#dark!frankie still chubby though

[beefrobeefcal]

Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. But how did Frankie 'Catfish' Morales, the coke-addicted, lanky mess of a man become its leader? And where did the moniker 'BigFish' come from?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,283 | 3+/- years before OTWF begins

Content Warning: threats of violence, crime, violence, betrayal, Big Fish is a bad man in the making, character death, allusions to drug use, swearing, choking, punching, eating, comments on body, weight gain, friendship but at what cost?, Tom is a bag of smashed assholes

Author's Notes: this is a prequel showing us the how, what, why, and where roughly three years before Honey comes into the picture in Chapter One: Signed and Sealed. The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for brainstorming this with me and to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for their love and eyes. Pour one out for @xdaddysprincessxx - she will need all the hydration she can get.

On the Waterfront Masterlist

“If it were anyone else…”, Tom warned. 

“Yeah, we know. But it’s not. It’s Fish. He’s one of us.”

Pope sat back and watched Will do something none of them thought they’d have to do – convince Tom to give a shit.

“He’s a fuckin’ coke head! Snortin’ our own shit and lyin’ about it!”, Tom boomed, standing over Will. “You ran the fuckin’ numbers, you can see how much money we lost up his fuckin’ nose! And now you wanna spend more money tryin’ to get that fucker clean again?��

Will didn’t bend. He didn’t shrink and he didn’t back down. “It’s Frankie. Catfish. Our Catfish. And he needs help.”

Tom huffed harshly enough in Will’s face that his hair moved, then turned his ire to Pope. 

“You think Fish’s worth it? Already cost us a shit load of money and Will wants to blow more on that fuckhead.”

Pope slipped into his smooth and nonchalant voice and crossed his arms. He’d hoped this would give Tom the impression that he was just as unnerved and steadfast as Will.

“You know he’d do the same thing for any of us.”

“Fuckin’ altruistic bullshit!”, Tom barked, slamming his fist on the table. 

Pope felt his blood heating up and his jaw tightening. Will looked over at him quickly, his blue eyes ice cold and angry, and then back to Tom. 

“I disagree. He’s just as much my brother as Benny is. Or you, or Santi. He’s family and I’ll get’m help as many times as possible. And you know what you’re sayin’s bullshit-“

“Fuck you and your fuckin’ family values dog shit! You and I both know that he’s gonna get clean, last a week or two, then shit’s gonna start goin’ missing again and he’s gonna be right back to bein’ the fuckin’ crypt keeper he looks like now! He’s not gonna change. We need to cut him loose and let him kill himself. He made his choice, Will! Admit it - Fish ain’t worth it!”

Will stood up and moved close to Tom, almost nose to nose. Yeah, Tom was bigger, stronger even, but Will was precise and skilled in a way that seeing him square up like that scared Pope. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward. 

“Hey! Hold up! We’re not gonna do th-“

“You’re supposed to be our leader – our fuckin’ captain.”, Will seethed lowly. “I’m not gonna take orders from some mother fucker who decides to ‘cut loose’ one of our own. Fish needs our help and fuck you for turnin’ your back on’ im.”

Tom glared at Will. “Fine.”, he spat, then dug his index finger in Will’s chest. “But when he he fuckin’ OD’s, it’s on you!”

*****

It felt like more than 90 days when Pope rolled up in front of the rehab centre to pick up Frankie, and when he saw him standing outside, waiting for him, he frowned. Not because he wasn’t glad to see him looking better and fuller, but because this was the third time he had picked Frankie up from a stint in rehab. 

Frankie pulled open the passenger door and slid in, not daring to look up. 

“Fish…”, Pope broke the silence as he put the car in drive. “You look good - ”

“How mad is he this time?”, Frankie interjected.

Pope sighed, knowing exactly how mad Tom was that the Frontiersmen funded another one of Frankie’s stays in an expensive treatment centre. The fact that Tom could be mad at Frankie for this used to baffle him, but by this time - the third time – he could at least see where Tom was coming from. It didn’t sway his growing dislike of their leader though. 

“You keep clean, and he won’t have a reason to be pissed.”

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

“Just shut the fuck up and keep clean, Frank.” Pope snapped, cutting Frankie off in turn. “Besides, I have something in mind to keep you motivated.”

All Frankie could do was nod, despite not knowing what Pope could offer as motivation. He never wanted to relapse, but the call was too sweet, too enticing, for him to stay away too long. He’d said this the day before while he was going through the exit procedure and the facilitator just shrugged and said, “Find something else to get high on then.” 

*****

Less than two months after Frankie came back to the compound, Tom was dead. 

Pope had walked down the hallway to the office where Will waited, and he pushed open the door. Will had looked up, expecting to see Tom, and when he saw Pope instead, blood on his hands and splattered on his body and face, and wide eyed, he stood up, confusion etched on his face.

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

Will dropped the file folder he held precariously and moved quickly to Pope’s side as he sat heavily in one of the armchairs. He wiped his hand over his face, smudging the semi-dried blood, and he sighed.

“Who’s dea- “

“Tom… Tom’s dead. He’s fuckin’ dead, Will.”

“Santi.”, Will said in a low, controlled voice that just barely masked the panic writhing below. “What happened?”

“I… I was… I didn’t…”, Pope paused, trying to find a way to confess. Instead, his conscience was silenced by his ego, and he found himself lying without even really thinking. “He was… taken out by… by the Gutierrez gang… those fuckers… they ambushed him, Will.”

Pope looked up at Will, daring to see if what he said even sounded feasible. To Will, Pope’s wide, frightened eyes convinced him to ignore the itch at the back of his brain, needling him to probe further.

“I was… I was with him when he… I found him before he died. He was fuckin’ babbling some shit… who was supposed to take over…”

Will’s eyes narrowed subtly, but enough for Pope to register. He knew he couldn’t say he was the one Tom wanted; it would be too suspicious. And he couldn’t say Will because that would give him full control - something Pope truly believed would be his own downfall. 

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

Frankie was a half a year sober – actually, really, fully, no-word-of-a-lie sober – and had been the head of the Frontiersmen for just shy of four months. He’d spent the last six months trying to find a new vice that wouldn’t render him a liability and bankrupt the organization. He was just barely making an impact as the new leader; no one took him seriously. He was skinny and quiet. Only his inner circle knew how violent and dangerous he could be, but even then, they knew he really had to be provoked to get him to that point.

Pope decided he had to do something. His plan to put Frankie in the captain’s chair was failing miserably, and he knew if he couldn’t land this, he would be sussed out. 

“Fish… come on… we’re going out for dinner.”, he said, slapping Frankie’s back.

He looked up at Pope, tired and miserable. “Why?”

“Because you need to eat. You’re skin and bones and no one wants to be led by a corpse.”

Frankie’s expression turned from confused to hurt as his shoulders dropped, feeling the weight of everyone’s expectations gnaw at his sobriety. He carried this somber aura all the way to the restaurant. 

*****

The dingy little Italian restaurant had a name – Marcello’s - and it became Frankie’s haven. It was nowhere near as festive or amazing as Benny had indicated. The way he raved about the place, Pope thought he was taking Frankie to a pasta titty bar paradise, and instead he found them in a mid-century dive with carpet and wood paneling on the walls. 

It wasn’t until the hostess came out from the bar to greet them that Pope understood exactly why Benny loved this place, and he understood it even more when they had their food served.  It had started out as once a week, then turned into almost every night. The effects of pasta, heavy cream sauces, and garlic bread we’re beginning to show on Frankie. Gone were the feeling of his ribs when Pope patted him on his back and gone were his sunken cheeks. Frankie had filled out and he was glad to see his friend looking better. 

That was, until he noticed something. Yeah, Frankie was clean from coke, but he seemed to have turned that same veracity that he’d once carried for the narcotic on to food. It used to be that Frankie could barely finish a frozen TV dinner, being able to stretch one over two meals. As Pope sat across from him at Marcello’s one Tuesday evening, he watched his friend plow through two whole plates of pasta in one sitting. Pope noticed that while Frankie ate, he seemed almost tranquil, serene.

He’d found something else to get high on.

There was a notable change in Frankie as he gained weight. The soft spoken, always amenable Frankie was slowly being enveloped by a bigger, meaner, and more vicious version of him. 

When he was thinner, Frankie could get lucky with women if he tried, but he wasn’t the most confident and rarely put himself out there. But as he grew, so did his self-esteem. He no longer sat back and accepted things as they were said to him – he questioned and even demanded answers, using his newfound size to intimidate if need be. If he saw something he liked, be it clothing, electronics, cars, he took it and gave no one a chance to say otherwise.

The legacy Tom left behind began to fade within the Frontiersmen as Frankie’s violence took centre stage. His quick temper and fists built a reputation; he was still quiet, but the silence he offered was no longer one of contemplation, it was one of simmering rage, liable to explode into violence at any moment. But this was within their group alone. No one outside of their crew took him seriously enough to even warrant giving him a foot in the door.

All of that changed one evening and Pope got a front seat to watch his plan to hide behind Frankie finally bear fruit. Catfish’s temper finally exploded on the right person to get the message out. 

Chuck, the leader of another group called the Golden Kings, had sat across from Frankie at a roundtable, hosted by one of the other gangs to broker agreements and territories. Chuck had taken every opportunity to remind everyone that Frankie was a junkie who used to pilfer his group’s own product to get high. When he stopped getting the reaction he wanted, Chuck moved onto Frankie’s weight, which had pretty well doubled since Tom’s death. 

Will, seated on the other side of Frankie, quietly said, “Let it go, Catfish.”

“Catfish?”, Chuck laughed cruelly. “Fuckin’ Catfish? Really? Fatfish is more like it. What happened, Morales? You eat your feelings ‘cause you can’t get high no more?”

Pope caught a glance at Frankie’s face which only could be described as dark and malevolent as a thunderclap. It unnerved him to see Frankie looking so dangerous around other people. It was one thing for him to beat one of their own for being a dipshit, but this was someone who wasn't below Frankie – he was ranks above him. Frankie sat, glaring across the table at Chuck, his elbows on the armrests and his hands tensely tenting his fingers.

It seemed that the rest of the men at the table could sense the electric tension between Frankie and Chuck. Dan Connor, leader of the Dead Rabbits and host for the evening, motioned to Frankie with a head nod. 

“Get it out, Morales. Can’t move on with you having a bitchfit at some name callin’.”

Pope knew none of these men took his friend seriously and it was either going to be Frankie using his keen negotiation tactics or Frankie showing off his newfound rage. 

The latter won. Frankie sat in silence as Chuck beat his mouth off at him, trying to get Frankie to react, to no avail. He didn’t speak; he just watched, letting Chuck keep talking, letting him fuel his violent rage even more, until it reached a tipping point. 

“You may be a big fish now, you fuckin’ goof, but you’re still a rat-faced junkie.”

It happened quickly. Frankie stood up and grabbed Chuck from across the table by his suit jacket lapel and pulled him to his side as his fist began beating into the man’s face over and over.

Chuck’s men stood up, but Dan Connor’s hand came out, motioning for them to sit. His own men waited for their cue to remove Frankie from Chuck, but Dan just watched in reverence.

The punching stopped and Chuck gurgled in pain, and Frankie wrapped his huge hands around Chuck’s throat and squeezed. 

“I am Big Fish, you fuckin’ cunt.”, he growled in a calm and low tone, then he spat on Chuck’s face.

Will looked at Frankie horrified, and Pope couldn’t help the grin that forced its way to his face. Dan finally motioned for his men to intervene, and it took all four to pry Frankie’s hands off the bloody, gasping mess that was Chuck. 

Chuck’s men moved to get their boss away from Frankie as he sat back in his chair, and nodded at Dan, signaling for him to continue. The room remained silent, save for the pathetic whining of Chuck in the hallway. Dan looked at Frankie, eyes narrowed, then finally he started laughing – hard.

“Fuckin’ BigFish Morales! Welcome to the table, asshole.”

no more taglist! follow @beefnotes for fic updates!

[pedroshotwifey]

Ahoy Hottie! 💜🥩💜 you know I gotta do it to ‘em…

#9 & chubby!Frankie x f!reader 🥩 or just a plain ol’ fat frankie… I’m not picky.

Beefro👌🥩💜

Hey, Beefro! I can't tell you how excited I was to see this request! Hopefully I did fat Frankie justice 😘

Good 'n' Deep

Pairing: Fat!Frankie x f!reader

Word Count: 2.6k (oops 😅)

Tags/warnings: finger fucking, oral, multiple orgasms, piv sex, slight overstimulation, soft dom frankie, mentions of weigh gain, dirty talk, smut, fluff, idiots in love, manhandling, frankie being a fucking unit

Summary: Fat Frankie can't be sated.

*****

You get home late. And feeling awful. 

It was supposed to be date night with your husband, but the boss kept you in for overtime. You know Frankie doesn’t mind, and reassured you about forty times that it’s not your fault, but you still hate to skip it. But as he says, you always go out on Fridays, and the two of you have plenty of Fridays to make up for this one. 

It’s not much, but you did pick up dinner at Frankie’s favorite fast food place on your way home. He doesn’t know yet, and you’re excited to at least surprise him with that. It’s a bit on the expensive side, but definitely worth it—both in the sense that it’s fucking delicious, but also that you’ll be able to see Frankie excited. 

“Babe,” you call into the dark house as you toe your shoes off. You smile when you hear Frankie’s quick footfall coming right for you. He wraps you in a hug as soon as he gets to you, engulfing you in his warmth and immediately relieving some of your stress. 

He leans down and kisses you gently, but only for a second because he’s suddenly very distracted by a certain smell. 

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans, hands already reaching for the paper bag in your hand. “You’re the fuckin’ best.” 

He plants a kiss on your head as you giggle. “You’re welcome, baby.”  

You both walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table, pulling your food out of the bags. Frankie looks excited, just as you’d hoped he would be. He looks so good right now, wearing his gray sweatpants, his standard oil cap (which you swear he has separation anxiety with), and an old, white tank. There’s a ketchup stain on the front from about a year ago that just never came out in the wash. You also notice that it’s gotten a good bit tighter since then—definitely one of those shirts that Frankie keeps trying to convince himself that fits. 

You won’t burst his bubble or anything, but he’ll need to try a bit harder, because there’s no way he’s fooling anyone. A sliver of his pudgy tummy peeks out from the bottom of the tank that used to cover him completely. The fabric hugs him tightly, probably just on the side of not being painful even though it’s being stretched to its limit. It used to hang loosely on him, but he’s gained a good bit of weight since the two of you have been together. You smile to yourself at that, glad to see him looking so happy and taken care of. 

He groans as he takes the first bite of his burger. 

“Fuck, thank you again, baby,” he says through a mouthful of food. You nod at him, mouth full as well. 

The two of you talk about your days as you devour your food, you finishing quicker than Frankie but staying at the table while he finishes his other burger and large fry. He tells you that his day went pretty good. All the guys showed up at work and there wasn’t an issue to keep them on the job for longer than necessary. 

You wait until he finishes his last fry before you start to pick up the trash. You take his cap off of his head as you walk by him so you can brush his hair back and place a gentle kiss on top of his head. He smiles warmly at you when you put his cap back on and move to throw the trash away. You glance at the clock, biting your lip as you decide there’s probably a bit of time to do something before you go to sleep. 

“You want to watch a movie, Frank?” 

He hms thoughtfully as you walk back toward him. “Maybe, " he says. 

You move to pass where he’s still sitting at the table, but you’re quickly stopped and pulled into his lap, both of your legs draped over his thighs. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck for stability. 

“Think I’d rather have a snack though,” he says through a grin as he rubs the side of his face against yours. He then rotates your body so that you’re leaning against his back.  

“Frankie, honey,” you giggle despite catching his meaning. “You just ate!” 

You turn and poke his full stomach to prove your point, but he only grunts and holds you tighter.

“I’m feeling greedy,” he rasps into your ear as he grinds his hardening length into your ass. “Need my dessert.” 

You shiver, lust staring to cloud your head. Leave it to this man to want to fuck you after a huge meal. He doesn’t wait for you to respond as he lifts your shirt up and you raise your arms for him to tug it off. Your bra is next, discarded on the floor next to you within seconds. 

You give in—which isn’t very hard—and let yourself relax into him. You moan and he leans down to lick up the side of your neck, his beefy hand traveling even lower to worm itself beneath the band of your panties. He finds your clit quickly and immediately starts to rub circles just the way you like. Your hips buck a bit as you crane your neck to devour his plush lips with yours. 

“Mm-Frankie,” you whimper against him as your thighs begin to tremble. You feel him smirk against you in return but say nothing. All you can focus on is the building of your orgasm, that addicting feeling tugging deep inside of you with a promise for more. 

He lets his fingers slip down to your hole and gather the slick there before bringing it back up to create a smooth movement atop your bud, his hand moving faster and faster until the coil snaps and you’re crying out and convulsing on top of him. His other hand wraps around you to stop your thighs from closing, forcing you to prolong your pleasure as he keeps up his slowing movements.

You’re panting when you come down to your high, practically drooling with the back of your head planted on Frankie’s shoulder. You’re not sure when that happened, you leaning back and clutching his forearms so tightly that there’ll be nail marks when you let him go. 

He chuckles darkly as you release him from your clawing grip, trying to calm your breathing. You’re only slightly aware of him helping you off of his lap to stand. He takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. You must only be in there for a half-second before he’s pushing you down on your back and dragging you until your ass is basically hanging off the edge of the bed. 

“Frankie!” You screech his name at all the movement, the way he’s man-handling you. He only smiles cheekily through the grunt he lets out as he gets down on his knees in front of your cunt to kiss the inside of your thigh. 

“Sorry, hermosa,” he coos. Though he’s very obviously not that sorry because he goes right to practically ripping your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t even bother yelping or reprimanding him this time. You know that he’s determined now, and Frankie Morales doesn’t relent until he gets what he wants.

He’s back at your cunt—in your cunt—before you can blink. You scream as he burrows the entire lower half of his face into your soaked folds and grasps your legs over his shoulders. Your hands fly to his hair, knocking his cap off in the process of getting to his thick, soft curls between your fingers. He moans sharply as you tug, unintentionally forcing him closer to you. You don’t worry too much, you know he loves it. He once told you that he would die a happy man if you ever got tired of him and chose to suffocate him in your sweet pussy. 

He licks and sucks at a furious pace, completely skipping a buildup and going right to the action. It’s unbelievable to you how quickly he manages to make you come sometimes. You yell his name as he eats you out like he’s mad at you. It’s so fucking good, this blinding pleasure making your entire body shake and your blood run firey hot. And you know he loves it just as much as you do.

You start to fall limp again, sweat covering your entire body as he keeps drinking you up. You hiss, your body bucking as you pull on his hair again to try to get him off of you. You’re about to tell him you need a break, but then he suddenly has a finger gliding into your hole, and then two, and you don’t get the chance as your second orgasm melds into your third. He finger-fucks you at an inhuman pace, almost hurting your poor pussy with how hard he shoves them into you as he sucks harshly on your clit. The sounds are obscene even through the blood you hear pumping in your ears. 

He starts to slow after you ride out your third high, though you’re not sure if it’s because he’s taking pity on you or if he genuinely just can’t handle not being inside you for another second. You assume it’s the latter as you listen to the sound of his clothes being tugged off, one arm thrown over your eyes as you try to collect yourself. 

“God, you look fucking gorgeous, baby,” Frankie groans as he admires your limp, sweat-slicked body. 

You lift your arm to find him between your messy thighs again, this time standing over you. Despite the three fucking orgasms he just gifted you, you feel your cunt clench at the sight of him standing so imposingly in front of you. He’s so fucking big and intimidating. He’s stripped all the way, as naked as you now, letting you see every inch of his gorgeous damn body. 

He watches you with a gaze that tells you he’s in the mood to pound you through the damn mattress. You find yourself excited, despite already being sore, as he takes a step forward and lines up his blunt tip with your slippery hole. You whimper and grip the sheets as he starts to make shallow thrusts to push in, stretching you despite your excessive preparation and the amount of times he’s had you before. 

He moans right along with you, gripping your hips and pulling you onto him. Your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open once he’s fully seated and breathing heavily above you. 

“Fucking christ, baby. You’re so fucking tight,” he accentuates the last word by pulling out slightly and thrusting hard back into you, making your back arch when he slams into that spot deep inside of you. 

He starts at a slow but forceful pace, making you see stars every time he pushes himself in. You watch him with hooded eyes, admiring how gorgeous he looks when his own eyes close and his lips part. His pelvis comes flush with your ass each time and he uses the opportunity to grind into you, rubbing your walls in a way that makes you want to cry. Actually, you think you are. It’s only now that you feel tears start to leak down your ruddy cheeks.

Frankie must have opened his eyes at some point while you were lost in your head, because he’s suddenly letting out a breathy laugh and using one hand to thumb away the tears. Your toes curl at the gentle touch compared with the brutal treatment of your cunt.

“I know, sweetheart,” he coos. “I know it’s a lot.” 

God, he feels so good leaning over you. You want him closer—need him closer. 

“F-Frankie,” you manage to get out. “N-Need you closer.” 

He smirks at you and thrusts a bit faster, pushing you up the bed and leaning over you to kiss you deeply. One hand stays on your hip as the other cradles your face, keeping you where he wants as he devours your lips in a messy kiss. You wrap your arms and legs around his broad body, smiling a bit when they don’t wrap around him all the way. You love when he overwhelms you like this, completely trapping you under him as he pummels into you. He’s barely even pulling out now, just slapping his hips to yours as fast as he can as he whines and moans into your mouth. The grip he has on your hip is crushing, but it feels good because it’s him. 

The coil is tightening once again within you, making everything go hazy as you focus solely on how he edges you closer and closer with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix. 

He’s getting frantic, too. You can tell by the way he loses control of the kiss and his thrusts get even shorter. 

“F-Frankie,” you mumble into his lips. “M-More.” 

He picks up the pace yet again, making you scream when he hits a spot that you didn’t even know existed. You jolt against him, startled but the burst of pleasure that sparks through you. 

“M-More,” you beg him again, panting so hard you think you might pass out. You need more. More of him inside you, on top of you. You need everything to be filled with him until there’s no room for anything else. 

“‘M so close, baby,” he whines to you. 

“Frankie, please!” 

He growls against you and tugs back, slipping out of you with a lewd squelch. You don’t have time to cry out from the loss though, because he’s back in an instant to grab you and flip you over on your stomach. Then he’s over you again, slamming back into you with a single thrust. You’re forced to stay flat, your hands scrambling for purchase in front of you until he drapes himself completely over you, threading your fingers through his so he can use them as leverage to fuck deep into you. 

“Better?” He grunts out, almost angrily. He’s so heavy above you, using all of the force he has to nail you into the bed in furious ruts, the entire thing moving with each pound into you. You can’t respond though, finding your voice trapped in your throat as you convulse around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, even with him. It’s what you wished for—to be so overwhelmed that everything else is purely pushed from you. It’s all static right now, your brain, your body. You think you may scream his name, but it might have been a bunch of gibberish.

“This what you need?” he asks as he fucks furiously down into you. To be fucked good—hmng—good an’ deep?” 

You use what’s left of your fried brain to nod beneath him, practically drooling onto the bed sheets. 

“F’kn deep,” you slur, half-delirious. 

You let him continue to pound into you until grunts loudly beside your ear and you feel his cum spurting into you. It makes you moan again, the way he keeps fucking it deeper and deeper into you. You quiver and he groans as he starts to come down himself, joining you once again in the real world. Your ears are still ringing and your entire body feels like you got tossed off of a mountain and possibly into a bit of lava, but you find yourself laughing once Frankie untagles your fingers and rolls to the side, taking you with him. 

He starts to laugh with you, neither of you saying a word but knowing exactly what the other is thinking. Which is something along the lines of ‘holy shit’. Despite your sweaty bodies, you sink back into him and let him hold you close, both of you stuck in giggling fits and sharing little kisses until you fall asleep a minute later.

*****

Want to read more requests or submit your own? Check this out!

[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier/Narcos fic: Crossing the Streams

This week is @fleetwoodmactshirt's birthday and I knew I wanted to write her something if I could—it was just a question of what. Frankie Morales making ravioli from scratch? An intimate morning spent with Ezra? Or: this? A deeply self-indulgent (and Fleetwood-indulgent) AU of an AU crossed over with another AU from an entirely different piece of media. It made sense in my head.

This concept is something we've jokingly(?) discussed for years but it always felt too outrageous to actually put to words. Until now. Happy birthday, beloved! I hope this makes you smile.

Title: Crossing the Streams Characters/Pairings: Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Javier Peña, OFC, Baby Morales, ghost!Reader. Nascent Fishben implied; Javi/OFC implied. Rating: Teen (but maybe Gen) Word count: 1.8k Content/warnings: Crossover of my ghost 'verse and @fleetwoodmactshirt's Javier Peña X-Files AU 🙃 Not really exactly officially a part of the ghost 'verse, but could be considered a spin-off chapter of it maybe. I don't think any particular warnings apply. Reader is a ghost. The OFC listed above is the reader from Fleetwood's AU, and I tried to leave her a blank slate. Javi holds the baby a lot. I fudged the timelines so Javi is older but not as much older as he would be. Unbetaed, so let me know if you spot any mistakes.

You can see the family resemblance immediately. The man standing in the foyer isn’t an exact carbon copy of Francisco, but they could easily be mistaken for brothers. Benny had been the one to answer the door and the visitor is sizing him up, friendly but with a hint of narrow-eyed assessment peeking through. Benny senses it and stands a little straighter, calling over his shoulder, “Fish, they’re here!”

The slap-slap-slap sound of the baby’s hands on the hardwood floor announces her arrival even before she rounds the corner into the hallway, crawling rapidly towards the front door while Francisco ambles behind her. Ben scoops her up before she can reach the threshold, easily hefting her up to his shoulder, while the other men greet each other with a hug.

“Ah, mi sobrino!” Francisco’s uncle gives him an affectionate pat on the cheek. “Te ves bien, Francisco.”

“Hola, tío Javi,” he says with a grin. “Come on in. You met Benny?”

Now that they’re standing side by side you’re able to see the similarities and differences between them. Javier is older by fifteen years or so, his dark hair greying at the temples, slim body still fit but gone a little soft around the middle. He’s cleanshaven but for an attractive, full mustache, and his warm brown eyes are shielded by a pair of glasses with dark, slightly rounded plastic frames.

Javier nods. “I haven’t met this one yet, though,” he says, reaching for Francisco’s daughter. She goes to him without hesitation and he has to catch her chubby hands in his before she can drag his glasses down his nose. He pulls a face at her and she giggles.

“And is your…” Francisco pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Partner outside?”

Javi glances out the open door. “She’s getting some equipment out of the trunk. Listen,” he says, lowering his voice a little, “she takes this stuff seriously and she can be a little—excitable, about it. Take it easy on her, okay?”

This stuff, as it turns out, is investigating the world of the paranormal.

After Francisco’s mom had heard about Santiago’s suspicion that the house was haunted, she’d been the one to suggest he invite tío Javier and his… partner, for a visit. (You understand the hesitation before “partner” as soon as you see her; the energy flowing between them is lit up with something far brighter than a pair of regular, platonic co-workers would ever have. And even someone without your vision might notice the way it takes her a moment to recover from the sight of him with the baby in his arms, or how his hand hovers over the small of her back as they make their way down the hall.)

Francisco leads them into the kitchen, where he sets a pot of coffee brewing.

“You can set her down if you want,” he tells Javi, nodding to the baby’s high chair.

“That’s alright,” he says, taking a seat and easily shifting her into the crook of his arm. He crosses his legs so she’s half in his lap and bounces his thigh, just lightly, offering up his free hand for her to pull and pinch and bite at as she likes to keep her entertained.

His partner is watching from the doorway and you observe with interest how her breathing goes almost imperceptibly unsteady before she gathers herself again.

“So which of you saw the ghost?” she asks Francisco and Benny.

Ben’s eyes shift to the corner where you’re perched on the kitchen counter, but Francisco is already answering for the both of them. “Neither of us,” he tells her. “Our friend Santiago is the one who thinks he saw something.”

She’s taking notes in a pocket-sized notebook.

“And what was it that Santiago saw?”

“Socks,” he says, in a tone that indicates he thinks this is just as silly as it sounds.

“Socks,” she echoes, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Floating in the air.” He makes a vague, floaty gesture with one hand while pouring the coffee with the other.

Tío Javi’s partner finally takes a seat at the table, so she’s not stuck juggling her coffee cup and the notebook. The baby leans towards her, curious, and she gives her a polite smile. “Hello.” Then, struck by a thought, she looks to Francisco again.

“Has the baby seen the ghost?” she asks.

Benny’s eyes widen. Francisco just chuckles. “Not that she’s mentioned,” he says dryly. “Look, I don’t want to be wasting your time. You should know that—I’m not suggesting Santi’s making it up or anything but—the guy’s had more than one concussion before. You know what I’m saying?”

“That’s interesting,” she remarks, jotting it down.

Francisco exchanges a glance with Javier.

“Is it?”

“Well, brain injuries, trauma, near-death experiences—they can open a person’s senses to things that others can’t see,” she explains.

He looks skeptical.

“We’ve all had near-death experiences,” he says, gesturing around the room. He says it so matter-of-factly that she looks startled, and maybe a little concerned. “Ben and I were Special Forces. Tío, I’ve heard your stories from Colombia. We’ve all dealt with some dark shit.”

Javi flattens his mouth in a grim line. Ben is rubbing his knuckles over his lips and you can see the anxiety building in him. The room falls silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” she says. Under the table, Javi shifts his leg to bump his foot with hers reassuringly.

“No.” Francisco frowns. “I’m sorry. You’re just doing your job. You—I know you brought some gear with you. You’re welcome to check the house, or… do whatever you need. I’ll show you where Santi saw the socks in the air.”

She sets down her pen.

“If you don’t mind.”

Francisco leads her upstairs to the nursery. You’re not sure you want to get anywhere near her ghost-hunting equipment, whatever it may be, so you stick to the kitchen and keep Ben company while he attempts to make conversation with Francisco’s uncle.

“So you worked in Colombia,” he tries. Javi gives a quiet grunt to the affirmative. He doesn’t want to talk about that—you can tell, and Benny figures it out pretty quickly, too.

“Do you—” he starts, but Javi’s already speaking.

“What’s the situation here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and Frankie.”

You can almost feel the heat radiating off him as the air shimmering around Benny turns a deep, blushing pink.

“There’s no situation,” he says.

“You’re roommates?”

“Yeah—I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time. My lease ended a few months ago and he said I could stay here. He has a guest room,” he adds, a touch defensively.

Javi smiles and nods like he hadn’t meant anything by it.

“What about you?” Benny asks. He nods to the ceiling, where Javi’s partner is upstairs. “You guys seem close. Are you dating her?”

Javi’s placid smile doesn’t falter for a moment, but his eyes narrow a little.

“No,” he says. “She has a guest room, too.”

Ben’s mouth opens, then snaps closed, and the men sit in silence for a moment.

“I think she wants to get down,” he says, gesturing to the baby in Javi’s arms, who’s squirming and lunging forward as if to jump to the floor. He sets her down carefully on all fours and she takes off at speed, leaving Ben to scramble behind her. Javier looks around the empty room, eyes skipping right over you, drains his coffee, and follows suit.

You trail behind him to the living room, where Benny has deposited the baby in the middle of the conversation pit with a basket of toys. Javi stops short, taken aback by the sunken couches.

“Holy shit,” he says. “This place hasn’t been remodeled in a while, huh?”

Benny glances at you, knowing this subject is a sore spot. You’d taken great pride in this house, back when it had belonged just to you, and you’re not sure why everybody keeps wishing to change it now.

“We like it,” he tells him. “It’s got character. Plus, this is like a built-in play pen. She’s too little to climb out.”

Javier sits himself down, spreading his legs comfortably wide in a confident-man sprawl.

“It’s a good house,” he admits. “Quiet neighborhood.”

They watch the baby playing on the floor. You join her there, rolling plastic balls back to her too subtly for Javier to realize they haven’t simply bounced.

“Can I ask you something?” Benny says. Javi raises an eyebrow in assent. “Say there is a ghost—” he starts.

“There isn’t.” Javi narrows his eyes a little, like he’s trying to decide if Benny really believes in something so unfathomable.

Benny is avoiding your gaze.

“But theoretically,” he says. “If there was. What would—I mean—What do you do? Like if the EMF meter or whatever registered something.”

“Well,” Javi replies slowly. “Theoretically, if there was a ghost hanging around I think my partner would tell you there’s something unresolved that they still need. A sense of peace, or…”

He pauses, scratching his chin. Eyes still on the child.

“It’s the same as what anybody wants, right? A sense of fulfillment. So you can move on.”

It makes something feel hollow and fluttery inside your chest, achy like you haven’t felt in a while. Now you’re the one avoiding Ben’s eyes, when he looks at you. You retreat to the corner, wanting to be alone but unwilling to give up eavesdropping on such a rare visit.

Their conversation is cut short by the others’ return. Francisco still looks skeptical and she looks thoughtful. Javi tilts his head back and raises an eyebrow.

“Inconclusive,” she announces. “There were some very interesting readings but nothing concrete. There are some other tests we could—”

“I think this is enough,” Francisco cuts her off gently. “It’s not like any of us have been possessed. If blood starts dripping down the walls, we’ll call you back.”

“Well, for a simple specter I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” she assures him. “Blood drips can be indicative of—”

“It was a joke,” he says, and she smiles but she also shrugs like, well, we’ll see.

“Mijo,” Javier says, changing the subject for everyone’s sake. “Pick a restaurant, we’ll go out to dinner, my treat. Your roommate can come too.”

The emphasis he puts on roommate isn’t strong enough for Francisco to pick up on, but Benny does and he shoots Javi a narrow look. Javi gives him an innocent grin and turns back to the baby, who’s been pulling herself up on his pant legs, trying to climb up to her dad since he’d walked in the room. He swings her into his arms and hands her over to Francisco, and after a ten-minute debate over a pizzeria versus a steakhouse, and a five-minute diaper change, the group heads outside.

Alone in the quiet house, you float up to your attic window seat, where you settle in to contemplate tío Javi’s words about things unresolved.

(tiny tag list: @pedrostories, @littlemisspascal, @loversandantiheroes, @by-ilmater, @pettyprocrastination, @littleferal, @pennyserenade)

[fourmula1]

Daniel popping out chunky blonde baby after chunky blonde baby and it’s the last one that’s finally got the dark curly hair and dark eyes… Max finally getting his mini-Daniel after Daniel got all his mini-Maxs.

sfw. 615 words.

-

Daniel can hardly believe that he’s looking at his daughter right now. Tiny, smooth, perfect little cheeks. Itty bitty button nose. Thick, dark, curly mop of hair.

He shifts in the hospital bed a little, careful not to jostle her in his arms too much as she sleeps. It’d been a pretty easy birth – he’d done it twice before now – and there were no complications. Just his sweet little girl joining them earthside to complete their perfect little family.

Daniel carefully traces his fingertip over her little features, down her nose, across her cheeks. He smiles as she stirs from the tickle, but settles in easily again. Being born is hard work.

He looks up when he hears the soft knock on the door, hears Max’s quiet voice instructing to be very quiet and go slowly to Daddy. When his three boys push into the room – Max, Arie, and Frankie – Daniel smiles big for them as the littles stumble over.

“Hello, my big boys,” Daniel coos to them, laughing a little as Arie pulls himself up to sit on the edge of Daniel’s bed, Frankie reaching up to Max with uppy-arms until Max picks him up to set him on the bed, too. “Be gentle, okay? This is your baby sister,” Daniel tells his little boys.

Arie is four, wide-eyed and curious. He’s got the big brother thing down and he’s a good boy and Daniel isn’t worried about him at all. Frankie, two, has been their sweet baby and Daniel worries about his transition to middle child. He smiles at Max, glances back at the boys. His three beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed boys. Arie and Frankie are so cute, their round ruddy cheeks, chunky biteable bellies. He loves them so much.

“What’s her name?” Arie asks as he leans forward to get a better look at the baby in his daddy’s arms.

“Papa and I haven’t decided yet,” Daniel tells him as he shifts to adjust the baby girl in his arms so that her brothers can see her little sleeping face. He gently tugs off the tiny knitted baby cap so they can get a good look at her, and his heart melts a bit as Frankie’s tiny chubby little hand reaches out.

“Gentle, Frankie,” Max says from where he’s sat next to the bed. “Be very soft.”

Daniel watches as Frankie’s fingers touch the dark, thick curls on their baby girl’s head, then as he looks up at Daniel, seemingly piecing it all together.

“Dada hair,”  he says and Daniel laughs, utterly smitten with his sweet little family.

“That’s right, she has hair like me,” Daniel agrees. He wishes he had enough arms to pull all his babies in for a cuddle. His heart could burst.

Max’s genes said copy + paste with the boys. Not a trace of Daniel in them as far as the eye could tell. Blonde, blue eyed, stocky, rolly polly little chunky babies they were. Still are. Daniel hopes they stay this cute forever.

She’s all Daniel, though. Dark, thick, curly hair. Olive skin. He’s willing to bet she’ll have dark eyes like him, too.

His babies are all perfect.

“We have to let Daddy and the baby rest,” Max says from beside them and Daniel smiles at him a bit.

“A few more minutes,” He says, reaches to pass their little girl off to the safety of her papa’s arms. “I need my cuddles first,” Daniel says as he opens his arms to his little boys, heart full and warm when they giggle and squirm up to tuck into his sides. He squeezes them close to him, presses kisses to their blonde heads, and closes his eyes.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Courtship Rules

For the lovley @beansapalooza for some alien fucking! For Science!

Summary: You are a scientist on a team of four sent to live on a planet where xenomorphs inhabit. You are all to have your studies on them, everyone has their own thing. You? Well. You study their breeding habits. Perhaps getting a little TOO close to that knowledge. But, what better way to study than hands on? Or. In which a xenomorph recognizes you from its past and believes you to be its mate. Who are you to refuse getting stuffed full of eggs? All in the name of science, of course.

Reblogs > Likes. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, have your age in your bio to interact!

Fandom: Aliens - Aliens VS Predators

Relationship: Xenomorph/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader is gn and has a vulva + is chubby, oviposition/ovipositors, knotting, brief brief mentions of mild gore that’s canon typical, breeding, you get stuffed with alien eggs!

Words: 8.7k

_________

The mission relayed to you had been one of great importance. But it came with great dangers, dangers that you were all aware of.  

There were four of you total, almost all scientists in your own regard. A handful of teams had come into contact with the creatures you were now studying. And all those teams had wound up dead.  

One of those teams, years ago who had first come into contact with them, didn’t know what they were up against or what they were bringing back. Another team had been sent to wipe them out, claiming them to be parasites, with only one survivor to return to tell the tale. Another team had been sent out as a means to take one or two back to study in cages on their ships, once again did not go well. Another team sent to explore their home planet, weapons in hand because exterminating the species had been the only thing on their mind. Then another team, and another, and another...  

Other teams were documented, more and more who wanted to quietly try and study or eliminate them. All failed. All dead.  

~Rest under the cut~

All marked in the files and reports you had read with big red stamps over pictures of people just like you reading ‘deceased’. Graphic images of rib cages and stomachs burst open and people hanging in this thick, black goop. Holes stabbed straight through the hearts or the forehead. These aliens, classified under the term Xenomorph, were quick killing predators who were used to getting what they needed to survive.  

They were bred that way, for fighting and survival.  

Your team was to study them. All of you had different projects given to you. Your team consisted of: Lillian, a tall woman with wild curls of deep red down her back and warm brown skin with a smile that could break hearts. She studied how they lived through the hive, their ranking, and what was the importance of all of their systems. This also included breaking down their anatomy and worked hand in hand with you.  

Frankie, a short haired nonbinary person with a deep olive skin tone and a soft, shy personality that could become booming once excited. They were in charge of monitoring and studying the physical data that came in through either physical  samples  of the hive or sediment from the planet to see if there was a connection. Different points of study depending on the surrounding climates.  

And Mavrick, who was on the way taller side of all of you and needed to duck to get around your ship. A man with sharp teeth and charmingly an asshole, with wild hair and quite the affinity for Frankie. Who was, as far as you knew, married to them. He wasn’t a researcher, but an engineer who kept your ship intact and in one piece, in charge of sending messages out when supplies were needed.  

And you? Well. You studied their breeding habits. There had been question that if a Queen was not involved, how did they breed? However, this hive didn’t have a queen. Two years ago, when your team was sent here, they did. But she passed away and became one with the hive walls. It had brought a concern to all of you thinking that there was no survival to continue so therefor no mission, and yet, it seemed in record time, they evolved in peculiar ways.  

The xenomorphs before both exhibited both internal and external genitalia, but they didn’t seem to actually  use  said genitalia until recently when the Queen had died. Xenomorphs lived in freezing cold environments, their bodies just as cold blooded despite their blood being so high in acidity that it could melt a floor. Yet, even with these factors, they adapted to fit the environments they were in. Whether warm or cold.  

Through varied, new studies on these peculiar evolutions, xenomorphs with internal genitalia could hold the eggs given to them by their external genitalia counterparts.  But,  the problem is the eggs don’t tend to survive unless the xenomorph stays warm enough for them to incubate. And refusing to leave their freezing cold hive meant there was no chance they could keep their bodies warm.  

Curiosity and in the name of science had led your team to carefully place blankets near their hive. And with cameras you had been able to see how they built nests with these. The xenomorphs carrying the eggs staying warmed and inside of them in order to incubate these eggs until they could lay them. With trial and error, the xenomorphs learned that their bodies had to stay warm in order to hatch the eggs they now carried.  

However, that could be too big a trial for a xenomorph always on the go and within the hive. They needed something more permanent that wasn’t hindering for them.  

The older, bigger eggs from the Queen used to hatch with what was called ‘Face huggers’ due to their spider leg appearance and long tails. Other creatures on the planet were captured in their hive and used as hosts for these beings to lay their eggs and then curl up and die. It took either days or weeks depending on the size- or rank- of the xenomorph before the ‘chest burster’ would emerge and crack through the rib cage or abdomen of its host. Which left the xenomorphs to do very little than simply capture live prey and let the face huggers do the rest.  

This new evolution for their spawn to continue required more work. And yet, the eggs that hatched from these evolved ones were what used to be deemed as ‘chest  bursters’. Which took out the need for face huggers, so eliminating a step. Curiously, these young xenomorphs were hatched warm blooded and then developed to be cold blooded as they grew and adapted to their environment. Another proof of their steps in adaptability to fit the climates that surrounded them.  

That’s what you and Lillian had been studying together, the new evolution of xenomorphs and how their bodies had adjusted as well as breeding patterns. It also seemed that the xenomorphs were now trying to branch out into warmer areas of the planet where beasts were, another study that Frankie was making note of. It made sense that the warm-blooded beings would be warm and could keep their eggs alive without needing to do all that work of blankets and trying to keep their own bodies warm. It saved a step.  

However, the current study conducted by your team was monitoring  how  these creatures were going to use these beasts to their advantage.  

There were cameras in the dark hive that let you guys see what was happening. But all of you had also figured out that a year in that you could suit up entirely head to toe and use the collected pheromones from the xenomorphs to mask that you were in the hive. It made physical data collection a lot easier, and less suspicious than sending in a humming drone to collect the data in a little basket. 

Those got destroyed quite frequently by a well-aimed, sharp tail.  

Though, it was still an unnerving task having to go into the hive. Going in the dark with only the screen on your goggles to see through the dark of the rooms or the small beams of light coming in from the ceiling. Hearing the taps of claws passing by as they worked through the hive. Sometimes there would be a hiss and you had to ensure you didn’t stiffen up or jump to draw attention to yourselves. Any sort of abnormality in behavior could be seen as an infiltrator.  

The first time your team had done this, you went in a full group of four. It had been a scary time as you carefully moved in a group. But for the most part the xenomorphs thought you must have been a bigger drone worker, because they’d pass you guys by without so much as a glance or hesitation.  

The jig had almost been up when you all had made it to the egg room, one of the warm-blooded creatures stuck on the wall suddenly howling out and a chest burster breaking from it.  

Mavrick had drawn his gun first out of reflex, no sound from any of you as to not alert the hive. You understood as the reaction was only natural because you guys knew how dangerous they could all be. Yet, for some reason you had quickly scooped up the chest burster and held it to your chest. Vigorously shaking your head for reasons other than the fact it would have alerted the others to investigate and perhaps slaughter your team. Reason that, to this day, you couldn’t quite pinpoint why you did it.  

The chest burster looked...different than the others. Its crown wasn’t smooth, but tall and pointed- very much like, well, a crown. It looked similar to a Queen xenomorph child, but there would be no need for a queen, and this one wasn’t quite big enough to classify as even that. Perhaps some new evolved version of a higher rank?  

Regardless of these questions, you quickly had run to one of the small holes that led to another room. Gently, you’d set the shockingly quiet and non-squirming chest burster down, quickly shooing it off.  

You can’t help but feel like it lingered to look at you- but you knew these creatures were very well almost near blind, fairly near sighted. Everything seen in a blurry black and white for them. There was no way it could have seen you in that grand of detail- and your team wasn’t sure about how well their memories held at that time.  So,  there was no  guarantee  it was trying to actually see or remember you in some way.  

It had been a scary moment for all of you. Your human instincts all told you to run or to kill it, and yet you felt this pull to keep it alive. Perhaps it was just because you had been studying them for so long that you were attached to this hive. That would make sense, even if you knew that at a moment’s notice the xenomorphs would take you out for infiltrating. A clean, swift death from either a  tail or  their strange miniature mouths.  

Sort of how people back on Earth would care for a lion pride, knowing full well they could be killed if they so much as stopped feeding them.  

Today, a year later, you have to go into the hive. You do this as often as you could, nearly once a week in order to collect physical data. Since you’re the only one who feels particularly brave enough to do it so often, you don’t mind the everyday suit up in order to get better data on all of your studies.  

However, the reason today was due to one of the cameras having fallen off the wall of the hive looking into the nesting room. It was crucial to have it up, especially since you were focusing on studying their new mating and breeding habits. One of which being how they were trying to figure out how to use beasts like they had in the past to hold their eggs. But, the  old-fashioned  way of a face hugger implanting it in their chest clearly wasn’t  going  to happen.  

Pheromones are sprayed across your  pitch-black  suit and helmet to ensure you blended in with the hive. The helmet was unnecessary for planet survival, but necessary in case of an accident; Oxygen was clean and the air was as cold as a fresh winter day, but it allowed you to see in the dim space of their hive, as well as protected your head if you got knocked over.  

And if you did get knocked over, you’d rather that the hive members would have to try to work for their kill at least.  

You keep your cool as you head out of the ship, a camera installed in the front of your suit ensuring that your team could monitor if something went wrong. You keep quiet as you navigate the halls as easily as you would your ship once inside the hive, making sure to keep moving when you hear the taps of claws. If you startled or held still, they would know something was up, so you keep as if you are one of them. As you always did.  

The nesting room is a larger room in the center of the hive, the ceiling open to allow light to be mainly focused here with only spider webs of black goop keeping the hive connected above. Five nesting areas of craters are scattered about with furs from beasts stacked in some or blankets your team had left out. But what’s the most interesting is on the wall is a large beast, looking akin to a saber tooth tiger with far too many eyes and too many tails to be one.  

It was alive. Breathing. Encased in the black goop with four dark gray eggs almost swaddled against its abdomen with more of the hard-black material they used to build their hive. Like a makeshift incubator without killing the beast. That was...interesting. They had tried killing these beasts before, tearing open their abdomens or chests to put their eggs, but they must have learned that the bodies became too cold after a few hours.  

Your eyes light up when you realize they’re going against their very nature to maul upon sight- learning to adapt to keep their species going. Even if it means going against what they were bred to do.  

You spy the camera on the ground near the snoozing beast and carefully creep up. You move it around in your grasp to check for damages, only spotting a slight scratch on the outer edge of it, but thankfully not the lens. That was good, it meant replacement wasn’t necessary and you could just get it back up without needing to go back to your ship for repairs.  

But your train of thought is paused when you hear the beast let out a low, slow growl.  

Your heart pounds, eyes moving up slowly and carefully whilst keeping your body still to not alert it. You soon see its eyes are still closed.  

It was a snore.  

Okay, okay that was fine! Cool, don’t make that sound again, thanks!  

You let out a breath you’d been holding, practically feeling your team do the same when you give a thumbs up to the camera in your grasp after you turn it on. You move towards the back of the room near the nests to mount it on the wall with a sticky adhesive, positioning it to be just right.  

That’s when you hear a different noise right behind you when you take one step back to admire your handiwork. You freeze when you hear the quiet, near nonexistent tapping of claws behind you. Normally when the xenomorphs were walking, you could hear them. This was a deliberate drag of a tail, near silence. The only time they would be quiet is if...  

Is if they were hunting.  

Your heart is pounding heavily in your ears, your hands shaking by your sides and your breath quickening. You swallow heavily, remembering their body language and how they responded to quick movement. You don’t move a muscle, hearing the low hiss of warning behind you and the drag of its tail sound lighter as it’s lifted.  

You tuck and roll to the right just as quick as the tail stabs just where you were standing, narrowly missing the camera on the wall. You yelp when you land yourself in one of the craters of their nests, scrambling back on your elbows and watching the xenomorph crawl after you with that same high hiss of warning.  

You were an intruder in their nesting ground. That was the biggest offense.   

Your lips quiver, vision blurring with fat tears when it crawls overtop you. Its large body frames your own with its long head lowering down towards your helmet. Its mouth of razor-sharp teeth opening and its miniature mouth poised to strike your helmet to attempt to get through the thick glass.  

You knew coming into this that this was dangerous. All of this was dangerous. You can’t even blame the xenomorph. As far as it knew, you were an intruder who just planted something inside of its home. You don’t fear this death, but your heart still races and tears still slide down your cheeks with your instincts to move, to run, to flee.  

And then suddenly. There’s a blur of black as it gets knocked to the side by a much bigger xenomorph.  

It stands a good foot taller than the average six foot they normally are. Its body wider and girthier, circling its hive member with a louder and deeper sounding hiss that reverberates in the room. The smaller one hisses back in a weaker tone, looking over towards your direction and then whipping its head back at the larger xenomorph. Their body language is loud and obvious, an argument of if you were an intruder or not.  

The larger one acts as if this was an argument between hive members and breaking it up.  

The smaller one still bristled and looking at you like trying to prove you didn’t belong there.  

It’s with a slam of the larger one’s thicker tail does the smaller finally scuttle off back down a hallway. You weren’t a threat, you weren’t a danger enough to keep arguing over.  

Your heart is racing as you consider what the fuck just happened. Maybe this larger one wanted to end you instead? Maybe that was its job? Its job was protector, you knew that much from its size. You can’t even think clearly, watching as its head now turns towards you without a single snarl on its face. Except- curious. You...you know this one. With its tall crown flaring out much to look like a crown, like a miniature Queen.  

The chest burster you had practically rescued; You’d only caught glimpses of it as an adult on the cameras. Lillian knew more about it than you, she nicknamed it The Knight.  

No way it could remember you, right? Xenomorphs were based mostly on scent, this was true, but you’d used pheromones then and you definitely used them now. They didn’t pack bond like humans...did they? And even if they did, would it recognize you by your suit alone?  

That would definitely be a new evolutionary trait- but then again, the beast on the wall wasn’t killed either but being used for its heat and kept alive.  

Regardless, the xenomorph is stalking closer, but slower. Not prowling as if making sure to make noise as if it wanted to be sure you saw it. You swallow thickly, flinching when its long fingers outstretch towards your helmet. Its long, wide crowned head cocks. A small, almost trilling noise from its throat as it slowly moves itself into the nest you were currently still lying in. It doesn’t move to be on top of you, instead moving towards your side, gently nudging your side as if to urge you to get out.  

O-oh?  

You move as guided, helped out of the little crater with it again making that same sound as if it was pleased you did what it wanted. You’re still high off your fear, not quite thinking of anything else besides your shaky legs as you climb out. The alien behind you nudges your back with its head, a fond gesture you don’t even think about at first until it’s scooping you up. You don’t make a sound, fearing that yelping would anger it in some way but. But there was something about this...  

You realize how it’s holding you. Cradled to its chest just like you had that little chest burster. It marches purposefully through the hive, back the way you came and keeping you tucked close with a firm grasp. Just like you had done to it to protect it from your team. It was protecting you from the hive just in case the drone had summoned others. Its body language purposeful.  

As it walks, you contemplate what just happened. A drone got angry, went to attack you, and the Knight defended you. Okay, so it must have remembered you, but that trill.  

Why did you know that sound? They only made that sound if--  

Mate.  

It thinks you’re its mate.  

Or rather, trying to court you into being its mate.  

You note it turns a new way down the hive structure. Not towards the exit, but instead to its own area. It has a similar crater in the ground with furs lovingly skinned off beasts piled in said nest. The room is wide, dome shaped almost with a beam of light streaming from up above and into the center of the nest.  

Only higher ranked xenomorphs had their own spaces, especially to breed and nest, whilst the drones used the center room.  

You’re set down oh so carefully into the wide nest that was built bigger than the others for reasons you can only assume is because how big this xenomorph was. It trills once again, but doesn’t follow you into the nest. Moving to lie curled around the edge of it with its head turned towards you and lying on its side to expose its belly and keep its tail far from you. The body language was familiar to you with courtships. ‘I am not a threat’ it’s practically yelling. You almost laugh at how silly this display seems to you as a human, but can’t help the nervousness in your throat.  

“H-hi-” You manage to croak out finally, feeling silly for even deciding to speak.  But,  it merely lifts its head slightly, as if to show you it’s listening. It lets out a low noise in its throat, a sort of snort as if trying to mimic the thickness of your voice. Another sign it was trying to court you with mimicry, despite not having the right vocal  cords  to sound how you sounded.  

It had to know you were another species, right? The pheromones on your suits would mimic a xenomorph, sure, but it carried you in a way that said it knew you were softer in flesh. It would feel that when touching you. It would feel you were much warmer- and maybe that was the key, you realize, it knew you were warmer and could hold its...its eggs without any trouble.  

You cannot place why that does not turn you off or make you frightened in the slightest.  

You can only imagine your team screaming back on the ship with the camera feed in your suit right now. You imagine Lillian is trying to jot down this data as quick as she can in her many, many journals.  

You swallow thickly, remembering all the different noises to indicate certain things. You release a low hiss yourself, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth and letting air escape through a small part of your teeth to sound subtle, quiet. ‘Scared’ yours says ‘Not ready’.  

Immediately, the xenomorph perks its head up, slowly rolling back onto its abdomen and hissing the same sound back with a cock of its head. Xenomorphs didn’t take each other without consent, they courted each other much like humans would. And it takes your consent with a question, as if asking if you are sure, and once you repeat the sound followed by a whimper, it sits right up.  

There’s no anger in its movements as it comes closer to your helmet, gently tapping the roundness of its head against your helmet. ‘I will wait’ it says without saying a word. And once more you are offered to come out of the nest, gathered into its arms, set foot through the hive and set just at the mouth of the hive where you had come in.  

It knew you weren’t of its kind. Or else it would have led you right back into the hive. It knew you didn’t belong there. How curious—how smart this creature was.  

 You can’t help but look back at it as it waits by the door, seeming to watch you leave until you leave its near sighted vision. It crawls back into the hive as you race back to your ship with a pounding heart and a sense of longing lingering over your body.  

When you come inside, decontamination processes occur before you can put your suit away and enter the ship safely. Lillian is jumping on you first, to no surprise. You’re dizzy with her hands fretting over you, question after question until she cups your face and wipes away your dried tears. “Are you alright, my dear? I can’t imagine how frightening that was- but oh, how interesting! That is the same creature you had saved, correct?”  

You  kind of vaguely nod to her questions, letting her guide you into your quarters instead. She leaves you to rest when you clearly need your space to think, stroking your cheek fondly and telling you if you need anything, you know you can yell for any of them. But, by the end of the night when dinner is shared between all of you, Mavrick really outdoing himself in the kitchen as always, you manage to share the details.  

From all of your combined studies, you all agree that this was courtship. There was no fear in denying a xenomorph, they all accepted rejections just like a human might without any bloodshed.  But,  Frankie does point something out that’s interesting. “If the xenomorph does lay its eggs in you, wouldn’t that make studying them easier? I mean, if we bring the eggs on board and they hatch, what if they pack bond due to their evolutionary traits?”  

That makes everyone at the table pause to look at them. Watching as they pop a mouthful of chili in their mouth only to notice everyone’s looking at them. They fluster, cheeks warming and covering their mouth with the back of their hand when they speak, their southern accent thicker now. “W-what? I’m just  sayin ’ it’d be easier than trynna collect a sample from an angry alien in the hive!”  

“Frankie. I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all year.” You tease lightly, soft laughter from your chest when they shoot you daggers.  

“Why, thank you. I’m glad that saying ‘go get railed by an alien’ is considered a smart option to you.” They huff, earning them a kiss atop their head from Mavrick to soothe their feigned upset attitude.  

After dinner, you help clean up, settling at the table with everyone as you all game plan.  

You weren’t against being mated to a xenomorph, they were your life already, and maybe having one bonded to you would help a lot in your gathered research. Not to mention, sexual repression was high in the ship- unless you were Frankie and Mavrick who most definitely went at it like rabbits when no one was looking. You? Lillian? Nada. Zip. Maybe some alien dick wasn’t so bad for you, although the idea of eggs being inside you should have been terrifying, you can’t help but feel...excited.  

Wow. You really were sexually frustrated, huh?  

Allow the Knight to court you. You could test your limitations within the hive due to it being higher ranking, it would argue against others attacking you. Allow the Knight to, well, mate with you and pray it lets you go back to your ship instead of insisting you stay in the hive. And double pray that the eggs come out and you don’t risk a chest burster becoming a Womb burster.  

What a terrifying thought.  

“Well. Ladies, gentlemen, Frankie. Let’s go make some alien babies, huh?” You announce at the end of it all, earning laughter all around and new excitement buzzing in the air of a new project.  

Operation: “Romance an alien” was a go.  

--  

You don’t have to look very far. When you wake and suit up, you don’t use the pheromones this time. You hear that same deep trill right outside the ship door and the same loud drag of its tail to alert you to its location. You don’t jump back in fear this time or flinch when it gently bumps its head to your helmet, seeming satisfied of your safety. But you do note how it seems to inhale your scent, lowering its head down to the chest of your suit where you must radiate the most heat. Lowering towards your stomach before it moves back to its original position.  

Memorizing you or scenting you, you couldn’t tell.  

You follow it into the hive the distance away, occasionally seeing it stop to wait for you. Its head lightly tilted to seemingly hear for your footsteps before proceeding. Once you get to the mouth, it hisses high enough and long through the hallways and you hear the piercing noises come right back, a noise you would hear more often coming in.  

‘Do not harm what I have brought back’. Says the Knight’s hiss.  

‘We shall not harm nor alert.’ Says the reply back from the hive.  

Normally reserved for the beasts they brought back from around the planet to indicate this creature was to stay alive. You wonder if there was other intelligent life on the planet that they were also trying to court. The planet was huge and vast, and your team’s main focus had been on the xenomorphs rather than branching out too far unless necessary. It could be possible there was other intelligent life that was hiding around and being attempted to be used as a breeder or mate.  

Once more you are taken to the room where it resided. It doesn’t move you this time, but it does lie on the mouth of the nest once more. Lying on its side, tail moved far behind it, resting its head on one of its skeletal arms. One of its  legs  rests behind the other, exposing the hardly noticeable slit between its legs.  

There were no outward appearance indicators of what genitalia a xenomorph had, only certain body language when courting. It wasn’t going into the nest or resting on all fours, this behavior it was currently exhibiting indicated external genitalia. Which meant your hunch was right about it wanting to lay its eggs in you.  

You show your interest by moving into the nest and the xenomorph reacts with an almost purring growl in its throat of approval. It doesn’t move at all, waiting for you to make your courting gesture.  

If you were a xenomorph, you’d show your interest by exposing yourself however you could. But you instead hiss again. ‘Want to, unsure still’ to allow it to realize you were interested but weren’t satisfied with the length of courting. Once more it trills, rolling onto its abdomen to no longer expose itself and offering its head lowered to you to instead bump your helmet affectionately again. Indicating its patience but determination.  

This is the game you play for an entire month of letting the hive become so used to your presence that pheromones were no longer needed on your suit. This xenomorph waits for you outside your ship every day, waiting to court you in traditional fashions. Furs from skinned beasts are left outside your ship in a pile, different meats placed carefully and frozen nearby, all organs carefully chosen.  

Yet, interesting new additions to the courtship occur. Foliage. Of flowers that you had in your own room. It must have found the same flowers you had, knowing that these clung to your scent so you must have liked them, and left them lovingly atop a pile of furs.  

Xenomorphs were one of the most intelligent life forms out there, and how they learned to adapt to overcome certain obstacles- such as courting a different species- was always so shocking to your team.  

It also started to understand what you were saying, it felt like. Or perhaps it was only understanding the tone at which you said things, you were unsure still. Lillian was trying to decipher that over the details she could see from the camera in your suit.  

Mavrick had cracked a joke that if it was horny enough, maybe it was just desperate to find out if you were saying ‘yes’ yet. To which Frankie had given him a look that resulted in him pouting. For reasons you can only assume meant that they were telling him ‘no head later’.  

The gifts you received over the course of its courtship were: Varied and healthy organs from beasts, flowers- which you had experimented with and got new flowers for your room and it brought you the same flowers you had each time, furs that were carefully skinned and cleaned, and curiously shiny objects. This could be from rocks to gems to things that looked like amber. It was a fascinating development, and well, you were rather smitten with the Knight yourself.  

You’d gotten closer to the point not only could you enter the hive without pheromones, you could also take off your helmet once in its nest. The first time you had done it your heart had been racing out of your chest when it had gently trilled at you. It had rested your foreheads together, obviously taking note that you were warm and no longer encased in a bubble. Its long fingers had gently caressed your face, seeming to outline you as best as it could. It didn’t seem upset by what it found either.  

Now, you’ve exited the ship. Fully suited up and already seeing the Knight waiting for you patiently. It makes that same trill it always does, crawling on all fours towards you before standing to its impressive height. It hunches over more towards your much smaller height, cocking its head when it gently presses its head to yours. You laugh softly when it snorts against your helmet, clearly frustrated you have it on.  

“C’mon, big guy, it’s too cold!” You try to explain. It pauses to take in your voice, mimicking the same tone you say ‘cold’ in with a low grunt. You roll your eyes, hooking your fingers under your helmet as it makes a low hiss with the movement. The xenomorph trills, already ducking its head to help nudge it back and waiting impatiently. You can’t help but smile as its head tilts until you press your warm lips to the smooth front of its head. Immediately it trills, satisfied with getting what it wanted and turning back towards its hive to begin guiding you in.  

You have a bag with you today full of little things like lubricant and a few toys. Foreplay wasn’t really in the books for xenomorphs and you’d spent the better part of this morning preparing for this already.  

You’d been filled with anticipation all week for this, showing your interest throughout the week to the Knight who had clearly been eager at you wanting to move forward. You spent this morning edging yourself, fitting larger and larger toys in you with trembles of your thighs and frustration when you never let yourself cum. Xenomorphs were very kind about making sure each got their own. It was being shown in recent of your studies that a lot of them had sex just for the pleasure of it, too.  

You can only hope the same hospitality is spared to you.  

You know that it can smell your arousal. They had great senses of smell, and the one who saw you as a mate should have known your scent inside and out by now. You’d think xenomorphs weren’t the cuddling or kissing type, but turns out at least this one appreciated them. You think you’d never seen an alien more at ease than when you were showing it how to hold you, hitching your own leg over its waist and hearing it make such happy sounds in its throat.  

Spooning an alien. Who’d have thought?  

Now, as you’re escorted into the hive and into its nest, the courtship begins properly. Once again it lies on the edge of the crater of its nest, one leg behind the other, head resting on its arm and exposing its slit that you can already see leaking this translucent black fluid. Oh, it definitely smelled you. That only makes a shudder wrack through you at the very thought of its patience and desperation.  

You very slowly remove your helmet and set it to the side, stepping into the nest as your fingers find the zipper of your suit. You quietly apologize to Lillian in your head when you shut off the camera along the way, no way did you want them to see this. You’d try and write a detailed report just for her once you got past the embarrassment.  

The suit slides off your shoulders and you set it with your helmet. Patient as ever, the Knight only trills at you as it always does, but you notice its head lift ever so slightly to scent the air. You even get the pleasure of watching the head of its ovipositor slip out of its slit, seeing how it was already drooling with lubrication and desire. Your mouth waters, tempted to show it that there was more warmth to you than just your cunt, but you decide that was for another time.  

 Preferably when it had no eggs that could potentially be slid down your throat.  

Under your suit you wore a tight black tanktop and gray sweatpants, super simple and warm. Your scent must be louder when you remove your suit in full because the sound that the Knight makes sounds like a growl. You gently press your warm hand to the smoothness of its head, soothing it softly. “Shhh. Wait, be patient.” Murmured from your lips, and once more you’re not sure if it understands or just responds to your tone, but it huffs through its nostrils and lies its head back.  

You work out of your top, nipples already tightening with the chilled air. Your fingers run over your soft abdomen, something that always made you smile at your own squishiness. The Knight seemed to like it too, if it constantly trying to press its head against your softness was any indication. Your thumbs hitch in your waistband, sliding them down your rounded thighs with your underwear following with a sliver of slick sticking to it. It makes your face flush at realizing how wet you were.  

You shouldn’t tease, you know you shouldn’t. But you can’t help but take your underwear and hold it in front of its face. Watching its head follow the scent and a low, hungering hiss sliding from its teeth as its hands snatch the fabric from you. It presses the article to its face to inhale deeply, releasing a low growling exhale as its ovipositor slides fully out of its slit.  

Their cocks were always beautiful to you. It was especially thick at the base and coming up almost like a rounded knot that’s to keep them intact to their partner to not lose any eggs, coming all the way up to a tapered head. Ribbed patterns line beneath the head down to the base, where you know it can expand for the eggs to be lain with ease. The slit on the head is wide for the same reasons, leaking this translucent black fluid like it is now in preparation for you. The knot looked as thick as your wrist, doable but definitely going to be a strain, its length looking about seven or eight inches which made you tremble already.  

How...how deep could it lay its eggs in a human? Internal organed xenomorphs had no cervix, no hinderance to this sort of thing. Your breath catches at the anticipation of the very thought it could fit deeper into you. You knew its lubrication also doubled as a muscle relaxer, helping ease their longer and thicker cocks deep within their mates. Would it be enough to ease you to take their eggs into your womb?  

A low hiss reaches your ears and your eyes quickly dart to its face rather than its cock you were eyeing shamelessly. Seems your underwear isn’t doing it anymore. It slowly rises, waiting for you to reject, but you lie back in the soft furs instead, spreading open your legs with a small tremor when you part them.  

Its much larger body pulls itself on top of yours, its smooth head starting at your knees and lifting until it can find your cunt.  Its  cold breath exhales across your flushed and wet flesh, making your hips come up without thinking and pressing to its mouth.  

You can see drool coming down its chin, lifting its head with great resistance to nose at your soft abdomen like it loved so much. It buries its face there, scenting you before its head comes up with almost nuzzle-like gestures at your breasts. It seemed to like the softness you had and you can't help the soft laugh you emit. It felt so...normal to be nuzzled up on.  

You’re suddenly gripped then with a yelp from your lips. Rolled onto your abdomen and your hips being pulled up by bony, long fingers. You’re glad you prepped with toys earlier, feeling the tapered head slide against your lower lips and slipping across your clit in a missed thrust.  

A swear falls from your lips, reaching under you with shaky fingers until you wrap your fingers around its cock. The reaction is instant, a trill falling from its throat and attempting to fuck against your palm. “Wait,  you  big doofus-” You grumble mostly to yourself, but the Knight mimics your tone back how you say ‘wait’, its hips pausing as if confused. Questioning you.  

It gives you time to draw your hips up into its grip, sliding its cock down against you until it catches on your hole. The thrust it gives immediately is sloppy and excited, entering you a few inches before it moves slower. You moan low in your throat, burying your face in your crossed arms under your head as you lean back down, your entire body shaking.  

Its cock wasn’t fleshly like a human’s, almost like a harder silicone feeling made to morph to the shape of your body. It felt cold in comparison to your body, and you can only imagine how hot you feel to it.  

There’s a slow press into you now, its claws digging into your hips and definitely making you bleed. You don’t mind the sharp pain. Though, you do smile when you feel it press at the back of your neck with its cold face. Sweet thing wanting your attention. You lift yourself up onto your hands instead, bowing your back as you reach up and behind you to cup under its jaw to draw its head over your shoulder. The hiss you hear by your face is low and wanting when you clench your inner walls around it, sighing out yourself. “Good. There you go, baby, nice and slow.”   

You’re not sure if you’re speaking to fill the silence or because it seems fond of your voice anymore. Regardless, it works in your favor when you hear a soft trill, its hips moving just as slow in little humps to enter you fully. The knot rests outside you for now, pressing to the rim of your hole but not entering just yet.  

Your head drops and your shoulders heave. You felt so full, something exhilarating about this whole thing. Your thoughts are soon put on pause when you feel its hands press around your abdomen with a tug. You follow the motion, sitting up on your knees and feeling it splay its own long legs out to follow your lower body to accommodate size difference. You’re held back against it, your back to its chest as its arms encircle you like it loved to do. Your hand remains on its jaw, stroking with your thumb in one of the crevices there.  

A cooing noise falls from it and you mimic the sound, resting your cheek against its head as its hips start to hump up into you. You don’t feel any pain, its own lubrication working quick with your own. All you feel is wet and heat pooling in your lower abdomen with each desperate hump up into you. Soft sighs fall from your lips, way different from the growling and hissing you hear nearby your ear with its drool dripping onto the furs below you and onto your shoulder.  

Your free hand reaches down, sliding down past its hand and down to your clit to rub it in circles in sync with its thrusts. It starts to get a bit harder now that you’re squeezing down on it, a moan falling from your lips and your head falling back to its shoulder. You’re aware you’re baring your throat, and it seems the Knight does as well when fingers come up to circle your neck. They don’t squeeze, holding you there with its other hand digging its nails into your hip as its hips slam against you harder.  

Possessive.  

“Fuck-” You hiss out, your body already as your first orgasm hits you. Your fingers circle your clit harder until it’s too much, drawing your hand away to reach behind yourself to grab at the xenomorph’s hip to encourage it to be rougher.   

You don’t get the brutal breeding you expect and desire. Instead, it stops. Slamming deep into you and forcing its knot into you. No pain, but a deep pressure widening you out making a cry fall from your lips, arching your back only to get yanked right back with a low, rumbling growl from its chest. Possessive and quiet.  

You weren’t going anywhere.  

You hold still like forced to, its low snarls settling and its hand on your hip leaving. Its head bows to look down your body as its fingers find your clit to mimic what you had been doing to yourself. God, you always forgot how  intelligent  they were.  

“Ss--shit-” You shudder, your head falling back against its shoulder as soft cries leave you, pushing past your harsh panting. It croons softly in its throat, turning its head to gently bonk your cheek with its head until you turn your head to press soft kisses across the hard carapace. Up until you’re gasping, your abdomen starting to get taut.  

“Oh God, yes, yes, yes like that,  just like that,” You’re whimpering out when it applies more pressure, your knees locking as another orgasm rips through you with ease. You scramble with the  intensity , your free hand gripping its wrist when its fingers keep moving. A sharp whimper leaves you, but it seems to decipher it’s not from pain because the hand on your throat tightens briefly. Quietly telling you not to move as your cunt squeezes around its cock and knot, contracting with every flick of its fingers like it had seen you doing.  

Oh, it liked that your body tightened around it. Filthy little thing was doing it on purpose.  

“Ah, ah, ah-” Soft moaning whines fall from your lips again, shamefully even more turned on by the threat of its claws on your neck. You press your body back against its hard one, only giving more of an opening to your body that it takes with pleasure. Experimenting with circling your clit and the pressure you had put until you’re crying out and straining against the hand on your throat as you cum a third time in record succession.  

Its hand only moves from your clit so it can grab your hip to hold you flush back against it. It can’t move much in you, not with its knot filling you and holding you together, but that doesn’t seem to stop it from humping against your frantically. You’re so out of it, drooling and your eyes fluttering that you hardly feel when the base of its ovipositor begins to fill out a little bigger than its knot.  

You get your answer from earlier on if you would be relaxed enough, because you feel an odd stretch in your lower abdomen. Not painful, just a little odd. You know from experience that their eggs are just about the size of your fist and they could lay up to four. But this xenomorph was bigger and a higher rank. Which could mean that it would have only one or two eggs. You thank your luck on that one, unsure of how many your body could hold.  

“Oh-” You gasp out when you feel it settle into you fully. It’s got a weight to it, felt more with how the xenomorph tries to huddle against your body closer. One of its hands sliding up from your hip to rest on your lower abdomen where it presses lightly over where the pressure rested. You whimper as you’re guided back onto all fours, bracing yourself on your arms and letting your chest rest on your crossed arms again.  

The second egg you can feel when you close your eyes. Again, no pain, just a sliding, thicker pressure up your inner walls until that pressure is thicker in your lower abdomen. There are teeth hovering above the crook of your neck that makes you stiffen, but you’re so out of it you tilt your head and plead with it to bite you. You don’t get that pain, only its face pressing against your neck like it so desperately wanted to but knew it was a bad idea.  

There are a few more violent grinds against your ass before you hear a snarl ripping out of it, going into a high hiss as it cums inside you. Its cum was thick for reasons such as this, made to be thick enough it could help the eggs stick in you and keep you numbed up. You can feel each harsh pulse of its cock as thick ribbons of cum spill into you, spilling out past its knot and onto the furs underneath you and on your inner thighs.  

There’s a moment where you two rest like that. You, overstimulated and practically fuck drunk right now, comfortable with your hips still held high in the air. The Knight, with its arms encircling your waist and applying its weight on your back to relax with lazy rolls of its hips as its orgasm still trails out of it.   

After a few minutes, it slides out of you nice and slow with only some thick cum drooling out of you. You had planned to maybe leave the hive, go and lie down on a table and have Lillian examine you, but you can’t find the strength in your shaking legs. And with the way  it's  now guiding you to lie spooned against its chest all tucked up, you’re going to assume you’re not allowed to leave yet anyway.  

It presses against the top of your head with its face, hands resting protectively over your lower abdomen where you can feel your abdomen bulging out slightly. You whine softly in your throat, grumbling about the cold which gathers its attention to briefly let go of you and pulling three furs atop your body. Right before it goes back to holding you with a satisfied, low trill.  

Guess that answered your question on if it was starting to understand you too, huh?  

You’ll tell Lillian all about it, you think as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.   

Maybe your alien children can learn to understand English too, are your last thoughts with a smile on your face as you slip into a warmed sleep. Knowing you are safe with the extraterrestrial predator that knocked you up’s embrace.   

[waywardimpalawriter]

I don’t know how my ask got changed to anon lol but ‘‘twas me asking about William Miller!

I’d love to see a Will/Plus Size reader snippet! Maybe they’re friends with Catfish and his and that’s how she gets introduced?

I just think Will would be such a softie for his girl💛

One touch

Pairing: William ‘Ironhead’ Miller x Plus Size Female Reader 

Characters:  William ‘Ironhead’ Miller, Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, Benjamin ‘Benny’ Miller, Frankie’s girl (Reader so referred by she/her) 

Setting: Two years after the event’s Triple Frontier, following weekend after the events of ‘Book Boyfriend’ 

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: fluff, kissing, self image issues (female), 

Summary: One simple touch just two hands meeting in greeting, little shocks of electricity dance across palms. Causing gasps to exist as eyes lock. Never intending to meet the man of your dreams because of your best friend. 

Word count: 4,254

Notes: Now part of the ‘Piece’s of life’ Series, chronologically second *for now* in reading order. Requested by the lovely @geminimoonbeamx. I had a good time writing then editing this little (coughs) okay not so little story.  

“Why did I let you talk me into this hmm?” Fingers twisting the hem of your ivory babydoll blouse worries filtering through your veins that the surplice neckline is cut too low. Showing too much of your generous bust to eyes that would sneer and poke jabs your way. “You know I’m not good in crowds.”

“Just a group of friends Y/N that your a part of no crowds,” Bouncing Isabella on her hip giving you a glare. In the back of her mind the idea she come up with stirring to life. Wanting happiest for her adopted family and hoping the matchmaking skills still proved useful. “Sweetheart how many times have I told you, tried to beat it into your head how beautiful you are?” 

“Given me headaches because of you woman,” eyes rolling you turn from watching your best friend. Heart aching to have the happiness she does. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna listen.” 

“And why not querido? She’s right, course I’m saying that from a brotherly stand point,” smiling while passing by. Frankie moves to stand beside his fiancée and daughter, placing a kiss to her forehead and the crown of Isabella’s. 

Head shaking still tugging at the offending garment, as uncomfortable feelings course through your body. “I’m more comfortable in scrubs than this frilly shit you both know that.” Leaning against the counter arms crossed slight glare to your features. 

“Shit,” little voice exclaims clapping of her hands, twin groans leaving both parents. 

“Now look what you started,” though a soft chuckle leaves her lips while still bouncing Isabella. 

Hard knock echoes through the small foray make all four of you jump and Frankie shake his head. “Ironhead,” breathing the name with a fond smile crawling across his lips. 

“Where’s my princess at,” deep voice boomed through the house followed by a small chorus of ‘Hey’. Accompanied by the sound of a hard slap to someones body part.   

Peels of laughter emanate from Isabella as she wiggles free from her mom’s arms recognizing the voice she runs on chubby little legs towards the mountain of a man standing in the doorway. Soft gasp barely held in your throat as your eyes start from his much loved hiking boots, traversing up long denim covered legs and thick thighs. Pausing for a moment to sweep your bottom lip between your teeth for a nibble taking in the expanse of trim waist and broad shoulders. Fitted dark blue t-shirt covering what you’d bet a weeks wages hides sculpted muscular chest your hands itch to touch. Trying not to groan when your eyes finally land on his face. If you thought his body a work of art sculpted by Michelangelo himself, his handsome face only added to the drool surely pouring from your mouth. Light blond beard your fingers twitch to run through, full bottom lip begging to be nibbled, short cropped dirty blond hair matching his chin. When your eyes finally stop ogling this adonis come to life and lock with the sweetest pair of stormy blue eyes stealing your breath. Quickly averting your stare to avoid seeing disappointment. 

Missing the confusion flash over his features, while bending to scoop Isabella up into his arms and playfully planting kisses over her chubby cheeks. Squeals mixed with giggles bring smiles to everyones faces. Will’s eyes however take that moment to drink in your appearance and finding himself at a lost for words. Trying to keep the smirk off his twitching lips watching the two of you. Frankie rubs at his mustache to hide till it turns into a smile. Catching the way Will looks you over with barely concealed desire. 

Walking over to slap Will’s back affectionately, “Glad you three Stooges could make it. Got a little worried for a moment.”  

“With Will’s driving it’s a wonder we made it at all,” slightly shaggy brown head shakes offsetting the remarks with a fond smile and teasing tone. 

“Walk next time Ben,” sharp quip leaving his lips a smile tugs them up a little. 

“Bring your asses in here, got someone I want y’all to meet but now I’m thinking better of it,” rubbing his patchy bearded chin gleam of mischief sparking through those chocolate browns. 

Head shaking she smacks Frankie’s tummy lightly getting a ‘oaf’ sound from his lips. “Language Morales or it’s the couch for you,” voice teasing but still holds a bit of warning. 

“I call your bluff amor,” rubbing the abused spot, sending her a wink and focusing on you. “Remember I’ve been tell y’all about Y/N,” grin returns as your head snaps up to shoot daggers at the man you consider a brother. “They work together at the clinic,” smirking at the look you’re giving him, “cool the ire querido.” Looking between the two of you, slapping Will on the back, “Y/N meet Will…” 

“I remember Frankie you don’t have to go into an oral history,” extending your hand watching him with curious eyes. The care with which he holds Isabella to his chest makes your heart melt for this man you barely know except from the stories heard over a late night poker game or conversations about your lives between the three of you. “Pleasure meeting you Will.” 

Carefully enveloping your smaller hand within the gun callused grip of his own, he swallows taking in the beauty before him. Speechless till Isabella pats his cheek, “Trust me honey the pleasure is all mine.” 

Breath caught as a shiver rolls down your spine at the contact of his warm hand. Insnared by those beautiful eyes you slowly lick dry lips cursing your inability to form the right words to utter at this moment. The look he’s giving you only further ties your tongue as heat spreads pleasantly along your spine and warms your body like no other. Though that little insecure voice in that back of your mind sounding like all those jeering girls from the past telling you this beautiful man wouldn’t give you a second look.   

“Anty,” holding her little arms out towards you breaking the spell Will seemed to cast over you. Immediately taking her into your arms, small body resting on your generous hips, eyes leaving his to brush a kiss over her soft brown head. 

Throat clears behind him, “Mind moving your as…” seeing the finger up in warning at Ben with fire dancing in her eyes. “Butt outta the way brother dear,” gravely voice finished the amended words before she could smack him up side the head. 

Slimmer in build, face clean shaving with a black ball cap turn backwards, smiling blue eyes take you in. Feeling a little self conscious that evaporates when he comes forward to tickle Isabella making her squeal in happiness. Taking your out stretched hand bringing the two of your into a short one sided hug. 

“Ben Miller ma’am and yes Fish told us a great deal about you leaving out the part about your beauty though.” Playful twinkle in those sweet sky blue eyes putting you at ease in a different way than his brother. 

Brow lifting short scoff existing your throat, you can see the family resemblance between him and Will. “Thank you but flattery will get you no where darlin.” Sweet smile spreading over your lips slowly. 

Letting your hand go to step aside Benny glances over at her sending a teasing wink that makes her playfully roll her eyes. 

“I like her already hermano doesn’t take Benny’s shit and gives it right back,” chuckling then ‘oafs’ when she smacked him on the back of his curly dark brown head. “You said it first a long time ago hermosa. I’m an old man you’re gonna…” 

“Knock the few brains you have left out of your skull? Not possible Pope you only think with what’s between your legs,” snicking at the playful sullen look he gives her. “Don’t mind him Y/N. He’s more of a rocky road than smooth peanut butter.” Trying to hide the approval skipping through her eyes at the way Santi looks at you. 

“Woman must you give all my secrets away,” grinning he takes your hand to kiss your knuckles salt and pepper beard tickling your skin. “Santiago Garcia but these knuckle heads call me Pope you can call me whatever you like preciosa,” giving you a smirk. (Gorgeous)

Smooth, of course Santi would pull out all the stops to flirt with you. Those thoughts twisted his gut though there’s no reason they should. You’re free to choose who ever you wanted but that little nudge in the back of his mind questioned why not him? When your eyes connect Will quickly looks away plastering a smile over his features to not give away the uncertainty currently filtering through his mind.   

Catching Will’s stare till you blink and he’s turned his head making you feel foolish for thinking he’s actually looking at you. “Just don’t call you late for dinner huh?” Returning your gaze to Santiago’s deep chocolate eyes. Giving him a soft smirk low chuckle leaving him lips tipped up with his own smile spreading across his mouth. 

“Know me already,” grinning Santi steps closer to brush a kiss over Isabella’s curls. “Pleasure meeting you Y/N,” keeping his eyes locked for a moment longer with yours than stepping away.  

Heat blooms over your body, not nearly what you felt when Will shook your hand but still warm as you switch a bouncing Isabella to your other hip. 

Shaking his head, “All right now that everyone’s met out of the kitchen,” waving his arms to shoo them out the backdoor. “Pope give me a hand with the cooler?” Frankie asks motioning towards the long Igloo cooler by the backdoor. 

“Why you gotta pick on the old man Fish there’s two strapping young men right there that can carry the chest?” Grinning as both Miller boys roll their eyes. 

Scoffing, “You ain’t any old then I am Pope stop acting like your ancient man,” popping his shoulder nodding a thanks to Will and Ben. Frankie grabs the plater full of steaks, heading out the door behind them with Santi snatching up the vegetables for grilling. 

Once the door securely closes, “You like him don’t you?” Coming towards you to take a bouncing Isabella from your hip. 

Eyes widen glancing towards her, head shaking in the negative. You move from one bare foot to the next wiggling your toes against the cool tile floor. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Will,” the only thing she answers with going to place Isabella in her highchair while getting the rest of dinner finished. Having seen the way you looked at the eldest Miller and how he you. 

Gapping at her, “What about him?” Though you couldn’t deny the pleasurable tingles dancing across your skin at his touch. Soulful blue eyes flash when you close your. Splashed with a haunted look that a part of you wants to help. “Don’t try to set us up woman it wouldn’t work.” 

“Why not?” Frown turning down the corners of her lips, banishing a wooden spoon towards you. “Stop thinking every man is Brock. Trust me neither of them could treat you like he did. Will’s a good man you should give him a chance.” Thought secretly pulling for Santiago having a feeling you’d help sooth some of those demons she’s seen in his eyes at times. 

Eyes rolling so hard you’re sure there stuck somewhere in the back of your head. “An adonis like him would never give me a second look.” Glancing out the window to the back patio, pausing on the very man your discussing. Watching him laugh at something corners of his eyes crinkle and the smile tugging at his very kissable mouth has a small breathy sigh leaving your body. Unable to deny the thoughts rolling like film through your mind. Wondering exactly what those lips would feel like. If there soft? How they’d feel… shaking those ideas from your head to focus back on the woman chuckling.  

“Told you,” smirking her own gaze landing on Frankie who’s soft loving eyes focus on her before Benny smacks the back of his head. Making all the guys except Frankie bust out laughing again. 

Swallowing, you glance away right as Will’s stare lands on your plush form. Foreign feelings building in his chest every time he looks at you. Hoping it’s not written all over his face or the guys would rib him as they do Frankie. But in that moment when your eyes lock, glass and a short distant the only thing between Will doesn’t care about teasing. Interested solely in getting to know you, to find out if your soft body will mold to his hard angles the way he hopes. To taste those kissably plush looking lips and dragging all manner of noises from the back of your throat. 

Beer bottle waves into his field of vision breaking the connection with you and reaching for the cold long neck to take a health drink. 

“She’s single,” taking he seat next to him, voice low to not include Ben or Santi. “Be careful with her though,” locking browns with blues for a moment letting Will know wordlessly what he means. 

Shaking his head, “Benny or Pope…” looking back towards the house watching you move around the kitchen like a seasoned pro. Never one to not go after what or in this case who he wants, Will swallows harshly even before taking another drink. Gut twisting at the thought of you with another man. Shock widens his eyes given the fact you just met. But how often did one feel those pleasurable tingles that warm the bones and dance across their veins like tiny lighting bolts. Just from one single touch. 

“Trust me when I say she’s too much for Benny and Pope’s not home longer enough sadly,” smiling before tossing back the rest of his beer. “She’s shy at first but like my love will open up to you if treated right,” giving a fond smack to his shoulder. “Think about it and don’t let the past how you back,” getting up with that parting advice to check on the steaks. 

Giving Will some much needed time to think while Benny talks about his next fight and Santi adds news concerning the job he’s been vetting. Not really paying attention till both women come from the kitchen loaded arms bringing potato salad, bacon wrapped asparagus, macaroni salad, and dessert, Isabella held snuggled in her mother’s arms. All four shoot up to help, Will offers to take one of the bowels from you. To which you smile handing him the asparagus. Heart thumping wildly offering you one of his own in return. Fingers brush shooting those tingles back through both your bodies. 

Quickly turning, to keep from embarrassing yourself. “Hope you remembered to make my steak medium Frankie I don’t want no burnt meat.” Hands planted on your ample hips giving him a playful glare. 

Will takes the moment to take in your form, hands itching to grasp your thick waist and bring you back into his chest face burying into the sweet spot between neck and shoulder. Wondering if your ticklish, if you’d enjoy the burn his beard would leave. Thoughts interrupted by Frankie’s voice.

“Yes, ma’am I left yours and Will’s for last since you both seem to like your meat mooing,” chocolate eyes rolling getting a giggle from Isabella and a soft chuckle from the woman beside him. 

Looking towards her, mouthing a quick thank you. Nodding in return, “Go make your drink I know how much you loath beer sweetheart.” 

“Shit tastes like piss to me,” muttering the words just loud enough to have everyone bust out laughing when Isabella repeats what you said. Giving her a sheepish look before bolting towards the kitchen door in anticipation of something thrown at you. 

Watching you go, a deep chuckle leaves his lips and curiosity gets the better of him so Will follows. Pausing to lean against the archway into the kitchen. Noticing for the first time your barefooted, in a pair of fitted carpi’s accentuating the curve of your ass and thick thighs. Visions of those thighs wrapped around his waist floating through his mind till a huff of annoyance sounds. Breaking him from those salacious thoughts to see you stretching, blouse riding up to bare a small patch of skin, reaching for a bottle of Jack. 

Before thinking things through fully Will’s feet carefully, quietly walk him towards you. Pressing his chest against your soft back, getting a squeak of surprise from your lips. One hand pressed into the counter beside your thick waist the other reaching above you wrapping those thick nibble fingers around the half full bottle of amber liquid. Lowering yourself from tip toes your to brush against the person behind you. Mouth dry as soft musk cologne, an under current of pine added to tickle your nose as warmth dances over your cloth covered back. 

“Thank you,” head turning to look into the vivid blues of Will. Who’s yet to move from crowding you into the counter. Breath stolen by the way he’s looking at you, almost hungry and not for the food that’s cooked. 

Clearing his throat, voice gruff, and deep sending shivers down your back. “You’re welcome happy to help a damsel in distress.” Stepping back so you could move, eyes darting towards your lips. That you lick slowly, tucking the bottom between your teeth making a low groan ramble from within his chest. Clearing throat to speak, “What’s the Jack for?” 

Blinking trying to focus on what he’s asked and not how good it felt to have him pressed against you. “Uh… it’s,” ‘God why does he have to smell so good,’ thinking to yourself while trying to answer but find yourself unable to form the most basic coherent thoughts. 

“For?” Stepping forward, placing the bottle on the counter so his hand is free to brace himself and crowd you back into the spot recently vacated. 

Fascinated by the bob of his Adams apple eyes glued to that particularly interesting patch of skin. You don���t hear the question till two fingers pinch your chin. Raising your eyes to meet with lust blown stormy blues. “Straight or in Coke?” The pad of his thumb grazing over your bottom lip pulled the wet skin free from being trapped by your teeth. “You gotta stop biting that bottom lip honey it’s distracting.” 

“Wha… what?” Struck dumb for a moment you swallow trying to get moisture to the Sahara desert formally known as your throat. Head shaking the lustful cobwebs out, “In Coke,” finally gaining enough brain power to answer. Unsure just what he’s playing at while trying to remember what she said about Will. The fact he’s nothing like Brock but that little horrible voice tries to keep reminding you of faults. Hang ups Brock had about your body and job you loved. 

“Woman after my own heart,” smirk pulling at the corners of his lips and catching your eyes. Unconsciously pulling your bottom lip back between your teeth in a bid to keep from whimpering at how delicious he feels pushing into your soft body. “Fuck,” low growl leaves his chest caging you in. The hand bracing himself wraps around your plush waist. Tugging you against him tighter as the other cups your cheek. “Tell me to stop and I will.” Wanting you comfortable with his actions hoping his touch dissipates the uncertainty in your eyes. 

Finding your voice after swallowing again, “If your not serious then stop. I’m not looking for a one night stand.” Shocked by your own forwardness, maybe she’s rubbing off on you after all. Whatever the reason you don’t care you just want to taste those lips and feel them pressed against your own. Recklessness in the face of better judgement sliding through your thoughts. 

“Tomorrow night 1900hrs dinner?” Waiting, nerves making him just a little jumpy. Itching to finally taste your mouth but he waits for you answer. 

Nodding, arms coming up to wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers tugging the soft hairs at the back of his head. “7pm dinner nothing fancy I’m not that kinda girl soldier boy.” 

“It’s Captain actually,” smirk sliding over his kissable lips. 

Brow tipping upward, “You gonna kiss me Captain or wait till tomorrow night?” 

“Permission to make you whimper ma’am?” Cocky twist to his glaze that reminds you of Benny but it’s different and you know damn well he’s going to be trouble. 

“You can try Captain,” innocently wetting your lips, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Sunk and he knows it. That simple look sets his body aflame and desperate to have you. But he reigns those thoughts in, while lowering his head to touch yours. Lips brushing softly barely there kiss sending tingles dancing across his body. Eyes close to savor the strawberry chapstick glossed over your pouty lips. Arm tightening around your plush waist, Will slides his mouth over yours twice before slanting an angle against your lips. Keeping the kiss chaste till you timidly tug at his hair making him groan at the slight sting. Taking the signal as go ahead to plunder the warm depths of your wet mouth. Nipping the already abused bottom lip, sucking the soft skin between his own teeth to nibble and caress with the tip of his tongue. Soft whimper vibrated through your chest making him smirk but doesn’t stop the assault on your mouth. 

Using the hand from your cheek to slide back and cup your neck holding you in place as he thrusts his masterful tongue into the wet cavern of your mouth. Playfully mating with yours, tangling and retreating repeatedly wanting to hear those whimpers. Capturing and bringing yours into his own wet depths making a moan race from the deep reaches of his chest and his arm to tighten deliciously so wanting to meld the two of you together. Finding your curves fit his angles perfectly. Only the need for air breaks you apart, foreheads resting as you share gasping breaths. 

Stunned by the amount of passionate want flowing through his veins. Not even sharing that kind of depth with his ex-fiancee. Those very thoughts shock and shaking him to the very core. Only breaking from the trans by Santi’s teasing voice. 

“Might want to save some of that sexual tension for your date tomorrow you two. No fun to play all your cards in one night,” Pope’s laughter filled voice floating through the desire coated haze your both wrapped up in. 

Head falling to his sternum to hide yourself from the prying eyes of your new and old friends. “Fuck off Pope,” voice rambles under your cheek, catching the teasing tone. 

Pinching his side playfully at the language used receiving a low growl into your ear from the man wrapped around you. Burying your face in his chest to cover the squeak when his large hand cups a generous butt cheek to squeeze. 

“Making out like randy teenagers in our kitchen for shame I thought you both knew better?” Frankie groans into her shoulder his head finding home with shake of laughter and playful disgust color his voice. 

Head snapping up glare leveled at Frankie, “Randy teenagers huh? Says the man who fucked my best friend on every surface in this house. Some I choose not to sit in because of the things I know.” Reluctantly stepping away from Will’s warmth to make your drink, smirk sliding over your lips when they both gasp. 

Santi and Benny gagging, wiping at themselves to clean off imaginary dirt. All four retreating back outside after the show you put on for their amusement ending. 

Grabbing the bottle of Jack, a can of coke and your favorite Reduce stainless steal cup. Plopping all the ingredients on the island you glance up to notice everyone else left except Will. “So where you taking me tomorrow night?” 

“I know this nice little place, quiet, excellent management and the food,” eyes close with a blissed express over his features. Almost as if he’s tasting the food right now. 

Watching him while dragging your bottom lip back between indenting teeth, “You’re place huh?” Teasingly quipped till stormy blue eyes open and lock with yours. “I’m kidding of course,” swallowing harshly, hand shaking just a touch while pouring the Jack then coke over ice. Attention diverted towards the task, missing the spike of arousal flare to life and deepening his blue orbs.  

Heat surrounded your back as Will comes up behind you, hands gripping the island on either side of your thick waist to cage you in. Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, “An option true one I’ll save for later sweetheart after we get to know each other better.” 

Heat flicker’s to life low in your belly, his minty breath ghosting over your skin. Making it hard to suppress the shiver of desire rolling down your back. Especially when Will pressed himself against you. Swiping your Jack and Coke to take a health drink. “Hey soldier boy that my drink. Make your own.” 

“Hmm wanna taste?” Wiggling his brow, Will lowers his mouth back to yours for another kiss. This time hints of Jack and Coke assault your taste buds but there’s more. A flavor you’ll come to associate with Will, one you’ll never get enough of.    

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Winging It

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray

Warnings: A bit of language and lots of cute baby stuff. Parental insecurities. Mostly just fluff with no plot. Dad!Frankie and Mom!Lady.

Summary: Lady doesn't like mommy and me class very much.

Words: 1,535

A/N: I don't know, I just wanted to have a moment with my favourite lovebirds and their spawn. Frankie x Lady masterlist.

”Uh! Gah!”

Jay laughs a little at the sight of Alma, six months old, doing frustrated push-ups on her play blanket while trying to reach for the red ball which, of course, gets pushed further away from her.

”Damn that fucker, right? Here you go, baby.” Jay rolls to ball back to the baby, who grabs it and proceeds to trying to stuff it into her tiny mouth. That doesn’t work, either, so she drops it, and it rolls away again. Not really having figured out how to crawl just yet, Alma reaches for the ball, almost gets it, but pushes it away even further, then watches in disbelief and disappointment while trying to move after it. Jay expects the baby to start crawling any day now but so far, Alma’s only wagging her lower body from side to side, unable to figure out that she actually needs to move her legs to get anywhere.

”Ah!!” Alma’s exclamation is filled with frustration.

”Come on, honey, you can do it,” Jay tries to encourage her dark-haired daughter. Alma pumps her upper body up and down, stares angrily at the ball, and yells, before slumping down onto her stomach, face in wrinkles.

”You get that from your dad,” Jay sighs. She gives the ball back the Alma, who happily examines it, quiet for a moment. Jay leans against the couch, keeping an eye on the kid but also taking the opportunity to enjoy not having to entertain her, even if only for a minute. God knows that’s all she’s done for months until she picked up her studies and working part-time two months ago.

She wasn’t sure what she thought motherhood would be like: would it come to her naturally or would she struggle with it, loath to be so chained to her gender and the role that came with it? She’s never been good at being a woman and what that entails, never wanted the epithet that so often seemed to follow her around in the army.

She’s lucky to have Frankie. He understands this part of her and lets her be who she is. Being together with him has definitely made her accept her womanhood in a whole new way, and she knows that she would never have had kids with anyone else but him. Frankie adores the baby and is just as hands-on with her as Jay expected. Being a mother is hard, she moves from one extreme to the other: immense pride at how well she is handling being a mother, and constant anxiety about not being a good enough mother. Frankie definitely makes the experience easier and it helps to know that he’s just as worried about his capabilities as a father.

The front door opens and closes and shortly after, Frankie shows up in the living-room. Alma drops the ball at the sight of him and gives a happy little shriek.

”Hey, chiquita!” Frankie crouches by the girl and lifts her up, hoisting her in front of his face, giving her a big kiss. Alma giggles in delight, arms flailing.

”How’s mamacita?” Frankie turns to Jay and gives her a kiss as well. She tastes a little sweat on his upper lip; it’s a warm, sunny day.

”So-so. We went to mommy and me group.”

”How was that? Are they still boring as shit?”

Jay’s had a hard time connecting with the other mothers, or at least some of them: they do not share values or opinions about child rearing, and boy, do those women have opinions.

”The Stepford wives are, well, the same Stepford wives,” Jay shrugs. “I suspect they think I’m a lesbian.”

“Excuse me, what?” Frankie stares at her. “Haven’t you told them about me?”

“Well, not as such. They keep bitchin’ about their husbands – seriously, why do people get married and have kids when it’s so obvious they shouldn’t even be together because all they do is nag? – and how they never help out. I said I’ve never had that problem with my partner, we do everything together.”

“Yeah, I wonder where they got the idea from.” Frankie rolls his eyes.

“I’m not calling you my boyfriend.”

“I’ve told you there’s an easy fix to that, we’ll just get hitched,” he shrugs, bouncing Alma on his thigh.

“And I’ve told you no,” Jay tells him patiently, not having this discussion again. She smiles at Alma, so happy in Frankie’s arms, and then glances up at Frankie again.

“Should I grow out my hair?”

“So you wouldn’t look like a lesbian?” he asks pointedly. “Nope. If you want to do it to try how you’d like longer hair, then yes, why not?”

“Would you like it if I had longer hair?”

“Jay, what’s all this? You never cared what I thought about your hair.” Frankie scoots closer, cradling Alma on one arm and sliding the other around Jay’s shoulders.

“I guess I only today realized that it’s just not about me,” she confesses, leaning a little against Frankie. “Everything I do affects Alma. Every snooty mom who looks down on me because I’m not like her is capable of denying Alma a friend to play with.”

“True,” Frankie agrees, “but do you really want our girl to play with kids whose parents are absolute idiots?”

“It’s not like we can conduct interviews with the parents every time she wants to play with someone in the park,” Jay points out with a weak smile. Frankie grins back.

“She’s six months old, baby. Just relax. We’ll figure it out along the way, okay?”

“So we’re winging it, just like we’re winging everything else with this kid?” Jay jokes lightly, thinking of the stacks of books on parenting and developmental psychology she’s read to prepare herself for this life-long commitment.

“I’m a pilot, I’m used to winging it.”

“Oh my God, you’re so funny!” Jay sighs deeply and makes a gun with her hand, putting it to her own temple and pretending to pull the trigger. Frankie shakes his head and looks down on Alma.

“My comedic genius is wasted here, chiquita. I can’t wait for you to be big enough to appreciate it.”

“You’re going to be the king of dad jokes.”

“Obviously.”

Frankie tickles Alma’s tummy, drawing a laugh from her, then looks back at Jay.

“Don’t grow out your hair,” he tells her softly, “unless you want to, of course. I like your hair. It’s so you.”

Jay smiles and passes her hand over her short-cropped hair. Had it been naturally curly, like Frankie’s, it would coil at her ears and the nape of her neck by now. But it’s straight and she’s overdue for a trim.

“Thanks, baby,” she tells him quietly, happy and grateful for his never-ending support. He nods, then frowns a little, as if a thought just occurred to him.

“Maybe I need to go to the next mommy and me group. Set those women straight.”

”They’d lose their shitif a dad showed up there, especially a hot dad like you,” Jay winks at him. ”Tell them I’m at the gym, they’ll love that. But don’t freak out: those of them who talk the most about how cute their babies are, have the most ugly-ass kids I’ve ever seen.”

She makes a face and then looks down at Alma, who’s making little sounds now, restless on Frankie’s arm.

”I’m so happy we managed to make a baby that’s actually cute.”

”With a mom like you, she has to be cute,” Frankie replies, leaning towards Jay for a kiss. She smiles and meets him halfway, lips separates so she can suck his lower lip, the little patch of facial hair right underneath the lip tickling her skin.

The kiss is interrupted by an angry shout from Alma, who is done with cuddles with dad. Frankie puts her down on her back and she proceeds to immediately turning onto her tummy and once again doing a pushup, clearly aiming for the red ball again. Her tiny brows furrow in frustration as she voices her unhappiness.

”Still struggling?” Frankie asks with a tender smile as he watches his daughter try to figure out crawling.

Jay nods. ”And that goddamn ball isn’t taking any orders.”

”She’s close, though.” Alma's almost getting up on her knees, but does not seem to be aware of it: she’s so focused on reaching her chubby arms forward she’s not realizing that she could use a boost from behind.

”It’s a good thing she’s cute, because she’s not that bright,” Jay scoffs, just as Alma emits a loud shriek and jump-starts in an unexpected engagement of her legs, and bounces forward just a couple of inches. It’s not enough to reach the ball but she seems to understand that she did get closer, because she’s flailing her arms in excitement. Frankie and Jay stare at her, both perplexed.

”Well... she shut me up,” Jay finally admits. Frankie rolls the ball towards Alma, who grabs it and then, quite neatly, spits up on it. She looks surprised, and raises her gaze to her parents.

”Wah-wah!”

Jay hands Frankie the burp cloth and stands up.

“Entertain the spawn, Morales. I'm gonna get dinner started.”

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Your Power Over Me: One - Beginning

Summary: this movie was not that great.....it had so much potential. But I’m going through some sort of weird JGL phase and I really like his character in this. Another cop but at least he’s not a bastard. His character has zero backstory besides loving and living in nola so I’m giving him a FAMILY BITCH. This’ll prolly take place right before the events of the movie. 

Pairing: Frank Shaver x OFC (Michelle Shaver)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mega fluffy so wooooo

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Frank pulled up to the house and parked the car on the side of the street. It was late. Later then he said he would be. He definitely missed bedtime by now. Again. Third time this week. At least this time he’d remembered to shoot her a text. He sighed, pulling his hands over his face. He was so tired. He killed the engine but continued to sit there for a moment. 

What he saw tonight was indescribable. Unfathomable. That suspect…What he could do was beyond any normal human. Almost like he had….

Frank shook his head. No. If he thought about it too much it would make that next word a reality. Something that was plausible, tangible, something that wasn’t just on the movie screen or in the pages of a comic book. 

He got out of the car. 

The path that led up to the front porch was lined with purple flowers, freshly planted for the new, colder season. She had told him when she was working in the yard that day what they were. Something that started with an F — he couldn’t remember. His mind had probably been too distracted that day thinking about a case. He’d look it up later. The white paint of the porch was chipped, but the matching siding was pristine. Newly painted over after she finally convinced him that the periwinkle purple that the house was before was rather hideous. She wanted the front door untouched though, a bright turquoise blue. 

The house was dark and quiet when he came in. He kicked off his boots at the door, adding them to the pile of tiny sparkly slip-ons, pink Crocs, and flip-flops with the little elastic strap on the back to keep them on tiny feet better. The living room was speckled here and there by toys. She had probably given up on forcing the issue of cleaning when they were just going to get pulled out the next day anyway. He smiled. He hoped they had a good day — he wished he could’ve asked her about it. 

He stopped in Claudia’s room first. The bedroom had a pink haze, the little machine on her bedside table projecting hearts and unicorns on the ceiling to help her sleep. Claudia had moved into a big-girl bed just a few weeks ago. He thought she still looked so small in it. Wasn’t it just yesterday he could fit her entire body in one arm? Now she was old enough to sleep in a bed with no rails? The crib she had been using before was pushed into the corner of the room, waiting for the newest Shaver to arrive. 

God, he hoped it was another girl. He didn’t know if they could afford to buy all new clothes for a boy. 

Claudia was asleep in the center of the bed. Frank chuckled quietly to himself. Just like her mom. Pillow still at the head of the bed, curled in on her side with the blankets barely covering her legs. Her dark hair just like his in messy double french braids. He sat down quietly at the edge of the bed. He looked at her for a moment. 

When she was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. She came into the world bright blue and not breathing. The first time he saw her he had been so scared. Scared for her life, scared of failing her. And for a long time after, even when the doctors got her breathing and free of the umbilical cord, he only looked at her with fear in his heart. A whole life — his responsibility. But now he only looked at her with love. A love so strong he was sure it would make the wind change directions. Everything he did, he did for her. His little Claudia. 

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her warm cheek. God, she got so sweaty at night. 

“I love you, Cloudy,” he whispered, “Sweet dreams.” 

He left her with one final kiss and the door cracked open how he knew she liked it. From the dark hallway, he could see that their bedroom light was on. He sighed. She shouldn’t have waited up for him. But he also knew that he was powerless to stop her. 

Michelle was sitting up on her respectful side of the bed under the covers. Her bright, copper hair was thrown up into a bun at the top of her head. She held a book, about halfway finished, in her hands. An empty mug that once was filled with tea if Frank had to guess sat on her nightstand. She smiled at him when he gingerly opened the door, a soft, tired thing that made him feel even more exhausted than he did before. 

“Hey, baby,” he sighed as he shut the door behind himself. 

“Hi,” Michelle whispered back. She closed her book and set it down beside her empty mug. 

Frank let out a long breath. He might have been in his house for nearing on five minutes, but he didn’t feel like he was home until he saw her. Then the more he looked at her, the more he thought about the things he saw that night; and the more he thought about that the more tired he became. He felt surprising tears prick the backs of his eyes. And she seemed to notice them, those unwanted tears that hadn’t even fallen yet, her face buckling in concern. 

“Frankie?” 

She moved to get up but he held up a hand. He groaned as he pulled at his nose, rubbed at his eyes. Trying to force the tears back and keep his head on his shoulders. He pulled off his badge and gun first, setting them on top of the dresser by the door. Then he stripped himself down to his underwear, leaving his clothes where they lay. He’d pick them up tomorrow. He slid in beside her on top of the covers, laying his head on her chest and placing a hand on her swollen belly. Michelle instantly wrapped him up in her arms, one hand running through his short hair. 

“Rough night?” she asked quietly, giving the top of his head a quick kiss. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not yet.” He pulled her a little closer. “Just talk to me for a little while? At least until the baby cries.” 

Michelle chuckled. “She’s not a baby anymore, Frankie.” 

“She’ll always be my baby girl.” He moved down and pressed a kiss to her stomach. “At least until this one gets here.” 

They had never discussed having a second kid. Both of them were perfectly content with the one — especially for financial reasons. But then Michelle’s period never came, she took a test, and sure enough, she was pregnant again. About five months along now. They were happy, Claudia was ecstatic to be a big sister. But they also had to live with the reality that Frank was an underpaid detective, Michelle worked part-time as a florist, and they lived in only 700 square feet of house. Things were going to be tight until Michelle could go back to work full time and Frank finally got that raise he had been promised. They had made it through worse. They could make it through this. 

“I don’t know — I just have a feeling this one’s a boy.” 

Frank looked up at her with a smirk. “A feeling? A feeling where?” 

“In my…Motherly instinct.” She hit him gently when he laughed. “You cops follow your gut — we mom’s gotta follow our instinct. Millions of years of evolution was not for nothing.” 

“Okay, fine.” He chuckled a few more times before he moved so his head was back on her chest. “How was your day?” 

“It was good. Worked today. Donna says hi by the way. First arrangement of the day was an apology. The client specifically asked for Star of Bethlehem and Ivy. Donna and I are sure he cheated. Then I did an anniversary piece with Eucalyptus, Scabiosa — they’re a dark dark purple flower, I think you’d like them — Sweet Peas, Spirea — “ 

“The guy picked up the car and threw it at us,” Frank suddenly spoke, eyes lost somewhere between the present and the past. 

He was sure that Michelle heard him, but she still asked, “What?” 

“Suspect robbed a pawn shop — we had him cornered in an alley. Then he picked up an abandoned car and threw it at us.” 

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked. 

“No — well, just the suspect. Next minute he was rolling around on the ground screaming his head off. Medical said that nearly every muscle in his body had detached from the bone.” He felt her shudder beneath him. 

“That sounds awful,” she whispered, “Must be some kind of new drug or?” 

“Nobody knows,” he sighed, “Captain didn’t even wanna talk about it when we got back to the station. We’ve been getting…A lot of weird calls lately.” 

Michelle adjusted herself so that she and Frank were laying side by side. Curled on her side and nose to nose with the man she loved. “Just stay safe…That’s all I ask.” 

“You know I do, baby.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Anything to come back to you.” 

“You’ve got a power over me, Franklin Shaver.” She smiled, her light brown eyes crinkling at the edges, and he could feel his heart lift in his chest. A weight lifting off of him. “You gonna hold it over me?” 

This, right here, was warmth and light and home. As long as she was there waiting for him, with open arms and a smile, nothing could get him down. No case could be too dark, too dangerous, too bleak. She was his source of power, his energy, his everything. What more could he possibly need than his family? 

“For the rest of our lives, baby.” 

The door creaked open. Frank instantly shot up in bed, that gut feeling taking over him as he shielded Michelle with one arm. But then he saw little Claudia standing in the doorway. Messy braids hanging limp on her shoulders, favorite blanket cradled in her arms, and chubby cheeks red with sleep. Her eyes were barely cracked open as she walked into her parent’s bedroom. 

“Cloudy, baby, what’s wrong?” Michelle asked as Frank visibly relaxed beside her. 

The toddler walked further into the room, to Frank’s side of the bed. She shook her head. “Daddy.” 

“You just want Daddy?” 

Claudia nodded her head and Frank scooped her into his arms. God, she was sweaty. “All right, let’s go back to bed, okay?” 

He moved to get up from the bed but Claudia began to fuss. Whining and kicking at him with her little feet. Frank held her legs down. “Nah-ah. Use your words.” 

“Stay ‘ere with…Daddy.” 

Frank looked over to Michelle. She had her head cocked to one side and a smile on her face. “I think someone missed you today.” 

“I missed you too, baby-girl.” Frank kissed the top of her head and tucked her into bed between him and Michelle. “Let’s go to bed and you can snuggle me all night long.” 

Frank got under the covers and Michelle turned off the light. Claudia burrowed herself into his chest, her favorite blanket tucked between them. Frank looked at Michelle one last time in the darkness. She had let her hair down for the night. Copper tresses hanging well past her shoulders and fanned out across her pillow. 

He had been so tired before. So drained of all energy. But now, laying there with his little girl against his chest and the love of his life beside him, he could feel all that energy coming back. The power he needed to get up in the morning and face another day of crime, cruelty, and corruption in New Orleans.

[breanime]

Decisions

Here’s my first bingo attempt for @banditthewriter! Thanks for this event! I love you!

*gif not mine*

Very rarely did Billy Russo feel like he was out of his depth. He had always been confident; from the time he was a smartass kid mouthing off to the biggest kid on the playground to his time in the Marines all the way to his role as CEO. He always knew what to say or do, and how to handle tough situations. It was a virtue he prided himself on: knowing what to do and doing it.

But now he wasn’t so sure. He was doubting himself, questioning his decision and wondering if it was too late to take it back.

“Are you still brooding?” You asked, walking into Billy’s home office with a dirty towel on your shoulder. “It’s been an hour.”

“I’m not brooding,” he said broodily as he brooded by the window, hands behind his back as he stared off into the backyard. His tense stance relaxed a bit when he felt your arms wrap around him from behind, giving him a soft hug. He sighed. “Do you think I was too harsh?”

You clicked your tongue from behind him. “We’ve talked about this, Billy…”

“I know,” he turned and took your hand in his, dark eyes staring into yours, “But I feel… I don’t…”

“You did the right thing,” you assured him, “The punishment fit the crime.”

“Did it though?” He asked, dropping your hands and walking over to his desk. He looked at his favorite picture, proudly displayed amongst the files and papers: a photo of him with his arm around you, and your two kids smiling as they held hands. Your son was so happy. He’d just hit the winning ball in his little league game, and he was still wearing his uniform. Your daughter was almost as proud of her brother as you and Billy were of your son; she’d nearly screamed herself hoarse cheering for her brother. Billy picked the picture up and sighed again. “Maybe I should go in there again…”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” you reminded him—as if he needed to be reminded. Billy made a face, and you sighed. “She’s just upset, she’ll be fine…”

He nodded, but he still felt shitty. He’d just caught your daughter coloring on the kitchen walls; she was five, and she knew better. So he’d made her clean it up and then grounded her, sending her to her room and telling her she couldn’t watch any TV for the rest of the week…It was Friday, so the rest of the week was just the weekend, but still… His little princess had been so hurt when he’d grounded her. Billy had used his stern Anvil voice—he never yelled at his kids, or you, but the Anvil voice was pretty serious. She’d made that face, the downturned corners of her lips quivering as her wide eyes—Billy’s eyes—watered with tears, and her little hands balled into fists at her sides as she tried not to cry. When he had said “now go to your room”, she’d run so quickly, as if she didn’t even want to be in the same room as her Dad. She slammed her bedroom door when she’d gotten to her room, and when Billy went in there to scold her, he found her face down on her bed, crying her little eyes out on her pillow. His heart had broken. He’d tried to soothe her, sitting at the edge of her bed and reaching for her tiny foot, but she recoiled from him—and Billy, 134 confirmed kills Marine Scout Sniper, CEO of his own private security firm, nearly broke down in tears. His baby girl, his sweet little princess, had cried out: “Leave me alone, Daddy!” and shuffled closer to the wall and further away from him.

And now he wasn’t sure he was doing this whole fatherhood thing right.

Sensing his unhappiness, you walked over to him once more, engulfing him in another hug. “She’s five,” you went on, “She’s just acting out, she’ll be fine.”

“You didn’t see her face,” he wrapped his arms around you, glad to have you with him, “She was so sad. I shouldn’t have been so rough on her.”

“You weren’t,” you assured him, “She did something wrong, she knew better, and she got in trouble. She’s upset now, but she’ll get over it. I promise.”

“When?” He asked, trying not to whine.

“Hm… Probably about around the time this one comes out,” you said with a grin, taking Billy’s hand and placing it over your round belly.

That drew a smile out of him. This last pregnancy had been a welcomed surprise, and the kids were so excited to have a new baby in the family. He leaned down and kissed you, soft and slow, and he grinned when he heard you moan into his lips. Pregnant you was perpetually horny. “Don’t think I can wait that long… I’m gonna give it another try,” he said, kissing your forehead when you pouted as he left your embrace.

“Well, at least consult the expert first,” you suggested.

He nodded. That was a good call. Billy knew just where to find the person your daughter trusted most.

Your son was underneath the kitchen table with his stuffed dog Mr. Mean Face, a G.I Joe, three Barbies named Auntie Karen, Mrs. Curtis’ girlfriend, and Samanthica, and your black cat named Pitbull having a tea party. He was wearing his new tutu, a fluffy yellow one Frank bought him, and had a pair of toy nunchucks draped around his shoulders. He didn’t look up from pouring his tea (air) into Auntie Karen’s cup as Billy crawled under the table to join him.

“Hi, Daddy. Would you like some tea?” He asked.

Billy smiled at his sweet boy. “Sure, bud. Thank you.” He accepted the tiny cup from his son and pretended to drink, to which his son nodded; pleased.

“Is Sissy still grounded?” He asked casually.

Billy swallowed. “Um… Yeah?”

His son turned to him, dark eyes the exact same as Billy’s—exactly as deep and disconcerting. It always scared and fascinated Billy that his children had his eyes; it was insane seeing his own eyes in their little faces, insane to be on the other end of that deep gaze. “Mommy says you have to stand by your call,” he said, voice still effortlessly casual, “If you say Sissy is grounded, she has to be grounded.”

“Oh, is that what Mommy said?” Billy deadpanned. He could feel your presence somewhere in the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping.

“Sissy is very very sad,” he went on, dabbing Mr. Mean Face’s face with the corner of his tutu, cleaning a pretend spill, “You used your Mad Voice on her.”

Billy cringed. “Yeah… I know…”

“But she did a bad thing,” he reasoned, shrugging one shoulder, “But she’s not a bad kid, is she, Daddy?”

“No, of course not.”

“Uncle Frankie says sometimes good people do bad things. He said he did bad things,” your son glanced over at Billy again, and his eyes looked so much older than his young age, “He said you did some bad things, too. But you’re good. Mommy wouldn’t marry a bad guy. She wouldn’t let a bad guy be our Daddy.”

“No,” Billy swallowed, feeling the emotions well up in him, “no, she wouldn’t.”

“And when you did bad things, you got in trouble, didn’t you Daddy?” He picked up Mr. Mean Face and put him in his lap, still staring over at his dad.

Billy nodded, thinking of dark interrogation rooms and broken bones. “Yeah,” he answered, “I did.”

“And when I do bad things—even if it was on accident, I get in trouble,” your son patted Mr. Mean Face on the head, “’Member when I wouldn’t share at school and I had to go to the Sit And Think Corner?” Billy nodded. “That was mean of me. Nice kids share. And after that, I didn’t not share anymore, did I, Daddy?”

“No, you’ve been a great sharer since then,” Billy smiled, “You’re such a good example for Sissy.”

“And the baby,” your son grinned proudly, “I’m gonna be the bestest big brother in the whole wild world.”

Billy laughed. He’d thought he’d gotten ridiculously lucky when he met you, but now he knew he was extremely lucky not only to have you as his wife, but these amazing, wonderful angels as his kids. His baby Russos. “Yeah you are, bud,” he agreed easily.

“Sissy isn’t mad at you,” he said, cutting to the core of the issue easily, “She’s sad.”

Billy’s smile fell off of his face. “Why is she sad?”

“She’s sad cause she made you dis…disappointed,” he said, tripping over the word a bit, “Now she thinks you’re not gonna love her anymore, and you’re gonna love the new baby more.” He took a sip of his pretend tea. “She told me she thinks the stork is gonna bring a girl, and then you and Mommy won’t need her anymore.” He rolled his eyes, popping his pinkie out as he pressed his cup to his lips. “Sometimes Sissy can be such a baby…”

“Sounds like maybe Daddy should have a talk with Sissy,” you chimed in, bending down to smile at your two boys, “Let her know that we would never try to replace her.”

Billy clicked his tongue and scrambled to his feet, helping you stand up straight and admonishing you gently. “Be careful, baby,” he said softly, kissing the side of your face as you rolled your eyes. He bent down and smiled at his son. “Thanks for the advice, son.”

“I don’t know what that means, but you’re welcome, Daddy!” He said back cheerfully.

Billy laughed, standing up again and kissing your cheek as he walked past you towards your daughter’s room. The door was closed, but he couldn’t hear her crying anymore, so he assumed that was a good thing. He knocked on the door before opening it, and he saw her on the floor in front of her bed, chubby cheeks still wet with tears as she hugged the pink teddy bear Billy had won her at a carnival last year.

“Can I sit down?” He asked, gesturing to the empty space in front of her.

She shrugged, burying her face into the bear’s fur.

Billy sat down, crossing his legs in front of him. He felt the familiar sense of surety within him, that patented Billy Russo confidence that let him know he was making the right choice as he looked at his baby girl. “You know your mother and I love you, don’t you, princess?”

Another shrug.

“C’mon… You know that, right? Mommy and I love you so much, we love you more than air.”

She peeked out at him, face still hidden behind the bear.

Billy smiled. “We love you more than water. We love you more than food.”

“All food?” She asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper.

“All food,” he agreed, “Even spaghetti and pizza.”

She smiled—and Billy’s heart nearly floated out of his chest. “And ice cream?”

“Even ice cream,” he leaned in a little, “and you know how much Mommy loves ice cream.”

She giggled, trying to hide her adorable little smile behind her teddy bear. “You love me more than ice cream?” She asked again, astonished.

“Uh huh,” he answered, nodding, “We love you more than everything else in the world. We love you, and your brother, and the baby so, so much. And you know,” he lowered his voice, and she leaned in to hear him better, “That ain’t never gonna change. No matter what happens, no matter what mistakes you make—like drawing on the wall…” he watched her duck her head guiltily. “…Mommy and I will always love you, baby girl, just like we love your brother. And you know what else?”

“What?” She asked, eyes wide.

“The new baby is gonna love you, too. And no one could ever replace you, you know that right?”

She held the bear harder. “Even if the baby is another little girl? You won’t love her more than me?”

“No,” he said, “I won’t. I’ll love you the same, just like I love you and your brother the same.” He smiled. “It won’t matter if we have a boy, or a girl, or if we have 100 new babies…” She laughed, and Billy’s smile widened. “…We will always love you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Billy held his breath as his daughter regarded him for a moment. Carefully, she put her teddy bear down and crawled over to Billy. He opened his arms, and she crawled into his lap, putting her little face on his chest. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you, too Daddy,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, “I’m sorry I was bad.”

“It’s okay, baby, we all make mistakes.” He kissed her cheeks, making her giggle. “And you know what I just thought of?”

“What?”

“When the new baby comes, you’re gonna have to teach it everything.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “You’re gonna be a big sister! You’ll have to teach and care for and protect the baby, just like your brother does for you!”

Her eyes widened, too, and her mouth dropped. “I’m gonna be a big sister!” She said, shocked. Clearly, she hadn’t come to terms with her new role in the family. “The baby is gonna need me!”

“Mm hmm,” Billy agreed, nodding, “The baby is going to need a great big sister… Do you think you can be a good big sister?”

“I’m gonna be the best big sister!” She said seriously, nodding her head wildly. “I’m gonna show the baby how to make snow angels and teach it all the colors and numbers and letters I know…” She gasped, and Billy had to hold in a laugh at her theatrics. “If the baby is a girl, I can teach her how to ask Mommy to do her hair all pretty like she does for me!” She clapped her hands together. “Ooh, I hope it’s a girl! Can we ask the stark—”

“—stork,” Billy corrected with a laugh.

“—to bring us a girl?!” She finished excitedly.

“How about we write the stork a letter?” He suggested, propping his daughter on his knee. “With crayons and markers and glitter—”

“—On paper, like we’re a’sposed to!” She added, glad to have learned a lesson from this whole ordeal.

“Great idea, princess,” he kissed the top of her precious head, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek in return. “Do you want to see if your brother wants to help us?”

“Yes!” She jumped out of Billy’s lap and raced down the hall, calling her brother’s name.

Billy could feel an argument coming up—he was sure his son wanted a baby brother—but he knew it would all be in great fun. He stood up, picking up the teddy bear and placing it on his daughter’s bed. You were a few weeks away from learning if it’d be a boy or girl, but Billy would be happy with either. Hell, the fact that he would be getting another perfect child brought into this world was reason enough to celebrate.

“A hundred babies?” You said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest.

Billy laughed. “You’re weirdly stealthy when you’re knocked up, you know that?” He said, coming over and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not having 100 babies,” you said, laughing as he kissed you.

“Nah?” He asked, dropping his head down to your neck and kissing you there. He grinned against your skin when he felt you shiver. “You sure?”

“I’m not…” You closed your eyes when Billy lightly bit down on your shoulder. “…We’re not…” He licked the bite, making you sigh contently. “…Maybe 99 babies…”

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked, straightening up and kissing you softly.

“Daddy! How do you spell ‘stork’, and ‘baby’, and ‘girl’, and ‘please’ and--?” Your daughter’s voice cut through the sexual tension in the air, and you both laughed at her questions.

“Duty calls,” Billy sighed, placing one hand in yours and the other on your belly.

“Fine.” You pretended to roll your eyes. “I know you went through an emotional roller coaster and whatever today, but I’m gonna need you to finish what you started here tonight, Mr. Russo.”

Billy grinned, leaning down and kissing you one more time before leading you down the hall. “Happy to, Mrs. Russo…”

For the rest of the evening, the four of you sat at the kitchen table, writing letters to the stork (who your daughter kept calling Mr. Stark, to which your son replied: “his name is Iron Man!”) while the radio played in the background. Neither of the kids even asked to turn on the TV, and Billy got warm hugs and kisses from them both when the two of you tucked them into bed.

(He got an even warmer show of affection from you that night…)

As he laid in bed with you in his arms, both hands on your tummy as you slept soundly, Billy knew he had made the right decision when he started his family with you. He was learning, still, how to be a good husband and father, but everyday he was growing more and more secure in his role, and more importantly, he was incredibly dedicated to being the best he could be for his family.

It was a decision that was easy to make.

*******************************************************************************************

I flippin’ LOVE father!Billy! Ugh... Let me know what you guys think! I never had a nuclear family, so I hope this tracks lol! Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity@fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu@luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso@teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @starkrobb @marauderskeeper @charlylama @thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @ms-delos @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml 

Billy Taglist: @honeyydippaa  @thebabblingbookworm @khuangpu13 @ladyblablabla​ @woodlandreads

[beefrobeefcal]

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Series Warnings: violence, threats of violence, abduction, major character death(s), sex (p in the v), oral (m & f receiving), bowling, broken bones, beating, punching, choking, emotional abuse, allusions to drug use, harsh language, crime, weight gain, weight talk, eating, talk of eating, cruelty, keeping someone against their will/prisoner, stabbing, blood

Chapter One: Signed and Sealed Chapter Two: Nobody But Me Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams Chapter Four: Going Out in Style Chapter Five: Skin and Bones Chapter Six: Bangarang Chapter Seven: Bring It Home Chapter Eight: Linger

Add-ons:

Pre-Honey One Shot: Catfish to BigFish

Thank you @noxturnalpascal for the BigFish moodboard!

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter six | the million dollar question

a/n: i just... kinda pulled this one out of my butt so bear with me.

Those pages were as fresh as anything, and as smooth as the stones down at the bed of a stream. Sam cradled the book with the palm of one hand as if she was reading to an audience. There was art in there: the first task was to coax out of the paper. And the question there hung over her head: what to draw and then hand into her counselor down by the school. She flipped through the pages for a double check on the count: forty five.

“Make this worthwhile,” she muttered to herself. She doubled back to the wall to click on the thermostat and a chill ran up her spine. It was going to be a cold night, that remained for certain. She decided on a bit of dinner by herself and then turned in for the night at around eleven; no sooner had she curled under the covers and switched off the light when something caught her ear.

She lifted her head from the pillow and looked about her dark room. No light except for the amber street light accompanied by those little ghostly white flurries outside. And yet she heard it again: a low quiet rumble emerging through the floor. She pay close attention to it to feel a bit of a melody to it.

She then snickered and nodded her head.

“It's awful late, though, Frankie,” she said aloud as she lay her head back down on the pillow. And yet the guttural drone of his bass put her to sleep within time.

She turned her head to find that strange man once again, the one with the white stripe in his hair, but that time, he lay down next to her on a bed of sand. His hair fanned out from his head like he had been electrocuted; he lay his arms out from either side of his body so he was open for her. It didn't help matters that the top three buttons of his shirt were undone to show off most of his chest, either. His eyes appeared to be comprised of stone but the skin on his face was smooth and clean looking.

Sam crawled over to him for a look into his face. He resembled to a little doll, albeit one with more deep set eyes and more defined features. Now that she had a good look at him, she could tell he was very handsome. She looked down at his body, clothed in a white silk shirt and a plush dark red blazer.

“How'd we even get here?” she asked him in a voice so hollow that she might as well have been saying it through a tunnel. He said something but his words slurred into nothing. His eyes rolled into his head.

“Wake up—wake up!” she commanded with her hands on either side of his face. His skin was smooth but felt like nothing. He parted his sensual lips and she hung right over his face.

“Don't go on me, please,” she begged in a soft voice.

“Not here—” was what she heard him say in a broken voice. She glanced down at the rest of him and his legs extended out from underneath her. He raised one knee and held onto her shoulders. He pushed her off of him and he rolled over on top of her.

Sam lay on the sand underneath him; she never unlocked her gaze from his. Fine tendrils of black hair streamed down from either side of his head like a filmy curtain, and then there was that stripe on the crown, so pearly and silvery in the sunlight around them.

“What're you doing?” she demanded, and he brought his face right up to hers.

“You tell me,” he whispered. She looked down again to find he was right on top of her. His stomach was soft before, why wasn't it soft then? She then looked up at the blue sky over their heads and the sight of an airplane resting on the rock behind their heads. A little model airplane that looked to be made of paper.

“Do ya wanna punish me?” he whispered to her.

“For that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he begged her. “Punish me. Punish me for being so fucking bad.”

But she was stuck there on the sand. There was no way she could lift her arms or push him off of her, this strange man who looked as though he just came out of a strip club. She raised her head off of the sand in hopes to at least touch the tip of his nose. His pained little whimpers. The fact he just begged her to do it. He wanted it more than her.

But before she could even so much as touch the tip of his nose, a wave crashed down at their feet and surrounded the both of them with rich royal blue water. He held onto her as the waves carried them over to the plane. She held onto the nose of the plane even though it was made of paper.

“Samantha!” His voice was drowned out by the rush of the waters around them. She said his name but no sound came out of her mouth. He pushed against the current and clung onto her body for dear life.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I am, yeah,” he said in a soft voice. His face was soft and his hair had been soaked down to the roots. But she saw him at a tender level right there in the water.

“It's going to be okay,” she whispered to him; even there in the water, she could feel him trembling from the cold and from the fear. “Everything is going to be okay...”

Her words bled away and she awoke to complete dead silence around her as well as the pearly white from the fresh fallen snow outside of her window. She almost expected to hear Frank's rumbling bass from downstairs once again, and she wondered if they had gone back to the place from before. There was also the black journal in the next room, right there on the shelf.

She lay there on her back for a moment to think about the man in her dreams once again. She never found out his name but she said his name there, and it felt as though she spoke to someone she had known for a long time, too. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, and she even woke up with such a cold feeling on her nose that it felt damp to the touch. He felt soft but he also existed in her mind, which meant she couldn't feel him at all. He was a contradiction, and a strange one that her mind had invented no less.

She rubbed her eyes and then she slid out from underneath the covers. The cold carpet sent chills up her legs and up her spine. She shivered as she tugged the covers back towards the head board of her bed, and then she ducked into the next room to switch on the thermostat again.

There was a knock on the door, albeit one so loud that it startled her. She was in nothing more than a little black camisole, silk pajama bottoms, and striped socks, and thus she hoped it was nothing too important. Shivering, she made her way over to the door for a look out the peephole. She recognized dark curls over a round face and a cleft chin. Sam flung open the door to find Charlie bundled up in a heavy dark sweater and dark sweat pants. He smelled clean and soapy, and she took a second look to find his hair dripping wet.

“Charlie! What's up?”

“I was wondering when—” He hesitated to have a look at her camisole and the silk covering her legs. “—when you'd—you—what'cha doin'?”

“I—just got up,” she reluctantly said. He nibbled on his bottom lip, and before either of them could say something, a loud crack followed by a repeated ticking caught them both by surprise. Sam lunged forward and clutched onto Charlie's shoulders. He stared down at her chest as she pressed her body against his.

“I think that was just the heater,” he told her in a low voice. “Like—the furnace doing its thing.”

“I think you're right,” she said with a break in her voice, “I feel the heat from the vent in there.”

She peered up into his round face and his big dark eyes.

“I think you can let go of me now,” he stammered out. She lifted her fingers from his shoulders and then dusted off the front of his sweater.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered him.

“You know, it's funny—I was just gonna ask you that,” he quipped as if nothing happened.

“You touched a girl and now you wanna buy her a drink,” she taunted him.

“No! I, I mean, yes? Yes. I mean, no. No. I mean, yes!”

Sam burst out laughing at that and she set a hand on his chest. Charlie hunched his shoulders a bit, but she put her arm around him and guided him into her apartment. Frazzled, he closed the door behind him and let out a low whistle.

“Sit tight,” she advised him, “I have to change my clothes.”

“You can—still wear your jammies,” he pointed out. “Frankie's got coffee.”

“You just wanna see me in my jammies,” she retorted. He nibbled on his bottom lip once again and he tugged on the hem of his sweater. She noticed a pinkish hue appearing in his chubby cheeks.

“C'mon, Charlie,” she said as she folded her arms across her chest. She took a glimpse down to find she had accentuated her chest.

But then he shook his head, such that loose strands of curly hair stuck out from the crown of his head.

“You sure?” she asked him. “Mr. Bedhead?”

“Positive,” he replied in a voice that sounded as though he was holding his breath. She ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, and then she ducked back into her bedroom. She imagined a white bedsheet over the doorway and a light on the other side of the room so she could cast a silhouette on there. But she made her way over to the closet for a fresh change of clothes and her boots. Her regular shoes were around there somewhere, but she took what she could get at the moment.

Once she was laced up and had fixed her sweat shirt collar, she returned to Charlie, who had tucked his hands into his sweater pockets even though it had warmed up at a rather quick rate in those few moments. He raised his eyebrows at her, even though his bangs hid them from her view.

“Let's mosey on out,” she declared.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait—hold up.”

“What?”

He gestured to the other side of the room, where she spotted the black journal there on the shelf. She snapped her fingers and smiled at him.

“Of course!” She crossed the room for the journal and tucked it under her arm. She swiped the set of pens there and tucked those into her sweater pocket, and then she joined Charlie at the doorway. He closed the door behind them to keep the warmth in the apartment while they were downstairs. They reached the bottom of the stairs and Charlie took a seat on the banister.

“Ow—” He hit his foot on the bottom of the banister. He lost his balance and almost fell off the rail. She stepped forward so he could catch himself. He dusted himself off and showed her an awkward little smile.

“Some coffee and a bit of breakfast for our tums,” she declared.

“Yes, please!”

Charlie followed Sam down the corridor to Frank's apartment, where they were met with another low, quiet rumble through the floor.

“Frankie's awake,” Charlie remarked; Sam knocked on the panel of the door three times. The hum disappeared, so she knocked again, that time with the palm of her hand. The door swung open and Frank poked his head out. His lush dark hair hung down like the ears of a dog.

“Hey,” he greeted them.

“Hey,” Sam echoed him.

“What'cha doin'?” Charlie asked him.

“Hang on—” Frank ducked back into the room with the door left ajar for a second.

“Frankie?” Charlie called out.

“Hang on,” Frank called back. Something fell over inside of there. “Ouch—ow—ow—” Frank emerged from behind the door wearing an ugly puffy sweater. He tugged down the hem of the sweater over his skinny jeans.

“What're you doing?” Sam chuckled.

“I'm—playing,” he replied with a stutter.

“Playing,” she echoed as she stepped into the warm apartment first.

“Yeah—I was—playing a riff.” Frank turned to his bass guitar, which he had leaned against the back of the couch.

“Were you playing the same thing last night?”

Charlie shut the door behind them and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“I was, yeah!” Frank then knitted his eyebrows together and frowned at her. “How'd you know?”

“I heard it rumbling through the floor,” she said.

“All rumbly rumbly in your bones,” Charlie cracked.

“Nah, I was laying down in bed already,” she pointed out. Her gaze meandered over to the shelf on the left side of the room: she spotted a framed picture of two boys rested against the wall.

“What'cha lookin' at?” Frank asked her.

“That picture there.”

“Oh, that's us! Me and Charlie here.” Sam picked the black and white photograph off of the shelf with her free hand for a look herself. She recognized the cleft in Charlie's chin right next to Frank's sensible little haircut.

“Aw, what cute little boys!” she squeaked, which brought a laugh out of Frank.

“Adorable li'l childs we were,” Charlie joked with a shrug of his shoulders. She then dropped her gaze to the black journal tucked underneath her arm.

“Yes!” he exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes what?” Frank asked.

“Sam's got her little book and her pen set with her.”

“Oh, yeah! Draw us as kids! That'll be your first entry for your portfolio.” Sam nodded her head as she gazed on at the two young boys in the photograph. Sketch it out first and then add some pen.

“We actually came here for coffee but now we've got a better reason,” Charlie pointed out.

“I was actually about to make myself some as a matter of fact...” Frank's voice trailed off as he padded into the kitchen. Sam gazed down at the photograph again to better study their faces: all the times she had drawn from a reference photo she had to take a good long look at it. The man in her dream was not enough of a reference for her to finish that drawing in her other sketchbook. She would have to dream of him a few more times for a better observation of his face and the streak on the crown of his head.

With her hands full, she strode on over to the kitchen table, right before the rack of bass guitars. She set down the photograph on the table right next to her journal, the latter of which she opened up to that first clean white page. She ran her fingertips on the surface of the paper to feel it yet again.

“Do you have a pencil on hand?” she asked Frank as he loaded up the coffee maker.

“A pencil? Like a straight up pencil or the artsy kind of pencil?”

“The artsy kind.”

“I have a bunch of those back at home,” Charlie added as he took a seat next to her; she spotted a black jacket draped over the back of his chair, “I know that doesn't really help, but—it's something.”

“Would a regular ol' pencil work?” Frank asked her as he closed the lid of the coffee maker.

“Absolutely,” she replied; Frank reached behind him to open the drawer and he took out a yellow pencil with a still pristine pink eraser on the end. Before she could thank him, the phone rang. He jerked back to the phone on the wall.

“Hello?”

Charlie turned to Sam with his arms folded over the top of the table.

“You wanna watch me?” she asked him in a soft tone.

“If you don't mind,” he admitted with a shrug of the shoulders.

“Not at all,” she replied, and she could not resist the smile from crossing over her face. Careful to not press down on the paper too hard, she began sketching out their little heads. Charlie rested his chin in the palm of his hand and watched her every move. She tuned him out for a few seconds before Frank's phone call broke her out of it.

“Wait, where are you?”

Sam and Charlie turned to look in his direction. Frank then turned around with his lips parted and his eyes large with concern.

“Okay—okay, Joey. We'll be there. Stay warm.” He hung up the phone and returned to the two of them there at his table.

“What's going on?” Charlie asked him.

“Joey got stuck. He's up around the outside of Binghamton and he ran out of gas. He found a pay phone on the side of the road so he didn't have to walk far.”

“What's he doing up there?”

“He was going to visit his parents. Apparently, the heater in his car malfunctioned a bit, too—so while he could get some heat into the car, it's not a lot. And then, of course, he had to walk a bit up to the phone.”

“So we're going to have to go get him now,” Sam concluded.

“I'm glad you changed your clothes,” Charlie told her; he returned to Frank. “She wanted to come on down in her pajamas.”

“Oh, no, don't do that just yet,” Frank teased her with a wag of his finger. And then his face turned serious. “Okay, so when this thing's done, we'll boogie on outta here because the poor guy's been walking around in the snow and he had to go back to his lukewarm car.”

“How far is it from here?” Sam asked them.

“It's three hours. Joey told me he's got a big Indian blanket in his back seat so he put it up there with him to keep himself warm.”

“Why can't his parents come get him?”

“Apparently his dad doesn't like driving around in the snow, which is a little ridiculous because this is New York. It snows this time of year like clockwork. They live up near Syracuse, which is like the prime example of that. But, whatever.”

Within a minute, the coffee maker finished the brew and Frank took out a pair of gray travel mugs with black lids.

“I'm sorry, I just have two of these,” he confessed.

“I'll drink mine down real quick,” Charlie offered.

“You sure?” Sam asked him as she closed her journal and tucked her pens back into her pocket.

Frank poured Charlie a little cup full of black coffee.

“Be careful, Char—it's a little bit hot.”

Indeed, once he handed Charlie the cup, he proceeded to blow on the surface. Frank then poured the coffee from the carafe into the travel mugs.

“A bit of cream, right?” he asked Sam.

“Yes please.”

He took the cream out of the fridge and poured it into her travel mug. When he put the lid on his mug, Charlie tipped the mug into his lips and gulped down the coffee in four large swallows. He set down the cup on the table and hung his tongue out of his mouth like a dog. He then stood to his feet and took the coat off of the back of the chair and put it on over his body.

“Come on, puff daddy,” Charlie commanded as he held onto the back of Frank's shirt collar. He gathered himself and handed Sam her travel mug and they bustled out of his apartment; using his free hand, Frank locked up the place and led the way down the hall, where they were met with Emile in his doorway.

“Was that you making those bass sounds earlier?” he quipped to Frank.

“Yeah, it was totally me,” he replied with haste.

“Can't really talk about it, though, Emile,” Sam told him with even more haste; she reached the front door first.

“Be careful, kids!” he called after them.

The three of them bustled out into the snowy blustery morning: a blanket of gray clouds covered the sky overhead, although Sam could see the clouds thinning near the sun so the snow around them glowed with such a bright white glare. Frank overtook her at the base of the stairs and he kept going on down the sidewalk to his car. Again, with one hand, he unlocked the passenger side door.

“Shotgun,” Sam called out.

“Damn it!” Charlie groaned, and Frank burst out laughing. She slid into the cushy front passenger seat with her journal still tucked under her arm; she put the travel mug in between her thighs so she could on her seat belt. Frank meanwhile unlocked and opened the driver's side door, still with his right hand. He slid into the seat, right behind the steering wheel.

“You wanna hold onto this for me?” he asked Sam.

“Gladly.” She put her fingers around the travel mug so he could close the door and strap into the seat. Charlie closed the door and shook his head about. Frank stuck the key into the ignition: a little bit of rough noises, but the car roared to life. Sam shivered under her sweater and she regretted not taking her jacket with her. But then again, it was an emergency so there was very little time to do anything else.

Sam held the mug up to her mouth for a little sip. Warm and smooth, and warm enough to keep her comfortable until enough heat got into the car. But she continued to shiver at the feeling of the intense New York cold.

Frank brought them to the stoplight up ahead, just in time for the light to turn green. At least the windows were closed against the cold winds and the icy puddles on the pitch black pavement; at one point, she looked over at him when he let go of the steering wheel. He balled his hand and breathed onto his fingers and his palm.

“Jesus,” Charlie sputtered.

“Yeah,” said Frank as he blew on his hand again and shook it about. “I hope once we get onto the highway and cross the river, I can turn on the heater. Holy shit.”

Indeed, they reached the onramp to the freeway and Sam huddled down even more in the front seat. The tip of her nose felt like ice once again: her sweater proved to only do so much as the cold sank down through the fabric into her skin.

“Even that puffy shirt can't keep you warm?” Charlie asked Frank.

“Just barely,” he confessed as he took another sip of coffee. “My hands are colder than anything.”

“My hands and my nose are freezing,” Sam told them. “Three hours of this.”

“Hang on—” Frank changed lanes so they could cross the bridge over the vast Hudson River: the dark waters looked frigid and stony under the gray sky and the banks of snow.

“Is it the Hudson River that's polluted to death?” she asked them.

“That's the East River,” Frank corrected her, “it's like you have Manhattan on the peninsula and then Brooklyn on the island. In between there is the East River. You don't wanna fall into the East River.”

“You really don't,” Charlie told her. “I imagine it's like falling into a vat of radioactive waste.”

“So is that the other reason why New Yorkers are so tough?” she joked, which brought a laugh out of Frank.

“Yeah, I guess?” he said; he overtook a car in front of them and returned to their lane. “It's like—when you're growing up in a literal shithole that gets ridiculously cold in the winter time and hotter than hell in the summer, yeah, it's gonna give you a tough skin of sorts. I dunno what growing up near L.A. was like, but I would think it was along those lines.”

“Nah, with L.A., it's more heat and garbage air,” she replied. “I had a few friends growing up who had asthma because of it. And the fog coming in from the ocean doesn't really help much, either.” They reached the end of the bridge and the beginning of upstate New York stretched before them for miles and miles on end.

“Speaking of air...” Frank reached forward to switch on the heater. They were met with a blast of lukewarm air, but it was better than sitting in the cold. The sun burst out from behind the clouds.

“There we go!” Charlie clapped.

“Yeah, let's get our asses warm!” Frank cheered as he took another sip of coffee.

The sun followed them all the way up the winding highway into the snow blanketed woods. The whole stretch of forest reminded Sam of Northern California, and also the forested mountains to the north of of Los Angeles. She cradled the mug of coffee in both hands and watched the wilderness rise up before her eyes, and even more so when they reached the cut off that led up to Binghamton. Within time, enough heat had built up in Frank's car, and the heater vents blasted out all that warm air. Frank himself downed the rest of his coffee and nestled the cup in between his thighs. At one point, he rubbed his hands together while leaving the wheel free.

“Look, ma! No hands!” Charlie and Sam burst out laughing at him.

Within a few hours, they reached Binghamton, a cozy looking town straddled right on the Susquehanna River, blanketed in a fine white layer of fresh lake effect snow. The sun dipped behind the clouds once more.

“Let's see,” Frank recalled as he stroked his chin, “—Joey said he was broken down—right there!”

“You sure that's him?” Charlie rested either elbow on the tops of the seats and hovered right in between them.

“I recognize that junky piece of car he drives.”

“Junky piece of car?” Sam chuckled.

“Junky piece of car, yes!” Frank laughed along with her. Indeed, Joey's black car had posted up on the side of the road, just before the interchange and a bit away from a faded blue pay phone, which poked out of the snow. They pulled up behind his car, which looked empty from the rear view window. Frank left the car idling as he and Charlie climbed out to check on him. Sam watched them congregate on the driver's side: Frank looked confused where Charlie rounded the back end to open the passenger door. She climbed out of the car to check on him for herself right next to Charlie.

Joey had stretched himself across the back seat with the Indian blanket spread over his little body. He had brought the hem up to his ears and he wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses over his face. Strands of jet black curls dangled down into his face.

“Is he okay?” she asked them.

“We have no idea,” Charlie confessed. “I'm almost inclined to grab a rock and just smash open the window—”

Joey opened his lips to say something but they could barely hear him.

“What'd he say?” Frank asked.

“Joey, can you hear me?” Charlie called out.

He said it again.

“Louder for the people to hear, Joey!” Frank declared.

“The girl with the black journal,” he proclaimed in a broken voice, but she never said anything.

Charlie turned to Sam with a bit of a sneer on his face.

“He wants you,” he said.

“I think he was just making an observation,” Frank pointed out as they were met by Joey tapping on the inside panel with the sole of his foot. Charlie held onto the door handle and pulled it open.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” he noted.

“Yeah, you did,” Joey replied with a shudder underneath the blanket. “The temp dropped off like an hour ago so I got under the blanket here. There was no way in Earth on hell I was walking all the way to Binghamton when my feet are achin' me like crazy.”

He peered over his sunglasses at Sam: those deep brown eyes as dark as the bare patch of drenched pavement beneath her feet.

“You wanna tell me sump'n?” he asked her; she kept her eyes fixated on his two front teeth, to where she spotted a little gap on the right side. She never saw that gap before.

“Not—really, no,” she confessed. “It's—cold here. I'm—feeling the cold in here.”

“Yeah, that's upstate for ya,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “It's my fault, I should'a known it was gonna get this cold. But, Sam, I'm gonna tell ya this right now, too—it's only gonna get more and more damp the further we go towards the lakes. So—”

“Better bundle up?”

“I was actually gonna say, watch the lid on that li'l cup of coffee there, but—” He nodded his head. “—yeah, that, too! Drive in a car that actually gives you heat, too. Can't forget that, like ever. And stock up on fuel—gotta remember that.”

Frank rounded the back end of the car to join Sam and Charlie.

“Do you need some help?” he asked Joey.

“The million dollar question. I need a lift and also a lift.”

[amzyspinkarch]

At Last Tamagon x Reader

Smoke fills the air. The unpleasant smell of burning meat hits the nostrils of individuals nearby.

''Oi Tamagon! Nani shiteru no?!'' Kiev chastised.

''Tamagon!''

Kiev makes his way over to the said man and grabs the tongue utensil out of his hand. Being ripped from the clutches of memory lane, Tamagon is brought back to his reality where he's confronted by his brother. He blinks once, twice, thrice, before giving Kiev his attention. 

''Huh?'' Kiev jumps and slaps him across the head. 

''You're burning the food!'' He seethed while the rest of the crew chastise him as well. Some laugh at the male shaking their heads.

''Oh'' Tamagon pauses. ''Gomen ne''

Kiev sighs and tends to meats. Tamagon follows suit letting out a sigh knowing he's messed up. He just couldn't get out of his head. Not when horrid memories took over his mind. His eyes train up towards the blue sky masked with stark white clouds. He always finds solace when his eyes are fixed there. Something about the sky and shapes of the clouds is peaceful. A pass-time of his when he isn't busy with the company. Such sessions are even shared at times with a certain young woman. 

'I wonder if A-' 

''Oi, Tamagon!'' a voice belonging to his other brother Zanbai interrupts his thought. ''Your lady friend is here'' The men snicker at him.

Tamagon fights to keep down a slight blush trying to evolve and paint his face identical to a tomato.

''Thank you Zanbai. Let me know when you want a shot at announcement gigs. I'll set you up'' you pat his arm and turn smiling at Tamagon. The look in your eyes never fail at making him shy. As always though, he adverts his head after a hello to you.

He strides over to the steps and takes a seat. You shake your head, but your determination does not falter. You make your way over to the male and sit beside him. You remind yourself to put distance between you. A mental note you made from your last encounter.

''How are you Tamagon?''

''I am fine. And you?'' 

''I'm well.'' you chirp.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you flashing him a wide smile that he swears lights up his insides. Yet, he remains facing forward as if you don't affect him in the least. Another usual was silence. Though, frankly speaking, it was something pleasantly surprising that you'd become accustomed to.

''Tamagon'' he picks up on the tone of your voice. A shift from your usual playful. Concerned, he turns to you while you gather your thoughts to make your statement in the best way possible. Hopefully not messing up. You clear your throat.

''Are you okay?'' he'd like to know

''Qui. Je le suis merci.'' He nods. You let out a breath. ''Tamagon, I like you. Tu me rends heureux. You make me happy.'' Your hand covers one of his with yours as you look into his eyes.

''I know you're wondering how that can be. Well. It's the little things about you. I have made no secret of my crush on you, nor my attraction. I am not ashamed of it. However, I must let you hear it from me verbally.'' You pause taking a breath

''I love how even when not saying much or anything at all, I still learn so much from you. I love how expressive you can be with your family, yet, you're also reserved. I would love to be with you. I don't care what you or anyone says. You may second guess this and think I that have motives, but I'll do everything to prove to you that my affection and adoration. Mes sentiments, my feelings. '' Your hand squeezes his. ''Are real. I see the kind of person and man that you are, and I'm so attracted to him. You once caused mischief, but you, along with these rest of this crew, have turned your lives around. You're now an honest, hard-working man.'' Your eyes trail down to his mouth and smile seductively.

''I love your lips and how plump and soft they look. I love how when you're around, I instantly feel warm. And safe. I could go on and on Tamagon. And I will when, not if, but when you accept to be my man.'' You were so focused on the man facing you, that you hadn't realised you'd gained the attention of your family. Everyone's munching on their lunch both entertained and awed by the words coming out of your mouth.

And Tamagon's facial expression.

A certain pink-haired cutie suddenly interrupts.

''Love'' Himari, relaxing on her mother's lap, comments. Parting her hands and arms gesturing to you and the chubby-cheeked male. It was then you noticed the audience gathered and partly wished to be buried into the Earth.

Turning to Tamagon you see a mixture of emotions swirling around in his eyes and contorting his face. His unnerving silence causes you to panic. You turn to walk away abruptly deciding it's best to regroup and approach later. Plus, the more you felt examined, the more agitated you got, and no one wanted to see you snap.

Everyone ate and socialised before getting back to work. Tamagon secluded himself on a comfy seat in the backyard trying to process your words from earlier. His mind indeed sent off warning bells to tell him you just messing with him. He couldn't imagine someone taking him on and not at face value and appearance.

''You shouldn't overthink it.''

''Franky aniki'' Franky rests a palm on the male's shoulder. 

''Tamagon, when someone loves you for you, don't take it for granted. She's been showing you for how long now she's interested. And you still won't budge. Baka. You like her and she's let you know how much she likes you. Stop letting your fears get in the way and kiss the girl. Honestly, you're so hard-headed'' Franky boxes the male on the head and leaves, going back to work.

Evening had approached by the time last-minute checks on the stability of the booths, the lightings, sounds and decorations occurred. The ideas for this game night Coby and Ame were going to host were superb. You were proud of the woman for finally having the balls to connect more to her other family. Whether she wanted to accept and embrace them or not. From what Coby's described, the Newgate's were a great family.

Taking a few steps backs, you observed the sight before you. The large backyard was now transformed into a mini carnival. Though the best part, is the gorgeous, fairy lights lit tents created for an outdoor theatre. You released a sigh.

''It's beautiful," Ame said from beside you. Her eyes captivated by the sight before her and who could blame her?

''Qui. Il fait beau. You're a genius"

"I wouldn't know about that"

"Yes, you are. A game night that ends with an outdoor movie in dreamy tents with seating that has the comfort of a bed? Dang woman. By the way, I hope you know it's about to turn into a baby-making fest tomorrow night." The gorgeous, dark-skinned woman swats your arm

"Your mind's always in the damn gutter."

"No more than yours" you snicker at her, but she just gives you an amused look

"Oh? I beg to differ sis. I see the way you look at Tamagon."

"So, does everyone." You shrug "I make it no secret my interest in him"

"Yeah. We know from your declaration earlier" She smirks at you teasingly. Your cheeks, being devoid of melanin, flushed a deep pink

"Shut up. I didn't know everyone was around. I got lost in the moment.'' You release a sigh. '' But I wouldn't change a thing. He's so sweet. And a hunk" She nods while staring forward.

"I know what you mean," she says with a distant smile on her face. Movement catches the corner of your eye and you peer over to the person.

"Ooo. Speaking of sweet and a hunk. Your husband is home.'' You notify'' Mind if I go entertain him with the idea of a ménage a trios?" You teasingly raise an eyebrow. Ame laughs light-heartedly.

She smirks and closes the gap between you two. Taking a hold of your hands, she gives you her best puppy dog eyes filled with fake desperation.

"More than anything" Her body is yanked backwards. Rope binding her torso and arms. 

"Oi Ame! Nani shiteru-no" 

"Mmm Paulie, I like where you're going with this." You grin mischievously at the male. His face blushes a deep pink.

"Urusai! Ame! You're married for shit's sake. Stop going after other men's ladies"

"Shut the fuck up and release me, Paulie! This is so tight" 

"I bet that's what Coby's says about your-" your sentence is cut short by the ranting male.

"And you. Stop starting things and entertaining her!" You chuckle and give the older male a fake look of conviction.

"Je regrette Paulie. You know we're only playing" you wink at Ame and she winks back.

"Uso-tsuki!!" The man yells at both of you 

"Can't have these two in the same vicinity" Franky chimes in playfully

"Honestly. They're both something else" Kop replies

Paulie took Ame over to her husband. They verbally went back and forth with each other as everyone laughs. You simply waved at her before laying on the grass, gazing at the evening sky. You blew out a breath. You wondered how to go about things between you and the certain male when you felt a presence nearby. Tamagon. He gifts you with a slice of cake but does not speak. Neither of you say a word. Both too afraid of the unknown.

''I... I like your native tongue. Both your accent and your language. I find it sexy and adorable when you switch between French and English. Especially when flustered.'' He takes moment to gather his words carefully ''I-I'' he takes a breath ''I like how opposite you are of me yet we.. blend.. perfectly. Like makeup.'' He blushes recalling a time watching you apply products to your face and the lessons you taught him while at it. ''I love your hair'' he says with a warm smile ''It's so fluffy and full. A small, lovely afro crown adorning your head.'' Your smirk turns into a slightly sad smile

''But you can't run your fingers through it.''

''I'd happily get tangled up.'' He replies smiling. His fingers brush against your hand.

''I love your skin very much. You may have a skin disease to others, but to me, you're so beautiful. You're a work of art, a masterpiece and you should never feel any other way about yourself.''

Tamagon shifts closer to your body. Your body stills, not believing what's happening. You let out a breath and relax when his hand now takes hold of yours, squeezing it. You turn on your side to face him. ''I-I like you y/n,'' he says. He turns on his side to face you as well.

You smile lovingly as your hand goes to his cheek. You caress his face rendering the man weak as he leans into your touch.

''Tamagon?'' you softly call. He hums. ''J'ai tres envie de faire l'amour avec toi ce soir. I really want to make love to you tonight''

His eyes widen with shock and his face lights up like a Christmas tree as he rolls onto his side. His back faces you as he tries hiding his reddened face. Your laugh resounds throughout the yard, and Tamagon works on calming his heart rate. Another stretch of comfortable silence passes. You take that time trying to calm your own beating heart and fight your blush fest. You decide to use food as well as a counter and take a bite of your dessert. You relishing the sweet taste before abruptly choking, taken by complete surprise by his response to your confession.

''Y-yes. You can make love to me tonight''

(A/N: I know this one is longer that rest but I'm especially attached you will, to this one-shot. I really felt it necessary and it took me a long time to finish it. However, I'm happy that I am and I hope that you enjoy it. Happy reading people! Translations are down below) 

Japanese:

Nani shiteru no- What are you doing?

Gomen ne- I'm sorry, sorry

Aniki- Big Brother, brother

Baka- Idiot

Urusai- Shut up.

Uso-Tsuki- Liar.

French:

Qui. Je le suis merci- Yes. I am thank you.

Tu me rends heureux- You make me happy.

Mes sentiments- My feelings

Qui. Il fait beau- Yes. It is beautiful.

Ménage a trios- Three-way

Je regrette- I'm sorry. I am sorry

J'ai tres envie de faire l'amour avec toi ce soir- I really want to make love to you tonight

[lifejustgotawkward]

365 Day Movie Challenge (2018) - #82: Fatso (1980) - dir. Anne Bancroft (52 Films by Women 2018: #23)

Man, do I love Anne Bancroft. For her first (and unfortunately last) effort as a writer-director, she hired a bunch of other awesome women to work with her behind the camera: most notably, trailblazer Brianne Murphy was hired as the cinematographer, making her the first ever female DP of an American major studio film (as well as the first woman to join the American Society of Cinematographers), but Patricia Norris also served as costume designer, Linda DeScenna was the set decorator, Vivian McAteer was in charge of hair styling and several more women were employed as production assistants. Despite Bancroft’s credentials as an Academy Award-winning actress with a nearly thirty-year-long career at that point, the cards were probably stacked against her to succeed as a filmmaker; reading Roger Ebert’s one-star review made me wonder how many critics unfairly compared her debut with the handful of successful comedies made by her husband, Mel Brooks. Fatso is not a perfect film, but it displays enough creative energy and quirky charm to mourn the lack of a directorial follow-up from Bancroft.

The film tells the story of Dominick DiNapoli (Dom DeLuise), a Manhattanite who runs a gift card shop with his excitable sister, Antoinette (Bancroft). They live in the same house with many other members of their extended Italian family, including their brother, Frankie (Ron Carey), who is Dom’s closest confidante. Dom has spent his entire life struggling with his weight, a situation initiated by his mother, who derived joy from feeding him every possible pizza, cake and midnight snack. The death of Dom’s beloved (and obese) cousin Salvatore is a depressing wake-up call, though, so Dom decides to try and shed some pounds to make himself healthier and happier.

With help from one of his regular customers, Mrs. Goodman (Estelle Reiner), Dom joins a Chubby Checkers group and, after beginning to lose some weight, he becomes confident enough to ask a pretty store clerk from the neighborhood, Lydia (Candice Azzara), out on a date. This aspect of the plot is much less interesting than the parts that concern the DiNapoli family, which is owed mainly to the fact that Anne Bancroft and Ron Carey are more dynamic performers than Candice Azzara, whose blonde, half-Italian/half-Polish love interest is barely has a discernible personality. (What I wouldn’t have given for more scenes with Bancroft’s Antoinette alternating between manic yelling and weeping, all sights to behold from a wonderful actress who clearly knew how to write and direct to her own strengths. And given the essential background of the story and characters, I assume that Bancroft drew on her own upbringing as an Italian-American New Yorker.) Dom DeLuise does a nice, occasionally subtle job of playing a sweet, likeable fellow who constantly battles his impulses towards sugar and carbs, and Fatso’s ultimate message about accepting different body types without judgment or shame is a good one, although in general the film’s third act meanders before reaching its resolution in the last few minutes.

I recently wrote a review of another writer-director debut by a veteran actress, Heather Graham’s Half Magic, and I suggested that Graham’s directorial abilities (who is currently close to the same age Anne Bancroft was when she made Fatso) might improve with more experience. In Graham’s case, Half Magic was a good but often flawed run out of the starting gate, but Bancroft’s film shows real cinematic flair. Tonally, the dark comedy reminded me a bit of Elaine May’s The Heartbreak Kid (1972), although Fatso has issues with pacing and therefore would have benefited from tighter editing. Still, there is something inspired about the first ten minutes of Bancroft’s dramedy, which take place at a funeral filled with screams and cries that stretch tragedy into amusingly surreal humor.

[lezliefaithwade]

The F-word!

I was 19 years-old the first time I ever said the F-word. I remember it distinctly. I was sitting on the bleachers at the ball park not far from my home thinking about a boy who had kissed me, on that very spot a week earlier. I was writing in my journal when two guys, a bit younger than I, started harassing me. “Nice tits,” the slighty chubby one yelled. “Yeah,” his side-kick mimicked, “Nice tits.” I was and remain to this day a very modest person. I don’t enjoy being somewhat well endowed. I wanted to be flat chested my entire life drawing absolutely no attention to any part of my body whatsoever. My dream was always that people would like me for my sizable brain and witty banter. My breasts were the last thing I cared about. In fact, they betrayed me. Women with breasts were naturally thought of as stupid, whereas flat chested women were smart. But I had just graduated from high school with a 92% average. It had to be because I hid my breasts constantly behind sweaters, jumpers, blazers.

“Come suck my dick,” one boy yelled at me. I tried to ignore them, but they kept at it obviously enjoying their efforts to denigrate me.

“What’s the matter? Your tits too big for your brain?” one of them asked while the other one snickered. And that was when the f-word came out of my mouth. It came out without thought and without apology. It sounded like artillery in my mouth and it did the trick. They F-d off and I was once again left alone, stewing. The moment for writing was lost. My reverie had been completely destroyed. I was livid. Never in a million years would I or any of my girlfriends have tried to humiliate a boy the way I had just been humiliated. It simply wouldn’t happen. And the more I thought about it, the more I hated the way I looked, and the way they had made me feel.

A month later I was living in New York, attending theatre school in midtown Manhattan and enjoying my first taste of independence. I had a modest amount of money inherited from my mother’s insurance after her death four years earlier, and I parceled it out carefully for my studies. New Yorkers, I soon discovered, had no problem using the f-word as a noun, an adjective, a verb and an adverb. In a month’s time I heard it used often and to great effect. Cab drivers, cyclists, even men at food carts. In acting class, there was hardly an improv that didn’t end with a good F-you! By the time I returned home for Thanksgiving it was part of my regular vocabulary.  While happily enjoying the dinner, my father had lovingly prepared, I nonchalantly said, “Pass the f-ing turkey, please and thank you.” Thus, assuring my father that all his fears of my going to New York were completely founded. That was the first and last time I ever swore in front of my him, with the exception of possibly blurting out something when I’d hit my thumb accidentally with a hammer or burned myself while cooking.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that most men don’t like women who swear. In particular, older men feel as though a curse word coming from the mouth of a woman is demeaning. But even younger men, I’ve noticed, can get pretty pissy when women level the playing field by swearing. I recently re-read Terrence McNally’s play, Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune. When Frankie tells Johnny he’s full of shit after he professes his love during a one-night stand, he responds: “Hey, come on, don’t. One of the things I like about you, Frankie, is that you talk nice.”

She responds by using the F-word six times. I might have used it seven.

When I think of the times I’m most likely to swear, it’s usually around men. I feel like a junk yard dog warning anyone who crosses the line that I mean business. It’s not something I resort to naturally. It’s usually reserved for the guy on the subway whose legs are so wide he’s taking up two seats and rubbing his thigh up against me. The man on the bus who won’t take his eyes off my breasts. The one who says, “Smile. You look so much better when you smile.” I hate when I get driven to the point of expletive no return. I was raised to be polite. My parents grew up with the reasonable expectation that people would be mutually respectful of one and other. Sometimes when men cross the line they cover it up by saying things like, “Lighten up. I’m just joking,” or worse, accuse me of taking things too seriously. I once told an actor to F-off when he wouldn’t stop poking me in rehearsal. I asked politely. I asked again. And then I just didn’t care. No way was I going to perform that one scene for two months on the road with him poking me every F-ing day.

There have been times when I didn’t use the word and I wished I had. Once in New York on a lunch break I went to a park to learn lines and a wealthy older man sat down by me and thought it was perfectly okay to regale me on the virtues of wearing high heels instead of running shoes (which at the time was kind of my signature look.) He was creepy and his comments were intrusive. No one asked him. Men who think it’s perfectly okay to give unsolicited fashion advice to women deserve to be told off.

According to scientists, swearing appears to be a feature of language that an articulate speaker can use in order to communicate with maximum effectiveness. A collection of studies concluded that there is more to swearing than simply causing offence, or a lack of verbal hygiene. Language is a sophisticated toolkit, and swearing is a part of it. Once, it may well have saved my life.

I was still in New York enjoying my first real relationship with a guy who was a playwright at the Julliard School when, for some reason, a conversation about a play we had seen turned sour and the next thing I knew I was storming out of the apartment. On this particular occasion, I thought a walk along the beach at Coney Island would be just the thing to clear my head. I’d been there a few times to see the beloved Beluga’s and I always came back the better for having come in contact with nature. I boarded the F train at Washington Square and took it all the way to the 8th Street New York City Aquarium stop. It was late afternoon, and just beginning to get dark. I reasoned that I had at least an hour’s worth of light to walk around in before I’d need to return home. It didn’t faze me that I was the only person on the subway at that point.  And it didn’t bother me that I was alone as I passed through the turnstile and out onto walkway towards the beach. As I took in a deep breath of salty air I began to feel better. I was smiling to myself, thinking about the argument with my boyfriend and realizing how ridiculous I had been when I suddenly became aware of a man walking behind me. I was irritated. Here was a whole bridge for the two of us to share, and this jerk was crowding me. “Why doesn’t he pass,” I thought, “and leave me alone?”  I kept walking. He kept walking. I moved to the other side of the bridge. He moved to the other side of the bridge. Completely unaware of his intentions I muttered under my breath something about spatial awareness when I suddenly realized that he was getting closer. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. “That’s it,” I said to myself, “Enough is enough!”  I turned around to confront him and saw to my shock that he had his pants down.  Somewhere in the back of my mind two things became crystal clear. One was that I was probably seconds from being raped, and the other was that while his pants were around his ankles he wouldn’t be able to run. A voice somewhere in my head told me not to let him see that I was afraid and so, as he stood there about to move towards me I said, “F-off!” I said it like I belonged. I said it with as much power as I could muster. I said it with attitude and gumption. It was a bullet and it hit my target squarely between the eyes because for a moment, he stopped, stepped half an inch back and fell. It was just enough time for me to walk past him and return to the subway. Just enough time to get about a 20 ft. head start while he pulled his pants up and started in pursuit. I began to run. He began to run. I could see the subway entrance up ahead. I knew there was an attendant inside the toll booth. Just a few feet more. He was gaining on me and then, suddenly out of nowhere, a policeman showed up and the man turned around and ran away. I’m sure the officer meant well but the first thing he did was yell at me.  “What are you doing here?” He shouted. “You shouldn’t be here alone. What are you thinking? You’re lucky to be alive.” I felt ashamed, and relieved, and terrified all at the same time. He ushered me back to the station where he waited with me on the platform until the train arrived and I was safely shoved on board.

I sat on the subway car going over what had just happened and then I started to laugh hysterically for nearly ten minutes.  To this day I have no recollection of what the man on the bridge looked like except that he had long black hair, and was wearing blue jeans with gray underwear. I’ve never have been able to identify a single thing about him, except that.

For nearly a month afterwards I found myself completely at a loss whenever any man was within two inches of me. On subways I cowered in corners and was afraid to be alone in public. If a man startled me coming around a corner, my pulse raced, my breath quickened and I wanted to run. I never told anyone what had happened. The police officer had made me feel so ashamed at myself for being so stupid that I thought people would think less of me if I told them how careless I had been. I don’t know exactly when I stopped feeling fully responsible for the predicament I had found myself in, but somewhere in my late 30’s I started to shift my thinking. It’s true, there are places that aren’t safe for women to be at alone, and in hindsight, Coney Island at dusk was one of them, but at the same time a woman should be able to go for a walk a night without fear of being attacked. A woman should be able to walk home alone from a movie, a play, a concert. She shouldn’t be afraid in a parking lot, or worry about being followed from the subway station. People are always telling me to be safe as if I have any control over the matter. I don’t want men to be the hero or the villain of my story.  I want to be able to go out alone, travel by myself, stay up late and not have to spend money on a cab to get home. Freedom of movement is a right for all people, and being afraid that you will be attacked at night jogging or walking to your house from a library because you’re female is…well…fucked.

[jamesjohneye]

Prompts request #7

Prompt; Lateo; Mamma Bear Maggie

Thank you for the prompt!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11706720/chapters/26700378

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Maggie asks as she hands Daryl his pack. There are dark circles under his eyes and he’s wearing his cap the right way around for once. It makes it impossible for anyone to look him in the eye. He’s been wearing it like this more and more the last couple of weeks and Maggie hates it. ‘I’m fine, thanks, I got it,’ he grabs the pack and hoists it onto his shoulders. His voice is flat. ‘I’m taking Khamsin, okay? I’ll be back soon.’ ‘Yeah, okay. Be careful,’ she walks him to the door of their room. ‘Hey, if you want another job, we can arrange that. You can go hunting or help the blacksmith, or –‘ ‘I like being a messenger.’ She reaches out to touch his shoulder and make him turn around. With a sigh, she plucks the cap off his dark hair to turn it around. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The blue eyes are dull. ‘You don’t look like you like doing it.’ ‘I’m just tired,’ he mutters. ‘With Hershey and everything…’ ‘We can get you another room.’ ‘I don’t want another room,’ Daryl bites out. It came out harsher than he intended because he adds as soft ‘sorry,’ immediately after. ‘I just – It’s fine. It’s nothing. I’ll see you when I get back.’ He hugs her briefly before walking away.

Dante comes by to collect the laundry a couple of hours later. It’s become a routine by now and Maggie likes his little visits. Now that she’s still so busy with Hershel, he keeps her up-to-date with all the intrigues of Hilltop Colony. She’d once called it their daily gossip session but Dante keeps insisting that he hates gossip even though he came running the moment he’d heard that someone had caught Felix making out with Geraldine in a watchtower. It’s news, he’d say. And Maggie lets him believe it. ‘So,’ Dante says as he grabs the dirty clothes out of the hamper, ‘I don’t know whether… look, it’s not really my place or anything, I know that, but… Have you talked to Daryl lately?’ ‘This morning, why?’ ‘Oh. And – ‘ he frowns, ‘you’re okay with all of this?’ Maggie shrugs, ‘he wants to be a messenger. He’s good at what he does.’ ‘I know!’ Dante says quickly, ‘he’s really good, got us that deal with Oceanside, so… but - I just thought he wouldn’t… never mind.’ ‘Finish your sentence. You thought he wouldn’t what?’ ‘I just thought he wouldn’t have to go to the Sanctuary. That’s all.’ Dante fidgets a bit with the laundry in his hands, ‘but if you think it’s fine, then obviously it is, but…’ Maggie gapes at him. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘I know he’s yours,’ Dante says, ‘but he just… he isn’t sleeping and they keep sending him to that place and it just… breaks my heart, seeing him like that.’ ‘They’re sending him to the Sanctuary for trade deals?’ ‘I thought you knew,’ Dante says with a frown. ‘I didn’t.’ The words are clipped when she scoops Hershel out of his crib. ‘He told me he has been visiting the Kingdom.’ Dante looks a little guilty. ‘He hasn’t been there in months. I’m sorry, Maggie, I should have said something sooner –‘ ‘No,’ she takes a deep breath and cradles her son close. ‘Thank you for telling me. I need to talk to Felix.’

Felix is two years younger than her and currently in charge of the trading missions since Paul accompanied Beth to The Kingdom. Her sister is training with one of the doctors there while Paul is helping Alexandria to set up a new trading system. It’s easier to travel to Washington from Ezekiel’s realm. It’s no wonder that Daryl has managed to hide his destination for so long. Merle is at Alexandria too to help with the final stage of the rebuilding, and everyone must have assumed that the teenager either had permission or didn’t care that he had to go back to that evil place. Dwight is slowly turning it around with Eugene’s help, but nobody from Alexandria accepts the changes or the group. They usually send outsiders, people who hadn’t known the men, haven’t been betrayed by them during the war. It makes it easier. ‘Maggie!’ Felix jumps up when he spots their leader entering the large room. He’d been slouching in the chair that’s usually hers, at the head of the table. Daryl has painted a map of the entire area on the wood so they can pin flags in it without ruining paper maps. Washington is still a vague gray area on the border, but he’s steadily filling it in with routes and access points provided by Taiwo’s community. ‘Felix, good morning,’ Maggie nods before she walks over to Berthie and hands Hershel to the woman. ‘Give me an update. When will Paul be back?’ ‘We’re expecting him back in two weeks,’ Felix says immediately. ‘And Merle?’ ‘Also two weeks, ma’am.’ She nods. ‘Is that why?’ she asks. ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘Is that why you thought you could send my son to the Sanctuary, because both Paul and Merle are away? Did you think I would never find out? Or are you so blind and stupid to think that I would not care?’ Everyone in the room shifts nervously in their seats. Felix swallows with some difficulty. ‘He knows the community,’ he says. ‘It made sense to-‘ ‘He knows the community because he was held captive and tortured there by the man who’d killed his friends and family. And you send him back there.’ ‘He didn’t say he minded.’ ‘He shouldn’t have to!’ Maggie snaps. ‘He’s… I can’t believe you.’ She looks at the map. ‘Who is closest? Is anyone of us near the sanctuary?’ ‘No.’ Maggie’s eyes flash as she holds out her hand for the long-range walkie-talkie. ‘Get me Alexandria. Right now.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Frankie says as she chews on her nails. Her jeans are dirty from working in the factory all day. ‘We should move to another room, you don’t have to be here – we can go outside and wait for-‘ ‘It’s fine,’ Daryl snaps. He’s sitting in Negan’s old room and tries desperately to avoid looking at any of the familiar pieces of furniture. The bar he used to sit on, the couch where Negan would tackle him into when he was feeling playful enough, the long table at which they used to share their meals. Dwight is drafting up a new trading deal in the room that used to be Negan’s bedroom. Daryl doesn’t understand how he can stand being in this place. He wants to throw up. ‘We can play cards?’ Frankie offers but chaos outside the room causes her to fall silent and then jump up. She grabs her knife and grabs at Daryl’s shoulder, pushing the teenager behind her. The door slams open. Merle waltzes in. He stops when he spots the woman shielding his baby brother. His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Now I don’t want you to take this personally, sweetheart,’ he says, ‘but I’m gonna need you to take a step back and take that hand off my brother. That’s better. Where the weasel? Yo,’ He stalks over to the other door and kicks it open. ‘New Dixon in town, asshole!’ ‘What the hell?’ Dwight asks as he stands up. ‘You’re dealin’ with me now,’ Merle grins as he falls into a chair. ‘Maggie sends her regards.’

‘I’m just really sorry,’ Felix says. Daryl frowns and slinks past him, ‘yeah, okay, whatever.’ ‘Just – just tell Maggie I apologized, okay?’ Felix shouts after him, a little desperate.

‘What the hell did you do?’ Daryl asks Maggie as he leans against the doorframe. ‘Hello, Dare,’ Maggie hums while waving her son’s hand at him. Hershel whimpers. ‘Say hi to your brother first.’ Daryl sighs and drags himself into the room, holding out his hands for the little boy. ‘Hey, Hersey Kiss,’ he murmurs when Maggie transfers the boy to his embrace. ‘You been lookin’ after your momma for me?’ ‘Is that what you think you’ve been doing, too? Looking after me?’ ‘You sayin’ I haven’t been?’ Daryl scoffs as he sits on the bed, cradling his little brother. ‘You been runnin’ me ragged gettin’ ya shit.’ Maggie sits down next to him on the bed. ‘That’s not what I mean. You’ve been a great help with Hershel. I meant with the Sanctuary runs.’ Daryl shrugs. ‘Nah, just… ya know? You got a lot goin’ on, and.. weren’t nothing,’ he kisses Hershel’s chubby cheek, ‘huh, bud? Weren’t nothing but ghosts anyway. Thought it was a joke at first,’ he says as he looks at Maggie, ‘when Felix said I had to go, thought he were jokin’ but they were all talkin’ shit about how I already had a room there and stuff.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ The teenager shrugs again. ‘Merle weren’t here. Beth and Paul were gone. Promised Glenn I’d look after you, help you out, not dump my own shit on top of yours.’ He strokes Hershel’s hair, ‘don’t matter anyway. Got the job done, right? ‘s all that matters.’ ‘That’s not all that matters,’ Maggie corrects him. ‘You matter, always. No matter what is going on, no matter how busy I am. You matter to me. And I can help.’ Daryl scoffs. ‘So, what? Dudes are being mean to me so I should go run and cry to my mom about it, yeah that –‘ he stares at Hershel for a second. ‘I mean – I didn’t, I-‘ ‘That’s exactly what you should do,’ Maggie cuts in. She gets up. ‘He waited until Merle and Paul were gone, thinking he could get away with it.’ Daryl gives her a small smile. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry when Merle gets back. He was real angry.’ She gives him a look. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry right now. First priority was getting you back here. Now I’ll go deal with the real problem. Watch Hershel for me?’ ‘Yeah.’ The door closes and Maggie’s footsteps fade down the hall. Daryl looks at Hershel. ‘Uh-oh,’ he whispers. ‘Asshole’s gonna get it good.’

[plebeianmaster]

Ahhh!! Thank you for tagging me @narusasufuel !!

Thank you so much 😊

Rules: tag 10 people you want to know better

Relationship status: my boyfriend’s an asshole but i love him still

Favorite color: dark red

3 favorite foods: pizza, wings, and burgers :)

Last movie I watched: hshsjsh it’s this movie called “teeth”. Don’t watch it

3 favorite shows: grace and frankie, the walking dead, and this is us

3 favorite bands: bro i jam to a shit ton of music from various genres which means i dig a lot of bands. I really can’t answer 😫😫

Book I’m reading: crime and justice. But it’s for my pre-AP English class. It’s really interesting

ill tag @sns-clarity, @chubby-naruto, @sasu-loves-naru, @narusasuaddict, @milkshake-fairy, @ohfortheloveofnaruto, @snsforever, @narusasufuel (even though you already tagged me 😊), @aaliyah-draws, and @pumyteh

Thank you again for tagging me!

bakayaryo tagged me!!

omg, im flattered!! thank you so much ;;

Rules: tag 10 people you want to know better

Relationship status: 100% dying alone

Favorite color: various shades of blue!

3 favorite foods: cheesecake, alfredo pasta, and pizza (im a fat american)

Last movie I watched: rewatched doukyuusei ‘cause their colors gave me narusasu vibes

3 favorite shows: ..naruto, game of thrones, & sailor moon (for now, anyways… im behind on the latest shows)

3 favorite bands: this is a tough one because i usually just listen to songs casually, so ill just list some artists in general! reol, daoko, and indila! ok well i guess for bands i could say glass animals, steam powered giraffe, and the 1975?? i honestly like nearly all genres, so?

Book I’m reading: i cant read

ill tag @plebeianmaster, @selloutschool teehee, @arubaresu, @lovingmysoulmatesns, @sns-clarity, @misstheatricality, @drinkingsasuke, @narusasuaddict, @hotmessmuffin, & @ohfortheloveofnaruto!

please dont feel pressured to do this! i just wanted to get to know some of my fave mutuals ^ ♡ ^