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bonvoyagenoona · 3 years

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Kittenfishing | KTH | 03: Purrception

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Synopsis: You’ve kept detailed notes. Kim Taehyung moved next door about six months ago. He picks up the mail at night. He likely works in the north part of town because he walks to the blue line station in the morning. He takes his trash out on Mondays and Thursdays. His receipts show that he’s stopped buying bananas from the nearest grocery store because the ones a block farther up the street are 40 cents cheaper. And because he’s just popped up on your dating app, you’ve also learned that he’s a Capricorn, has a pet dog named Tannie, and he loves visiting his family’s farm. Also, he is very hot, and very single, though you knew that first part already just by bumping into him in the hall. You are not regimented about your schedule, or mindful about money, or into families, or hot. But you’re smart. And, like you’ve said, you’ve kept detailed notes. With some luck, and your best friend and tech extraordinaire Yoongi’s help, you will become Kim Taehyung’s perfect girl. And you will catch him.

Genres, Content Warnings, & Themes: Strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut (unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, casual sex, public sex), lying, deception, obsession, oh the ethical dilemmas present in online dating today

Kittenfishing Masterpost

Chapter 03: Purrception

Kim Ari is a well-known supermodel living in Japan. Kim Chae-Yeong is getting her MBA at a prestigious international university. And Kim Yoo-Jung has birthed not just a growing furniture design business but also a sweet new baby boy, a cause for celebration that has brought Chae-Yeong, Ari, and the rest of the entire Kim family together for a party on Sunday.

So many people to keep straight for the occasion, and the next three you have yet to memorize on your list happen to be incredible women that make you look like the disgusting sacks that you are currently lugging to the trash room.

“What about Kim Na-Rae?” Yoongi yawns lazily into your ear.

The yawn is loud enough that your earbud shakes in your ear. You pause in your walk along the hallway to adjust it.

“Easy. She’s an award winning falconer,” you answer quickly, picking up the bag and continuing down the hall.

“If all of these are so easy, then why are you even studying?” Yoongi asks. “And did you have to take Friday off? Do you know how boring our jobs are?”

“Of course I know how boring our jobs are. Why do you think I always come down to the IT center?” you ask, opening the door to the trash room. You heave the bag up and over the metal drawer, and then you slam the drawer shut, listening for the inevitable, dead THUMP! of your trash hitting the heap.

You go to open the metal drawer, but it sticks in its frame.

“And I had to take Friday off because I still have another page of contacts to memorize,” you explain, pulling at the drawer. “Why does his family---” The drawer is really, really stuck. “---have to be---” You plant your foot on the wall for leverage. “---so fucking big??”

“Like his dick?” Yoongi jokes.

The drawer suddenly becomes unstuck and springs open, and you take a few steps back, nearly falling. But you see one earbud fly right into the drawer and start clank!ing down the cute.

You press your finger into your other ear, making sure Yoongi is still there.

“Fuck. I just lost one of my earbuds.”

Yoongi cackles. “Down the drawer?”

“Yeah, down the fucking drawer.”

“Sorry.”

You sigh and hoist the second bag up to the chute and kick that damn drawer shut in annoyance.

“Isn’t that kind of asking a lot, though?” Yoongi asks. “I mean… you’ve only been dating a few weeks. He needs you to know his entire family?”

“Well, no,” you admit. “Actually, he hasn’t even, uh… he hasn’t asked me to go.”

The green RSVP button told you about the event, and Taehyung has yet to make plans with you this weekend. Not hard to put two and two together, though part of you is wondering why he hasn’t asked you. After seeing profiles of his remarkable cousins, you kind of understand why. This family, this entire family, has such illustrious people in it, Taehyung included and near the top of the list. An award-winning multi-instrumentalist, singer, and dancer, not to mention one of the kindest, sweetest, most attractive, and most unassuming people you’ve ever met. When you mull it over a little more, it kind of makes sense why he hasn’t asked you, after all.

“Then why are you so worried?” Yoongi asks. “And, again, why the hell are you studying?”

“Just in case,” you say hopefully. “Regardless. It won’t be a Friday wasted. I have plans.”

Plans that include seeming the part, at the very least. Yoongi’s makeup tutorials have done wonders for you, and they’re going to be supported by a trip to the salon to get that nice, glossy, straight, jet-black signature lob that the Kim girls seem to wear like a uniform. You’ll be getting to know his family eventually. If your resume doesn’t hold up, then you just need to start by looking the part.

“You have plans this weekend?”

You turn around and see Taehyung holding Tannie’s leash in one hand and a bag of Tannie’s poop in the other. Taehyung looks delighted to see you. Tannie always looks delighted either way.

“Hi!” you exclaim sweetly.

“Hello?” Yoongi asks.

“What are you doing home, Tae?” you ask, as Yoongi scoffs and mutters an, “oh god”.

“Just took Tannie out for his usual lunchtime walk.” He raises his hands, drawing your attention back to the items that should have told you exactly what he was doing home.

“Call me later,” Yoongi says quickly, before hanging up.

You sigh warmly, happy to be able to focus on one conversation at a time. “Of course. I was just startled to see you.”

“Me too. But happy, right?” Taehyung asks, laughing nervously.

“Of course,” you repeat, warmer, and slower.

Taehyung takes a step toward you, but then he hesitates. “Uh, I really want to give you a kiss right now, but…” He grimaces as he crinkles the top of Tannie’s bag.

“Right, sorry,” you say, getting out of his way.

You admire the way Taehyung can just open the drawer in the way that he does, arm only slightly flexing, face nearly expressionless. As if he’s opening a drawer in his desk, or his mailbox downstairs.

You walk with Taehyung back to his apartment. He doesn’t even ask about your place anymore. All the excuses you’ve given are no match for the way you have loved him, whispering things that anybody would be lucky to hear. How wanted he is. How good he makes you feel. How you never want him out of your sight.

Taehyung washes up and gives Tannie some water, before offering you a bottle of juice. Some kind of watermelon blend. That month’s coupon book had a 2-for-1 sale.

You smile at each other as you drink, neither of you taking a seat on the couch.

“How’s work?” you ask.

“Same old.” Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “How about you? Are you feeling OK?”

You hold the gulp of juice in your mouth as you screw the cap back onto the bottle. Your arms hover in front of your chest. You’re still in your sweats from last night, though, with family dinner, Taehyung hadn’t seen.

“Oh, yeah, I just… didn’t get much sleep last night,” you answer.

It’s not a lie. None of what you say is. It took four hours to design, fill out, and print the index cards, an hour to make the virtual versions to email to Yoongi to quiz you, and another three hours until you memorized the first stack: the grandparent generation. The second stack took another three hours: the parent generation. The third stack took four because Taehyung and his siblings have so many damn cousins.

“Well, you still look adorable, even when you’re kind of strung out,” Taehyung laughs, walking up to you and fiddling with some of your flyaways.

Ugh. What do you look like right now?? You want to die.

“Thanks,” you squeak, “I think?”

Taehyung threads his hands through the oily roots of your terribly messy bun, but he doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice. And then he brings you to him for a kiss as delightful as the look on his face when he saw you.

“My trashy girl,” Taehyung teases, setting his juice down on his coffee table before straightening and wrapping his other arm around you.

“OK, well,” you joke back, starting to pull away from him.

But he locks around you, making you giggle as he sprinkles kisses on your neck and collar bones.

“I don’t have to be at work for another hour,” he whispers. “Enough time, you think?”

“Never enough time,” you say.

Taehyung sighs and picks you up, your legs wrapping around his torso as his tongue wraps around yours. He carries you into his bedroom, and you smile against his kiss, reveling in the fact that, while you still haven’t memorized all of Taehyung’s third cousins, you have memorized the path to Taehyung’s bedroom just according to the feel of the breeze on your body. Like Ginger Rogers to his Fred Astaire, you know the movements backwards. A quick turn around the edge of the sofa. A bend of the hip to avoid a table. He uses his elbows like Tannie might use his whiskers, extending outward, letting you know that you’re just shy of the outline of his bedroom door frame. And then, the feel of his bouncy bed on your back tells you that you’ve made it.

He lets out a happy, long, relaxed sigh when he can run his hands up and down your sides, bringing your hoodie up and off of you as you sit up and then lie back down again.

He gets to work on your sweatpants, when you start to feel your heartbeat racing.

“Sorry, I’ve been all grungy, and, uh,” you stammer. You’ve usually been so polished around him, save for the similarly unshowered, sweatpantsed times that he caught you off-guard in the beginning.

“Good,” he grunts as he untangles the knot at your waist. The notion, plus his movements, send tingles down your body.

“Good?” you repeat.

“I wanna smell you. Taste you. The natural you,” Taehyung says. “The real you.”

You try to push the impossibility of that out of your mind at this point and focus on Taehyung sliding fabric down your thighs. His hands are always so soft. You know what lotion he uses. Something simple, usually on sale, and always in stock at the store. You slather it onto yourself when you’re at home alone and breathe in the clean scent. Like sea salt and lime. You think of how it only intensifies when he’s sweating, and how much cleaner it smells when he puts it on just after he’s showered. You could get off to the scent alone. You know. You’ve tried.

“God, so good,” Taehyung sighs, as he licks at you, seemingly hungrier for you now than ever before.

He’s probably just in love with the whimsy of it all. A romantic scene if ever there was one, asking for your lover’s musk. You didn’t feel your panties coming down, but you try not to envision the actuality of them crumpled and stained on the floor. You pretend that you’re you, but better.

He licks his fingers and then starts to play with you, circling around your entrance before dipping inside.

When you hiss and buck your hips, he strokes the front of your flesh, watching you intently. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’ll go slower.”

You reach out a hand to intertwine it with his. You hope that he gets that there’s no apology needed. From him, at least.

“How’s that feel?” Taehyung asks, stroking the front of your wall. “Nice?”

You whimper and nod, gripping his hand tighter to encourage him more. To signal that you don’t want to let him go. Even when you haven’t been able to let him in just yet.

He presses his lips against your flesh, and then he takes your waking clit into his warm, wet mouth, rolling you, squeezing you, and making you turn and twist this way and that with just a flick of his tongue. He smiles at how you move at his command. How willing you are to bend with him. For him.

Watching you makes him so hungry. And he’s grateful that you’re overflowing for him, giving him something to drink down as he works. Why were you embarrassed earlier? He can’t tell the difference; you’ve always been this addictively sweet.

And maybe he is, too. Three fingers tells him you’re ready, and you keep pleading for him, telling him that you want even more.

“How do you want it?” he asks, not even bothering to wipe his mouth, streams of you dragging across your skin as he rises and crawls up your body.

You have no words. You just roll over and reach up for his headboard, pressing your tits against it and resting your chin on top for a moment before looking back at him.

He grins, stripping quickly, and then folding himself into you, broad chest and built torso filling the space between you, hand reaching under and from behind to pet you and help guide himself into you.

When he enters, you moan and send your hips back to him, resting your forehead on the top of the headboard now, whining so gratefully for him.

And then he pumps into you, his signature first long stroke, until his soft, sea salt and lime skin touches yours.

You keen, and he asks, “Yeah?” with a breath sucked in through his teeth. You nod, and he wraps his arms around your waist, as you hold onto the headboard.

One pump. Two. Faster and faster as you start to move in response. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Equal parts elegant and fascinating. The only crack in the daydream is how what they created was just a facade. Movie magic.

“Harder,” you plead, ironically needing Taehyung to help you forget.

He moans at how badly you need him.

And then his hips work fast against you, your body tossed between the headboard, and the body nearly as stiff as that, sent into a dizzying pleasure that catapults forward, nearly making you slam your head if it weren’t for Taehyung to catch and hold you. He pins your arms to your sides with his embrace and continues to pump into you as he groans and catches that pleasure, too, easing his strokes as you let out whimpers and soft chuckles, sighing softly as you go limp in his arms.

Taehyung kisses your cheek, and you chase his kiss with your own, but he’s too busy pulling out of you and assessing the mess you’ve made.

“Shit, I’m fucking spent,” he sighs, rolling over and lying next to you, reaching out for you and gesturing for you to snuggle with him.

You land that kiss on his cheek, and he chuckles as you nestle into his side.

“Didn’t know that’s how I was gonna be spending my lunch hour,” he laughs. “Good surprise.” But then he turns to you, eyes roving over you with concern. “Not a good surprise to find out that you couldn’t sleep last night.”

You had almost drifted off, but Taehyung calling it out makes you snap awake.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Were you feeling sick?” he asks. “Had a bad dream?”

You stare at the ceiling. “Just had a lot on my mind.” Like Kim Ari, the supermodel, Kim Chae-Yeong, the businesswoman, and Kim Yoo-Jung, the designer and new mother to Byung-Ho.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, tracing the line of your neck turning into the line of your shoulder, fingers dancing lightly as he goes.

You smile. “No. I was glad to get my mind off of it for a little bit.”

Taehyung watches his fingers glide down the slope of your waist. “Wanna take your mind off of things this weekend with me?”

Your heart starts to race like it had been a moment ago, in the throes of orgasm, with a little bit of panic sprinkled in.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

“You mentioned you had plans?” Taehyung asks first, seemingly a little nervous.

“Not really,” you clarify. Still not a lie. He hadn’t asked you yet. “Maybe getting my hair done or something.”

“Really?” Taehyung asks, momentarily distracted. His eyes flash up to your hair. “I like your hair. Are you coloring it? It’s pretty the way it is?”

You smile. “You called me a trash girl less than an hour ago.”

“Still.”

Taehyung wiggles his nose between your temple and his pillow and presses a kiss there, licking up the sweat that had collected.

“I wanted to pop by last night and invite you to something, but I got home so late,” Taehyung replies.

You nod. He arrived home at 12:21 AM. You liked the symmetry of the time. And you had guessed that he got home after a long conversation about planning the party and helping his mother with the arrangements. Taehyung confirms that by telling you about dinner. Mrs. Kim’s keen eye seems to be celebrated on every event page that their family has online, and she hopes to dazzle just as brilliantly on Sunday.

“We’re having a family get-together,” Taehyung explains. “My cousin had a baby. It’s their Baek-il.”

You grin. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a baby’s 100-day celebration. Thoughts of delicious rice cakes float through your mind. And you realize that you haven’t had lunch yet, either.

“Does that mean you’re going?” Taehyung asks.

You turn to him and furrow your brow. “Huh?”

“Well, you smiled, and then you just kinda fell silent?” he observes. “And I think you drooled a little bit.”

You smirk and wipe your mouth.

“Something else on your mind?” he asks.

“Rice cakes and honey,” you say, and Taehyung presses a kiss onto your forehead.

“Just like this.”

You hold the picture of Kim Ari out to your stylist, who brightens at the beautiful visage.

“Oh, she’s so gorgeous,” they sigh. Their eyes land on you, eyebrows raising just a little. “Um, usually when clients bring in pictures, they expect---”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m no model, I get it,” you mumble. “Can you just cut my hair to look like this?”

The stylist shrugs and leads you to the chair. They unfold the cape and drape it around your shoulders. You always hate this part. Looking at yourself in the mirror, at just your head, the rest of your body hidden, makes you think you look like a rotten potato.

“A side part wouldn’t be advisable for your face shape,” the stylist replies. “Better to---”

“Look, I just need something as close to this style as possible,” you say. You don’t have much time. You still have to get your nails done. “Same cut and color. I won’t leave you a bad review if I don’t look exactly like Kim Ari. And I won’t tip if you keep making suggestions that I didn’t ask for.”

Your phone rings, and though your stylist wouldn’t tell you, they’re happy to get a chance to step away and leave you to answer the call.

When Taehyung’s face pops up, you keep your video off.

“Where are you?” he asks. “I don’t see you.”

“Getting my hair done, like I said,” you remind him.

“Let me see!”

“I haven’t gotten it done yet.”

“C’mon. I haven’t seen you all day, and I miss you.”

You sigh and give into the sweet sentiment, turning your camera on after finding as flattering of an angle as you can.

“Are you sure you want to change your hair?” Taehyung asks. “I like it like that. Especially when you air dry it, and it curls, and---”

“It gets too thick,” you explain, gesturing with your fingers. “Fans out weird.”

“Who’s that?” Taehyung asks, curious about the figure next to you.

Yoongi sips the last of his Slurpee loudly as you angle the phone toward him.

“Oh,” Taehyung replies flatly. “Hi.”

“Hey man,” Yoongi answers, bouncing his head up and down. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, just…” Taehyung shrugs. “Helping get ready.”

“Right, Baek-il,” Yoongi replies. “Congrats.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Taehyung purses his lips, and you bring the camera back to you. “OK, well, I need to go. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Good luck with the preparations,” you tell him. “And let me know if I can bring anything or help out.”

Taehyung smiles generously, blowing a kiss to you. You awkwardly pretend to catch it, and you place it on your cheek.

“Wasn’t where I was sending it,” Taehyung jokes, arching a brow.

“Tae,” you whisper, embarrassed.

He laughs at your expression, a bit nervous but flattered. “OK. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You hang up, and you watch Yoongi stare at you in the mirror as you place your phone back in your pocket, under your cape.

“What?” you ask.

“I kind of agree,” Yoongi replies innocently.

“With what?”

“I like your natural hair.”

“Makes one of us,” you grumble, looking back at the mirror.

Yoongi watches you carefully, deciding whether or not now’s the time to say anything. But with the event happening in about 24 hours, he figures it’s now or never.

“He clearly doesn’t like that I’m here with you,” Yoongi points out.

“C’mon,” you scoff. “I’m sure he has female coworkers.”

“So I’m just your coworker?”

“You know what I mean,” you say softly. “We’re friends. He has friends. I don’t worry about them.”

“Maybe you should,” Yoongi says.

He moves out of the stylist’s way as they return with the mix of jet-black color to paint your tresses with.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

The stylist starts to section your hair, taking note of where the new growth starts, and where your last dye job begins. They thread metal clips through your scalp, a feeling that reminds you of Taehyung’s hands in your hair. That has to mean that you’re doing this right, and that whatever Yoongi offers up as an explanation is just a friend sharing an opinion.

“I mean that he seems to be feeling something deeper for you,” Yoongi points out. “Inviting you to a family event? A child’s event? This early in the game?”

Yoongi’s words have you taking a bit of a pause. Is it early? Haven’t you and Taehyung basically been together forever at this point? All the things you know about him?

“He barely knows you,” Yoongi replies, reading your mind. “He hasn’t even seen the inside of your apartment yet. And he’s still inviting you over. That’s kind of fast.”

The stylist lets out a judgy little “hmph”, quickly avoiding your annoyed gaze and saying something about how they’ll need another pot of color to get through all your hair.

“Could you be a little quieter?” you ask Yoongi pointedly.

“Well, you robbed me of a gossip session yesterday, so I’m having it now,” Yoongi replies, grinning like the cheeky asshole he can be, and that you still love.

“And what’s the big deal about him not coming over yet?” you ask. “He has the same layout. He can just imagine that everything’s flipped, if he’s so curious. But he doesn’t seem to be.”

“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t know about---”

The stylist returns with another pot of color, mixed to the same dull purple that always makes you nervous.

You look up at Yoongi, and you feel the stylist hovering to get more of the story.

“The picture,” Yoongi tells you. “And the key.”

You roll your eyes as the stylist starts to comb through your hair and begin applying the color.

“I’ve never used the key,” you say.

“So why do you still have it?”

The stylist mutters something as they begin to paint down your locks, careful not to make too much of a mess but ensuring full coverage.

“I don’t know,” you reply. Still not a lie. You don’t really know why you still have it. “It’s an aesthetic thing, maybe. Or, y’know. My way of keeping it safe. In case he needs it or something.”

“You have the key because you’re going to use the key,” Yoongi replies. “And you have the board---”

“Yoongi!”

“---because you’re going to continue using the board. I’m just asking if you actually want a relationship where you have a conversation about things first, instead of you studying up and pretending not to know anything.”

The stylist actually visibly reacts with a gasp, and you frown.

“Didn’t exactly ask for this feedback either,” you tell Yoongi.

He grins at you. Mockingly. “Well. It’s a good thing I don’t work for tips.”

The stylist snickers, and you pout at your potato-y reflection in the mirror.

A few hours later, Yoongi’s snacking while watching you get your nails done, Flamin’ Hot Cheeto dust on his fingers, and red SNS powder on yours.

He feeds you a Cheeto, and you scarf it down before he angles his super-sized soda straw into your mouth.

“I’m just worried that they won’t like me,” you admit.

“Why are you worried about that?” Yoongi asks.

“Doesn’t everyone worry about that?” you wonder. “Getting to know people, hoping to fit into their worlds. Isn’t that what this is all about? Softening my edges to make me fit?”

Yoongi slumps down a little in his chair. “Kitt. That’s not what softening your edges was meant to do.”

All this time, you’d been operating under the assumption that you weren’t right somehow. That you needed to fit the mould. It’s been working. You haven’t been able to keep Taehyung off of you the entire time you’ve been officially dating. You’re getting the outcome that you wanted. And Yoongi was the architect. Why is he questioning things now?

“I’ve followed every instruction you’ve given me,” you reply.

“I never told you to keep that key,” he expresses.

You shake your head, and your matronly nail technician yanks your fingers slightly to remind you to keep still. After telling her sorry, you say to Yoongi, “Stop bringing up the key. God, I should’ve never told you about it in the first place.”

“You’re so uncomfortable talking about it. That should tell you something.”

“You created the board in the first place!”

Yoongi shrugs. “I created the small one. Just to draw some pictures. Make you smile. Visualize the good things and put you at ease.” He watches as you chase his straw with your lips, and he holds the drink up higher for you to take another sip. “Kitt, I want to be clear. I never meant for this to change you.”

Your eyes grow wide as you gulp down the drink, and the nail technician sets your hands down on the towel to grab more setting gel from her bottom drawer.

A lump forms in your throat. “I just don’t see why you’re so worried,” you say, fighting it. “I’m fine. This is all working so well.”

Yoongi knows you’re not hearing him. That you tend to measure success on metrics that don’t really matter. That you tend to aim for success in things that don’t really require “success” in that way, anyway. So he goes for something else. Effort.

“You’re about to go spend all of Sunday with their family. Can you keep up the pretense for that long?”

Laziness is written into your code. Yoongi knows more than a little something about code. Yoongi also knows more than a little something about you.

“I can do it,” you say confidently. “In fact, it’s getting easier by the day.”

“It is?” Obviously not liking that answer, Yoongi lowers the drink from your lips and frowns. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m telling stories or whatever,” you say. “But what you showed me. Being a little more cryptic. Not giving everything away. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”

“Kitt.” Yoongi sighs. “That won’t last for long. Trust me. What you’re doing is staying shallow. But we’re way past that now.”

“Five minutes,” the nail technician says, tapping the knuckle of your pinky.

You both smile at her. “Thank you,” you add.

She grins at you. “Your boyfriend is so nice. Feeding you snacks. Letting you drink. Seems like a keeper.”

She stands and wipes her hands clean on her apron before checking in with a client at the front desk.

Yoongi’s still smiling when you turn to him.

“You hear that? I seem like a keeper.”

Able to fight the lump in your throat, but unable to fight the smirk that Yoongi’s pulling from you, you shake your head and sigh. “You are a keeper, Yoongi.”

“So don’t fight me on this.”

He holds the drink back up to you so that you can take a fuller sip.

“I actually want this to work,” Yoongi says. “I’m not trying to sabotage this. Taehyung seems like a really wonderful guy. He’s right to be suspicious of me. He’s right to be suspicious at all.”

You successfully fought off that lump in your throat. But you can’t deny the feeling in the pit of your stomach, like sour acid, and not just from too many Cheetos or soda.

You definitely don’t look like Kim Ari, but you knew that already. Standing in front of the mirror, face made up the best way Yoongi could teach you how over video chat, you try another smile, and you feel like you look like the version of you that would be paraded out in front of your parents’ friends in the middle of dinner. You’re reminded of frilly dresses. Lace socks. Mary Janes. You don’t look bad in the simple peacock blue dress and gray heels that you did pick out. But you still just don’t look like you.

But that’s kind of the point, you remind yourself, as you grasp the bouquet of flowers that you’ve gotten for Mrs. Kim, the bottle of whiskey that you’ve bought Mr. Kim, and the boxes of chocolate for Eon-jin and Jeong-gyu, too. You place them in a tote bag, careful not to smush the flowers.

And then you take one last look at the board.

Well, wall.

Once the classroom-sized rolling whiteboard filled up with more details on the entire family tree, you had to move everything to the long wall of your apartment. Almost every corner is filled with more sticky notes, more index cards, more push pins, and more strings tying them together. The hospital that baby Byung-ho was born in happens to be the same hospital that Taehyung was born in. Byung-ho weighed in at an average 7 pounds, 6 ounces. Taehyung, a little premature, weighed 7 pounds, 2.

“You can do it,” you remind yourself. “It’s getting easier by the day.”

As you pull your rental car onto the highway, you run through more of the facts that you’ve collected. Mr. Kim’s love of badminton. Auntie Binna’s preference for over-spritzing floral perfume. Grandfather Dal’s tendency to tell the same story over and over again. Mrs. Kim’s love of all things blue.

You hope the dress you bought, and the bluebonnet bouquet in the tote next to you, are the right shades.

They certainly seem to match the big 1, 0, and 0 balloons hanging behind a precious, traditionally dressed Byung-ho, sitting on the table, everyone gathered around, chatting, eating, laughing, and snapping pictures as he blinks and stares at the pandemonium.

“You look beautiful,” Taehyung whispers in your ear, as he guides you to the main room of the gigantic farmhouse.

You blink and stare the same way Byung-ho does, heart like a hummingbird in your chest, as people start to turn and notice you.

“Hey, everyone!” Taehyung calls. You start to blush. You hadn’t thought you’d be introduced to everyone at once. “This is Kitt.” He turns to you. “Kitt, this is… well, everyone.”

They grin at you, a sea of almost frantically smiling faces that all kind of look alike.

And then the introductions begin.

“We’ve been waiting for our Taehyungie to finally bring a girl home!”

“You are just so gorgeous! I love that hairstyle!”

“Aren’t you just so sweet?”

“How come you haven’t been to family dinner yet? Taehyungie’s been raving about you!”

“Did Tae-Tae tell you that my favorite color was blue?” Mrs. Kim asks, taking a huge whiff of your bouquet.

You grin and shrug. “Good surprise,” you reply, as Taehyung beams at you, hugging you to his side proudly. Your eyes fall to your tote bag. “Oh!” you exclaim. “And these are for you.” You hand Mr. Kim his bottle of whiskey, and Eon-jin and Jeong-gyu their chocolates.

“My favorite!” Mr. Kim cheers. “Thanks! Wow. We need to break this open now. Let me get the guys.”

“Not the whole bottle!” Mrs. Kim calls out after her husband, who shoos her off.

“Thanks,” Jeong-gyu says shyly, holding up his chocolates before scampering off to join his same-aged cousins.

“Yeah, thanks,” Eon-jin replies, a little flatter, “but I’m kind of on a diet right now.”

“A diet?” you ask.

“Yeah, what are you, a parrot?” Eon-jin asks.

You blush even deeper, and Taehyung shakes his head. “Eonnie, c’mon,” he replies.

She shrugs and smiles brightly at her brother. “What? She’s gonna have to be open to a little ribbing if she’s going to be part of this family.” She eyes your midsection. “Speaking of ribbing.” And then she smirks as she slinks off to join more family members, holding up the chocolates and looking back at you before laughing along with them.

Taehyung turns to you. “Don’t mind her,” he tells you. “She’s kind of going through, like, a thing right now.”

“I don’t think she is,” you mutter, the rage starting to replace the embarrassment.

Taehyung smirks. “Perceptive.” And then he grabs your hand. “That’s what you really need to be to be able to join this family.”

If only Taehyung knew. It’s a good thing you have that in spades.

You smile shyly, and Taehyung leads you over to Eon-jin’s group to introduce you.

When Auntie Binna wraps her arms around you, you already know to hold your breath. “You’re such a plump little thing!” she coos, pinching at your more wobbly bits. “So glad that you’re here. All of the kids are so frail and weak.”

“C’mon, Eomma,” Ari sighs.

You’re astounded by Auntie Binna’s disdain for Ari, given that her daughter’s face is plastered all over magazines around the world.

“It’s true!” Auntie Binna exclaims. “Real women have curves.” She pats her own belly three times and raises her eyebrows. “I would know.”

“I think all people who call themselves women are real women,” you say simply, unable to keep it from slipping through.

Eon-jin smirks.

“Very true,” Ari replies, grinning at you.

Auntie Binna scowls at you, before smiling brightly. “And progressive, too! We’ve got another educated one in our midst.” She turns to Chae-Yeong at the end of the table and calls her over. “Come meet Kitt!”

Chae-Yeong stands from her seat and heads toward you, her polished business smile matching the ones you see every day at work.

She extends her hand.

“Chae-Yeong,” you reply warmly. “Nice to meet you.”

She startles and takes a step back, making Taehyung, and the rest of the group, exchange weird glances.

“I work for Bang Si-hyuk,” you offer, hoping that will suffice.

Her eyes widen. “Ah, yes!” she exclaims. She leans into you. “So… you’ve heard of me?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, and technically truthfully.

“Nice,” Chae-Yeong whispers to herself. She takes a look at your nails. “Love that red!”

“And love that lob,” Ari replies, leaning into you and smiling.

Baby Byung-ho seems to love the lob, too, as he grabs your neat, straight locks and tugs a little, giggling happily.

“Happy Baek-il, baby Byung-ho,” you whisper to him, bouncing him in your arms.

“Thank you for this thoughtful gift,” Yoo-Jung sighs, holding your card.

The two of you watch as Taehyung takes a shot of whiskey with his brother, cousins, uncles, and father at the far end of the table. Taehyung winces and can’t finish the shot, and the others tease him mercilessly.

“Thanks for letting me join in,” you say, playing with Byung-ho’s tiny fist. He grabs your index finger, and you wave it around, making him laugh.

“Y’know, you’re such a natural,” Yoo-Jung replies, beaming at you with Taehyung’s smile.

You cringe at the term.

“Byung-ho’s an easy baby to entertain,” you reply.

“No, I mean with Tae.”

You turn to face Yoo-Jung head on, and she grins at your surprise.

“He’s always found interesting girls, nice girls, fun girls, y’know,” she goes on, “but never anyone with substance.”

“Substance?” you ask.

“What are you, a parrot?” Yoo-Jung jokes.

Your lips curl into a polite smile.

“Yes, substance,” she says encouragingly. “Someone with kindness. Someone who’s not afraid to open up and be vulnerable.”

“And how do you know that’s what I’m doing?” you ask, looking down at baby Byung-ho, who has spit bubbles at his lips.

“I mean… you’re here,” Yoo-Jung replies. “Most of the other girls wouldn’t even spend the night with him.” She flushes and adds, “Sorry if that’s weird. He just… tells me things.”

You soften and nod. “No, it’s OK. I knew that.” A smile finds its way to your face. “And I’m glad he has had someone to talk to about it. How he hates being the bad guy.”

“He’s never, ever the bad guy,” Yoo-Jung emphasizes, grinning at you.

You smile back.

She’s absolutely right.

Another couple of laps, and you find yourself listening to Grandfather Dal spinning a yarn of his own.

“Back in my day, couples didn’t live together until they got married,” he says.

“Oh, well, we don’t actually live together,” Taehyung replies. “We’re just neighbors.” He looks at you and grins. “I haven’t even seen her apartment.”

“Ah, that’s good,” Grandfather Dal nods, and you smile appreciatively for his unanticipated assist. “A man shouldn’t be alone with a woman in her dwelling until they get married.”

“Lots of talk about marriage,” you observe.

“Well, marriage is the ultimate goal of this union, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing a finger at the two of you.

“Of course it is,” Taehyung replies, glancing at you. “We’ve… well, we’ve kinda talked about it.”

You smile tensely.

“We both agree that we want this to go somewhere long-term,” Taehyung carries on, smiling back at his grandfather.

“You met on the computer, though, didn’t you?” Grandfather Dal asks. He mimes typing. “Writing letters of some sort?”

“Essentially,” you agree.

“Well, that’s not much different than back in my day, I suppose,” Grandfather Dal submits. “We just used to send our letters through the mail. The real mail, not the e-mail!”

He chuckles at his joke, and you and Taehyung share a fond look.

“Did I tell you that I used to write your late grandmother love letters?” Grandfather Dal asks Taehyung.

“Yes,” he answers.

“I did?” Grandfather Dal asks.

“You even showed me a few of them. They were beautiful.” Taehyung searches his memory and brightens when he’s found a gem. “Being apart from you is like losing a sense. Losing a limb. Losing a part of me that I need to survive. Being apart from you is like losing myself. I never want to be apart from you this long, ever again.”

Grandfather Dal sighs happily. “You shouldn’t have quoted that line.” He looks at you. “Now you can’t use it on her.”

You chuckle, and Grandfather Dal nods.

“You kind of remind me of her, y’know?”

Your lungs start to stutter, and your heart feels like it’s being squeezed slightly.

“So kind and easy,” Grandfather Dal explains. “A seamless fit. Right into my family. RIght into my home. And right into my heart.”

He taps his chest, and you feel like you’ll combust.

“Then again, back in my day, couples didn’t live together until they got married,” he says. “You two thinkin’ about getting married?”

As Taehyung runs through the conversation again, you smile tightly and wonder.

Can you keep this up?

The question hurts to think about, but the fresh air is helping. You take in the acres of land that the Kims have put their stamp on. The stables. The crops. The hills in the distance. So much beauty. Yet it feels so empty.

“It’s a lot, right?”

You turn and see Eon-jin leaning by the back door, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Uh…”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re all adults here.”

“Are we?” you ask.

Eon-jin widens her eyes and flaps her wings. “Squaaawk! ‘Are we’?”

You start to head back inside, but she laughs and places her hand on your chest to keep you from leaving.

“Relax. I’m kidding.”

You stare at her and start thinking of all the ways you could shut her up. A punch would be fun. It’s been a while since you’ve punched anybody. You wonder if that guy from the train station still has his post-Clue shiv.

“Look, I’m just being protective,” Eon-jin says.

She offers the cigarette to you, but you shake your head. You’ve had enough of the clouds of smoke that you have to walk through at the end of every work day.

Eon-jin shrugs and leans back against the wall.

“You’ve no doubt heard about Taehyung’s unlucky streak with women, right?”

You nod. “Sure. I wouldn’t call it that, though.”

“What would you call it?” Eon-jin’s eyes rove over you like Taehyung’s do, but without the extended kindness or interest.

“I’d call it dating in the trash heap that we call our city,” you reply.

“Mmm. So what does that make you?”

You roll your eyes.

“You wanna test me? Fine. Screen away. Ask your clever little questions. Make your clever little quips. Call me trash. But if the sole aspect of living there makes you trash, then what does that make Tae?”

Eon-jin grins. “A spark. I like that. The others didn’t have that.”

“Oh?” you ask. “And how do you know?”

She giggles. “I have his profile login.”

You freeze in place. “You… you what?”

“I have his profile login. I saw your profile.”

She throws her cigarette into the ground and stomps it out.

“Taehyung didn’t know shit about dating apps,” Eon-jin explains, “so I helped him make his profile. He talked, and I typed. I carefully curated those pictures. And I saw that he matched with you. Zero miles away. Months into living in that apartment. Months after being neighbors with you.”

She narrows her eyes and stares you down.

“You just joined a few weeks ago?”

“Months,” you parrot, to her chagrin.

But then Eon-jin smirks. “Technically,” she replies. “In fact, I noticed that about all your answers. Very… technical.”

You fold your arms. “Go ahead. Say what you want.”

“Nothing to say,” Eon-jin replies. “Yet.” She glares at you. “But believe me. I call things how I see them. And if I ever have anything to say, I’ll share it.”

“Good. I’ll be glad to hear it.”

You march back into the house.

You successfully memorized the entire family tree.

You didn’t know it’d be working in concert against you.

“You were a hit tonight,” Taehyung tells you.

“Sure was.” You smile at him. “Glad I could collect my reward on the same day.”

Taehyung watches you fondly as he lets you wander his old room. It has been updated and turned into a guest room, but his parents have kept accolades and trophies on the walls and shelves. His college degree. His solo and ensemble plaques are lined up neatly on the wall, boasting perfect scores for ten years straight. His soccer jersey is framed and hanging on the wall.

“Number 69,” you smirk. “Noice.”

Taehyung laughs. “Hell yeah.” He wraps his arms around your waist from behind you and presses a kiss onto your shoulder. “I should show you how good I am.”

“Mmhmm.”

You wrestle him off playfully and continue wandering. More factoids to collect. More details to sprinkle into your conversations.

“Black and white movies?” you ask, perusing his old DVD collection.

Taehyung sits on his bed and shrugs. “I like classics. They just seem more honest somehow.”

You nod and steer clear of those DVDs.

You find an old yearbook.

“Ooh, what’s this?” you tease, sitting on the bed with him and fighting him off as he desperately tries to keep you from finding his picture.

A dweeby looking teen, Taehyung smiles hopelessly at the camera, his boxy grin unsure of exactly where to look. His hair is a little greasy, which may explain the kindness he extends to you on a regular basis. And his face is full of pimples, which you know plenty about. But his eyes are still so genuine and kind, and you can’t help but smile happily back at that picture.

When you look back up at Taehyung, he’s grinning, so touched that you genuinely smiled back.

“Are you still friends with anyone you went to high school with?” you ask.

“No,” he replies. “Everything kinda fell away.” He purses his lips and looks at you carefully. “What about you?”

“Nah,” you say. You hold up the yearbook, palming it and raising it with no effort. It might as well be the meeting minutes from one of Si-hyuk’s meetings. “My school was way bigger than yours.”

Taehyung takes the yearbook from your hand before it can do anymore damage.

“Did you go to school with Yoongi?” Taehyung asks.

You soften. “No, Tae,” you say quietly. “We’re just friends from work.”

Taehyung nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“He was the one who convinced me to start a profile, actually,” you say encouragingly. “He helped me through some of the steps.” You smile. “He told me that he really wants this to work.” Nevermind that it was a warning, you think.

Taehyung brightens. “Eon-jin did the same thing,” he replies. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” you say honestly.

Taehyung smiles and pulls you in. “Well, if I had met you back then, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“Predicament?” you ask.

“Are you a parrot?” Taehyung laughs, and you nudge him in the ribs. “Situation. Agreement.”

“Relationship?” you ask hopefully.

Taehyung smiles and nods. “Yes. Relationship.”

You hadn’t talked about it. Not in any official capacity. And you giving him the room means so much more than you’ll ever know.

“Anyway,” Taehyung goes on, “if I had met you in high school, I would have asked you to marry me on the same day as graduation.”

“Really?” you ask, laughing.

“Absolutely,” Taehyung replies. “We would’ve grown up together. Known each other.” He smiles. “I would’ve seen your room by then.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t we presumptive?”

Taehyung takes your hands in his. “And we would’ve been inseparable. Like each other’s limbs.”

You take a deep breath. And Taehyung knows it’s because you’re finding it hard to breathe.

“Sorry,” he says, weakening his grip. “I tend to get carried away.”

You wish you could replay for him all the fanciful conversations and situations you’d had with him, too. Especially the one where he kissed you goodbye in the morning, instead of settling for kissing your door at night.

“I do, too,” you say. Truthfully honestly.

He smiles and kisses you, and you kiss him back in earnest. Probably the most earnest you’ve been with him so far.

“What else would we have done if we met in high school?” you giggle, as his hand runs down your leg.

“Well,” he replies, nibbling on your neck, “we would’ve gone on dates. Milkshakes with two straws.”

“Milkshakes with one,” you correct.

He pulls one of your heels off your foot and lets it fall to the floor.

“Intimate,” he notes. “You would’ve come to my concerts and games. Cheered me on.”

“And you would’ve joined me for my weekly movie nights,” you add.

“If I could bring those DVDs.”

“Sure.”

You were so busy reveling in your other leg being thoroughly teased that when you hear the other shoe, you startle a bit. You didn’t know it was about to drop.

“We would’ve never needed these profiles,” he repeats. “Never needed these tests or dates with other people. We would’ve just talked it out. Made up our own inside jokes. Made up our own language.”

He pulls you into a kiss.

“Limbs,” he tells you.

“Limbs,” you parrot back.

He pulls you into another kiss, and you feel his hands reaching behind you for your dress’s zipper. As he drags it down, you make quick work of his buttons, freeing him from his shirt, and opening his fly.

You lie back on his bed, and he pulls the dress down and off of you, letting it crumple next to your heels. His jeans join them, and then his shirt, and then his boxers, as you wriggle out of the blue lace panties and matching bra that you had bought. The dress may have been for Mrs. Kim, but these were for Taehyung’s eyes only.

“Wait,” he whispers, bringing your bra strap up and onto your shoulder again. “Keep this on for a sec.”

You smile. “God knows I need the support,” you reply. “Every time you fuck me, I feel like these are going to bounce right off.”

He laughs. “I can go slower. Easier.”

You pull him into a kiss of your own, biting his bottom lip and pulling it away from his teeth before letting it rebound back.

He stares at you with fire in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper.

He growls and starts to prep you, hand pulling your panties all the way off before his fingers work at you, warming you up. He’s getting faster at it as he gets to know you. You wonder how he catalogs your little factoids. What system he uses to tie everything together.

“Already wet,” he mutters with fascination.

“Because it’s you,” you whisper.

He grunts and sits up.

“C’mere. Want you to sit on my cock.”

You straddle him, and you slide so easily down him that it’s almost as if you no longer need any additional prep than just seeing him. The way you fit around him, pussy clenching as you rise and fall. The way your tits look in that bra, and how he just has to nestle into your bosom, playing with the fabric and pulling them down, alternately sucking at your nipples. When he bites down, you’d scream, if it weren’t for the crowd of people downstairs. Nearly 100 people for 100 days.

“Play fair,” you gasp, grabbing his hair and eyeing him warningly.

“You,” he chuckles, as he grabs your ass in response. “Wearing this bra like you didn’t know what it would do to me.”

You let out a cry when he starts to separate your cheeks, a finger teasing entrancingly behind you. “God,” he sighs. “Prepped. Shaved. Fuck.” And then his hand slots into the crevice, stimulating you there, while the other hand comes to your front, never ignoring your most precious source of sensations.

“Fuck,” you echo with each collision, “fuck, fuck”.

He mumbles against your breasts, a mix of whines and whimpers, words failing him at how good you feel.

When you come, you clench even tighter around him, making him start to shudder. His hands start to slack, and you know you’ve got him close.

But then he lifts you up and places you down on the mattress, freeing you of your bra and tossing it to the side.

“I thought you liked it,” you tease, panting.

“I do,” he moans, kissing up your body. “I like this better. Give me one more before we have to leave.”

He waits for you to catch your breath, nestling between your breasts for a moment before straightening, kissing you on his way up, and then sliding into you again, slowly inching forward, and then thrusting back, your beautiful cunt making him dizzier the more time he spends inside of it. His torso starts to sway as you work against him, meeting each pump with a pump of your own, skin clapping, and then slapping, the only sound louder the crowd laughing below you.

“His lips try to find a hold of yours, and when your lips finally do meet, twisting and pulling, the skin there nearly chapped, tongues nearly wagging and hanging dry, you resort to biting instead, nibbles that bring the wetness you crave.

He hits a particularly strong stroke, and you both whine, heads nearly knocking together as you look down to witness it. The sight of him slowly pulling out of you, and then slamming back in, makes you both shiver.

“God, it’s so good,” he whispers, reaching for your cheek, his thumb running over the apple, fingers pinching a little. “You ever have it like this?”

“No,” you admit.

“M-me neither,” he tells you. “So different.”

You know what he means. It’s different because it isn’t just about the way fucking him makes the room spin, the gold of his trophies mixing with the gray blur of his DVDs, or your heels, or his hair against his white walls. It’s different because it isn’t just about the way your body shakes, sweat pouring into his sheets when you come time and time again. It’s different because it isn’t just about the way his incredibly strong frame somehow always makes you feel safe enough to lose complete control.

It’s about the way he watches you. His eyes make you feel safe in a different way than his body does. Like, despite all the pretense, he sees you. Like, despite what he knows for sure about you, he’ll care just as much about the stuff that he doesn’t. Like you could confess now, and it wouldn’t matter.

You plunge into another blanket of warm passion, heat rising from your twisted core to your frazzled mind, hoping that whatever you’re mumbling isn’t that confession just yet.

“You come so good for me,” he whines.

“Made for you,” you agree, as you fall apart, your words starting to hold more than just the glimmer of truth.

You shut your mouth to keep from saying more, but Taehyung is drawing it out of you with each movement. Each stroke. Each caress. Each low whisper in awe at how your body feels. How your mind works.

For instance, how you’re rolling over again, ass pressed against his chest as he lowers himself to kiss and fondle you there.

“Wait,” you sigh, reaching back for him.

“Let me taste,” he pleads, and your heart nearly thumps out of your chest.

His tongue swipes you there, making you buck forward and gasp. He reigns you in, and his tongue swirls so mesmerizingly. One hand palms your ass. The other reaches in front.

And after a tickling orgasm inches up your spine, he slaps you playfully, making you chuckle as he lines up to slide into you. You had no idea you were sexually sensitive there, and now you’re buzzing not just with pleasure, but with the thought of all the things you’ll want to try next. You can’t believe all the things that Taehyung can show you without even knowing your real name.

You’d already come for him so many times, but Taehyung’s voice is already lulling you into the next explosion. “Arch back for me. Turn like this. Wanna see you.”

You do, and you twist, the heat at your flesh swirling up your sides, permeating through your rib cage, raising sweat and goosebumps on the back of your neck. Taehyung holds you in front of him, hand running up your corkscrewed body, fingers grazing your skin until he finds your right breast and latches on. He pumps methodically into you, his own back arching away, your two bodies forming a wide V against each other.

“With you bent like that,” he pants. “Gonna… shit, I don’t think I can last.”

“Come for me,” you sigh, reaching for his forearm and grasping tightly, a lifeline of cord and muscle to keep you afloat. “Want it.”

“Inside? Again?” he asks desperately.

You nod, and he grunts excitedly, pumping faster, but shorter, edging his crown deeper and deeper into you.

You toss your hair to the side and look back at him. His wild smile tells you that this is exactly what he wanted. To see you in all your warped glory, the lines you’re forming like those of a dancer’s, an elegant and beautiful celebration of the human form.

When you come this time, you wonder if you look more like a shell of a human, threatening to break open and show that there’s nothing inside.

Taehyung chokes down the cry that threatens to give you both away. There’s no lock on the door. Anyone could come in at any time. A concept you’re not very used to.

“Come for me,” you coo, almost pleading. You need to get out of there. You need to get home.

“Gonna,” Taehyung cries, pained. Tense. “Fuck, I’m gonna come so hard.”

You dig your nails into his skin, and he can’t keep the yelp at bay. He moves even faster and more precisely, waking your clit again with his hand and making you shiver.

“Come with me,” Taehyung whispers, though you sense that you’re too overstimulated to be able to do as he says this time.

“Want it for you,” you plead, your hand leaving his arm and grasping the hand working at your sticky flesh.

“Mmm, but you clench so good when you do,” he reasons, his other hand starting to grope your left breast.

Your collarbones meet the mattress, though you work hard to keep level for him through the shivers that he’s sending you. And then, suddenly, something snaps, and your body falls apart. There is no you and Taehyung anymore. There are just parts. Just limbs. Limbs starting to wind together and pair off. Limbs being peppered with soft kisses and little love bites of appreciation, and fascination, and warmth. Limbs softly landing on the sheets, muscles spent and aching in the best way.

You watch as Taehyung rolls you over and finds his favorite spot, nestled on top of you, right ear pressed against your heart. He smiles when he hears how fast it’s beating, and grins when comparing it to how slowly his cum is leaking out of your tight pussy. You both sway your hips to revel in the bath a little, Taehyung’s strong hand stroking your thigh, still tight from trying to stay perfect for him, and shaking from the fatigue.

Sensing a break in the illusion, you start to rise from the bed.

He turns his head, resting his chin a few inches above your navel. The mix of his dilated pupils and his tired eyes show you how vulnerable he really is with you. He sighs and strokes your arms.

“Wait,” Taehyung replies. “Just… lie here with me.”

You lie back down and stroke his hair, fingers getting stuck in the knots that his sweat has helped to create.

“Never had it like that,” you reassure him. “Not gonna go anywhere soon. If you still want me around.”

Taehyung chuckles and closes his eyes, resettling his temple just under your chin, ear right over your heart. “If I still want you around?” he asks, furrowing his brow a little.

Your breath catches on your ribs when you hear him parrot you for a change. And then you realize that talking like that results in such incredulity. Here you are. Mere months into this thing. Already so eager to transform yourself into something a little more familiar, just to ensure that today is a success. Spending the day at his parents’ house. Meeting almost all of his closest family members. Dodging jabs like a pro. Winning people over with kindness. Patiently nodding and smiling when questions of marriage are posed to you, as if they aren’t some threat. Lying here, after just having fucked so intimately in his childhood bedroom. Choosing to stay when he asks. And you’re still bandying about words like “if”.

“Play fair,” Taehyung remembers you saying, his voice drowsily dripping out of him. “I’ll tell you what’s unfair,” he adds, his hands still delicately tracing your glowing body. “You’ve seen two of my rooms, and I still haven’t seen one of yours.”

As you drive back, later that night, Taehyung asleep in your rental car’s passenger seat instead of on his usual train home, you catch a glimpse of your frowning, bloated, potato-y face in the mirror, ill-framed by the haircut that you should have never gotten in the first place.

#bts fanfiction #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #bts smut #kim taehyung #taehyung angst

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princecharmingwinks · 4 years

Text

Sterek Fic Rec - January 2021. My goodness can’t believe we are already halfway through the first month of a new year. But here we are! Here’s to another list of recommended fics. Enjoy!

Catch us in the mirror (it looks a lot like love) by Tails89 (1/1 | 4,691 | Mature)

“You’re lucky to have found a mate like Stiles.”

“Mm,” Derek nods, eyes following Stiles back towards the house. The words sink in and he freezes, mind frantically replaying every interaction he’s had with Stiles over the last few days, wondering how they could have possibly given her that impression.

Stiles is- he’s Stiles. He’s funny and smart and kind and— they’re not mates, no matter how much Derek might wish otherwise.

Hear me say I love you by devilscut (1/1 | 5,735 | Explicit)

Derek is finally giving Stiles the 'D' or rather the 'Double D' (Derek's Dick) as he likes to call it and sexing him up real good, like so, so beyond good. Only lately - and he'd never thought he'd say this - Stiles has noticed that it's starting to not be enough. Is their new arrangement purely physical or does it mean more to Derek as well? How can Stiles tell when the wolf isn't talking and he's saying way too much?

just my type by sterekhale (1/1 | 8,884 | Explicit)

After another failed date, Stiles' friend sets him up with her co-worker, who she swears is "his type".

Just Maybe I'll Come Home by spaceprincessem (1/1 | 25,589 | Teen)

“Now remember,” Deaton said as he stood in front of them, “everything that you’re seeing is an illusion. Stiles is the only true thing in there and you need to help him realize that what he is experiencing isn’t real.”

Derek nodded his head, words failing him. He let himself relax back into the fabric, the feel of Scott’s claws making his hair stand on end. For Stiles. He repeated over and over again in his mind, ignoring the ache in his chest, because he definitely did not have time to think about that right now. He could feel Scott’s hesitation, the hammering of the younger alpha’s heart beat making Derek’s head spin.

“Scott!” He barked before he growled in pain as claws met flesh and Derek’s world went black.

of twizzlers and tech support by bleep0bleep (1/1 | 1,161 | General)

WHERE IS THE FIC WHERE STILES CALLS TECH SUPPORT ON HIS FIRST DAY BUT GETS THE MAINLINE FOR JUNIOR VP DEREK HALE AND DEREK JUST IS HELPFUL

AND STILES JUST CALLS BACK

WHENEVER

HE CAN’T PRINT OR WHATEVS. SO DEREK IS LOADING PAPER DOWN ON THE 28TH FLOOR WHEN HE SHOULD BE ON 49TH IN A MEETING WITH HIS SISTERS

Some of us are human by aconitum (sugarandspace) (1/1 | 2,446 | Not Rated)

While researching the newest threat with Stiles, Derek comes across a box under Stiles' bed. The box has the words "open when I'm dead" written on it and for a moment Derek forgets how to breathe.

Not your circus: not your monkey by Jmeelee (1/1 | 2,535 | General)

It started the year Stiles’ mom forced him to perform onstage at the Polish Community Center, and Derek Hale threatened to rip Jackson Whittmore’s throat out with his teeth.

Things You Said Too Quietly by sparkandwolf (thatnerdemilyj) (1/1 | 1,107 | General)

Sometimes, Stiles wouldn’t hear Derek. His mind too focused on the plans being formed, the arguments being yelled, the shouts that weren’t so easily discernible through the background noise of growls and huffs. He’d look around at the pack, trying to focus on one voice, figure out what their next move was, and somehow his eyes always landed on Derek.

Espresso Yourself by fuchs (1/1 | 2,995 | Not Rated)

There’s a clatter and Stiles looks over the girl’s shoulder to find a guy standing behind her. He’s wearing an apron, dark to match the rest of the shop, darker still all down the middle where there’s a coffee stain spreading rapidly. He's staring at Stiles with wide blue-green eyes, and when Stiles meets his gaze he opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and then turns tail and disappears into what Stiles assumes is the kitchen.

Which is a little weird.

It’s not exactly the first time anyone has purposefully avoided him, but Stiles usually knows those people and they usually have a good excuse. This guy? Stiles doesn’t recognise this guy from Adam. Although he certainly wouldn’t mind roleplaying Steve.

A self-indulgent coffeeshop au turned into Laura/Stiles bromance turned into prom fic.

Not Until The Third Date by kaistrex (weishen) (1/1 | 1,149 | General)

Derek knows he must be hallucinating as he stares, bleary-eyed, down at a little fox trying to steal his bag of chips in the middle of the snacks aisle of the grocery store.

“Batman! What's taking so—?”

Derek’s head snaps up to stare at the owner of the voice who's just rounded the end of the aisle, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man pushing a cart towards him.

The man rests his elbows on the handle of his shopping cart, the quirk of a smile lending warmth to eyes not as dark as Derek had first thought. “You must be Derek Hale.”

Or in which Stiles has a fox familiar named Batman who likes to meddle.

princecharmingwinks special mentions (the Hale family feels in this fic are incredible!!)

I want to love you, I want to pass it on (I wanna give and give 'til it's all gone) by Gorgeousgreymatter (1/1 | 8,859 | Explicit)

“Good,” Derek murmurs, “because you’re going to do something for me.” The wolf grins, pulls away, and Stiles whines needily because somehow he always ends up being the needy one. Which isn’t fair, at all, but he can’t help it, okay?

“I thought we went over the whole asking questions thing,” Stiles says. “Question marks, Derek. Question marks.”

“Ha ha,” Derek says, nosing into Stiles’s cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s not a hard thing. And you’ll even like it, I promise.”

“Is it a sex thing?” Stiles asks, “because it’s starting to sound like a sex thing.”

And there we have it. Another rec list done. Please remember to leave kudos and comments for our fabulous writers. Writers you make my world a brighter place and I love you! <3

#Sterek #fanfiction #fic rec #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminglists

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ms-demeanor · 5 years

Text

You know what’s funny is whenever I make a tech post I get people going “this is blatantly untrue” and I get people going “this is really good information and everyone needs to know it” and the dividing line is how much time you spend with people who are tech literate.

Yep, I would tell my computer savvy friends where they could get keycaps and fix their keyboards; I don’t even have to bother telling my computer savvy friends how to run a fifteen year old laptop because we’re all pretty good at it.

But GODDAMN I just read a response to my “cheap computer season” post that claimed that it was totally reasonable to run a macbook from 2010 and

Look.

That’s not a reasonable thing to tell a student who needs a functional computer to do research and write papers. (have fun trying to find installation discs from when the OS was still named after cats and have fun trying to get a browser to get along with that OS)

You know why most people bring me laptops with missing keys? Because the key got ripped off by their two-year-old and damaged the soldering in the keyboard and I have no idea it’s going to be “oh, yeah, that’s a ten dollar fix” or “sorry, that’s going to be an hour and a half to disassemble and reassemble and we’ll have to order you a new keyboard specific to that model out of new old stock” and the thing is the second one is much, much, much more common in my experience than the first.

Do I think you need to replace a laptop when the bezel is cracked? No. I also don’t carry my laptop powered on in the bag with a flashdrive sticking out of the USB port. Customers do weird things that I don’t understand and when a customer tells me they want me to fix the bezel they think it’s a twenty-dollar snap-on repair because they have no idea how this works and then they get mad at me when I explain “no, you’ve gotta have this specific piece of plastic, these haven’t been made in five years, and you might be better off buying a used model online than trying to track down a new bezel.”

So here’s the thing: Can Macs get viruses?

There are three answers here.

“No, of course not, Macs are made to be virus-proof”

“Macs need antivirus protection because, while it is less common than infections for PCs, there are types of malware that can infect macs and it’s worthwhile to guard against that”

“tEcHnIcAlLy a virus has to be self-replicating and IOS’s file management system [or some other bullshit] prevents that so TECHNICALLY Macs can’t get viruses and what you need is anti-malware software if you need anything because you’re fairly likely to have security through obscurity”

I’m aware of the third position and voicing the second position to people who believe the first position.

YES TECHNICALLY YOU CAN KEEP A COMPUTER RUNNING INDEFINITELY AND YES IT’S TOTALLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAPTOP WILL LAST TEN YEARS.

“Well if you treat it right and run it well it’ll be in great shape for a long time”

YES THAT IS CORRECT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WHO DON’T WORK ON THEIR OWN CARS DRIVE AROUND WITH THE OIL CHANGE LIGHT ON FOR MONTHS?!?

Tons of people in the world today use computers. They use computers every day, they use computers at home and at school and at work.

Tons of people drive every day. They use cars for fun and for commuting and for their jobs.

That doesn’t mean that all (or even most, or even half) of the people using these things is any good at keeping them running, or even has the barest idea of how to start tracking down a problem.

Someone in the notes of that post described a green line on their screen and thought that was a symptom of hard drive problems. I don’t have the hours in the day to catch this person up to speed on why a display issue on a laptop isn’t indicative of hard drive issues.

Do you know how much people think it’s going to cost to get data off of a broken drive? Not “won’t power up” not “won’t spin” but “I dropped this and part fell off and now it won’t power up or spin and also the platter is chipped”? I’m going to have to send that shit to a clean room and the customer is *staggered* that it might cost more than a hundred dollars to get their data. “Outrageous, what kind of blackmail operation are you trying to run here, just plug it in and get my pictures.”

A year or so ago I was at Jiffy Lube (ew). I’d been shooting the shit with the mechanic when a parent and child rolled in in a panic. And they should have been panicking! They’d thrown a fucking rod because they’d been driving with no oil in the car for god knows how long because neither of them had had the oil changed in the two years they’d owned the vehicle.

*I* can keep a 30-year-old car running. I can put a belt back on an engine in a dark parking lot with a wrench and a headlamp. I can drop a gas tank and replace my fuel filter and thumb my nose at the mechanics who tried to upsell me on “replacing your old, worn-out air filter” the day after I’d popped a new one into my truck.

These folks couldn’t keep a new car running with three alarms telling them what was wrong.

*I* can power up my 2005 macbook running Leopard and use garage band to record a song or do some design work on my copy of Adobe CS3; I can kludge its FF3.5 browser into playing nice with the internet and accept that it’s going to be a slow piece of shit.

The lady who called me confused by the fact that the password to her email was different than the login information for her grocery store rewards account will not be able to function if she gets a pop-up that says she’s using an outdated browser and will think it’s a virus if her bank won’t let her log in on that browser.

And you know what, I’m kind of sick of this attitude.

I would *fucking adore it* if computers were actually easy to repair; I’d love it if you could run new OSs on old hardware (especially on macs because I think apple are kind of shitheads about planned obsolescence).

But you know what, no, most people *CAN’T* reasonably expect to use a ten-year-old computer and have pleasant experience of it. It’s going to run slow. It’s going to shut down when they don’t want it to. The battery is going to swell slightly with the heat and your touchpad is going to go nuts. Your USB ports will stop working. Standard wear and tear that most people don’t know how to protect against and don’t know how to repair is going to make it harder to use AND software requirements will outstrip the hardware capabilities of the computer.

If your old computer sucks it’s not your fault. If you can’t happily use a 10-year-old laptop to do your homework that’s okay, it wasn’t designed for you to use it that way and YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.

Because that’s kind of what a lot of these “well anybody should realistically be able to run a laptop from 2010″ responses comes down to: if you need new hardware you’re just not doing it right. If you have to replace your computer you didn’t make good choices when you bought it. If your battery dies it’s because you didn’t take care of it.

No. No. No. No.

This shit is A) designed to fail and B) actually really hard to keep running (hey how many blown capacitors do you think someone has to have on their motherboard before you say it’s not their fault for wanting to replace the laptop)

ALSO SOMEONE IN THE RESPONSES OF THAT POST LITERALLY SAID THAT IF YOUR BATTERY DIED AT THREE YEARS IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T DOING THE DRAIN CHARGE CYCLE RIGHT AND FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s discharge cycles and heat, motherfucker; they are going to fail at some point and people shouldn’t feel bad if their batteries stop working after a couple years.

UGH.

You shouldn’t have to be a mechanic. You shouldn’t have to be a computer technician. Yeah, your shit will last longer if you know how to take care of it but, fuck. Imagine you were still using internet speeds from 2010. Imagine all your devices still had USB 2.0. Imagine you couldn’t log onto your online bank because your hardware won’t run he software that your bank recognizes because the hardware manufacturer decided it won’t support the older hardware.

What I was trying to get across in that initial post was “computers fail, and they fail pretty frequently; your life will be better and you will save money if you plan on replacing them at a regular interval and have reasonable expectations in terms of cost and failure. So buy a cheap computer now because you’re probably going to need one at some point”

And now I’ve got to Do A Yell about how there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism and it’s unreasonable to expect tired, overworked, broke people to become experts in computer repair in order to do their homework or play the goose game.

FUCK THAT.

IT’S CHEAP COMPUTER SEASON MOTHERFUCKERS. LAPTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT THREE TO FIVE YEARS AND DESKTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT FIVE TO SEVEN YEARS. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE DISCOUNTS ON NEW COMPUTERS AND IT’S CHEAP TO GET AN EXTENDED WARRANTY.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER AND WORK ON COMPUTERS IF YOU WANNA AND PLAN TO REPLACE REGULARLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK ON COMPUTERS.

ALSO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING OIL YOU’RE PROBABLY DUE.

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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years

Text

Book Boyfriend a Frankie Morales x Plus Size Reader fic Part two the final

Book Boyfriend

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Plus Size F! Reader

Characters: Frankie Morales, Reader, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, William “Ironhead” Miller, Ben “Benny” Miller, Isabella Morales (OC)

Setting: Two years after the events in Colombia (Triple Frontier)

Rating: R, NSFW

Warnings: Smut, Soft Frankie (yes that has to be a warning), cursing, teasing, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), tooth rotting fluff, mixed with a little hurt/comfort, mention of abuse,

Word count: Part 1: 10,284, Part 2: 16,388 (sorry not sorry, I blame Frankie for the wordiness)

Summary: You’ve been so engrossed in your currant book series its lead to Frankie feeling a little left out.

Notes: This is my first Frankie Morales/Pedro Pascal Fic, so I’m hoping everyone loves it as much as I did writing it. Something a little fluffy I thought of while thinking of my own favorite book boyfriends. Using the translator Systran for my very bad Spanish translations. A grateful thank you to @icanbeyourjedi for helping me out with Frankie’s Dog tags.

Tag list: @manalg14 @songbirdcannabe

From Part 1

Finally, home from running errands and wrangling a very fussy Isabella though you couldn’t blame her really. Exhaustion setting into your very bones from running around town, stopping around noon at a play/girlfriend's date. Talking with the girls as the kids played, laughing over the latest things their men have done and the newest book in the series everyones reading. Heat flared to life at the memory of Frankie from this morning during your talk when things turned towards the more intimate. Though you’d refused to share the details just saying he’s better than any book boyfriend you’ve read. Getting teased by your friends up until the moment you left for the grocery store with a very sleepy little girl in your arms.

Chuckling softly you put Isabella down for another longer nap so you could get the rest of the groceries in from the car. Pulling your cell out to dial Santi’s number putting the slim piece of tech between your shoulder and ear having forgot the buds in your purse. Not wanting to waste time on getting the steaks marinated for tonight, you decided a neck pain would be a better choice for now.

Breathing a sigh when he picks up on the second ring, “What do I owe for this unexpected call?” smooth baritone filtering over the line making you smile.

“I need a favor Pope.”

Chuckling, “Finally came to your senses and dropped Fish for me huh, hermosa?” teasing quality to his voice, you picking up the sounds of water running in the background.

Knowing he’s just playing with you though at one time you’d entertained the idea of asking Santiago out. You never got the nerve up instead one cold beer accidentally poured down your shirt later and here you were with the man of your dreams and his beautiful little girl who you’ve fell in love with. You still chuckle at how sweetly apologetic Frankie had been, cheeks stained red with embarrassment at having spilled his drink over you. Though in reality it almost hadn’t been an accident, as all three guys noticed the way he looked at you. Watching the sway of your generous hips to the music, glancing away when you scanned the bar. Never seeing your own eyes rest on him for longer than normal. Only to dart away and back to your friend on your left.

They plotted, Will trying to talk Pope and Ben out of the stupid idea, but neither would listen, while Frankie took off to the bathroom. Coming back, he’d made a beeline for the bar to grab another mug of beer, taking up the spot right next to you. That’s when Benny tried to strike, sneaking up to Frankie’s left side looking to ask you out himself. Only to be beaten when you turn towards Frankie and he to you, a guy from behind barreling his way through the crowd and into your back. Pushing you forward and into the glass he held. Cold beer pouring down your front as a warm hand pressed against your thick waist to keep you from falling. Your eyes locked and from that moment on you’d been a goner.

“Hello earth to Y/N you still with me woman? Or fantasizing about me,” knowing there’s a grin on his lips by the tone of his voice.

Eyes rolling, as your hands work to finish seasoning the steaks, “Keep dream Pope maybe one day it’ll come true. Through I wouldn’t hold my breath,” snarky comment leaving your lips with a grin tugging the corners. “You busy tonight and tomorrow?”

“Free as a bird, why you have something planned? Party? Or are you finally gonna ask Frankie to marry you?” the last question only a half joke knowing that the man in question wanted to ask that one himself.

Gapping for a moment but finding the idea appealing, “Think he’d be okay with that if I did?” Of course, you’d thought about marrying Frankie. Hell for the last year you wanted to ask or at least hint at it. But not wanting to overstep any boundaries he set up for himself. Never brought up, though you’ve thought about it a few times. Finding yourself for the most part content having them both in your life.

“He’d die, but say yes so I think it’s a go,” smiling at the thought. You fit right in with the boys, giving hell just as much as you got. But most of all helping Frankie through his demons, not shying away when things got tough. Rather suiting up for battle with a determination he hadn’t seen in seasoned soldiers. Not to mention the way you took care of Isabella as if she’s your own daughter. “Remember I’m best man, Will and Benny bridesmaids I’m sure they’ll look good in whatever color you choose.”

Giggling at that idea, “I’ll put them in hot pink dresses, halter tops to show off those muscles,” fully belly laugh roars from your lips at the very through of those two grown men in dresses. Santi’s gruff laughter only serves to spur yours on, making you grip the counter to keep from slipping to the floor in mirth. Sobering, grabbing the towel to dry your laughter tears away, “I’m gonna have to tell them you know that right Pope?”

Snorting, “Of fucking course you would,” wiping his own mirthful tears away. “Anything else you needed to ask me hermosa and please I don’t do flower arrangements. Cake tasting I’m all for.”

Finished with the streaks, setting those aside to grab the potatoes to get them ready next while answering, “So noted but you might have to fight Benny on that one babe.” Pulling the aluminum foil out to wrap up the fork stuck potatoes, “That’s not why I called actually. I’m wondering if you could baby sit Isabella till tomorrow afternoon?”

“That’s a no brainer of course I will, Uncle Santi to the rescue,” looking for the car seat and his keys. “I’ve got her bed set up and extra clothes.”

“No junk food Pope or I’ll skin you alive when I see you tomorrow,” voice taking on a hard mama edge. Already having packed a small bag of items, knowing full well that Santi wouldn’t have them on hand. Nor did you expect the poor inexperience man to know what to feed a two almost three-year-old. “I’ve got her a goodie bag packed with what you’ll need and if anything happens…”

“I’ll call Will and Ben, we’ll figure it out unless it’s an emergency,” placing his buds in to continue the conversation and setting to work on getting the new car seat in place. Double checking the instructions, he would never let anyone know he used, wanting to keep his goddaughter safe. The very idea of her getting hurt knocked the wind from his lungs. Shaking that thought aside, knowing you wouldn’t ask for this favor if you and Frankie didn’t trust him. “Better yet, we can three men and a baby it tonight.”

“Oh, good Lord if my child comes back with a tattoo or piecing and drinking a Budweiser, I will have all three of your cocks mounted on my wall.” Trying to make your voice hard but wanting to bust out laughing again. Almost straining yourself from holding back the giggles.

Fake gasp leaving his lips, “Have some taste woman it’ll be a tequila, if it's Bud blame Frick and Frack for that.” Catching the ‘your child’ comment makes him grin knowing his best friend and Goddaughter are in good hands. “Careful cariño your mama bear is showing.”

“I’ll show you three mama bear when I’ve strung you up by your balls if there is one hair on my precious child’s head missing,” grinning, knowing that you love that little girl with all your heart.

“Damn Y/N I didn’t know you were this blood thirsty or is it a cock and ball fascination? Bigger question does Fish know?” biting back the laughter bubbling up, triumphant look on his handsome face when he’s finished putting the car seat.

Shaking your head small giggle leaving your lips, “Watch yourself Santiago Garcia or you’ll find out just what I keep in my purse.”

“Now you have me intrigued. Thank packing heat in that monster bag of yours?” sliding into the driver seat phone call switching to the onboard Bluetooth. Plucking the earbuds out to stow them while driving. “When did Frankie teach you how to shoot?”

Heat tingling your neck, as you sputter out an answer, “He actually didn’t teach me.”

“What’d mean?” confused frown marring his handsome features as he stops at a red light. Hearing his phone ding for a text message from Frankie, deepening his confusion. “Does Fish know Isabella is staying with me tonight?”

Thanking God for the last question, “No, I didn’t tell him just yet. It’s a surprise. Why?”

“He’s texting me now, asking if I can watch Isabella I bet,” pulling into the nearest gas station to answer. “Shall I tell him?” smirking when he hears the low growl from the other end of the phone. “Take that as a no Bella.”

“I swear on all that’s holy Santiago if you tell Frankie…”

“Yes, yes you’ll have my dick nailed to the wall as a trophy,” rolling his eyes though you can’t. Light chuckle barely sounds when he reads what Frankie texted, “So, violent today Y/N.”

Catfish: Necesita un hermano favorito?

(Need a favorite brother?)

Pope: Nombrarlo

(Name it.)

Not hearing anything for a moment, bottom lip trapped between your teeth standing in the kitchen worried your plan could fall apart. But trusted Santiago, “What’s he asking about Santi?”

“Hasn’t yet, just chill Bella like I said he’s probably asking the same question.” Sure, enough the next text that comes in, has another chuckle leaving his lips.

Catfish: Puedes cuidar hasta mañana?

(Can you babysit till tomorrow?)

Pope: Lo que está en él para mí

(What’s in it for me?)

Knowing Frankie’s groaning at his answer, Santi can’t help but tease his best friend. “I was right he’s asking the same thing you owe me five bucks.”

“Fuck you Pope we didn’t make a bet,” rolling your eyes this time and breathing a sigh of relief. You set to work making the key lime pie for dessert, aiming to get everything ready before Frankie came home from work. Along with a shower and dressed in the new lingerie you bought a week ago.

“Shame I could use the dollar bills,” shaking his head at the stupid code he and Frankie came up with for strip club.

Chuckling, “Next time Pope I know the girls miss you raining them with those bills and sticking them in their G-string.”

“How did…” eyes wide when the phone dinged with another text message.

Catfish: Tiempo con tu ahijada y debía uno. Además, voy a preguntarle esta noche.

(Time with your goddaughter and owed one. Plus, I’m going to ask her tonight.)

Forgetting all about how you knew what that code meant, Santiago let out the loudest yell of excitement. Gaining the attention of a few people pumping gas with ‘you crazy’ looks and also making you worry.

“Pope what’s wrong? You, okay?” genuine fear lacing your tone, holding the phone tighter hand starting to shake. “You didn’t have an accident, did you? Don’t you dare ruin my plans for tonight Santiago Garcia.”

Knowing the last threat means nothing, Santi tries to calm down not wanting to give away that he knows something about Frankie’s plan. “Yeah,” clearing his throat to hide the fact he’s lying. “Yeah, I’m good cariño just found out my team won,” hoping you don’t see through his lie. Something you’re almost scary good at.

Releasing the breath held trapped in your lungs relieved sigh pushed out along with the air. Heart broken if anything happened to him. In a relative short period of time all four men have situated themselves into your heart in different ways. The very idea of loosing them would shattered the strongest muscle in your body. The wise words of your favorite whiskey drinking Hunter comes to mind that family doesn’t end in blood.

“Don’t ever do that again Santiago or might just have to punish you in ways that won’t you won’t like,” leaning against the counter trying to calm your racing heart.

“You wouldn’t cariño you love me too much,” grinning, leaning over to scoop up his cell phone from where it landed in his excitement to answer Frankie.

Pope: Acerca de maldito tiempo hombre, sí, voy a cuidar a mi godhija esta noche para que usted y el pronto para ser esposa puede carajo toda la noche.

(About fucking time man, yes, I'm gonna take care of my goddaughter tonight so you and soon to be a wife can fuck all night.)

Chuckling, Pope places his cell phone on the cup holder and restarts the truck heading first towards Will and Benny’s place. Hearing the groan leave your throat followed by a quick ouch. “Now what’d you do?” hissing coming over the speakers in his truck making him worry this time.

“Just nicked my finger is all Santi I’m not gusting blood or anything. Though I don’t recommend getting lime juice in the cut, hurts like a mother fucker.” Moving to the sink to clean the cut, just one more thing to put you behind in getting things ready.

“Do you kiss Frankie with that mouth woman?” pulling into the drive giving a couple of blasts on the horn.

“On the mouth and other places to Pope,” smirking at the disgusted sound leaving his lips. Bandaging your finger up to get back to work. Hearing a horn sound over the cell line, “You hear alright Pope? I heard you honk over the phone.”

“Picking Will and Ben up then heading over to yours,” seeing the two brothers come out he puts the call on mute to speak with them. Rolling the window down to talk, “Suite up we got ourselves a mission.”

Glancing between each other than back at Pope, “The hell you say man, the game’s on tonight, Ben and I were heading to the Roadhouse to watch and see how many times Benny get’s shot down.”

“Fuck you Ironhead,” punching his brother’s arm, leaning on the mirror hearing your voice muttering something over the truck’s speakers. “Why you talking to Y/N?”

“No thanks man you ain’t my type too many dangly bits for my taste,” snarking back landing his own punch to Ben’s shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, “Y/N called we got babysitting duty tonight, Frankie’s gonna pop the question but neither know of the other’s plans.”

Loud cheers erupt from both men to the point Santi must bang on the side of the truck to get their attention to shut up. Having heard you ask something he goes to unmute, “What did you say Y/N I couldn’t make it out over Frick and Frack’s noises assholes selves.”

Huffing, “I asked if one of you could start a fire for me, Frankie gets weird if he knows I did it myself.”

“That’s cause last time you tried you almost burned the house down woman,” Pope snarked pushing Benny away

Coming back, hitting Pope in the chest, “Of course, gorgeous we’ll take care of that for you,” Benny chimes in leaning into the window so you can hear him.

“Down boy, or you won’t get a slice of the pie I’m making,” chuckling you put the phone down long enough to put said pie in the oven and slam the door making you jump a little.

Playfully putting his hand to his chest, “Marry me Y/N, Frankie doesn’t deserve you.”

Both Pope and Will snort at that, but it’s your sweet voice that answers with, “Sorry sweetheart I’m spoken for by a sweet little girl who you’ll babysit tonight and one handsome flyboy that does some very wicked things with his hands.”

Groaning, “Don’t give us any visions please I’ll need bleach to get Fish’s naked ass outta my head,” shaking to get the images out. Laying his forehead on his arms while leaning against the truck trying to rub that idea out of his mind, having come to love you like a sister. Will didn’t want to know anything about your sex life.

“Aww what’s the matter William you didn’t see enough of it while bunking together on tour?” teasing tone to your voice plopping down in a chair to wait on the pie. “What time will you three Stooges get here?”

Shrugging, “Twenty or thirty minutes give or take, depends on how long it takes the blond wonder twins to pack a go bag.” Santi answers getting murders looks from both men.

“Make sure you ask them their measurements Santi,” biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing harder. “Let them know pink won’t clash with their skin tone.”

The looks only intensify combined with a confusion at your words, “Thanks Annie Oakley.” Groaning head dropping to the steering wheel. “Which reminds me you’ll have to tell us the story of how you learned to use a gun. See ya in a few,” hanging up before you can say anything else and dig his hole deeper.

“What exactly did she mean by measurements?” crossing his arms over muscular chest, glaring at Pope.

Resting an arm on his brother’s shoulder, “And pink? Really, I’m more of a coral,” trying to keep from chuckling while giving Pope his own glare. Benny realizing what he’d said at the end and tries to cover with adding, “When did Y/N learn to shoot, better yet where’d she get the gun?”

Shrugging, “Just found out today, gonna ask when we get there.” Knowing you can handle yourself more concerned that you’ve learned the correct way to handle a gun. Never wanting you to actually have a need to shoot but incase Santiago wants to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Especially if Frankie didn’t show you or know. His mind rewinding to the fact, “Coral? What the fuck dude? How the hell do you even know what that is?”

Dying of laughter, Benny turns giving both of them the middle finger salute heading back into the house to grab both his and Will’s go bags. As promised Pope pulled into the driveway thirty minutes later, all three exist, not even bothering to knock just walking right in. Fresh baked goodies and coffee brewing meeting their noses, along with a squeal of excitement from a little blur of yellow and blue.

“Ukcl Po,” flinging herself into his arms, as he’s crouched down to scoop her up unconcerned with his knees popping, spinning around to her delighted peels of laugher.

Hugging her close, seeing you come around the corner with an arm load of firewood bright smile on your lips. “Good y’all finally showed up thought I’d have to start the fire myself,” joking tone. Using your elbow to wave them in.

Will passes Pope and Isabella pausing to ruffle her hair, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead then going over to take the arm load from you. Making you roll your eyes reluctantly giving it over when he gives you that stern look.

“I’m not helpless you know I can move a couple of pieces,” tossing your hands up, smacking Will’s shoulder as he passes.

Shaking his head, “And have Frankie put us on freeze for letting his woman get hurt. Nope, no thank you ma’am I happen to like having certain body parts stay in respective places.”

“It’s not Fish you have to worry about rearranging parts Ironhead its Y/N,” bouncing Isabella in his arms smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ain’t that right Annie Oakley?” grin widening when you turn to scowl at Pope.

“Careful Santi or you’ll wearing the pink dress,” crossing your arms to glare at both men, as Benny chuckles beside Pope. In between making faces at Isabella, her giggles making beautiful music.

Rejoining the group after dusting his hands on his jean clad thighs, “Anything else you need done Y/N?” scenting the air a small growl leaving Will’s stomach.

“You got a bear in there William?” taking Isabella from Pope to put her on your hip while walking back to the kitchen and check on the potatoes.

Low whistle leaving all three men making heat race up your neck a small squirm moves over your body when they see everything you’ve got planned out for tonight. Steaks siting out ready for the grill along with the corn on the cob, salad finished and chilling in the fridge, and the pie cooling. Out of the corner of your eye you spy Benny going towards the pie. Quickly spinning making Isabella giggle to land a hard smack to his hand. He pulls back quickly puppy eyes in place and howls of laughter from the other two men.

“Ben Miller how dare you try to stick a finger in my pie,” scowl firmly in place, Isabella matching the look or at least trying to its more adorable than anything.

Unlike yours which is truly scary and has Ben raising his hands in surrender. “You sure you weren’t in the military gorgeous that look alone would’ve made plenty green recruits wet themselves,” backing up when you go to smack his shoulder.

“Shame none of you will get a slice now,” placing Isabella in the highchair feeling a rush of air pass you by. Looking up to see all three sitting at the table with pleading looks on their faces. Shaking your head smile sliding over your lips, “You three are the worse right Bella baby?”

“Ight mama,” nodding her head quickly, clapping her hands in excitement.

To which Ben leans over to tickle her sides making her squeal even louder. Will and Pope both making silly faces none of them noticing when you pull your cell phone out to take a short video. Sending it to Frankie with the simple words “Our family”. Soft smile gracing your features watching them interact. Your heart expanding in love but also hurting. Wishing, not for the first time, that your own mom and siblings where here.

“Hey,” calling from his spot. Having looked away so Santi wouldn’t see your eyes, turning to pull plates from the cabinet missing the frown turning down his lips. Raising to go over, “You, okay?”

Wanting Frankie there to chase away these thoughts you’ve tried to keep buried. You nod not trusting your voice right then to answer with words. Hating how your mood so quickly shifted spoiling the moment.

Placing a hand on your shoulder to turn and have you face him, “You know you can tell us, me anything Y/N, we’re your family and family takes care of one another.”

Taking a deep breath wringing your hands in front of you, knowing he’s right. Seeing for yourself the genuine concern in those deep brown pools. “My thoughts went to having my blood family here, my mom,” turning to look at Isabella, “she would’ve loved her so much.” Glancing up to see both Will and Benny giving you reassuring smiles that accompany nods of affirmation having heard Santiago’s words about family.

“Blood doesn’t always make family sweetheart standing by someone through thick and thin, never giving up, letting them into your heart that’s what makes a family.” Taking Isabella’s little hand in his, Ben looks at you his words making you tear up but this time in a good way. Eyes lingering on the youngest Miller for a bit longer.

Seeing your tears, “I’d cry to if I looked at Benny’s ugly mug, got a face only a mother could love,” trying to lighten the mood. Hearty laughter filling the kitchen when you toss a balled-up towel at Will’s head. Landing perfectly over his face getting high pitched giggles from Isabella.

“Thank you,” sincerity laced through you tone giving both Miller boys a smile once the towel is off Will’s face. Turning back to Pope to pat his chest, giving him the same smile. “Grab the coffee for me Santi please, looks like I’ve got a pie to cut into.”

With a two-finger sloppy salute and a kiss to your cheek, Santi grabs the glass coffee pot from the maker, sugar and cream sitting nearby. “Anytime cariño, anytime.”

Each with their hands full come to the table setting various items down, coffee poured, and pie sliced out with a heavy dollop of Reddi-whip atop. Moans of pleasure leave all three men, along with compliments and praise for your baking skills. Benny proposing once again which you turn down of course. Everyone tucking in after that first bite including Isabella who has more cream on her cheeks, chin, nose and shirt than her mouth. Her babbling on about different things while enjoying her pie. Brought a warmth to your heart, a rightness you hadn’t felt in your life till now.

Reaching over to wipe off her face, the smile gracing your lips made all three men grin. Santi pulls his phone out to take a couple of pictures to send to Frankie later, knowing he’d want to see them. Hearing the tale tell sound of a camera going off makes your head whip around.

Hating to have your picture taken when it’s needed, “Really I look like shit Santi and you’re taking pictures?” though you try to be mad at him, you fail knowing he’s doing it for Frankie.

“Shit…” little voice states making all four grownups turn to look at her, eyes wide before busting out laughing.

“You’re fault mama bear, I can’t wait till I tell Fish,” gripping the table to keep from falling from his chair laughing, fist banging the hard wood making the plates and forks jump around.

Face going into your hands to hide your embarrassment from the boys, all of whom can’t stop the gruff laughter from bubbling up in their chests. Worried, Isabella reaches out with a pie covered hand to touch your arm. “Oh, ta mama?” sticky fingers patting quickly.

Looking over at her you reach to taking her face in your hands, smile breaking through the embarrassment, to kiss her forehead. “I’m okay baby girl, your uncles are just evil is all,” giving her a wink that makes another peel of laughter leave her lips. Turing to Pope, “I may have to make good on that threat to hurt you by shooting you.”

Still laughing, Santi shakes his head never feeling more at home or free than when he’s surround by his family. Eyes crinkling, he sends a wink to Isabella before fixing his eyes on you. “Speaking of which you never told me who taught you.”

“Must you know all my secrets Pope?” teasing light entering your eyes that fixed on the man. With a heavy fake sigh, seeing the concern under the mirth, you answer. “My brother actually taught me years ago. Frankie took me to the range for practice a couple of times but we ah,” looking at Isabella she covers the little girl’s ears. “We got banned from the place,” giving them a shrug noticing the way all three were giving you a weird look. “Who knew Frankie like’s a woman who could handle a gun. He got handsy and one thing led to another…” smirk sliding over your lips.

“Stop, stop, stop I beg you,” from Will.

Waving his hands before covering his ears, humming “It’s the end of the world as we know it” trying to get what he just heard from his head. “That’s so wrong,” from Benny.

Santiago didn’t look to fazed just a grin on his lips, “That’s Frankie for ya. Should ah known he’s kinky as fu…”

Whipping around to smack Pope before he can finish that word, “Language Garcia.”

“Hey, you said a bad word,” winking at Isabella who clapped her pie covered hands at her uncle Pope. “How good a shot are you?”

Snorting, “Not nearly what Frankie can do but I managed to land a few head and chest shots before it got a little too hot and bothered.” Laughing when all three groan while you rise to pick Isabella up, “Fire please boys and light the grill too while I get baby girl here cleaned up and ready.”

“As long as you stop talking about yours and Fish’s sex life, I’ll do anything you ask,” Benny begs standing, grabbing the empty plates and mugs. Trying to push the thoughts running through his mind on film reel.

Pausing by the kitchen door leading towards the bedrooms, “Careful Ben I might have to take you up on that one. There’s gutters needing cleaned and a garage plus the house needs repainting,” giving him a mischievous smirk at his groan. Pausing to place a chase kiss to his stubbled cheek in thanks for cleaning up.

“If anyone is evil it’s you woman, go,” waving his free hand at you. “Get our little princess cleaned up we’ll handle this,” heading to the sink to wash dishes. Will heading to the living room to start the fire and Pope out the back door to get the grill going for you.

Standing there a moment tears pricking the back of your eyes, “Our family little one.” Heading then to her bedroom to change and clean the sticky pie from her hands and face. Coming back out ten minutes later a sugar high little girl running ahead of you and into Will. Who scoops her up holding her against his chest.

“Y’all might be in for it tonight with sugar baby there,” giving them an apologetic look, handing off Isabella’s backpack filled with cloths and the reusable grocery bag with food to Ben. Giving him a tight hug first, moving to Pope before ending with Will and Isabella giving your little girl a kiss on the forehead. “No, tattoo’s or piercings,” jokingly said a hitch in your voice at seeing her go.

It's the first time she’ll sleep somewhere that’s not her room it makes your chest tighten in worry. Though you know good well that all three men would protect her with their lives.

Slinging an arm around your shoulder as you all walk outside, “Don’t worry Y/N we got this have a good time tonight and know that Isa is taken care of.”

“Three men and a baby huh?” recalling Pope’s earlier comment. “My only question? Which one of you is Tom Selleck?” trying to shake the nerves, using jokes to set everyone including yourself at ease.

“Who and what are you talking about?” Benny chimed in opening the back door of the truck to place Isabella in her car seat.

“Guttenberg,” saying the same thing together, you and Pope laugh wrapping an arm around your shoulders for a half hug placing a kiss to your temple. “You’re too young to remember plus it’s chick flick,” quickly moving away from your pinching fingers.

“They’ve finally cracked, I don’t know what did it but they’ve cracked I tell ya,” Ben playfully mourned only to have Will slam the door almost in his face.

“Guess that leaves you as Selleck and me Danson,” Will snarks with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get this jalopy rollin the Roadhouse waits.”

“Don’t you even,” giving him a dirty look to which Will just grins, closing the door before you can throw anything at him. “Keep those two in line please Santi.”

Chuckling, “Don’t worry cariño, princesa is in good hands,” stepping away Pope turns to give you one last wave. “See you tomorrow sometime, just ah let us know when you’re done fuckin don’t want to bring Isa back too soon.” Ducking the mound of dirt you toss at him with a smile on his devilishly handsome face.

With a wave, you watch them go sigh leaving your lips feeling a little lost without Isabella around. Pocket vibrating breaks you from those thoughts, the guitar solo at the beginning of Angel by Aerosmith starts to play making you smile. Frankie asked you when you made it his ringtone why you picked a song that’s more suited for your ringtone. Shaking your head arms wrapped around his neck explaining that he’s your angel who saved you from yourself. Showing you that despite your size, the past you had you’re worth loving worth cherishing. It took a while for you to actually believe him but once you did, having Frankie Morales as your angel did wonders for your confidence and self-love.

“Hello, my angel,” answering while heading back too inside to get the steaks on the grill and check on the fireplace.

Leaning against the metal outside wall, one leg bend to press into the builds side, “I think you have that backwards hermosa.” Deep chuckle sounding from his lips, making you shiver despite the warmth of the house. “Pope come get our little one?”

A shiver of pleasure runs down your body at the sound of his voice, smile blooming widely. “Nope flyboy, my angel happens to actually have metal wings,” giggling leaning against the counter for a moment. “He did, enlisted the help of Benny and Will for the night too,” checking the clock to see you have just enough time to get the steaks and corn grilled along with a quick shower. “Can I expect you at the normal time?” hoping that his asshole boss wouldn’t keep Frankie any longer than a few minutes.

Bent knee shaking to a beat that’s none existent. His nerves shouldn’t eat at him but the small velvet box rattling around in his pocket gets heavier by the moment. Pulling it out to flip the top still a little unsure if you’ll truly like it. Sunlight caught the round cut chocolate diamond, simply done in rose gold with two trellis of white diamonds cascade down either side. Having bought the ring months back, paying it off a little at a time. Getting lucky by sneaking one of your much-loved rings out to get it sized and back before you noticed it missing. Even hint asking to find out what kind of gems you preferred. Surprised when you tell him about the chocolate diamond. Finding the beautiful stone on a birthday present run with your best friend to the local jewelry store. One that almost matched his eyes and reminded you of him. Soft blush dusted his cheeks at your words that night when you explained tucking away that tidbit of information for later.

As later came, he went to that very jeweler finding the perfect ring he hoped you’ll love. Above that he prays you’ll say yes to being his wife and mother to his daughter. The very thought of you saying no constricts his heart in a vise grip. One he’s sure will squeeze the organ till there’s nothing left but a hole where you once resided.

“Frankie?” frowning when no answer comes from the other side of the line. “Everything all right flyboy?”

Clearing his throat and closing the ring box to stow it back in his pants pocket, “Yes, mi amor everything’s perfect. Sam time as usual, since all the work’s completed there’s just clean up and inventory left.”

“Don’t be too long baby I’ll have dinner waiting for us, I’ve got a date after all,” teasing tone that’s touched by humor. Knowing you could take this one of two ways and deciding on the provoking one. “My book boyfriend is lonely without me.”

Groaning, shaking his head and readjusting the cap covering his hair, “Woman you’re teasing again remember what happened this morning when you tormented me. The promise I made you?” Licking his lips at the very thought, “I’m getting my dessert tonight and making you scream my name for everyone to hear.”

“Promises, promises flyboy I think you’re all talk and no action,” knowing you shouldn’t be teasing him but couldn’t help yourself. Especially when that sexy growl vibrates over the phone making you weak kneed.

Smiling, Frankie pushes away from the wall needing to get back to work so he could get home to you. “No promise sweetheart just facts,” hating to hang up. “I’ve gotta go mi amor, see you tonight, I love you.”

“I love you to Frankie, I’ll see you tonight. Now go finish work there’s a present waiting for you when you get home.” Biting your bottom lip, insecurities rising like bile in that back of your throat. Hope and fear warring in your mind after hanging up with Frankie.

Trying not to dwell on those thoughts while getting the steaks and corn cooked. Once finished you add them to the oven along side the potatoes on warm. Stopping in the living room to check the fireplace and arrange the blankets laying them out for maximum comfort. Heading to the shower to clean up quickly.

Thirty minutes later, body lotions, hair dry and lingerie in place, putting his camo robe over. You check for what felt like the hundredth time the clock on the wall. Seconds ticking by till Frankie comes home and you’re desperately trying to choose a spot for him to find you in. Laying first by the fire but figuring that didn’t look right. Choosing next to lean against the entrance wall just shy of the door, shaking that idea off as it could expose you to anyone walking down the side walk. The kitchen popped up just causally draped over a chair or the counter. Sighing in frustration when none of the places look right. Till that proverbial lightbulb goes off and your grabbing the book you’ve read for the last couple of nights. Laying on the couch, one leg bent at the knee to show off your bare legs, robe open just enough to display a touch of cleavage and the book open but you’re not really reading.

Listening for the moment you hear the key slide home into lock, door opening, “Y/N, hermosa where you hiding?” Voice deep and soothing to your nerves a smile tugging your lips upward at the frustrated growl that reverberates from his chest.

Itching to raise up, show yourself to him but the imp side has you staying in place on display for him. Catching the sound of boots toed off, keys dropped in the little ceramic bowel. Tracking his sock covered footsteps guessing he’s peeked into the kitchen when a soft groan meets your ears. Letting you know his nose took in the smell of dinner. Bottom lip caught between your teeth again patience wearing thin as excitement courses through your veins. Bare foot dancing to the tune of nerves as you peek over to see Frankie’s shadow in the kitchen. Hearing the oven open then close smirk sliding over your lips as another rumble of a groan sounds.

Soft giggles touch his ears, strong legs eat the distance from the kitchen into the living room. Seeing the fireplace alight, “Please tell me you didn’t…” train of thought crashing when his eyes drop to see you laid out so beautifully for him. Pink tongue coming out to wet his lips, chocolate pools darkening, the twitching in his jeans making itself known.

Growing even more pronounced with the slow trek your eyes take. Starting at his waist, couch hiding anything lower from your view, licking your lips to trap the bottom one between your teeth. Seemingly a permanent home for the abused lip. Trailing over his shirt covered chest, thick tanned neck that your wanting to nibble. Over his strong jaw and patchy beard, smirk in place when you see his lips parted in shock. Though a part of you worried it’s more because of how little you’re wearing, baring your thick, curvy body to his eyes. However, those thoughts died a very painful death as heat slips into its place with how he’s truly looking at you.

Unable to keep the gasp from leaving your lips with how desire darken his eyes have become, the crinkling of leather meeting your ears. Making your eyes drop to the callused hands gripping the back of the couch so tightly, knuckles white with the tension and you wonder for a moment if it’ll be ripping soon. Returning your eyes to his, making sure he’s still watching when you return to reading that same paragraph you’ve tried to finish for the last twenty minutes. Loud growl is the only warning you get before the paper bound volume in your hands is ripped away and tossed over his shoulder.

“Frankie,” trying to infuse a little bit of anger into your cadence. But to your own ears it just sounds breathless and needy. Swallowing hard you rise knowing the robe is opened more baring your black lace covered breasts to his gaze. Going to stand but a hand on your shoulder stops you, sliding down to your arm and tugging you to turn. Kneeling into the couch, the only thing between you both except clothing of course. “Dinner’s ready.”

Still staring at you, drinking in the sight of your body half exposed to his eyes. Chest raising quickly with every breath you take, the soft smile on your lips that you lick and make him groan. “I don’t want dinner mi amor,” placing hands on either shoulder to push the robe from your body.

Pooling at your waist the knot still holds fast, “Oh than what do you want mi Rey?”

“You,” simple word never held so much need and want packed into one syllabi, eyes held to yours. Palms sliding over your skin, talented fingers brush under the lace strap perched on your shoulder. Drawing it down to rest on your bicep, breath hitching when he leans in to place a kiss to where it previously resided.

Hands going to cup the back of his neck, toying with the short curls under the baseball cap. Head lulling to the side, giving him access to the sensitive skin of your neck. Taking advantage and rubbing his lips over the soft skin. Bearded cheek tickling, making your squirm wanting to pull away but also enjoying the slight burn. One arm stay’s at his neck while the other moves between your bodies giving a little push to his chest. Making another growl vibrate through his body and into yours. Arms coming around your waist to pull you even closer. Teeth ghosting that little spot just under your ear he knows will make you weak. Placing his lips right there to suck a mark while his hands drop to palm your ass and squeeze. A touch of frustration sings through his veins at not having you pressed against his body fully.

Trying to gather your scattered wits, body thumping with a desperate need, “Frankie,” short whine leaving a dry throat, you try to push him back once more. Not really wanting him to move but the position your both in is only making things difficult.

“Want me to stop?” Breathing the words into your ear, warm air making a shiver race down your spine.

Whimpering, “No, but I’d much rather want you closer and not this couch between us.” Loosening his grip on your body, you reluctantly pull back grabbing his ball cap along the way. Soft giggle leaving your lips as you dart out of the reach of his hands. Almost slipping from the couch backwards, managing to catch yourself and get up while placing the cap on your head. Eyeing Frankie as he stands where you left him though leaning forward, as if to jump over the couch to get to you.

Swallowing hard, heat rising over your skin in the best of ways with how he’s staring at you. An idea pops into your head, fingers going to the knot at your waist. His eyes following the path pausing for a moment to take in your heaving chest, nipples pebbled tight beneath the lace. Licking his lips at the sight before trailing lower to watch with held breath. While nimble fingers untie the knot, letting the Terry cloth fall to pool at your bare feel. Hands itching to wrap around your nearly naked form. To hide from those slowly tracing eyes.

That make there way back up to your face, hunger, desire, love all warring deeply in those swirling dark chocolate eyes. “Hermosa esposa,” (Beautiful wife.) words spoken almost reverently. Drinking in the sight of your body, wrapped in sheer black lace that hides nothing from his eyes, wearing his much loved ball cap. Only served to have a streak of possessiveness dance across his mind. Bottom lip caught between his teeth eyes watching caught in the trance that is your beauty with every step you take.

Swallowing, your feet having a mind of there own as they make the short trek around the couch to stop just shy of reaching him. “Like what you see Frankie?” Worrying your bottom lip, nerves have you fidgeting under the intense stare. Keeping your hands at your sides first then clasping them behind your back. The action pushing your chest out which draws his attention, trying to keep himself from drooling.

Knowing you’ve said something, asked him a question but his brain doesn’t fire off any response. Instead he steps forward, brushing his fingers over your collarbone, touch light as those deliciously callused digits ghost the skin of your shoulders and down your arms. Wrapping strong limbs around your thick waist to haul you against his strong frame. Gasp leaves your lips that he takes advantage of and swoops in for a kiss that’s anything but delicate.

Fierce and demanding, pressing his mouth to yours leading with his tongue that goes in to taste and mate with yours. Toying with the muscle before sucking harshly, tasting coffee, something sweet and a flavor that’s all your own. Pulling a moan from deep within your chest that bubbles up at the same time your arms wrap around Frankie’s neck. Pulling him closer wanting to merge the two of you together. His strong body pressing you into the couch, wondering for a moment when you turned, but not caring. As his kiss stole all thought and reason from your mind, turning you to mush in his arms.

Air becoming a needed commodity making the two of you break apart gasping and resting your foreheads together. “Cariño you can’t wear things like this when I come home.” Pulling back just a little only too groan at the innocently sexy expression in your eyes.

“Surprise,” tugging at the curls getting a low grunt from the man wrapped around you. “So next time you rather I’m naked spread out on the kitchen table?” Teasingly running your hands up and down his back. Stopping to slide both hands in the back pockets of his jeans, cupping his ass to bring him against your pelvis.

“Mierda,” head dropping to your shoulder, the bite of the zipper against his cock making him hiss. Needing inside you wanting to make you sing his name for everyone to hear. Panting for breath, “The guys find out about that and they will never eat at the table again.”

Soft giggles brush his ear, turning your head to press your lips to the shell, “You did say I was your dessert.”

“I did, didn’t I,” wicked smirk sliding over his lush lips, wrapping one of your legs around his waist to rock against your soaked panty covered folds. Letting you feel how hard you’ve made him, the throb of his shaft beating a rhythm only you can dance too.

Head tossing back at the feeling, you use that leg to pull him impossibly closer rocking your hips slowly. Lips pressed against his neck, flicking your tongue out to taste the sweat tinged musky skin. Hands moving to his shoulders under the fabric of the red and black plaid to push it from his body down his arms and adding it to the growing pile. Tracing little patterns over his chest soft smirk in place when your fingers brush over his nipples making him hiss at the contact. Lower to the hem of his beige t-shirt clinging to his skin, sliding your fingers under the fabric to tease the warm flesh.

“I’m your surprise baby, you’re in charge of where this goes,” low growl leaves his lips at your words, making your head spin in desire. That floods your panties with slick and a need to have the man standing in front of you.

Hands start to dance up his chest, when he bends cupping your ass with both hands and hauling you against his body tighter. Looking over your shoulder to see blankets spread out over the floor in front of the roaring fireplace. “That for us sweetheart?” You nod as he trails one hand around to slide between your thighs and over the soaked gusset of your panties sliding two fingers under the edge and over your puffy swollen lips. “This all because of me?”

“You’re to smug Morales,” bitting your bottom lip to keep from moaning. Hips however have a mind of their own as they rock over his questing fingers. “You know that book boyfriend is kinda talented…” rest of the sentence swallowed by the moan exited from your throat. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder a shutter racking your frame with the teasing slide of those thick work calluses fingers through your soaked folds.

Circling your clit with the tips to give a jolting pinch at the mention of your ‘other’ boyfriend. “Seems I have some competition,” dark chuckle leaving his throat at the same time a whimper leaves yours when he pulls his fingers free to suck clean. Helping you place the leg from his waist to the floor before taking you over to the fireplace.

Shivers skate across your body at the deep cadence of his tone, the dark promise of what he’s got planned making slick flood your core and drip down your quivering thighs. Fascinated by how deep his chocolate browns have become while staring into those beloved eyes.

Soft gasp pulled from the back of your throat with his hand upping your cheek, brushing his fingers over the soft skin, free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. “When did you get this little number? Better yet why didn’t you take me with you while picking it out?” Dropping his head to the crook of your neck nose brushing over your skin, drawing in the jasmine scent that’s burned into his memory as yours alone. Making his cock throb dangerously.

Swallowing harshly, “A few weeks ago,” head lulling to the side to give him access. Your own hands returning to that patch of skin just under his shirt. Short nails leaving little tracks over his flesh, marking him as yours. “I ordered it online, first time I’ve worn it other than trying on.”

“Next time I’m gonna be there to watch you try things on,” nibbling kisses dot your neck and shoulder. His path haphazardly moving to the hollow of your throat, biting down on the sensitive skin and leaving his own purpling mark behind. Sweet moans leave you lips a shiver of arousal pours through your veins at the thought of everyone knowing who you belong to.

“I’d never get anything tried on if your there flyboy,” nickname rolling off your tongue, brushing your hands higher dragging the shirt with wanting it off. Tracing little patterns with your fingers to brush over both nipples. Making another sharp hiss leave his lips that rest against your collarbone. Breath fanning out hot and moist over your body trying to focus on giving you pleasure. Yet with each brush of those skillful hands he finds himself getting weaker to your advances. Desperately needing inside you, all those lovely noises you make music to his ears. Taking advantage of the moment you pull back to tug his shirt off tossing it somewhere behind you. Pausing to admire the man who’s captured your heart. Drinking in the sight of his tanned skin, soft yet muscular body gleaming in the firelight.

You’re truly in awe of this man and so caught up tracing each piece of him you don’t realize he’s stepped closer till warm hands grip your waist. Inching the sheer lace up your body till he gets a peek at the lacy black matching cheeky panties your wearing. Hands gliding around to cup your ass, giving you a hard squeeze, drawing another moan from your lips. Eyes sliding closed as your body sways to lean against him. “Your right cariño you wouldn’t because you don’t need these lacy clothes to tease me. Your mire present does that. You make me rock hard and all you have to do is whisper my name.” Voice taking on an octave lower, filled with a longing and love for you alone.

“Frankie,” voice low, filled with a deep arousal you try to contain, his words making your heart flutter with love. Knees weakening to the point your sagging against him. Wanting to state the fact he’s got the same power over you. Voice like silk over your skin, making butterflies flutter in your tummy, tingles dance through your body and heat pools low, dampening your panties. “That damn voice.”

Dark chuckle leaves his lips, hands coming back to bunch the lace in his fists to pull it from your body, joining his shirt. He takes one step back to return the admiration of your body. Fire light dancing off the dips and valleys, highlighting the stiff peaks of your nipples begging for his mouth to worship the soft swells of your breasts and tummy. How your shyly try to turn away but stay still at the same time. The down turn of your chin however makes a frown appear and a dangerous growl leave his chest.

Reaching out two fingers to grip your chin raising it and making you look into his eyes. “Beautiful mi amor, you’re stunning, never think you have to hide your body from me,” letting go of your chin to trace a path down your cheek, between the valley of your breasts and around your waist. Pulling you flush against him, feeling his rough body hairs brushing against your softer skin. The satisfaction of having him pressed so intimately soothes all the nerves and dark thoughts making them run squealing back to where they came from. The affirmation of his words through his touch sets your blood on fire with a need to please him. To show him how thankful to have him in your life rises like a tidal wave.

Cresting the moment you lean in starting to place kisses along his jawline, searching for every spot that draws a moan from his lips. However, Frankie doesn’t let you get very far instead he pulls you back, helping you to sit on the pallet of blankets before the fire. On his knees, he takes the cap from your head placing it on the coffee table behind him. Cupping your cheeks between his large hands, watching you watch him. To lean in for a kiss that’s so achingly tender it has a shiver running over your body that’s got nothing to do with being cold. Arms going around his neck to pull him against you. Teasing the tip of his tongue against the seam of your lips that you open on a sigh.

Taking that moment to slip his tongue into the warm cavern of your mouth. Tangling your tongues together as your noses brush and angle trying to find the right place to draw in air without having to break apart. When he does your bottom lip becomes caught between his teeth, nibbling the delicate skin, gathering air to dive back in. This time it’s deeper, demanding those little moans from you. He’s rewarded with one that’s dragged from the depths of your soul making a smile tug at the edges against his lips.

Both gasping for breath, clinging to each other, he noses your chin, running his lips over the delicate skin searching out your mouth again. Drunk on your kisses, the feeling of your hands fisting in his hair, clutching him closer. “Lay back for me hermosa,” opening his eyes to stare at you. Seeing the indecision war with the need to give instead of receive. “You said I’m in charge tonight right?” Nodding not trusting your voice to anything other than totally wrecked right now. “Use your words mi alma.”

“Yes,” swallowing thickly seeing the desire darkened chocolate eyes bore into your own. A shiver skating across your body at the promise those beloved eyes held. “Yes, I did my love, but you don’t…” he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

Instead pressing his lips back against yours unhurried. Taking slow sips from your mouth, nibbling your lips, dipping into the warm cavern for little tastes. Making whimpers of need push from your chest as you rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Warm work roughen hands cup your breasts, giving the soft globes a gentle squeeze. His thumbs circle the peeking nipples before trapping it between it and the index finger. Giving a hard pinch that’s just this side of pleasurable pain. The little tug going straight to your core, knowing you love how he’s playing you body. Making your back arch against his hand a mewl of need leaving your lips.

Abandoning your mouth to trail nibbling kisses across your jawline, “I want to mi amor, you’re a goddess and I’m here to worship at your temple.” Breath falling over your neck as those words have a shiver running down your body. Heating the skin, heart thumping behind your rib cage he traces with those wicked fingertips.

Moving between your legs, rough blue jean fabric abrading the inside of your thighs as he hovers over you. Watching with passion filled eyes, tongue coming out to wet those kiss swollen lips you know you’ll never get enough of. Arms go to wrap around his neck to pull him down to you, but he shakes his head taking both wrists in one of his large hands to place them above your head.

“Leave them right there sweetheart because if you touch me now I won’t get to taste you,” desperation laces his voice making the cadence drop an octave and drawing a shuttering breath from your lungs.

Never have you seen this look in those beloved eyes as the one right now, pinning you to the blanket covered floor. Body squirming under that dark gaze, thighs rubbing as fresh slick coats your already drenched panties. “Please,” back arching to press your chest into his hands, desperate to have him in some kind of way. Not above begging to get what you want either, “Frankie I need you,” words coming out on a needy whimper.

“Patience mi amor I’m a starving man who’s just discovered his favorite dessert,” lips tipped up in a smirk. Resuming his path over your skin. Leaving goosebumps in his wake of teeth nibbling your flesh, sucking kisses placed in spots he knows only serve to make you moan and sigh. His name a whimpered plea from your bitten lips.

Till reaching the mounds of your breasts, taking one taut nipple between his lips. Sucking sharply and receiving a keening moan that surges straight to his cock. The throbbing pulse robbing a grunt from his chest though he tries to stay unaffected. Your breathy gasps and mewling whimpers start to drive him crazy with passion. Switching to the neglected breast while tugging with his fingers on the abandoned one. Tip of his tongue flicking over the peeked nipple before biting down at the same time his fingers tug the twin. Remembering how sensitive your breasts are and playing them like a skilled master.

His teasing pulls another shuttering breath from your lungs, sweat glistening over your body. Warmth filling your belly with those familiar tingles, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment drinking in the pleasure Frankie brings to your body. Short gasps and moans leave your parted lips as you try to brag air in your starving lungs. Feeling the first strings of an orgasm start to sing through your veins, knowing he’s trying to kill you sweetly with his mouth. Only to have your eyes fly open and look down when he bites the gentle swell of your tummy. Nuzzling the soft flesh with his nose, his eyes lock with yours. Fingers grasping the band of your panties to peel them down.

Placing kisses over each inch that’s bared to his hungry gaze. Tongue swirling around your belly button to dip in and nip before placing a kiss just before your soaked, puffy cunt. Impatience rides him hard, wanting to rip the flimsy material from your body. But also wanting you to wear them again. Biting back a groan of frustration he moves to the side pulling the fabric from your body, flinging it behind him. Pausing to taking in your beauty even as you squirm under the intense look in those gorgeous eyes.

So enrapt by your beauty he doesn’t notice your hands coming down to shield yourself feeling a little self-conscious, till they partially cover your breasts. “Don’t,” the word coming out on a sharp growl that has your eyes snapping back to his. “Don’t ever feel like you have to hide from me Y/N. You’re gorgeous mi amor,” voice rough with unspoken emotions that show in the tight clinch of his jaw. Eyes that drink in every inch of your plush body.

One hand intertwine’s with yours to bring down against the prominent bulge in his jeans. Hissing when you cup his shaft and squeeze. “You feel what you do to me cariño, what your body does to me?” Seeing you nod, swallowing hard as your fingers tip toe up to above the waist band of his jeans. Drawing your nails lightly over his tummy, watching as he sucks in then exhales making you smile.

Nimble fingers making quick work with the button and zipper, hand slipping inside the material feeling the throb of his cloth covered cock against the tips of your fingers. Before he pushes them away making you pout at the loss. “Put that lip away sweetheart you’ll get your chance later,” smirk making its way back over his handsome features. Hands placed over your collarbone to draw them down over your curves pausing to dip his head down. Drawing his teeth over the soft flesh of your hips, hands sliding under you to cup your ass. Giving the generous globes a squeeze while sliding down to his belly.

Groaning when the blanket covered floor makes contact with his erection, moist breath panting over the skin of your hip. Forehead resting on your lower belly to gather himself for a moment. Savoring the softness of your body under him, filling his work roughened hands. Lips worshiping the parts of you that at times make you want to cover and hide. Dipping his tongue along your folds grinning when another keening moan leaves your mouth on a gasp. Back arching to meet his mouth, one arm presses you back down wrapping around your thigh to hold you in place.

Using those skilled fingers to tease the pearl of your clit. Bullying the little nub with light circling pressure that has stars bursting behind your tightly closed libs. Teeth baring to sink into the flesh of your thigh, leaving marks behind for you to feel tomorrow when your walking a little funny because of him. Repeating the same treatment to the twin thigh while semi ignoring the place you want him most. Only those talented fingers keep with light touches. That serve to drive you crazy with need and want. Trying to buck against him silently demanding more but held in place by his strong arms around your thick thighs. Baring your pussy to his gaze, licking his lips he leans forward to draw just the tip of his tongue from entrance to clit through your folds. Making a soft scream leave your body, smirk sliding back into place.

That’s still there when you raise your head to look down at him, “Pay back baby…” gasping unable to form the last few words as his fingers have spread your folds. His lips attaching to your clit and sucking harshly, tongue flicking like the beating wings of a hummingbird. Another scream bouncing off the walls as your first orgasm rushes through your system catching you by surprise. Gasping for breath, fingers fisting the blankets below you, tight coil having sprung so quickly your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Hmm that’s one hermosa I think you can give me another before you take my cock,” chuckling the vibrations shooting through your body making you shake. You try to answer, the words disappear on another whimper, body sensitive to his touches.

Frankie unwraps his right hand from your thigh, fingers teasing along the seam of your body where thigh meets pelvis. Watching with hooded eyes as you gasp once more trying to collect yourself. Though he doesn’t give you a moment to think, sliding one finger inside your fluttering walls, thrusting slowly. Left hand spreading your folds as his tongue attacks your clit, slowly this time. Giving light little kitten licks, circling with the pointed tip before flicking the throbbing pearl. Crooking the finger inside you to press that little spot with each pass. Adding a second to stretch you open, groaning against your folds, “So tight for me mi amor, every fucking time, God.” Eyes dropping down to watch his fingers disappear inside your tight quivering walls. Curses leaving his lips in broken Spanish his hips rutting against the floor needing relief from the throbbing of his cock.

He stays transfixed by the sigh of your cunt taking his fingers, the wet sounds with each thrust, the way your thighs shake around him. He adds a third finger, your voice meeting his ears. Though all he can make out if his name and please. Sparing a glance upward his breath catching at what he’s witnessing. Your hands cupping and massaging both your breasts, fingers tugging and pinching the nipples in time with his fingers. The sight burned into his memory one he’ll gladly keep and try to repeat many times over. Seeing you so wanton and free like this bolsters his ego knowing he’s the reason your on display in such a manner. Even as a spark of possessiveness cuts through never wanting anyone else to experience you in this way.

Sensing eyes watching you, you raise your head to insnare his gaze, licking your lips slowly as your breath catches. Tingles dancing over your body at the way he’s mastered your pleasure. Giving you just what you need and when. Feeling almost as full with his fingers as with his cock though you crave having him deep inside you. But also knowing he won’t give you those desires till you’ve cum once more. Head dropping your back bows when his talented lips seal over your clit. Tongue lapping at the little nub and drawing different patterns to make you see stars explode behind those closed lids. His name chanted to the ceiling while those wicked fingers draw out your pleasure with each stroke and crook. Brushing that hidden spot no man other than Frankie has ever found. A moaning, withering mess under the man’s skilled mouth and hands. That coil tightening in your belly threatening to snap any second.

Caught between wanting the delicious torture to end but also to continue being the pleasurable pain masochist you’ve become. All at once it becomes too much and not enough, hands shoot down to clutch at Frankie’s head. Tugging his hair and pressing him closer as your orgasm washes over you, his name a scream ripped from your mouth. Breath gasping from your lungs, body shattering around his tongue and fingers. You try to push him away, cunt oversensitive from the two orgasms he’s brought you.

Yet he continues tormenting you, with slow thrusts of his fingers, little laps of his tongue. Drawing out your orgasm, working you through each shuttering after shock. Till your spent, hands dropping to your side, eyes closed as you trying to control your breathing. Pulling his drenched fingers from your quivering walls to suck them clean. Humming in satisfaction at your tangy essence, placing one more kiss to your quivering clit making you jump at the contact and moan at the feel, proud chuckle leaving Frankie’s glistening lips.

Placing kisses as he moved up your body, hovering over you once more. A shutter racing over his frame when your legs wrap around his trim waist, feet crossing at the small of his back to press his swollen jeans covered cock against your tender folds.

“You’re pretty proud of yourself huh Morales?” Lashes fluttering just peeking up at him to see the smirk forming on his lips. Wanting to be cross with him for all the teasing but couldn’t summing the energy. Fingers carding through his hair tugging at the mahogany strands to bring his mouth down against yours. Tasting the remains of your essence when your tongue dips into his mouth. Mating with his in a dance that pulls a groan from the man above you.

Hands tracing patterns over his back feeling the muscles shift, short nails lightly digging into his skin as your hips rut in slow circles against his groin. Your own smirk forming when you feel the shutter roll down his body. Detaching his mouth from yours to rest your foreheads together, breath fanning over your face as he tries to hold back just a bit longer. “Now who’s proud of themselves hermosa?”

Giving a small shrug, one hand coming around to glide up his chest. Brushing over his nipple before wrapping around his neck. “I’d say it’s pretty equal now. Though you’re a little over dressed my love,” free hand sliding down to his ass and giving a squeeze.

Wrapping his arms around you, Frankie rolls the both of you over, hands going to behind his head. Dark eyes watching you sit up, straddling his waist, wet folds pressing against his throbbing cock. “Undress me princesa.”

“Do I get to take my time with you flyboy?” Leaning down to place a chaste kiss to his lips, making sure you rub your body against his. Knowing he’s having a hard time containing himself, catching the way his hands are fisting under his head. “I could really draw this out, pay you back,” with each word you place a kiss. Starting just under his chin, to the pulse point on his neck. Nibbling that little spot for a moment to suck a mark. Moving on to flick each nipple, giving little bites to his sternum. Feeling rather than hearing the growl vibrate through his chest.

Glancing up to ensnare his eyes, lips pressing into his tummy more times than there are words. Nuzzling the thin line of wiry hair leading down and under his jeans. “Oh look a map it’s a little thin but it seems to lead me to what I want.” Grinning at the groan echoing from his throat, rubbing your cheek into his skin.

Fingers making quick work of the button, slowly lowering the zipper, hands slipping under the fabric to push from his hips. Leaving his boxer briefs on for now while working those sinfully sexy jeans from his body, depositing the behind you. Sitting on your knees between his legs, drinking in the sight of your love. Running the palms of your hands up his calves to strong trembling thighs, fingers edging the stretchy material that hides little from your imagination. Bracing one hand on his hip you lean down to kiss the very visible patch of wetness. Knowing the crown of his cock rests beneath, lips much like this morning teasing the sensitive head. As your fingers tip toe up to pull down the band of his underwear. Baring his shaft to your hungry glaze, yanking the undergarment down his legs and straddling his right thigh. Rubbing yourself over the quivering muscle that flex’s with the touch of your wet cunt against his skin.

“Shit ba… baby please,” whimper leaving his lips at the feel of your soft lips brushing over the crown. Warm breath making him twitch in need, hands having come from under his head to fist the blankets below. Knowing he won’t last long with how your teasing and tormenting him. Eyes rolling to the back of his head when the warmth of your mouth engulfs the crown. Free hand stroking his shaft, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the sensitive cock head to your lips. Tongue finding that one little spot just under the crown which never fails to make him lose his shit.

Hips thrusting upwards filling your gapping jaw having prepared yourself for that very moment and relaxed to take him down. Saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, coating your fingers helping to lubricate your movements. A whine leaves the back of your throat when Frankie pulls you off his cock, catching sigh of the wrecked look on his face. The trembling of his body, the curses slipping from his lips in a mix of Spanish and English.

“Can’t wait hermosa, need to be inside you, need you to ride me,” voice desperate and cracking. Not pausing in his movements to line you up, knees on either side of his waist. Like a rag doll you let him position you where he wants, not coming back to yourself till you feel the bunt tip of his cock run through your folds.

“Frankie…” calling out to try and gain his attention through the desire fogged brain. Unsure of the position, one that you’ve never tried together. Though you couldn’t say it not one you hadn’t thought about. You just didn’t want to hurt him by being on top.

Shaking his head, positioning your body over his throbbing length. One hand wrapping around the base, long light strokes as he lines himself up. Even with his passion hazed mind, he knows your wanting to disagree with him. Making him sit up, cupping the back of your neck, “My choice mi amor I want to feel you around me, watch you bounce on my cock. See these beautiful eyes,” tracing his fingers to your cheek, brushing over your closed lids. “I want to watch you take your pleasure from me. Please mi ángel,” voice deep and tinged with want.

Lifting your lashes to stare at Frankie, using his shoulders to raise up as he teases your folds with his cock. Brushing over your clit, making you tremble in his arms before lining yourself up and sinking down slowly. Till your thick thighs are pressed against his hips, head tossed back at feeling so full. The slight burn of being stretched by his cock never fails to make you shutter in his arms.

“So fucking wet, tight,” muttering the two words over while burying his face in your neck. Arms wrapping around your waist as yours move to wrap around his shoulders pressing your bodies together. Letting the fullness feeling wash over you, consuming your body. The steady throb of that vein reverberating through your system making you whimper, rolling your hips against his groin.

“Baby please I need to move,” little whines leaving you lips a gasp wrenched from the depths of your soul when he lays back pressing his cock even deeper inside you. Large hands on your hips grounding him, watching with hooded eyes. Feet planted to thrust slowly up into your quivering walls, filling you so completely you don’t know where you end and he begins. Not that you care at the moment, as your worry melts away with the tender heated look he’s giving you.

“Ride me sweetheart,” bottom lip trembling before caught between his teeth. Watching you place a hand on the center of his chest. Rising up till just the cock head rests in the circle of your fluttering walls. Slowly sinking back down teasing the both of you with long deep strokes, moaning when he brushes over your g-spot each time.

Eyes rolling back a gasp leaves your lips when warm hands come up to cup and massage your breasts. Tugging the peaked nipples making your walls squeeze his shaft tighter. A groan forced from his parted lips at the feeling. Watching the way your features morph in pleasure, biting your bottom lip with eyes tightly closed.

“Look at me hermosa,” the command is hard to ignore combined with the tugs of his fingers at your nipples making you gasp. You slowly do as he asked entranced by the way he’s watching. Tongue coming out to wet his parched lips, breath catching in his throat at the sigh you present him. Sweat coating his forehead, dripping down the side of his face, chest glistening as you take him in. Hungry eyes devouring the look of pleasure, the needy little grunts expelled from his mouth. “Lean back on my knees I wanna watch my cock disappear into that pretty cunt of yours.”

Whimpering, pausing your movements to do as he asks. Bracing yourself with hands on either side of you on the floor. Pressing your back against his bent knees that have lowered just a fraction so your spread out backwards on display for his eyes. Hips rolling against his groin, body undulating against him the movements slow and delicate. Filled with a passionate abandonment that never fails to make Frankie smile. Head tossed back gasping breath leaving your parted lips, forgetting about everything that’s not centered on Frankie and the movement of your hips.

“So beautiful amor,” licking his lips, hand moving down to circle the little pulsing pearl with light pressure. Watching you quiver around him, feeling your walls squeeze his shaft, almost to the point of sucking him in deeper. Eyes glued to the apex of your thighs, observing how his cock disappears while his fingers draw different patterns over your clit. The sight nearly making him cum right then combined with the noises your making he knows it’s not long before he’s falling into the arms of pleasure.

Siting up unable to keep his hands and mouth from you any longer, Frankie wraps his arm around your shoulders bringing you down with him. Mouth’s attached in a deep tangling of a kiss that’s pulling small little mewling whines and whimpers from you. Keeping his fingers on your clit tapping and circling making you gasp into his mouth. All the more with the vise like grip of his free arm around your waist holding you in place as his hips thrust upwards. In quick and deep punishing thrusts, chasing that high only you can give him but first he wants you to see the stars. Knowing your getting closer with each thrust, the tight clinch of your walls around his shaft, making him grit his teeth.

With that thought and a need for air you break apart, lips going to your ear, “So fucking good to me mi amor,” groaning breathless. “Taking my cock like a good girl, letting me fuck you like this. Christ the things you make me feel mi vida. I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Frankie,” another whimper of his name leaves your lips that your bury into his shoulder. Eyes dropping closed the closer you get to your release. Trying to grasp on to your sanity with each deep, hard stroke he delivers to your body. His words only serving to make you shiver even harder and when he hits that spot you blank. Mouth gapping in a silent scream of his name, release washing over you and coating his cock that keeps hammering into your quivering cunt.

Teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sucking a mark into the soft skin. Working you through your orgasm as his own begs for release. Balls tightening against his shaft as his hips start to falter in his pace. Hot moist breath leaving his nose that nuzzles the side of your throat over the mark he’s left. Eyes clinch tightly, cock throbbing to his heart beat as he spills his seed deep inside your body.

Both of you are out of breath Frankie moving his hips in short shallow thrusts feeling your combined juices seeping out around his shaft. Groaning when he remembers the one thing he forgot. Hearing the sound you place a kiss to his neck, loopy smile gracing your features. Raising your head to look down at him, hips finally stopped even as the pleasurable after shocks still make your body tremble.

Kissing his chin, nosing that little spot where no beard grows, nipping the skin gently, “Shall I move baby? Am I squishing you?”

“Fuck no you ain’t hermosa and if you don’t stop saying shit like that I’m gonna smack your ass. You feel too damn good laying there and I don’t want to move from inside you.” Realizing what he just said heat floods his cheeks staining them a soft red. “I’m sorry mi ángel, I just don’t like you talking that way about yourself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the moan from escaping at his words, the force of his tone making you clinch around him tightly. Praying he hasn’t felt the change in your demeanor or the way your heart flutters at his words. Though you should’ve known better when thumb and forefinger pinch your chin to rise it from looking at his chest.

“Amor?” Having felt that squeeze around his shaft, making his heart hammer against his ribs. “Does that thought excite you sweetheart?”

Soft whimper leaving your lips with a shake of your head though you focus back on what you’d intended to ask him after hearing the groan. Trying to divert his train of thought away from a newly found kink. “Why’d you groan if not because…” biting your bottom lip when you feel the stinging bite of his hand coming down on your right butt cheek. Chocking on the moan that tries to leave your lips as his fingers rub the offended area. Burying your heated face in his chest that rumbles under your head. “S’not funny Fransisco,” pinching his side getting a yelp that brings a smirk to your lips.

“Woman you should be wore out,” hearing your playful huff. “Hmm seems I have more work to do mi amor, your still able to think and pinch.” Running his hands over your back, rolling the two of you over so he can stare down into your beautiful eyes softening cock slipping from your warm depths. Making you both groan at the loss. “And as to why I groaned a moment ago,” looking sheepish he leans up to kiss your forehead. Leaving his lips pressed there before speaking, “In my haste to have you cariño I forgot to use a condom.”

Thinking for a moment, small chuckle leaving your lips that turns into full giggles you can’t keep inside anymore. Holding onto Frankie tightly, burying your face back into his neck, breathless laughter ghosting over his skin. Frown marring his features when he feels the shaking that turns into confusion as those giggles reach his ears.

“It’s not funny sweetheart we haven’t talked about…” fingers covering his lips to stop the flow of words.

Eyes locking with the worried chocolate orbits, “Frankie my love if we happen to make a baby tonight I would be over the moon with joy. That’s why I’m giggling,” smiling, little chuckles still escaping. “I want to have your child mi rey,” cupping his cheek to bring his lips down to yours. Placing nibbling kisses before a full press slipping your tongue into his mouth, coaxing a moan from deep within. Pleased smile tugging your lips up as you draw back, “Even if it’s not tonight I wouldn’t say no to trying every night.”

“Mi amor,” endearment spoken on the tail end of a moan. Smile so blinding its as if the sun has been captured and brought inside to shine just for you. Holding you close he crashes his lips against yours, taking your moans and swallowing them. Sloppy and fierce, a clash of teeth and tongues, each trying to dominate the other. Till air becomes needed and you break apart gasping for breath. “You sure?” Worry creasing his brow, chocolate eyes filling with uncertainty as he looks at you.

Brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek, leaning up to place your lips over his, “I’m positive Frankie I want to give Isabella a brother or sister to play with.”

Moving off you, hearing the whimper you make, “Don’t move baby I’m not going far.” Reaching for his jeans a nervous smile sliding over his face as he pulls the little black velvet box from the denim. Pausing to flip the lid staring at the chocolate diamond for a moment, till he feels you move soft hand coming to rest on his back.

“Frankie?” Undertone of worry in your voice as you raise up on your knees waiting for him to turn and face you. Bottom lip caught between worrying teeth, fearful that you’ve said the wrong thing. Pushed him too far with the baby comments, Santi’s words coming back to you about marriage and asking Frankie first. Before thinking things through fully the words fall from your lips, “Marry me Morales?”

“What?” Shock coloring his gasp, turning quickly to stare down at you. Swallowing hard, “What did you just ask me?” Trying to keep the box fisted in his hand so you can’t see it yet.

Knowing there’s no reason for these feelings and thoughts to flow through your mind but his quick movements and no real answer causes the doubt to creep in. Eyes downcast not wanting to see the rejection in those chocolate pools you love so much. “I… I… I mean you don’t have to answer it’s just a silly question. I just thought,” biting you lip to keep the tears from slipping out of there ducts.

“What silly question amor?” Fighting the urge to tip your chin up to see your beautiful face. Frankie waits and when you don’t answer he opens his fist in front of you. Flipping the box open, “You mean this question mi vida?”

Gasping, eyes landing on the beautiful ring nestled into the plush black velvet, “Frankie?” Hands coming up to cover your mouth as tears slip free though they’ve changed to happiness as you stare up at him.

“I wanted to ask you differently baby really I wanted to try something a little more romantic. Maybe candles and dinner, down the on one knee” rubbing the back of his neck scrambling for the right words.

“You mean,” hiccuping as a bright smile tugs your lip. “You didn’t plan on proposing to me naked right after we made love?”

Rolling his eyes at your snark, free hand coming over to brush your tears away and cupping your cheek, breath catching when you place your own hand on top. Nuzzling the palm and placing a kiss to the center, “You deserve better, something special, flowers and chocolates and music playing. Not us naked…”

Watery happy smile, placing your other hand over his mouth a moment, “Crap I don’t need Frankie I only want you and Isabella, you’re my life.” Taking a deep breath, scooting closer on your knees till your just a hairs breath away from him, “Yes.”

“I haven’t asked you yet woman you can’t… wait what?” Chocolate eyes shocked wide by that simple little word. He’d hoped you’d say yes, dreamed of it from the moment he fell in love with you. But to hear you say yes still stole his breath and any other words he’d planned to say.

Soft giggles leave your lips, dropping your eyes down to the ring box in his hand and back up to his. Wrapping your arm around his neck to pull his forehead down to yours, carding through the short curls at the back of his head. “Then you better ask me flyboy so you can make an honest woman out of me in case you’ve knocked me up.”

“God sweetheart,” eyes slipping closed for a moment just breathing in your scent and warmth, savoring you, for a few heart beats, until he finally gather’s his wits. “Marry me amor, become my wife mother to Isabella and as many more child’s as you want. I don’t want to live this life without you beside me, please marry me,” whispering he last three words. Heart thumping wildly, fearful it’s all a dream and he’ll wake up back in that rehab with no proper out look for his life.

“Yes Fransisco, yes I’ll marry you, I love you baby. Though,” watching his eyes open to stare back, so many emotions filtering through those beautiful eyes. “I’m not giving birth to five children I’ll leave at least two for you to push out of your dick.”

Gruff laughter leaves his lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, crashing your lips together in a hard, desperate kiss. Ring forgotten till it slips from his fingers in a bid to cup your ass and press you closer.

“We can have as many children as you want amor,” unwrapping his arms to bring the box back to show you. Plucking the band from its snuggled confines. He grasps your left hand bringing it to his lips and kissing the ring finger. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while slipping it on your fourth digit, before dropping to look. “Prefect fit.”

“Just like us,” leaning in to brush your lips over Frankie’s. Smirk gracing your features, “Remember we already have four kids and Isabella’s the mature one.”

Deep happy laughter leaves Frankie’s chest, arms going back around your waist to haul you against his body. Properly sitting with his back against the couch, cradling you in his arms, playful smile on his lips, “Shame that three of them still need house broken.”

“Frankie,” your laughter joining his as you straddle his thighs settling in his lap. Letting your mirth simmer while looking at your ring, still unable to believe you’re gonna be married. “Pinch me,” soft yelp leaves you, trying to summon a glare to direct his way but failing miserably.

“What you asked me to pinch you cariño,” soothing the pain he gave to your ass with the palm of his hand, cupping both generous globes to pull your pelvis flush with his. “Don’t worry I’ll kiss and make it all better baby unless you want something different.” Remembering the way you curved into his hand when he spanked you earlier. The memory of how tightly your quivering cunt gripped his cock, makes a moan leave his lips. Cock throbbing against your slick folds, demanding attention from the moment you straddled his thighs.

Experimentally smacking your ass feeling you quake against him, breath hitching in your throat chocking off a moan. “Frankie,” rocking your hips against his growing shaft. Feeling his fingers dip between your folds finding you soaked and throbbing.

“Like that don’t you baby, like when I smack this beautiful ass of yours,” low growl leaving his lips that attack your neck. Drawing another whimper of need from deep with in your body. “I know you do, can feel it you’ve soaked my fingers and I’ve barely touched you.”

Rubbing your nose against his neck breathing in his scent mixed with the heady scent of sex and sweat. Amazed how he’s flipped from the sweet Frankie to sexual beast mode in seconds. “Don’t tease handsome please,” whimpering, all thought leaving your mind except for the way Frankie’s talented fingers feel. Strumming your body like a master to drag out moans and whines of pleasure.

“As you wish amor,” slipping inside of you slowly, gritting his teeth at the tight squeeze of your walls. “I’m warning you now we’re not getting any sleep tonight baby. I’m gonna have you on every surface of this house I can.”

Smirking, “Promises, promises Morales,” pulling back to stare into his molten chocolate eyes. “Actions,” gasping when he pulls half way out and thrusts back home. Hitting your g-spot, his pelvis moving to rub against your clit deliciously making stars shoot across your vision. Trying to form the rest of the words to tease him, “Speak louder than,” soft scream leaving when he dips to the side rolling the two of you so he’s hovering over you.

Grasping your thighs to push them against your chest, pushing his cock ever deeper inside your depths. Eyes rolling back missing the smirk on his plush lips, “You’re saying amor?” Wedging his upper body between your thighs, legs draped over his shoulders, his knees braced apart for stability. Hovering over you with hands gripping your ass to lift a fraction off the ground and start a punishing pace.

Making good on that truth, neither of you getting much rest that night. Finally eating dinner around mid-night, thankful that Frankie had turned the oven off earlier in the evening. Rewarding him for his thoughtfulness with a blowjob at the dinner table, making good use of the Reddi-whip. In turn Frankie snatched up what was left of the pie having a second helping of his dessert, with you spread out over the kitchen table.

Reliving that moment in your mind you don’t hear the question Santi asks. Only breaking out of the smirk causing memory when Frankie places his hand on your thigh giving a squeeze. Looking from him back to Santi, “Hmm,” clearing your throat with a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry Pope what did you ask?”

Chuckling, “Off daydreaming again cariño, hope it’s as good as the smirk on your face.” Lifting a dark brow, Pope watches you for a moment catching the subtle shift of your body, Frankie’s cheeks dusting red. Guessing the two of you spent much of the night and early morning celebrating. If the marks littering the both of you indication anything accompanied by the way your both leaning against each other.

Thankful he called before driving over with Isabella and eager to hear weather you said yes. Though he knew better than anyone the answer which becomes confirmed while you hugging Will, chocolate diamond glinting in the sunlight filtering through the front door. After a round of hugs, claps on the back and congratulations along with very happy giggles from Isabella everyone settled in the kitchen for coffee.

Drawing your thoughts back from this morning smirk only growing on your face, Frankie leans over, seeing the intent in your side profile, “Don’t do it hermosa.” Warning growl in his tone, hand still on your thigh giving a harder squeeze. Isabella’s little giggles the only answer he receives to the warning, wrapped in her mother’s arms and oblivious to everything except playing with your hair.

“Well Santiago if you must know it’s even better,” chuckling evilly when Frankie groans head landing on your shoulder. Blindly reaching over to cover Isabella’s ears. “Just reliving late last night when Frankie got to have his second dessert.”

Confused for a second, eyes widening comically as he looks from you to the table place he’s currently sitting at and back. “Your telling me,” words sputtering out as he pushes violently backward, chair scratching across the tiled floor. “You could’ve warned a guy Y/N,” shaking his head in part disgust and part amusement. “Tell me you at least disinfected it before we sat down?”

Shrugging, “Where’s the fun in that Pope, besides it’s only fair after all Frankie got to see the stars right there in that chair first.” Licking your lips glancing at both Will and Benny who haven’t caught on yet. The harsh crash of his chair makes you bust out laughing, holding onto the table for support and cleaving into Frankie who’s red as a tomato.

“That’s just… fucking hell,” wiping at this ass and thighs like there’s something there.

Confused till he looked between the two of you, the table and Santiago. Deep groan leaving his lips as he head comes down to rest in his hands, “We eat on this table now it has to be burned.”

“What? Why?” Thinking for a second, comprehension clicking into place Benny jumps up scrubbing his hands along his pant legs. “That’s just wrong so fucking wrong now I have that in may head to. I take back the marriage proposal Y/N, Frankie can have you.” Though the grin on his lips speaks differently. It however doesn’t reach his normally expressive eyes. Hiding a secret he’s kept buried for far to long knowing now there’s no chance of it coming to the light of day.

“How generous of you Benjamin,” playfully rolling your eyes, giggling when you look at Frankie seeing his eyes have narrowed on his friend. You lean over, “No worries flyboy you know you’re the only one.”

Chuckling he places a kiss to your cheek giving you a wink, “I know.” Standing to round the table, “So you proposed to my girl huh?” Trying to infuse a touch of anger to his tone that fails miserably with the grin on his lips. “Dude what happened to the code of friendship huh?”

Stepping back, hands up in mock surrender, playful grin o his chapped lips. “You know I didn’t mean it like that Fish, Y/N’s a sister to me.” Words tasting and sounding bitter to his own ears. Looking too Will and Santi for help, finding none except fake disapproving frowns, arms crossed. Glancing at you and Isabella with a pleading look getting no help.

“Shit,” little voice speaking into the silence every set of adult eyes land on her, giggling follows with little claps of her hands before burying her face in your chest shyly.

Peels of laughter ring out around the kitchen Will beating the table with his fist, head hanging with broad shoulders twitching. Benny and Frankie leaning on each other as tears of mirth slip down their cheeks, Pope leaning against the island to stay standing up right his own body shaking in laughter. While you hold her close laughing, shaking your head at the sight of your family. “Your daddy and uncles are silly little one,” kissing her forehead locking eyes with Frankie when he turns to you. Seeing the love saturating those chocolate eyes, soft grin pulling at his lips.

“I love you mi alma’s,” playfully pushing Benny from his shoulder to come around and kiss both your foreheads.

Reaching up to cup his cheek, bringing him down to touch your lips together in a tender kiss, “I love you to my real soon to be husband.”

Sure you still read get carried away into another world of your books. However, not so deeply that you neglect your husband’s needs and wants along with your own. Besides you know he’s so much better than any old book boyfriend.

THE END

#Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales x Plus Size Female Reader #Triple Frontier #Frankie Morales x Plus Size Fem!Reader #Frankie Morales x Plus Size F!Reader #Female Reader

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billiewena · 3 years

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for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

#if you were one of the people who offered to beta read back in march know I WILL be reaching out to because I need it lol #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #fanfic #spn 10x05 #also this is a given but if you did want to be tagged when this is posted hmu!#been having so much fun with this especially with writing the new songs #also tbh the musical itself is the closet I will get to writing a sam & cas fic so that's been fun too lol #ESPECIALLY because then I can immediately add dean's reaction to it which is typically 'time to walk straight off the stage'#it's also fun to write a s10 fic since I'm a 'dean's been in love since s8 at least' truther #anyways new to this and my untreated adhd means I make a gazillion typos/take forever to work on things/get distracted by new ideas but #literally every positive comment on that first post is the reason why I'm still workin' at it

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astromechs · 3 years

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keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

#neo x trinity #the matrix #the matrix resurrections #neo #trinity #* fic #song title is from cascades by metric #which for some reason just feels like a ship song for them #anyway i'm so hyped for tomorrow!

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years

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I + Can’t + Lose + You (1)

Read it on AO3.

A/N: I’ve had this half-written months! I’m so excited for finally share this with you. This is the official sequel to “Riley + Sunglasses + Undercover,” and I promise this will fix the mess I created at the end of R+S+U. :)

*****

Mac forced himself to spend his day off in the worst, most boring way possible: cleaning his house. He’d been procrastinating it for weeks, and now his laundry piled up and a thin layer of dirt covered the floor, courtesy of everyone walking around in their dirty boots post-mission. He really needed to enforce a “no muddy shoes'' rule.

His phone buzzed, momentarily rescuing him from folding the mountain of freshly-washed clothes on his bed. It was a text from Riley. I’ve been kidnapd.

“What the hell?” he muttered, typing, Are you okay? Where are you

Mac stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. Nothing. He folded three pairs of pants. Still nothing. Riley rarely took this long to text back. He sent a second text. Riles?

Mac forced himself to wait a whole ninety seconds before calling her. The call went straight to voicemail. He swore. What the fuck happened? He called Matty, who picked up on the first ring.

“Riley’s been kidnapped.”

*****

One hour earlier…

Sweat slid down Riley's back as she walked up the stairs to her apartment after her run. Running was her least favorite form of working out, but it was a necessary evil in her line of work.

She unlocked the door, entered, and stopped in her tracks. Her refrigerator door hung open, and someone was hunched over, rummaging inside. Riley took her earbuds out of her ears and wove her fingers through her keys, placing one between each finger. She left the front door open behind her as she creeped toward the kitchen.

The figure suddenly stood, and Riley almost dropped her keys in surprise as she took in a familiar middle-aged bounty hunter. “Riley, what on earth do you even eat? There is no food in this house.”

Riley cringed. She hadn’t gone to the grocery store in forever and had been living on takeout and dinners at Bozer’s apartment.

“Hi, Mama.” Riley shut the front door behind her and tossed her keys on a nearby table. “How did you get in?”

Mama Colton smiled. “Met your landlord. Told her I’m your aunt.”

“Okay then.” Riley made a mental note to talk to her landlord about who her real family members were.

“I have a proposition for you,” Mama explained. “I need your help catching a bounty, and in return I’ll give you a small percentage of the reward.” When Riley hesitated, she continued, “It’ll just be us and Jesse. The boys are sitting this one out.”

Working with the Colton women was always a good time, but Riley didn’t want her money. “How about a few of your buttermilk pies instead?” She grinned.

“Damn my son is a fool,” Mama replied, grinning back.

Riley grabbed her laptop as Mama filled her in on the mark: Hector Pitt, a thirty four year old former IT technician at a tech startup who stole classified data while fixing an employee’s computer.

She set up a few programs to track the man down and took a shower while they ran. Knowing how the woman felt about boundaries and stepping on people’s toes, Riley trusted Mama not to snoop through her computer while she was in the other room.

Riley was towel drying her hair when Mama hollered that the program got a hit. A traffic camera in a suburb of Phoenix showed Pitt walking down the street.

Mama looked at her with admiration and someone else Riley couldn’t quite place. “You never let me down, Miss Riley.” Riley beamed back at her, filled with that same urge to please Mama as she had back when she dated Billy and worked with the Coltons on a regular basis.

Riley finished getting dressed and packed her backpack.

Mama tossed Riley her keys. “You’re driving.”

Riley couldn’t believe she didn’t notice Mama’s bright red truck parked in the apartment complex’s parking lot earlier, but there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb in between a Tesla and a Mustang convertible.

Not wanting to leave without telling anyone where she was going, Riley shot Mac a text. I’ve been kidnapd, she typed as a joke, accidentally hitting send while fixing her typo. She sent a second text. By Mama Colton….going to AZ for a couple days. Riley didn’t wait to see if the message sent before putting her phone on ‘do not disturb’ mode, tossing it in her backpack, and chucking the bag in the backseat.

*****

Meanwhile, Mac completely lost his shit.

All he got was “I’ve been kidnapd,” and arguably the most confusing part was that she spelled kidnapped wrong. She almost never had typos in her texts….part of being a hacker, Mac supposed. Not to mention that it also wasn’t like her to not give any clues as to who took her or where they’re going.

Mac paced up and down the war room while Matty launched a search and rescue op. He had called Riley almost thirty times, but her phone immediately went to voicemail every time. Somewhere around the thirteenth call he’d stopped feeling relieved she’d picked up only to have been fooled by the “hey” at the beginning of her voicemail greeting.

A new analyst whose name Mac didn’t know traced the text. Riley sent it while she was still at her apartment, which was even more confusing.

On the big screen, the location tracker on her phone showed her speeding down the 10. She could be going anywhere. Plus, there were so many cars on the freeway that satellite imagery was useless. They’d never be able to pick out which car Riley was in without more clues.

Fear closed around Mac’s throat. Unable to take his eyes off the tracker, he whispered, “Where are you?”

#beth writes #i+can't+lose+you #macgyver #macriley #let the comedic angst begin #macgyver fanfiction

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jenovahh · 3 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 27 - The Things that Made Us

It was hard to keep your stress down when you were planning to try and expose the biggest crime boss the world has ever known.

There’s hardly a moment Merlwyb isn't throwing you a concerned glance at the first sign of you getting worked up as you, her, and Cid sit around a big table filled with papers and photos. Empty sugar and cream packets that have gone into about three or four mugs of coffee. Half eaten snacks ranging from croissants to a bag of chips from the closest gas station (which given that Cid was rich and lived outside of the city, was quite far).

While you appreciate her worry, you’re near ready to pull your hair out as a result. At the first sign of you raising your voice, she places a gentle hand on yours reminding you to calm down. When you reach for a mug of coffee, she bats your hand away with a stern look. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear Zenos had put her up to it.

“I’m going to go crazy, Cid.” you confess, collapsing on a couch in his office, finished with another day of planning. Three heads were admittedly better than one, especially when one of them was a genius. “It’s like she thinks I’m made of glass despite being undercover for nearly a year with the worst gang the world has ever known.”

Cid lightly chuckles at that, having grabbed some dried calamari to snack on as he finishes up a few things in his office. “I think it’s her way of trying to take care of you, given that she feels she failed you so miserably.” Even though the statement is loaded with truth, Cid delivers it with a warm smile.

You can’t help but feel a little bad; Merlwyb was probably taking you under her care because she knows Raubahn would do the same.

“Cid, I came to you to vent. Not for you to make me feel bad.” You pout, kicking weakly at the cushions before rolling to face him as he settles in his desk. “I hope she doesn’t feel obligated to take care of me.” You murmur softly, barely a whisper as your heart fills with melancholy.

Settling in, Cid turns on his computer and begins to work. “It might be partly obligation. It might be repayment. But do those things matter?” he asks, giving you an inquisitive look. “Would you rather have her apathy and scorn?”

Shaking your head, Cid nods, typing away at his computer. “I know that it is something you struggle with, Honey, to accept a person’s affection. But you should try it sometime. You might be surprised at what you find.”

You can’t help but feel like a little kid around him sometimes, some worthwhile lesson always falling out of his mouth. You tell him as much. “Would it kill you to be wrong for once?” You joke, tossing him a lazy smile.

“I’m afraid it is my job to be right at least ninety-nine percent of the time, or I'd be up to my ears in lawsuits.” He laughs, having not stopped typing for a second. “You should get some rest, my dear. I’ll be up for a while yet.”

“Shouldn’t you sleep?” You return, sitting up to throw him a scrutinous look.

“Unless you’re able to pull a few strings I didn’t know about, and also prepare enough tech to take down a corporate super giant…” Cid trails off, looking as if he’s to start packing up.

“I get it, I get it, sheesh.” You groan, standing to your feet. “I think I will go to bed if it means I’ll actually get to be right, even if I’m by myself.” You huff, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure.

“You need it, growing babe be damned.” Cid smiles, pausing his work to see you off. “You’ve worked damn hard for us up until this point Honey. Let us return the favor.”

Giving him a heartfelt smile, you wave good night to him and head out the door, reentering the hallway. The night is quiet despite the fact an uprising looms on the horizon. Somehow it seems both close and far away, the idea that things would finally come to a head, sides would be taken and long buried truths would finally come to light.

These twilight hours were your only time of peace, a few sacred hours before you needed to wind down for bed before Zenos woke you up to train in the morning.

Your feet have carried you to him before you realize it, finding him meditating in the indoor garden. You watch him silently from behind the glass, the rising and falling of his chest, eyes closed as he finds his center and stays there. One of the few times he looks tranquil and genuinely at peace, and given the small glimpse you had of his personal life, of his past, perhaps it served more than just the purpose of calming his body.

Maybe his spirit needed it as well, though he would never admit it.

Jolting as his eyes suddenly flick open and land on you, you can’t help but be mildly embarrassed for staring so blatantly, and for so long. Thinking to shy away and meander down the hallway to go somewhere else (preferably far away), he’s already uncrossed his legs and stood, briskly walking to catch up to you before you can even get a fulm down the hall. “You are done for the day.” he observes, his long legs allowing him to catch up to you in no time at all.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re wrapping things up I suppose, or at least there’s nothing more I can do but wait.” You grumble, a little put out still despite Cid’s earlier words. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve little to do, by your side.” he responds, voice surprisingly neutral.

“Do you miss...being in a gang?” you ask hesitantly, the two of you slowly walking wherever your feet take you. He seems to be following your lead rather than the other way around, and his slow stride suggests he’s not in a rush to go anywhere else except near you.

“No, and not for reasons one might think. I was apathetic toward my father’s bidding. Whatever his lackeys did, whatever shipments needed securing, it was all beneath my notice. My only concern was for the thrill of battle. Of storming hideouts and searching for new opponents.” He rumbles, the timbre of his voice vibrating in his broad chest. “In a way, I do miss the feeling of wondering if I would find a suitable opponent...the anticipation that would most times lead to disappointment...or joy.” Smirking, he gives you a burning look. “However, I’ve not felt that since meeting you.”

Huffing, you stick your tongue out at him. “Careful, that sounded almost romantic.” you groan, giving him a playful shove. Looking to your feet, you both are silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Sometimes I miss being a cop.”

He arches a brow at that, brushing a stray hair from his face. “Why would you miss such a…” he pauses as he searches for the right word. “...restrictive job setting?”

“I miss helping people. Or at least, feeling like I was helping people.” You answer, realizing you had somehow found yourself in the kitchen. Cid learned to keep some of your favorite snacks stocked here due to your frequent visits in the past. “I miss my friends, I miss my apartment, I miss just…”

“You miss your old life.” Zenos responds for you, taking the words right out your mouth. Once again his voice is neutral, giving away nothing, but he won’t let you see his face when you turn to gaze up at him.

Fumbling for the right words, you wring your hands together. “Let’s eat some ice cream.” You smile, buying you some time to think. You’re moving to circle the island in the middle of the kitchen before he can stop you, heading to the cabinets to reach for some bowls.

“Ice cream is unhealthy and full of unnecessary--”

“Zenos yae Galvus, if you do not get me two bowls down, I will gut you.”

He shudders at your threat and you can’t help but roll your eyes that only he would even get off on what is supposed to be a playful bluff. So what you could back it up? Though it was probably that very fact that excited him.

Doing as told he grabs two bowls for you, silent as he watches you move around the kitchen like you’ve lived here before. A familiarity that only comes with being welcomed into one’s home. You grab the spoons and point him toward the bar stools at the island, Zenos obeying without protest as you wrench the freezer door open and pull out your favorite Rolanberry ice cream.

You grab a heated scoop (specifically engineered by Ironworks technologies) to easily serve you and Zenos both, returning the ice cream to its place in the freezer before sliding Zenos his bowl and spoon. He looks at it questioningly as you sit down, diving right into your own ice cream. “This looks as if it was purchased from a...commoner store.” He sighs, poking at it questioningly.

“It was. Because I asked Cid to get it from a grocery store.” You reply, not missing a beat as you help yourself to another spoonful. “Hurry up and eat it before it melts.”

“Do you fear asking Garlond for higher quality sweets?” he asks, deciding to try a taste for himself. The face he makes shows that he is less than impressed and you can’t help but giggle at it.

“Not at all. This is just an ice cream I would eat a lot with Minfilia when I was a kid.” you answer, the uttering of her name not stinging as much as it used to. Maybe now that you had realized her captor, her killer, and that you were finally about to avenge her as you had promised, made it sting a little less.

Zenos is silent still, seeming uncharacteristically quiet. A little unnerved, you decide to answer his earlier question. “I do miss my old life. I miss my friends, Y’shtola and Lyse. I met them toward the end of high school. My truest friends. I haven’t talked to them since I told them I’d be going undercover to try and get close to you.” You muse, stirring your melting ice cream slightly before spooning it in your mouth.

“I miss my apartment. Even though it’s been nice never running out of hot water, having five star meals every day, sometimes I miss my shitty, little space. The tub with the terrible caulk job on the edges, the one panel on the blinds that would always break and never stay fixed. The spot on the carpet that wouldn’t come out after I spilled soda on it, no matter how hard I scrubbed.” You laugh thinking about it all, wondering if all your things had been kept safe.

“Sometimes I miss just feeling...normal.”

Though he says nothing, you can see Zenos’ brows furrow at the statement, smiling a little at his confusion. “I don’t know the specifics of the Resonant but up until...someone told me of the Echo, this whole time I thought I was ‘normal’. I thought I was like one of those Olympians, you know? That I was just really strong and had crazy fast reflexes. It never occurred to me that I was...something else entirely.” You murmur sadly, scooping a spoonful solemnly into your mouth.

“I remember so little of my childhood. It feels like it happened in short bursts. A period of just moving from place to place, until Minfilia took me, and ran away. Then there were the years with her, in bits and pieces, and then...nothing.” Finishing our ice cream, your vision unfocuses, as if staring at nothing. “Suddenly, as if I was just waking up, I was getting ready to graduate high school with my friends and joining the police force to find my mother’s killer.”

Looking up at Zenos, he stares back, but with an unreadable emotion on his face. Maybe, not necessarily unreadable, but as if he doesn’t know how to express however he’s feeling. “If you told me that I’d land myself in the lap of my mother’s killer and fall for his son two years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you.” You laugh bitterly as you finally make your way to the answer he sought. “But...as hard as it’s been...as painful as this has all been...I would never take it back.” You smile at him warmly, watching as his jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you otherwise.”

He is quiet still after your confession, and though he doesn’t say it back (part of you doubts he ever will), you are content knowing that you know he cares for you in his own way, by the gestures of how he cares for you. As he seems content to stew in his thoughts, you silently hook your finger on the rim of his bowl, dragging it toward you slowly while meeting his eyes in question. He only gives you a weak glare, but says nothing else, and you go ahead and drag it to your side of the counter and begin to eat his share of ice cream.

“The Resonant is a result of my blood.”

Looking up, you hadn’t expected him to speak. He looks uncomfortable, guarded, wary. “My mother was like you, a descendant of an Ancient. From what I understand it is rare for descendants to be born so closely together. The bloodline is passed down, but not every soul manifests its power.” He explains, toying with the ends of his fine hair, as if in a long buried, nervous habit. “To this day, I do not know what powers my mother had, just that she was unlucky enough to be caught by my father, and forced into his bed to create me.”

Frowning, you abandon your extra ice cream and reach across the island to place your hand on his. He jerks away from the contact initially, giving you a withering look, but at the look of genuine worry on your face, he curses under his breath. Returning his hand to the counter, he faces his palm upward, allowing you to clutch it with your own, running your thumb on his palm in nonsensical patterns.

“When I was born, I had shown no initial signs of ‘success’. No visible powers or abilities that would show that the bloodline of the Ancients could be used to create powerful offspring. It is why I am an only child. My father initially deemed it a failure and saw my mother as useless.” He continues, returning the motions of your fingers drawing patterns on his skin, focusing on where your hands are joined as he tells his story.

“This did not mean my father had given up hope of course. For all his airs of being a ruthless businessman, he is still a man of science. He never quit his experiments with aether, and drained every last bit of info from my mother he could until she finally ended her own suffering.” He ground out. Even as he crushed your hand within his quite painfully, you didn’t breathe a word of pain, not wanting to break this fragile moment.

“The majority of my youth, all I had known was testing at the hands of my father’s scientists. As young as ten years old, I had become well acquainted with the feel of needles, bright lights, cold rooms after my studies. I had rebelled in my youth of course, by using the power of my wealth, my prestige. I slept with anything that walked. Harmed anyone who dared cross me. It wasn’t like we didn’t have the money to pay the lawyers for it.” he sighed, his grip on your hand relaxing a bit. For a moment he is quiet, drawing patterns on your skin.

“It wasn’t until my early teens that my father’s best scientist finally had a breakthrough.”

His free hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it down forcefully to stretch the fabric more than it was intended. You see the beginnings of his tattoo, parts of the scales and talons that make up the dragon lurking beneath. “Aulus mal Asina...an eccentric most would call him as far as science goes. But it was just that sort of eccentricity my father needed after losing Midas nan Garlond to his own experiments.” Releasing a bitter laugh of his own, Zenos mumbled something underneath his breath before continuing. “He had proposed this tattoo.”

Even though Zenos’ focus has not left the sight of your hands twined together, as if it is the only thing grounding him in reality as he retells his life’s story, he goes on as if sensing your confusion. “Your power, the power of the Ancients, comes from that tattoo on the back of your neck. Or at least, that is the theory Aulus acted upon. Using this strain of thought, he made aether infused ink and put this dragon upon my chest, activating dormant blood...activating what he would call the Resonant.”

You can feel your own throat begin to close up, as you struggle to not shed a tear at how horribly Zenos had been treated. It was no wonder that his view of life was so incredibly warped, with a dad that was more concerned about turning his son into some sort of supernatural being than being there for him.

“It was also the last I had seen of Aulus. For when the Resonant activated, I had no control. It had felt almost like an out of body experience…” he trails off, a note of excitement creeping into his voice, but still he maintains his bitter expression. “I had...murdered anyone in the room with me in cold blood.” He sighs, hazarding a glance at you. Much like him, you keep your expression neutral, giving away nothing, deciding instead to scream from the inside.

“It took several tranquilizing darts to take me down. It was then I was put into my training to control the Resonant.” He rests the weight of his head on his free hand, still clutching your hand in his, drawing more random patterns on your skin. “The exhilaration I feel when in control of the Resonant cannot be compared. To be so fast, so strong, I had become obsessed with using it at any opportunity. It was then I became obsessed with the thrill of the hunt.” His eyes finally meet yours. “I had told you already how I would give myself impossible odds to fight against, until one day the thrill stopped.”

Something about that statement finally makes you meet his gaze, standing on the precipice of the unknown once more. “Do you still love me now? Even after all the monstrous things I’ve done? The people I’ve killed?” He questions, voice taunting on the surface, but you know better. Know him better than that.

You can hear the resentment that his father twisted him into the pained man he has become.

The bitterness that despite being rich, powerful, attractive, nothing would change how warped he felt inside.

The anguish that at this moment, he had bared his soul to you, let you see who he is in full...and that with his past now bared to you, you could leave him.

“Am I not any different?” You ask, clearly throwing him for a loop.

“You have only started maiming when I,”

“No, I haven’t.” You cut him off, your hand clutching his for comfort this time. Your vision goes dark around the edges as a long buried memory tries to dredge its way to the surface. “I don’t remember the details. Nor would I ever want to...all I remember is a sea of red. A knife in my hand. And dead bodies littering the floor because I was too late to stop them from taking Minfilia.”

Your breath begins to come fast, too fast, and Zenos snags you by the chin, forcing you to look at him, to acknowledge he is real and with you and you’re not standing in a pool of blood in this very moment.

“Gods help me, Zenos, did you think you could scare me away?” You laugh even though you tremble as you do so. “At this point who else could want a freak like me?”

You see something in his eyes, the spark that maybe he felt the same. That somewhere deep within him he craved love just like anyone else, no matter how much of his life he spent convincing himself the opposite. That he wanted to hold and be held, to kiss and be kissed, to experience the affection and adoration and care that he doubtless saw the many people around him experience over the years.

Of course he would fuck anything with legs. It was mostly likely the only time he got any sort of physical contact that wasn’t him being experimented on. The only time he knew someone wanted him.

Standing to your feet, you intend to do just that. You release his hand only long enough to circle the island and come to stand between his legs as he still remains seated upon the bar stool. Even sitting he’s still fairly tall.

Reaching for his hands, you bring them to loop around your waist, your arms effortlessly sliding underneath his own to hug him close. He seems unsure what to do for a moment, until his embrace eventually tightens, clutching you close, burying his face in your neck. “It could only be you, too.” You whisper, breathing him in. Your eyes flutter closed, wrapping yourself in his scent, his touch.

“There could never be anyone else.”

“It’s almost time isn’t it?”

Merlwyb glances at you from the corner of her eye as the two of you make your way to the conference room in Cid’s home.

“That it is.” She responds, hands clasped behind her back, turning her gaze back down the hall. “While we are certainly pushing the envelope in dethroning His Radiance in a timely fashion, it is good that we are getting it done at all.”

Nodding, you find that you agree. Though you were definitely cutting it close, it’s good that something was being done to knock this bastard down several pegs.

As you enter the conference room, Lord Hien is already on screen speaking with Cid as they converse about whatever particulars of the plan to take on Varis and expose him for his crimes. Zenos is there as well, arms folded across his chest and looking everywhere but the other two men, and you would go as far to say he almost looked as if he was pouting.

You’d hoped he would seem a little more enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, but through every meeting he sat quietly and neutrally, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to even feel a little bit angry by the plans being made to take down his father. You knew both Cid and Merlwyb were upset by his unwillingness to be involved, only placated by the fact he was not against them either.

You had described the horror of the Resonant to them, the sheer power and speed he displayed. You knew without a doubt Varis had kept his own son as a trump card, knowing of his killing capabilities. You had effectively taken Zenos from his hand by your “relationship” making taking him down much easier in theory.

You shudder to imagine what would happen if you had to go in a toe to toe fight with a Resonant activated Zenos.

Best to not think on it now. Not when it's time to focus on more certain things: like how you’re going to break into Varis’ compound.

“Hello everyone. Sorry I’m late.” you greet with a small wave, even to Hien displayed on the large monitor.

“Nothing to be sorry for. We weren’t talking about anything important. Wanted to save that until you got here.” Cid beams, giving you a welcoming smile. You give him a warm one in return, only able to ignore Zenos’ insistent stare for a little while longer before you throw him a reproving look, which does nothing but cause him to smirk back. Rolling your eyes, you move to sit in the chair beside him, clearly annoyed, but to all in the room it might as well have been foreplay.

“Ahem, well,” Cid coughs, angling himself at the monitor Lord Hien is displayed on as Merlwyb takes her seat beside him. “Since you’ve been here for the majority of the meetings, there’s not much new to say, except going over a few finer points.” Cid begins. “Lord Hien?”

“Yes, yes.” The handsome man nods, eyes turning to you. “The entire operation hinders upon the success of bringing down Varis’ research facility. While we could simply get video or picture proof, we do not run to the risk of him trying to cover up his tracks. We know he has been smart enough to play several hands over the years; there is no reason to not think he has no back up plan should someone see something they aren’t supposed to.”

“Or worse, he launches the technology to have a direct attack on the public. As you have told us before, he has already begun to develop weapons using this technology. We can’t bear the risk of him holding any more civilian lives hostage. We must cut off the source, and then we can handle any other weapons after.” Lord Hien’s voice is clear and concise, serious and awe inspiring. A true leader, you think, unable to not feel a little dazzled by him.

“That said, the day of infiltration, I will go into hiding. Varis has been content to let me live this long, but I would not put it past him to have some way of keeping an eye on me. Though I am capable of disappearing, he will no doubt notice this, and also notice something is going wrong.” Hien continues, threading his fingers together as he levels you with a serious gaze.

“While I hate to pressure you any further Honey, especially given how much you have done for Kugane so far, still I must ask, are you unable to recall where to find the research facility?” He asks, and all eyes in the room are upon you.

Fidgeting, you stare hard at the fine wood grain upon the table, hands fisted in your lap. “No...I don’t.” You sigh, feeling defeated. “The one time I had gone, I was so confused at where he was taking me, I didn’t think to pay attention to my surroundings. Even leaving, I had been so shocked at what he showed me, what he had told me--” you shudder as suddenly you remember the feel of his grimy hands upon you, pulling upon your clothes, his twisted words at how he would have you…

Zenos places a hand over the palms over your lap, expression giving away nothing. Nodding, you take a calming breath. “I was too distracted to take notice. Did none of our research efforts bear any fruit?” you ask, looking from one set of eyes to the next, begging that one of them will say yes.

They look back at you just as defeated, no one willing to make eye contact with you for a heartbeat. Clearing his throat, Cid speaks up. “Alas, even my most advanced sensors couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. I have no idea where it could be.”

The four of you twiddle your thumbs as you try to figure out what to do. Everything was ready to go. You could end this. Only you were too stupid at the time to remember something as simple as where the hell the secret laboratory was. You felt like you could smash a brick into your head.

Under the haze of your regret you can hear the others begin to talk again, perhaps discussing places they hadn’t thought to check, or avenues they hadn’t bothered to try. You tune it all out, unable to do anything aside from letting your own failure resonate inside you.

Resonate…

“Zenos.”

The room is quiet in an instant as you flip your hands over and clutch Zenos’ tightly, watching as his eyebrows reach for his hairline for a split second before they pinch together. “Zenos. I know we...I know we talked,” you offer vaguely, squeezing his hands that much tighter. “But please help us. We can put an end to this--”

“I told you I couldn’t.” He growls, his voice cutting so sharply, eyes so furious that you feel yourself recoil under his stare. But you knew this was bigger than you, and he had to know this too.

“Why won’t you help?” you plead, face breaking up as you watch a million emotions flit through his blue eyes. “Don’t you want to be free from your father?”

A shadow of something crosses his face, eyes unfocused as if lost in his own mind. He snatches his hand from yours as he comes back to himself, silent as he stands from his chair and stalks out the room. “Zenos!” you call, hurrying to your feet as he ignores you and flings the door open, uncaring that it slams into the wall. “Zenos!”

Following him, he’s once again halfway down the hall, deja vu urging you to catch up with him just as you had done that catalytic night at the hotel so many months ago. “Zenos, please,” you beg, trying to catch him before he rounds the upcoming corner. You don’t expect to be startled when he suddenly turns on his heel and snags you by your arms, nearly slamming you into the closest wall where he can loom over you menacingly.

You wish you didn’t feel so small before him during these times, especially now that you know how much he’s been hurting. “Zenos please, why won’t you help? Is it because of me?”

“Why would it ever be because of you?” He asks, his anger vanishing for a moment as he gives you an almost hopeless look. “I am saved by the very fact that you exist.”

“Then why?!” You whimper, trying to break out of his iron grip even as he grips your arms tighter. “Is it because the cause is too noble? Is it because you can’t go against your father?”

“Noble? What is noble about wanting to get revenge for your fallen friend? That still makes you a murderer, or have you forgotten?” he snickers darkly, ice blue eyes piercing directly into your heart. However you’ve known him too long. Long enough. Long enough to know that Zenos answers almost anything he is asked. That he doesn’t deflect, he doesn’t ignore you.

“Your father...what did he do to you that you can’t raise a hand against him?” You whisper, hating as you can see you’ve hit your mark when he goes stock still. His fingers are almost crushing in their strength, but you pay them no mind, needing to get to the heart of the matter. “Zenos, whatever it is, you don’t have to fear him--”

You cry out as he nearly throttles you into the wall, the sclera of his eyes almost bleeding black. “You know not of what you speak.” It is whispered so lowly, so vehemently, you can’t help but shiver in fear.

“But I want us to be happy.” You cry, tears leaking down your face, wanting to somehow get through to him. “I want you to be free from him Zenos, for us to be free. Forever--”

“Nothing is forever!” He nearly roars, but instead of maintaining the ferocity he had kept until this point, he couldn’t sound more shaken. “I cannot raise a hand against him. I cannot...I can’t. Not against my father.” he murmurs softly, though his grip has not decreased one bit.

Thinking quickly, you try to reason with him. “But I can.” you urge, praying that he will listen.

He barks out a hoarse laugh at that, fixing you with a derisive sneer. “Then what? Shall we both rot away in solitary confinement for our crimes?”

Whimpering, you wish he would just let go of you so you could hold him. “Chief Raubahn said I had immunity while on my mission,”

“Good for you.” He laughs again, leaning into your space. “And what of me? Do you think they’d be willing to overlook all the men I’ve killed? The things I’ve stolen and cheated for? Will your chief be willing to turn a blind eye to the monster I am?” he laughs maniacally, eyes flashing red for a brief moment before his expression becomes unfeeling. “I would sooner die than rot in prison, unable to fight.”

“Zenos,”

Dropping you, he doesn’t bother to grab you as you crumple to the floor, turning his back on you. “You are all fools to think you can even touch him.” Even at his scathing tone, you can see the haunted shadow that falls across his face, wondering just how much shit did that asshole put him through? What fucked up mind games did Varis play to have his own son that could snap him in half be too afraid to stand against him?

“I do this for you,” you cry, suddenly feeling exhausted, gazing up at him desperately. “I’ll fight ‘til my dying breath that they don’t lock you away. I refuse for us to not be together.” Tears begin to genuinely leak down your eyes now, even as you hear Merlwyb call your name as she rushes down the hall, surely ready to tear Zenos a new one. “Please...help us.” you beg, watching as he wars with himself, hating that he had gone through too much trauma to cause this hesitation. This fear.

“Honey!” Merlwyb calls as she crouches beside you, checking you over. Glaring angrily up at Zenos once she deems you unharmed, she stands back to her full height, nearly eye to eye with him. “You better have a good explanation, Garlean.”

Unamused and not intimidated in the least, Zenos scoffs, turning his back on the two of you. “Of course I do, savage.” He sighs, eyes still covered in shadow. “The facility is on the outskirts of the city, to the west. You cannot find it because my father has made it imperceptible to nearly all manner of tracking technology.” You watch as his shoulders sink, as if a heavy sin has suddenly put all its weight upon him.

“If you wish to find it, it is hidden under the guise of being a warehouse for father’s technologies, which is why the government has never investigated it. The true work is done nearly malms underground. If you truly wish to end my father as you so claim...reach the bottom of the facility. If you have someone smart enough to activate the shut down sequence, you can end his entire operation.” He pauses and reaches inside his shirt through his collar, pulling a chain with a key attached from underneath. “This will let you pass through any door.” He explains, dropping it to the floor.

He gives one final glance at you before walking away. You sit there broken, wondering how he could possibly turn his back on you. After getting on your knees to beg him to join you, to save the both of you from this nightmare. Even though you see a glimmer of regret in his fierce, blue eyes, it doesn’t stop him from walking down the hallway, into the darkness.

“Good luck.”

#ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

3 notes · View notes

allegra-writes · 5 years

Text

(Not so good at) Sneaking around

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Teen & up

Warnings: None

The Request:

Hey! So we always see the Reader and Peter sneaking around Tony and he suddenly finds out when he catches them making out or doing it and freaks out and it's like "Run Peter, run!" But c'mon!! There's no way his daughter could hide something like that from him I mean he's Tony freaking Stark! So just once I would like to see a fic where the Reader and Peter think they are being so smart and sneaky but Tony knows all along and just let's them go on because it's so much fun for him to see them running around and freaking out and just nearly giving them heart attacks every time he 'almost catches them'. Also let's be honest, he would totally ship it!

“It’s happening! This time it’s definitely happening!” Tony got in the bed whispering excitedly.

“What is, Tony?”

“SpiderStark! Y/n and Peter!”

Pepper turned around to face her husband, exasperated and refusing to have to be awake at such an ungodly hour.

“You say that at least once a week…”

“Yes, I know, but this time it really is happening!” He insisted, excitedly, “I was walking down the hallway outside y/n's bedroom and I hear them yelling at each other and…”

“How is yelling at each other conducive to them getting together?”

“Because of what they were yelling! Hear me out…”

Tony was having a pretty shitty night, the coding for his newest AI refused to cooperate but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. He was missing something. He needed another pair of eyes.

Peter was out with MJ, great kid, really, he would totally be on board with that relationship if it weren’t with the fact that it was getting in the way of his OTP.

Because that’s what they were, ever since princess Shuri had explained the terminology to him, he couldn’t help to think about his own princess and his protégée like that. Because, let’s be honest, no boy was ever going to be enough for his precious girl, but the one he loved like his own? The one whose genius rivaled his own, the one who was braver than Cap himself, the one with a heart more pure than Thor's? That one came pretty fucking close.

And he wasn’t blind, he had seen the little glances they stole when they thought no one was looking, the way that “personal space” lost any meaning when it came to them, those kids were crazy about each other.

Now if only those two morons would get along with the program …

Anyway, Peter was out with MJ and Harley had gone home for the weekend. His own precocious teenager was geeking out somewhere on the tower with Loki of all people (and don’t even ask him how the bastard was still alive, Thor himself had just shrugged and welcomed him back), but he was going to have to interrupt them -such a pity - to ask her for help.

“If you’re looking for your firstborn, she just left for her bedchambers” Loki said without even raising his eyes from the book he was reading, sprawled on the sofa of the main living room.

“So early on a weekend night? You managed to bore her that much?”

Loki rose an eyebrow in obvious contempt.

“If you must know, she was visibly distressed after the spider-brat showed up. So much that so that she was of no use to any of our respective investigations so she decided to call it a night.”

“Distressed? Peter Distressed her?”

Loki scoffed,

“That little insect is not as harmless as you seem to believe…”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, Snivellus. I’m gonna find her, she’s probably still awake.”

You were awake alright. Yours and Peter’s voices could be heard from the hallway. Frowning, Tony got closer to the room.

“… and where do you get off of telling me what to do or who to talk to?!” distressed, his ass, you sounded furious. “You are not my father, you are not my brother, you are no one!” Jeez, kid, harsh much? “You are just my friend and-!”

“That’s bullshit, y/n! That’s so much bullshit and you know it!” Tony didn’t think he had even heard Peter swear before, but he would have been the first to admit the tension between you two was bound to explode sooner or later. “The way we touch? The way you look at me? The whole way we just… are with each other, that’s not how friends are supposed to be! You wear my freaking t-shirts to bed, for God’s sake! Just admit it, baby, we haven’t been just friends in a long time.” He finished, voice full of venom.

Your dad froze outside your door. He felt the need to intervene, to put a stop to the argument before it could escalate even more and both his kids said things they would regret. But on the other hand, he had no idea what to do or how to break up that fight. Teenagers were a scary breed, especially female ones…

Especially Stark ones.

There was a loud crash against the door.

“What the Hell, y/n? You can’t just throw a vase at me! You could have hurt me!!”

His daughter’s response must have been in a lower voice because he couldn’t hear it. Tony got closer to the door trying to listen but the voices sounded muffled now, softer.

There was another dull thud on the door, as if something heavier had hit it, and then a stifled moan, and Tony left hurriedly, before hearing something he really, truly didn’t want to hear…

“… Wow”

“I know, right?” Tony sounded still amazed. Pepper, good pragmatic Pepper, wasn’t as enthusiastic.

“ And you are not bothered at all by the fact that your oldest daughter is currently making out, maybe even more, with a boy in her bedroom?” She inquired, skeptical.

“Honey they are eighteen, and they are smart. They can be a lot of things, but irresponsible is not one of them. Besides,” Tony left out a yawn “Peter is a complete gentleman.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about” Pepper muttered, but Tony’s eyes were already closed.

…

Tony Stark started to suspect Peter Parker wasn’t as much of a gentleman as previously thought a couple days later, when he caught you trying to sneak out of the med bay.

“I can’t believe you licked the alien thing” Bruce was so done as he and your father turned the corner.

“It worked! It was DNA activated!” Tony countered.

“But you didn’t know that at the time! Oh, hi y/n…”

You stood there like a deer in the headlights, cursing silently: it was just your luck to crash into them when you were almost on the clear. You had been so close, but the tell tale glow of the Starkderm -Your father’s high tech take on the transparent medical dressing, designed to aid in healing and completely camouflage wounds, making them indistinguishable from the patients skin once activated- on your neck, let you know your little mission had failed.

“Sweetie, are you ok? Did you get hurt?” Bruce’s tone was anxious and the guilt Tugged at your heart for making him worry. After all they had been through, they didn’t deserve it.

“You should let Bruce take a look at that, neck injuries are a serious matter, kid”

Had you been in a better mental state you would have noticed the amused glint in your father’s eye that belied his concern; but as it was, high on adrenaline and embarrassment, you didn’t see it.

“NO! I mean… n- no, it’s nothing, I mean -just a stiff neck.” You stammered, “That’s it, just a stiff neck. I thought maybe the analgesics in the Starkderms might help. I- I gotta go now. Bye!”

You practically ran out of the room, leaving behind a bewildered Bruce… and a clacking Tony.

“Oh my God!” your father was literally doubled up with laughter, “Did you see her face? She was so red she could’ve given the old mark II a ran for it’s money!”

“I don’t understand, the Starkderms don’t work on soft tissue sprains…”

“Oh Banner, you pure, innocent jolly green giant…” Tony wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and put a hand on his friend's shoulder -well, he tried for the shoulder, but the forearm was as high as he could reach- “It was a hickey. She was trying to cover a hickey”

Banner was even more confused,

“A hickey? But how? who..?”

Tony just raised an eyebrow.

“… No, no way!”

“Yes way.”

“Get out! Finally?”

“Yes, my friend,” Your dad patted Bruce’s (lower) back “Fucking finally!”

…

“I think your father knows”

Tony froze on his tracks right outside the kitchen as soon as he heard Peter and you talking about him.

“What? Why would you say that?” You sounded slightly alarmed, but not enough, in his opinion. Surely he was more intimidating than that, he was Tony fucking Stark after all.

“Well, you know since my aunt and I moved to the tower we have been doing our grocery shopping ourselves…”

“Yeah, I know” Tony could practically hear your eye roll, he knew you shared his opinion on the ridiculous Parker pride that meant that, despite May and Peter finally accepting to move in with the rest of the team into the new Avengers Tower, they still refused any and all financial help from Tony; never mind the fact that your father paid for everything for the other avengers.

“Well, last night after patrol I was tired and I forgot May had asked me to go to the store,” Peter sounded like he was blushing. Tony hadn't even know that was possible. “so I asked Friday, right? And then, when the groceries arrived…” Peter ended his explanation with an unintelligible mumble.

“What? I’m sorry Pete, I didn’t quite catch that last part” Your mirthful tone let your father know that Peter was blushing even harder. Tony had to stifle a laugh, he knew exactly what had been in those groceries…

“Condoms, ok?” Peter finally blurted out, “There was a box of condoms in one of the bags that I definitely didn’t asked for!”

“And you think that, what? That my father did it?” You said incredulously “They probably just mixed your order with someone else’s. Peter do you seriously think my father bought us condoms?”

“… Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little ridiculous…”

You scoffed,

“You think? Besides,” You added, “we would know if my dad knew, he’s not exactly subtle, you know. Do I need to remind you the Carter Baizen incident?”

“The what?”

“You seriously don’t know?” You sounded beyond incredulous and we’ll into stunned territory now. “It was everywhere. My dad saw him trying to put his hand underneath my skirt once, while we were dating, and he blasted his car…”

“That was true? I thought the tabloids had made that up!”

“They didn’t. So, you see there’s no way we wouldn’t know if Tony –“

“Hey, did someone say Carter Baizen?” Your father interrupted, choosing that moment to finally walk into the kitchen and making you and Peter jump three feet apart “Because I swear, if that bastard is lurking around again…”

“Hey dad! No, ew that would be super creepy. He’s like, super old now…”

“Hello my heart.” He came next to you and kissed your head. “You better be telling the truth, because if I ever see him near you again, I will disintegrate him.” He then looked Peter dead in the eyes over your shoulder as he said, “Nobody puts their hands on my baby girl and gets to keep them”

Peter swallowed hard. Tony smirked. Oh yeah, he was still intimidating af.

…

“Friday, where’s my oldest daughter?” Tony asked certain Saturday evening, not having seen you in the whole week, thanks to the mission your team had been on.

“She’s in her bedroom on the penthouse, boss”

“Really? She’s not, you know, on the third floor, west side of the tower?”

“Negative, boss, she’s not at the Parkers’.” Friday sounded amused, “However, Peter is in her room with her.”

“Figures.” Your dad grumbled. But then an impish little smile appeared on his face: It was time to have a little fun messing with his favorite pair of jumpy teenagers.

As he neared your room, he was able to hear music, whooping, laughter and… Rihanna?

… So gonna let the rain pour,

I’ll be all you need and more…

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” Tony knocked on your door, and the laughs immediately stopped.

“Just a second!”

A lot of shuffling, the thud of something heavy hitting the floor and a few muffled curses reached his ears. A minute latter, a very flushed You opened the door.

“Hi, dad!”

“Hi, baby” He stepped past you into the room and took a look around: The bed was made (thank God) but there were a few pillows knocked off it, one of Peter’s sneakers was visible underneath the vanity and a pair of pink my little pony boxer shorts were laying on the carpet. Your dad poked them with his shoe.

“Nice shorts,” He commented casually, “I thought you had gotten over rainbow colored horses when you were six…”

“Stranger Things made them cool again” you hurried to explain, “Well, not cool cool, they’ll obviously never be cool, but like, cool amongst nerds. It’s more like a nostalgia thing… and who wants to be cool anyway, am I right? Cuz-…”

“Sweetheart, you’re rambling” Tony pointed out and you instantly shut up. “I just wanted to ask you and Peter if you wanted Italian for dinner. Where is he, by the way? Friday told me he was with you…”

“That traitor!” You murmured under your breath.

“What was that, my heart?”

“Nothing, dad” You replied, proud of how even your voice was despite of your heart trying to leap out of your body. “You just missed him, he left like two minutes ago to take a call from May. But I’m sure Italian’s great, he loves it.”

Tony wouldn’t admit it, but he was kinda proud too, you were definitely getting better at lying. As a father it was a scary thought but he knew it was a valuable skill in your shared line of work.

The only thing was, I wasn’t nearly as fun to mess with you if you didn’t fumble and stuttered your way out of the situation.

“Right, then, I’ll go tell Pepper to order while Mor and I set the table. You’re on dish washing duty tonight.”

“Sure, no problem dad.” If Tony hadn’t already known you were trying to hide something, that right there would have tip him off: You never, ever in your life had done the dishes without complaining.

Yeah, you were getting better at lying but there was still a long way to go.

As soon as your dad left, Peter got out of the ensuite, stark naked and arms full of clothes.

“Is he gone?”

“Really, Peter? Really?” You deadpanned, “first you come out here naked and then you decide to ask if my father is gone?”

God, he was so lucky he was pretty.

He chose to ignore your sarcasm.

“And he didn’t suspect anything?”

“He didn’t. Apparently My Little Pony is girly enough for these to belong to me” You snickered, holding his underwear up. He took them, blushing and mumbling something about a gag gift from Ned. Once he had them and his jeans on, he flopped down on the bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I knew the striptease was a bad idea!”

You laughed harder at that,

“You said you had moves! I had to see them!”

He peered at you through his fingers.

“Was I any good at it, at least?” he asked shyly but you could see the beginnings of a smile on his bitten red lips.

“Babe, you are the best Rihanna ever,” You said truthfully, “ I’m even tempted to put you on a full on French maid costume. Fishnets and everything.”

You leaned down on the bed to kiss him, but he used his super speed to flip you over so you were one your back and he the one above you.

“God, you are so weird!” He declared, but there was nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t kink shame me!” You batted half-heartedly at his chest.

The rest of your complaint was swallowed by his lips.

…

“Daddy! Daddy!” As soon as Tony put a foot inside the penthouse he got tackled by a little dark haired meteor.

“Maguna! Hello baby!” he grunted as he picked the littlest of his troublemakers up. He was getting old, and his little squirt was getting big. He started to walk the both of them towards the kitchen. “How was your day out with your big sis? You girls did something fun?”

“We did!”

Tony scowled in mock outrage,

“How dare you? I specifically forbade you two to have fun without me!” he growled to a giggling Morgan “There can be no fun if I’m not there, I told you!”

“We did! We had fun!” She confirmed delighted. She was obviously not intimidated in the slightest, and Tony was starting to resign himself to the fate of not being feared at all by his daughters.

“What did my girls do? If it wasn’t too fun, I shall allow it…”

“She and Peter took me to the Queen’s zoo!” She replied excitedly, “There were Coyotes! And there were mountain lions and sea lions! And we saw the sea lions have lunch! And then we had lunch. Oh and I got to feed a baby goat!”

“Really? You did all that? In just one day?!”

“Yes!” She confirmed, “And then y/n said she whished she could keep one of the sea lions as a pet, a little one, like a sea puppy! And I said yes, but Peter said he couldn’t let us steal a sea lion!” Morgan frowned, indignant. She looked so adorable that Tony was having a hard time trying to hide his smile.

“Did he now? The nerve on him!” He played along.

“I know! And then y/n pouted, and I made the puppy dog eyes…”

“The what now?”

Morgan sighed,

“The puppy dog eyes,” She explained, tiredly, as if she believed her father to be exceedingly slow, “It’s when I make my eyes real big and sad. Y/n taught me”

Tony rolled his eyes, unsurprised and unimpressed by that little piece of information.

“Anyway, she was pouting and I was making the puppy dog eyes, so Peter said he would be our sea lion instead. And he was making like this” Morgan started flapping her hands and barking in a rather hilarious impression of a sea lion. This time Tony couldn’t stop himself from cracking up, but far from offended, Morgan smiled, pleased with herself.

Once they reached the kitchen, he placed her down on the counter and started gathering the ingredients for a couple PB&Js while Morgan continued the retelling of her latest adventures.

“… And then, at the Aviary, I saw y/n and Peter kiss! But they told me not to tell you, cause it’s a secret…”

“They didn’t try and bribe you into keeping it?” Tony asked amused, without stopping to spread peanut butter on a slice of breath.

“Yeah, they did. They bought me ice cream and a sea lion plushie…”

Tony turned to face his daughter.

“Then why are you telling me?”

Morgan gave him a look far sinister than any seven year old should be capable of,

“Because they would only let me have two scoops…”

Tony had created a monster.

“Wow. We are so lucky you don’t know who Spider-Man is!” Tony commented, thinking just how much it might cost them for Morgan to keep a secret like that.

“But I do know Spider-Man! He’s my friend!” Morgan replied, having totally misunderstood her dad, “And whenever you are away on a mission, he’s the one that comes to check for monsters in my closet when I can’t sleep at night…”

“Of course he does” How was Tony ever supposed to hate her daughter’s boyfriend, when he was Peter Parker?

…

“Harley, what happened?” Tony demanded catching up with the boy on the hallway of the Medical Research and Treatment wing of the tower. Otherwise known as the medbay.

“Tony! It was that fucking Goblin again. He had some kind of gas he tried to douse on y/n. Peter took the hit for her.” The blond boy answered, falling into step beside Tony toward the infirmary, were Peter was being tended to by both Banner and Strange.

“I told you a thousand times, kid: That’s Mr. Stark, or boss for you. I’m your superior, show some respect, this is supposed to be a mission report.”

“Sorry, sir” Harley continued, sounding anything but, “We subdued the Red Goblin successfully and now he’s under custody of S.W.O.R.D. I believe they are presently trying to separate the symbiote from it’s host. Stature and Ironheart stayed behind to handle the clean up and I brought Spidey here.”

“Really? Y/n didn’t want to bring him in herself?”

Harley smirked,

“She knows I’m faster.”

“That I can’t argue with” Tony admitted, well aware of Harley’s disregard for safety rules in favor of speed. And the thrill of it, of course. “Do we know something about the substance that lunatic hit Peter with?”

“It was a poison, fast acting and apparently lethal on normal humans. On Pete's unusual metabolism, however, the effects are… pretty interesting.”

Tony narrowed his eyes in suspicion,

“How interesting exactly?”

Harley’s smirk intensified,

“Why don’t you see for yourself, boss?” He motioned at the door with his head and Tony’s weariness grew: if Harley found it amusing, chances were it wasn’t anything good.

“Mister Staaaaaaark!” Peter’s cheery voice slurred loudly when Tony wasn’t even halfway through the door. He turned to Harley.

“He is high?!”

Harley didn’t even tried to hide his laughter.

“As a kite!”

Tony was convinced that one this days, one of his kids was going to make him roll his eyes so hard, that they were going to get permanently stuck facing the back of his head.

“Nooo, don’t go mister Staark”

“Tony, get in here!” admonished Bruce, who was trying to push back into the stretcher, as gently as possible, the loopy teen with the super strength currently trying to make his way to his mentor.

“Woah, careful there, champ!�� Tony guided a squirming Peter to lay back down, “What would y/n say if she saw you trying to escape like this?”

Tony never thought a person could make the exact same face of the heart eyes emoji. He was wrong.

“Y/n! She’s soo gorg- so gurgeu- so… she’s so pretty, and strong and braaave…” Peter gushed, “And I’m so so lucky, cuzz she’s my girl- my girlfriend… how did I get so lucky, mister Staark?” He looked at Tony as if he was just realizing who he was talking to- Which was probably exactly what was happening- and seemed suddenly petrified.

“Oh no! No mister Staark, you can’t know she’s my girlfriend or you’ll kill me! Kill meeee!!”

“Relax, kid. I’m not telling mister Stark anything.” Tony tried to calm the easily distracted boy the best way he could think of. And it worked. Kind of.

“Thank you mister Staark. You did sooo much for me! You made my suits and you took us in and- and… and y/n! You made y/n!! Did you make her in your lab too? Because she’s SOOOOOO perfect!

“Actually I did make her in my old lab,” Tony chuckled “Just not in the way you’re thinking”

“Dude! TMI!!” Harley quipped from the doorway.

“Seriously, Stark, don’t give the boy any ideas, I already walked into him and your heiress making out in the Sanctum enough times” Strange chipped in, holding up a syringe with a bright green liquid Tony assumed to be the antidote.

“What were they even doing in the Sanctum?”

“Besides making out? I’ve no idea.” Was Strange's dispassionate reply.

Peter was still spouting praise over y/n,

“She’s so niiice and sooo good and so brill- so smart!”

Strange came closer with the needle but Peter would have none of it.

“No! No needless! No pricking!” He started to struggle against Banner's hold and he truly did not want to hurt the confused kid.

“Tony, distract him!” He demanded.

“Underoos, what was that about my daughter?”

Peter’s face immediately lit up,

“She’s amazing, she smells so nice and her hair is soooo soft, like a princess!! But like, a- a badass princess… like Leia!” Peter turned suddenly solemn, “Miiister Staark, do you think she likes me? Like, like like me?”

Tony smiled,

“Well, considering she is your girlfriend, I would expect so…”

“SHE’S MY WHAT?”

Strange used the moment of distraction to pretty much stab the syringe into Peter’s thigh. He looked so betrayed that Tony had the unreasonable impulse of hitting the wizard right on his smug face, even though he knew the doctor was only doing his job. Or one of them, at least.

“This should help you expel the toxin faster. You might feel drowsy and lethargic so I strongly recommend you to lay here, take a nap, and when you wake up you should be back to normal,” Strange hesitated, “Or at least, whatever is considered normal for a hormonal adolescent boy with spider DNA… Seriously Stark, how do you even find them?”

Tony shrugged,

“You should see the one with the Prym particles irradiated heart”

Stephen Strange seriously hoped the billionaire was kidding.

“Right. If that’s all, I will be going now. Give me a call when the spider kid wakes up” He added to Bruce, “Even if you don’t consider it necessary, I would like to check on his evolution.”

“Will do, doctor” Banner gave him a reassuring smile. Doctor Strange could be cold, even a downright bastard sometimes, but he had a soft spot for the youngest Avengers, and that placed him firmly in the 'friends' category according to the oldest ones. He disappeared through one of his portals, that closed after him in a shower of sparks.

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

Tony sighed and was about to turn to go to Peter again, but to his everyone’s surprise, Harley beat him to it.

“Ok, Pete, that’s enough excitement for one afternoon”

“No, no, I want…” Peter ended his sentence in an unintelligible mumble but it was clear he was trying to sit up. Harley helped him to hold himself upright.

“That ok, Pete?”

“Kid, he’s not listening, he fell asleep” pointed out Tony.

“Ok, then” Harley guided Peter’s back to lay against the stretcher again, while Tony placed his legs in a more comfortable position. Once they were done, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Harley. The blond shrugged,

“What? I might not take a lot of things seriously, but he’s my friend…”

Bruce hummed unconvinced.

“You caught all that on video, didn’t you?” Tony correctly assumed. Harley gave him a dazzling smile in return.

“Every single glorious second of it, I even got some recordings of the flight back here. If you let me have some of the security footage of this room, we could turn it into a short”

Tony winked,

“You got yourself a deal!”

“God I’m so sorry Vine does not longer exists” Harley lamented, “This material is gold! Gold I tell you!”

“Well, I can always buy the company and bring it back…” Tony suggested, following the kid out. Bruce was left alone with the unconscious Peter, wondering what exactly was going to be awaiting the unsuspecting kid on the internet once he woke up.

“Wakey wakey, spider beauty…”

Peter really didn’t want to wake up, he had the feeling he was going to have the hangover of a lifetime once he did, but that little voiced lured him into consciousness like, well, like a spider lures flies into it’s web.

“Come on, Pete, open those pretty eyes for me…”

“Whu? Oh, oh hey babe…” Peter drowsily greeted you, managing to open one eye. You chuckled, relieved, and Peter thought that that right there was the most beautiful sound in the world. Facing the hangover to kill all hangovers was worth it, just to hear that sound again. He opened both eyes and took you in: You looked a little gritty, and exhausted from the last fight, but even so, you were still as breathtaking as the first time he had seen you, all those years ago.

“Hello, princess” He sounded much more alert now, to your infinite relief.

“Hey, there, handsome” you smiled at him and Peter felt his heart skip a beat. He vaguely wondered if it would always feel like this, or if he was going to get used someday to the idea of you being his. He seriously doubted that last one. “Is that my new nickname?” You asked.

“Yeah, yes it is. Because you are a princess. A badass princess, like Leia.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he was hit by the memory of everything that had happened earlier in that very same room. Peter groaned and covered his face with his hands, something he seemed to do every time he felt embarrassed, which lately was a very often.

“Babe, don’t hate me” He grumbled from behind the shelter of his hands, “But I might have told your father about us…”

Your laugh took him by surprise.

“Yeah, I know, he just gave me the “what are your intentions towards my protégée” speech”

Of all the reactions Peter had prepared himself for, that wasn’t one of them.

“Wait, so he isn’t mad?”

You snorted,

“I know! I was surprised too, but according to him, we won him a lot of money!”

“What do you mean?” Peter was sure the drug hadn’t left his system completely, cause you weren’t making any sense.

“Apparently there was a bet going on. He had a lot of money on “Secretly been together all along, just didn’t know it/refused to acknowledge it”” You explained, “and it seems Bucky made a lot with “Angrily confessed their feelings for each other in the middle of a fight” too”

Peter felt his jaw hit the floor,

“I think I need to lay down…”

“Babe, you are laying down” you pointed out.

“Well, then maybe I need to lay down next to you” He replied cheekily. You feigned an annoyed sigh.

“Fine, scoot over” You climbed on the narrow stretcher with him. The both of you barely fitted, laying side by side, but Peter wrapped his arm around your waist to stop you from slipping out. And if he held you a little closer to his body than was strictly necessary, well, you were openly, officially, his girlfriend now. He was allowed to touch you, to kiss you, to stake a little claim on you in front of everyone, here and there.

He laced the fingers of his other hand with yours, and held your joined hands up in the air in front of the both of you, testing the feeling of freedom, of not having to hide anymore, even if it was just of the infirmary security cameras. He couldn’t help the goofy smile he knew he must have been sporting on his face.

You stayed like that, admiring the way your hands looked together, before you had to ask,

“What are you thinking about?”

Peter seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You held my hand like this” He observed, pensive, “Back on Titan, I mean. After the snap, as we…” He trailed off, but you knew exactly what was left unsaid: As we turned to dust. As we died.

“And I know you must have felt it happening too, cause I remember I felt your fingers starting to crumble underneath my own and-“ His voiced cracked and he had to stop and take a few stabilizing breaths before he could go on. When he did, it was with tears on his eyes as he said, “And I know you were probably terrified, too, but you still held my hand and tried to comfort me. Because I was scared. Because I needed you. And then, when we came back…”

“We were still holding hands” You finished for him.

“Yeah” He murmured, quietly, amazed. He turned on his side, removing his arm from your waist, and placing that elbow on the thin mattress, supporting his head on his hand, to face you.

“I never told you this,” He confessed, “But I remember not wanting to let go” He squeezed your still joined hands, “I still never want to let go”

“Then don’t” You whispered, closing the distance between you, kissing his soft lips gently, trying to convey in that kiss all the adoration, devotion and longing you felt for him. He let go of your hand, only to softly touch your face, with heartbreaking tenderness, as he delicately bit your bottom lip in a silent request for permission. The helpless little moan that escaped your throat was all he needed to deepen the kiss, lips devouring yours, tongue worshipping every corner of the inside of your mouth, hands pulling you closer and closer, making your body come alive beneath his fingertips.

He rolled into his back, pulling you on top of him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other one trailing dangerously lower and lower on your back, seeking the skin under the waist line of your jeans, kiss getting quickly out of control.

When the need for air finally won, and you had to break the kiss, smiling at Peter’s attempt of following your lips with his, you knew. You knew, as certainly as you knew your own name, inexorably and inescapable like gravity. The words left your mouth in a breathless whisper, but as clear as the feeling behind them:

“I love you, Peter Parker.”

Peter could only gaze at you in awe, slack jawed and heart hammering so hard inside his chest you could feel it on your own. You saw the raw emotion in his eyes and knew he was about to say it back.

“That’s all very good but I think it’s about time Pete an I have a certain conversation”

The sound of your father’s voice had you both falling down of the stretcher in your haste to get away from each other.

“Dad! We were just-…”

“Mr. Stark! This isn’t what you think it is!”

Tony looked down on you at your sprawled positions on the med bay floor and scoffed.

“I think I know exactly what this is” He declared, pulling Peter up by back of the collar of his suit, “which is why I think it’s way overdue that Peter here, and I, talk about the birds and the bees…”

“Dad, no!”

“Dad, yes. Tell me, Peter, do you still have the box of condoms I sent you?” Tony left the infirmary dragging a tomato red Peter with him, and you just knew you were never going to get laid again.

Because if there ever was something worse than your father threatening your boyfriend to defend your virtue, it was your father giving your boyfriend sex advice.

The end.

So, this was too long to post in one go, I guess this prompt got outta hand. Or my characters got a little... Handsy.

#peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #spider man fanfiction #peter parker fluff #iron dad #Iron Man #tony stark

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