lunch,” taking in the simple furniture and quickly cleaned surfaces, you didn’t notice his head tilt, shoulders rising slightly with tension until you looked back at him. The sweet man had realized he hadn’t heard about that part of your day yet but he didn’t want to pry.

“Benny got me thai food,” you offered, which only increased his distress. Your hand slipped into his as you explained.

“I think he’s just scared I’m not going to stick around,” you sighed, hoping he felt like that was as unlike as you did.

Against your head, you felt him nod, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.

“He’s right, though,” his voice seemed higher, as shy as you’d been a moment ago. “Things with us, with me are… a lot.”

As he always did, he was asking you more than you said, and you wanted to honor it so you though, really thought about what you were getting yourself into.

“Frankie, you told me you wanted me to be a part of your life,” you kissed the corner of his mouth, which pulled as he smiled hopefully. “I want that too, if you’ll be part of mine.”

A little rougher than they’d been before his hands tugged you into him, a solid kiss. No questions were buried in the touch, and it made you feel like you were floating.

Long moments later, you laughed a little, too warm to feel shy.

“Does this make me your novia?”

You weren't sure if the color on his cheeks was warming because of embarrassment that you caught the word in his mother’s talk, or because he hadn’t actually asked yet.

“Yeah,” a final kiss, on your forehead sealed the deal.

And when you moved away, it was to explore his kitchen for something to cook for the both of you.

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

niños: boys

padre: father

pobrecitos: poor babies

escuela: school

mi frijol: my bean

hermana: sister

hija: daughter

novia: girlfriend

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

edit: take 3 having tumblr save the taglist on this thing

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

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sleepysailorjunko · 3 years

Text

Benny's Big Score

It turns out that New Reno was not a great place.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, a solution to his problems. But it wasn't.

New Reno was dirty, but not in the same glimmery-glittery way that New Vegas was. It wasn't like when he had come to Vegas for the first time, the Bootstraps with him. He was alone. There were no chairmen to protect him, no brothers willing to die with him.

Sitting in the dingy bar, he curses the courier under his breath.

"Oh, don't get me started on Couriers." a melodic voice chimed in. A smooth-voiced ghoul in a fancy pre-war tuxedo sat down on the barstool next to Benny. "You wouldn't know the half of it."

"A courier done you wrong too?"

"I gave as good as I got." the ghoul replied, and in him, Benny recognized that they were both well-dressed men who had been chased out by couriers.

"And yet we're still sitting here in this bar, ring-a-ding." Benny took a sip of his drink. Disgusting as it was (and expensive!), Benny's pride as a Bootstrap and leader of the Chairmen kept him from spitting it out. "Say, who are you anyhow?"

The ghoul rolled his eyes under the sunglasses he wore.

"200 years ago everyone knew my name. Dean Domino's the name, don't wear it out."

Benny's eyes widened.

"That for real? Where ya been hiding out all this time?" Benny questioned, leaning on the bar counter. "Could have used you back in New Vegas."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Dean answered smoothly. Benny prodded at him again in his "Ring-a-Ding-Ding" fashion, and Dean sighed before answering. "The Sierra Madre."

"Woah, let's keep it in the grove. You," He paused for emphasis. "Are the ghoulified version of prewar icon Dean Domino and you've been hiding out in the casino in the land of the dead?"

"Yes, I suppose if you put it like that."

"I'm the Ben-man, the kingpin of the whole Strip." Benny said, bitterly drinking from his glass. "Or I was."

"Taken down by a courier?" Dean snarked.

"Ain't that a kick in the head. You think you put one in the ground but then they follow you home and try and climb in your bed. Ruin your damn plans. But I'll be back."

"The courier-I never caught their name-banned me from Vegas. They threated to kill me if they ever saw me again. As if they'd get the chance."

"You and me, we're men cut from the same cloth." Benny said, and Dean looked over him.

"Are we really?"

"Yeah, we're both men screwed over by couriers when we could've been kings!" Benny rubbed his hand over his jaw, and then continued. "Y'know...we oughta get together sometime. We could get revenge on the Mojave Express and I have a lot of draw in New Vegas. I could even get you a job preforming in the Tops. Hell, even the Lucky 38."

"Why not?" Dean agreed. Thinking a moment, he asked. "That courier you knew, did they have a large scar on their head?"

"They did actually...a gift from me. Tie, I think that's their name. Well, it's what their boy-toy sniper-type called them when they weren't trying to jump into bed with me."

"Two birds with one stone." Dean said. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, pal."

It took time to get back to New Vegas. This gave them time to plan and plot and scheme about how to get their revenge on the courier.

More or less, it was easy for them to get into the Strip. After all, this was the land that Benny was Chairman of. He was also very skilled with computers, so it wasn't a challenge for Benny to hack into the securitrons.

Their first stop in Vegas was Mick and Ralph's. Throwing a cap to the crier boy outside the story, Benny asked "Are your old men inside?"

The boy responded and Benny strolled into the building like he owned it. Explaining to Dean, he added, "It helps to bring flowers home."

"Benny." Mick greeted shortly.

"Mick, my guy! How's the family?" Benny sidled up to the store owner. "Say, have you gotten any flowers in lately?"

Mick sighed and retreated to the back room. He returned with a wilted bouquet.

"I've only got these in because of Pacer. You know how he's gonna get, you're throwing of his plans with" Mick complained, but Benny cut him off.

"Tell him to send all his complaints to the Tops!" He exclaimed and snatched the bouquet. It was dry and wilty, formed from common Mojave plants rather than one made from Vault-Tec's greenrooms. It must have come in with Crimson Caravans, Benny thought, but Swank would like it well enough.

He shoved a couple caps into Mick's hand-underpaying people was something that got him into trouble before.

"To the Tops!" He called, and Dean followed him.

"Ugh. How things have changed." Dean groaned. "What have you done with the place?"

"Seal it, Dean-o! I've got a man to see. Our plan won't work without Swank."

The man in the check-in window looked up when Benny said his name.

"Shit, Benny. I haven't seen you in ages."

"Missed you too, Swank. You didn't even kiss me goodbye."

"You're not supposed to be here. I know you tried to kill that courier."

"C'mon, Swank. You've gotta let me explain." He gestured with the bouquet. "I brought you flowers."

Swank looked like he was conflicted, but then he sighed.

"Fine. Explain then, boss."

"Alright, so the courier. I did try and kill that courier, but I had good reason for it. You've got to believe me. I needed the platinum chip."

"You can't just keep saying I have to let you explain and I have to believe you. It doesn't work that way. But I'll bite. What's a platinum chip and why did you need it?"

"It's what we need. If we have it, we can upgrade the securitrons and then we won't need the NCR or the Legion or House to protect New Vegas." He smiled bitterly. "It would have been freedom for all of us."

Swank looked at Benny silently.

"I know why I failed now. I needed you and the Chairmen. I needed you."

That seemed to certify it for Swank. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled.

"Alright Benny. But this is the last time. You mess this up and it'll be the end-not just for you and me, but for all of us." He made cautious and firm eye contact with Benny. "What's the plan?"

"You're the man, Swank!" Benny shouted excitedly and leaned over the weapon-check counter to wrap a hand around Swank's shoulder and pull him down for a kiss. Releasing him, he continued. "Oh, it's a doozy of a plan."

Swank looked around and then signalled to another Chairman.

"You take over here." He said, and stepped out from behind the weapon check counter.

The plan was a doozy, Swank thought as he walked from the Tops to the Lucky 38. He hoped the Courier was staying there tonight. If not, he'd have to regroup with Benny and Dean to send them to the Atomic Wrangler instead.

Night had fallen quickly over New Vegas in the hours after Benny had made up with Swank, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted when Swank bumped into someone.

"Watch it," He barked. Looking at the young woman, he realized she was a courier-she had a courier's duster loosely over a purple shirt-but not the one they were going to kill.

"Eh? Did you need something?" She said, "I'm going to Show Low."

It was a dangerous route for a courier because it went right into Legion teritory, but Swank didn't care. It seemed like a good idea at the time, a solution to his problems. But it wasn't.

"Sorry. Good luck!" He said and continued on route to the Lucky 38.

"You too?" Swank heard, but there was a lot of noise. The Strip was loud.

Arriving at the Lucky 38, he let himself in. The collar weighed heavily in his pocket, but he knew that was just in his head. It couldn't weigh more than a pound or two.

"Hello?" he called. "I need to speak to the Courier? It's really important..."

There wasn't any response for a moment. Then the elevator chimed and two people exited.

One was the Courier, and the other was a bitter-faced sniper with an NCR beret.

"Oh...Mr. Tops?" The courier said. "Did you need something? We were just on our way out..."

"Yes, and it's very important. And it can't wait." Swank replied

The little computer on the Courier's arm beeped.

"Alright, what's going on?"

"Sit down, this is very important news." The courier sat down. The sniper stood to the side.

His hands were starting to sweat and he wiped them on his suitpants. Ugh, he could almost hear Benny scolding him for dirtying it.

"I've discovered..." He spoke softly...and the courier leaned into hear better. Just as they planned. "Sorry."

With that, he swiftly reached into his coat pocket and snapped the collar around the courier's neck. It latched closed and armed before they could even move.

They startled back, but it was of no use.

"Recognize it, courier?" a charismatic and smooth voice called as Dean Domino and Benny Gecko strolled into the lobby of the Lucky 38.

The Courier's face was fearful, but the sniper's eyes were full of rage. Their hands clawed at their throat, but it was futile against the explosive collar.

"I wouldn't do that, Pussycat." Benny's voice chimed in. "It's rigged to blow. But I'm sure you knew that. According to my new friend here, you've had some experience with them."

"Dean." They said quietly. " You were warned. I told you what I'd do if I ever saw you again. I'll kill you even if I have to take you down with me."

"Geez, Domino, what'd you do to make 'em hate you so bad?" Benny ran a hand through his hair. "I shot them in the head-twice, even-and left them for dead. And they still tried to sleep with me! Oh, and I wouldn't go making any moves there, friend, unless you'd like your little courier blown to bits. Or do, it would make it easier on me."

"I believe it was that I had their little friend's vocal cords ripped out. Or maybe it was the whole threatening to blow them up." Dean answered. "I never narrowed it down."

"Wow, Benny!" the Pip-Boy beeped. "I never thought I'd see you again! You keep some interesting friends!"

"Yes-Man?" Benny questioned, and then waved it aside. "Eh, never mind. When I've got the platinum chip, I can fix whatever they did to you."

"Yes-Man," Antietam said, dropping their hands from their neck "Could you keep it down? I'm about to get blown up."

"No, you're not." Boone reassured them quietly. "Gotta be some way to take these guys out..."

Internally, Antietam was weighing whether it was worth it to charge Dean and take him down with them. But there was a likelihood of Boone being injured in the blast, so it wasn't going to work out.

"Now, now Courier..." Dean said. "Where did you take the treasure when you ran off? You ruined over two hundred years worth of revenge."

The courier wanted to lash out, but they reigned their temper in.

"You ruined it...You ruined the whole Sierra Madre, did you know that? It could have been a safe haven, a shelter from the nuclear anihilation. But you couldn't tolerate what you percieved as an insult to your ego! And you ruined Vera's life-she was dying and you blackmailed her!" Their vitreolic rant paused. It wasn't the whole sad story, but the only one who knew that was Antietam. And they were too angry and biased against Dean to really care that their rant was biased. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Woah, let's calm down, Pussycat. You keep yourself under control or one of us might just forget ourselves and hit that button. We wouldn't want that, now would we? Let's get down to business." Christine and Veronica ran downstairs.

"Hey, what's going on? We heard commotion." Veronica said, and then when she saw the situation, she put her hands on her hips. "Are you guys having a party without me?"

Christine, on the other hand, growled.

"Dean." It came out in Vera's voice, and if Dean had skin, it would have gone pale with fear. As it was, it broke his composure.

"So it worked." He said finally.

"Alright, don't make any moves!" Benny shouted. "You try anything and I'll blow your friend to smithereens."

"Who are these guys?" Veronica asked.

"Some guys who tried to kill Tie before, I think." Boone answered

"Dean Domino, Swank Gecko-Pierce, and I'm the pro from Dover." Benny barked. "Now I want answers! Where's the platinum chip?"

None of them answered.

"I guess none of you value the Courier's life, seeing as none of you are providing answers." He pulled Maria from his pocket. "No matter. We'll start with the boy toy."

With that, he leveled Maria at Boone.

"Things are getting a little heated, Benny." Swank said, making eye contact with the checker-suited man.

"Stop." The Courier said. "I'll tell you where I hid the chip. Just let my friends go."

"Benny, this is getting more heated than I thought it would." Swank noted.

"Can it, Swank. We're about to get some answers!" Benny responded.

"It's in the dresser in the motel in Novac. Let my friends go, Benny."

"It's like it doesn't even matter to you!" Benny exclaimed. "It-" Swank cut him off by setting a hand on Benny's outstretched arm.

"Benny, calm down. We don't have time for his right now."

"Yeah, Benny, calm down." Dean chimed in, although it was clearly mocking him, which Benny picked up on immediately.

"You got something to add, Deano?" Benny snarked back.

"You know, Ben-man, I think I'm tired of playing accomplice. I'm so tired of playing second fiddle...I think I'll kill you and your friends and claim New Vegas for my own."

"Yeah, that's not happening." Benny fired back. He pointed Maria at Dean. "It's been real and it's been great, but it's not real great."

He fired.

"Shit, Benny, you missed." Swank said, to which Benny responded "Shut up, I know I missed."

He shot again and again and Dean didn't move, until he slumped to the ground, full of lead.

"Well, that's a bust." Benny said. "Hey, whataya say, Courier? We can burry the hatchet with this guy and work together. I won't kill you or your little friends and you won't kill me and Swank. Fair's fair, right?"

It was a stretch-even now, Christine and Veronica's nimble fingers were removing the explosive collar from the angry courier's throat. But Benny had always been a gambling man.

#benny new vegas #benny gecko #benny fnv #swank fnv #fallout new vegas #fnv #craig boone #courier antietam #courier 6 #courier six #dean domino #veronica santangelo #christine royce #if you find all the references to mash dm me and I'll draw/write you something as a prize!#i really wanted Benny's plan to work out-he has Swank with him now -so it should work right?#benny's big score #Benny x Swank

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Damsels, Chapter Five: Work That Gameboy

By SisterSpooky1013 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Rated E / Read previous chapters here

Mulder arrives at work early, looking longingly at Scully’s car in the parking lot. Approaching it, he peers in the windows looking for…he isn’t sure what. Her car is, as usual, neat as a pin with no indication of where she went or why.

In his restlessness the night before, he’d thought a lot about why it bothers him so much not to know where she is or what she’s doing. If the roles were reversed, he would expect her to wait it out and trust him to take care of himself, but for some reason he’s struggling to do the same for her. He thought at first that it was her tendency to get hurt or need help, but by comparison he needs her help just as often as she needs his, so that doesn’t track. Then he thought maybe it’s that he doesn’t trust Skinner to do what’s in her best interest, but Skinner has shown a tendency to be protective of Scully on numerous occasions (and in fact Mulder strongly suspects his feelings for her go beyond the bounds of strict professionalism), so that isn’t entirely logical either. Skinner may have left him out to dry with the New Spartans, but he doesn’t believe the man would stoop low enough to treat Scully in the same manner.

In the end, he realized that it’s pretty simple; he’s just crazy about her. His protectiveness doesn’t have anything to do with how capable she is, or the situations other people might put her in, or even situations she might put herself in. He misses her, and cares so much about her that not even knowing where she is feels wrong. It feels like a piece of him is missing, and he’s not allowed to know where it is or when he’ll get it back.

After pretending to work for an hour, he sulks up to Skinner’s office and asks for a few minutes of his time. Skinner is immediately irritated, though Mulder doesn’t realize that it’s in response to him and not a preexisting condition. He stands in front of Skinner’s desk, looming over him.

“What do you want, Agent Mulder?” Skinner grumbles, not looking up from the document he’s reading.

“I’d like to know where Agent Scully is, sir.”

Skinner sighs heavily, dropping his head to his chest.

“Get out of my office, Agent Mulder,” he says in a low, menacing tone.

“Sir, I’m not asking to contact her, I would never compromise her case, I just need to at least know where she is. What if something happens and I need to find her?”

Skinner stands, looking Mulder in the eye with an intensity he’s seen on very few occasions, none of them fond memories. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully explicitly asked me not to tell you where she is, or what she’s doing. Even if she hadn’t, I STILL would not tell you, however I hope that if you don't respect the direct orders of your superior, you might, at the very least, respect Agent Scully’s wishes. Now get the hell out of my office and do not bring this up again, understood?”

Mulder glances down and notices Scully’s keys on the desk near Skinner’s nameplate, her Apollo 11 keychain easily identifiable. He leans forward, putting his hands on the desktop, one covering the keys.

“Sir, if anything happens to her, I’ll-“

“You’ll what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner challenges him, stuffing his hands in his pockets in a show of bravado.

Mulder straightens, palming the keys as he stands, and leaves without another word.

Scully arrives at the club just before 2 pm, wearing shorts and a tank top as Angel had instructed. After stuffing her purse into a locker, she finds Angel and Tibet on the floor, which has returned to its daylight state of clean and quiet. Queenie restocks the bar while Ben fiddles with the sound system.

Tibet is up on the stage while Angel sits at the tip rail, offering pointers on a new dance Tibet is working out. Scully immediately notices that Tibet’s hair is cropped short and worn in its natural curls, and realizes she’d been wearing a wig the night before.

“So I was thinking that I could either take my top off just before or just after the first chorus, tell me which looks better, okay?” Tibet says to Angel as Scully enters and takes a seat beside her.

“Benny! Hit me with the music!” Tibet shouts, and then repeats her performance twice, revealing her breasts at a different point in the song each time. When she’s finished, she sits down on the edge of the stage in front of them and asks for their thoughts, her breasts still uncovered.

“I think the sooner the better,” Angel says. “They come here to see your body, so show it to em!”

Tibet nods. “What do you think, Desi?” She asks, stretching a smooth brown leg out to her side and leaning into it.

Scully suddenly feels entirely out of her league in terms of providing an opinion. “Uh, well, generally speaking I guess I’d say wait. You want to build some suspense, right? Make them work for it?”

Angel looks at her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t fuck on the first date, do you?” She asks with a haughty grin, and Scully’s eyes go big at the question. “I’m just messing with you, let’s get to your training!”

“Alright,” Tibet begins as though she’s done this dozens of times, tugging the straps of her shirt back over her shoulders. “So, have you ever given a lap dance before?” she asks plainly, and Scully’s cheeks flush.

“Well, kind of I guess. In college, though more as a joke than anything else. I would definitely consider myself a beginner.”

“Got it, got it,” Tibet responds. “Well, for the most part dancing is about creating a sense of intimacy. It’s fake, obviously, but the more your customer feels like you actually care about him, want him to look at you, like that he’s appreciating your body, the better you’ll do. Your stage set is just about showing yourself off and getting them curious about you. The real money comes from lap dances and VIP, and the more you can draw attention with a really great stage set, the more customers will want to spend time with you afterward. Angel is a beast on the pole and she can teach you all those tricks, but I consider myself the lap dance expert around here, so I’m gonna teach you that part.” She smiles and jumps down from the stage, pulling a chair away from one of the tables and gesturing for Scully to sit in it.

“Oh,” Scully says, and sits as instructed.

“Sometimes, when you’re on the floor, customers will flag you down or ask for you, and that’s great. But you also have to approach people, because they’ll be too shy to ask. So you might come up and do this.”

Tibet saunters towards Scully with a secretive smile on her lips, stepping so close that her thighs thread between Scully’s knees. Next she leans down, placing her hands on Scully’s shoulders and bringing her mouth to Scully’s ear.

“Would you like a dance, Baby?” she asks in a syrupy voice, and Scully feels a shiver run down her spine. Tibet backs up. “Okay, now you try.”

“You want ME to do that?” Scully clarifies, and while just asking someone if they want a lap dance should be the easiest hurdle to clear, she’s finding that it’s still an uncomfortably high one.

Angel turns her head toward the bar and calls out, “Queenie! We need some liquid courage over here!”

Queenie walks over with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses, pouring them wordlessly before returning to her task.

Angel holds her glass up, Tibet and Scully following suit. “To new career paths,” Angel says, and Scully smiles thinly, clinking her glass with theirs and throwing back the shot with a grimace.

Three weeks. She’s been gone three weeks, and not a word from Skinner. No update, no information, though he’s stopped by a couple times and asked, drawing increasing amounts of rage from his boss. He’s finished all the paperwork, re-organized the files, cleaned and rearranged the office (only to immediately change it back) and spent hours upon hours imagining where Scully might be right now.

He kept her keys, just in case, but knows she’d be unhappy with him invading her privacy by snooping around her apartment. That’s why he waits three whole weeks before he finally does it. He has a key to her apartment and could have gone there at any point, but her personal keyring also holds the keys for her gun safe and her mailbox, which may prove helpful. After work on a Thursday, he drives by and lets himself in, the warm vanilla smell of her immediately invading his nostrils as he opens the door. He sighs deeply, pulling her into his lungs; it feels like coming home.

First he waters her plants, which are looking half dead, and makes a mental note to use watering them as the reason he came here if asked. Next he opens her gun safe, and is struck to find her service weapon holstered and tucked neatly inside with the safety on. She doesn’t have her gun? What the hell kind of assignment is this? He brings in her mail, which is no help at all, and leaves it stacked on the counter. Next he lays down on her bed, shoving his face into her pillow and breathing the smell of her shampoo for a few minutes before he has the thought to look for her overnight bag.

Scully has a go bag in the trunk of her car for emergencies, but given the opportunity she’ll use her overnight bag and pack for the weather, situation, etc. Opening her closet, he finds it on the floor near her laundry hamper, empty save for a travel size can of hairspray tucked into a side pocket. In her bathroom, he finds all her toiletries accounted for, including her toothbrush. The more he sees, the more confused he is. Even when he’d spent time undercover with dangerous individuals, he’d been allowed to bring his own toothbrush.

Moving to the hallway, he picks up her landline and dials.

“Dana?” Maggie Scully’s voice answers on the second ring.

“No, sorry, Mrs. Scully, it’s Fox Mulder.”

“I saw Dana’s name on the caller ID, is she with you?” Her voice carries worry.

“No, I’m just here at her apartment watering her plants, sorry to confuse you. Have you been in touch with Dana, Mrs. Scully?”

“No, Fox, I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She told me she had an assignment that would take her away for a while and that she’d be unreachable, but I’m a little concerned that she hasn’t contacted me yet.”

Mulder closes his eyes. “I wish I had anything to share, Mrs. Scully, but I’m in somewhat of the same boat. A.D. Skinner isn’t concerned and it does sound like he’s in touch with her, but I was hoping she might have called you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Maggie replies sadly.

“What did she tell you when she left? Did she share any information at all?” he asks hopefully.

“Um, let me think. She said she was going on an assignment and that she’d be out of touch for a few weeks. And she said she’d bring me some Tastykakes when she comes home,” she adds.

“Tastykakes, what are those?” Mulder asks, his investigative senses tingling.

“They’re a treat we always get when we go to Philadelphia; little packaged snack cakes. The kids always loved them.”

“Are they only available in Philadelphia?” he asks, heart pumping.

“I’m not sure, but that’s where we always get them,” Maggie says hopefully.

“Thank you, Mrs. Scully. That’s really helpful. I’ll let you know if I track her down, okay?”

“Thank you, Fox. Take care.”

Setting the phone back on its cradle, he does a little victory dance. It isn’t much, but it’s something. Scully is just a few hours away in the city of brotherly love.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of practicing stage sets and lap dances in the afternoon, serving drinks in the evening and well into the middle of the night, and then sleeping until noon. Her arms and legs bear fading bruises from her acclimation to Paul the Pole, the crooks of her elbows and knees sporting slight calluses that help her get a good grip (with an assist from the grip powder Angel has instructed her to use). She’s given Tibet and Angel dozens of lap dances each, the other standing by to coach her on making sure one foot stays on the floor. After three weeks, she found that her barriers were mostly in her head. Once she was able to let go and just move, she’s actually pretty good at it.

That day she arrives in pink cotton shorts and a white tank top, now so used to being scantily clad that it no longer makes her self-conscious, and prepares to do a full dress rehearsal of the routine she worked up with Angel’s help. Queenie and Ricky sit down to observe what is more or less a test of her readiness, and one she intends to pass. Where she would have expected to feel nervous, she’s excited, ever the eager student motivated to impress and exceed expectations. Ben kills the daytime lights to make it look and feel like it would if they were open, and her set begins.

Moving onto the stage, she can barely see her audience with the bright lights trained on her. She quickly gets lost in the movements she rehearsed, feeling graceful as she circles the pole and hitches an arm around it, spinning in a feathery arc. When the point in the dance comes to remove her shirt, she does so as a well practiced step in a strategy, without any feelings of exposure. Soon enough her bra follows suit and she is left with only her tiny pink shorts, nipples hardening as they graze the pole. The undulation of her hips, the pop of her booty out towards the audience, the slip of a hand down the inside of her thigh; they’re each a part of the method. Precisely planned and executed in much the same way as she might dismantle and clean her gun, or prepare a slide for the microscope. It isn’t much different than performing an autopsy, she had reasoned. Except instead of: Y incision, open rib cage, remove organs, examine stomach contents, collect specimens, examine brain, it’s: arch back, grasp breasts, spread legs, thrust pelvis, rub thighs, grind on the pole. She’s always found her strength in taking a clinical, detached approach to difficult tasks, and that turns out to be just as effective on the stage as it is in the lab.

As she finishes, her small audience erupts into applause, standing in ovation as Ben brings the house lights up halfway. Scully smiles shyly, stepping down to join them on the floor as Ricky approaches her and slings an arm around her bare shoulders.

“That was fucking fantastic, Desi. Sexy as fuck. Let me see you do a lap dance now.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #case file #case fic #x files fanfic

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aliwritesfic · 3 years

Text

Rainy Morning (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Second part to this which I posted last night. I really hope you all enjoy it, and I might add more to this story is inspiration strikes but for now I kind of like where I left it

Summary: It’s the morning after your first date with Frankie

Tags/Content warning: fluff, morning sex, breakfast

Word Count: 1.7k

You awoke to the sound of rain slamming heavily on the roof. The room around you was unfamiliar, even in the soft pre-dawn light, but after a few groggy moments you remembered. Last night. Frankie. Your body flushed with the memory of his touch, the barely-there ache between your legs a gentle reminder of him.

Rolling over, you saw he was still asleep, his lips parted slightly and his eyes moving rapidly under his lids. You smiled slightly and moved yourself closer, the warmth of his body and the sheets around you creating a perfect cocoon to listen to the rain in.

As if sensing you near, Frankie reached an arm out and draped it across your waist, drawing you closer. You allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, breathing in his scent of soap and sweat intermingled with something else . . . mint, maybe? Whatever it was, you liked it.

You and Frankie had spent a few extra hours talking last night, about everything and nothing. You told him about the people you met while travelling, laughing about the trouble you and your best friend Adri got up to when you were finally able to meet up after months of separation, pointing out a small scar you had on your ass from when you decided it was a fantastic idea to ride down a steep hill on a child size scooter. When Frankie asked how much alcohol was involved, you cringed and told him you’d stopped counting after the sixth shot of vodka. You avoided the topic of your ex and how emotionally scarred he had left you. Frankie told you a little about his army days, about the men he called his brothers, his face lighting up especially when he mentioned that the closest of them, Santiago, had convinced him to download the app you met on.

You made a mental note to thank Santiago for that if you ever met him.

A few hours passed, you slipped in and out of sleep, annoyed that when you finally had a day off to sleep past 6am, it was nearly impossible. Eventually, Frankie began to stir, the first signs of waking showing on his face. His thick lashes fluttered, and his breathing lost the quality that only deep slumber brought on. He felt you next to him, his fingers traced along your spine raising goosebumps along your arms.

“Good morning,” his voice was thick with sleep, which you found incredibly sexy.

“Hey sleepy head,” you whispered, kissing his jaw. He smiled and opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on you. Your stomach fluttered, and you could feel your desire for him dampen between your legs. The rain started coming down harder, drowning out all other noise from outside.

“How’d you sleep?” Frankie moved a strand of hair away from your face as he spoke.

“Really good, this bed is ridiculously comfortable,” you said, moving your leg so it hooked over his hips, hoping he would get the message.

Frankie made a noise of agreement and pressed a kiss against your forehead, then another on your cheek, and a third on your lips. You felt his cock stir and twitch against your leg, sending a new wave of lust through your body.

Frankie deepened the kiss and rolled you both, so you were on top of him. You moved so you could feel the tip of his cock lined up with your entrance. You kissed him once more before slowly, teasingly lowering yourself onto him until his full length was inside you. Frankie moaned your name as you moved your hips, relishing at the feeling of him inside of you.

You set the pace, slowing, and quickening at your will, enjoying the feeling of him. Frankie held your hips, his deep brown eyes never leaving your own until he sat up and moved his face to your breasts. He caught a nipple between his teeth, biting down with gentle playfulness. You let out a quivering breath as his tongue worked at the tender nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. God, would he make you cum again? You were so close, and Frankie seemed to sense this, taking over so he set the pace moving in a quick rhythm beneath you.

You cried out as the orgasm moved through your body, leaving your mind blissfully blank of all thoughts except one: Frankie.

His own release followed quickly after yours, like he was holding off until he knew you were satisfied. His breathing became laboured, his eyes squeezed shut and his grip on you became tight as his hips buckled slightly. You slumped over him, taking deep steadying breaths.

“Ah shit,” Frankie muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” You asked, confused. You hadn’t said the word ‘yes’, but surely, he knew you were a very willing participant.

“I didn’t put a condom on,” he explained, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you almost laughed, relieved that that was what he was worried about. “I’m on birth control and I got tested last month. I appreciate the apology, though.”

Frankie nodded, looking a little more relaxed. “I’ve still made a mess though. Here, roll over and don’t move til I get back.” You did as he instructed as he sprung up from the bed and pulled on a pair of boxers and left to the bathroom.

Sex with Frankie that morning was different than the night before, more sensual, and gentler than the night before. Maybe it was the throws of sleep still on you both, or maybe it was the sound of the rain outside, or maybe it was the feeling of already knowing each other’s bodies better than you did the night before. Whatever the reason, you found yourself craving more of him.

Frankie returned with a damp cloth and set to work, cleaning your area with a care you didn’t realise was possible from a lover. When he was finished, he looked up at you from between your legs with a shy grin.

“You hungry?”

Your stomach gurgled in response, making Frankie laugh. “Have you got eggs?”

“How’d you like them?”

“Scrambled,” you said, knowing that it was nearly impossible to mess up scrambled eggs.

“Perfect,” Frankie stood up and handed you some clothes. “You don’t have to wear them, but I thought they might be a bit more comfortable than the dress.”

You thanked him and he left to cook for you, giving you privacy to dress. You took this as an opportunity to get a better look at his room, taking in everything from the photos on the dresser of Frankie in his army days with his brothers around him, to the half folded pile of clothes in the corner. You picked up the photo on the dresser and squinted at it, wishing for the millionth time you’d had the sense to bring your glasses with you when you’d failed miserably at putting your contacts in.

In the photo Frankie stood with four other men in what you presumed was the Afghan desert, all in their army fatigues. Frankie was younger here by a few years, his face unlined by time and stress, his hair cropped shorter. You tried to pick out his friends in the picture, the brothers Benny and Will were obvious, you guessed Tom was the slightly more serious looking one, and Santiago the one next to Frankie. You set the photo back in its spot and ventured out into the kitchen, Frankie smiling as he gestured for you to sit at the counter stool.

“I haven’t had to cook for anyone but myself in a while,” he admitted sheepishly, “so I hope this is up to standard.” He handed a plate of eggs and toast to you and started on his own. You took a bite and nodded at him.

“It’s really good,” you said taking another bite. You didn’t tell him that anyone had cooked for you had been about a year and a half before your ex, Jonas, left, not wanting to dampen the mood, but the fact that Frankie seemingly cared enough to make you breakfast after one night made you almost giddy.

You and Frankie ate in companionable silence, stealing glances at each other. You hadn’t imagined when you agreed to meet him for a date that it would go this well. Hell, you hadn’t imagined ever agreeing to a date again after the shit Jonas put you through, but something about Frankie seemed . . . trustworthy was the best way to put it. You were going to ask him on a date, agonising over FaceTime with Adri on how best to ask, when he had asked you. Adri, who believed in fate, told you it was meant to be.

You didn’t know if you believed in fate, or soulmates, or anything like that, but even you had to admit the coincidence had been freakish. After Frankie’s message came in, you instantly set to work clearing your schedule, sending a message to your Friday night study group that you’d suddenly come down with a stomach bug and wouldn’t be able to make it. Adri had stayed on a little while longer, giving you advice as you tried on what felt like a thousand different outfits, discarding each one in a slowly growing pile. You wondered if that’s what the pile of clothes in the corner of Frankie’s room was – a mess out discarded outfits.

“I wanna do this again,” you said looking at Frankie in the eyes. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it too, but I uh, I feel something with you.” It was the most direct you’d been with almost anyone, but you needed to say it, to at least put it to him so that if he wasn’t feeling that connection, then he could shoot you down quickly and painlessly.

“I was thinking the same, actually.” At his words, you felt tension you didn’t even know you had been holding roll out of your shoulders. “When are you free next?”

“The only time I’ve got free for the next week is when I take Lola for her walk,” you grimaced. School was kicking your ass with all the assignments and working in a bar didn’t exactly afford much free time.

“What time and where?”

“Usually around 4, along the dog beach.”

“I’ll see you there on Wednesday, then?”

You felt yourself grin, “it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” Frankie repeated, his dark eyes lighting up.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie fluff #frankie morales fluff

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Addicted to You

Part V: Beast of Burden

Summary/Author's Note: Let's have some happy shall we? You flash back to one of your earliest memories with Frankie. You and Will have a heart to heart. (Thank you guys so much for your amazing compliments and feedback. It means the world.) ((also dear god I love this gif so much, the hair, the wind, the hand gestures, the way he says “--FUCKING ANDES, MAN”)) gif by @pascalplease

**There is a Top Gun reference in here because y'all cannot sit there and tell me it's not Fransisco Catfish Morales's favorite movie--so, if you've never seen it, it might seem out of place or left field but I PROMISE it is fitting.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pope's Sister! Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ -- feelings, heavy petting, thigh riding, fingering, Frankie's giant hands, all the kisses, hurt/comfort, YEARNING AND PINING, long lost love, language, Frankie is made out of pure HUSBAND material, y’all, fucking tom

Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV

[MASTERLIST]

The two vehicles drove one behind the other for most of the morning. You watched the sun come up through the dense tree line, little slivers of golden flashes of light through the lush, green leaves that made you smile slightly in its beauty. Seeing the sun, knowing that the distance between you and Lorea's mansion was growing by the minute, made you finally be able to draw a deep breath without feeling like you were going to crack a rib in the process. The panic had subsided, but afterwards came the muscle fatigue and unadulterated exhaustion of being that tense for that long. Your eyes were heavy, but you couldn't sleep, not yet.

Frankie eventually let go of your hand, needing both of them to turn the steering wheel on some of the switchback roads in the heart of the jungle, but as soon as the road turned straight again, his hand was a warm and gentle weight on your thigh. It was as if he thought the moment he stopped touching you, you would cease to be real. Maybe he was right--maybe his touch was the only thing keeping you centered in your own existence right now.

"You should sleep," he said quietly, glancing away from the road to look at you then back.

"I can't."

He squeezed your thigh and nodded. "You look exhausted."

You chuckled softly and smiled halfheartedly. "I've been awake for the better part of three days, Frankie. If I didn't look exhausted, I would be worried."

He grinned in return, thankful that you at least we're starting to sound like your old self. You both still had a long way to go. He selfishly longed to see that spark back within you, the one he fell in love with--the one that gave him courage and the strength to do just about anything, including getting out of this fucking jungle.

He pulled into a very old, rundown airstrip hangar and you sat up a little straighter, taking off your seat belt as he threw it in park. A small yellow beat up gremlin was parked off to the side where a pretty woman and a man leaned against the open hatchback.

"Who's that?" You asked.

"Pope's informant. We owe her big time."

You looked at her and suddenly was overwhelmed with the idea of not knowing what to say. She looked so normal, a civilian that should have been far away from all of this chaos and yet here she was, playing a huge part in the fact that you were still alive.

Frankie got out of the van and walked around the front to open the door for you as he held out his hand. You nodded your thanks and gripped it, leaning on him more than you would have liked, but god dammit you were tired.

"Your girlfriend is here," Frankie nodded towards the yellow car as Pope hopped out of the second SUV.

"Girlfriend?" Now that made you smile as you raised an eyebrow at your brother who blushed.

"Shut up," he said flatly before walking over to them. Frankie chuckled and shook his head.

He put his hand in the edge of your hair at your temple, gently running his thumb over the side of your forehead as he looked you over. "I gotta start weighing these bags. Go sit with Will. I'll be close by," he added before you could protest, with a wink and a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Okay,” you said softly and he hesitated for a moment before drawing you into the circle of his arms and sighing heavily. You clung to his shirt and breathed him in and he hugged you so tightly you felt compressed, but you weren’t about to tell him to stop. “Frankie--” you focused on the way he smelled, like humidity and sweat but underneath it all it was still him, solid and warm. “If you keep hugging me like this, I’m going to lose it and I can’t--I can’t right now.” Your voice faltered towards the end and you balled his shirt into your fists.

“Do you want me to stop?” he mumbled against your hair and the very idea brought tears to the front of your eyes.

“God, no,” you let out an exasperated laugh and he squeezed you tighter. You pulled back slightly and wiped your eyes on the back of your hand, giving him a smile. With each touch he offered, your heart felt lighter, but then again that had always been one of Frankie’s powers over you.

“Fuck!”

Both of you turned as Benny got out of the SUV and slammed the door shut, kicking the tire. Will and Tom followed suit but shut the doors normally, adjusting the strap of their rifles and packs. “What?” Tom snarled at Benny and the younger man threw his arms up in the air.

“What do you mean ‘what’? That was a shit job back there and you know it! We don’t leave messes like that!” Benny was seething. Frankie felt you tense and he let go of you slowly and turned to the other men.

“Hey--Ben, Benny!” He raised his voice and the younger man looked at him. “Take a walk--relax.” He rubbed his hand down his face and glanced at you apologetically as Benny threw his pack down and laced his hands on top of his head, breathing deeply and walking into the grass.

“If no one cares,” Will put a hand to his left side and winced. “I think I’m gonna sit.”

“Let me help,” you said, jogging over to the blond and he smiled slightly.

Tom and Frankie started unloading the duffel bags of cash onto the giant rusty scale that sat under a dilapidated awning. Will sat down on a concrete ledge that connected to a retainer wall and he cursed quietly, when he moved his hand away from the wound his fingers had a few drops of fresh blood on them. “Shit,” he sighed.

“You got another bandage kit?” you asked, dropping down to one knee and starting to unzip his pack for him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, wincing again as he pulled his shirt up to examine the wound further. “You don’t have to--”

“Hush,” you said and he laughed, making you return it. Will had one of the most infectious smiles and laughs of any of your brother’s crew.

“I missed you, ya know? We all did.” He watched as you lifted his shirt out of your way and removed the first round of gauze that was bloody and soaked through.

“I missed you guys, too. It’s been a long time.”

“Too bad we gotta get the gang back together for this--haven’t any of us heard of like a barbecue or something?” he joked. You laughed but didn’t respond, focusing on trying not to rip any of the new clotting off as you cleaned the area, ripping open more gauze with your teeth and spitting the packaging out onto the ground. “You know who missed you most though, right?” he asked, nodding towards the scale as Frankie and Tom continued to toss bags onto it.

“Tom?” you asked and she threw his head back and laughed.

“Smart ass,” he shook his head. “He worried himself sick. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“I know.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as you could only imagine how Frankie felt the last few days.

“All these years--” Will waited until you had placed the new bandage and sealed it off with medical tape and a wrap around his waist before he spoke again. “He never stopped loving you.”

“Will..”

“No, I’m serious. And if both of you are too stubborn to admit it and are going to make the rest of us point it out, then fine.” He dipped his head slightly, making you look him in the eyes. “That man is going to fucking love you until the day he dies, and I’m not telling you what you should do but,” he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you feel the same, I can’t think of a better time to say something than after almost dying in the fucking jungle.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, plopping down on the wall beside him and tossing the rest of the unused cloth into his pack. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”

“I know I am.” He said flatly and you punched his arm.

“Shut up, Miller.”

Many Years Ago Somewhere Back in Dallas TX, USA

You had met Frankie Morales a handful of times, always in passing and always hanging back behind the others with a beer in his hand and his ball cap pulled just low enough to hide under--a move that he had perfected over many years. He was quiet, sweet, and incredibly handsome. For some reason, unknown to you, they called him ‘Fish’, must have been a military thing, because to you it was dumb.

You brother’s military friends were loud, boisterous, and could drink themselves under the table if they truly wanted to. You had asked Santiago about Frankie and he had just grinned and nudged you in the ribs until you blushed and told him to just forget it. That night however, you sat in the lawn chair, laughing with your family and stealing glances his way. And when you saw your brother pop him two beers and nod his head towards you, you wanted to crawl under the table. Despite the embarrassment of your brother playing both matchmaker and wingman, you squared your shoulders and smiled up at him as he offered you a beer.

Conversation with Frankie was easy, once you got him talking. He was content to let you ramble on and watch you with a small smile and those kind, brown eyes. But once you found something he was interested in, well, he came alive. One beer turned to two, and then to three, and the next thing you knew the two of you had hopped up in the bed of his truck, feet dangling over the tailgate, watching the fireflies in the tall grasses of the field that belonged to the farmers down the street. Since then, fireflies and the smell of summer time honeysuckle always reminded you of the first time you kissed Frankie Morales.

“And how long have you wanted to do that?” you smiled as he gently bumped his forehead against yours and stole another quick peck.

“About the better part of a year,” he chuckled. “Can I do it again?”

“I would be upset if you didn’t.” You grinned and slid your arms around his neck as his hand slid around the curve of your waist and he laid you back in the bed of the truck.

His lips were soft, but his kiss was as hot as the summer air. He slid his tongue over your lip and you opened your mouth to receive him with a soft sigh of content. You wanted to bury your fingers in his dark hair, so you knocked his cap off and did just that. The action seemed to spur him on as his knee came up slowly between your thighs and started to push up the hem of your dress.

“That okay?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, pulling him more firmly against the front of your body.

His actions made you feel bold, feel brave in a way you had never felt before. He was a brave man who had seen a lot of the world, and you wanted him to show it to you. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again before he moved down to nose your neck.

"Mhmm," you smiled and closed your eyes and you felt him suck a kiss against your pulse point. "That's nice."

"Yeah?" He mumbled against your jaw and pressed his knee further into the apex of your thighs. When you shamelessly started grinding against the front of his jeans he let out a groan that made you giggle.

"Roll over," you said and he relented, moving onto his back and grabbing your hips to drag you to straddle his waist. You could feel how hard he was beneath the denim and you put your hands on his chest and rode him, letting the shape of his cock rub against your panties under your sun dress.

"Fuck, sweetheart, come here," he sat up as you leaned down, crashing your lips together. His big hand cradling your face as his fingers threaded through the edge of your hair. His other hand disappeared under your dress and hesitated.

"Yes, Frankie, yes, go ahead. Please, touch me." You said breathlessly before he could even ask permission. At your words he dipped his hand down to cup your mound and he let his fingers part your folds.

"You're so wet. Is that because of me?" He grinned because he knew the answer to that.

"No, it's because of the other guy I was kissing in the bed of his truck." You tried to joke but gasped as he sunk one of his thick fingers inside of you.

"That so?"

"Shut up," you slapped his chest and he laughed, deep and genuine. Despite the fact that his hand was buried in your underwear, his laugh and boyish smile is what made you blush. Shit. You were in trouble.

You bucked your hips against his hand and moaned as he added a second finger and moved his thumb up to rub your clit. His hands were so fucking big, it made you wonder what was tucked carefully into those tight Levi's. You looked down at his handsome face, lit by the moonlight and the single street lamp at the end of the dirt road. It made you kiss him again, closing your eyes and really savoring the taste of his mouth. His fingers curved inside of you and sped up, pressing and rolling the pad of his thumb against your clit.

"Right there, oh, fuck, Frankie don't stop."

"I love it when you say my name." He nosed your cheek and the feeling of his beard against your soft skin gave you chills.

"Frankie," you sighed again and it made him move back to devour your mouth as if he could eat the word from your lips. You bounced lightly in his lap against his hand, brushing his clothed cock with the inside of your thigh and it made him grunt.

When you came it was a soft cry against his cheek as you clung to his shoulders and felt your pussy clench around his fingers. It was sweet, tender, and exactly what you needed. When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you and grinning. You started to speak but were cut off by another male voice.

"Hey, Fish!"

"Shit!" You whispered and Frankie wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back in the truck bed. You stifled a laugh as you landed against his chest and he pulled his hand from under your dress.

"Shh, shh," he chuckled and put a finger to your lips. When you realized it was one of the fingers that had just been inside of you, you sucked it in your mouth down to the knuckle. He groaned, and whispered quietly, "You're killing me, princesa."

"Fish! I can see your boots, man, I'm not a moron." Will called from the fence line that lined the field where his truck was parked.

"Fuck," Frankie said, leaning his head back with a sigh. "What!" He barked and you gripped the front of his t-shirt, giggling again.

"We're heading out and wanted to know if you were com--wait a second. That better not be Pope's sister in there! Just sayin'," he laughed and you felt your cheeks get hot.

You sat up from your spot on Frankie's lap and popped over the edge of the truck. "Fuck off, Will Miller!" Frankie yanked you back down and you fell into a fit of giggles as he rolled on top of you again.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He called and you were laughing so hard you let out a snort and Frankie looked at you in gleeful surprise that just made you laugh more.

"I'm not getting involved in this," Will shook his head and chuckled. "Just wear a fuckin' condom, and maybe some kevlar when you tell Pope."

Your jaw dropped and you buried your face against Frankie's chest and he chuckled as well. "So much for being discreet." You both waited, silently daring each other to make a move as you listened to the sound of Will's retreating boots in the gravel road.

He dipped back down and kissed you again, slow and deep, as you reached for his belt and started to undo the buckle. His hand covered both of yours as he stopped your movements. "Wait--"

"What?" You asked, suddenly worried that the looming idea of your older sibling finding out had ruined your chances with him.

"Can I--uh. Can I take you to dinner?"

You bit your lip as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks once again. "I was right."

"About what?"

"You are the sweetest man I have ever met," you smiled and leaned up to cup his face and kiss him again.

"So, is that a yes?" He mumbled against your mouth and you nodded.

"Take off your pants, Frankie."

You thought about the night you first kissed Frankie and wished it could be that simple again. Both of you were just kids. Your world revolved around scraping by to pay the bills and fucking in the cab of his truck. God, you missed that truck.

Will hopped off the divider wall as a small plane landed and the guy who he had paid to provide transport got out to shake his hand. Frankie eyed the puddle jumper with disdain and threw his hand out towards it.

"The fuck are we gonna do with that thing?" He asked, looking at Tom in question as you came to stand behind him. The whirring of a chopper drew their eyes to the lush tree covered mountain as their real ride crested the landscape and Frankie gave a sigh of relief. "Now, we're talkin'."

The wind from the blades whipped the tall grasses and anything not secured blew freely. Your hair covered your face for a moment and you hastily dug a hair tie from your back pocket and secured the strands. Frankie and Tom set to getting the large, canvas drop net secured to the bottom of the aircraft but you knew by the tension in his shoulders there was already a problem.

"This won't all fit in the net!" Frankie yelled, stopping Tom from putting more bags in. "If you want more it needs to go in the body!"

"It'll fit!" Tom said back and Frankie shook his head.

"If that scale is even close to being correct we have six thousand pounds here!" Frankie said as the rest of the men approached them both to find out what was going on. "That's 250 million dollars!"

"We stole 250 million dollars?!" Benny said with a giant smile on his face. "I'm definitely getting that fucking Ferrari!" He grabbed a bag and headed for the chopper.

"That's not the point--fuck," Frankie looked at Pope, desperate for anyone who would listen. "If that scale is right, we're gonna have a weight issue!"

"What's the issue? This helo can carry 9,000 pounds!" Tom said, gesturing to the helicopter and you saw the vein jump in Frankie's neck. They weren't fucking listening.

"That's 9,000 pounds at 2,000 feet...we have to fly over the fucking Andes, man!" Frankie literally stomped in place and threw his arm out towards the mountains.

"Are we really going to leave 200 million dollars on the fucking runway?!" Tom asked and you couldn't take it anymore.

"That's better than being dead, Tom!" You said, taking a step forward.

"You don't get a vote," he snapped, pointing a finger at you and Frankie clenched his fist and moved you behind his body.

"Enough!" Will said, putting his hands out and looking between the two men. "We need to decide now. What are we gonna do?"

Frankie let out a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his hat and down to the back of his neck. You watched as his forearm flexed, the vein in his neck was back, popping out with his rising frustrations. He finally shook his head and held up his hands in defense. "Okay. Okay. She'll make it. Let's go!"

"Frankie," you touched his arm but before you could say anything Tom gestured to the two people leaning against the yellow car.

"What about them?" He jerked his thumb back indicating Pope's informant and her brother. "We're already overweight as it is!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me-" you started but your brother was already a step ahead of you.

"We promised them a ride over the border into Peru! She's the reason I got my sister back! Now, I'm going to help her get out of this fucking country with her brother--like I promised! No exceptions!" Pope waved his arm telling them to follow him into the helicopter.

Frankie put his hand on your lower back and gave your hips a boost to get you inside the craft. He helped you sit down and pulled the straps of the harness connected to the wall over each of your shoulders as he crouched in front of you. His face was scrunched in thought but you knew it wasn't about the complexity of the safety belt, he could do that with his eyes closed. No, you knew what it was about.

"We're not going to make it are we?" You asked flatly and he looked up at you.

"We will. Because I said so." He snapped the buckle shut and jerked on the strap by your breast making sure it was secure.

"Frankie, you're the best pilot I've ever met. If you say it's too much weight, then it's too much weight."

"Yeah, well, Tom's the one in charge."

"Tom can kiss my fucking ass," you snapped and his lips tilted up slightly in a grin.

"There's my girl." He used his knuckle to give the underside of your chin a gentle kip.

You put your hand on his chest and took hold of the fabrics of his button up and pulled him to you for a heated kiss. It was much more than the one at the mansion had been. You opened yourself to him and he took the hint and shoved his tongue in your mouth like you wanted. The slight twinge of pain you felt from your busted lip was worth the sound that came from the back of his throat. It was rough, it was wet, and it was two years overdue. When you pulled back you saw the spark of confidence back in his eyes that you had hoped to put there.

Kissing Frankie always made you feel small, but not in a bad way, like you were protected, like you were safe. With his arms boxing you in and his weight pressing gently against you, kissing Frankie felt like being home. And he was as close to home as you were going to get this deep in the jungle.

"Get us out of here, Mav," you said, and he chuckled at the nickname he had not heard in a very long time.

"You got it, Goose."

He gave you one last kiss on the forehead before finally tearing himself away from you and heading up to the cockpit where he was needed. Since he had found you in Lorea's mansion, this was the most physical distance that had been between you and Frankie and you didn't like it at all. Pair that with the knowledge that despite his protests and being the only one in the group with his fucking pilot's license, they had ignored his concerns about the weight--yeah, your heart was starting to beat pretty hard. You took a deep breath and laid your head back against the metal wall.

You looked up as Pope helped the informant sit next to you. He buckled her in the same way Frankie had done you and the action made you smile.

"You okay?" Pope called over the noise of the chopper and touched your arm.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you nodded, squeezing his hand and watching him go to the front to check on Frankie as the Miller brothers slammed the side doors shut and took their seats. You glanced to the woman at your left and suddenly was at a loss for words. How did you even begin to thank her for everything she had done? For the risks she had taken? She may have gotten something out of it but it still didn't change the fact that you were alive because of her.

"He's your brother?" She said, nodding to Pope's retreating form.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He is a good man. I need you to know that." She said, her voice cracking a bit and it made your chest tight.

"I know." You put your hand over hers and gripped it, simply because it seemed like the right thing to do. "Thank you." The two of you leaned back as the helicopter started to lift in the air and rock back and forth gently.

What else was there to say?

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@irishleesh93 @ripleyafterdark @lokiaddicted @maybege @humongouspandafest

@jigglemiwa @manda-but-not-lorian @skdubbs @buckstaposition @lostinwonderland314 @a-killvr-queen @seawhisperer @mrpascals @saltywintersoldat @lukesrighthand @starlite41

@ms-dont-care @lustinglilac @fioccodineveautunnale @cahooter @mrscrain-x7 @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @sendhoots @badassbaker @technicallykawaiisoul @lostinwonderland314 @wherethefuckiskathmandu @colourforanamee @anevrismes @kazualdk @keeper0fthestars @sunkissed-winter @@shinyfranci @cinewhore @whiskeyslasso @honestlystop @keeper0fthestars @mad-red @lackofhonor @marie-is-in-the-dark @seeking-a-great--perhaps

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#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #Triple Frontier #frankie catfish morales #Pedro pascal #pedro character fic #addicted to you #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #frankie morales x you

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years

Text

Out of Time [4]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary: After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 4609

Warnings: Steve having an asthma attack, brief mention of smutty concepts again, two idiots longing for each other

A/N: This chapter references the song Taking a Chance on Love by Benny Goodman, which was a popular song in 1943. I decided not to use the Endgame song 1) because that’s Steve and Peggy’s song and 2) it was technically made in 1945 and therefore would not have existed, yet. You can give Taking a Chance on Love a listen via the links below:

Spotify Link

Youtube link

The next morning you wake up once again to Steve attempting to untangle himself from your limbs. You giggle tiredly, releasing him and turn over to cuddle with your pillow before you promptly fall back asleep. A little later, you’re roused once more by the scent of cooking bacon and eggs.

You push yourself out of bed and lift your arms up in a stretch. Your wound was completely healed as of last night, only leaving behind a set of scars on the side of your abdomen and lower back. You reach for the silk robe you’d pulled out of your suitcase the night before and throw it on over your satin nightgown. You tie the robe closed as you leave Steve’s room and enter the kitchen.

The splattering sound of hot bacon grease fills your ears as you follow its delicious scent. “Good morning,” you announce to Steve, who’s standing by the stove, spatula in hand. He’s already dressed for the day and wears a simple blue apron to protect his clothes from the popping grease.

“Morning. I hope you’re hungry,” he smiles in greeting.

“It smells amazing,” you comment, taking in another deep breath. Stepping around him, you move to the refrigerator. “Do you want any orange juice?” you ask, pulling the carton out that you’d purchased yesterday.

“Sure, thanks,” Steve agrees.

You pull two glasses from the cupboard, pouring out the drinks, before setting the carton back in the fridge. You place both glasses down at the table. The oven timer goes off and Steve is quick to put on a mitt and pull some of the left-over biscuits out, where he was re-heating them. He dishes out the biscuits, bacon, and eggs onto two plates and joins you at the table.

You smile and give him your thanks as you wait for him to take a seat. You spread your napkin over your lap and lift your fork into your hand, ready to consume the freshly prepared meal.

“You have any plans for today?” Steve asks you right before he takes a bite of his bacon.

“I need to check in with work. Will probably need to be there for a few hours.”

“Where are you working?”

Your lips curl in amusement at his seemingly innocent question. “Now what kind of agent would I be if I answered that?”

His cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Oh, right.”

You giggle teasingly and shake your head. “I’m kidding, Steve. I work for the Strategic Scientific Reserve and am currently overseeing one of our recruitment stations.”

His brow furrows as he pauses eating. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”

“It’s a joint-government agency dedicated to finding a way to end this war. You’re not supposed to have heard of it.” You grin wryly.

“Oh, I see.” He turns back to his food, spearing some eggs onto his fork, and takes a bite. “What are you doing at a recruitment station?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Looking for soldiers with a specific skill set.”

“Ah,” he scoffs. “And I take it that I wouldn’t qualify?”

You sit back in your seat, eyes washing over him as you think how to best play your cards. “Don’t sell yourself short. It’s all about convincing the right person. Unfortunately, I’m not the person you need to convince.”

He nods like he understands and he drops the topic, but you can tell he continues to mull over your words.

After breakfast has been consumed and cleaned up, you move back to Steve’s room to get ready for your day. You change into a new dress, going with another civilian outfit, even though your uniform is now clean and ready. You then move into the bathroom, fixing up your hair, and putting on your makeup.

Steve observes the whirlwind of activity that goes into a woman’s morning routine. He’s never really seen it up close before. He was too young to have remembered or have the care to know how his mother did it. Movies never really portrayed this side of the process, just showing the end result instead. He can hear you humming a melody he doesn’t recognize from the bathroom. Several minutes pass before you re-emerge, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“I better get going,” you murmur, walking toward him while looking at your watch. You come to a stop in front of him and lift your gaze to meet his. “Not sure how long I’ll be out for, but do you want to have dinner here again tonight?”

He nods his head quickly, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The smile you give him makes his stomach flip. “Great. Then I’ll see you tonight.” You turn and head for the front door, pausing after pulling it open. “Oh, I grabbed my key, so if you’re going anywhere, you don’t need to worry about locking me out.”

“Okay.”

You send one more smile his way before wiggling your fingers in a small wave and taking your leave. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but Steve continues to stand there staring at it for a moment. Every time you’re no longer in his presence he gets this strange feeling like he’s about to wake up from a dream.

You make your way back to the Expo, once again. You’ve got the Recruitment building in sight when you feel a presence behind you. Your muscles tense at the ready and as soon as you feel a hand land on your right shoulder, you react instantly. You reach up with your left hand, gripping the wrist of the hand on your shoulder tightly, you yank it forward. At the same time, you raise your right arm, bent at the elbow, and follow the length of the assailant’s arm up until your elbow meets their neck.

“Woah! Woah!” the man’s voice registers as soon as you’ve turned to meet his gaze.

“Mr. Stark!” You release him instantly. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman?” you ask, placing a hand to your racing heart.

“Don’t think most of them have reactions quite like that,” he comments, rubbing at the base of his neck.

“Most of them don’t have the training that I have,” you shift from foot to foot, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” He grins suggestively.

You want to roll your eyes. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?” you ask, trying to keep it professional.

He smirks knowingly, but steps back into line. “I just wanted to see how the recruitment has been going for you and the Doc.”

You release a long breath. “We’ve approved a small number of recruits for this next round of training, but we’re not completely confident that any of them are the one just yet.”

“I thought the whole point of sending them off to Camp Lehigh was to determine there whether or not they’re worthy.”

“How a person presents themselves as a civilian can provide just as much information as seeing them interact on a military base. We need to know all sides of their personality. It wouldn’t do us any good to give the serum to a man that will just go off and blindly kill anyone. If a man doesn’t respect innocent lives before being given any powers, then he sure as hell won’t respect them afterward. We need to know how they act as a person before we see them as a soldier.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” the two of you look to see Dr. Erskine stepping out of the recruitment center.

“Good morning, Doctor,” you greet him with a smile.

“Are you harassing my assistant, again, Mr. Stark?” Erskine questions with an amused smile as he meets with the two of you.

Howard grins, unashamed. “Well, I certainly know better now. She nearly took my arm off.”

“You would have deserved it,” you defend yourself.

“I don’t doubt that,” Erskine chuckles.

Howard raises his hands up as if to proclaim his innocence. “I just wanted to see how everything was going for you and wanted to offer my services if I can be of any use.”

“Just make sure your show is ready for this weekend,” you tell him. “We’re hoping that the crowd it draws will bring some new faces to the recruitment center.”

“Oh, it’s ready, alright,” he responds confidently. “My show is going to blow the rest of this whole fair out of the water.”

You can’t help the smirk when you recall exactly what happens to his invention during the show from Steve’s stories. “I’m sure it will.”

“If that is all, Mr. Stark, we really must be getting back to work,” Erskine steps in.

“Of course,” Howard concedes, letting you both walk past to enter into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly persistent,” you comment once you’re inside.

“I think that may be because you keep rejecting him. Howard Stark is not used to women that don’t fall at his feet.”

You shake your head and sigh. “I’ve already got more than enough going on with the man I left at home. I really don’t need to start a collection.”

Erskine laughs quietly. “I am still very much interested in meeting this man of yours.”

You send him a conspiratorial smile before walking off to begin your rounds and check in with the MPs that are on staff today. You make sure they’re all on the same page for watching the building’s perimeter and keeping the peace indoors before you send them on their way. The recruitment center is a little busier, considering it’s only Wednesday, but you figure it will only pick up even more, the closer you get to the weekend. Erskine has already told you that you should be prepared to work long hours over the weekend.

You help him interview a few of the morning recruitments before you grab a clipboard and tell him you’re going to scout around the crowds at the fair and see about sending more men over. You do what you can to keep up appearances and pretend like you’re enjoying what you’re doing. But in reality, both your head and heart are still at the apartment.

You can’t help but wonder what Steve is getting up to. Even though he’s not the same Steve as the one you fell in love with, you still find yourself enjoying being around him just as much. To be with him in this time, before he becomes burdened by the trauma of war and the responsibilities of becoming Captain America. Knowing the rough road that he faces, you just want to be able to give him a little bit of light to help brighten his path. Give him hope at a time where he may be beginning to lose it.

Once you’ve finished up with the Recruitment Center for the day, you eagerly head back home. You’re halfway up the metal stairs when the scent of something burning makes you pause. In the next second, you’re dashing up the rest of the steps and burst into the apartment. The burning scent only gets stronger and makes you cringe.

“Steve?” you call out

There’s a slight haze of smoke within the apartment and you can hear coughing. You rush into the kitchen, relieved to see the absence of open flames, but the smoke is definitely heavier in here. Something in a bread pan sits black on the stovetop. The oven door has been left wide open and you find Steve struggling to open the window above the kitchen sink. You quickly take over, popping the latch and yanking it open.

Steve continues coughing next to you and can’t seem to catch his breath. You grab his hand and hurry to get him down the hall and into his room, shutting the door behind you both. “What… are you doing?” he asks between wheezing breaths.

You guide him to sit on the edge of his bed. Then walk around to pull open the bedroom window, too. “The smoke is triggering an asthma attack,” you tell him moving back to kneel in front of him. “Sit up straight,” you encourage, trying to get him to stop hunching over. You reach to undo his tie and pop open the first few buttons of his shirt. “Steve, honey, you’ve gotta slow your breathing,” you tell him, worry dripping from your voice. He inhales and releases a series of coughs without truly exhaling.

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands. “Place your hands on your stomach and try to follow me.” You exaggerate your breaths, trying to make your exhale long and slow. You can tell that he’s trying, but his body just isn’t cooperating. With every cough comes a rapid inhale, and he just can’t make it stop. “Okay, okay,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks. “I have an emergency inhaler in my med kit, but I need to go get it.” You move to stand. “I’ll be right back,” you assure him.

You step out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door immediately. You first step back into the living room to open the front window, hoping for a cross breeze to form with the kitchen window that will help air out the place. You then rush into the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and take it back to Steve’s room.

You kneel at his feet once more, opening the kit and search for the inhaler. You’d been carrying one ever since the battle of New York. The debris from the battle had cluttered the air in the city with ash and dust and you’d come across several civilians in need of assistance that couldn’t escape the battle area because of triggered asthma attacks. Since destruction had a way of following the Avengers around, your spare inhaler had come in handy on more than a few occasions.

“Oh, yes!” you mutter in success, pulling out the inhaler and handing it to Steve.

“What… is this?” he questions, confusion.

“Bite down on this end and close your lips around it, then press once on the top canister and breathe the air in through your mouth.” He does as you instruct, inhaling the medicine. “See if just that one helps,” you tell him, placing your hands reassuringly on his knees.

He continues to cough, not used to the feeling of the inhaler, but the coughs don’t sound quite as bad as before. His breath still continues to hitch, so you have him use the inhaler once more. After that, he’s finally able to release a full exhale. “There we go,” you encourage gently. “Nice and slow.”

He continues to huff, but no longer coughs. After another minute or so his breaths start to even out. “I think I’m okay,” he tells you. His chest still aches, but he no longer feels like every breath is going to be his last.

You release the stress in your shoulders with a long breath. “You scared me half to death.” Your hands rub absentmindedly over the tops of his thighs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed, and not meeting your eyes. “I was trying to make meatloaf for our dinner, but while it was in the oven, I started sketching and I lost track of time.”

You send him one of your gentle smiles. “You don’t need to be sorry, Steve. I’m just glad you’re okay.” You give his knees a light squeeze before standing once more. “I’ll go deal with the meatloaf and get the remaining smoke out of the kitchen. Stay here and I’ll bring something to you. Are you okay if I just re-heat the soup from yesterday?”

He nods.

“Sit tight.” You press your lips to his forehead before turning to exit the room.

You can still smell the burning scent of the meatloaf, but the smoke haze has lessened inside the apartment. You close the open oven door and carefully test how hot the loaf tin is, finding it warm to the touch, but not burning hot. You grab a butter knife and attempt to extract the ashen meatloaf to dump into the trash can, and hopefully salvage the tin. It takes a bit of work because the meatloaf is basically a solid black brick, but eventually, you work it loose. You dump the tin into the sink and fill it with water to soak. You then transfer a portion of soup into a pot and start heating it up on the stove.

While that’s heating, you grab a cookie sheet and start waving it up and down to fan the last of the burning scent out the window. When you no longer smell burnt meatloaf, you put the cookie sheet away and stir the soup to make sure you won’t have a second burning fiasco on your hands. You close up the window, so the apartment won’t get too cold and move into the living room to close the window there, too.

After the soup is heated, you pour out two bowls and take them down the hallway to Steve’s room. You step in to find him exactly where you left him, on the edge of the bed. He’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging low. “You still feeling okay?” you question softly.

He inhales sharply and lifts his head. “Yeah,” he responds simply, but you can see the self-deprecation in his eyes.

“Well then, come on,” you encourage with a swift jerk of your head back toward the hall. You want to get him out of the dark bedroom in the hopes that coming out into the light might lift his spirits some.

He pushes himself up with a sigh and follows you out of the room, only to pause in confusion when you turn into the living room instead of continuing straight to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” he asks, confusion turning into curiosity.

“Having dinner on the couch,” you state like it’s obvious. You place one bowl on the end table next to an old lamp. “Take a seat,” you gesture Steve over. You hand the second bowl to him once he reaches you and then you make your way around him to the small bookshelf against the opposite wall.

He has an old radio sitting on top of the bookshelf. You twist the first knob to turn it on and adjust the volume. You carefully spin the second knob until you find a music station with minimal static. Once you’re satisfied, you turn to join Steve on the couch. You kick off your heels and sit with your legs folded under you as you grab your soup.

You lift the bowl closer to your face, so as not to spill anything when you lift your spoon up and blow gently at the hot soup. You pause before eating when you notice that Steve is just sitting there, staring at you. “What?” you question.

He continues to stare, looking a little flabbergasted as he shakes his head slowly. “You’ve got to be the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” he states frankly.

You feel the twitch in your cheek right before a full-on grin develops on your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you laugh.

Steve’s cheeks flush a deep red. “Sorry, that came out rude.”

“No offense taken.” You shoot him a wink.

“But you’re not mad that I ruined our dinner?” he questions.

Your head tilts in confusion, “Why would I be mad?”

He drops his gaze. “Because I got distracted and let it burn. And then my asthma started up…”

“Steve, you can’t control your asthma,” you tell him.

“I know, I just… people tend to get mad at the things that inconvenience them.”

Your eyes widen, unsure if you really just heard him say that. “Steven Grant Rogers! You get that thought out of your head right now!” you chastise. “You are not an inconvenience. You are a person. A human being. A man who is kind and caring and sensitive... and you’re also stronger than you realize. You’re determined, and passionate, and yes, sometimes, you can be a bit of a stubborn jerk, but you are never an inconvenience. And if anyone ever tries to make you feel otherwise, well then you can send them my way and I will happily set them straight.”

He stares at you, open-mouthed, unsure what to say to that.

“Now stop staring at me and eat your soup,” you huff, turning back to your own bowl. “Your body needs to build back its strength.”

He’s quiet for a short moment, absorbing your words. “You’re sure I haven’t been an inconvenience?”

“Steve!” you’re about to go on another tirade but cut yourself off when you see the knowing smirk on his face.

“This is me being a stubborn jerk.”

You scoff out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Rogers.”

He chuckles along with you. “I’m sure Bucky would agree with you.”

“Eat!” you insist between your laughter.

“I am!” he responds through a mouthful of potato soup.

The two of you eat in a joyful, relaxed silence, letting the music from the radio fill the space. Once you’re finished, you just set your bowl on the side table and sit back against the couch continuing to listen to the gentle, jazzy melodies. You and your Steve could spend hours sitting and listening to music together. It was one of your favorite ways to wind down after long missions. Sometimes you’d sit on the couch and read while Steve sat next to you, sketching. Other times, the two of you would just lay in bed, wrapped around each other for some solid cuddle time.

Steve only ever had one rule whenever the two of you listened to music together.

The current song on the radio ends and you immediately perk up when a familiar melody starts. It’s Taking a Chance on Love by Benny Goodman and Helen Forrest. The song begins with a series of trumpet bleats harmonizing with a clarinet. The uplifting beat has you rising onto your feet. “Come on!” you grin excitedly down at Steve and hold your hand out to him.

“What is it?” he asks in confusion, but still sets down his empty bowl and takes your hand.

You help him up and off the couch before pulling him into the middle of the living room. “The only rule is that we have to dance to this song.”

“Wha-” Steve’s steps falter behind you. “Vic, I-I don’t dance.”

You give him a sweet laugh, turning to face him. You hold each of his hands in yours and start to sway your hips to the rhythm of the song. “I’m not looking to win any awards, Rogers. Just have fun with me!”

As the melody evens out, you transition to swaying from side to side. Stepping closer to him, you set his right hand against your hip and rest your own on his shoulder. As you continue to sway, he’s forced to join you because of your proximity. You smile encouragingly until he begins to relax.

Here I go again, I hear those trumpets blow again.

All aglow again, taking a chance on love.

He slowly eases into it. Whether it’s because he’s just giving into you or because he’s actually enjoying himself, you’re not quite sure.

Here I slide again, about to take that ride again.

Starry-eyed again, taking a chance on love.

You find yourself singing along to the lyrics. You’ve heard the song hundreds of times throughout your relationship with Steve. You know just about every note by heart. Every time it plays, it never fails to make you fall in love with him just a little more. You’re pretty sure you first realized that you were in love with him while the two of you danced to this song.

I thought that cards were a frame-up, I never would try.

Now I'm taking that game up and the ace of hearts is high.

The first time you ever heard it, the two of you had been newly dating, lounging in the common area of the compound. You were just enjoying each other’s company while Steve had a playlist going on the surround sound speakers. When this song popped up, Steve had given you the biggest puppy eyes you’d ever seen on him and he asked if you wanted to dance. You’d giggled like a giddy school girl and agreed. He’d pulled your body tight against his, swaying gently and softly sang the lyrics directly into your ear.

Things are mending now, I see a rainbow blending now.

We'll have a happy ending now, taking a chance on love.

From that point on, no matter what the two of you were doing, if this song came on, you both would drop everything and share a dance. You’ve left half-finished mission reports, vegetables only partially chopped, water boiling on the stove… all so the two of you could dance like two idiots in love. There was even one time when a music listening-cuddle session had transitioned from heavily making out into foreplay, but when this song came on from Steve’s docking station, he’d given you a wicked grin and pulled you out of bed, not even caring that you were both naked as the day you were born. You’d protested something fierce, having been so close to release via his ridiculously thick tongue, but he’d stubbornly refused your pleas and ignored the ache in his loins where it rubbed against your hip. Instead, he made you dance through the whole song before letting you both continue where you’d left off.

You’re pulled out of your memories when the Steve you’re currently with grows a little bolder with his dance moves and guides you into a spin. You laugh freely, following his lead. You push out until your arms are fully extended and then let him twirl you back in, coming to a stop with your back to his chest. The two of you sway like that for a moment before you twirl out again and he pulls you back, now facing each other. Your hand settles on his shoulder once again, while his lands at the center of your back, bringing you in closer than before.

He’s grinning so wide, you can’t help but match his expression. The stress and shame that had been weighing on him earlier have vanished without a trace. He looks free and happy. Content to hold you in his arms and dance the night away in his tiny apartment. As the song comes to an end, the two of you slow your swaying. Even after just the one song, his breathing is a little heavier than it should be. Likely because of his recent asthma attack.

“There, was that so bad?” you ask gently.

He looks back at you, his features softening serenely. “Could have been worse. At least I didn’t step on you.”

You release a small giggle, leaning in to place a chaste kiss to his cheek. You then pull out of his hold and turn to take your empty bowls into the kitchen. You know if you were to stay in his arms for a moment longer you were going to lose all control and would probably end up throwing yourself at him.

Steve watches you leave the room, a sense of longing building deep in his gut. He’s never felt this way about anyone before. And he’s not entirely sure what to do about it.

Part 5

#steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve x reader #40s steve x reader #captain america x reader

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Text

Queen Takes

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1938

Summary:

With Beth home from Moscow, her friends gather to celebrate her achievement. One guest arrives late.

The colour of Kentucky feels like a trick after Moscow. Her blue home—her mother’s home—is a playhouse, not the American standard it’s masquerading as. Sure, Russia with its cold, with its blacks and browns across the walls of the hotel where she stayed and on the jackets of the old men in the park, is striving for a monopoly on drab stoicism, but Beth Harmon passed her early years in a trailer as silver as a bare tin can. You can find barrenness anywhere, even inside a person.

Across the coffee table, Jolene looks back at Beth like she knows what she’s thinking, those morbid thoughts. Beth can hear the smooth crack of her friend’s voice in her head. It’s… comforting, the sense that someone can simultaneously have no time and all the time in the world for her. Jolene’s eyes don’t tell her she’s a fool for taking so long to recognize love or a genius for refusing the draw (plus everything before and after)—they just say, nice dress. Subtly, Beth raises her Coke and inclines it towards her friend. Thanks.

Matt and Mike are keeping her living room balanced, one twin on either couch. Harry’s moving his hands with precision and intensity as he reiterates the brilliance of Beth’s endgame over Borgov, though Jolene is laughing at him, laughing in airy howls, because she has no interest in chess. Unlike Alma/Mrs. Wheatley/Mother, Jolene does not possess the patience to sit and listen while Beth unravels her win, move by move. How different is a friend from a sister, a sister from a mother, a mother from another mother again. This is fine. Beth, smiling, admires her guests and accepts that she has quite enough chess-lovers in her life.

There’s a knock at the door.

Jolene’s laugh cuts off like there should be a blade dangling in midair.

“Well,” she says to Beth, “go get him.”

“He’s worse than any of these three,” Beth warns with a smile, stalling and hopefully concealing the waver in her words, hands, and heartbeat.

“I’m anticipating a sanctimonious pain in the ass, and that’s just from the articles I read about you playing him.”

“You could’ve met him in New York,” Mike says as Beth gets a grip on herself and the couch, pushing up and striding with sudden purpose to the front door.

“Fight New York City traffic in my nice car? Just to sit in some dirty concrete basement? All of you talking nothing but chess?” She huffs a laugh from her nose. “Even when I was an orphan, I had better things to do than that.”

Beth’s heart is doing something painful and distracting in her chest and she misses any rejoinder the boys might have made, though she wouldn’t advise one. Very few people are so much their own person as Jolene is. Very few. Her hand is clammy on the knob as she takes hold and swings the door open. He doesn’t speak, and yet she hears, again, his voice down the long, long line, reaching her in her hotel room the night before the final. He doesn’t even smile.

“Benny,” Beth breathes, and collapses into him when he greets her with a startling kiss that captures the remainder of her oxygen. Her eyebrows raise when he pulls back. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

His gaze dips down to her dress and back to her face. Now, he smiles.

“I guess I’m playing white.”

She narrows her eyes.

“What happened to determining sides with an impartial method?”

“Don’t have any pieces on me to hide in my hands. You wouldn’t happen to have a board in the house, would you?”

Beth smiles again and holds the door wide to let Benny enter her home. She sees his car tucked against the curb out front. Likely, it contains his hat. His head is uncovered.

“And that was fair, by the way,” he whispers as she walks him into the living room. “When have you known me to skip a chance at making the first move?”

With the addition to the party, there are fresh drinks to be poured, trips to the bathroom to be taken, and things are shuffled around some until Jolene joins Beth on one couch, the twins and Benny opposite. He’s slung his leather jacket over the back of the couch and elects to sit forward. With his elbows braced on his thighs in this way and fingers intertwined in the space between, he could be contemplating one of their many games. But it’s her he looks at—staring straight across with a steadiness she can’t match in front of the others.

Jolene and Benny swap remarks, her judgements a strange and wonderful counter for the way he has always spoken in foregone conclusions. She calls him by his full name every time, just the way she told Beth she read it. As the afternoon stretches and Jolene’s career ambitions take their place in the conversation, Benny begins to call her ‘Esquire’. Beth looks on warily. Jolene breaks into a slow smile and nods her permission with a proud bob of her chin.

They bring out the cake she’s been pretending not to know about. Once, on a plane, she told her mother that a Houston tournament would take first place in her life’s Christmases; well, this feels like the best birthday she’s ever had and she doesn’t even have to age for it. Beth only cries at moments of excruciating frustration or when she is ambushed by emotion, no escape route of three moves prepared, so, naturally, the tears spill over.

“You. You did this,” Jolene insists, firm hold on her shoulders as she rocks Beth side to side on the couch.

Beth can only sniffle and smile down at the cake, chocolate, as Benny wields a knife (from a drawer in the kitchen) to slice uneven pieces. It’s heavenly. Despite high hopes of leftovers and sending each guest home with a slice, the six of them devour the cake. Harry chases the last crumbs around his plate, Matt groans and kicks his feet up on the table in search of relief for his overstuffed stomach, and Beth lies on the floor, raking her fork lazily through the icing before raising it to her lips and licking the tines clean. It’s only the pleasure of the day she means to extend with this exercise, but she can feel Benny’s eyes on her. Black makes its opening move.

She hugs each of her friends at the door as they drag themselves away. The alternative is to risk passing out across her chic living room set, and she hasn’t offered to let them stay. If any of them asked, she certainly would, but no one is at a loss for where they’ll be spending the night and they’re all—Beth knows—too aware of the car parked out front with the New York plates to want to intrude.

“You’re a queen,” Jolene says. She’s the final person to fold her into a hug. “You deserve this and more. And I bet,” she adds, dropping her voice so it’s just for Beth, not Benny, standing at the picture window and watching the boys drive away, “tonight’s going to feel even better than when you wiped Ohio with his skinny ass. Or whatever the hell happened between the two of you since then.”

Beth draws back, hands still on her friend’s waist, and gives her a look.

“Please,” Jolene begs, “it’s obvious. You’re World Champion and I am staring at the only thing Benny Watts wants to win.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “This and more, Cocksucker.”

Laughing out loud, they break apart. Beth’s flushed as she waves from the doorway, arm making a wide sweep over her head, tears of gratitude welling up as her friend peels away. She dabs beneath her eyes with her fingers. She shuts the door. She flicks her eyes to Benny as she sidles around the little bit of wall separating the living room from the front room, dominated by her mother’s piano.

“I threw up in that one,” Beth volunteers, pointing out a silver cup trophy to Benny as he turns from the window. He shoots her a critical look.

“And the papers all say you’re so glamorous.”

“Everyone’s different in their own home.”

Benny gives a sideways nod to concede this.

“You’re different, I think,” she ventures. She’s less sure now, skirting the piano to come closer to him. “Like you might actually sit down.”

“I sit down,” he protests.

“For something other than a journalist.”

“I sat on your couch for hours.”

“Like you might actually stay.”

Him not entertaining her with flimsy attempts to leave, to find a hotel for the night, was his move. This boldness is Beth’s. Will he laugh at her? He could. She wonders if Harry ever mentioned to Benny that he did a stint as her roommate.

“Are you going to pull something inflatable out of someplace and condemn me to blowing it up?”

She laughs under her breath.

“No. You’re welcome to come upstairs.”

There are dishes, a light left on in the kitchen, but this mess is unlike what she did to the space herself while drunk. This scene is simply lived-in. Beth ignores the dishes and the light, eyes locked on Benny. It isn’t ‘now or never’ with him like it was with Harry—with Benny, it’s then and again. He brushes by her at the piano, the way he would in his New York apartment before they began sleeping together; the more he made sure not to touch her, the smaller the space felt. The near-collisions alone nearly drove her mad, she didn’t need chess for that. But when he’s almost past her, his fingertips connect with her skin and trickle down her arm to take her hand. Beth exhales with a smile. His middlegame remains the least predictable stage of his play.

Though she’s made the master bedroom her own, she turns the other way at the top of the stairs, right instead of left, wanting to show him where she studied and learned. He lets himself be pushed back onto her flowered bedspread. She indicates the torn mesh canopy overhead as she staggers forward on her knees to sit astride him and he hikes the black dress up her thighs. As he reaches for her back and unzips her—Beth tilting accommodatingly towards his chest—she talks ceiling visualization. How she found it, how she mastered it, how she got it back in Moscow. She waits for Benny to parrot her annoyance over discussing chess at a time like this, but he wears an empathetic smirk. Following leisurely minutes of undressing each other—“Slow down, Harmon, this isn’t speed chess”—that smirk is just about all he wears.

His necklaces glide across her chest as he kisses her neck. When he slips his hand between her legs, she invokes touch-move, insisting he finish what he’s started. Play progresses from there. This is all mine, she thinks, feeling Benny, denting a pink pillowcase with her clutching hands.

They’ve written her up as someone who attacks early and with ferocity. She lunges and thrusts, she likes control. ‘Out for blood,’ ‘killer instinct’—they make her something more than human. In her time, she’s been a talent, a prodigy, a virtuoso, a wunderkind. All of that’s become a bit mechanical. Have they forgotten, or have they never understood? Beth swipes her fingers through Benny’s hair as they catch their breath.

Chess can also be beautiful.

#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny #I haven't jumped fandoms in almost a year so it was about time

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chronicalchaos · 3 years

Text

Wick modern AU: Explained +Some fun facts

Uhm, i was gonna wait until i finish this AU's synopsis and new book cover, but both will be taking a while until they get ready...

And i wanted to post this "overview" for a while now, anyways, here's some fun facts and a summary of the story:

Old book cover:

I'm really proud of Sam's shading, but the twins look weird and Tom looks old...I won't use this cover, 'cus Travis and Duncan are main characters as well and i want to include them on the cover. +My art style changed!

Story summary:

Just a quick thing! I changed quite a few things to fit the narrative and the modern days setting, i hope you understand!

The story of this AU happens in September 2014, a little less than a month until Sam’s birthday, where the Weavers aren't dead– Well, most of them aren't...

The narrative is centered on a curse, that was based on the audio that plays when you pick up Benny's bible, where 7 people are affected by it: Tim, Tom, John, Sam, John's brother/Sam's dad(I won't name him), Mary and James.

Sam's, Travis' and Duncan's side of the story will be more on the investigative side maybe with a bit of comedy(I'm not good with writing that, so it will most likely be just investigation), while Tim and Tom's side will be the more angst and unusual/horror side. Sam will have a bit of horror as well, since he's linked with them by the curse, but the twins will definitely have the spotlight when it comes to horror/unusual stuff.

Fun Facts:

General:

The story happens a week, maybe a bit more, after summer break

Even tho one of the first chapters is set on school, them going to school will probably just be mentioned or implied, Example: Them leaving a school bus

For some reason, i saw a few stories where everyone knew what polio is and how it works, which i felt it wouldn't be realistic, so that won't happen here

It has a lot of paranormal stuff

The summer camp by the Weaver's property is closed and has been like that for a few years now

Just Mary and James call the twins Changelings, the rest of the city knows there are "changelings" walking around, just, not that the twins are them

There's no changelings, they think there is, but in reality it's just a curse(like that's something lighter than a demon switched with a child at birth)

The song that helps me get in the mood of this story when I'm writing is "Far too young to die" by Panic! At the disco

Timas Weaver:

Tim is 12, he'll be 13 in...approximately 3 months

He was born December 30th 2001 and is the oldest between him and Tom

He's almost an inch shorter than Tom

He has a huge burn scar! It goes from a bit more than half of his chest, both his arms, his palms and his whole neck, he got that scar when he was 3 years old

He's does not have asthma, but he does have extreme pyrophobia on it's place

He has flat affect, his face doesn't match his emotions/he looks serious most of the time(I'm so sorry if I don't portrait it right! Please give me constructive criticism if I do something wrong here!)

He's a theater kid and would be quoting a lot of musicals if Mary didn't isolate him and Tom from the world(The theater part only exists because of his and Tom's masks)

The whittling thing exists here, but like, it won't be of much importance to the story, the knife will! But not the whittle part

He despises spiders and it's Tom's fault!

He climbs trees (there's not much I can say here to be honest)

He has this...i don't know if you can call it a quirk, but, he tends to tilt his head to the left, it's kinda random

He's ambidextrous, was left handed, but Mary forced him to learn to use his right hand

He teached himself how to throw knifes...don't mess with him

Paranoia!

Needs therapy

Tomathy Weaver:

Tom is 12 and will be 13 in approximately 3 months

He was born December 30th 2001 and is the youngest between him and Tim

He's almost an inch taller than Tim

He doesn't have Polio now, he did when he was...around 5 years old

His left leg is bigger than his right one, his right feet reaches his left ankle

His left ankle is paralyzed, that's why he uses a leg brace

He's claustrophobic, he developed that on the same day Tim got his scar and pyrophobia

He won first place on a spelling bee before he got Polio and he used to spell when he got anxious, but after John's disappearence he started shuddering, shaking and cracking his joints instead, very similar to how he shudders on the game

He loves spiders!

He is really flexible, but, because of his polio, he can't play around with it anymore

He likes to draw

He has pretty bad scoliosis

Paranoia #2!

Socially awkward baby

Went to therapy when little, needs to go back

Caleb Weaver:

Caleb is 9 years old

He was born August 19th 2005

He's almost the same height as Timas

He was a year old when Tom had polio

He's actually James' kid, not John's

He won first place in 2014's(the year the story happens) county track meet

He dislikes Tim

Lillian Weaver:

Lillian is 5 years old

She was born February 28th 2009

She's a bit tall for her age

She's notorious for making little deals between her and her siblings, like helping them get away with something in exchange of something(getting her out of class during their recess, buying a new plushy, etc.)

She's a really curious and affectionate kid, loves hugs, kisses and especially being picked on someone's lap

She loves bunnies(even tho this isn't a surprise)

Benjamin Weaver:

Benjamin is 14 years old and will be 15 in less then a month

He was born October 24th 1999

He's just really tall compared to the twins (it's kinda funny, Tim and Tom are 4 years older than Caleb, but they are just an inch taller than him)

He's really religious and prays a lot for his siblings' health and safety

He's been trying to take care of Tom after John's disappearence, since Mary doesn't do it, much the opposite, she hides Tom's medicines on purpose

Mary Weaver:

I didn't give her neither an age nor a birthday...i probably need to do that

She had an affair with James, when the twins were 4 and Benny was 6, Caleb was born from this affair

She doesn't hit any of her kids, but she does neglect most of them

On the nights between Saturday and Sunday, she doesn't sleep, she spends this time praying with a candle, then, before they go to church, she writes everything that happened that night on her diary

She has a lot of diaries, she keeps them in the attic

She's a little bitch(i don't know what else to say about her)

Pastor James McAlroy:

James also doesn't have an age nor birthday (i only have the Weaver kids and Sam's birthdays)

He won't appear much, but he does have a big role on the story

He's Caleb's biological dad(i mentioned that like 3 times already)

He tried doing a "honest-to-god exorcism" on the twins, it was just a cover for an attempt of murder

He's a toxic little shit(there's not much I can say about him)

Samuel Burton:

Sam is 12 years old and will be 13 in less than a month

He was born in October 2nd 2001

Him and Travis are Brothers on their mom's part

He's cousin with the Weavers, minus Caleb, they just don't know each other

He can be just as smug as Travis sometimes

He absolutely hates going on ghost hunting, he thinks it's dumb

He has long hair and freckles all over his body

He's just too lazy to tie his own shoes

He's the only one that remembers to bring a backpack when ghost hunting

While Travis is the camera man, he's the flashlight guy

Travis Burton:

Travis is 15 years old and i don't have a birthday for him, well, he would be born in 1999 just like Benny

He doesn't like wearing glasses, but doesn't have other choice, he either doesn't take proper care of his lenses and gets his eyes irritated or he just lost them

He's the face of his and Duncan's channel

He tries to drag Sam to be part of the channel, but he doesn't really want to be part of it

He cusses way too much

He's brave, only because he goes face first into danger without thinking

Duncan:

Duncan is 15 and would also be born in 1999

Big ass coward, sends Travis and Sam to go investigate on his place every fucking time

Entitled as fuck

The "brain" behind his and Travis' channel

He's suspiciously good on researching, he'll find the most unexpected things about you

He's a little shit as well

...i think that's it! Now i can go continue the first chapter and maybe finish it soon

#wick (2015)#travis burton #wick hellbent games #tom weaver #tim weaver #caleb Weaver #lillian weaver #benny weaver #mary weaver #sam #duncan #wick #modern au #wick au

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