ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
“Babe, there’s a hotel just up the road, we can always stay there.” Frankie huffs, looking around the empty space, his voice echoing on the empty walls and off the hardwoods under his feet. “We don’t have anything.”
You grin, looking around the bare walls and dreaming of the possibilities of what the space would look like when you fill it with your furniture, your paintings and photos spaced out on the walls. Over the fireplace would hang the shadow box with Frankie’s uniform, his medals and ribbons on display and the flag that he had flown while he was in Iraq his first tour over there.
“TMO will be here in the morning.” You argue playfully. “We used to do this all the time.”
ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
The air is wet, your breath slightly visible in front of you as the only sounds that can be heard is the grinding of your boots and several others on the old asphalt road you are walking down.
Birds are quiet, never a good thing according to the men who’s weapons are loosely slung in their arms, ready to be pulled up and used at a seconds notice. Four sets of eyes are sharp, constantly rotating around to make sure that nothing has changed in the twenty seconds since they seen that patch of land earlier. There were times when you had considered the training the men had received to be redundant, but you were more than glad to have that skill set around you now.
We KNOW about the pinky ring () for Javi G, but it got my tiny brain wondering: what adornments do the others wear?
Frankie’s accessories are laden with meaning - dog tags, wedding ring, and the same cap he bought in a convenience store after his first buzzcut. But nasty, oversized belt buckles are his indulgence - the uglier the better - and he grins every single time you roll your eyes at him sauntering over to the belt section of the thrift store.
Weapons might be part of his religion, but like anyone who expresses through their clothing will tell you, he feels naked without them. Like he isn’t him. It perplexed you at first, the amount of time he took carefully choosing them before each and every trip out of the crest - even to visit friends. But then it became a language. Pulse rifle to intimidate, knives to conceal. The darksaber meant he was scared. But the blaster, the blaster was there for him to run his thumb over when he felt out of place, to rest his hand on when he cocked his hip. It was safety.
Joel wears his beat up leather jacket every day of his life, even in the summertime. He also still keeps a wallet in the back pocket of his jeans even after the apocalypse. It’s full of little momentos - a photo of Sarah, a sketching of Ellie’s - and if you open the page, a dried bushel of white flowers you’d tossed his way. It was early on, and he’d scolded you for being so flippant, but secretly tucked the tiny blooms into his pocket.
Dieter wears cheap ass rings from thrift shops and dollar stores. Partially because he’s a creature of whims and cannot resist shinies, but also because he loves telling the rich and famous they’re priceless designer items with a choked back grin.
Javier Peña wears his mother’s long gold chain tucked under the collar of his shirts. He took the pendant off, left it in his untouched room back in Texas, but the chain is warm against his skin. A reminder that he was once whole and loved.
Warnings: Pretty graphic descriptions of what it’s like when I have an asthma attack. They’ve been happening a lot and I wish Frankie was there, ok? This is my indulgent lunch break drabble. (Asthma attacks are so different for everyone. This is a lot of what mine are like, not what it is like for everyone.) Don’t read if you feel uncomfortable. I just need some Frankie TLC.
I don’t have asthma, but for me it felt reminiscent of a panic attack - and that flooding relief when a loving someone takes over. I could feel that exact relief when Frankie’s strong hands took over, and every word after is soaked with love and care and devotion.
When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky.
After a botched raid, you and Javi both need a cigarette. Sitting together on the sidewalk outside the embassy, you find out you both need each other too.
You partied a little too hard with the boys last night; lucky for you, you married a man who’s really good at taking care of you while you’re hungover.
When your move into your first house as Mr. and Mrs. Morales is interrupted by a thunderstorm and power outage, you and Frankie remind each other that even an empty house can be a home if you’re together.
Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader || smut (18+ only) || College AU
High off your asses and half-asleep watching Deep Space Nine, you and Frankie say some things you might not have said sober - but that doesn’t make them any less true.
Warnings: SMUT, making out, oral sex (m and f receiving), PinV sex, hand jobs, voyeurism, mentions of PTSD, mild angst, mentions of Marcus’ late wife as well as fluff, sweetness, affection, polyamory, M/M and M/F smut ahead as well as group sex because everyone is in love with everyone here
Summary/Notes: So here it is: my first throuple fic!!! I’ve been wanting to write one forever and once I decided on Frankie and Marcus the words started flowing! I love poly fics and thought the fandom could use more. I recognize this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I hope those who like it do enjoy! And I am very much open to writing more for them in the future if anyone is interested. As always, likes, comments, reblog appreciated!!
Taglist Form (or feel free to message me I’m nice I promise)
…
It’s such a relief every time Frankie pulls in the driveway and sees both your and Marcus’ cars already in their spots. He hops out and goes inside, excited to see everyone after his latest appointment. His road to recovery has been hard, harder at times than he thought he could stand. But knowing you and Marcus and Missy were at home, rooting for him? It’s kept him going on some of the toughest days and nights he’s ever experienced.
He’s brought out of his reminiscing when he opens the door and you’re walking through the living room with a basket of folded laundry. When you hear him coming in, you set the basket down and immediately jog over to him to embrace him without a word. Frankie relaxes immediately in your hold and buries his nose in your neck, breathing deep.
You don’t say anything while he leans against you, letting him get himself reacquainted with being home after the emotional upheaval that therapy always brings. He lets you know it’s okay to talk by lifting his head enough to press his lips to your cheek, planting a firm kiss there just for you.
“How was it?” you ask, watching his expression up close now that he’s looking at you.
“Good,” he says with a sigh, “hard. But we’re making progress.”
You grin at him and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on his plush lips, gasping a little when he presses his hand into your lower back so you’re flush against each other. You don’t get a chance to say anything else because Missy comes bursting into the room, proclaiming dinner is ready and she’s hungry.
Summary; He’s so comfortable, so warm and soft to sleep on, it would be easy just to nap on him Word Count; ~3.5k Content And Warnings:this is straight filth. consensual somnophilia, size kink, spit kink, dirty talk, fantasies of free use, cumplay, cum eating, oral sex, squirting, Frankie is a filthyfucker in this. If I’ve missed anything please let me know! Authors Note; …. this got away from me. I have no excuse, except that if I’m going to hell I’m taking all of you with me.
This work contains explicit adult content and is intended for audiences over the age of eighteen. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older, have read the content and warnings and wish to proceed
a/n: Hello! Because you all have been so sweet and patient waiting for me and because I still have a couple weeks of hiatus left, I thought I would pop in and drop a little token of my appreciation. It’s been a long time since I wrote about these two — I hope you enjoy! ❤️ note: no taglist because I’m posting this from mobile — my apologies and pictures from @heythere-mel❤️
—
“Nice little setup you got here.”
Frankie’s face peeps in between the opening of the dark sheets and you grin at the way his curls are slightly askew, at the slivers of grey highlighted around the corner of his jaw.
He looks around, taking in the nest of blankets, the mound of pillows and you, with a smile.
Content: Explicit NSFW Smut, pre-established relationship, restraints, light fem-dom, angsty-ish (but for me it’s vanilla grade), insomnia, sex toys of all kinds, anxiety, edging, delayed orgasm, anal play, sub-Frankie (kind of?).
A/N: A forgotten WIP that according to Google docs I wrote in October 2021 and never posted. Since I’m on hiatus at the moment I thought there was no greater time than now to post since I have nothing new to offer you on my plate.
Word Count: 4.6K
Frankie is a man of contradictions.
He’s the softest man you know. From the soft way you catch him looking at you under the warm cupboard lights of your kitchen when he’s doing the dishes to the soft curve of his belly hidden underneath worn out flannels and cotton shirts.
Soft in the way he will murmur ‘come on baby’ to your shitty old Volvo as if it’s a precious lover when it refuses to start in the morning.
But for the softness in his every action with you, there is an equal and opposite force within that he tries to hide from you. There is a hardness in him more impenetrable than pressurized steel. Tom had once told you early on in your relationship (when the man had had three beers too many) that Frankie is lethal. Frankie is the kind of soldier who will not hesitate to pull a trigger and end the life of another human being if it means keeping those he cares about safe.
After a messy divorce you wanted something to ease the pain of loneliness. That something just happens to be the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, even if you had to pay for him.
You had a debt to repay, and it went against your nature to not settle up. Or, you start a running joke with Pope that escalates into meeting the rest of Frankie’s boys.
Synopsis:Frankie was always the type of friend to bring you on extravagant trips - whether on the ground or in the sky. But, you never pegged him as a man who liked reckless danger.
Warnings:Sweet Baby Boy Frankie, Roommate/Friend!Frankie, Gentle Rubbing of Reader’s Thigh, Heights, Female Masturbation, Fingering, Oral Female Receiving, Sexual Activities While Operating a Vehicle (Don’t Try at Home…I can’t believe I need to warn that,)
Rating:E
Author’s Note: For my 500 follower celebration back in September of ‘21, I got this idea and never fully took off with it. Only took 8 months to get back to it lol.
ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
You are not happy and Frankie knows it. Feeling his gaze on you repeatedly as he takes the exit for the gate that he is leaving from. Not that you could really get into it again, not with Elise and Tomas in the back seat. The baby, Tomas, deciding that he would start screaming halfway between home and the airport, not happy that he was the slightest bit hungry and he was not immediately fed.
Trying to shush him and get your four-year-old to prop the baby bottle up for her brother was a task in and of itself. Blowing out an exasperated breath as you have to reach back and hold the bottle steady while twisting your body in a way that makes a stitch in your side.
Warnings:Voyeurism, masturbations, sex toys, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, angst, talks of domestic abuse, talks of being held captive, protectiveness, Frankie throwing his rank around a little and it’s sexy, domestic violence, threats of murder.
Comments: Frankie finds that his new neighbor doesn’t close her windows when she’s masturbating. You have moved trying to escape your past and catch the handsome man next door watching you one day, inviting him over in the heat of the moment, a decision that will change your lives.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
Frankie had noticed that the ‘FOR RENT’ sign had been taken down next door. Noticed it when he had pulled into the driveway after a long day, noticing that the lights had been turned on, but he hadn’t given it much more thought than that. The need for a beer and a shower urgent. Perhaps a beer in the shower after the day he had. Not noticing that someone was moving around, setting up a home while he opens the door to the house and sighing as he takes his hat off and starts toeing off his boots to let his aching feet breathe.
“Fuck I’m getting old.” He grunts to himself and closes the door, emptying his pockets of keys, wallets, mints and his phone, dumping it all on the entryway table Julia had left when she had moved out two years ago. Hanging up his jacket and pulling his sweaty t-shirt over his head as he walks down the hall towards his bedroom.
A/N: God, I just love these two. And Meana-beana. I dunno where the strength to finish this came from - I was just minding my business eating a mandarin so… yeah. Apologies for any mistakes, it’s late lmao.
Taglist note: I’ve used my MTW taglist but if you are no longer interested, just let me know and I’ll remove you from any future fics as this is an old list, some names have changed/don’t work, and new tag requests are not added so I’m sorry for that!
Summary: Mena and Frankie have an important question for you.
Word count: just over 1.8k
Warnings: swearing, MY FAVE BESTIES BENNY + ANGEL, fluff & domesticity galore, Frankie DILF™️ Morales. It’s just fluff. Fluff everywhere. I’m soft as fuck.
Something in the back of your mind flagged certain interactions, focusing on some things said in passing or the way people just simply acted around you. It was bugging you like crazy.
It started when Frankie started acting differently.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (Because of Youuniverse)
Word Count: 4.5k
Summary: As Frankie gets ready to head to the gun range with the guys, he can’t help but drive you wild. You teach him a lesson and still get rewarded at the end of the night.
Warnings: Dad!Frankie, Family Fluff, Smut (dirty talk, p in v, squirting, fingering, hand job, cum eating)
A/N:This all started with the above picture of Pedro bts of The Mandalorian with that tight shirt on. It drives me wild. So, naturally I imagined Frankie in that shirt.
Frankie steps out of the shower and slings a towel low on his waist, tucking the fabric in near his hip. A smaller towel is used to rub at his curling hair before he drops it on the floor for the time being. When he steps in front of the sink, he hears you call for him from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Baby?” you call for him from the living room as you move down the hallway towards the bedroom. You knew he was taking a shower, but you weren’t sure if he was out yet, “Frankie? ¿Has terminado en la ducha?” (Are you done in the shower?)
He pokes his head out of the en suite as he hears you walk inside the bedroom, “Sí, mi amor, ¿qué pasa?” (Yes, my love, what’s up?)
Girrrrrrrl you didnt leave anything out, the cute, sweet, the most beautiful husband on the planet. You came for everyones emotions there. How dare you be this good ❤️❤️❤️
Run Through the Jungle - a Naked & Afraid/Triple Frontier AU
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader
*reader is vegetarian and ethnicity/weight inclusive. people of all sizes have competed on this show (and completed it)
Fic Summary: Benny Miller convinces his bestie Frankie to compete on the Naked and Afraid survival show. He has no idea what he’s walking into when he’s paired with you
*Naked and Afraid is a reality survival show on Discovery Channel where two contestants, a man and a woman (trans & non-binary inclusive) are paired with no food, clothes, or water in a hostile environment with only 1 survival item each. Contestants can tap out at any time but must make it to 21 days to win
Warnings:large age gap (legal), size kink, discussions of killing, processing, and eating animals, cussing, PiV, oral (f & m), dirty talk, masturbation (m), face fucking, somnophilia, enemies to lovers, Pride and Prejudice vibes, ANGST, Frankie being a misogynistic DICK for a little bit
A/N:Someone needs to fucking stop me because my brain is ignoring SO MANY WIPS RIGHT NOW! HELP! This unasked for one shot was bred out of a binge watch weekend of this show, mentioning it in passing to @musings-of-a-rose, who then had the audacity to ask me, “what if Frankie were on that show?” and this is what happened. This is an AU. Triple Frontier hasn’t happened yet or won’t, I haven’t decided. Frankie doesn’t have kids yet. I hope you enjoy it, I’m really in love with this story.
frankie x female reader (slightly no use of y/n or she/her pronouns just the word sister)
warnings: angst, language, tension, alcohol mention, mention of claustrophobia and slight description of anxiety, and language
summary: you moved away from your family and boyfriend at eighteen. when you come back home for your parents 50th anniversary you weren’t expecting a rekindling moment with a certain pilot.
authors note: THE ENDING IS EVERYTHING AND IM SO PROUD OF THIS FIC! PLEASE LMK WHAT YALL THINK XOXO
They say you’ll never forget your first. First crush, kiss, date, love and heartbreak. However for you, you could never seem to get rid of him. But you weren’t complaining. Francisco Morales was more than your first for everything, he was someone who held more than one could handle- he was your rock. Well that was until the day that “you” ruined everything.
Your parents were known as the sweethearts of your hometown. Marrying right after graduation, they settled in the same town and brought up you and your sister Em. Your parents were involved in everything, your mom being a teacher and your dad being a sheriff. It was hard to blend in to say the least. But there was an ongoing loop. Everyone graduated and stayed home. Your older sister, Em, even became a part of that treacherous loop. And you hated that loop. You always dreamed of big cities, fashion, traveling the world, but mostly just getting out of town. And you had promised yourself that nothing would hold you back from pursuing that. Sadly Frankie thought he could have kept you a little bit longer. But things change- actually a lot has changed since you’ve been back home for more than a weekend stay. Now you were traveling back home for your parent’s 50th anniversary extravaganza. And nothing could help prepare you for the next few days.
Your plane had landed around one in the afternoon. Grabbing your luggage you made your way over to the area where Em said she would pick you up. Looking around you didn;t see her red car. Dialing her number you were ready to direct her to your terminal.
“Hello?” Em said on the other line. She sounded groggy and as if she wasn’t in the car.
“Terminal 47 remember.” You said angrily, Knowing she forgot.
“Shit.” She said, then another voice was heard.
“Babe what time is it?” You gasped at the sound of Pope’s voice.
“Hold on, you first forgot your little sister’s arrival at the airport, and you have Pope in your bed Em! When did he come back? What happened to independency?” You said rather loudly into the mic.
“Shut up. You’re too damn loud.”
“It’s literally tourist season, getting a cab into town will cost me tripple Em.”
“Well don’t call the Millers, they went fishing this morning. You could call-” She said even more groggily. But you hung up the phone before she could finish her sentence.
You couldn’t take your sister right now. You love her most times but she would’ve killed you if you did this to her. You were gonna call the Millers but if they were busy there was only one person you could call. Hearing the phone ring you were ready to hang up. But then he answered.
Omg that’s was… absolutely stunning… it gave me a little Italy Kinda vibe at the beginning though . This was just so cute… I just adore this so so much . That last line though Uggh I felt my heart melt… you melted my heart how mean (and by mean I mean nice… ) of you. How dare you make my heart melt. This is 100% going on Frankie’s FA when I update next. Hopefully it’s soonish…
@reblogingqueen thank you sm for your kind words☺️☺️little italy is one of my favorite movies and i can now see the parallels hahahaha. much love mwah
summary:he can’t help it—thinking of you out here.
word count: 1k+ (like why are we even here lol)
warnings:angst, naughty dreams and thoughts (18+ bye), language, x fem!reader
a/n:uh—tbh, i don’t know what this is other than purely self-indulgent. it would probably work best if you read the “rose between two thorns” series (or at least the first part) before this lil one-shot, but it’s not entirely necessary.
he can’t help it—thinking of you out here.
it’s self-preservation. when he’s surrounded by nothing but chaos—tension between the boys, gunfire and helicopter crashes and dragging duffle bag after duffle bag through the mountains—his mind wanders.
The Reader’s Guide to Avoiding Redfly (and how to have a good time doing it)
“It’s gonna be awful snug with four of us in the front,” William said, trying his level best to make room on the seat, “Unless one of you gents wants to take the back?”
“I’ll go,” you said, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of a pickup.”
“Well, it’s nice to have goals,” Tom smirked, and your smile was practically beatific in response. Fucking superiority-complex lech. “Want some company back there?”
“Sure she does,” Frankie said, passing you both with an armful of coats. “Vamos, chica.”
Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm…
Relationships: Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character
Rating: Explicit from here on in, folks!
Author’s note: I am still finding my way with writing smut - and this is barely smut, but still would love feedback! Redfly is still the worst (even though he’s in this chapter less ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) and I am still obsessed with Frankie Morales. This fic is not canon-compliant, in as much as I see it taking place years before the events of the movie.
Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, extensive use of the C-word (the naughty one), smut, fingering, very mild praise kink
“What was that?” Dina’s face was nothing short of gleeful. The three of you were crammed into a toilet cubicle, taking turns while you talked. Sandy looked up at you from the toilet, eyes likewise round with expectation.
“What was what?” you replied, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The pair snorted in tandem, Sandy reaching for the toilet paper.
“And you!” Dina turned, and gripped Sandy’s cheek like a child’s, “You beautiful bitch, you wish you were sitting on Santiago’s lap!”
Your friend grinned, shaking Dina off good-naturedly and standing to fix her dress. She shrugged. “The night’s young, Dee.”
Dina laughed, shrugging out of her faux-fur coat and pulling her pants down to sit. “This is cute as fuck, we’ll be going on triple dates in no time.”
——————————————————-
Before you knew it you were standing outside in the blistering fucking cold again, waiting for Benny and William to emerge.
The three guys were standing together chatting when you came out, laughing it up over what you assumed was stories from the glory days. Sandy and you circled Dina, grooming her like a pair of handmaidens, making sure her hair looked good and her outfit popped just so.
The crowd was petering out, the flood of people from the arena slowly reducing down to a trickle, when a booming voice sounded from within:
“Now was that a fight, or was that a fucking fight?”
Benny emerged into the fluorescent orange light of the parking lot, and made straight for the squealing Dina, who locked her arms around his neck. His hands went to her thighs, hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around her waist. Turning, he sandwiched her against the wall, and busied himself with kissing her senseless. Judging by some of the moans she was letting out, they were also squeezing in about 50% of their foreplay for later.
You didn’t quite know where to look. You settled on kicking a piece of gravel on the ground, before:
“Yeah.”
The voice was right in your ear, and you jumped. Frankie stepped up beside you, shoulder knocking against yours, and repeated: “Yeah.”
You looked him up and down, in what you hoped was a casual manner, at the arms crossed over his chest, at the muscle standing out on his forearms.
“Yeah what?”
“If you need me to do that too, I’d be OK with that.” he rubbed a hand under his chin, and shrugged. “I’m just trying to anticipate your needs.”
You bit your lip, trying to stifle a smile and ignore the way a blush suddenly roared up your neck. “My needs?”
He nodded, eyeing you as if talking about your needs in the parking lot of a shitty arena was the most natural thing in the world. From the look on his face, he was clearly giving it a lot of thought.
An ear-splitting whistle pierced the air and everyone turned to the source; Santiago, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Benny!” he shouted. ”Put the lady down. Come on, we gotta buy you some drinks for that fight.“
Benny and William were the only ones legal to drive. Benny led the way to his car still carrying Dina, with Santiago and Sandy in tow, while William slid behind the wheel of a battered old pickup that it turned out belonged to Frankie.
“It’s gonna be awful snug with four of us in the front,” William said, trying his level best to make room on the seat, “Unless one of you gents wants to take the back?”
“I’ll go,” you said, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of a pickup.”
“Well, it’s nice to have goals,” Tom smirked, and your smile was practically beatific in response. Fucking superiority-complex lech. “Want some company back there?”
“Sure she does,” Frankie said, passing you both with an armful of coats. “Vamos, chica.”
You couldn’t resist dropping Tom a wink. His answering smile was queasy, but he swung himself into the front seat without a word. By your count he was four drinks under, so it was only a matter of time.
Frankie swung easily up into the truck bed, before reaching a hand down to you, and you scrambled up to join him.
Any loose debris was kicked roughly away, before Frankie laid the first coat down. He gestured magnanimously, and you sat on the coat with your back against the cab. With a flourish, he laid the other coat over you before joining you on the floor. It was a huge oilcloth raincoat, lined with fleece for warmth, and offered decent protection from the cold wind. He reached up and banged a fist on the window above you, and the pickup rattled to life before pulling out.
“Won’t you be cold?” you asked. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits, and shook his head.
“I’ll survive,” he said. “It’s only ten minutes.”
You pfft!-ed at him, before lifting the coat. With minimal eye-rolling, he shifted sideways, and allowed you to drape part of the coat across him. You wriggled closer, keen to leech every bit of warmth you could from him. In an attempt to conserve heat, your hands were tucked against your waist, under your jacket.
Not a moment too soon, you felt his hand settle on your leg, and you spread your knees ever so slightly to accommodate. His touch was like a flame that licked gently to your core, making you crave him everywhere. Your heart went from idle to racing on a dime.
Fuck. You were far too sober to do what you were about to do, but you needed to do something about this situation. If nothing else, it would be a story to tell.
“Frankie,” you said, struggling to keep your voice level. “Can the guys see us?”
He threw a glance back over his shoulder. The window to the cab was a good half a foot above your heads. “No,” he said, a note of reluctance in his voice, and your hand clamped down on his before he could remove it. In the alternating light of passing streetlamps, it was hard to gauge his reaction.
You nodded, and ran your fingers gently over his hand. “Good.”
You turned to look up at him. Your heart rate accelerated, to the point that it was practically vibrating. Now or never.
“You mentioned my needs?”
In the alternating light you caught glimpses of his face, eyes burning into yours. His grip twitched, tightening convulsively on your thigh, and you took a breath at the want that surged through you. You dropped your gaze, looking down at the coat that covered the both of you.
“I think,” you cleared your throat, ignoring the heat that had started to creep up your jaw, “I need you to do a little more than just touch my leg.”
You released his hand, and waited. His grip didn’t alter, didn’t increase or decrease, and you thought the warmth and weight of his hand on your leg would drive you insane if he didn’t do someth-
“Only a little more?” He asked, voice low, and after being on a knife edge for an hour the pitch of his voice shot straight to your cunt. His hand inched down, and stopped at the hem of your skirt.
You hooked your fingers under the material, pulled it up ever so slightly, and spread your legs wider under the coat. The way your knees were spread increased the gap where the freezing wind could get in, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that there was a hand on your thigh, branding you, and you ached for it to move.
“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, and swivelled your face up to his. The light had improved - you were now rolling down a main road that was well-lit - and it was enough to see the hunger in his face, the tight lines of his jaw.
Frankie’s mouth worked, and he looked away. Looking out at the road receding behind you. After the longest five seconds of your life, his hand began to move again, alternating between delicate strokes up the inside of your thigh and firm squeezing as his warm hand spanned the width of your leg.
It was very hard to breathe. As in the arena, your focus narrowed to a pinpoint, to where his skin met yours. Your cunt was throbbing almost painfully, and you knew if his fingers were to brush against your panties they would come away soaked. You were transfixed by his profile, by the curve of his nose and the errant locks of hair that curled from under his cap. He swallowed, throat working, and your jaw ached with the desire to kiss him there.
"You should’ve said earlier,” Frankie said, still not looking at you, speaking out to the road behind, “I’d have had my hand up your skirt back at the arena.”
His tone was light, almost indifferent, and your head spun. His hand had started to edge down towards where your thighs met, but the hem of your skirt restricted him again. You began to shift, ready to hike your skirt up further, but he was faster than you.
Briskly, matter-of-factly, he pulled your skirt up all the way towards your hips, before replacing his hand on your thigh and beginning his slow crawl again. If the coat blew away, you would be sitting in the bed of his pickup with your legs fully bare and your panties exposed to the world. He still didn’t look at you, and the casual way he spoke was starting to rub against your senses almost as much as the caresses were. You felt like a toy he was playing with.
And you loved it.
“I might have started off like this,” he said, and his fingers suddenly drew in a swift, straight line towards your cunt. You sucked in a breath, unable to help the way your hips canted up to meet his hand, only to whimper just a little as he stopped short of touching you where you needed him to, where the ache was worst. He paused, and you were about to grab his hand and put it where you wanted it, when he shook his head.
“Actually, this is wrong,” he said, and withdrew his hand completely. Your stomach had time to plummet and your mouth opened to complain, just as he turned and gripped your thigh in his other hand. “It was more like this.”
His face was now inches away, eyes fixed on your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath. After the casual way he’d been speaking to you, almost ignoring you, this was like being pinned under a spotlight. His eyes ran up and down your face, and the naked desire in his eyes sent an ache straight to your cunt. This angle really was so much better. Under the coat, his elbow rested slightly on your knee, the weight spreading your legs wide.
“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself back there?” he asked, and dragged his fingers further up your thigh, “Do you know how sexy you looked sitting on my lap?”
Your head spun at the sensation, realising that he was nearly there, nearly touching you right where you wanted -
“Frankie, please,” you breathed, head falling back against the cab. “I need-”
“I know what you need,” he said, and finally, finally, stroked his fingers against your cunt.
His touch was lighter than a feather, and the pressure was completely disproportionate to the moan you let out. Frankie gaped and leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he felt the wetness soaking your panties.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, mouth ghosting over yours, almost half a kiss, “Did I do that to you?”
Under the coat, unseen, he changed position and your head - thunked! - back against the cab as the heel of his hand pressed up against the curve of your cunt, grinding perfectly against your clit. Pleasure skittered all the way down to your toes.
A sliding sound above you - the cab window opening - and you heard William’s voice:
“Everything OK back there?”
“Yeah man,” Frankie called, eyes not leaving yours. As the pressure increased against your clit, his fingers started to stroke over the very obvious wet patch in your panties, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’re good.”
Slowly, teasingly, his fingers hooked your panties to the side, and circled the wetness that had gathered there. You felt weak. Drained. Completely at his mercy, unable to process anything above a simple thought - unable to process anything other than your internal monologue of please please please please please. He maintained eye contact, watching every expression on your face with a fascination that bordered on awe. You could see it in his eyes - those eyes! your mind sang, about to implode with bliss - that he was feeling it too. That sense of untethering.
You thought you’d known desperation, but it was nothing to how you felt now. The pressure against your clit was sublime, but all you could think of was the way his big, thick fingers would feel as they stretched-
“Do you need me to stop?”
Fuck off, William. “Don’t stop!” you yelled, voice kicking up a pitch on ‘stop’ as Frankie slid a finger inside you. Your cunt tightened at the sensation, and he grunted. He leaned close against you, nose pressing against yours, close enough that his breath became your breath.
The window closed above you, but William and Tom may as well have been on Mars. Your whole world right now was you, Frankie, and the way his finger - his fingers were pushing up inside you, moving at a measured, steady pace that alternated with the pressure on your clit until you were writhing beneath him.
“God, you look so fucking hot right now,” he breathed. “What do you want, sweetheart? You want more?”
With what felt like all your strength, you pushed your hips up to meet his hand, forcing Frankie’s fingers deeper inside you. “Yeah… yeah,” you panted. “Please, Frankie. More.”
“More? Good girl.” Your cunt clenched around him at the praise, and he inserted a third finger, pressing against your front wall from the inside as his hand ground against your clit.
“Yeah, like that,” you said, and squeezed your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that washed over you. “Fuck, just like that.”
“So fucking hot,” he muttered. “Are you going to come for me? Are you going to come on my hand?”
You nodded, fully blissed out. Your hips started to tilt up and down in time to his movements, deepening the angle of his strokes, and you flicked your tongue out to wet your lips. Your abdomen went tight, and you shuddered as your cunt contracted around his fingers.
“I’m close, I’m so fucking close-”
“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” He shifted to the right slightly, his fingers surging deeper, and you jerked upwards. The pressure against your clit increased, and you saw stars.
“Fuck, I’m -” you choked out, and opened your mouth as your orgasm ripped through you. Before you made a single sound, Frankie’s other hand clamped down over your mouth, keeping you silent as you writhed beneath him. You moaned into his palm, cunt pulsing around his fingers, and your eyes rolled back in your head as you ascended to a higher level of consciousness. All you knew was pleasure, and Frankie’s hands on you.
Gradually, you came back to reality, sliding down from your peak. It was hard to even open your eyes. Frankie was breathing hard, and he took his hand from your mouth. You felt completely boneless, unable to even whimper when he removed his fingers too, leaving you empty. His fingers were covered in your juices and you watched, dazed, as he lifted his hand to his lips and started to lick them clean. He worked methodically, getting every last drop from one finger before moving on to the next. His eyes half-closed in satisfaction, and your heartbeat stuttered.
Without even thinking, you reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling his mouth down to yours. His lips were soft, and he moaned as your tongue flicked out to taste his. There was a tangy, salty taste there that you knew was your own, and you pulled him even closer. You felt a drop of moisture bead against your lip, and you broke away to chase it, lapping at his moustache and sucking gently at his lips before dipping back into the kiss. Your combined taste was heavenly. He moaned again, breathing “Fuck,” against your lips as his hand came up to the side of your neck, holding you like a lifeline.
After a minute that felt like a second, Frankie broke off, breathing heavily. He ripped his cap off, ran a hand through his hair, and laid his forehead against yours. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and pulled back.
“Sorry,” he said. “We’re nearly at the bar. I can’t go in like this.”
The -?
Fuck.
Frankie moved out from under the coat and turned his face toward the sky. His hair was sticking up in every direction after being trapped under the cap, making him look exactly how you felt. Taking a deep breath, he started patting out a little rhythm on his thighs. A sizable bulge at his zipper told you exactly what he meant when he said ‘like this’.
The cold was a good idea. You pulled your skirt down enough for decency before throwing the coat off yourself, and lifted up on your haunches to readjust properly. The wind caressed your warm cheeks, cooling you down.
You peeked through the cab window. William and Tom were deep in conversation, oblivious to what had just happened right behind them. You hunkered down just a little, awkwardly, and reached under your skirt to shimmy your panties down. With some maneuvering and staggering, you managed to peel them off completely, sighing as the cool breeze brushed against your cunt.
Frankie glanced over at you, then groaned and covered his eyes.
“What?” you asked. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to walk around with wet panties?”
“Please stop,” He held his arm out in supplication, and your face reddened at the pleading look he gave you.
At your expression, Frankie groaned again. Quickly, roughly, he leaned over and grabbed you, pulling you down so you were kneeling beside him. With one hand, he took your arm by the wrist, and pressed your palm against his zipper. His jeans were still bulging, and you realised the cold hadn’t helped one bit.
“Because I am hard as a fucking rock right now,” he hissed, and the wild look on his face coupled with the firmness under your hand made your mouth go dry. “I wanna throw you to the floor of this fucking truck and fuck you until you can’t walk. But, we have to go to the bar. And I have to sit there and look at you - knowing you’re commando underneath - and keep it together.”
You were technically still coming down from your orgasm, but it didn’t stop desire from hitting you like a punch in the stomach. His fingers had felt amazing, but judging by what you could feel of him through the rough denim they were clearly more of an appetiser. The pickup was starting to slow. Raising back onto your haunches again, you looked through the cab window to see the bar coming up ahead. You squeezed him gently, absentmindedly, and he let out a strangled moan. You ignored the way his moan made your cunt throb, ignored the sudden mental image of being held down while he buried his cock inside you -
“OK then, we’re going to help each other,” you said. You lowered yourself back to sitting beside him.
“You’re going to help me out by looking after my panties,” you said, holding them up. He glared at them for a second, before grabbing them and stuffing them into his pocket. He picked his cap back up
“And how are you going to help me?” he asked, fitting it back on his head. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed, but he was watching you like you were prey.
“Well,” you smiled. “I won’t be wearing underwear for the rest of the night. How does that sound?”
Frankie looked down at you for a long minute, brown eyes nearly black in the streetlights. His gaze raked up and down your whole body, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. You got the feeling that his self-control was hanging on by the thinnest thread. The pickup turned into the bar parking lot, and he swayed toward you with the turn.
He moved like lightning. Before you could blink, he was leaning over you again, and again, his hand was up your skirt. Even though your faces were only inches away, you could see the question in his eyes and you nodded, heart suddenly racing. His fingers dipped into your cunt, gently, gathering up your come. He barely penetrated you but you shuddered at the gentle sensation of his fingers, feeling yourself get even wetter. He watched your face, studied every expression you made and how you shivered under his touch. He looked as though he’d found something he’d been looking for for a very long time.
As the pickup slowed, Frankie sat back and stuck his fingers in his mouth again. Tasting you again. He looked at you with a strange light in his eyes, as if he were daring you to stop him. Instead, all you could think about was how he would look with that gorgeous mouth nestled between your thighs, how those dark eyes would look staring up at you from that angle. He licked each finger clean, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, and that pang of want ran through you again. As the pickup engine shut off he dropped his hand back to his lap, sighed, and nodded.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm…
Relationships:Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character
Rating: First chapter is Mature, but it will be getting Explicit after that…
Author’s note: I saw Triple Frontier last week for the first time and it has occupied my every waking thought since then. This is my first ‘x reader’ fic, so feedback is appreciated. Benny is my darling boy and I want to write him a loving af relationship even if it’s in the bg of this fic. I also don’t mean to step on toes but Redfly is the worst man and deserved to die a lot earlier than he did in the film. I am also obviously obsessed with Frankie Morales. Sorry if the formatting is fucked, this is the first fic I’ve posted directly to Tumblr in many’a.
Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, future smut but this chapter is just teasing.
“The fight ends at 9pm, so we’ll be good to get to the bar by 9.30,” Dina said, leaning to within a hair’s breadth of the bathroom mirror. Your arms twitched, hands opening and closing as you watched the safety pin come even closer to her eyeball.
“Dina, do you have to- the fight?”
“Yes, I need to separate my eyelashes, and yes, the fight.” She said, tongue peeping out between her lips. “Benny is fighting and he’s going to come with us to the bar afterwards.”
Your heart sank, just a little. Benny was a great guy, and you were happy for Dina, but it was always harder to get into bars when Benny ‘Brick Shithouse’ Miller rocked up with facial wounds and an ego after inevitably winning the fight.
Apparently their post-fight sex was insane.
“So it’s you, me, and Benny?” you asked flatly, and she rolled her eyes in a way that made your hands clench into fists, with a vivid mental image of the pin sinking into her eyeball. She ignored you, of course, and started on the bottom lid.
“No, you prick,” she said, teasing each lash apart. She paused, and winked at you through the mirror “Ha. Prick! Get it? Sandy, Amy and Kelly are joining us - and Benny is bringing his friends.”
“William and Tom?” You were trying so hard not to be a downer, you really were, but you’d met William and Tom before and it was not a great experience. William - Benny’s brother - was aesthetically pleasing, and a lovely guy, but way too earnest about the purity of combat, while Tom was… a douche. A douche who clearly enjoyed his nights away from the wife a little too much. “Great.”
“Not just Will and Tom,” she chided, finally putting down the pin and fluttering her eyelashes at her reflection. “A few of his old squad guys are coming too.”
“OK then,” you said, and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Dina called.
“To get another drink.”
Based on the MMA prelude, you decided to rethink your outfit to something a bit less… showy, and had poured yourself into a skintight skirt with a shirt that helped accentuate your decolletage just right. So right, in fact, that you’d forgone a sensible coat in favour of a leather jacket that didn’t even close properly. The clothes did little to shield you from the cold, which explained why you had chugged nearly half a bottle of Smirnoff in the cab over.
—————–
Dina looked every inch the fighter’s girlfriend, she really did. You didn’t even know she owned a faux-fur coat. Her meticulously-separated eyelashes were currently fluttered together, shielding her eyes from her cigarette smoke.
Not that it helped. Your buzz was fading fast with every second you stood out in the freezing cold parking lot.
Sandy hadn’t bothered to change her outfit - “Fuck it, it can’t be any dirtier than the bar.” - and was leaning against the arena wall wearing a mini dress that practically showed what she had eaten for breakfast. The woman had legs up to her neck, and more than one man had slowed his passage into the arena to get a good look. Sandy, with legs that long since she was fifteen, and a face that had been beautiful her whole life, flipped each one off with a casual laziness you could never hope to emulate.
The three of you were standing outside the arena waiting for Tom and the others to arrive. The crowd was known to get rowdy, and Benny had been very firm with Dina about going in with his friends. William was already inside with Benny, prepping him for the fight.
It was so cold you were nearly tempted to ask Dina for a pull of her cigarette, just to feel some warm air, when -
“Dee!”
Your face locked into a grimace, and you looked down to kick a loose pebble from under your shoe, trying to regain control of your facial muscles by the time Tom got close.
“Tommy!” Dina yelled. “You’re late, what the hell?”
“Don’t blame me,” Tom said, “Blame these assholes.”
Two sets of denim-wrapped legs stepped into your view, and you huffed out a little sigh before looking up. Tom was standing in front of you, with his friend on his right.
His friend. Who was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He smiled at you, and you felt a small laugh escape you.
What was that face? He looked like a Latino George Clooney. How did he get taken seriously in life?
“Hey, tiger,” Tom said to you, his lopsided smile showing a little too much teeth on one side.
“Hey… Tom.” you replied, raising a hand in greeting. He made a little ‘pfft’ sound and pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in the smell of… dear god, was that Axe?
You heard the crunch of gravel, and a movement out of the corner of your eye told you that the devilishly handsome man was currently introducing himself to Sandy.
Probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
“This is my girl right here, Frankie.” Tom said, and the proprietary tone in his voice made your stomach turn. You should have just met them at the bar.
“Crazy, I thought your girl was sitting at home looking after your daughter and -” the second half of the sentence was in mumbled Spanish, and you heard a bark of laughter from the handsome man. A quick, rough pat on the back and Tom released you, already walking into the building as if nothing had happened.
The speaker was standing in front of you; a tall-ish man wearing a blue plaid shirt over a grey tank top, with a beat-up baseball cap on his head. Just as the phrase ‘hillbilly trucker’ crossed your mind, every thought in your head promptly vanished on looking up into his face. A pair of warm brown eyes were gazing down at you, creasing gently at the corners. He wasn’t built like Tom or William; they slanted more towards beefcake, where this guy was toned and slim. He was older than you - not a surprise, William and Tom were in at least their mid-40s - but it was a very manageable older. Unruly, curling brown hair peeked out from under his cap, and the man smiled, a shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.
The other guy was crazy good-looking in a movie-star way, the sort of hot that had made you laugh because it was almost unreal. This guy was the perfect side of handsome, mortal enough to take your breath away just a little and not make you feel stupid about it.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Frankie.”
Maybe it was the dimples, maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from a fate worse than death, or maybe the cold had finally gotten to your brain. Whatever it was, you barely knew what you were saying until you’d said it:
“And I am so fucking yours.”
So much for not feeling stupid. His smile widened, and your heartbeat quickened just a bit.
“Ignore Redfly,” he said. “He just doesn’t have good manners.”
Another burst of Spanish from behind you, from the dark-eyed Adonis near the door, and Frankie replied in kind, with an evocative hand gesture that you were pretty sure meant ‘fuck off’.
You finally turned to get a good look at the other man. He was standing in front of your friends, angled towards Sandy in a way that boded well for her. He was terribly good-looking.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” he leaned toward you, and took your hand in his. “Santiago Garcia.”
The man was on another level. You felt like you were meeting a politician. You told him your name as if in a dream.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, looking into your soul, and you felt that laugh bubble up again. This was too much all at once.
Dina blew out one last plume of smoke, and threw her cigarette butt on the ground.
“Come on guys, it’s fucking freezing out here.”
—————————————-
The arena was chaos. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but he could have been standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t have seen him. He could have been behindyou.
As the thought crossed your mind, a hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped sideways, ready to kick Tom in the fucki-
It was Frankie, hands suddenly up and visible, mouth framing a ‘whoa’ that you could never hear over the din of the crowd. You grimaced, mouthing sorry.
He gave you a tight-lipped smile, uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He craned his neck to look over the crowd, toward the ring, and you stepped quickly toward him. Your hand raised, like you had the right answer in a classroom, and you tilted your mouth up towards Frankie’s ear. He scrunched his face and bent his head towards yours.
“Sorry,” you said into his ear, trying not to deafen him at this range. He smelled warm, and clean, a welcome respite from the arena’s smell of old beer and sweat. “I thought it might be…” one of your best friends, whom I loathe. “… a creep.” you finished lamely.
When you pulled away, he was looking at you so intently that a blush started to creep up your neck. Hands still in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he processed what you said. His tongue worked in his mouth, pushing out his cheek, before he winked ever so slightly, and nodded.
He knew. He damn well knew.
Frankie grinned and pointed towards the ring, to where your friends had disappeared, before nudging you forward.
————————————
Dina and the others were sitting ringside, by Benny’s corner. Dina had shrugged her coat in the sticky closeness of the arena, and was adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. Beside her was Sandy, deep in conversation with Santiago, and Tom sat beside Santiago next to an empty chair.
The single empty chair.
Fucks sake.
Tom saw you both coming, and had a look of fake disappointment on his face that your hands twitched to slap off. He held his hands up in defeat, before patting his thigh. A quick scan showed that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the arena; the place was jammed so tightly that you counted at least seven people on laps in this section alone. A fire hazard, and a pain in the ass.
You’re fucking kidding me.
You went to take a step, and felt a hand grip your arm. Frankie was sliding past you on your right, pivoting to sit in the empty chair. A shit-eating grin slid onto Tom’s face, and he patted his thigh again.
You’refucking kidding me.
Frankie still held your arm loosely in his left hand. Reaching over Tom, he nudged Santiago, who broke off from his conversation long enough to pass him a beer. Settling back into his seat, Frankie spread his legs a little too wide and steered you into the space between them.
He looked up at you under the brim of his cap, his face out of Tom’s eyeline. The corners of his mouth curved downward and one shoulder shrugged, as if to say ‘Why not?’.
Lightheaded, floating on a mental chant of fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell, you perched on Frankie’s knee, your knees pressing against his other leg. A quick glance at Tom’s face nearly made you yelp. The ham-coloured man was staring sullenly out over the ring, lips pursed around his mouthful of beer. The smile was nowhere to be seen.
Frankie shifted slightly, and with one hand on your waist pulled you closer until you were sitting mid-thigh. When he was satisfied, his hand moved to settle against your lower back, keeping you upright. The shape of the seat had his body angled away from you, allowing you to sit upright without being nestled against him. He leaned towards Tom and said something in his ear, something you could barely hear over the din. It was as if he’d forgotten you were there.
But not quite. Slowly, as if you were a wild animal he was trying to tame, his hand started to move in gradual, broad strokes, forward and back, forward and back.
Your stomach muscles locking tight was your only visible reaction, and you thanked baby Jesus and all the angels in heaven that Frankie couldn’t feel the way your pulse had suddenly picked up. Though that might not be far off; there was a warm throbbing between your legs that definitely hadn’t been there two minutes ago.
Forward and back. Forward and back.
This was totally normal. This happened to you every day. Every day you met hot guys and sat on their laps. Every day you got mildly turned on by hot guys stroking your back.
Looking over at Dina, the two of you locked eyes. Her grin was positively wolfish.
Fuck off, you mouthed.
You looked around, hoping that the people-watching fodder available would help take your mind off the hot man you were sitting on and what his hand was -
As if Frankie could hear your thoughts, the rhythm of his strokes changed. Now, instead of moving forward and back, his palm started sliding up and down, with every pass downward bringing his hand closer and closer to the curve of your ass.
For a fraction of a second, your breath caught in your throat, and the pulse between your legs kicked up a notch. Trying to keep your cool, you casually - so casually! - looked over at Frankie.
Still absorbed in conversation with Tom. Fine. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, no idea of the effect he was having.
Your awareness was steadily narrowing down to where his hand touched you, to the vague sensation of warmth that each pass left on your skin. Reaching the hem of your jacket, he paused almost imperceptibly, before reaching under the leather to rest on the back of your shirt.
Dear god, were you disappointed he wasn’t touching your ass? Were you actually sad that this stranger wasn’t -
A radiating sensation on your back, so warm and firm, and suddenly you could feel every little movement his hand made, the way his fingers were flexing against your skin so gently -
Air you didn’t realise you had been holding escaped your lungs in a whoosh.
“Getting bored up there, tiger?” Tom’s expression wasn’t as friendly as it normally was, and you were reminded why all of this was happening. This was purely for Tom’s benefit.
“No, it’s fine. It’s…” you looked down at Frankie as he took a sip of his beer. His eyes met yours over the rim of his beer cup, and a smile crept across your face. When the cup left his lips, you took it deftly from his fingers and lifted it to your mouth. Your gaze didn’t leave his. Tom may as well have been part of the furniture.
The beer was not good, but you finished it, and ran your tongue over your lips. Frankie’s eyes tracked the movement, and you felt his hand pause, felt his fingers splay wide across the small of your back.
“It’s great,” you said, winking down at him. “But I think we need another drink.”
You placed a hand on his knee for leverage, and stood. Dina saluted you with her nearly-empty drink, and tapped at the low liquid level with one long fingernail. You nodded, and flashed the OK sign.
A broad chest blocked your view, and the smell of Axe surrounded you. You glanced up at Tom, who was shaking his own empty cup.
“I’ll come too,” he said. “I could do with another-”
“It’s cool, man,” Frankie stood, easily slotting himself between the two of you, and gently but firmly took hold of your shoulders as he turned to the exit. “I got it.”
Empty cups and debris were strewn across the aisle, and you were beginning to regret wearing your heels for what was shaping up to be a fucking obstacle course. But you felt Frankie’s presence behind you, and if you put a little more sway into your walk than normal, so what?
Between a few stragglers at the bar, there was a gap just wide enough for the two of you to lean against the counter. You rested on your forearms, and flagged down the bartender.
————————————
“Two beers, and a whiskey and coke.”
“Make it four,” Frankie said. “I know it may not seem like it, but it is better to get Redfly liquored up. After about,” - his hand made a see-saw motion - “six drinks? He’s going to get real maudlin, start missing his wife, and go home.”
“Oh, yeah,” you replied, “He’s really missing his wife when he’s trying to put his hand up my skirt.”
His eyes flickered up and down your body, and he cleared his throat. One hand came up to scratch at his moustache, before smoothing it back down.
“You know, I don’t blame him,” he said. “That skirt looks great on you.”
A low warmth pooled in your stomach, and you smiled. He smiled back, those beautiful eyes twinkling as he turned around to face the arena, elbows back on the bar.
“If I… go too far, in there,” he said, face suddenly serious. “You can just punch me in the face. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
The bartender laid your whiskey and coke down in front of you, and pulled out two cups for the beer.
“Two more of those, please,” you told her, and took a sip of your drink. You knew you were a bit of a savage for drinking whiskey with coke, but your sweet tooth demanded nothing less. “Frankie, I’m not really OK with the idea of ‘being saved’.”
“That’s fair,” Frankie turned to the bar, and rapped a quick tattoo on the wood. “When we get back in there, you take the seat and I’ll -”
“But,” you raised a finger. “Your lap is pretty comfortable. And if you’re OK with having my ass on your knee all night, then I’m happy to stay there.”
A laugh escaped him, and you found yourself appreciating the way his moustache framed his lips so perfectly.
“I think you’d be hard pushed to find a man who wouldn’t be OK with that deal.”
The bartender laid down four cups of beer. “$25.60.”
Frankie laid out three $10 bills, and pulled the cups closer.
“Do you think you could make sure Tom doesn’t put his hand up my skirt?”
He was intent on arranging the cups in a way he could carry them, to the point that you thought he hadn’t heard you. Just as you were about to repeat yourself, he flashed you a wicked look.
“Well sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ll just have to get my hand there first.”
————————————
As soon as you sat back down, it was like a switch had flipped. Your conversation at the bar had been light, to the point where you’d nearly forgotten that you’d actually been turned on a little at sitting on Frankie’s lap.
When you got back to your seats, and Frankie had handed off the beers he was carrying, he sat and pulled you down onto his lap in one fluid movement. No more tentative movements; he held your waist firmly, and pulled you even closer than before. And now, not only was his hand stroking your back again - he had put it under your jacket straight away - but his other arm was now resting on your leg. His beer cup sat on your knee, below where the hem of your skirt rode up, and he rotated it gently on your bare skin, almost teasing you with the cool feeling of the condensation on the base.
It drove you just a little short of wild. Though part of you wanted to shift against his thigh, wanted to feel some pressure right where an ache was steadily building between your legs, you kept it together fairly admirably.
A wet patch on Frankies jeans probably wouldn’t go down too well anyway.
A murmur from the crowd rolled towards the ring, and Pantera’s heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers.
Benny was here.
————————————
Ringside seats were… certainly something.
The smell of blood hummed in your nostrils, and you felt the impact of every punch.
Benny was a monster. He had swaggered into the arena, head and shoulders above everyone, and proceeded to hammer the shit out of his opponent once the bell rang. Watching the way Dina was looking at him, you were very, very glad they were going back to Benny’s place tonight.
The six of you were standing at the ring edge, screaming and roaring with the crowd. Your blood was singing. Sitting on Frankie’s lap, his hands leaving trails of fire wherever they touched you, had rattled you something fierce, and the adrenaline from the fight was getting to you too. You didn’t think your pulse had slowed for about ten minutes, and you were breathing like you were climbing a mountain.
It was the last minute of the last round, and Benny was flagging.
You guessed. You really had no idea who was doing better, both fighters were covered in blood and looked tired as fuck.
Santiago, Dina and Tom were rattling the cage, howling through the wire at Benny. The man was intent on his opponent, never taking his eyes off him.
As you watched, Benny did an odd movement, stepping back, rotating his shoulders and head as his feet danced. You heard roars come from your friends, but were completely lost.
“He’s about to kick the guy’s head off his fucking shoulders,” Frankie’s voice was low, and close. You felt his nose brush the outer shell of his ear, and you suppressed a shiver as his breath ghosted over you. He was standing behind you, so close that you felt his warmth up your body from ankle to neck. He reached over your shoulder, and pointed up at Benny’s right foot.
“You see that?”
Benny’s foot was moving in a fan shape on the floor of the ring. He dodged as much as he needed to to evade blows, but whenever he was still his foot moved in that fan shape.
“Why is he waiting?” Turning your head, your nose brushed against Frankie’s jawline. He smiled down at you.
“Not long now, sweetheart,” he said. “Watch.”
He stepped closer until he stood flush against your back, and crossed his arms over your chest to grip his own elbows. His beard brushed against your cheekbone, and you found yourself nestling further into his hold. He was just so warm and solid and -
Benny moved like lightning. His opponent came too close, ever so slightly unguarded, and Benny pivoted on his left foot and -
“Fuck!” you screamed. Benny’s opponent hit the floor, and the arena erupted.
Warnings: Pretty graphic descriptions of what it’s like when I have an asthma attack. They’ve been happening a lot and I wish Frankie was there, ok? This is my indulgent lunch break drabble. (Asthma attacks are so different for everyone. This is a lot of what mine are like, not what it is like for everyone.) Don’t read if you feel uncomfortable. I just need some Frankie TLC.
this is frighteningly detailed—I don’t have asthma, so I’ve never experienced what you described, but I can feel the panic in your writing and it’s so visceral, which just makes Frankie’s intervention all the more powerful. I love how you allude to Frankie’s deep worry hidden under that calm, collected surface. this is wonderful. what a wonderful partner Frankie would be in a time of crisis
ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
You are not happy and Frankie knows it. Feeling his gaze on you repeatedly as he takes the exit for the gate that he is leaving from. Not that you could really get into it again, not with Elise and Tomas in the back seat. The baby, Tomas, deciding that he would start screaming halfway between home and the airport, not happy that he was the slightest bit hungry and he was not immediately fed.
Trying to shush him and get your four-year-old to prop the baby bottle up for her brother was a task in and of itself. Blowing out an exasperated breath as you have to reach back and hold the bottle steady while twisting your body in a way that makes a stitch in your side.
For@writer-wednesday even though it’s now Thursday. (shhh, I won’t tell if you don’t!) Frankie’s weekly hike leads to finding an unexpected friend Warnings: I don’t think there are any, but let me know if you want me to add something. Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist
It had started as a fun thing to do with his daughter on visitation weekends. Little grabby hands in his hair while she sat on his shoulders rambling about her kindergarten classmates, and almost every leaf, bug, and the woodland creature she could see. Hiking was simply a good way to get outside, to teach her some of the things his dad had taught him, poison ivy– leaves of three let it be, and all that good stuff. It was well worth the bruises from her tiny kicking feet on his chest, to see his kid learning to see and love the world around her.
Summary: After joining the boys as a much needed team medic, the tension between you and Frankie becomes to much to ignore.
Word count: 4.4k.
Warnings: Masturbation (male & female), P in V sex (unprotected), Oral (Fem receiving), Fingering, Yearning, Pining, Two idiots in love and trying to ignore it, Use of restraints (consensual) swearing, and Benny Miller being Benny Miller.
I have not beta read this! I wrote it in a few hours, I’ll check for mistakes tomorrow.
Thank you @frannyzooey for being so helpful, and helping me with a few things my ass struggled with when writing this.
You shouldn’t be staring. You should NOT be staring. He is your teammate, and he is your friend. But fuck. The way the droplets of rain drip down off of his curls and down on to his face is mesmerizing. The way the raspy texture of his voice seems to go straight to your core and make you drip with arousal every single time he speaks is mesmerizing. You’ve gotten to the point where you fear that he can smell your arousal every time he’s close to you, and you’ve actively started to avoid laying your sleeping bag to close to his through worry he’ll be somehow able to see that you dream of him every night.
He’s caught you looking a few times and he downplays it with a simple smile or a wink, the obvious embarrassment rushes to your face with an immediate blood rush. You’ve felt something for him since meeting him that very first day, but it has continued to intensify, and that tiny flame has formed into a full wildfire.
The sound of Santi barking an order at you pulls you out of your daydream. You gulp loudly and the vacant expression on your voice is enough for him to repeat himself, “What has gotten into lately?” nothing unfortunately you think to yourself, “We are making shelter. Get some water boiling and some food. We’re camping here.” You nod in agreement and swing your head around just enough to see Frankie, it’s his time to stare at you and he’s doing it intently. Head slightly tilted and mouth open as he takes in the flushed look on your distracted face. You quickly turn to your day pack, pulling out the set of small fuel cannisters and pots – lighting all four – and filling them all with water and adding ramen noodles to two of them.
You’d joined the group a year or so ago, their previous mission being a complete disaster which resulted in the death of one of their friends, Tom. You’d reluctantly allowed Santi to bring you along to a meeting in which the guys had seemingly only come along to because he was in another one of his ruts after the hell-mission. But they’d noted how he’d become a lot more responsible with planning and kept his word to be one hundred open with them from the off-set and you were a huge part of his newly found responsible turnaround as an ex-army medic that was on a much-needed sabbatical from your trauma residency he’d decided that you’d be a welcomed addition to the team.
Having seen combat and being able to deal with gunshot wounds, stab wounds and so on in not so ideal places you were exactly what was needed. The hell-mission had three gunshot wounds, one of which was fatal, and he’d decided then and there that someone clinical was a necessity for their group. So, there you were. Tucked away in the corner of the booth, wedged between a very interested and flirty Benny and Santi – trying to avoid gazing into the most gorgeous deep brown eyes you’d ever seen unaware that one year on, you’d be in the exact same situation.
The sound of Frankie, Benny, Will and Santi laying out your bed for the night kept you from falling back into another daydream, listening as they slightly argued and groaned at each other – all frustrated, hungry and tired from the insane amount of walking you had done for the past twelve hours after successfully completing your mission, all eager to get home.
You fill cups with tea and evenly dish out the noodles before calling them over to eat with you.
They form a circle around and murmur their thanks as they begin to dig in, and you stare idly into the bowl in front of you, not hungry enough to eat. “Did she look at your leg yet, Fish?” Will asks before shoving a large forkful into his mouth and you look across to Frankie who’s shaking his head at Will.
“You’re hurt?” you ask with a confused expression etched across your face, unsure why he’d hide this from you seeing as that is the reason you’ve been bought along.
“It’s fine. It’s nothing.” He says with a shrug avoiding eye contract.
“You got stabbed in the thigh, dude, that’s hardly ‘nothing’.” Benny counters back and your face flushes red with fury.
“You got stabbed, and didn’t tell me? What the hell am I here for? Because I sure as hell, didn’t agree to this just to make you guys’ dinner!” You yell across at him – shocking yourself and everyone else at your outburst, “I don’t know if you don’t trust my skills as a doctor, Frankie, but I’m more than capable.” You all but throw down your bowl of noodles before getting up and skulking away, ignoring the voices behind you as you strut away from your teammates and out of the little shelter and into the rain.
You stand outside being drenched by the rainfall, stood far enough from the guys to let the frustrations of the past week leave you. The mission was to retrieve information in regard to a huge incoming weapon shipment from a cartel that had singlehandedly been flooding the streets of Bogota with illegal arms for months. You’d kept guard with Benny earlier that morning as Frankie, Will and Santi stormed the building, only a few of their guards had remained and they’d successfully retrieved the information before destroying every computer, phone and electrical device that had been serving as the tools to communicate with the citizens they’d been bribing in the city.
You’d thought that it had been a total success but clearly, you’d been kept in the dark about everything that had transpired.
The rainfall had left you shivering and soaked, completely wet through and you sighed at your own stupidly; aware that you’d probably not be fully dry again until back at the hotel. The feeling of a large palm gently resting on your back makes you audibly gasp out-loud.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you; I called your name, but you didn’t respond.” Frankie says almost sheepishly, “Fuck, you’re drenched, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I-uh- I needed to step away.” you say whilst staring at your shoes.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. And, I have complete faith in your skills. I think you’re amazing. I just didn’t want to burden you; you’ve been a little… stressed the past few days.”
“We’re all stressed, Frankie, you’d still done your duties. Mine is to make sure you’re all safe, you should have told me immediately. A stab wound isn’t nothing.” Your voice comes out a lot harsher than you had intended it to and you immediately regret the way you come across, “Look, I don’t want to argue or yell at anyone, I just want to be doing my job.”
You feel a wave of guilt as you look over at him and noticed that he himself is now completely drenched through and before you get a chance to apologise, he reaches out a hand for you to take and leads you back to your shelter.
“Fuck,” Benny mumbles at the sight of you both shivering and soaked, “Better get changed before you both catch your death. And let her look at your leg, dumbass.”
You pull open your backpack and start desperately pulling everything out in search of dry clothing, finding fresh underwear and dry pants but falling short at a fresh shirt. You groan in annoyance at your own stupidity. Frankie having watched you manage to find everything, but a dry shirt reaches back into his and pulls you out a spare one of his and tentatively hands it to you along with a reassuring smile. And you offer him a heartfelt thanks before returning the smile.
You look over at Benny, Will and Santi who are all caught up in conversation by the fire and watching the rainfall outside the shelter.
You retreat behind one of the two privacy partitions and hastily get out of your drenched clothing, making sure to squeeze the water out of your hair before getting dressed in your dry clothes.
The boys are still in deep conversation as you come back out and grab your medical bag before walking over to the other partition and asking Frankie if it’s ok to come check his wound.
Dressed in just his boxers, a shirt and a sweater you try not to let him see how affected by him you are and instead concentrate on his injury. He’s perched down on a rock and you sit in between his legs having perfect access to his cut.
He’d hastily packed the wound with gauze and wrapped a tight bandage around it and you sigh at the image, fresh red blood still staining the skin around it. “The moment I cut this off, it’s going to gush, Francisco,” you say with another sigh, “you must be in agony.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts back as you take your safety scissors and start to remove the bandage, “A little sore.”
You instruct him to hold a bunch of fresh gauze against the wound as you get out your antiseptic wipes to clean the cut, “It’s going to sting a little” you warn as you signal for him to remove the gauze. He hisses as you gently wipe across the jagged cut, it’s not as deep as you were anticipating but it’s deep enough to require tissue adhesive. He winces in pain a few times and your free hand reaches up to his hip to give it a reassuring squeeze before dropping down so you can treat him the best you can. After you glue the wound the best you can, you gently access the area – running your fingertips slowly across his smooth skin.
He lets out a ragged breath and your eyes shoot up to his, he stares back into yours with an intensity that makes your core throb. You swallow hard as you look away, your line of sight automatically looking down and you see it. The affect your touch had on him, his cock hardening at the feeling of your fingertips gently grazing his skin, the feeling of your hot breath of his skin as you focused on his injury.
Your eyes flash back up to his and he’s still staring at you, the look in his eyes desperate and hungry, “I want you too,” he says barely above a whisper, confirming he’s been well aware of why you’ve been on edge the past few days, “Have been wanting you for a very long time.”
The sight of you on your knees in between his legs, biting down on your lower lip becomes almost too much to bare, he lets out a small grunt in frustration before reaching across to roughly palm himself over his boxers. A gentle moan escapes through your lips as you watch in desperation, desperate to reach out and take him in your hands, in your mouth… anyway you can.
His other hand grips the bottom of your chin and tilts your face upwards; he continues to palm his hardened length as he moves his face down towards yours. His nose bumps yours and he stills, eyes locked into one another’s, he awaits your confirmation and the moment you give it, his lips crash on top of yours. You cup his cheeks as his tongue dips into between your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth with fervour. You moan into him, embracing the way his tongue works tirelessly to explore your mouth. “Frankie,” you murmur up against his plush lips, “I need you.”
“Me too, baby. The minute we get back to the hotel, I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.” His forehead rests gently on top of yours as you fight the urge to reach down and take him into your hands, “Soon.” He whispers as you look back down at his throbbing erection.
The sound of footsteps make you both hastily break your embrace, you quickly covering his now closed wound with an adhesive bandage before he pulls on his dry pants.
“Will he survive? What’s the verdict, doc?” Santi asks as he pokes his head around the partition.
“He’ll be fine… As long as he doesn’t hide anymore injuries from me in the future,” you say shooting him a little wink and he holds his hands up in mock defeat, “Cuts closed, and I’ll put a fresh dressing on it before we leave tomorrow morning.”
Shoving your medical pack back into your backpack, you feel him gently press a fleeting hand against the small of your back and he flashes you a smile before joining the guys around the fire. After a few moments you decide against joining them as lack of sleep is gaining on you.
After brushing your teeth, you pick up your sleeping bag and announce to the team you’re going to sleep. They all wish you a goodnight and you lay your sleeping bag on the mat nearest to your partition, facing away from the boys. You trace your fingers gently over kiss swollen lips, as your thighs clamp together at the vivid imagery of him palming his cock for you replays over and over in your head.
Sleep doesn’t come as quick as you’re hoping, instead you lay there listening to the boys tease each other and reminisce over past missions… they all agree at the same time to get some sleep.
Not looking over your shoulder you hear him, laying his sleeping bag down next to yours and you smile at your shared need for closeness. Barely above a whisper you hear a small, “goodnight, sweetheart” murmured in your direction.
Morning arrives and the sounds of the rainforest fill your ears, the lack of rain a welcomed surprise. Frankie, Santi and Benny are still sound asleep, Will sitting up in his sleeping bag and looking out at the jungle. “Morning,” you murmur voice still thick with sleep, “Should be back at the hotel in a few hours.”
“Good morning,” he returns with a nod, “Yep, back to reality.”
Boiling water and cooking oatmeal had become your morning routine and you eagerly begin – desperate for a caffeine fix. “If I never have to eat oatmeal ever again after today, it’ll still be too soon,” you groan as you stir the pots it’s cooking in.
Frankie wakes up next and his loud stretch makes you giggle, his face swinging around in search of yours as he greets you with a knowing smile.
“Morning, Fish,” Will grumbles from across the room, “Better wake the sleeping beauties if we want to get out of here this morning.”
Stomachs filled, and flasks filled with coffee – you all pack up your supplies and put on your backpacks and start to make your way out of the rainforest. Santiago had arranged with a contact for a car to be dropped off about two hours away from where you’d set up camp, and as you dredged further through the muddy forest you began to see the coastline in the distance signalling you were close.
It took more restraint that you’d care to admit as you saw the truck waiting for you, the keys had been hidden above one of the tires and your heart sank as Will went to retrieve it under the one that had been agreed upon and it wasn’t there. The mad rush as you all stepped forward to try and find the missing keys almost comical and the shared simultaneous sigh of relief when it was found under another tire made you audible giggle. Wasting no time all bags are thrown into the back of the truck without any care whatsoever, Benny volunteers to drive and Will calls shotgun.
Santi climbs in first followed by Frankie and yourself. The feeling of Frankie’s hand brushing up against the side of your leg makes you breathe out a ragged breath. Unable to ignore the ache that had started that very first night after he’d helped you over a risky looking bridge had gotten stronger and stronger, magnified by one hundred as you’d shared your first kiss the night before.
The drive back to the hotel was hell-ish. Benny wasn’t the most careful driver at the best of times, and after a week in the jungle surviving on little sleep, he unsurprisingly didn’t get any better. With every sharp turn he made you found yourself pressing up against Frankie and vice versa, at one point he’d driven so recklessly your hand gripped Frankie’s thigh so tightly that he groaned out loud – not in pleasure, but in pain as you fisted his knife wound without intent. “Shit” you hissed as guilt flooded your whole body. His flattened palm shifted beneath the bottom of your thigh to give you a reassuring squeeze as you apologised profusely.
The moment you saw the hotel you breathed out the loudest ‘thank goodness’ you’ve ever uttered and practically swung the door open… both in anticipation and relief.
As the other guys stood around discussing the plans for the afternoon, you reached into the back of the truck to pull out your backpack. Biting your lip, the moment he purposely pressed up behind you to grab his own stuff, “My room, shower, five minutes,” he ordered in your ear before quickly removing himself for your space.
You all but ran up to your hotel room, discarding your bags as quickly as you could and rummaging through the suitcase that you’d left there before venturing out on your mission – pulling out clean underwear, a sundress and toiletries.
Your room was on the same floor as the rest of the guys, five doors up from Frankie’s – you took the time to check it was clear before padding down the hallway to his room – you pressed the door gently and it swung open, steam from the shower already coming out from under the bathroom door.
You locked the door behind you, stripping yourself down completely before entering the bathroom.
He was facing the tiles in the shower, already dripping wet – the broadness of his shoulders, his strong arms and the firmness of his cute little butt made you lick your lips. You watched for a few seconds as he washed the shampoo out of his gorgeous brown curls and then you slipped in behind him; wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing gentle kisses to his shoulders.
“Was wondering when you were going to get here,” he mumbles, before spinning around to face you, “You kept me waiting.”
“Hardly” you say with a large grin.
“You’ve been teasing me for over a year,” he says with a wink before stepping back to take a look at you, he looks up and down at your bare form – eyes tracing back and forth over your breasts, “Fuck, you’re perfect” he grits out before reaching out and taking one of your breasts in his hand to test the weight of it.
You squeeze up next to him and press yourself against him as tightly as you can, relishing in the little groan he lets out as you do so. Stepping under the steaming spray of water you wet your hair and he watches every movement you make, silently admiring as you shampoo and condition your hair, and as you begin to wash the grime off of your body. Only moving as your eyes lock onto him and your fingers brush down through the small curls on your mound and dip into your slit.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns before ripping your hand away, “I said I am going to make you feel good when we got here… don’t make me restrain these pretty little wrists now.”
His words cut through you like butter, and you mewl at the thought he’d planted in your head.
“Out of the shower and get on the bed, now” he orders, and you obediently comply to his demands, making sure to press yourself up against him one more time on the way out.
Your still dripping wet as you lay yourself down on the edge of his bed, watching as he slowly emerges from the bathroom – his cock rock hard and heavy swinging between his legs as he makes his way over to you.
“Look at you,” he says quietly, “Fuck, baby, you’re absolutely perfect” he moans out whilst beginning to stroke his cock.
You salivate at the sight, the way he’s staring down at you with an untamed hunger and providing himself with a little relief as he does so. “Open those legs, baby, I want to see.”
Moving back a little more on the bed, you lean back onto your elbows and open your legs slowly, giving him a full view of your glistening cunt. Already soaked with arousal, and clenching around nothing with need.
“Frankie,” you whisper as he continues to jerk himself off whilst taking you all in. “Please, Frankie” you repeat as you hand unconsciously falls downwards towards your slit and you start to rub small circles into your clit to provide yourself some much needed relief.
“Uh-oh, baby girl,” he grits out, “I warned you.”
You immediately retreat your hand and start to apologise, “I couldn’t wait” you stutter.
“Poor baby” he says with an exaggerated pout, “Always got be such a fucking tease.”
“I need you, Frankie,” you whimper as he walks away from the bed and towards his backpack. Bending over to grab something from the side pocket, “Please, babe.”
“Sssh, baby” he soothes as he walks back over to you, you can’t quite make out what he has one in of his fists, “I intend on giving you all your pleasure today, baby, and if you can’t keep your hands to yourself then I’m going to have to restrain them” he drops a quick kiss to your forehead and then presents the long black cable wire to you, “Safe word – jungle, say it once and I’ll rip it off immediately” he says before making you say out loud you understand and consent. His hands are gentle as they bring yours together, and he ensures that the restraint is not too tight or causing you discomfort before playing your hands above your head.
“Keep them there” he orders before bending down on to his knees and slowly running a finger through your slit, “Been dying to know how you taste” he murmurs before licking a wide strip through your folds making you mewl in pleasure, and without thinking your hands whip down to find their way into his hair, “What did I say?” he grits up at you as you realise your mistake.
“Sorry,” you whisper before moving them back to their original position, “Didn’t think.”
He shakes his head at you, “Naughty girl” he says before burying his face back between your legs, he licks a few more wide strips down from your entrance to your clit, before focusing on that bundle of nerves. Groaning in approval at your desperate pleas and pleasured moans. Just as he feels your thighs begin to shake, he thrusts two thick fingers inside of you, pumping in and out as his tongue continues its delicious assault over your clit. The moment he feels your walls begin to flutter and clamp down around his fingers he curls them inside of you and continues to lick furiously as your orgasm rips through you. Cumming hard with a loud gasp of his name, “Francisco.”
“Good girl,” he soothes as you writhe underneath him, still high from your orgasm, “Love it when you call me that, baby.”
“N-need you,” you gasp out still unable to form a coherent sentence as your chest heaves up and down, “Please.”
“Fuck, so needy, baby” he teases as he slides his cock through your puffy folds, “Going to fill you up with my cum now, sweet girl.”
The thickness of his cock makes you gasp as he slowly breaches your entrance, he’s slow, making sure to study your face the entire time and make sure it’s not too much for you, and when he’s sure he’ll inch himself in further and further whilst murmuring sweet nothings about how beautiful you look and how well you’re taking his cock.
The stretch of him makes you bite down on your bottom lip, the slight stinging remaining present but being burned out by the pleasure, when he’s almost fully inside of you – he brings his thumb down to your clit and slowly rubs little circles into it.
He groans loudly the moment you’re filled by him, the feeling of you clenching around him making him worry he’ll blow his load immediately.
“Relax, baby,” he soothes quietly, “You’re gripping me so fucking tight, baby.”
“Please, move” you whimper in reply.
He rocks his hips in and out, just a little, barely moving an inch in and out at a time, and then he picks up the pace. Biting down on his lip as he searches for that sweet spongey spot inside of you and groaning in pleasure the second, he realises he’s found it, his pace quickens - rubbing against that spot perfectly, hitting it every single time and revelling in the way your eyes begin to roll back as you start to cum around his cock.
“You look so fucking good like that, baby. Going to tie those pretty little wrists up every time that you backtalk me, princesa.”
“Is tha-that a promise?” you choke out as blinding pleasure rips through you, “Fuck, I fucking love your cock, Francisco” you can’t help but choke out everything going through your brain, “I need it… need in my mouth after, baby, please can I suck your cock?” your words become more and more incoherent as you clamp down hard around his cock, flooding around it as you cum hard with another scream of his name.
He thrusts as much as he can grunting loudly as his spend paints your walls, “Fuck, baby, fuck.”
The pulls out of your still fluttering hole and watches as his spend spills out with your arousal.
“Fuck.”
You giggle at the look on his face as he continues to watch your pussy, “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs.
He climbs over you and pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands working quickly to break yours free of the cable ties and the moment they’re free you tangle them in his still wet locks.
“This is the start of something spectacular, I think” he says before kissing you again, “Rest up, baby, we’re not leaving this bed for at least the next few days.”
He pulls you into his strong chest and you nuzzle into him, “I hope you’ve got more of those cable ties, Francisco.”
Summary: You hit the online dating lottery when you meet divorced Frankie Morales.
Word count:1.2k
Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)
Content Warnings: Vasectomy kink (aka the opposite of breeding kink), unprotected PIV
A/N: I was inspired to write this after the enthusiastic response to this little drabble. In real life, I wouldn’t recommend being quite this trusting lol. It is not stated whether reader or Frankie have children from their previous relationships, so read it however you prefer!
You fumble with your keys. Frankie’s hands on your hips and his lips on the back of your neck are a serious distraction.
You won the online dating lottery with him. You’ve been divorced for five years now and back in the dating pool for three. You’ve have had some good dates and some truly terrible ones.
When you saw Frankie’s app profile you were immediately taken in by his soulful brown eyes and easy smile. You talked for an entire month before your first date – first on the app, then texting, and then on the phone.
The sound of his voice did things to you.
You had wanted to take things slow to make sure you had a real connection. After a month, you were sure you did.
Your first date was perfect. A relaxed dinner at a comfortable restaurant – neither of you were particularly fancy people. You talked and laughed late into the night. After, Frankie pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek after walking you to your car. Your hands shook all the way home.
On your second date, you went to a movie. Frankie twined his fingers with yours on the shared armrest between you. You barely remember the plot as your attention was zeroed in on the feel of his fingers, the warmth of his palm, the way his hand fully enveloped yours. He walked you to your car and asked if he could kiss you. You readily agreed. It started innocently enough, but soon you were chasing his tongue with your own and fisting your hands in his hair.
Tonight is your third date and, even though it’s cliché, tonight is the night you plan to “go all the way” or whatever the kids call it these days. You wouldn’t say you rushed through dinner, but you certainly didn’t linger.
Summary: Signs!AU. It started off in the most bizarre of ways. Crop circles. You mean the bother of cleaning up someone’s stupid prank? But then the lights come—hundreds, thousands—floating menacingly above the cities. The panic starts to settle in. Full summary here…
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings: angst GALORE - like i’m not even kidding i cried sm, swearing, supernatural themes, thriller/horror, violence, guns, talk of death & suicide, a death i cried over, violence/injury towards an animal i also cried over, blood
Word count: just over 5.5k
A/N: Hi howdy hey. ok i was delayed and i have no excuse - i just got distracted watching suits baha. ANYWAY, here we go. Sadness everywhere. Enjoy. Also, the song playing (you’ll know when you get to the part) is Billie Holiday’s “I’ll Be Seeing You” because that’s a damn beautiful song.
It’s another fucking splinter in your fingers keeping your mind from spiralling, the pain of it just enough to help contain the budding hysteria building in your chest.
You ignore addressing the persistent sting of it, instead holding firm against the thick plank of wood as Frankie hammers harshly against it, nailing it into the window frame. The length of timber stretches across the glass window and stops the sun shining through the pane, blocking your view of the outside.
Only when he steps away with a carved frown of vigilance, gaze critically observing the other windows that you finally move to pinch at the small splinter, a brief wince flickering across your features before your thumb rubs along your skin. The hammer picks up again, and your attention is pulled to him, eyes following the sweat that beads along the back of his neck and soaks into the collar of his shirt.
The drill had died a few windows ago, and Frankie hadn’t bothered to waste time charging the battery. He’d moved so quickly, so ruthlessly. You’d never seen this kind of expression before.
He’d torn his shed to pieces—your half restored dining table now rested legless and nailed over the back door. Chip’s kennel had been ripped apart, the various shades of red that used to be his vibrant roof now secured across the kitchen windows.
Nothing survived his mission: the coffee table Chip had chewed when he was a puppy, the old fence panelling, the scraps of tin from a long torn down workshop—it all came into the house, each memory filled item relentlessly nailed and screwed over any flicker of the outside world. Your home quickly lost its warmth with each boarded shut window, stripped of its feel of familiarity and comfort—security. Now it was the only thing in the way, one last layer of protection, of whatever was to come.
The echoes of Benny and Will moving about upstairs fill the silence beyond Frankie’s hammer, along with the light jingle of Chip’s contact tag rattling against his collar as he moves about the house in vague interest, his ears rising and dropping with each new scuffle of movement.
He soon retires from his curiosity, and instead comes to flop beside you with a long sigh, tail lightly slapping the hardwood when you bend to run a soothing hand through his fur.
“Upstairs is set. Although we ran out of wood in your bedroom, so that’s the weakest point. We’ve moved your bed in front of it.” Will says as he comes down the stairs with Benny following closely behind.
Frankie shoots them an appreciative smile. “Thank you… for helping us. You didn’t have to stay—”
The brothers reply in unison.
“Shut your stupid mouth—”
“Of course we did—”
It’s a small moment of normality, with smiles being shared so easily, and you cling to it even as they grab their bags and walk to their truck. Frankie appears from the remnants of his shed, carefully dumping a duffle bag in Will’s backseat and flipping it open to show the older Miller brother the few rifles Frankie had kept locked away.
Will immediately frowns at him. “The hell are you doing? We’re not taking those, you—”
“We’ll be locked up—you still need to get a four hour drive in. Chances are you’ll run into trouble before me, and I’d feel better knowing you’ve got the shit you need to make it safely.”
Will goes to argue, but sighs deeply knowing Frankie’s distinct stubbornness, and merely nods in thanks, stepping forward to embrace his friend tightly.
The sun starts to burn the back of your neck as you stand in the driveway and watch them, the gravel stabbing through the thin bottoms of your slippers as a distinct dryness claws at your throat, a bubble of a cry threatening to break free as the final few items are tossed in the bed of the truck.
Benny’s all smiles when he turns to you, but you see the stirrings of worry crease the edges of his expression. He swallows, bright eyes falling to the ground before his strong arms wind around you and tighten to the point you struggle to breathe. The thought hits you as soon as his face presses into your shoulder—
Is this the last time you’ll see them?
It has you returning the strength of his hug as much as you could, pressing as much love and gratitude for everything he’s done for both you and Frankie into the embrace.
Will soon takes his place as they swap over, his large hand cupping the back of your head affectionately and you can’t help the quiet sniff when he finally steps away a few moments later.
Benny’s eyes shine with the threat of tears but he stays firm, his jaw rolling to hold them in as he gazes at you both.
“I’m not sayin’ goodbye,” he mutters firmly after a moment of silence.
Will shares his sentiment with a quiet nod, cheeks straining with the effort of keeping the small smile curled on his lips.
“So…yeah.” Benny turns and gets into the truck, keeping his gaze stubbornly locked on the dashboard.
“Take care.” Will says, delivering one final affectionate slap to Frankie’s shoulder before walking around the truck and sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life and soon they’re pulling away.
“Are they going to make it to her in time?” You ask quietly, watching the dust swirl as the brothers disappear down the driveway, the squeal of their tyres hitting the asphalt of the highway only just reaching your ears as they speed away.
Frankie’s arm curls around your shoulders and you cuddle into him, pressing a warm kiss to his throat. His voice is strained when he answers, thick with emotion and your hold tightens.
“I hope so. Come on, let’s go and get the old man.”
——
You flutter through the door, barely taking a second to acknowledge Harry before you’re up the stairs, calling out questions about his prescriptions and where he keeps his overnight bag. Chip bounds up the stairs after you, Harry watching on with a fond, barely there little smile. Frankie crosses the threshold, stopping in his tracks when his eyes roll over the man.
Harry looks… polished.
There hadn’t been a single day Frankie had seen him out of dirty stained overalls, smeared with earth and sweat and paint and whatever else the man had busied himself with that day. His skin is clean of oil and dirt, his clothes are pressed and neat, he’s even wearing cologne.
“Nice suit, old man.” Frankie mutters finally, voice catching in his throat as Harry shuffles over to his recliner.
He smiles, his aged face wrinkling with the stretch of it, and something about the way it sits so naturally in his expression has a budding unease building in the pit of Frankie’s stomach. Something’s off. He pushes the feeling away, instead moving for the old jacket hanging on the coat hook and stepping towards him.
“They’re saying we’ve still got a bit of time, so I think we should get comfortable at our place now. We’ve barricaded the windows and the back door, I’ll nail up the front once we’re in.”
“You think it’ll hold?”
Frankie feels the twitch of a muscle by his mouth and Harry nods, sensing the wave of dread from across the room.
No he doesn’t think it’ll hold, but it was worth a try. Maybe if they saw the house all boarded up, they wouldn’t bother. It’s wishful thinking—if they’re as hell bent on invading as the so-called ‘experts’ said, a bit of wood wouldn’t stop them, but he didn’t dare say a word when you quietly suggested it.
“I’m not leaving, Frank.”
Frankie exhales sharply, fingers tightening around the coat. “Harry, don’t do this right now, alright? Just get up.”
He wasn’t hearing it—not today, not right now.
Harry had always been stubborn, and ninety nine point nine percent of the time Frankie found it endearing—often playing along with Harry’s sharp attitude with an easy smile and humour which seemingly melted the ice king into somewhat of a paternal figure over the years… but not today, with tensions running high and his nerves shot to the fucking roof. He just needed his family safe.
“No.” Harry says simply, resting his elbows on the arms of the recliner and overlapping his hands over his stomach. “I’ve made my decision, and I’d like you to respect it.”
Frankie snorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “And what decision is that, huh? You gonna stay here all by yourself and let whatever’s coming get to you? You gonna go down that easy, old man?”
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
“Dowhat?”
Harry’s gaze moves to the stairs, where echoes of you sound from where you move about, no doubt rifling through his medicine cabinet and packing away his usual medications. He didn’t want you around to hear this. Frankie watches him silently, teeth picking at the soft inner skin of his lower lip.
“I have no interest in living through this, Frank.”
Frankie frowns, a wave of shock rolling through his body. What does that even mean? He wantsto die? Where the hell is this coming from?
“Harry—”
“I’ve lived a damn good life, Frank.”
God no… no, please—
“Harry—”
“It’s alright, son.”
“No. She won’t leave you here. I won’t leave you here. Come on, this is stupid. We won’t let you do this.”
Harry heaves a soft sigh, lips curling softly. “This is what I want, Frank.”
“No. No, it’s not. You’re coming with us, and we’re gonna stay together, alright? You can give up—it’s fine. You can give up, but we’re not letting you die alone, okay? We’re not. Damn it, Harry, you can’t do this to me, to her—”
His knees hit the floor, and he pushes through the sudden feeling choking his throat. His fingers curl into the rough fabric of the chair, and he’s no longer fighting for himself, or Harry. It’s you. You’d spent more time with your neighbour, helping with appointments and medication and laundry and anything he ever needed—Harry was the world to you. You’d be devastatedleaving him behind.
He can’t let you go through this. He won’t. Not when everything already seems so bleak.
“Harry, please—please just…”
“Thisiswhat I want, Frank. I want to die on my own terms. Let me have my dignity. Please.”
“You shouldn’t be alone for this—”
Harry chuckles quietly, face so open and warm it creates such a sudden sense of home. A hand, rough and calloused and comforting, rests on Frankie’s hand and gives it a light, affectionate tap.
“I’m not alone, son.”
Frankie’s eyes fall to the vintage gold frame next to the recliner, taking in the aged black and white photograph and the young faces of Harry and Gloria huddled together under a shower of confetti. She had passed before you and Frankie had moved in, but there was no shortage of the stories Harry would tell you on the warm evenings on his porch.
“So this is it, huh?” Frankie swallows the thickness building in his throat, heaving a long, low sigh before moving his gaze back to meet Harry’s. “This is what you want?”
The man nods, and Frankie feels defeat creep along his shoulders.
“You’re gonna break her fucking heart, Harry.”
“I know.”
You appear then, Harry’s small overnight bag in hand. Frankie stands, and he can’t bear to look at you just yet. He keeps his eyes fixed on the old rug, taking a few deep breaths to calm the flood of anguish filling his system. Would you hate him after this?
“Are you ready?” You ask, a smile tugging at the edges of your lips. Harry stands, taking your outstretched hand and returning your small smile.
“I am, love.”
You smile at his words, but only Frankie understands what they truly mean. He tries to prepare; tries to get his thoughts and emotions in order before it happens and you’re left heartbroken and reeling. Would you even understand?
Harry pauses on the porch and you gently come to a stop when you feel the tug at your hand. You watch his eyes roll over the fields, thinking he just needed a few minutes to take it in before hiding away in your home.
“She would’ve loved you.” Harry says quietly after a few moments, and your eyes roll to meet his.
Gloria?Your brows twitch a little in confusion at his words, but you shoot him a little smile. “I’m sure I would’ve loved her, too.”
Harry hums, taking another moment of silence before speaking again. “Take care of my girl, Frank.”
Frankie appears at your side, jaw tight and dark eyes shining. “Yes, sir.”
Harry turns his attention to you, squeezing your hand softly. “And you take care of my boy.”
Your confusion grows. “Harry, I don’t understand—”
“It’s gonna be alright, love. You’ve got each other. Now off you go.”
“What? No, y—you’re coming with us.”
It’s obvious. Isn’t it obvious? Your frown deepens, your eyes darting to Frankie but he refuses to meet your gaze. What did he know that you didn’t? Your gaze flies back to Harry, anxiety starting to creep along your nerves.
“Youarecoming with us… right?”
“Not today, love. I’m staying here.”
“The hell you are—”
You don’t mean to raise your voice at him, but it’s just all so stupid. It’s fucking stupid. He should want to be safe. He should want to be with his loved ones. What was left? The invasion… it was happening, whether he wanted to address it or not. He couldn’t stay here, it was certain death—
Harry’s unwavering gaze hits you square in the chest. You feel like you’ve just taken a fist to the stomach. Your mouth opens, but you can’t seem to form a coherent sentence. You couldn’t just leave him here. Not to endure whatever was coming alone.
“Well… we’ll stay here then—”
He’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence. “It’s my time, love. I’ve decided what I want to do. It’s alright.”
What he wants to do? What does that even mean?
“It’s not—”
“I’ve made my choice. I’m going to be with my sweetheart, you need to be with yours.”
“But I—”
You stop, finding yourself with nothing to say to change his mind. You look to Frankie for some help, silently begging him to say something, but deep down you know it wouldn’t matter. You couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force him. You didn’t want the last moments between you to be full of anger and resentment because you made him do something he didn’t want to do, because you ignored his wishes and made him die the way he didn’t want to.
A tremble overtakes your bottom lip, and you inhale to calm the threat of sobs building in your chest, carefully putting his bag down by his feet.
“Okay,” you whisper weakly, “okay. If this is really what you want.”
Harry nods, his rough hand squeezing yours one final time before he releases his grip. You let Frankie help you down the steps, your eyes unable to move from Harry where he stands watching you go with a small comforting smile.
You’re almost to the truck when you can’t help but break free from Frankie’s hold and run towards the house, quickly advancing up the steps and wrapping your arms tightly around your neighbour.
He returns it just as strongly, murmuring a quiet reassurance before he sends you on your way, waving one last time to Frankie. You don’t dare to look away from him as Frankie drives away, turning you head and watching him fade from view through the back window, and when you get home, you strain your eyes to look in the distance and find he’s no longer standing on his porch.
——
You refuse to call it a last meal.
Even while cooking, you refused to acknowledge the strange finality hanging in the air as you moved about the kitchen, preparing whatever dishes you could from ingredients found in the cupboards. Maybe it was just something your mind tried to distract you with, to keep your thoughts from running and focusing on the losses you had already suffered today.
Frankie sits opposite you, soft eyes rolling over each dish before speaking quietly, “I want to pray.”
Your eyes fly to his face in surprise. He’d never been into religion, apart from the Sundays his mother would take him to church when he was younger, so his quiet declaration was unexpected, but you quickly school your features before his gaze moves to yours, and you smile softly.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
He swallows, almost nervously, his tongue running along his lips before he reaches forward to take your hands. He feels so out of depth. He hadn’t prayed in years. Did this make him a hypocrite? To only turn to God when it’s too late?
He stays silent, lips pursing in thought.
“I’ve forgotten how these fucking things go.” He mutters, cheeks finally creasing with a grin when you giggle tiredly at his words.
“Well I don’t think that’sright.”
He’s quiet for another moment longer before his voice starts a quiet prayer, and you take a quick second to admire his face in the low candlelight while his eyes are closed. You follow the curve of his nose, trace the patches of dark facial hair running along his jaw, watch the way his soft lips move with each word and your heart grows heavy in your chest.
So beautiful.
You feel emotion bubble up in your throat as his words melt in your ears, asking whoever could possibly be looking down on humanity—if any—to ensure you were kept safe and unharmed, to spare you from any pain and suffering and to find peace no matter what happens.
Your fingers tighten around his. “What about you?”
One eye snaps open and focuses on you, “What about me?”
“I don’t want Heaven if you’re not there. Make sure He knows we’re a package deal. Chip, too.”
He snorts, eye closing and grin widening. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
Your eyes finally close, and you sigh lightly. “Well it does with us.”
The food’s cold by the time you get around to eating it, but neither of you mind. Frankie keeps up most of the conversation as you pick at the food, keeping you present and focused on the now and not what’s coming. It feels almost normal. It feels like the world isn’t ending, even if only for a little while. You both ignore the dishes and the mess leftover, instead moving to the lounge room where the radio plays soft melodies.
The radio stations had long been abandoned, with everyone running to be with their loved ones, but they had set up playlists until it could no longer play. Loss of service would be the beginning, they had said. A part of you hopes the music will never stop.
“Can we… can we dance?”
It’s your watery eyes that have him nodding, his hand immediately reaching out to curl around yours. He tugs until you’re pressed against him, your face buried in his shirt and he breathes you in, eyes scrunching shut and devoting every sense to remembering the smell of you, the feelof you.
His lips trace whatever skin he can reach, his hands cradle and cup and roam. Long moments pass before he even remembers your request, and so he starts to sway, the muscles in his jaw straining as he fights the building lump in his throat.
“I should’ve danced with you more.” He whispers regretfully, cheek resting against the side of your head.
You shake your head, pulling gently away to gaze at him. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I would.”
“No,” you shake your head again, smiling despite the tears that build along your lash line. “Everything was so perfect. I’m so—I’m so happy to have found you, Frankie. What we have… I’m so thankful.”
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He murmurs, sincerity ringing through his statement as a warm hand cradles your cheek softly.
A gentle heat washes along under your skin, and you turn into his touch with a soft chuckle, eyes fluttering closed as his rough thumb brushes softly over the skin under your eye, swiping away the lone tear you didn’t even know had fallen. Lips press against yours and you melt into his kiss, smiling against his lips.
“Ditto, Mr Morales.”
Static cuts through the air.
It’s an abrupt end to the soothing music that had just been filling the room, and he feels the way you shift, the way your breathing starts to accelerate and how you start to tremble in his hold. He hates that there’s nothing he can do.
“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
“God, I love you so fucking muchFrankie—”
“I know, baby. I know. I love you.”
A creak sounds from the front of the house, the usual quiet groan of the timber porch adjusting under body weight filling your ears like the thunder of a jet plane engine. Frankie’s head turns to the boarded up front door, his crushing hold keeping you tight up against him.
Your voice is shaky, and muffled against his shirt as your fingers dig into his chest. “They’re here.”
Chip confirms your words, the heckles along his back rising as takes a protective stance in front of you both, a series of sharp fierce barks tearing from his throat as a shadow passes by the slither of daylight peaking through the cracks in the barricaded window.
You jolt with a cry at the sudden gunfire.
Harry.
Bile builds in your throat but you swallow it down, chest heaving with the effort of fighting the sobs threatening to break free. Was that it? Was that him taking his decision into his own hands? You hate to think of your elderly neighbour ending his life, but maybe that’s better than waiting for whatever will happen…
It’s okay.
He’s gone. He won’t suffer anything now. He won’t suffer, he won’t—
Another shot.
Only this time, you can hearhim after it. He’s yelling, his hoarse aged voice filled with fury and melting through the walls and then you’re fighting for Frankie to release you, rushing to the door and resting your hands against the wood in desperation.
He’s out there.
Did he change his mind? Did he want to be with you both?
“Harry?!”
You know he can’t hear you, and yet you can’t help but call for him. Your hands bang against the wood, your fingers curl around the edge of the timber and pull, but the nails beaten into the edges hold firm. You’re incoherent, words falling in a mixture of confusing pleas as your head spins, your gaze anxiously flittering over anything you could use to pry the panel away.
“Frankie, we have to open the door!”
Another shot, and you can’t help the pained cry that joins it.
“Harry!”
You listen to him shout, tears slipping free from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks as his demands of whatever’s lurking around your house to leave you alone sound through the door.
“Frankie,come on—!”
He’s staring at the door when you quickly turn to him, to beg him to find the hammer and rip this stupid fucking barricade away so you could get to Harry and pull him in to safety, but he stays motionless. A single tear falls, followed by another, and then another, and yet he still doesn’t fucking move.
His gaze flickers to meet yours, and you see the swirling quiet apology filling his eyes behind the hard determined edge to his expression.
No he won’t open the door.
As much as something in him screams at him to run to Harry’s aid, he refuses to gamble with your life; refuses to have you potentially torn away from him with no hope of return. He didn’t know how many… thingswere waiting outside the walls.
He runs it all through his mind, calculating every hypothetical situation with trained efficiency.
He knows where Harry is from where he had heard his voice, he knows how quickly he could get to him without anything in his way… but then what would happen to you? To Chip? Chip would undoubtedly follow him right into the thick of it. You would too, even if he begged you to stay behind… and then where would that leave you all? Out there, in the open with no cover or safety, for them to pick off as they pleased.
No.
It’s not happening.
You barely even realise how deathly silent it’s gotten. You still pound at the timber, still scream for Harry and beg for Frankie to open the door. Why won’t he open the door? Harry’s out there. Harry’s out there, and he’s alone, probably terrified—
A warm body presses into your back, Frankie’s rough hands winding around your wrists to gently bring your hands to a stop. Lips press softly against your temple, his voice quiet against your skin.
“He’s gone.”
“No—”
“He’s gone.” He repeats firmly, softly moving your hands away from the door until they’re cradled against your chest.
You don’t get a chance to mourn, to grieve. They come back. They scratch against the door and it’s almost taunting. They circle the house, they bang against the windows, and Chip doesn’t know which way to face, where to direct his attention. Frankie moves you back away from the door, his eyes hard and jaw set as the banging gets louder.
“They’re… they’re just making noise.” You whisper shakily. Why aren’t they trying to break in? Where’s the force?
He doesn’t reply, but he knows what they’re doing. He’s played these games before, worked these strategies. One team to distract, one team to infiltrate. He turns his attention to any noises behind the random banging, catching the faint hint of scratching of something above.
“They’re on the roof.”
You nod, seemingly in a daze, and turn in his arms. “Okay. It’s okay. I love you. Frankie, please look at me.”
He does immediately.
“I love you.”
He swallows, staring into your watery eyes and tracing your cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. “I love you.”
“At least we’re together.” You murmur, tears finally falling. He doesn’t have the strength to talk, but he nods in agreement. He’s happy you’re here, happy that you both came back together in time and that you weren’t somewhere alone for this.
Glass smashes on the upper floor, followed by the sudden weight of something hitting the floor and Frankie whips around to face the stairs, keeping you shielded behind him. They’re in the house. They’re in the fucking house—
Chip loses his nerve and starts to whine, backing up uneasily from the stairs. He hears your quiet whimper, feels the way your fingers grasp and tighten at the back of his shirt. He works his jaw as he strains his ears to listen to the muted thuds above you, eyes watching the stairwell and waiting, waiting for whoever—or whatever—will come down.
Was this really how he goes?
Was this really how he lets yougo?
No.
He whirls away from the stairs and grabs your hand, whistling sharply for Chip to follow, pulling and shoving you through the kitchen until you’re in the pitch-black stairwell of the basement. He urges you down the steps, waiting until Chip slips through behind him before slamming the door shut and bracing himself against it.
“Baby, what—”
“I’m not dying. Not today. We’re not—” he’s muttering and you can barely hear him over the sound of your heart thundering away in your chest, “no. I’m not ready. I’m not—I’m not ready. I don’t want to go.”
He’s trembling as he holds onto the door handle, and you move forward until your face presses into his back. You wind your arms around him and shush him gently, “It’s okay. It’s okay,baby.”
“No, no it’s not. I’m not ready. I haven’t asked you to marry me. I haven’t… god, there’s still so much I want to—fuck!”
And then the door’s shaking and Frankie’s bearing down on the ground, holding tightly onto the door handle and pushing against it to keep it closed with everything he has. The abnormal clicking sounds through the only thing keeping you separated from them and you run your hands desperately over the dusty shelving trying to find something to help as Frankie grunts behind you.
Chair. There’s a busted chair down here somewhere—
Your ankles hit something laying on the ground and you quickly grab it, dragging it over to the door and letting Frankie jam the back of it hard up under the door handle. The door rattles, the force behind it increasing with their urge to get through, but it stays firmly shut and you both exhale in relief. You find the torch that you had just passed over, flicking it on and giving it a little shake when the old battery struggles to light the bulb.
“Are you okay?” Frankie asks after a moment, dark eyes locked on the door as the banging lessons until it’s just a random thud every now and then. They’re doing it again.
“Yeah. Are you?”
He ignores your question. “When we moved in, did the realtor say anything about external access to the basement?”
“Uh, I think—”
“Where?”
You swallow as his hard eyes fix on you. “There’s a coal chute. The previous owners blocked it up, though.”
“Where?”
You lead him around the shelving and shine the torch towards the far wall, the bright beam running along the aged brick until it suddenly bathes Chip in light. His tongue lolls out of his mouth when he sees he’s got both Frankie and yours attention, his tail picking up an excited little wag. The chute was right behind him, a soft breeze playing through the grate and gently rustling his fur.
“Frankie—”
Chip‘s startled yelp fills the basement as a hand materialises out of nowhere and wraps around him tightly.
You scream for him, dropping the torch to the floor as both you and Frankie rush forward. You wrap your hands around Chip’s body, pulling against the hold around his neck with a sob. You dig your nails into the unnatural leathery feel of it, the pained hiss from behind the grate your only warning before it moves wildly for you.
You fall back just out of reach and quickly drag the solid weight of Chip with you, the soles of your shoes slipping with your hasty shuffles backwards in an effort to move away from the chute.
Frankie appears from the side and aims a harsh foot at the flailing arm, his grunt and the distinct sound of breaking bones filling the barely lit basement before the heavy slide of metal grating along the ground claws at your ears.
You don’t stop moving until you’re bathed in torchlight, not quite ready to stand and retrieve it as your heart beats wildly in your chest. You inhale and exhale deeply, burying your face in Chip’s fur and cradling him tightly as Frankie works away in the darkness, ensuring whatever he had slid in front of the chute held up.
It’s when you smooth a tender hand down the underside of Chip’s jaw, running along the softness of his throat do you notice it. Your hand feels wet, warm, and you shakily bring it into view, face falling at the bright red that coats your skin.
“Oh god, Frankie—h-he’s bleeding.”
Your words bring him to you immediately.
“Hey bud, you did so good.” Frankie coos hoarsely, dropping to his knees in front of you with a sharp exhale and moving to kiss the space between Chip’s eyes. “Good boy, it’s alright, let me see—”
His fingers pry between his fur, sweat beading and sliding down his temples while his chest heaves from the sudden burst of exertion. His blood rushes through his system, adrenaline firing along his nerves and he takes another deep breath to steady the slight shake in his hands. He finds the injury, his fingertips quickly soaking from the blood as it flows freely from the wound. It’s deep.
“Fuck. It’s—it’s okay. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
He tugs at the hem of his shirt, tearing a strip of cotton from it and pushing it to the wound, quietly encouraging you to put pressure against it. Chip whines softly, shifting in your arms but settling when you press kisses above his ears.
“I’ve got you, baby boy. It’s gonna be okay—we’re here.”
Frankie cups your jaw, Chip’s blood smearing along your skin, and he tilts your face until his forehead presses lightly against yours. “I love you.”
You breathe a gentle sigh of relief, eyes falling closed as his warm breath blows across your face. “I love you.”
——
I know I said June 1st I’ll stop using old lists but I prematurely deleted them so yoloo. New lists now in use lmao. Fill out this form if you want to join new lists xo
Pairing:TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount:15.4K Warnings: trauma. self-hatred. alcohol/drug abuse (this is srs this chapter). reverse harem. fluids. insecurities. angst. smut. injuries from choking. mentions of hair. rough sex. barf. Summary:She spirals. Things get complicated. A/N:wow this chapter took A MONTH. a struggle indeed because it dealt with some serious triggering things that i wanted to get right. you may find it hard to like our girl here, but she’s been through a lot. My utter thanks to@frannyzooey who sent me constant encouragement and help me with transitions and clearing up so many confusing parts. my gal @krissology who sends the most horny thots and ideas for the smut and dialogue. she literally worked her ass off writing the most romantically delicious book so order it or perish. i hope you all like because your comments make my life
The thing about living with men running a criminal enterprise was that they could get their hands on anything: alcohol, speed, benzos, automatic weapons, Bengal tigers, vintage Quaaludes (which she doubted still worked). It wasn’t terribly surprising that their “doctor” would also give her whatever she asked for.
Of course, of course, Ms. Faire. Sounds great. I’ll have it delivered.
It had started with the birth control. Pope had readily agreed when she had asked him about needing a script. No further comment. He’d ducked his head, his cheeks glinting pink as he wordlessly handed her a business card.
“Just call him,” he muttered. “He’ll give you anything you want.”
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 500
Warnings:M, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, allusions to sexual acts, Frankie being a sweetie is its own warning, and feelings sprinkled in there for flavor.
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 1900
Warnings:M, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 1100
Warnings:E, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies, allusions to sexual acts, Frankie being a sweetie is its own warning, some angst and feelings sprinkled in there for flavor.
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 4900
Warnings: E, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (F receiving), female masturbation, fingering (f receiving), safe PiV sex, a touch of Feral Frankie, one ass slap, fingers in mouths, cum eating, some angst and feelings sprinkled in there for flavor.
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 3500
Warnings:M, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies, allusions to sexual acts.
Oh he’s so dangerous, he knows exactly what to do to make her feel completely at home and cared for. And then offer her exactly what she needs! I wouldn’t struggle to say yes either.
Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Catfish Morales x F!Reader
Word Count: 1900
Warnings:M, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, descriptions of male and female bodies
