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charethcutestory02 · 3 months

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A Lesson in Greed

Will teaches you not to be greedy.

(And also, that your orgasms belong to him).

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Dom/sub. Dominance. Dom William "Ironhead" Miller. Control. Teasing. Orgasm Control. Forced Orgasm. Orgasm Delay/Denial. Multiple Orgasms. Power Dynamics. Caretaking. Brat Tamer William “Ironhead” Miller. Pet Names. Daddy Kink. Sex Toys. Clit torture. Aftercare.

Word Count: ~ 2.1k

“No, no, baby, you do what I say,” Will chides you, as he holds the vibrator against your clit.

He grinds it a little, angling it down, causing your hips to attempt to buck against him, but he tightens his legs down, stronger over yours.

“You wanna cum without permission, you have to deal with the consequences,” he says, softly, planting a gentle kiss behind your ear and you can hear the smile in his tone.

You whine out a breath, body jerking, wondering how you’d gotten yourself into this position.

Will had come home, just a little while earlier, after finishing a job with his dad. He’d been pent up and dragged you straight to bedroom, silent as he undressed you and laid you down on the bed.

He was firm, in-control, not too unusual from his normal mood, but the one thing he had said to you was, ‘Don’t cum.’

He didn’t normally control your orgasms like this, preferring to allow you to freely cum, whenever you felt like it. He liked giving you multiple orgasms, was proud of how wet you could get.

But tonight, something was different. He wanted to completely Dominate you, and that included your pleasure.

However, he didn’t make it easy. Relentlessly rubbing your clit, nipping behind your ear, thrusting deeply, but gently into that spot inside you that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, until… it happened.

Will felt you flutter around him, liquid gushing between you and pulled out with a derisive ‘tut’ coming from his lips.

“Baby,” he admonished. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Not cum. And you couldn’t even listen.” His tone callous.

He’d pulled out you, sat up against the headboard, brought you to sit in his laps, legs spread wide, trapped under his, and his withdrew your little clit vibrator from the bedside drawer.

Looking down at you over your shoulder, he asked, “Is this fully charged?”

Letting a soft, shaky breath out, you nodded your head, whispering, “Uh, ye-… Yes,” you stammered, uncertainty tinged in the tone.

He doubled down, gripping your chin tightly with the hand holding the vibrator.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was hard. “I’m gonna ask again, and you’d better be sure. If it ain’t gonna last…” he threatens, looking deep into your eyes, realisation setting in.

Before he can ask, you nod more firmly, voice stronger, responding, “Yes, Sir. It’s fully charged. I charged it yesterday…” you trail off, breath hitching as he nodded his appreciation.

That was thirty minutes ago and however many orgasms.

You’d lost count.

“That’s it, darlin’, good girl…” he whispers against your ear, his hard cock straining against your back, feeling him shift slightly as he twists the vibrator a little, hitting the underside of your clit as he holds it firm, pressure causing another flood of liquid to rush out of you as your back arches, your legs stiffen and your toes curl.

“Oh… oh… hnnn… please…” you cry out as your orgasm subsides.

“Shh… shh… there’s my good girl,” Will soothes, briefly lifting the buzzing vibrator off your clit while kissing your cheek. You turn your head so he meets your lips and he eagerly kisses your mouth.

He brings his fingers to roll your hard and sensitive clit, the vibrator still buzzing, occasionally knocking your puffy cunt as he prods and tickles your clit.

“Oh god… Will… please… I can’t-” you beg as he brings his other hand down from where he had been firmly holding your head to slap at your breast.

“You can,” he tells you, voice hard. “I know what you need, baby. Don’t tell me what you can’t handle,” he says, mimicking your earlier cry.

He slips the vibrator back onto your clit and you let out a low moan.

He rolls the tip around your nub, dipping down a little, giving you a bit of breathing room, but not for long, as he loves torturing your clit.

“Mmm… that’s it… there ya go, baby,” he praises, bucking his hips and hardened dick against your backside. “Gonna cum again for me, darlin’,” he tells you, and you immediately do.

“Fuuuuuuck!” You exclaim as Will just chuckles behind your ear. “Hnnn… please.. Will.. hnn…” you groan as he digs the vibrator deeper against your folds, not giving you a second’s reprieve, trying to make you cum again.

“You want to disobey me, baby, you have to deal with the consequences,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“You need to listen to what I say,” he orders, clicking the vibrator up a notch, the buzzing intensifies.

“You need to do what I tell you to,” he directs, pulling your legs further apart with his calves and twisting the vibrator over the head of your clit, and around to the side.

“You need to be a good girl for me, baby. Do what Daddy says,” he finishes, bringing his spare hand down to push against your mound, trapping you further, but putting pressure on the spot just above your clit as he digs the vibrator against your clit, setting the tiny bundle of nerves alight.

“Arghhhhhhhhh…. FUUUUCK!” You scream out as your orgasm explodes out of you, gushing all over yours and Will’s thighs.

“Oh… baby, you know I love it when you squirt,” he tells you, the grin evident in his voice.

He clicks the vibrator off, tossing it to the side and expertly and effortlessly manoeuvring your body to flip you around to face him, seating you over his lap, your legs wrapping around his hips lazily.

He groans, wasting no time, running his knuckles gently through your soaked folds, before grabbing his hard, leaking, angry looking tip and pushing the head into your tight passage.

“Hnnnn…” you groan as he simultaneously moans, “Fuuuuck, baby,” a low growl coming through.

He isn’t slow, but he doesn’t fuck up into you roughly, merely ensuring he gets his thick, long dick all the way inside, causing you endless pleasure as he breaches your tight cunt and fits himself fully inside you, grabbing your hips to pull you down to sit snugly against him.

“Ohhh… fuck…” you call out as his rough movement causes the tip of his big dick to reach that spot inside you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, nuzzling your neck.

You throw your head back, gasping as he strokes his long length up inside you, your hips meeting his.

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, tugging at his hair at the nape of his neck as he tilts his head down at you, placing a rough kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and finally, as you lift your head to meet him, your lips.

You moan into his mouth as he bites your lip and slips his tongue inside, consuming you with his Dominance.

“Uhnnnnn….” You moan as his pace fucking up unto you quickens a little.

“Yeah baby, yeah… hnnn… that’s it,” he goads, tightening his grip on your hip and bringing his other hand back down to tease your clit.

Oversensitivity still ripe, you bring a hand down to grab his wrist before you can even think about what you’re doing.

He pauses. His hips still. His cock stiff inside you. His palm resting near your clit and slowly tilts his head down at you, blue eyes icily staring you down.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” He taunts, before pulling his hand back slightly and slapping your pussy, index finger catching your clit, firmly.

Thwap!

“Yeowwww!” You cry out, your body wracked with pleasure through the pain.

He slaps your cunt again.

Thwap!

“You don’t try and stop me, little one,” he says, voice incredulous.

Thwap!

“You take,” thwap, “what your Daddy,” thwap, “gives you,” thwap, thwap, THWAP!

“Ohhh… hnnnn… please….” You cry, tears falling from your eyes as he begins fucking back up into you, the hand still on your hip, gripping you down hard on his lap.

“I’m… sorr-“ you hiccup. “I’m so, so, sorry, Daddy,” you whine as you feel yourself edging closer and closer to another orgasm.

“Hmmm,” he says, thoughtfully, as he brings his mouth to your lips, kissing you gently, then trailing small kisses up your cheek to your ear. “I know you are, baby,” he says, huffing out a breath as he moves his mouth down to your clavicle, sucking a deep, bruising kiss down there.

He grunts as he fucks his hips up into you, skin slapping at the impact.

“Gonna cum again for me, baby,” he murmurs, breath hitching. “And again, and again. As many times as I want, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” He asks, grinning at you and you try as hard as you can to return the smile, but your body is no longer listening to you.

You’ve hit that space, where Will controls everything that happens and you know he’s going to make you feel even better than you already do.

“Yes… Daddy,” you whine as the tip of his thick cock hits that spot inside you again and again.

You feel your walls clench around him, tightening, bringing him closer, too. His movements become slightly more erratic, letting you know.

His fingers dip down to where he’s thrusting inside you, pushing a finger in alongside and you groan at the stretch.

“Hmmm… yeah, baby, gimme a lil’ more… that’s it,” he murmurs, kissing you just below your ear.

Your body tightens, a low tingling moving from the inside out as he brings his hand back down to your clit, fingering your hard nub, over sensitive from his earlier treatment.

He rubs and taps it in all the right spots. A gentle, tentative touch on the underside. A firm splaying of his fingers around the nub, before rubbing his fingers against it and stroking short thrusts up into you, hitting that spot again and again.

“Ohhh… fuuuckk, Willl…” you moan as another intense orgasm explodes from within, causing your whole body to shake and droop against him.

He removes his hand from your aching clit, bringing it up to wrap around your head, his mouth attached to yours.

You clench around him and hear him groan.

“Fuck, baby, yeah… just like that…” he moans, hips stilling as he shoots his load inside you. Pulse after pulse after pulse, unleashing his Dominance after controlling you all evening.

“Please….” You whimper as he leans back, panting, body jolting from the aftershocks.

He licks his lips, giving you a small smile. “Mmm… baby… so good for me…” leaning in and kissing you firmly, bringing both his hands up to grip your head tightly.

You whimper as a tremble runs through your body and you lean up against him.

“Okay, baby… I got you…” he says, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs, wiping the tears.

He brings a hand down to his cock, still nestled inside you, pulling back and removing his cock from your tight grip with a groan.

He feels your spend come spilling out, followed by his cum and he just chuckles.

He kisses your forehead as he gently places you to lie down on the bed.

You hear him make his way to the bathroom, but can barely keep your eyes open, what with being fucked into bliss by your extremely attentive, Dominant, well-hung husband.

He comes back, brushing your forehead with the cloth, wiping your tear-stained cheeks. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, licking in gently as he reaches between your legs, cleaning you thoroughly.

He leans back, one arm stroking your shoulder gently as he wipes his rapidly softening cock, before tossing the cloth to the side of the room, his natural athleticism coming through, when the cloth falls seamlessly into the laundry hamper.

He nudges you further across the bed, pulling the covers back and climbing in next to you.

“Mmm…” you murmur as he turns you on your side and slots a thigh between your legs, feeling him scoot up right behind you.

He brings a strong arm over your shoulders, softly toying with your boobs, tweaking the nipple.

“Hmmm… please, Will,” you beg, really thinking you’re not going to be able to take anymore tonight.

“Shhhh, darlin’,” he says. “I’m done for today. Just wanna hold you…” His voice is soothing.

You breathe out a content sigh and lean your head back against him.

“Everything okay, Will?” You ask quietly and you feel him nod against you, placing soft kisses against the back of your head.

“Mmm, yeah, baby. Just had to plan some stuff with dad. All good though,” he murmurs, nudging his knee further between your legs. “Go to sleep, baby. I love you.”

You sigh again and rest your head against the pillow, closing your eyes. “Mmm… love you, too.” You reply, before drifting off to sleep.

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Masterlist

Tags: @ashleyfilm @romanarose @sullyrocky44 @ghostfanwriter @gosmigenergy @legendary-pink-dot @yorksgirl @sheepdogchick3 @gemmahale @beefros-non-peepaw-bin @triplefrontier-anniversary

#dark triple frontier #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller smut #dom will miller #Mrs miller series #william ironhead miller #william miller smut #william miller x reader

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morallyinept · 7 months

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Trick Or Treat? - A Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York Halloween One Shot 🎃

Summary: It's Halloween and you're settling in for a creepy night alone with a scary movie, when three masked intruders break in. And they have more tricks than treats in mind for you. 🎃

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 10.5k ish - 'Issa long one. Better grab some spooky snacks. 👻

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit: DARK/DDDNE/implied noncon/implied dubcon/CNC/free use/anything goes/implied forced/established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/squirting/anal play/restraint/dirty talk/derogatory/some mild degradation/some mild assault in the form of slaps, scratching, biting/jump scares/mentions of clowns & a clown mask image below the cut - eh, some people hate 'em. Dave York comes with his own warning. 🥴

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

Author's Note: Happy Halloween!! 🎃 I'm fully aware that this might not be for everyone, and that's totally fine. You can just move on quietly if it's not for you. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Couldn't think of any better trio of Pedro Boys to mess with you on Halloween, other than Frankie, Joel & Dave.

Enjoy! 🖤🎃

MASTERLIST

The lounge is dimly lit.

Shadows curated from the trenches of nightmares claw across the walls as you perch on the edge of your worn-out couch, crowded with the mass invasion of mis-matched cushions.

The eerie glow from the flat screen casts an otherworldly pallor upon your face, accentuating the nervous flicker around your eyeballs that are wide with bulging scleras; watery white orbs in the dark.

The room is drenched in an unsettling silence, broken only by the haunting soundtrack of the horror movie slashing its way across your screen, from which you can’t tear away your fixed gaze.

Every creak of the house, every groan in the walls, sends fleeting shivers down your spine as you clutch one of the cushions tightly, pulled further into the chilling world of the movie.

It's Halloween night and the bowl, brimming full of sugared candy treats for the Witching Hour to begin, is resting languidly on the coffee table ready for the barrage of trick-or-treaters bound to harangue you all night long. Until you stop answering the door and devour them all for yourself. It always happens.

But, as you watch the movie, engrossed in the suspenseful carnage that is about to erupt, slowly bringing mouthfuls of warm, buttery homemade popcorn up to your mouth, you start to regret it.

You always do this to yourself; cue the manic paranoia afterwards, lying in bed and getting freaked out by strange noises rattling around in the house. Turning the light off and running up the stairs really, really fast so a crazed, masked killer - that is purely a figment of your over active imagination, whose just endured copious hours of jump scares - doesn't get you.

As the movie’s tension mounts, so too does your own. Your heart races in sync with the frantic, heavy beats of the ominous bass that vibrates in through your toes. Fear creeps up your spine with icy tendrils, constricting your chest with each suspenseful twist.

A young Jamie Lee Curtis is running for her life across the screen; a giant man in a boiler suit and waxy mask wielding a kitchen knife is chasing her, and you're yelling at her to run.

Run bitch!

You're invested wholly in the terror of the movie. Your fingernails leave crescent imprints on the fabric of the cushion you clutch, as if they could anchor you to reality amidst the growing dread that consumes you.

The room’s shadows deepen, feel heavier somehow in the darkest corners and seem to slink and shift in the periphery of your vision. Your mind plays tricks on you, conjuring grotesque shapes from the inky void to float towards you, but any sense of your own mild panic is marred by the screaming on the screen that pulls your attention away.

The rest of the house is unusually quiet around you, its existence ebbing away. Oblivious to the malevolent, unseen eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness, you continue to fill your mouth with the salty, puffed kernels.

"Run, why are you standing there, just fucking run!" You crunch to Jamie Lee; your eyes wide and the music hammering around you loudly as the killer is in the house with her, and she hasn't realised it yet.

Oh, the irony.

A figure continues to emerge from the swirly shadows, edging towards you in the dark where the light of the TV hasn't reached. It moves with a haunting grace as if it's part of the very darkness it inhabits. You feel hairs prickle up on the back of your neck as you watch the tension on the screen play out.

You know how this shit goes down; you've seen this movie millions of times, but it still gets you. Still makes you jump out of your skin at the right parts and-

"BOO!"

A maniacal laugh pierces your eardrum from behind and you screech in absolute terror.

The bowl of popcorn ends up all over the floor as you launch yourself up from the couch like you’ve been tasered, turning and screaming as you hear that sinister laugh morph into one you begin to recognise.

Big, splayed hands reach for you from within the dark and you squeal louder, backing up as the sinister marauder advances on you.

"Hey it's me, muñeca. It's me!" But he's still laughing and it's not fucking funny.

Your heart is trying to make a dash out of your throat and you swear to God some pee might’ve trickled down your leg.

"What the Hell are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?!"

You slap his hands away angrily as he reaches for your shaky ones, and the light from the TV assures you it's Frankie, still chuckling to himself from behind a cheap, neon-coloured clown mask.

"Jesus Christ," you sigh, catching your breath.

You're still trying to choke your thrashing heart back down into your chest. It's not going down without a rowdy fight apparently as you cough and splutter. "Why would you scare me like that?! What are you wearing?" You query with a shudder as he pulls off the grotesque mask.

It's a sinister, somewhat ugly clown, complete with rainbow coiffed curls, white cracked rubber for a face and peeling red nose. All your explicit, childish nightmares come true to form and are made graphically real - too real. You shiver again as you see it, now crumpled up in his hand.

"You should've seen your face!" He's laughing again and it's hard not to punch him right now. Or drop kick him in the balls.

"I fucking hate clowns." You growl, shoving him in the broad shoulder, as he tries to pull you towards him, but you resist in protest.

"Hey, it's just me." Frankie reassures, pulling you into the stack of his chest and trying to kiss your cheek in attempted fuzzy apologies, but you still repel him.

"I know," you say, rubbing your arm uneasily and pouting at him. “It’s not funny.”

"Aww, hermosa. Come here, I'm sorry. Voy a parar, lo siento. Lo siento." He pulls you closer into his strong arms wrapping you up tight for a moment, and closing your eyes you're immediately in your safe place; safe in Frankie’s arms where nothing horrific can get you.

You feel your heartbeat regain its usual steady tempo and your body melts into a heated pool of slush as he soothes you, rubbing his large hands up and down your back.

It's hard to stay mad at him when he holds you like this.

"Aren't you going to be late?" You murmur a few enraptured seconds later into his warm neck skin; your nose nuzzling into the soft, sparse scruff that roots there. You taste it as the oaky scents of his heady cologne makes your mouth water.

He groans deliciously, stirring a flurry again in your rib cage, as you run your tongue up towards his ear and suck gently on the lobe.

"Mmm," he smiles blissfully, crushing your bones into his. You feel his hands now sliding down further, past the small of your back, and pawing at the pliable meat of your ass.

You tug hard on his ear with your teeth and he hisses as you clamp down.

"Ow!" He whines. You snicker up at him.

"Revenge." You titter.

“Eso duele,” he gripes, pouting.

"Look at this mess." Your bare feet are crunching into the popcorn that’s all over the floor as if an Arctic blast has just hit.

"I'll help you clean up." Frankie offers, tossing the clown mask onto the couch. You make a mental note to throw the ghastly thing in the trash once he’s gone.

"No, you go. The guys are waiting for you."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." You nod with a soft smile, and watch as Frankie retrieves his favourite blue cap from his back pocket, unfolds and fixes it back into its rightful place on his tufty curls.

"I'll just be a few hours. Beers and some cards..." He smiles with cocoa eyes.

"Take as long as you want. I'll probably be asleep when you get back anyway." You say grimacing down at the mess.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just gonna finish up the movie then climb into bed early."

"Hardcore." He teases, pulling you towards him again.

You kiss him on the lips gently. He wraps his hands around the small of your back and you can feel him. Feel that mounting swell of him against your belly as he stiffens in his stonewash Levi’s.

The kiss between you intensifies, his tongue slipping slowly into the hungry void of your mouth. A polluting convergence of wanton desire and longing as he murmurs into your wet gums. It sizzles in your bloodstream, warming you from the inside out.

"Might have to wake you up…" Frankie purrs as you pull away, breathless; your heart thudding, as well as your clit that feels like it’s growing in size and weighing you down.

You grin, clenching internally at the thought of how Frankie specialises in waking you up.

You pull on the lapels of his jacket, twisting the artichoke corduroy, working through the mental images of tossing him on the couch, straddling his face and sending him to the guys with your slick drying in his facial scruff.

"Go on, get going, you jackass." You warn, bending down to pick up the popcorn bowl. You feel a gentle swat on your butt.

"Enjoy the movie, baby." He says.

You smile standing upright. "Say hi to Joel and Dave for me."

Frankie turns back to you, his eyes appearing like black shiny marbles in the dark shadows, and smiles sinisterly at you.

An hour or so later - the clown mask successfully dumped in the trash ceasing to haunt you - and you’ve already given up answering the door to demanding, greedy little witches, hobgoblins and mummies wrapped up in cheap ply toilet paper.

The bowl of candy is now nestled snugly in your lap; the floor clear of the discarded popcorn. Your eyes are glued back to the flat screen as you finish the remainder of the movie, sinking down further into the couch so that you’re almost horizontal, as you chew and suck the candy corn clacking around your teeth.

A knock on the door a little while later makes you jump, but you ignore it, deciding the kids in your neighbourhood have had their fill. You reach for your phone - the light illuminating your face in the dark with Frankie’s beaming grin whilst he noogies you set as your wallpaper - to see it’s a little past nine PM.

You toss it on the couch beside you, absorbing in the movie, reaching into the candy bowl for more as Michael Myers terrorises Jamie Lee to no end.

The door knocks again, this time a thudding hammering.

What the hell?

You pause the movie and get up with the candy bowl, padding over to the hall and towards the front door. The knocks grow louder, more insistent, making you flinch.

“Alright, Jesus!” You call out as you open the door, expecting to see a cluster of snarky little demons holding out their treat bags gluttonously.

But as you wrench the door open, you’re met with only the stark emptiness of the dense night. Frowning, you poke your head out further and see there's only vacant spaces hidden in the shadows of the porch.

You shut the door, convincing yourself it’s a harmless prank from bored teenagers that you’ve become a victim to.

You run your hand around a niggling crick in your neck from slumping on the couch for so long and head back towards the lounge.

Before you reach the end of the hall, another barrage of hammering rattles through your body. Turning, you march towards the front door and pull it open again.

“This isn’t funny, you little dipshits!” You holler out determined to catch them in the act.

Again, there’s nobody there; the street is empty, devoid of any life or wily children making the rounds for poison candied apples. You hesitate, torn between curiosity and a faint bleed of fear haemorrhaging somewhere within your muscles.

“The fuck…?” You query as a cold breeze nips at the tops of your shoulders as you step out onto the porch.

“Hello?” You call out, nerves already frayed as they're going to get this evening; your patience is running thin.

The eerie silence of the night that greets you back seems deafening as it plugs up all your senses. The breeze restlessly pulls the goose bumps out of your pores and you instantly feel foolish, if but a little rattled.

Sighing, you retreat back inside. You wait for a few moments, listening, waiting again for the sound of the phantom knocker. You shake your head listlessly and with a stupefied mirth to yourself, even though the lingering sense of unease remains, trying to claw at your ankles.

You bolt the chain across the door before you finally walk away, convincing yourself that it’s nothing more than your paranoid mind left to its jangled devices.

Of all the nights to play fucking pranks.

Once the movie is over, you climb the stairs up to bed; washing up in the bathroom, now dressed in your matching shorts and shirt pyjama set, and brushing out the candy now cemented in your molars.

Once you're sunk into the softness of your mattress, you roll over onto Frankie’s side, missing his shape wrapped around your body and the feel of his breath warming the back of your neck as he snores lightly.

The musky scents of him linger in the sheets and you inhale deeply, reminding yourself that you live in reality and not some torrid nightmare with crazed, masked killers.

As you drift off, you smile at the thought of him losing at poker to Joel and Dave, and how much shit you’ll know they’ll both give him for it too.

It wakes you, bleeding into your chromatic unconsciousness and interrupting your stunted, dreamless sleep.

A sense of unease washes over you, amplified by the eerie stillness that still hangs in the air as you glance the time on the alarm clock. It sears its menacing red vitriol into your sleepy retinas brightly.

It's just past midnight and Frankie’s side of the bed is still empty.

You lay still and clammy in the sheets, straining your ears to hear what had interrupted your sleep, trying to discern whether it’s real or if your mind had yelled at you from somewhere in the void, pulling you out with a jolt instead.

You close your eyes and roll over again, your arm tingling numb from sleeping on it, when you hear it again.

At first you dismiss it as a product of your overactive imagination, still haunted by the spooky shenanigans of the night, or the creaks in the house coming out to taunt you further for shits and giggles. But it’s there, unmistakably. A faint sound ruminating from downstairs.

“Frankie? That you?” You call softly, sitting up.

You listen out, the waves of your heartbeat rolling and crashing into the tide of your eardrums, disturbed only by a siren passing in the night.

You slip out of the sheets and pad over to the bedroom door that’s ajar. You're certain you'd shut it when you came up.

“Frankie?” You call over the landing and wait.

There’s a loud clanging noise that startles you and you step backwards.

Nope!

Dashing into the bedroom, you reach into the closet for Frankie’s old college baseball bat that’s beaten up and splintered to hell, but it’ll serve as some protection.

You grab your phone with the intent to call Frankie to come and kick some ass. You swipe across the screen and dial Frankie’s number. It rings off as your battery dies.

“What?” You murmur as you fiddle around with the wire, certain you had plugged it in to charge, trailing it down to the socket and find it’s unplugged and left loose on the floor. Shit!

The noise from downstairs stirs your attention, making you jump, and you’re more than convinced there is someone in the house.

“Frankie, if you’re fucking with me again, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you!” You mumble to yourself, standing up and tiptoeing towards the door.

It falls quiet and you step closer to the top of the stairs.

“Frankie!” You hiss out, assuming he’s probably drunk and rattling around down in the kitchen and making a mess, but you also don’t want to take the chance in case it’s not.

You descend down the stairs slowly, quietly as you can muster; the bat firmly in your hand and poised ready to swing. You convince yourself that you’ll be able to take them. Frankie’s shown you a thing or two about how to carry yourself.

Yeah. Come on, you fucker.

With your pulse rising in your ears, you step into the hall, glancing at the front door. It's still chained up and the dread fully overtakes you.

You raise the bat and round the corner into the lounge. You reach for the light switch and flick it up, but the lights don’t come on at all. You flick it up and down a few times, but you remain in the swamping dark.

Fuck!

You hear the sound again, and it’s indeed coming from the kitchen. Loud and rustling.

“Frankie?” You call out gently. The sound stops and you’re certain you hear footsteps. Perhaps, realising that you'd locked him out, he's come home through the back door.

"Frankie, answer me."

You head towards the kitchen, the orange light pooling in from the lamp post outside illuminates the trash can that's now overturned on the floor. You look down and kick it warily with your foot. You think you can see a shadow moving to your left.

The air shifts heavily against the back of your neck, and you yelp, swinging the bat with conviction.

“Uh-ho, we gotta live one!” A thick voice booms as a giant hand catches the bat mid swing.

The voice comes from underneath a creepy vampire mask, complete with fangs and a bloodstained cleft. He wrenches the bat from you, in easily the biggest hands you’ve ever seen, and you hear it clatter away across the tiled floor.

You scramble backwards. A leather gloved hand clamps over your mouth, as your arms are crushed behind your back, muffling out your panicked screams.

You struggle and recoil against the body that holds you in a vice-like grip, despite your legs thrashing like you’re fighting against the tide.

You glance up behind you and see another mask, this time a ghoul with pieces of skin missing, greets you. It's too dark to see the eyes through the slits. But you can hear his laugh; a cold mist of breathy chuckles as you struggle and fight against him.

His gloved hand presses harder over your mouth drowning out your squeaks into frantic inhalations as you struggle to breathe around it. All you can think of is Frankie. Doing some desperate Jedi Mind Trick shit to conjure him here to beat the crap out of these intruding assholes.

The Vampire steps towards you, cocking his head and his hulking frame immediately intimidates you, terrifies you even.

But a flood of adrenaline makes you kick out and your foot collides with his kneecap.

He growls as he jolts. “Hey now! There’ll be none of that, darlin’,” he warns sinisterly.

In a nanosecond, that voice registers somewhere familiar in the back of your skull, but before you have time to churn and process it into coherent thought, your arm is twisted further up your spine making you cry out around the gloved hand pressing against your teeth; the pressure making them ache.

“Grab her legs.” The Ghoul instructs as The Vampire reaches for them and clamps tightly around your ankles as you try to repl against him.

They manoeuvre you into the lounge where another figure emerges from the shadows, now illuminated by a couple of gloaming candles flickering on the coffee table.

Your eyes widen as you recognise the gnarly clown mask from the trash, shaking the lit match in his fingers until it's extinguished.

You’re tossed face down into the couch and you scramble, gasping and yelling out as they pin you quickly.

"Get off of meeee!"

The Ghoul on your right, The Vampire on your left. Their auspicious, maniacal laughter ringing in your ears; their tight grip cementing you in place, pinching painfully against your skin.

The Clown steps closer peering down at you through the mask; his chest rising and falling, steadily puffed out in his menacing stance.

Your eyes widen as he advances closer, his hands moving towards his belt; thick, long fingers slowly unbuckling it.

You yell out, struggling, but it’s futile. “No, NO!” You kick and scream, the dread poisoning your bloodstream, and they all laugh.

"Help! Hel-pffh!"

The gloved hand of The Ghoul wraps around your throat murdering your yells into dying croaks that choke out of you like sloppy hiccups.

"Ain't no-one gonna hear ya, darlin'." The Vampire mocks. "S'just you n’ us, pretty girl. All night."

The Clown kicks at your ankles separating them as The Vampire yanks your left leg towards him. The Ghoul follows with your right leg and it feels like he pulls it out of the joint.

You're completely opened up, your shorts riding tight up against your centre, and locked into place unable to move. You focus on The Clown and the sinister way in which he moves, head slightly cocked and revelling in your plight; a sadistic voyeur in this cruel fate.

Your breathing is frantic, sucking in too much oxygen making you a little light headed.

The Clown edges closer, his horrifically masked face craning closer towards yours and you can see those dark eyes staring back at you, unblinking and unflinching.

“Trick or treat?” He simply taunts.

You’re frozen, paralysed.

The fear has gripped you tight in a vice so binding that you’re unable to process basic motor functions. Both your fight or flight senses have left you, fled screaming into the night.

You can hear them. All around you. Their rabid voices hitching through the masks; verbal plotting laced with undulating horrors of menace. All the ways they want to feast on you rattles tinny in between your ears.

Their hands paw at you, tear at your supple flesh like a pack of ravenous wolves; groping, scratching, pinching. Tugging lewdly at the light cotton of your pyjama shorts and shirt.

The monsters harangue your every sense, flood your synapses with their ill intent. Their white noise deafens you.

Then, like you've been dunked head first under ice cold water, the sudden awareness of your predicament shakes you with alarm. It's enough to pump fast adrenaline through you like Popeye's spinach as you twist, screech and fight back with all you’ve got.

You’re not sure how you manage it - it's one for your brain to calculate the physics later - but you’re up on your feet, shoving The Clown backwards as he unzips his flies, leaving The Vampire growling.

But The Ghoul is up just as fast and chasing you down as you make a daring dash towards the front door.

Your fingers rattle clumsily around the chain, cursing yourself that you attached it earlier, unable to get a steady grip on it, when you feel The Ghoul slam into you from behind.

Your face is crushed hard into the wood as he pestles against you, stars flooding your eyes. You hear him snarling fistules of lava in your ear. He grabs your arms and drags you back. “No you don’t, bitch!” He seethes.

Now begins the physical struggle that you’re bound to lose. You might have torn at him with your nails, but it barely marks him. Your desperate imploring of him to stop, that he's hurting you, has no effect either. His need is too desperate now for him to even hear you.

You feel his urgency, and realising there’s nothing further you can do or say, your body submits to him as he drags you along with ease - he’s simply too strong for you to fight off - they all are.

He slams you down, bent forward, over the dining table; your temple and cheek slapping against it, dazing you for a second.

You feel hands on your body, one hand slipping easily around your throat, the other slipping around the front of your belly pulling you back tight against him.

You feel him, feel the excitement of your helplessness goading him on. Feel that hardness of his twisted desire. Your wrists are restrained at your back, held in place as he easily and quickly manoeuvres them despite your struggles.

“Please!” You cry out louder.

His voice is rough sounding in your ear. "Don't you dare scream, or I'll snap your pretty little neck!" Foul menace is hissed into you insidiously from The Ghoul. And you know he's not messing around.

Through the commotion, you hear a chair being pulled out, creaky scrapes, and The Clown takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He tosses a couple of black cable ties across the polished wood to The Ghoul.

The Ghoul secures your wrists together, sharp and snapping, and you whine with tears pooling in your eyes for them to let you go. To not do this. To please just stop.

The Clown, drawing one denim clad knee up, sitting back in the chair, watches darkly.

You jut your leg out backwards in a last ditch attempt to not go down without a fight, clocking it into The Ghoul’s thigh and he growls and slams his fist on the table mere inches from your face.

He’s had enough now.

He tears off his mask and presses his body over yours, suffocating you with his crushing strength. He grips round your chin and turns your head. The face that is presented back to you, smirking with dark brown eyes burning into you like hot embers, renders you useless as he twists your face to meet yours. You can hear your neck crack.

Oh fuck.

“D-Dave?” You query confused. He grits his teeth, mouth pursed out as he stares you into a weak submission. He's pissed, livid.

You see movement over his shoulder as The Vampire emerges.

“Cat’s outta the bag, hmm?” The Vampire says to Dave, a hefty hand resting on his shoulder.

You watch in shock, and with something else starting to flare over your body, as The Vampire removes his own mask, crushing it in his large palm to reveal soft, greying curls slick with sweat in the chocolaty roots.

“Joel?" You gasp.

“In the flesh, darlin’.” He sneers through a smile that’s more unnerving than Dave’s fury somehow, completing this picture of terrifying machismo.

“What is this, w-what’s going on?" You pant, your wrists burning as they struggle around the plastic snare keeping them together and tingling your fingers with numbness.

Dave’s gloved hand squeezes around your jaw popping your lips open.

“Ssshh.” His leathered index finger pushes tightly to your mouth. Black butterflies dance over Dave’s features. You're tempted to bite down, but sensing this, he pushes another finger in and you heave as it tickles the back of your throat.

Joel chuckles softly at your plight as he watches you choke around Dave's invading leather digits.

"So this is what you look like sucking on Frankie's cock, hmm?" Dave taunts.

"Real fuckin' nice." Joel agrees, licking his lips. You catch him palming himself over his jeans and you feel a heavy flutter start to rustle from the grave in your core.

You try to swallow but your mouth is stuffed so full of the padded leather that your saliva pools out the corner of your mouth and runs down your chin.

Dave grips the side of your face with his other hand, his hips pushing you against the table. Joel lurches behind him like a stacked shadow, sealing off any gap for a potential escape.

You want to be furious, you want to push him off you as he pushes his fingers into the furthest reaches of your throat and becomes mesmerised by it as you gag and retch.

Instead, and in some fucked up depravity stirring from the pits, you melt under his force; enjoying the feel of it and nuzzling into his hand with your eyes closed, until he yanks your hair backwards and holds you still and taut.

You gasp out as he sniffs all over your neck and face like a dog. "Oh, you want this don't you, slut?"

Dave's sudden change in demeanour again does something to you; something wonderfully perverted and untamed. Something unexpected and he picks up on it immediately like a Bloodhound.

He pulls his hand out of the glove, but leaves it in your mouth, pressing it in further until you gag more and your cheeks fill with it.

"I can smell your cunt," Dave says in a voice you don't recognise. It's sinister and deep, yet with a jaunty bounce of a little chuckle on the end of it.

His macabre smile does nothing to appease the angst simmering away inside your stomach. Instead, it seems to intensify it to boiling point and it begins to ache in your gut like a heavy pull.

But then, a surge of devious pleasure swills in your bloodstream, seemingly from out of nowhere; you're aroused by becoming aroused at such a thing. A blooming in between your legs, the slickness of your pussy waking up to join this fucked up tea party. And the feel of your body becoming heated for him makes you sweat.

“Ain’t she pretty, hmm?” Joel taunts.

Dave runs his mouth over your cheeks; he becomes possessed, animalistic almost as he glides it back and forth, back and forth. You feel his lips drag against yours but he doesn't kiss you, even though you're suddenly desperate to latch onto his lips - to feast on them like you're starved, despite the glove stuffed so unceremoniously into your mouth.

It sends shivers down your body and tingles inside your hair follicles that he’s pulling on tightly. The smoothness of his marble-like jaw, the plumpness of his bottom lip; a kaleidoscopic wonder of him that you've never really paid attention to before.

Somewhere, deep inside of you, you realise you’d always thought Dave was attractive, handsome. And now whilst he’s terrifying and rough, that attraction rears its ugly head and dives haphazardly into wanton lust.

The electric sparks zap down your spine and surges through your nipples that are tightening inside your pyjama shirt. You’re unconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your clit throbs.

He's right. You do want this.

"You know, I've always wanted to fuck you." Dave's hand reaches for his belt.

You see Joel kneel down to your level as your eyes widen. You feel Dave yank down your pyjama shorts as he practically tears them from your legs.

You sound your resistance out around the glove, but all that comes out is incomprehensible moans.

He swipes between your legs, and his fingers slip over your puffy cunt lips, and it's a dead giveaway at how drenched you are.

You feel Joel pat your shoulder. “S’okay, darlin’,” he soothes with maddening eyes. “We’re gonna take real care of ya.”

"Yeah. Feel that tight cunt that Frankie says you've got squeeze round me." Dave snorts. "Fuck, you're so wet…"

You hear yourself audibly whimper as his fingers find you soaking and wanting. He runs them up and down your fleshy seam and pushes two of them into your folds with a loud, undignified squelch.

He slides further up and knocks against your clit that aches and your thighs judder uncontrollably as he circles it.

Joel reaches between your legs and takes a swipe for himself. You watch as he sucks your slick from his fingers and smirks.

“Someone’s ready to be fucked, aren’t ya, darlin’?” Joel says to you.

You shake your head and it clatters against the tabletop.

Dave moans into your ear, "what a little slut. Wet for me already. What would your boyfriend think?"

You whine as he increases the pressure on your clit, your legs already buckling underneath you.

"Why don't we ask him, hmm? Hey Frank. What do you think about that?"

Your eyes dart to The Clown, watching you silently with tented fingers.

"Frank!" Dave grunts again through gritted teeth. "Take that thing off and watch me fuck your girl.”

A hand goes to The Clown's face and you recognise Frankie's features as they're revealed to you from under it. Your heart surges, feeling heavier in your chest. But Frankie doesn't look how you expect him to.

He doesn't look aghast or in disgust, or furious with Dave and Joel. No. He looks positively delighted and smirks darkly at you as Dave lines himself up against your oozing slit.

Frankie tosses the mask across the table. "Fuck her until she screams, Dave." He says casually cold.

You watch helplessly as Frankie's lips twist up into a chilling smirk that ices right through your blood.

You whimper helplessly. Your body is shattered with an agonising realisation as Frankie teases and encourages your plight rather than halting it.

You can feel your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest cavity - pumping courage into your veins, preparing you for what is about to happen.

He’s not helping you, he’s not stopping this. You realise that he’s heinously a part of it. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to blind you and it feels like every bone in your body has snapped.

Dave shunts his cock into you so hard, that the table screeches and jostles forward against the floor. Frankie slaps his palms down so that he isn't crushed in the gut by it.

"Shit! Never knew ya had it in ya, Yorkie-boy." Joel remarks with an impressed grin.

"Fuck you, Joel." Dave pants from behind you.

He’s not gentle as he drills in, pushing himself into the deepest parts of you he can reach as he fucks you. Your pussy welcomes him in, sucking around him, despite your body clenching initially.

Slowly, you’re unfurling, you’re taking it, taking him, whether you want to or not. Your mind is still trying to figure that part out.

He’s packing you out and filling you to the brim as he surges into a vile, hypnotic rhythm. You’re gasping around the glove; groaning and moaning as your body performs the ultimate betrayal against you, and starts to unwillingly peak.

“Mmph, nufffph…” You lament helplessly around the suffocating glove.

"Look at this slut, coming already. Barely fucked you, sweetheart and you're coming all over me!" Dave cajoles as though he's unimpressed.

"His cock feel too good in ya, honey?" Joel asks, stroking at your sweat laden face.

You whine, unable to speak with the glove still stuffed in your orifice.

"Oh, I know, darlin'. Let's get that out, shall we?" Joel reaches for the leather and slowly pulls it out of your stretched, dry mouth. "That better?"

You nod, licking around your taut gums. "Uh-huuuah…" You groan as your back tenses and your body arches.

Dave pistons in deep, grabbing a hold of the meat of your hips with sharp, tight fingers. You can already feel the bruises forming as he squeezes around your malleable flesh.

Joel smiles, grabbing at your jaw, squeezing it tightly in a binding crush of his fingers and stubby thumb. "Tell me how good it feels with Dave’s cock in ya cunt."

"G-goo-ood." You whimper, snottily. You say it to appease him; it’s what he wants to hear, but Dave’s hitting those spots inside you that creep up your shoulders and whisper in your ear that it does, in fact, feel good.

Your muscles are tense all over your body making you feel like lead, but that building heat is melting it all away until you’re a boiling, metallic liquid running off the table to melt Joel’s boots.

"Just good?” Joel frowns. “Ya can do better than that. He’s giving it to ya hard, honey n’ you’re telling me it’s just good?” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

"S-so goo-ood…" you stutter, your words being forced out of your larynx with every brutal thrust Dave gives you as he riles and growls behind you.

"Tell him it's the best fucking cock ya've ever had." Joel prompts with a controlled voice.

"It's t-the best cock… I've ever ha-haad." You hiccup through your wails.

Dave continues to pummell you. You can't take it anymore, it begins to hurt as he nudges against your cervix like a battering ram. It begins to charge and stew. It begins to turn you out, kicking and screaming by the ankles as your fingertips fizz and your eyes roll back into your skull as though possessed by the emergence of another haunting orgasm, only this time stronger than the last.

It's burning, licking all over your skin and melting you. He's taking from you, owning you.

And it feels oh so fucking good.

"Oh God, oh fuck!" You cry. “Please! Fuck, yes!” You’re babbling; possessed by the inucubus-like demons that twist and trick and convince you that you want this as they lick at your ear. That somewhere, in the back of your mind, this has always been a dark fantasy that you’ve been reluctant to walk the path of.

You can feel the drool from your mouth pool on the table under you, sticking to your cheek like syrup.

Joel slaps your face and it stings you back to reality for a second. "Louder darlin'!"

"It's the… aaah-ha! Oh God! The-best-fucking-cock-I've-ever-fucking-had! Aaahh! Fuuuuuck!" You wail as Dave snaps his hips into you and you fold completely in half.

You're shaking and can't seem to stop, Dave's dastardly grunts filling your ears as you squeeze and flood him. "That's it baby, soak my cock. Just like that you little slut."

"Ohh. Frankie. Man. That's gotta hurt." Joel snorts as he lets your face go and it falls back against the table with a heavy thunk. You've no energy to keep it up right now as you succumb to Dave’s cock tearing you open whilst your bones dissolve.

Frankie purses his lips as Joel stands up with a smirk tossed at him. The two men watching you as Dave brutally gives you a pounding that feels like it’ll never let up.

And you kinda don’t want it to.

“Enjoying the show, boys?” Dave pants around a wheezed laugh.

He reaches forward and pulls at your hair again, snapping your neck up, your spine bending backwards on itself like a screwed up question mark, as he holds you there in a warped contortion and your body can only take it.

It shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t feel good and devouring. You should be repulsed, you should be frightened with how he's invaded you. You should be doing everything you can to fight him off.

But you don’t want to.

You want him to snap your spine in half and eat your insides. You want Dave to annihilate you and pulverise your body into ashy dust. You want him to make you come again.

“Watch me break your girl in half, Frank.” Dave croons evilly, as if able to read your thoughts.

“Oh god... fuck... please!" Even your mouth betrays you now, begging him for more. "Dave! Pleasepleaseplease…"

But somehow your cries and begging him only make your orgasm that much more intense. And while he laughs, while they all laugh at you being railed on the dining table, deep derisive chuckles at your utter humiliation by Dave’s hands, you come again right on top of the other; your entire body shaking and trembling as you’re being exorcised of any reluctant demons left inside you.

You want this. You want them all to have their fill and to fill you up. You want to be tossed around and shared by them all. Left muddied and stained.

"Daaaaaave!" You wail.

“That’s it, scream for me! I fucking love it when little sluts scream. Little sluts who scream like they don't want this cock buried in their cunt." Dave grunts into your scalp and he’s all teeth.

You’re completely out of breath. Your body is caving into him as he ruts and fucks you harder, deeper and without any intention of stopping soon.

You’re starting to believe it when he said he’d always wanted to do this, always wanted to fuck you. And now that he his, it's more terrifying and wonderful than what you could have imagined.

You can feel him speed up, really giving you his all, as his breathing starts to wane. His thighs are constant thuds against your ass cheeks, so much so that you imagine the skin between you is now one.

“Fuck!” He yells out.

When Dave comes, it’s like he’s howling at the moon; turning himself around his bones and sinew as he pants and wheezes like an animal with bloodied carcass strings hanging around his teeth.

You feel him pump into you, his thighs buckling and his hands releasing your hair from around his grip; you feel like you’ve been scalped.

He lets go of you completely, tossing your used body onto the tabletop like garbage, as his cock slips out and you can feel his come pooling at your entrance. You inadvertently squeeze to stop it sluicing down your thighs as your panting subsides.

You’re dizzy, you’re seeing spots in your vision as you try to remember how to breathe.

You’re given no remission; Joel’s there immediately as Dave steps back, catching you before you slide off the table into a heap as your legs finally give way.

“I got ya, darlin’.” He scoops you up into his strong arms with ease, and carries you through to the lounge.

Joel makes his way with you in his arms; his heavy boots crunching in some of the popcorn spilt on the floor in your earlier fright from Frankie that you'd missed clearing up.

He sits on the sofa, cradling you in his wide lap and stroking through your hair gently. Your arms are aching, feeling like they're on fire as your wrists are still lashed together tightly behind your back.

You look up, in a heady stupor, to see Frankie still watching from the dining table with a blank, unreadable face and dark eyes, and Dave pouring a glass of water and gulping it back, clearing his throat, naked from the waist down and puffing out his cheeks that are pink with the exertion. His face shines with sweat.

“Let’s get these off ya, darlin’,” Joel says.

He pulls a switchblade from his back pocket and you flinch as the blade flicks open. He waves it under your eyelashes and you tense.

“M’gonna cut ya free. Ya try anythin’ and I’ll slide this into your belly, y’hear me?” He pinches the fat of your stomach under the flaps of your pyjama shirt to emphasise the point.

You nod frantically as he cuts the cable ties from your wrists.

Tucking the knife away, he brings your hands around to your front and massages the feeling slowly back into them. They have purple rings around them that itch and weep from raw blisters.

He brings your wrists to his lips and presses gentle kisses over the broken skin whilst holding eye contact with you.

An urge surges through your fingertips; you feel compelled to stroke through his curls, feel him nuzzle into you at his gentle nature. Run your nose over his facial scruff and see if it smells different from Frankie’s.

But you don’t, he keeps your twitching hands firmly in his own as he kisses delicately, runs his soothing tongue around the welts.

“Better?” Joel asks you after a few minutes.

You nod as he pushes your knotted hair behind your ears.

“Alright, darlin’. Lay back. M’gonna fuck ya now.”

"Please-" you start in a weak protest. Your body isn;t ready for another pounding yet.

"Shut up. Ya gonna take what I give ya like a good girl." He menaces in the same gentle tone, which is unnerving as it is heated. “In fact, let’s get you down here. Can splay ya out. S’better.”

Joel picks you up like you weigh nothing and lays you on the wooden floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way with his other hand effortlessly. It creaks across the wooden floor.

His foreboding, giant hands grip either side of your pyjama shirt lapels and wrenches it open with a quick yank; the buttons tearing and popping off, some never to be found again.

"Fuck," Joel groans as your breasts spill out at him. He leans forward over you, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking on it, pulling on it with his teeth and making you hiss.

"Such a nice pair, darlin'. Jesus." He gruffs tonguing around your nipple as it hardens in his mouth. He runs his mouth across the valley and peaks of your breasts, his tongue lavishing attention around those stiff nipples that he teases.

You feel him bite down on the meat of the left one and you hiss as he sucks the skin in around his teeth ferociously. He rises up when he’s left a purple mark. “Something for ya to remember me by,” he says.

Your eyes water, yet you groan in response to his biting, and shut them as he leaves another mark on your sternum. You feel a sharp sting across your cheeks; you open them again in shock.

"Eyes on me." Joel warns. "Want you to watch me turn ya out."

“Please, Joel…” You whine, trying to resist him and the way he can simply knead and spread you about with ease like you’re a pliable plasticine doll. But your body is too strung out from Dave’s gruelling punishment. It has no fight left in it.

You try to close your legs, but Joel’s too strong. He wrenches them apart with a simple shove of his hands making your thigh bones crack: his stocky body filling the gap and stopping you from shutting them again as he slots in between like a giant cinder block.

"Don't act like ya don't want me inside ya. I know you've been thinkin' 'bout me doing this to ya. You're a fuckin' tease."

Joel's always been big. With his broad shoulders and biceps that often strain under his plaid shirts, he's the quieter one of the three of them, the softer one.

A gentle giant that would always come to your aid if you needed him. And he knows how to grill a mean steak when he invites you and Frankie over for barbecues and he makes for the perfect, gracious host.

But tonight, he's showing you a side of him you never thought could exist. A side of him that's turning you on explicitly, despite the creeping exhaustion and pursed reluctance.

Joel's a Texan gentleman through and through. But tonight, he's a wild fucking animal.

“Y'gonna hold ya girl steady for me, Frankie? Squirmy lil' thing ain’t she?" Joel grunts as he unbuckles his belt.

Momentarily, you feel Frankie lifting your head into his lap and securing your arms above your head as you wriggle and headbutt against his thighs. “Don’t fight it, hermosa.” He warns.

"Gon' make a mess of ya, darlin'," Joel smirks as he shuffles his jeans off and you spy his ominous cock; massively hard and dripping. It's huge, almost comically so, and you gulp.

Fuck!

"Ya ever had a cock this big before? Gon' break ya open." Joel spits into his palm and smears it all around his fat head as he pumps himself.

You gasp; a deep guttural howl transmorphing into a silent scream as Joel pushes the head of his engorged cock against your hole and begins stretching you out.

"Oh God… so fuckin’ tight. Ya didn't tell me how good this would be, Frankie." Joel groans through a slack jaw. "Ya can't be keeping this pussy to yourself. That ain't fair."

You hear Dave snicker in agreement above you as he repositions himself on the couch to get a better view of your plight.

“Oh fuck…” You cry out as Joel continues to push in further.

Frankie's cock was big, he often left a delicious ache deep inside you for days after. Even Dave's cock you'd feel bruising around your insides in the morning. But Joel? Fuck, Joel wasn't joking when he said he'd break you open.

It burns and sears and you feel so full despite him not being all the way in yet.

"Fuck Joel, you're… it's too much. I can't-" You protest, shaking your head and screwing up your eyes.

"Suck it up." He grunts as he pushes his hips further into yours.

"Take it," Frankie grizzles, as you try to thrash against his hands, pinning your arms down. Your whole body feels full of Joel as he finally stills; his full, fat length buried inside you and you can feel yourself rib and pulse around him, already on the cusp of falling apart. You're whimpering and shaking already.

"Well look at that, seems ya can take me after all, sweetheart." Joel smirks, the crest of his hips now pressed flush against yours. The weight of him crushing you somewhat. He looms over you, his gigantic palms flat on the floor by your head.

"Please move," you whimper around grinding your teeth. “Oh God, Joel, you’re too fucking big-”

"What's that, darlin'? Ya begging me to fuck ya now?" Joel chuckles. "Ya girl's really greedy for cock, Frankie."

“Fuck her,” Dave encourages.

Joel pulls backwards and slams forward into you with a hard shunt. "There we go."

"FUCK!" You wail, water blinding your eyes as they mist over. You feel him; one quick, hard shunt of his cock inside of you and you gasp at the full invading breach as he bottoms out.

Although it feels like he’s ripped right through your back.

He does it again and your breath is pumped out of your lungs into the air above you as you flounder, trying to suck it all back in.

Joel's large paws grab at your hips as he kneels up and steadies himself into a brutal pace, rattling your bones with each powerful thrust.

Your hands squeeze into fists and you glance up at Frankie; a poised smirk over his upside down features, a few renegade curls falling into his face, watching Joel's thick cock hammer into you.

Joel's grunts fill your senses, mesmerised by the way he looks down to see himself pull back and admire how wet his cock is with you before he raises his eyebrow up and smirks accomplished. “Greasin’ me up good, darlin’.”

“Joel!” You wail as he slams on in again. You’re just a body for him to fuck, a toy for him to twist out of shape and break apart. “Oh fuck, please, nuuaaaahhh!"

Your gasps and cries are soon silenced by Dave straddling your face and planting his heavy balls into your mouth. "Shut up and suck." He commands.

He strokes his now hard cock again, and groans as you’re forced to suck whilst Joel continues to annihilate your cunt.

Dave smirks at Frankie who’s still pinning your wrists in place.

You look up at them both, staring into one another as Dave jerks his cock and Frankie holds his eye contact with flared nostrils.

Dave grips onto Frankie's shoulder with a heavy clap. He growls whilst you suck on his balls that have completely filled your mouth, squeaking around them as Joel forcefully pulls another orgasm from you.

Frankie rests his forehead against Dave's as he groans, fucking into his own fist.

You see Frankie's lips twitch, whispering to him, but you can't hear anything over your own muffled squeaks and Joel's rabid panting.

You think you lipread Frankie telling Dave to come. To come for him, and that thought alone makes you surge and cry out as you release all over Joel's cock uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Joel is destroying your cunt as he thrusts deep and with intent on making you feel it; feel him with every shunt that leaves you gasping for oxygen as it's pushed out of you by his dick. There's simply no room in your body for both.

Your squeaking around Dave's balls reaches a fever pitch and the humming against them only makes him grunt and growl heavier.

His grip on Frankie's shoulder tightens, screwing up his t-shirt as he pumps his cock faster. He tenses and you feel his balls lurch in your mouth as he spurts ropes of thick ejaculate all over Frankie's denim clad thighs.

He hoists himself off of you, panting and sitting back on the couch. "Clean him up," Dave instructs you with a click of his fingers.

Joel pulls out of you and flips you over onto all fours and ploughs back in as you shakily get to licking Dave's come off of Frankie's jeans.

"Good slut," Dave praises as he sits back on the couch, his arm slung over his face and breathes deeply.

You feel Joel pry apart your ass cheeks. You feel a wet globule of his spit on your ass and you flinch at it, feeling it cool and sloppy as he rubs his thick fingers around it, teasing your puckered hole.

You then feel Joel's thumb stretch through your rim. You instinctively clench and he growls.

"Clench and it's gon' hurt. I'll make sure of it." He smacks your ass as you yelp from the sting.

"Relax, hermosa," Frankie instructs, grabbing hold of your face and focusing your attention on him.

You shake your head frantically; the thought of Joel’s cock ploughing in your ass fills you with utter dread and horror. “No,” you implore Frankie with wide eyes.

“I said, relax.” Frankie says squeezing your cheek bones tightly. You can feel Joel twisting his thumb deeply in your hole.

A dewdrop of Dave’s come is smeared on your cheek and Frankie scoops it onto his finger and holds it out to you. He hisses, biting his lip as you suck it off, eyeing him the whole time.

"You're such a good fucking whore for us, aren't you, baby? Quieres esto tan mala, ¿verdad?" Frankie nods encouragingly as you fall under his dark spell. You feel his own thumbs stroke at the sides of your face now as you pant and whine.

"Yeah…" you nod too, straining not to clench as Joel's thick thumb hooks fully into your ass.

"There we go, snug as a bug, darlin'." He emits a chuckle that seems to grab at you and shake you with its eerie, sadistic violence.

“Does ya girl squirt Frankie?” Joel asks as you inadvertently start pushing back against him as he fucks you more laboured now.

Frankie chuckles and nods. “Just gotta know the right place to stroke.” He looks back at your face in his hands, sweaty and panting. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Joel nods in agreement. “I reckon you can squirt for me, darlin’.”

“She can. Let me get some of that pussy.” Frankie says, highly enthused at the prospect.

Joel pulls out and rolls you on your back as you collapse into the floor. You can see Dave sitting forward, elbows on his knees and watching you intently with those dark eyes. You reach around his ankle and tug gently and whine and he responds to your wanting.

He slips down and slides behind you, propping you up, groping and massaging your breasts.

You catch the glimmer of his wedding band as his hands work your tits and you can only wonder at what Carol is assuming he’s doing this evening.

Those thoughts are cut short as Joel kneels up, slipping his thick cock back inside you, and Frankie lays down beside him on his stomach and starts sucking on your clit.

You whine, watching intently as Joel’s hand comes down on the back of Frankie’s head, sifting through his curls and groans. His mouth is practically on Joel's cock too, and it does something to you as your body fizzes in response to the delicious sight of it.

“Fuck!” You cry out, biting down on your lip.

The pressure on your clit and the way Joel hits that spot deep inside you just right starts to build in your body. It all centres, gathering deep in the pit of your core as the warmth starts to choke you up.

You feel it tightening, bunching. Your toes start to curl, your fingers crack. Your back lifts and arches of its own volition and your thighs shake and stiffen.

You feel a pull, a heavy sensation as you bear down. The pressure mounting, pushing… You see those phosphenes glimmer at you as you close your eyes.

You can hear Dave’s snarls close to your ear, feel his fingers tugging on your nipples. Feel Frankie’s skilled tongue drawing those fast, dizzying circles on your clit. Feel Joel hitting that spot again and again that’s going to annihilate you imminently.

They're everywhere, they're all over you.

Your climax is almost violent; you buck and shudder as you release the pressure, always feeling for a split second like you'll pee, but don't.

You're gushing loudly, and uncontrollably, over Joel’s cock and Frankie’s lips. It bears down again, that weight inside of you erupting as you release. Frankie laps it up like a starving animal as it soaks his scruff. It feels like you’ll never stop.

“Holy shit!” Dave remarks with a smirk watching you squirt. He squeezes your tits together as you place your hands over his and giggle deliriously. He squeezes your fingers around his.

The combination of having Joel’s thick cock in your pussy, while receiving a tongue fucking from Frankie makes for a most lewd and unabashed scene whilst your head thrashes against’s Dave chest as he chuckles just as bewildered by it as you are.

You can’t believe it, your cunt is absolutely gushing as the three of them work in tandem to completely destroy you. And you’re loving it.

Frankie licks his lips that are dripping as he rises up, the collar of his t-shirt is soaked, and Joel grabs a hold of you and fucks harder, quicker. More determined as he nears his own release.

“Joel!” You wail as you squeeze against Dave’s fingers, feeling like you could crush them.

Finally, Joel comes roaring like an animal, and pumps himself liberally inside of you.

"Fill her up now, Frankie.” Joel nods with a puff as he pulls out.

The mess that is over the wooden floor between your legs is obscene.

Frankie pulls off his Levi’s, runs a hand through his messy hair, and crawls over you.

"Who's pussy is this?" He asks slipping a finger side of you and feeling the spend of both his friends in there, warm and silken.

"Yours," you whimper.

"Really? I think you need reminding, hermosa. Seeing as you've been such a fucking slut tonight, hmm?"

"Frankie..." you whine as he pulls you forward towards him. He lines himself up with your pussy, pushing in.

"Aah!" You groan.

“Fuck, Joel stretched you nice and good, baby. Shit. You feel loosened up.” He growls thrusting hard and fast. You can only clutch onto him, only whine and groan as Frankie gives you his all.

"My pussy. My fucking pussy." Frankie seethes at you, hips snapping furiously into you. He pants, growls. Garbled Spanish and English flows from his lips as he pummels you.

He finishes inside of you quickly, too riled up from this whole scene to not bust a nut quickly.

“Got all three of us in that slutty pussy now, don't you?" Dave taunts.

“Which one of our kids ya gon’ have?” Joel smirks as he pats your tummy gently. “Cunt’s filled to the brim.”

The three of them dazzle you, utterly fucking you up. Working together like a team; a gang of insidious spectres dominating and taking their turns with you.

And you fucking love every single second of it.

After Frankie fills you, Joel pulls apart your legs to watch the cream pie spilling out of you.

He runs his fingers through it, pushing it back inside you. He then brings them to your face, Dave holding onto your jaw and bringing it forward towards Joel's drenched digits. He rubs them over your lips. "Lick ‘em clean. Taste all of us."

They all watch with praise and smirks as your tongue moves out tentatively, licking the salty cream from Joel’s fingers until he finally pushes them in your mouth.

Your lips wrap around them tightly as you suck them like you would Frankie's cock.

“Mmm,” you whine, giggling. "You all taste good."

Dave chuckles behind you and Frankie laughs, his chin leaning on Joel’s broad shoulder.

“Good slut,” Dave praises in your ear.

You lay there in a crumpled heap, gradually gathering your thoughts; striving to understand and come to terms with what has happened this spooky evening.

But initially you’re still too confused, still swimming in a blissed out fracture of reality bobbing along the surface of a choppy existence.

Baffling questions bloom and wilt quickly as you have no answers to appease the turmoil of embarrassment, shame… of pure unadulterated pleasure.

You can hear the shrill echoes of the guys in the hall, dressed and murmuring with Frankie. You can't hear much, the ringing in your ears from your body being mauled and torn at still hums, but you think you can make out Joel saying something.

She’s a good sport… Hope she liked it.

Take care of her tonight. Dave adds.

Ya still coming over Sunday, for the game? Joel checks.

You feel like you zone out for a while, only coming to when Frankie stands above you, towering and looming; his presence breaking the barriers of your heavy consciousness.

The look on his face is unreadable, impenetrable.

You peep up at him from behind the scraggy mess of your knotted hair, your scalp still aching from how hard Dave had tugged on it.

"I can't believe you did it." You grin, the concealed violence of this night escaping through your teeth into blissed satisfaction.

Frankie’s cool look instantly melts into a warm sunbeam. "Was it what you wanted, querida?" He asks, crouching down, knuckles running against your leg affectionately.

You nod. "It was better than I could have imagined. Creepy. But so fucking good." You smirk dreamily. "I really got into it."

He smiles accomplished, a faint blush of pink creeping under his eyes and in the crinkles there as he grins. "Good. How are you feeling, you a little sore?"

"My whole body feels like I've been tackled. I think Joel broke me." You start laughing as your pussy flinches in horror at the recall of him stretching you wider than you've ever been.

"He's a big guy." Frankie chortles.

"You're telling me. Jesus." You reach down and cup your battered pussy.

"Come on. I'll run you a bath." Frankie scoops you up in his arms and carries you up to the bathroom.

You plant a delicate smooch on the side of his golden neck. “Thank you for this,” you murmur.

“Cualquier cosa por ti, mi amor.” He runs his soft scruff against your cheek as he navigates the stairs. You can smell your cunt in it and you smile.

He gets in the bath with you, pulling you back against his soft belly and soaping your body down with a hot washcloth. Your wrists are still purple; he smiles insidiously, feeling a rush through his cock at the decay of them.

"Did you enjoy it?" You query as his soapy fingers interlock with yours and you feel his breath cool against the shell of your ear.

"I loved every second of it," he assures.

"No jealousy?"

"None at all. I trust them. We discussed it in length. I told them anything goes, but no kissing you on the mouth and they respected that. It's all good."

You nod and mull it over, enjoying the hot water soothing the embryonic bruises you know will gestate overnight on your skin. You glance down at the purple bites Joel left on you. You press on one enjoying the masochistic flare for a few moments.

You think back to so many things, but then you remember Dave and Frankie and that intimate moment you witnessed where Frankie was whispering to him.

"Have you guys… ever done stuff together?"

"No. No, never." He says. “First time. For all of us actually.”

You nod, admittedly feeling a little swell of disappointment. But it’s washed away by the thought that perhaps they’ll be up for it again, one day.

"Well, this is going to make poker nights interesting now, hmm?"

You feel his chest vibrate against your back as he laughs. "Yeah."

"Dave is just… an animal!" You exclaim chuckling.

"Poor Carol." Frankie says, and you both start laughing and find you can't stop for a little while.

You both stay in the water until it starts to cool and the bubbles have all gone, just enjoying Frankie noodling and fussing over you, and relishing how lucky you are as he wraps his wet arms around you, and you could happily drown in the bath water.

It's late; the dawn is on the cusp of rising on the first day in November and you watch as Frankie climbs into the sheets, naked as the day God created him with golden tan skin, pulling you back against his body that moulds itself around yours like warm putty.

His thumb draws gentle circles on your navel as he buries his face into the nape of your neck. You reach for your phone, previously plugging the charger back into the wall.

“Did you do something to the power?” You query.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I switched off the breaker. Joel must’ve reset it when they left.” He yawns.

“You guys thought of everything.” You smile.

"We were in the house for a while. You were asleep." You hear him smirk into you skin.

You smile. You see a message that had come through whilst your phone was off, from Frankie, and click it open.

It's a selfie of Frankie, Joel and Dave outside on the porch with the Halloween masks on, possibly taken moments before they stormed the house.

Underneath is a message typed out:

You smirk as Frankie stirs behind you, rubbing your back, and you put your phone back on the table and rollover into his arms.

The light from your phone stays illuminated on your previous message thread with Frankie:

“I love you,” you murmur into his skin as you settle, closing your eyes. You plant a couple of small kisses on his chest.

"Yo tambien te amo, hermosa." Frankie whispers, his fingers dancing slowly in your hair as you finally drift off into an exhausted sleep inside of the Devil’s arms.

I really hope you got a spooky kick out this story. I'd love to know your thoughts and I hope you enjoyed reading it on this Halloween Fright Night. 🖤🎃

🎃 Re-blogs & comments fuel me! TY!💀

MASTERLIST

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toxicanonymity · 3 months

Text

The Worst

1.3k, Tom “Redfly” Davis x DARK f!Reader

SUMMARY: You make Tom pay for Frankie's death.

WARNINGS: I8+ DARK FIC, DEAD DOVE noncon or very dubcon p in v, implied murder, roofie, forced gun sucking, restraints, degradation, praise kink?, Dom reader. Tom survives / Frankie dies AU.

Dedicated to @romanarose who is hosting a write a thon for the @triplefrontier-anniversary.

Happy 5 years to Tom ruining everything. He's the worst, but I'm sorry to say he's also packing.

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

You pretended to take comfort in him during your grief. Your flirtations over the past weeks had all been a ruse, as were your advances tonight. You always had one goal – to get Tom tied up in your basement.

Finally, you had him sitting at your kitchen table drinking a night cap. You rubbed his thigh and he looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive, if only he could muster the energy. His eyelids were heavy with lust and a roofie.

“Maybe we could, uh, get more comfortable,” Tom slurred, nodding toward the living room.

You downed the rest of your drink, set the glass down, and lowered yourself onto his lap, side saddle.

“Ohh,” he muttered with his mouth barely open. “Hello.”

“I was thinking we could go downstairs,” you purred.

He swallowed, raised his eyebrows, and nodded, “Sure.”

“Frankie ever tell ya ‘bout our hobbies? Lotta fun stuff down there.”

His face gave him away. “Uhh,” he stalled, “Sounds-” You ran your hand through his hair. “-Sounds good,” Tom muttered at a horny pitch. His eyes lingered on your lips, then he cleared his throat.

“I'm gonna need ya to trust me though, Tom. Can ya do that?”

Tom nodded.

“Yes ma’am,” you whispered.

“Yes ma’am,” he confirmed, clearly enjoying this. Your dominance was a perfect fit for his being a lazy sack of shit.

“Good.”

—----------

In the basement–more of a sex dungeon, as it were–you sat Tom down in a metal chair. He let you tie him up and barely objected when you zip tied his hands behind his back.

“Mmm,” he hummed as you did it.

“Good boy,” you told him, making him blush. His eyes lazily danced across your face in bemusement. “Now I'm gonna go change,” you said.

You returned in a black lingerie set – a lacy top over a strappy, crotchless bottom. You had tucked Frankie’s old pistol into the back of the bottom piece. The cool metal made your skin tighten with goosebumps all over.

You slowly approached Tom and watched his eyes consume you. Without sitting down, you straddled him so you were standing with your tits in his face. You let him play. He nuzzled his head into your breasts, then nosed at a nipple.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, then took one into his mouth, through the lace.

“God, you worthless shit,” you laughed with faux affection.

“Heh,” Tom chuckled sadly against your tit.

He didn’t notice you reach for the gun. You used the barrel to massage yourself through your underwear. He glanced down, then his eyes snapped back up to you. “Whoa, careful with that,” he laughed nervously with the barrel pointing right at his dick as you slid the cool metal against the lace covering your mound.

“This is Frankie’s,” you said wistfully and raised the gun to admire it. You used the barrel to nudge his chin so he looked at you. He froze. “You’re gonna suck Frankie’s dick now,” you nodded and slid the barrel up his jaw, then nudged his lips with the muzzle.

His breathing was heavier and faster. His eyes were less sleepy.

He maneuvered to dodge the barrel. “Listen, sweetie,” he started. “Are you okay? Maybe we’ll just — maybe. . . watch a movie tonight,” his voice trailed off as your face made it clear you were not fucking around.

“Open.” You grabbed his jaw. “It’s the least you can do, Tom.”

Tom swallowed. “Okay,” he whispered. “You’re right.” He let the muzzle into his mouth.

“Good,” you whispered. “Go on.”

You pushed the barrel further into his mouth. “Suck it, Tom. Suck Frankie’s cock.”

His face whitened as he began to hesitantly bob his head.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be sucking Frankie’s real cock right now,” you reminded him and watched dread fall over his face. He hardly moved at all.

“You can do better than that.” You pushed the gun further into his mouth and his teeth hit the metal. “Good,” you whispered as he took as much of the pistol as he could. You held the back of his head and fucked his mouth with the gun. He looked up at you pleadingly and whined incoherently. You mercifully let the barrel out of his mouth, a string of drool falling down his chin.

“Look,” his face was serious and his tone was more sober. “I know you’re devastated. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. We can–”

“Shut up.” You crossed your wrists behind his head and lowered yourself onto his lap. Your most sensitive area met his semi-hard bulge and you let out a moan.

“Oh, Tom,” you sighed, impressed.

As it turned out, there was one area where Tom didn't fall short, and your body wouldn't let you ignore it. “Fuck,” you whispered as he hardened beneath you. You were throbbing against him. The adrenaline already had your blood flowing, and now it was flowing south. His cock twitched against you. His breath was shallow.

He watched your face carefully. He was as quiet and still as a mouse.

“Got him killed, and now you wanna fuck his girl, don’t ya?”

Tom nodded hesitantly.

You scoffed. “With friends like you,” you started. “Pathetic.” A subtle lift of his hips took all your thoughts away as his warm, hard package rubbed against your front. You had never hate fucked someone before. . . With the gun still behind his head, you nudged the nape of his neck with the muzzle and he flinched. “You’re not gonna say a word,” you warned. Then you reached down between you and feverishly unbuttoned his cargo pants.

You reached into his boxers and gasped at the smooth heat of his naked girth against your palm. “Jesus,” you whispered as you took it out. A hint of cockiness tugged at the corner of his mouth before he appeared to remember his imminent doom.

With your gun hand, you braced yourself using the back of his neck for leverage. You took your thong to the side, then spit on your hand and wiped it on his dick. God how you hated this man. You lined yourself up, then sank down with a rush of pleasure to your chest as your cunt slowly swallowed his thick length. You closed your eyes and thought of Frankie as you began to roll your hips. Your heart was racing.

He moaned nearly silently as you fucked yourself on his massive cock. You got wetter and wetter. You could feel Frankie’s presence. You could practically smell his scent wafting off of Tom. You could feel the ghost of Frankie’s hands on your ass and practically hear his whispers in your ear. Should’ve ridden his face, he said in your head and you breathed out a laugh as you rode him.

You let out a sigh and Tom shuddered. You imagined Frankie’s brown eyes looking deep into yours, and your walls twitched around Tom’s cock. You whimpered as you came.

“Fuck,” Tom murmured through gritted teeth as you choked his cock.Then he erupted inside you. You groaned as his warm spend flooded your core.

When you were finished, you sat there on his cock and you both read each other’s faces. He knew his time was up. You took the safety off the gun.

“What a way to go,” Tom muttered in resignation. He winced as you squeezed him with an aftershock.

“You took him from me, Tom.”

“I know, honey,” he agreed. “It’s okay. Kid's better off with the life insurance.”

The next few seconds felt like minutes. Your heart raced and you could see Tom’s heartbeat in his neck.

Tom took a deep breath. “Just put it in my mouth.” He nodded. “And pull the trigger,” he whispered.

His gaze was apologetic as the muzzle once again nudged his lips. He closed his eyes with his softening cock still sheathed in your warmth. You didn’t feel a thing as the hammer clicked under your thumb.

-----

Thank you for reading!

my main masterlist

#triple frontier fanfiction #Tom Davis x reader #triple frontier smut #triple frontier write a thon #triple frontier anniversary #Tom “Redfly” Davis x reader #female reader #tw noncon #tw rape #tw violence #tw main character death #tw suicidal adjacent thinking #toxicanonymity ☠️#dark reader #triplefrontier #triplefrontier2019 #dark!reader

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 7 months

Text

This Charming Man- dark!Frankie Morales x OFC Camila

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Camila

Summary: Frankie’s wife kicks him out and files for divorce following a second trip to retrieve their money. He feels lost and hopeless until he meets someone new. He falls hard and fast for her. He’ll do anything to have her.

Rating: E for EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Warnings: alcohol and drug references, stalking, Frankie POV, unhinged Frankie, violence, Frankie is not a good guy here, birth control talk, emotional manipulation, unprotected PIV, oral sex f!receiving, creampie, Good Dad ™️ Frankie, implied character death, uhhhhh i hope i didn’t miss anything but let me know if I did and I will add it!

Word Count: 9.2k

Author’s Notes: If i had to categorize this, it would be dark fluff. Frankie is not a good guy but you still kinda wanna root for him. This fic (like many of my fics) would not exist if not for the love of my life, Gin @wannab-urs letting me scream at her for weeks about it. @beskarandblasters also gave this a once over for me! I’m so lucky to have friends like them!

exitus acta probat- the outcome justifies the deed

Frankie is spending his Friday night much like he had nearly every Friday night for the past year, in a dingy high school gym, supporting his brother in arms. Benny is determined to make a name for himself in the MMA circle. Even after they returned from retrieving their money from that ravine in The Andes Mountains, he was still here, getting pounded into the mats week after week. It’s his way of coping with all the shit that went down in that jungle. Will threw himself into his work with veterans, Pope threw himself into the bed of any woman that would have him, but never the same one twice. Benny gets his face bashed in every weekend and lets the ring girls comfort him afterwards. As for Frankie, when he came home from that second trip to South America, all his shit was on the lawn and the locks had been changed. He crashed on Benny’s couch for a few weeks seeking comfort in the bottom of a bottle and those little baggies. Then he bought himself a house, nothing flashy, just a simple home with enough space for the kids, if she ever lets them come visit.

Frankie had been on a few dates, mostly with friends of whoever Pope or Benny was banging. He’d taken a couple of them home, showed them a good time, and then promptly asked them to leave. Unlike the guys, the solution to Frankie’s problems wasn’t a mouthful of pussy. To be completely honest, all Frankie wanted was to feel something, anything, again. Redfly’s death hit him the hardest, he blamed himself for everything that went down in that little village. All those deaths, including Tom’s, are on him. He was too quick on the trigger and people lost their lives. Their friend, their leader, lost his life. Tom’s kids lost their dad. Sometimes he couldn’t stand to face his brothers, knowing what his actions cost them all. Sure, the money was nice, but it didn’t come close to making up for what they lost, what Frankie took from them. He’s missed the last two Fridays, so he dragged his sorry ass off his couch, showered and came out to cheer Benny on.

Benny’s been seeing one of the ring girls for a few weeks and keeps trying to set Frankie up with her friend. He’d been able to hold him at bay so far, but he has a feeling his luck has run out. He’s tried to tell them he isn’t interested in hookup or a fling. He steps into the gym just as the lights go down. The ring is lit up with spotlights and he quickly finds Pope and Will right in the front. He slides into the seat they saved for him and accepts the beer Pope holds out to him. It tastes like warm piss but that doesn’t stop him from gulping it down. Benny’s fight is the headliner so he’s going last. Frankie doesn’t give a shit about MMA so he lets his eyes wander the crowd. He makes eye contact with a woman across the gym from him. She gives him a sweet smile, but she doesn’t look away. She holds his gaze, mirroring his intensity. He feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. This is what he’s been looking for. He feels like a spark has been ignited inside his chest, radiating electricity throughout his body. She finally looks away, but not before giving him a sly smirk. She shoots up from her seat when the fight ends, and Frankie does the same.

“Where ya goin’, Fish?” Pope asks.

“Bathroom.” He replies, not even looking at his friend. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of her for a second. He half jogs through the door she exited, just in time to see her slip into the women’s room. He almost follows her in until a woman’s voice catches his attention.

“Oh this is the women’s restroom.” She offers politely. Frankie puts on his best smile and turns to her.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. Forgot my glasses at home.” The elderly woman pats his shoulder and moves past him to open the door.

Frankie waits for what feels like an eternity for her to come out, ears perking every time the door squeaks open. He jumps when a hand claps down on his shoulder.

“What are you doing, man? Benny’s fight is about to start.” Pope asks.

“Just needed some air.” Frankie offers. He tosses one more regretful look over his shoulder before he follows his friend back into the gym. He is determined to find her again after the match. He can’t let her get away. He has to at least talk to her. He spends the entirety of Benny’s fight imagining all the things he could do to her. How pretty she would look on her knees for him, with his cock halfway down her throat. What kind of sounds she’d make when he has his tongue buried inside of her. He has no idea who she is but he wants to do terrible, depraved things to her. Before he knows it, the lights are coming up and the guys are rising from their seats.

“C’mon, Fish. Let’s go find Benny.” The fight was over and Frankie didn’t even know who won. He stands from his seat and dutifully follows his friends. Hopefully, he’ll be able to figure out which way the fight went by the interactions between the other men. He’s too embarrassed to admit he’d been preoccupied fighting the half chub in jeans to pay attention to Benny’s fight.

They make their way over to the locker room and Benny swings the door open, a wide smile on his face. Sure, that face was sporting a split lip and a black eye, but that grin couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than victory. “Hey, Fish! Glad you were able to make it out this time. I was starting to think ya didn’t love me anymore.” Benny jokes while sling his arm around Frankie’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, man.” Frankie tells him, his eyes scanning the crown for the girl.

“Where are we going to celebrate?” Pope asks.

“Gotta check with my girl.” Benny replies and Frankie winces internally. If he didn’t want to be set up before, he definitely doesn’t now. He’s trying to think of an excuse to blow them off and go look for her. Since they were all rich now, he couldn’t really use work as a reason to not celebrate Benny’s big win.

“Here she comes.” Benny says excitedly. And there she was. The girl she had been sitting next to came to stand opposite Frankie, tucking herself in under Benny’s other arm. “Fish, meet Rochelle. Rochelle, this is Catfish.” Frankies sees her cock an eyebrow at hearing his name and stifle a giggle.

“Pleased to meet you, Catfish. And this is my friend Camila.” Frankie shakes Rochelle’s hand and turns to extend it towards Camila. She grasps his hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you.” She says sweetly. Every hair in his body stands on end when her skin makes contact with his.

“Alright!” Will says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s party.”

An hour later, Frankie finds himself alone with Camila. Pope had snuck off to the bathroom with the waitress, he isn’t nearly as slick as he thinks he is. Will had called it an early night already, and Benny was on the dance floor, grinding on Rochelle. He is surprised at how easily the conversation flows between them. Even more surprised when he discovers how much they have in common. He almost protests when she begins to gather her belongings. She has to drive and doesn’t want to drink too much.

“At least let me walk you to your car.” Frankie offers. She smiles and nods.

“I would like that.” She says. Frankie holds out his hand to help her down from the tall stool, she accepts but doesn’t drop it right away. He feels the same jolt of electricity in his body that he had before. He knows that there is something special about her. He walks her to her car and even opens the door for her after she unlocks it.

“Would you wanna have lunch with me sometime?” He asks, a little sheepishly. He hasn’t asked a woman out in years. He wonders if he even has any game still. Her eyes light up and she gives him a thousand watt smile.

“I’d love to, Catfish.” She says with a wink.

“Gimme your phone.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. She punches a few buttons and hands it back. Frankie looks down at the brand new contact and smiles. Camila ❤️. He closes her door for her and she offers him a small wave. He waves back and happily jogs to his truck at the other end of the parking lot, not even bothering to say goodnight to the guys.

He’s about to turn towards his house when he spots her car a few lengths ahead of him. He sees her turn signal indicating that she is going to turn right, the opposite way from Frankie’s house. A little detour won’t hurt , he thinks to himself. He turns where she did and can just make out her taillights making a left turn. He follows, once again, and sees her pull into a driveway. He slows down a bit as he passes and makes a right at the next stop sign. Then he makes another right. After a third, he finds himself passing by her house once more. The porch light is off now and there is only one light on inside the house. She must be readying herself for bed. The thought of her taking her clothes off, so close to where he sits at the end of her driveway, makes his cock ache inside his jeans. He grabs his phone from the cup holder and opens a new text thread. He just sends one word. “Catfish.” He’s putting his truck back into drive when his phone dings.

“Lunch tomorrow?” The text reads.

“Absolutely. You can choose the time and place.” He sends the message and thinks about going home to jerk off, but when the light inside her house turns off, he has an idea. So he just sits back and waits.

The next day, Frankie sits at his kitchen table, staring daggers into his phone, willing it to ring. He slaps it against his palm a few times while he paces the kitchen. As if that will produce the desired effect. He's so antsy that he actually drops his phone when it finally does ring. When he retrieves his phone from the kitchen floor the screen is lit up. Camila ❤️. He smiles when he answers.

"Hey there, I was just getting ready to head out the door." He says, trying not to let his excitement show.

"Hey, Frankie. I'm sorry but I don't think I will be able to make it to lunch." Camila says. She sounds disappointed. "I can't get my stupid car to start." He can hear the frustration in her voice.

"Well, that's okay. We can reschedule. Unless you want me to pick you up. I don't mind. Maybe I can even take a look at your car for you." He tells her in a soothing voice.

"That would be great! Thank you so much, Frankie." He smiles so big the corners of his mouth start to ache.

"Send me your address." He tells her, like he doesn't already know where she lives. But she can't know that he knows that. He hangs up and grabs his keys from the hook by the door. He pats his pockets to make sure he has his wallet, his phone and the starter relay he pulled from Camila's car last night, and heads out.

She slides into his truck with a comfortability Frankie isn’t expecting. Flashing him a dazzling smile and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you so much, Frankie. You really saved this date.” She says. Frankie shoots her a smile of his own and pulls his truck into drive. He takes her to his favorite burger place, figuring it was casual enough for a first date. They fall into comfortable conversation immediately. Trading stories from childhood and facts about themselves. Favorite movies, death row meals. They talk about her divorce and Frankie’s pending one. Frankie’s heart flutters inside his chest. He’s so glad that he didn’t blow off the fight last night. Camila is nothing like the other women he’s been set up with. She’s smart and funny. She has a sharp wit and she's already comfortable teasing him, giving him shit. She might be the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on.

Anyone who knows Frankie, knows that he isn't a man who half-asses anything. He gives everything he does all that he has. The army, flight school, his marriage. But that quality doesn't only apply to the positive aspects of his life. On more than one occasion his dedication, that borders on obsession, has come back to kick him in the ass. Like the time he tried cocaine. It developed into a full blown addiction in record time. And lost him all the things he loves. His career, his wife, his kids. He’s feeling that familiar tingle in his bones now as he listens to her talk about the things she loves. There is something so special about listening to someone talk about something that brings them true joy. The way their eyes light up and they talk all fast. He hasn’t done more than hold her hand for a few, brief moments and he already can’t get enough. He wants more. And he is planning on getting it.

After lunch, Frankie drives her back to her house. “Pop your hood.” He says, cocking his head in the direction of her car. She opens the car door, which Frankie had already noticed she doesn’t keep locked, and reaches under the steering wheel to pull the lever. The hood pops and Frankie unlatches it and pulls it up. He can feel her eyes lingering on where his biceps strain the fabric of his t-shirt. He may have worn one that fits him a little tight on purpose. He fiddles around with a few things under the hood and asks a few questions like when she last had it serviced and if it was making any noises.

“I…don’t know actually. My ex usually took care of all that kind of stuff for me.” She replies sheepishly. Frankie gives her a soft smile and says

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He assures her. She returns his smile and walks around the car to peer over his shoulder. He shows her where a few key things are, and explains some common issues. “Doesn’t seem to be any of those things though.” He says. Her brow furrows and he places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Just gotta check a few more things.” He says. He feels her shoulders relax under his palm. “Do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water, sweetheart?” Frankie asks.

“Of course!” Camila replies and she digs her house keys out of her bag and makes her way to the front door. Once she’s in the house with the door shut, Frankie looks around to make sure nobody is watching and pulls the starter relay out of his pocket. He moves his body around the car so that his back is facing towards the house, blocking his hands, just in case. He opens the black box and reattaches the relay. He closes it just in time. Camila comes up behind him with her keys in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Frankie turns to face her.

“Looks like one of your relays was loose. Why don’t you try starting it up now?” She hands him the water and slides into the driver’s seat and crank the key. It starts right up, just like he knew it would. He knows it was sneaky, but the elation on her face when she hears the engine purring makes it all worth it. Even more so when she shuts the car off, gets out, and launches herself at Frankie. He wraps his free hand around her and settles his face into the crook of her neck.

“Thank you so much!” She squeals into his ear, and he isn’t sure he’s ever heard a sweeter sound. But he’s sure he can get her to make some. He’s a little taken aback when her lips find his. It takes him a second to register what’s actually happening, then he wastes no time slotting his lips between hers.

Frankie is feeling happier than he has in months on his drive home. Thinking about his date this weekend with Camila has his dick throbbing in his jeans. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, doesn’t want to scare her, but he can’t wait to see what she looks like squirming underneath him. What the inside of her thighs taste like. What her legs feel like locked around the back of his head. His phone ringing interrupts his daydreams and he rolls his eyes when he sees his almost ex wife’s name fill the screen. She never calls with good news, with anything positive. He answers and presses the button for speakerphone. “Hello?” He answers hesitantly, unwilling to let whatever this is going to be about sour his good mood.

“Francisco, I need some money.” She says unceremoniously.

“Hi, Vanessa. I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” He replies sarcastically. She huffs into the phone.

“Are you gonna bring me some money or not?” She asks, her voice drips with disdain. How had they gotten here? Frankie wonders. How had they fallen so far from what they used to be? Best friends turned high school sweethearts. They got married right out of high school. Frankie enlisted shortly after his eighteenth birthday and shipped out two days after they graduated. He received a letter from Vanessa a month into basic training letting him know that she was pregnant and a few weeks later, when he came home, they had a courthouse wedding. With each deployment, he could feel the cavern in their marriage grow wider. But way back when, when Diego had first been born, they were deliriously happy. Of course, Frankie knows that his drug use didn’t help matters, neither did losing his pilot’s license. But no matter what the breaking point had been, that rot had been festering under the skin for years. He just doesn’t understand why she hates him so much.

“How much do you need?” He resigns to just give her what she wants. She’s been known to not let him see the boys when she doesn’t get her way.

“A couple hundred at least, Francisco. Raising your kids isn’t cheap, ya know?” She snarks.

“Yeah I know. Since you haven’t had a job in years. How is the search coming, by the way?” He can practically feel her roll her eyes through the phone. “I'll be there in twenty.” He says and ends the call, not giving her a chance to respond. He keeps some cash at the house, but most of his money is in a bank in Belize. His lawyer is ready to make it all look legitimate the second his divorce is final. And that bitch won’t get another dime from him that isn’t court ordered.

Diego and Mateo run out the front door and down the porch steps when they hear Frankie’s truck pull up to the curb. “Papi!” They scream in unison before flinging themselves into their father’s arms. “I missed you, Papi.” They exclaim.

“I miss you more.” He tells them quietly, wrapping his big arms tightly around them both. He plants a kiss on each of their heads and straightens, but doesn’t let go of them. “Where’s your mama?” He asks them. They point to the house and head in.

“Papi’s here!” Mateo shouts when they cross the threshold. Vanessa appears from in the kitchen and Frankie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brown paper bag. He tosses it to her and it falls to the floor before she can catch it.

“Real nice, Frank.” She says. He brushes past her to the stairs, where the boys have already disappeared. At 14 and 11 they know when to make themselves scarce. Frankie and Vanessa tried hard to keep their problems from the kids, but they knew. They always know. It’s impossible to miss the tension that fills the room when they are forced to be together.

“I’m going to spend some time with my kids.” He tells her. Not bothering to wait for a response. When he reaches the top of the stairs and turns toward Diego’s room, he can see her counting the money out of the corner of his eye. Greedy bitch , he thinks. But if keeping her happy was what he needed to do for his boys, he’d put up with it. For now. Once he has his money, he’ll go after her for full custody. If he can’t find anything to prove she’s unfit, he’ll make something up.

Diego has a movie queued up on his tv and the boys are sitting on his bed. “We chose ‘28 Days Later’.” He tells Frankie as he toes off his boots and squishes in between them. Two hours later, the boys are both asleep, each with their head on their father’s shoulder. Frankie wriggles out from under them, trying his best not to wake them up. He grabs his boots from the floor and tiptoes out of the room, shutting the light and the door behind him. Vanessa finds him sitting on the bottom step lacing up his boots.

“The money was for my lawyer.” She tells him.

“So I’m paying for you to take half my shit and keep the kids away from me?” He retorts.

“He said we should try mediation.” She replies.

“Tell him to call my lawyer. Next time you need money, call someone else.” He tells her and walks out the door, careful not to shut it too hard.

When he steps into the shower, his mind can’t help but to wander back to this afternoon. The way Camila wrapped her arms around his neck. The way her breasts pressed tightly up against his chest. The smell of rosemary in her hair, mixed with something else, maybe mint. His dick grows harder than he ever thought possible at the memory. He strokes himself with the sound of that squeal playing on repeat in his ears. He touches the tips of the fingers of his other hand to his mouth, where he can still feel the ghost of her lips on his. Now he knows exactly how soft they would feel wrapped around his cock. The thought has him spilling over his hand and onto the floor of the shower with a shudder and a moan. When he falls asleep that night, it's with Camila on his mind.

Frankie finds himself sitting in his truck at the end of Camila’s driveway again. They’ve spent three Friday nights in the high school gym, watching Benny kick ass. They all always end up at the same bar afterwards to celebrate. Frankie walks her to her car, just like he did that first night. The guys give him shit when he comes back into the bar. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips kiss-swollen. They make whip noises at him. And kissy faces. Santi is the only one who doesn’t tease. He just claps Frankie on the shoulder and tells him that he’s happy for him. And the following night each week, they’ve gone out together. Three dates. Three perfect nights. Every second that he spends with her makes her that much more irresistible to him. He isn’t quite sure what’s happening to him. He’s never felt like this in his life. Maybe this is why his marriage didn’t work out. He never for a second felt for Vanessa what he’s feeling now, after just a few weeks. His divorce had been mediated, just waiting for the finalization. He got split custody of his boys.

All the pieces seem to be falling into place for him. He knows he’s going to see her tomorrow, but he can’t stay away. When they were at dinner tonight, she told him about a man at work who had been asking her out, despite letting him down gently more than once. Just the thought of it had Frankie’s blood boiling. Not just the thought of another man vying for her affection. More than that, he disrespected her boundaries, he disrespected her, won’t take no for an answer. Frankie can’t have that. He lets the anger bubble there, just under the surface, as he gets out of his truck. He slinks up the driveway and slips the blade from his pocket. He unfolds it and jams it into her tire. The air hisses out of the tire and Frankie’s mouth turns up into a satisfied smirk. She’d also told him about the footprints she found outside of her bedroom window. Frankie’s eyes filled with faux concern. He couldn’t let slip that he was the one who made them. She hadn’t answered her phone that night and he was concerned. He just wanted to make sure that she was okay. When he found her sleeping peacefully, alone, he went right back home. Turns out she hadn’t been feeling well and took some cold medicine and fell right to sleep. She texted him all about it the next morning. He brought her some soup and Gatorade but she made him leave it on the porch because she knows he can’t keep his lips to himself when they’re together and she didn’t want to get him sick.

Frankie knows it isn’t right. He doesn’t know why he does these things. He just knows that he can’t stop. Not until she’s his. She’s a little gun shy after her own divorce, and now the strange things that have been happening around her house. Every time someone calls her from a blocked number and doesn’t say anything, every time something goes wrong with her car, she calls Frankie. He places the burner phone in his gun safe in his closet, and rushes right over. He’s become the person she runs to, the person she feels safe with. The rush he feels when he wraps his arms around her, comforting her, is like nothing else, not even flying. He feels a pang of guilt as he drives back to his house for the night. Would she still feel safe with him if she knew the lengths he was going to just to be nearer to her? He was the one making her feel unsafe, just to be afforded the opportunity to comfort her, to soothe the wound he made. He makes sure his ringer is on before he places his phone on his nightstand. He wouldn’t want to miss the call he knows is coming in the morning.

The ringing wakes him from his sleep and he fumbles around until his hand lands on his phone. The photo he took of the two of them together, Camila’s head on his shoulder, fills the screen. He smiles, remembering how they spent the night sitting in the bed of his truck, looking up at the stars. “Hello?” He says, his voice thick with sleep. The sound of her crying clears his head, memories of the previous night’s activities come flooding back.

“Frankie! I need you” She cries.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks.

“My tire is flat.” She exclaims. Frankie holds the phone to his ear with one hand and scrubs the other over his face,

“It’s okay, baby. I can be there in ten.” He tells her. Knowing that she hasn’t been brought to tears by a flat tire. He rises from the bed and slips a black t-shirt over his head.

“Babe, someone cut it!” The anguish in her voice almost makes Frankie regret it. Almost . Hearing the pet name fall from her mouth makes him smile. Still in his gray joggers, he rushes towards the door and slips on his tattered New Balances.

“Keep the door locked. I’m on my way.” He tells her, slamming the front door behind him. He makes it to her place in seven minutes, daring to go over the posted 20 mph speed limit. He knows she isn’t in any danger, not really. But she doesn’t know that. Her fear, that is very real, and Frankie doesn’t want her to feel it for a moment longer than she has to.

When he arrives he attempts to open the door but the knob doesn’t turn. Good girl. He knocks gently on the door, to make sure he doesn’t scare any further. “Hey, baby. It’s me. Let me in.” Camila throws the door open and leaps into Frankie’s arms.

“Thank you for coming.” She says into his neck, where she has buried her face.

“Of course I came. I’ll always come.” He assures her, tightening his hold on her. “Why don’t you go pack a few things and come stay with me a couple nights?” He suggests. She looks up at him through her lashes.

“Are you sure?” I know you’re supposed to have the boys this weekend. Frankies heart wrenches at the sight of tears on her beautiful face.

“Course I’m sure. I’ve been telling them all about you and they’ve been bugging me to meet you.” He tells her as he brushes away a tear with his thumb. She leans up to give him a kiss and then heads to her bedroom to pack her things. “I’m just gonna run out and take a look at your car, okay?” She hums in response, already feeling much safer with Frankie in her home. He just smiles and heads outside, pretending to be entranced with her shredded tire. Camila comes out a few minutes later with her purse and a duffel bag in her hand. Frankie finishes his “inspection” and takes the bags from her while she locks the door.

“I checked all the windows and the back door. Twice.” She tells him as he helps her into her seat.

“Good. If you want we can change the locks.” He replies. Tears well up in her eyes again, but she nods in response.

“I’m just so thankful for you.” She tells him quietly. He kisses her forehead and closes the door.

On the way to Frankie’s house they stop and grab some pizzas for lunch. When they arrive, Vanessa is there already, waiting by her car at the curb. “Why don’t you go ahead and run inside?” He tells Camila. He hands her his keys and plants a kiss to her temple.

“Who the fuck is that, Frank?” Vanessa asks.

“According to the judge, that’s not any of your business anymore.” He tells her, with a smile on his face. He doesn’t need his boys seeing him be nasty to their mother. She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. Camila is struggling with figuring out which key goes in the door along with juggling her bags, so she overhears more of the conversation than she was meant to. “She’s my girlfriend, okay?” Camila’s lips turn up into a smile just as she slides the key into the lock. She enters the house and closes the door behind her.

“Is she the reason you decided to stop helping me out?” She asks. Frankie laughs and shifts the pizza boxes to his other hand.

“No. Our divorce, a divorce you fucking asked for, is the reason I stopped giving you money to get your nails done, your hair done, and whatever the fuck else you were spending my money on. Sure wasn’t on our kids.” The anger is starting to bubble up in his chest again. “You told me they needed new shoes and I gave you $400. Why did Diego ask me to take him shopping this weekend?” He asks. She opens her mouth to make an excuse and Frankie cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it. I already bought them both new shoes. Hope you enjoyed whatever you spent that money on. It’s the last fucking dime you’ll ever see from me.” He nods his head towards the car, where the boys are watching the scene unfold through the windows. “Let my kids out. They’ll see you next week.”

The mediator worked out an even split in custody. They spend a week with her, then a week with Frankie. Since he lives so close, the school district is the same. The added bonus is that he doesn’t have to pay her a penny. If looks could kill, Frankie would have dropped dead right on that conference room floor. He waves for the boys to get out of the car. They hop out and run to give their dad a hug. He hands the pizzas to Diego and tells them to run inside and wash their hands. “And be nice to Camila.” He calls over his shoulder.

Vanessa narrows her eyes at his last comment. “Don’t forget, Frank. We were married for a long time. I know all the skeletons in your closet. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

Frankie takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean? You threatening me?” She points a finger at him.

“I’m not threatening. I’m just saying. Molly has some questions about Tom’s death you boys seem unable to answer. I’m sure people would be interested in what you all really got up to down there in the jungle.” Frankie scoffs but she continues. “And you can lie all you want, but I know you went back for that money.” She opens the door to her car, “Don’t test me.” She warns before she gets in and speeds off. Frankie stands there for a moment, unable to believe that she was actually threatening him. He shakes his head and joins Camila and the boys inside.

While Frankie cooks dinner his sons interrogate Camila, The boys ask her question after question. Each answer leads to more questions. Frankie’s heart swells seeing the three of them get along so well. Diego and Mateo seem to genuinely want to get to know Camila. And she seems content to answer all of their questions. “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?” Mateo asks. She turns her head a little to catch Frankie’s eye, not wanting to say the wrong thing. He nods lightly and smiles at her. She returns his smile with one of her own and tells Mateo,

“Yes. Yes I am.” Mateo smiles brightly at her and then asks her if she wants to play Monopoly after dinner. The whole scene is so domestic . He tries to remember the last time he and Vanessa had a night like this with their kids. No drama, no arguing, just enjoying being a family. Frankie wishes it could always be like this. That Camila could be here every night when he gets home, that his sons could. And now she’s threatening him? He can’t have that. Not when everything is finally starting to come together. Not when he can finally envision a future for himself. So, he begins to formulate a plan.

“Spring break is in two weeks, right?” He asks Diego who nods, intent on winning. “Would you all like to go camping?” The boys' faces light up with glee. They love camping with their dad.

“Can Tio Santi come?” Diego asks.

“And Uncle Benny and Uncle Will?” Mateo adds.

“We can ask them.” He chuckles. “Do you want to come?” He asks Camila.

“I’d love to. By the way, you owe me rent.” She points at the game board. When the boys finally lose interest in Monopoly, Frankie sends them up to bed. They both give Camila a hug before starting up the stairs.

“Let me just shower and I’ll take the couch tonight.” Frankie offers. Camila rolls her eyes.

“Be serious, Frankie. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own house. I was hoping you might want me to sleep with you, seeing as I’m your girlfriend now.” She smirks. “But if you don’t want to, then I’m fine with the couch.” Frankie closes the distance between them.

“I’d love nothing more than to share my bed with you, baby. Maybe I’ll even show you why they call me ‘Catfish.’” He teases with a wink and begins kissing her neck while walking her backwards. Thankfully, the master bedroom is downstairs. He toes the door closed and leads her to his bed. She moves her hands to the hem of her shirt and starts pulling it up. Frankie reaches a hand out to stop her.

“Wait.” He says. She drops her hands and her gaze falls to the floor.

“Oh, sorry. If you don’t want to- I mean, we don’t have to.” She says quietly. Frankie hooks his fingers under her chin and gently lifts her head til her eyes meet his.

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.” He tells her. She doesn’t say anything so he takes a deep breath and continues. “It’s just, this is our first time spending the night together. I just want you to feel comfortable. I never want you to feel pressured.” He rubs his hands up and down her arms and he can feel her relax under him. She lets out a deep breath and nods her head.

“I promise, Frankie, I want this. I’ve wanted to for a while, I just- I just wasn’t sure what this was, and after my divorce…” she trails off. Frankie saves her from having to continue by slotting his lips between hers. She returns his kiss hungrily. He places his hands on her shirt, where hers had been previously, and peels the fabric up. Her hands only leave his body to allow him to pull her shirt over her head. Something snaps between them and suddenly they are ripping each other’s clothes off, kissing each other ravenously in between tossing articles of clothing wherever they land. Frankie grabs Camila’s thighs, just under her ass, and lifts her in his arms. Instinctively she wraps her legs around his trim waist and gasps when she feels the hard length of him fill the space between their bodies. She grinds her naked core down the length of him, and a growl reverberates low in his throat. He tightens his grip on her and sits on the edge of the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and grips the curls at the nape of his neck. He moans into her mouth quietly and she swallows it down. She tugs even harder, eliciting a loud groan.

“Fuck, baby! Come here, I can’t wait any longer.” He says as he lays back on the bed. He grabs the meat of her thighs and urges her up toward his head. “I need to taste you, querida. Come sit on my face.” Camila doesn’t hesitate to acquiesce. She scoots up on her knees until she’s sitting on his chest. She’s been waiting for this just as long as Frankie has. She settles over his face and her body jolts with the first swipe of his broad tongue.

This is it for me, Frankie thinks with the first burst of her taste on his tongue. He’ll never do another line in his life if he gets to taste this pussy every day. She reaches down to grab his hair and he moans when she gives his curls a hard pull.

“Oh fuck, Frankie. Right there, baby.” She cries out. She begins grinding down on his face, taking what she needs from him. The action makes Frankie’s cock rock hard against the soft flesh of his stomach. His senses all feel heightened somehow, as if the taste of her pussy has lifted the fog that had settled over his life. Cleared the cobwebs from inside his brain. He tightens his grip on her thighs, pulls her down to his mouth further, not leaving any space, and begins to fuck her with his tongue. The noises she makes only spur him on, his nose grinds on her clit and her walls clench around his tongue. “Don’t stop, please, don’t fucking stop. I’m gonna come.” She pants out, barely audible. Frankie needs her to hurry up and come because he’s about to do the same. He’s not sure how much longer he can last. This is definitely not something he’s ever experienced. He’s about a minute away from coming, untouched, just from this. Suddenly, she stills over him, and the most beautiful sounds spill from her mouth, and her pussy gushes into his. Frankie can’t spare another second to even wait for her to come down from her orgasm. He grabs her tight and flips her onto the bed. Her legs fall open and he kneels between them.

“I, uh- I don’t have a condom.” He admits. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.” He assures her. She nods while pulling him closer.

“I haven’t been with anyone since my divorce and I have an IUD. I trust you, Frankie.” She says. He doesn’t wait any longer. He nudges the tip of his cock into her dripping entrance. She’s absolutely soaked from his saliva and her own arousal, but it’s still a tight fit. He stills over her, needing a moment to gather himself. He’s about to blow his load then and there, and that’s not exactly the impression he wants to make.

“Fuck, baby. Just give me a second. You’re so goddamn tight.” He screws his eyes tightly shut. Even looking at her is too much for him. He takes several deep breaths and Camila runs her hands across his shoulders and down his arms. When he finally feels composed enough to show her a good time, he slides all the way in. One smooth stroke and he suddenly knows what heaven feels like. The velvet heat of her walls mold to him, like she was made for him. He fills her up completely, like he was made for her. Frankie could die right now, a happy man. He knows that he’ll never need anything else, anyone else. He fucks into her at a brutal, punishing pace. Like his life depends on it, and in a way it does. He wants to ruin even the idea of another man for her. Wants to be all she can think about it, all she wants. When he finds the spot inside her that makes her cry out his name and claw at his back, he fucks her even more desperately. He can tell she’s close, the way she’s squeezing him. He grinds his pubic bone into hers, putting just the right amount of pressure on her throbbing clit, and she comes undone for him. She comes so hard that her muscles squeeze him out, and she cries for him to put it back in. The second he does, his own orgasm follows. He finds his release buried to the hilt in the wet warmth of her cunt, and he knows that he needs to find a way to keep her like this, under him, surrounding him, forever.

Camila spends the next few nights at Frankie’s house. He takes her to work in the morning after they drop the boys off at school. He picks her up in the evening and takes her back to his house where he cooks dinner for the four of them. Frankie doesn’t want it to ever end. But he knows it’s too soon to ask her to move in. They’ve only been seeing each other for a little over a month. He doesn’t want her to think he’s crazy. But what if she feels it too? This string that keeps them connected, tugs them closer together with each passing day. Maybe he just needs to give her a little motivation. Five days after her tire was slashed, Frankie picks Camila up from work in her own car. He took it to have the tire replaced while she was at work, as a surprise. He likes being the person she depends on, the person she can count on. He likes knowing that she’s gotten to work safely, that she made it home okay. But he knows how much she appreciates her freedom, having been married to an asshole who wanted to control every aspect of her life. Frankie didn’t want to control her. That wasn’t the reason for his actions. He just wanted her to have the chance to see how well he would take care of her. How good he could be to her. That he could keep her safe. She spends that night at his house as well. He makes a comment about how much he likes seeing her car next to his truck in the driveway. She smiles in response.

“You trying to hint at something, Catfish? ’ She teases. He just shrugs his shoulders, trying to play it cool. She doesn’t need to know that it takes every ounce of his self control to not drop to his knees right there and ask her to move him, to marry him, to spend her life with him. She returns to her own home for the weekend, to give Frankie some alone time with Diego and Mateo. He takes them to Academy to buy supplies for their upcoming camping trip. They are old enough now to have their own tent. Besides, Frankie has a few plans in mind for his tent.

The week leading up to their camping trip the boys are at their mom’s house. Frankie spends a few nights at Camila’s house, coming and going as he pleases since she gave him his own key. She feels better knowing that he’s there, keeping an eye on things. She’s told him her suspicions about who has been wreaking havoc at her home. She thinks the chances of it being her persistent coworker are slim. She is much more convinced that Charlie, her ex husband, must be behind it. She had changed the locks when he moved out, but had Frankie change them again after her tire was slashed. When he finished he handed her the extra keys and she handed one back to him. He cocked his eyebrow in confusion, she just closed his fingers around the key and said

“Just in case, you know? For emergencies.” He had felt such joy, and a strange sense of pride, every time he used it since then. Not that he would be needing it today. He had parked his truck a few streets away, tucked into a quiet alley. He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans paired with black hiking boots he had bought at Academy last weekend with his boys. As he slips over the fence into Camila’s backyard, he slides a black ski mask over his face and black nitrile gloves, two pairs, over his hands. He slinks across the yard, well hidden by the privacy fence. When he arrives at the sliding glass door he gives it two swift kicks near the door handle. The glass shatters with the first kick, the second provides a nice hole to stick his arm through. He’s careful not to nick himself on the glass, he can’t have any evidence of his involvement lying around. He had sent Camila a text before he left his house, letting her know that he was going to grab lunch with Benny this afternoon. He had left his phone at home, just in case anyone ever checks his location services. As soon as he finishes up here, he’ll be meeting Benny at their favorite barbecue spot. With his alibi intact, Frankie goes about trashing Camila’s house. He’s chosen his targets carefully. The table next to the door where she keeps her mail and other semi-important papers. The drawers of her dresser, where he tosses her clothes around the room. The drawers of her nightstand. The box in her closet that has some sentimental items in it. He finds the divorce decree and rips the documents in half, leaving them on her bed. Every single move he makes is setting up Charlie to take the fall for this. Frankie might actually feel bad for how good of a job he’s doing if Charlie wasn’t such a piece of shit.

Once he’s finished, he sneaks back out of the sliding glass door, across the yard and over the fence. He takes the hoodie and ski mask off, balling them up and tossing them in a trash can in the alley. The gloves and boots find their way into separate trash cans as well. He drives the speed limit on his way home, not willing to risk a ticket this time. He runs inside to grab his phone and then heads off to enjoy a nice lunch with his friend. They hammer out a few details about their camping trip that’s in a few days and part ways. Just as Frankie is about to turn onto his street, his phone rings. He can barely understand Camila through the tears, but that’s okay, he doesn’t need to. He pulls into the closest driveway and turns around, heading back in her direction. When he pulls to a stop at the curb, the police are already there. He catches her eye when he steps onto the lawn and she excuses herself from the officer she is speaking to and runs to him.

“Baby! What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Frankie asks, holding her at arm’s length to look her body up and down.

“I’m fine, babe, I swear.” She promises. Her eyes still shine with tears and the whites of them are bloodshot.

“What happened, querida ?” She sniffles a little and buries her face in his chest. He can tell she is trying not to fall apart, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. Maybe he took it too far, this time.

“Someone broke into my house and trashed it.” She explains. “The police think it was Charlie. Damn it! We just changed the locks.” She looks up at Frankie and takes a deep breath.

“Do you think we can change them again?” He rubs his hand up and down her back, comforting her.

“Of course we can, baby. I’ll go to Home Depot right now.” Camila shakes her head at that.

“No, it's fine. I’ll just stay the weekend with you since we are leaving to go camping Sunday morning. We can just do it when we get back.”

That night, in bed, Camila is laying with her head on Frankie’s chest and her leg thrown over both of his. “What if I don’t change your locks?” He asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” She asks while absently drawing with her fingers on his bare chest.

“What if you just moved in with me, instead” her fingers stop for a moment, then resume their trailing.

“Okay.” She says, taking Frankie by surprise.

“Really?” She looks up at him and furrows her brow.

“Unless you aren’t sure.” She says. He grabs her chin gently and tilts her head until she can see his face.

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. I just thought I’d have to do a little more convincing.” He tells her. The earnestness in his face makes her heart melt.

“I don’t feel safe at my house anymore. But I always feel safe with you. I think- Frankie, I think I love you.” Tears sting his eyes then because he’s known for weeks that he loves her, he was just waiting, til he was sure she felt the same, to let her know.

“I love you, too, baby.” He says. Then he leans down and seals his proclamation with a kiss. They spend all of Saturday making sure everything they need for their trip is packed and stuffed into the bed of Frankie’s truck. They order some Chinese for dinner and continue watching Narcos. After Camila falls asleep on the couch, Frankie sneaks out of the front door and walks the three blocks to Vanessa’s house. Twenty minutes later, he’s back in his own house, waking Camila up and taking her to bed. If anyone were to ever ask, she’d say Frankie was home with her all night.

They leave the house early the next morning to go pick up the boys. Vanessa had offered to drop them off, but Frankie had insisted. They’d have to pass by her house anyways, and Frankie didn’t want her driving the boys in her car, not today. Camila stays in the truck while Frankie knocks on the door. Vanessa answers the door and rolls her eyes when she sees Camila.

“You didn’t tell me she was going.” She snips. Frankie just shrugs his shoulders in reply.

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Vanessa. You should get used to seeing her around, anyways. We’re moving in together when this trip is over." She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head.

“I can’t believe you Frank. We just got divorced.” Frankie laughs.

“Yeah after you kicked me out, over a year ago.” She huffs at him, clearly pouting.

“Don’t forget about all the things I know, Francisco.” She warns one last time before the boys are bounding down the stairs and out the door.

“See ya around, Vanessa.” He tells her, closing the door behind him. The campground is a three hour drive. Camila commands the radio and Diego has the directions pulled up on his phone. Mateo chatters away, in that way that little kids always do, about nothing in particular. When they arrive they find Santi, Will and Benny already there. They’ve already got their own tents put up and a fire going. The boys run to hug their uncles while Camila and Frankie unload the truck. Santi takes the boys to go fishing with Benny, while Will helps Frankie put up their own tents. They eat fresh caught fish for dinner and the adults drink too many beers. They all wake up late in the morning the next day and when Frankie checks his phone he sees multiple missed calls. The signal isn’t great this far out, so he isn’t surprised that he missed them. Several are from Vanessa’s sister. A few from her mother. Since none of them are from Vanessa herself, Frankie can guess what this is about. He tries to return the calls but none of them will connect. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and smiles. Seems like his plan worked. Nobody will be threatening him or his brothers anymore. He thinks, in time, his boys will come to love Camila as their mother. He finally has everything he wants, exactly where he wants it.

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#frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier au #triple frontier #dark fluff #dark!triple frontier #dark!frankie morales

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bruhlpng · 10 months

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Pedro Pascal in Triple Frontier (2019)

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #triple frontier #ppascaledit #pedropascaledit #netflixedit #pedrohub #frankie catfish morales #this movie is so FUCKING DARK and awful to color #mine*#**

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iamasaddie · 8 months

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no eres tú (soy yo)

paring: dark!Frankie Morales x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 2.1k~ summary: Frankie has a thing for creating marks on your skin – bruises, hickeys, the like. He liked knowing and showing that you are his. a/n: This was written on a whim for Feral Frankie Friday. If it's not friday where you're at rn, just pretend that it is. The biggest thanks to amazing @patti7dc for being my beta on this work and giving her beautiful comments first <;3 warnings: dead dove do not eat; PWP; toxic relationship, physical abuse, Stockholm syndrome (kind of?), obsessive behavior, restraints, bruising, carving (not descriptive), brief fingering, unsafe PinV; ; no use of y/n MY MASTERLIST

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪʀʟ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ. ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ, ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

It was like his hands itched to squeeze you just a little bit harder, to see your skin tense up and then relax under his fingertips. His mouth searched every open surface of your body to latch on and create intricate patterns for the world to see. At the beginning of your relationship Frankie was cautious, the first time he lost control as he pounded into you from behind his large hands gripped your body and you whined from the new sensation, from feeling pressure somewhere else besides your stuffed cunt. He let go of you immediately, dropping his head between your shoulder blades and kissing you there while murmuring apologies, but you just blindly found his hands and brought them back, giving him the silent signal.

He squeezed you harder then.

"Amor, you like it when I am a little bit rough with you, huh?" He smiled, biting on your shoulder.

"You know it, Papi." You tried to turn your head and kiss him, but with a harder thrust from him you ended up just sliding your lips across his sweat-covered face.

He loved marking you, it awoke some kind of primal desire within him, and you loved seeing the shadows left by him on your most intimate parts.

Now, when you laid bare, your hands tied tightly to the bed's wooden headboard while your legs were spread by his own thighs between, you couldn't remember for the life of you when it all went south.

One day your lover whispered filthy flirtations in your ear, placing a little hickey just behind it; and the other he was breaking your skin with his teeth, growling in your skin that he owned you. And you should've left, you really should have. When he came back a different, shallow version of himself you’d never seen before. When his hands became a little bit too rough for pleasure. When he smiled seeing your tears, and licked them away. When he stopped hiding little ziplocks with white powder inside. You should've left. But you didn't. It's like he was right, and he did own you.

With every new bruise he seeped into your skin deeper and deeper, and you thought that the next mark was going to grace your bones. There was nothing in particular that triggered his violence, at least there was nothing you could find besides the drugs. Every morning he’d wake up the same old Frankie that made you fall in love with him by reading you poetry in Spanish, and bringing you your favorite takeout when he met you after work. He’d kiss your stomach, licking the splotches of yesterday’s night blooming on your skin. You’d wipe the tear out of the corner of your eye, soaking in the familiar gentleness, your mind blocking the pain you endured mere hours ago. And then the night would come, and this new Frankie, the Frankie you thought you helped create, would show his face. The sharpness of his teeth would scratch your flesh bloody, the strength of his arms would rip your clothes and your hopes, and all you could do was let the tears fall, and let him mark you again. The bruises didn’t fade anymore.

"I missed you, amor. I missed you so fucking much." He rolled his hips, letting the hardness of his naked cock grind into your naked pussy. As he whispered the words, he bit your collarbone - it was his favorite place, the skin there so thin and soft, so easy to break.

You closed your eyes, the familiar stinging started to bloom under your neck. "I missed you too, Frankie." Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a twisted mixture of fear and desire coursing through your veins. When Frankie felt like that was enough for one spot, he unlatched his lips and teeth, giving the tender skin only the last lick. He raised his eyes back to you, giving you a soft smile. He was rarely this gentle at night.

"You should quit." He didn’t blink, and you raised your brows. What was that supposed to mean?

"What?" Your voice trembled, tinged with uncertainty. Your time together gave him enough time to learn your body better than you knew it yourself. He was obsessively attentive, listening to your every sigh and moan, watching your every twitch. He knew how to make you wet in bare moments, even when you thought there was no way. He used his knowledge now, too. Frankie let you rest from the abuse of his teeth, and too rough hands, by trailing kisses along your heaving breasts. He didn’t answer for a while, letting the question just hang in the air. His wet and firm tongue drew circles around your nipples, one at first, and then the other. You felt wetness between your legs becoming more prominent, and you let your hips grind back into his throbbing cock, allowing a tiny moan to fall from your lips. Frankie hummed with satisfaction before his teeth squeezed your puckered left nipple and tugged. Your loud whine drowned the beginning of his sentence.

"I said you’re gonna quit the job. I want you with me always." His lips were still close to your throbbing nipple, but he didn’t make a move to it, instead squeezing your ribs. His hands were huge, almost fully bracketing your sides with his thumbs digging into your skin the most painfully. "I fucking hate when you leave, and those assholes all stare at you, thinking they cancould have you."

That wasn’t a new conversation for you to have, except usually he used it as a sick foreplay before ‘punishing’ you for letting your male coworkers think they had a chance with you. You never did that. Your only interaction with men at work was whenever you or them gave the other some sort of paperwork. Frankie wasn’t easy to convince, though. When his ‘punishments’ became too severe, so much that you had to make up excuses at said work why you didn’t sit all day, you told him you were gonna transfer somewhere where there were no male workers. He called you his ‘amorcita pequeña’ that night, made you cum at least three times (with two being on his insatiable tongue), and left only one bruise, which to you was the greatest gift.

"Frankie," you furrowed your brows in confusion, "but I work with women. You know that."

"I don't fucking care." There was this animalistic glint in his eyes, something that pushed your Frankie deep down, until the morning came. You trembled in his arms and winced when his hands squeezed yet stronger still. "You’re going to quit, you understand?"

"But baby, we can’t afford that." You tried to call onto his smarter side. His work at the garage didn’t bring the amount of money that would cover the cost of your already humble dwelling. "How are we gonna pay the bills?"

He gave you a toothy grin before kissing you on the tip of your nose and tracing his right hand from your ribs to where you were almost connected, glued together by a sheen of sweat and an emotional chain.

"It’s gonna be fine." Frankie kissed your neck, and you turned your head on auto-pilot, giving him access to more of your tender skin. "I have something." He mumbled in the crook of your neck, the fingers of his right hand slipping on your arousal as he started playing with your clit, while keeping himself upright with the help of his left. You had to bite your lower lip painfully to focus on his words, instead of pleasure that he started professionally eliciting out of your body. "I leave in a couple of days, but I’ll come back in a week, okay?" His index finger left your clit as it found its way to your pulling entrance. He pushed in roughly and you moaned, the familiarity of his movements making your reaction almost Pavlovian. "And then you’ll never have to work again. Neither of us will ever have to work."

His words slowly settled in your brain and you struggled against the ropes that tied your hands to the bed frame. You had almost lost all the sensation besides the growing tingling of needles in your forearms. Once, you pushed him off you when you couldn’t stand his loving anymore, he became furious and outdid himself, the results of it causing you to have to work from home for the next week. That was the first time you saw Frankie terrified of what he’d done and it sparked a hope inside you. Maybe there was still a chance to get your baby back. Since then, he usually tied your hands up to the bed frame that he ordered separately from your classic one and installed himself; or behind your back, when his only need for the night was to take you from behind as many times as it took to get you both to black out.

"What…? What do you mean? Leave where?" You turned your head, but he never left your neck, exchanging his kisses for bites.

"Don’t think about it, amor." And it was hard to do so when he pushed his finger out of your throbbing cunt and grabbed his stiff cock, quickly aligning his weeping head with your entrance. He teased you by pushing just the tip in, and sliding out. Frankie knew, it drove you insane. Made you realize exactly how empty you were without him. Understand that there was no one but him for you. He kept playing with you, until your breaths became broken, mixing with whines. "The only thing you need to do right now is be with me," he whispered in your ear. "I’ll have to do something special tonight, we can't have people thinking you don’t belong to me when the bruises fade." He tsked, as if it genuinely disappointed him. You felt the rush of your blood stop at his words.

"Special?" You repeated back at him. The tip of his cock stretched your entrance and he mounted above you, staring back into your eyes with a smile.

"Yes, my love," he whispered, his gaze intense and predatory, and finally pushed in.

You threw your head back and felt the skin of your wrists breaking under the constant rub of the rough jute rope. No more t-shirts for you this week, and it promised to be the hottest one this summer. You’d dwell on it some more, if only the relentless pounding of Frankie’s thick cock didn’t erase every thought from your mind. Hundreds of days and thousands of bruises later, he was still the only person who could render you speechless just by sliding inside you. He never stopped biting you, this time stopping his lips above your left tit, close to where your armpit became wet with sweat. You lowered your head, burrowing your nose in his curls. You used to love tugging on them hard when you felt your orgasm coming up. If only you could do that now.

The fear of the unknown made your body tense up, and that made the feeling of Frankie’s cock even more intense. The only sounds in your room were the squelching of your cunt, constantly being stuffed, and Frankie’s lips slurping your abused skin. You knew he was as close as you when the pain surged through the spot where he sunk in his teeth. The warmth of his cum filled you and you let go yourself, feeling both your cum and your tears gushing out of you and making your body limp. You saw blood on Frankie’s lower lip when he finally released your flesh from his grip.

You waited a moment for him to compose himself, usually that was the time when he lazily undid the knots that were imprinted on your skin by then. He didn’t do it now, instead reaching out to the bedside table, stretching so that his softening cock didn’t slip out of you.

"Something really special," he mumbled, not even looking at your face.

He pulled out a little knife, tugging the blade out with his teeth, and brought the sharp edge of it to the side of your neck.

"Frankie?" The post-orgasmic fog that occupied your mind cleared as you felt the alarms going off inside you. ‘Run, fight, scream, do anything’, they screamed at you, but it was as if Frankie read your mind.

"Shhh," he pressed his fingers that still smelled of you to your lips, pressing them together, "I’m going to be careful, but it’s going to hurt a little, amor."

When he left for his mission, you missed him every day, gently touching the little scabs covering the letters on your neck and praying to God that he comes back soon.

Hope you could enjoy it! Leave a comment if you did 💔

🏷️ (just for this): @covetyou ; @sheepdogchick3 ; @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog ; @cool-iguana ; @oldenoughtoknoebettersstuff ; @bearsbeetsbeskar ; @gracieispunk

#frankie morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie x reader #dark!frankie morales #dark!frankie #iamasaddie fic #pedro pascal #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut

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beefrobeefcal · 10 days

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Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

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

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

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

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

On the Waterfront Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

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

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

*****

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

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

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

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

“Who’s dea- “

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

He’d found something else to get high on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#dark!frankie still chubby though #dark!frankie still chubby though #dark!frankie au #dark!frank #on the waterfront #otwf #beefro’s bistro #🥩

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romana-after-dark · 5 months

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Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

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romanarose · 3 months

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2000 followers!!!!

Graphic by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 🥰🥰

Wow, I'm in tears y'all I can't believe I'm at 2k!!!!!

I'll be straight up, the 1k celebration was a lot ;-;

And with school, I can't commit to a whole lot especially writing things for people who don't interact with my shit at all. So, I decided to do something specific

My talent lies in series more than one shots. It's where I shine. So I think the celebration will be centered more around my different universes! Acceptable universes will be listened an linked at the bottom.

Here's how to participate!

Fuck Marry Kiss

Pic 3 canon characters or OC's from any universes. If you say "Marc Spector" Specify if its from Seattle or Sunshine. Make sure I know which series bc there slightly different characterizations sometimes. Same with reader. MOST of my readers have a nickname like Little One or Madonna. Example: FMK: IYWBW Santi, Lorenzo, and Puppy Girl reader

2. Bonus chapter or thoughts (or thots)

Ever wanted to know how Zach and Lorenzo fell in love? Ever wondered what Jana and Will's friendship is like? Wanted to see what Guard Dog! Joel and Reader do for fun? Now is your chance! Please be clear if you're looking for thoughts or an organized chapter. Example: Can I please request a scene with how Santi calms down Laci when she has PTSD now that's she's a few years into healing? Example 2: Was wondering if you had some random thoughts of what shows Jake and Sam have watched together over the years?

3. Crossovers!

Want two characters from different universes to meet? Have a cross story ship? Think two readers or OC's would be besties? Think a pair of characters would be fun in a different AU? Come on over!

Example (From Fen): Leather and Lace Santi and Laci meet The Wrong Way Joel and Little one

Example 2 (Also from Fen): What if Sam met Becca.

Example 3: I think Angela from Blessed be the Fruit would absolutely love Candy and they should date.

Acceptable universes to ask for fics or crossovers from:

If You Wanna Be Wild (Santiago Garcia x Latina!Reader/OC x Javier Pena) with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside (Steven Grant x OC x Marc Spector) Seattle (Marc Spector x Jewish!OC) Leather and Lace Universe (Santiago Garcia x OC, Frankie Morales x AfroLatina!OC, William Miller x Vietnamese!OC, Ben Miller x M!OC) Awakening (Reader x all 4, IronPope, FishBen) Darkness on the Edge of Town (Joel Miller x reader, no age gap) DBF!Joel Miller Holiday Fucks (Joel Miller x reader, large age gap) Pieces from my dark side blog @romana-after-dark are allowed too. I have 2k followers here but Ill want to open the worlds in here to the event.

The Wrong Way (Dark!Joel Miller x reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x reader DDDNE) Guard Dog (Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!reader) Blessed Be the Fruit (Dark!Joel Miller x darkish!reader) Puppy Girl (dark!Joel Miller x reader, pet play) Room's on Fire (Reader x Santiago, Francisco, Will, Ben, FishBen, FishPope)

If you have other ideas, just ask!!!

Spring Break is coming up so im excited to do some of these and my commissions!

I CANNOT thank my lovely followers enough for all this!!! I love writing so fucking much and many have reached out to me about fics being healing for them

so, thank you. I mean it. Man of these stories, like LaL universe or TWW have been healing for me, processing a lot of feelings through them and i pu tmy heart and soul into my stories, so it makes me so happy and proud yall want to read.

#romana's 2000 follower celebration #triple frontier #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #santiago garcia #jake lockley #joel miller #moon knight fanfiction #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #triple frontier fan fiction #dark joel #dark joel miller #santiago garcia x reader #follower celebration #romana is blessed

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winniethewife · 6 months

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My blood would teach me how to love (Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!reader)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Self-harm, cutting, Degradation, Blood, Blood play, hematolagnia, violence, Fear play, Knife play, Pain play, dub-con, PinV, Fembodied, Dacryphilia, fingering, masturbation, Oral (F! receiving), biting, unprotected sex, Over stimulation, Hair pulling, Unrealistic kink (Please don’t do any of this IRL), google translate Spanish.

Minors DNI

For @romana-after-dark 's Dead Dove Do Not Eat December.

Words:1214

Felt so safe in the chaos

Fuck I think I was brainwashed

My tears are just like dust you sweep under the rug yeah

My fears my blood would teach me how to love

She sat in the bathroom, her hand still clutching the razor as the cuts on her thighs bleed. She watches as the red dots of her blood turn to streams. She started to feel the hurt wash away, replaced with the numbness she was seeking. She sighs softly, leaning her head back on the cabinet behind her. Why was everyday so intense, every emotion too much to handle? She was about to clean up when she hears him call her name. Shit. Santiago, she forgot they had a date tonight.

“Cariño? You in here?” Santiago knocks on the bathroom door, before opening it slightly, he looks down at the ground to avert his gaze if she was changing, but instead he comes in contact with her, the blood, the razor…He bites the inside of his lip. He hated how much this scene turns him on. He should be worried, asking if she’s okay, but a mixture of rage and arousal over took his mind. He kneels down and takes the Razor out of her hand. “What the fuck is this? Huh?” He asks the venom in his voice pierces her soul. She looked at him, the fire in his eyes is obvious. She knew he would be disappointed in her, she had been clean for several months now.

“Cariño, you didn’t…Dios mio…fuck.” Pope is fighting with himself, he holds the razor tight…looking at the bloodied metal he loses it. He takes the metal to his own wrist and slides it across his wrist, once… twice …thrice…She looks on in shock.

“Santi…What are you doing?”

“Oh so you can cut yourself but I can’t? That’s idiotic.” He sneered, his eyes darken as he hold his bleeding wrist to her face. “You see this? You see this Tu perra estúpida? You want that? You like that don’t you?” He snarls as he presses the blood on her face, his breathing gets heavier as he watches the fear creeping onto her face, Pope puts the razor on the counter moving to lift her. Once she’s in her arms, he licks the blood off of her face with a growl. He takes her to her bedroom, tossing her on the bed. He takes his pocket knife out of his jeans pocket, he seems like he’s gone completely feral, and losing his sanity inch by inch as both her and his blood starts to appear on the sheets. As he hovers over her he holds the knife to her throat. “Qué putita! Bleeding everywhere for me right? Como la puta que eres.”

“Santi…I-”

“Cállate la boca. I’m gonna show you…Oh I’m gonna show you…” he growls again before yanking off her under wear and moving down to her weeping cunt, lightly dragging his knife along her skin as he moves. He pushes her legs apart with one hand, the other holding the flat side of his knife against her cunt. He felt his cock pressing on his jeans, begging for release, twitching in anticipation. She lays there terrified, but aroused? She feels the cold metal of the knife against her, and she feels a tingle up her spine. She pants as her feels her hear racing as his dark eyes pierce hers. He pulls his belt out of the loops with a loud snap before tossing it to the side. He moves the knife along her inner thigh, he pressed the tip of the knife into her skin just enough to draw the tiniest bit of blood. She whimpers softly, she doesn’t want him to stop, but it also feels so fucking wrong to be doing this.

“Esa es mi niña bonita…” He whispers as he sets the knife aside and pulls his shirt off, undoing his jeans but leaving them on as he looks at her. Lust in his eyes as he situates himself between her legs. He drags his hand along the cuts, staining his hand red, he keeps eye contact with her until his face in her cunt. Laping at her juices as her pushes his tongue along her strip, his nose bumping into her clit again and again drawing moans from her. he takes her blood soaked hand and pulls his cock from his pants, running the red along his cock, he sighs into her pussy at the sensation, as props himself up with is other arm he feels the sting from the cuts. He groans again, the pain feels so good. He lets his teeth graze her as he eats her out like his life depended on it. Her legs twitch and her cunt clenches on nothing as she starts to feel her climax coming.

“San-Oh god I’m gonna…fuck..” She groans out as her climax comes in waves over her body, the hot pleasure driving her wild. Pope bites down on her as he growls, she lets out a yelp.

“You should have asked if you could cum niñita…Now I have to punish you…” Popes voice was low and gravely as he pulls down his jeans and gets on top of her, tearing her t-shirt off as he grabs at her breasts, getting blood all over her chest as he hungrily bites as her nipples, like he wants to tear her tits off. The tip of his dick pressed on her entrance, not going in just teasing as his pre-cum mixes with the blood and her own release. She lets out a whine as she felt hot tears in her eyes, the pain was good, but it was all so much. Propped up on her elbows she throws her head back in pleasure only to have Santiago grab her by the hair and yank her hair pulling her head back up to look at him.

“Eyes. On. Me.” He commands. He moves up her body, wrapping his arms around her, holding her head to maintain eye contact as he finally thrust into her needy hole. Their bodies drenched in sweat, blood, and tears as he fucks her, fast and hard, not holding back as she digs her nails into his back and tears stream down her face. “Eres tan jodidamente bonita cuando lloras...Mgh…Fuck yes, Perfecta para mi…” He groans as he touches his forehead to his as he thrusts even faster, he feels his climax approaching and he cannot stop. He pushes against her, Pressing his lips to hers, swallowing her moans as he licks into her mouth, biting on her lips, breaking the skin, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth drives him over the edge. His eyes roll back in his head as he coats her walls with his release. His thrusts slow down, the moaning dies down as He holds her close.

Santiago opens his eyes again to see the blood stained bed, his lover covered in blood and sweat, laying limp in his arms as she takes deep, labored breaths. His head starts to clear. He looks them over, both of them covered in red. He pulls out of her, gently kissing her neck as he held her, her soft skin against his. He feels his own tears falling down his face. He presses his forehead against her again as the tears fall from his soft brown eyes.

“Por favor perdóname mi amor…Forgive me… Cariño…”

“Shhh….All is forgiven…Mi vida…Santiago…”

Masterlist

Translation:

Tu perra estúpida: You stupid bitch

Qué putita!: What a little bitch!

como la puta que eres.: like the whore you are.

Cállate la boca.: Shut your mouth

Esa es mi niña bonita: That's my pretty girl

Eres tan jodidamente bonita cuando lloras; You're so fucking pretty when you cry

Perfecta para mi: perfect for me

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ozarkthedog · 6 months

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Snippet Sunday

Thanks for the tag @janaispunk 🥰

tagging with no pressure: @rosellacwrites @ghotifishreads @holacia3 @thornsnvultures @palioom anyone else who wants to share!

here’s a tiny glimpse at my dark!triple frontier fic that I hope to finish before the new year. 😅

“No, no, no.” He snatches your ankle and you let out a terrified scream. You claw desperately at the earth but he easily drags you back before landing a swift slap to your cheek.

He shakes his head as you lay stunned between his feet. “Wrong place at the wrong time, huh, darlin’?”

He palms himself over his tactical pants. “No sense in fighting. We’re your saviors.”

👀👀👀👀

#wips #dark!triple frontier

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

Note

for your spotify wrapped:

69 baby!

Hottest wettest nastiest regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

Warnings: Reader is a peeping tom/listening to people having sex, noncon (Frankie and his date don't know Reader is there), creepy/stalking behaviour, getting off to people (unknowing) having sex, Reader is a creep, Frankie is a bit of a sleaze, dirty talk, degrading talk, underwear stealing (not the way you'd expect) let me know if I missed anything. This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not interact. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.

For my Spotify Wrapped Ask Game 69: Radiohead - Creep. I wish I was special, but I'm a creep.

You shouldn’t be here.

The sounds of Frankie and the girl he brought home an hour ago echo off the walls of his bedroom and through the door you’re pressed against. Jealousy twists in your gut like a knife.

You have no right to be mad, you’re not together anymore. He dumped you.

You scold yourself as you sit with your back to the ensuite door. The cold floor biting into the flesh of your ass as you try and figure out what the fuck to do.

“Fuck yeah Frankie, your tongue feels so fucking good!” Frankie’s date cries out and you have to stifle an embittered moan as you remember exactly how good Frankie is at giving head.

You feel your thong getting wet at the sounds coming from the room. Frankie’s low groans make you clench around nothing as he devours the pussy on the other side of the wall. You want to touch yourself, to get off to it, but you’re not a creep.

At least I don’t think I am.

You muse silently to yourself as you hear the creak of springs as Frankie and his date shift on the mattress. Sounds you know far too well. They’re etched in your mind as you remember how it feels to be pressed into the navy sheets, Frankie’s thick cock buried inside you as you scream his name.

You hear the tight gasps and whines that he pulls from her as he fills her up. Your fingers dip below your waistband of your lacy panties. The ones you’d worn just in case he caught you tonight. You came by to pick up the last of your things, chancing that Frankie would be in on a Tuesday night, but you had found the apartment woefully empty.

So, you had moped around the apartment as you picked up the paltry amount of your leftover belongings. You were hovering over his underwear drawer when you heard the door unlock. You’d stripped down to your lacy underwear and thrown yourself down on your – his – bed when you heard the woman’s laughter.

So, obviously doing the logical thing, you hid in the bathroom, with no time to throw your clothes back on.

“God you’ve got a tight little cunt baby, look at her, choking my cock so good.”

You slap your free hand over your mouth as your Frankie talks to his date just like he used to with you. Your arousal sours as you realise you clearly weren’t anything special to him in the end. He talks to all of his conquests this way.

You let go of the last shred of shame and roll your fingertips over your clit, sliding them down to your aching hole as you fuck yourself to the sound of Frankie screwing someone else.

Every pant and moan drives you closer to the edge as you use both hands, two fingers stuffed deep inside you with one hand while you rub furious circles over your clit with the other. You’re close as the headboard begins to slam against the wall behind you. You know Frankie’s close too, you can hear it in the way he groans.

“Fuck yeah, just like that,” then your name slips from his lips, and you think you imagine it. But it’s too late you’re coming hard around your fingers as you ride through it.

“What the fuck?” the woman’s voice shatters any doubt as you hear a commotion in the next room. The straining of bed springs and the sound of Frankie trying to backpedal are drowned out as your head falls back in a wordless cry. Your orgasm continues to rip through you, like pleasure and pain twisting around your spine as you let out a soft laugh. Your name falling from Frankie’s lips are playing on loop as you clench hard around your own slick fingers.

You hear Frankie storming after his date as she clearly makes to leave. You hear the front door slam followed by silence. You can only guess Frankie followed her out. You wait a minute before leaving the bathroom on shaky legs, dressing quickly before something catches your attention.

A pair of Frankie’s boxers, no doubt the ones he wore tonight, strewn on the floor. Discarded.

You act on impulse and stuff them in your coat pocket before slipping out of the apartment with your meagre box of meaningless crap. You take the back stairs and head to your car. Your legs are still a little wobbly and you grin to yourself at the way your slick sticks to your thighs.

You slump down in the driver’s seat just as you get a notification on your phone.

A Text.

Frankie: U up?

I love you @beefrobeefcal

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artemiseamoon · 7 months

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Preview: Is this how it ends? 6

Fic info & warnings

Read on A03

Words: 5,218

A03

Rhea’s eyes fixed on the window as the sun rose on the horizon, golden rays of light cast across the sky like brushstrokes accompanied by oranges and blues.

The heaviness of a long night was now absent from the sky, but no matter how much sunlight streamed through the room, it still felt like midnight.

Rhea barely slept. She kept reliving the afternoon before, what she could have done differently if she kept her anger in check, and how good it felt, even in the context of the situation, to see Frankie’s face, finally. And, she was also worried about Will, she had to make sure he was okay with her own eyes too.

In order to do that, she’d need to gain some trust with Pope, which she might have ruined yesterday. She didn’t regret it, she was pissed, and sick of his games; at the same time, she needed to find a way to control herself so she could get on his good side.

When they got back to the house yesterday, she was locked away in the room, where she’s been since then. She had a small amount of food and some water delivered around 6pm by a guard, but Pope himself was a no show.

Rhea kicked the covers off then sat on the side of the bed, her eyes moving to the Armoire full of dresses and shoes. Even the actual closet had clothes in it he picked for her.

“Stuck in a fucking dollhouse.” she muttered with a frown.

Even the pajamas she wore were selected by him. Rhea got up and started to pace.

“Fine Pope, you want me to play, I’ll play,” she opened the closet and thumbed through the clothes while going over a plan in her head.

Read on A03

No tags

@artemiseamoon-updates

More vibes of this trio aka Rheas phone

#dark! Pope #santiago pope garcia #Santiago Garcia x ofc #Frankie morales x ofc #Frankie morales #will miller #Benny miller #triple frontier fic

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beefrobeefcal · 6 months

Text

Dark!Frankie Saga: VII

Chapter Seven: Bring It Home

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

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

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 3,740

Content Warning: angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, Major Character Death, stabbing, violence, betrayal, kissing

Author's Notes:

Y'all, I know you had big dreams for this chapter... and I thank you for your patience. Please don't hate me 🥺

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @rebel-held @gracieispunk

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

--------<3---------

From the time Frankie pulled you onto his lap at the bowling alley to when he stood with you at your bedroom door, you felt like you were in a dream. A beautiful, hazy dream that you were pretty sure was going to end with him fucking you in your bed.

“You did good tonight, Honey.”, Frankie said sweetly, cupping your jaw and cheek in his big hand.

You couldn’t help but stare back, falling further for him through his deep, brown eyes. He but the softness in his gaze hardened as he sucked in a breath and released your face, stepping back. He broke the connection with you and looked away. He cleared his throat and nodded towards your door, leaving you feeling cold and confused. What did you do wrong?

“Night, baby girl...”, he mumbled as he turned, heading towards the lounge.

You opened your mouth to say something to him, but all you could do was feel your body react to the lack of his touch and your cheeks burn from the rogue tears that fell. You were alone in the hallway, and you didn’t know why.

*****

Pope had been outside in the shadows, trying to remain inconspicuous while on his phone, when the blacked-out SUV pulled up at the front doors.

“Yes, I know!... fuck you... I’ll call you back...”, he hissed quietly into his phone before ending the call and focused on the two of you returning.

He watched as Frankie got out of the SUV, holding his hand out to you, and saw the stupid look on Frankie’s face as he helped you down from the vehicle. Pope shook his head and rolled his eyes, watching Frankie pull you in for a disgustingly sweet kiss before he tugged you into the building.

He scoffed as he brought his phone back up to call his contact back, a message popped up on the screen.

Steven is done. Now what?

Pope grinned as his deviously sadistic mind’s wheels turned; he pocketed his phone and walked into the building.

*****

Frankie’s heart was beating fast as he walked away from you, and his palms were sweating as he clenched his fists. He didn’t stop until he was standing in his office, shakily sucking in his breaths, and he allowed himself to think about what had just happened. It was one thing for him to go down on you in the bowling alley and hold you as your body came back down – he was still in control. But looking in your eyes as you looked back at him, seeing the same thing he felt staring right back told him he was no longer holding the reigns in this, and it terrified him to his core. He felt like you could see who he really was under his harsh and mean exterior; under it all he was just the former drug addict who battled his demons daily to keep himself upright; just the man who made himself bigger so he could be respected, because no one was going to respect a scrawny junkie. And if you did see it, why did you still want him at all? Did you see weakness? Did you know that just asking him for a kiss would make him weak in the knees? Why did he allow you to get under his skin?

He was finally broken from his trance when the door to the office opened behind him. Frankie whirled around and found himself facing Pope.

“Fish... you got a sec?”, Pope asked, cautiously approaching him, with a judgmental eyebrow raised. When Frankie nodded, trying to shake the weakness of you from his mind, Pope nodded back in kind.

“What d’you need?”, Frankie said coolly as he made his way around his desk and sat down heavily on his chair.

Pope walked up to the desk and leaned heavily on, deciding not to tell Frankie that he saw him come back with you, and how he saw the look on his face and knew what it meant. He instead decided to set in motion what he hoped would be the last thing he needed to.

“I got a message... from one of the grunts under Will... he was making the rounds and checking in on people that owe us...”, he said quietly, trying to sound nervous about what he was going to say. “and, he - uh…”,

“Fuckin’ spit it out, Pope.”, Frankie groaned after a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“He went to Steven’s...”

“Who the fuck is that and why do I care?”, he growled, not looking up at him. “Get to the fuckin’ point!”

“It’s your girl’s brother...”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Frankie looked up at Pope, feeling his blood run cold.

*****

After being left on your own, you sat in your room, feeling the buzz from the beer slipping away and letting your thoughts drift towards more nefarious avenues. It hurt to know that no matter what happened, you would end up alone; your brother sold you out for more drugs, Benny hated and abandoned you, Will threw you into the lion’s den, and Frankie didn’t want you beyond getting what he could from you. And Pope... you knew what Pope wanted and it made your skin crawl.

The tears that you’d cried had mixed with your make up had dried on your face, leaving your skin feeling itchy and tacky. You needed to clean yourself up and give yourself some comfort, even if it was small. You stepped into the shower and tried to wash away your sadness.

After drying off and getting into your pajamas, you once again sat in your room alone. The weight of solitude was heavy on you, so much so, you could barely stand it. All you could do was pick up your Kindle and try to distract yourself until you fell asleep.

*****

Benny sat back and watched the other guys play a round of foosball. They’d invited him to join but he’d waved them off. He’d wanted to sulk and be angry with no interference; he couldn’t get your face out of his head from the last time he’d seen you the night before, and Frankie’s words to him sounded off like a fire alarm in his skull: She’s not here for you. Stick your dick in literally anything else, but that is mine.

He’d replayed your last interaction with him over and over in his mind over the past 24 hours, building up more rage and fury over how stupid you were being. He didn’t want you for himself; he wanted something better for you. There’s no way Frankie could offer you what you deserve. Fuck, no one in this fucking building could. He sneered as he shook his head, anger rising further each time Frankie’s words bleated in his brain and deafened the rest of his thoughts. Frankie told him to fuck anything like you weren’t even a person. You were just part of the wide scope of anything, like an object he could own and devour like he did everything else he wanted.

Will watched Benny silently from across the room. He saw his brother furiously twisting his hands and clenching his jaw; saw the vein in his forehead pop out as his face turned red with rage. Will knew he was at fault for this; he knew Benny had a soft spot for vulnerable people, especially women. He knew Frankie was wrong about how Benny felt, but he wasn’t willing to correct him and confirm that Benny wanted to fuck her as much as Frankie wanted to diet. But the powder keg that was hitting a critical point across the room in his brother was far more worrisome than he’d accounted for, given even a day going by hadn’t managed to dampen his rage. Benny could be a dangerous man, given the right mindset, and he wasn't afraid of violence or being violent. It was the reason he was so valuable to the Frontiersmen - he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty for the right cause, and Will worried that you were becoming the right reason for Benny to unleash that terrible dog in him at Frankie.

As Will decided it was in everyone’s best interest to try and quell the fire, Pope walked in with a smug grin aimed directly at his brother, and Will felt like he was about to watch a train derail.

“What’s with the long face, fucker?”, Pope crooned sadistically as he sauntered towards Benny.

“Fuck off, Pope.”, he growled in response, his eyes glaring up at the smiling man.

Will saw the determined, toothy smile breakout over Pope’s face as he squatted down in front of Benny.

“What’s the matter, baby Benny?”, Pope mockingly cooed, amusement bleeding from his tone. “You mad that Fish is cockblocking you from that sweet little puss – “

Benny’s hand jutting out and gripping Pope’s throat stopped him from finishing his sentence. He stood up, pulling Pope into a standing position as he stared wide eyed and clawed at Benny’s arm and wrist, gasping and choking.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”, Benny snarled, pulling Pope’s face close to his.

Will ran up beside Benny and gripped his shoulder, shaking him. “Benny! Drop’im!”

He yanked Benny’s arm back and Pope collapsed on the floor, gasping and coughing.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!”, Benny roared as Will’s arms wrapped around him form behind and pulled him back.

“Fuck you, Pope! Fuck you 'n fuck your fuckin’ smug mouth!”, Benny screamed at him as Will continued to restrain him. ‘FUCK, WILL! LET ME THE FUCK GO! I’ll FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!”

Will knew Benny didn’t mean it. Sure, he’d probably take a swing and hit him – he’d done it before. But beyond that, he knew it was Benny’s rage talking.

Pope shakily looked up at Benny and offered him a cruel smile. Benny saw red; that fucker fueled his blinding rage, and he threw Will off him, storming out of the rec room.

“Don’t move, Pope!”, Will yelled, pointing his finger at him as he turned and ran out after Benny.

Pope smiled, watching him leave after his brother, seeing a brand-new opportunity. Fortune favours the brave…

*****

Benny was on a rampage. Like a rabid bear, he stalked the hallways, making a beeline to the barracks. He’d walked right past Frankie’s office, not even considering stopping there first to tear into him over what he was doing. Will quickly caught up to him, yelling for him to stop.

Frankie sat in his office chair. He heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door and he looked up, but they moved past. He thought nothing of it until he heard Will.

“Ben! Stop!... Stop 'n take a fuckin’ breather, man!”

“FUCK YOU AND FUCK POPE AND FUCK FISH AND FUCK THAT STUPID BITCH!”

“You’re not thinkin’ this through! You don’t wanna hurt her, Ben! BENNY!”

Will’s panicked voice caught Frankie’s attention and he stood up, listening to the sounds move further down the hallway. He knew not to get in Benny’s way when he was mad, but he was heading towards you and the idea of Benny being in this foul of a mood and even Will wasn’t able to placate him didn’t sit well with him.

Benny threw the doors to the Barracks open and screamed your name. Even being in a separate area, the volume at which he called you made you jump. You dropped your Kindle on the bed and moved cautiously to your door. You clicked the flimsy lock on the doorknob, and you jumped heard the door to the hallway slam against the wall from how hard it was flung open.

Your heart was beating deafeningly loud in your ears, and you backed away from the door as the thumping footsteps got closer and your doorknob jiggled.

Just as soon as you were mentally thanking what every deity was listening for that lock, the door was kicked open and there was Benny. Breathing hard, his face twisted in a snarl and his fists clenched.

You looked up at him, not sure what he was going to do. “Benny... wha - “

“You're so fuckin’ dumb!”, he yelled, stomping towards you and cutting you off. “You’re fuckin’ smarter than this!”

He stood over you, his hot furious breaths fanning over your face. You tried to back away, but he grabbed at your arm.

“Don’t fuckin’ move!”, he yelled in your face, his hold on you tightening.

You yelped and tried to pull away from his grip. He shoved you back, sending you to the floor. Shock gave way to fear and anger as he stalked towards you, and you scrambled back into a standing position.

“Just fuckin’ stay down, you- “

“What do you want from me?!”, you cut him off, yelling in a cracked voice as tears welled up in your eyes.

His eyes narrowed at you and his scowl set further in his face. “I want you to smarten the fuck up! I want you to stop bein’ a dumb bitch!”

You angrily wiped at the tear that fell down your cheek, and, for a brief moment, Benny’s eyes looked at you almost horrified at what was happening. Your face contorted with a frown, and you pushed him with all your strength, making him take a small step back to keep his balance.

Neither of you knew that Will was in the hallway watching this unfold, not sure how to intervene, and his focus was torn away from you both as Frankie walked into the hallway and stood next to Will, ready to jump in.

“What is your problem?!”, you screamed at him.

His menacing glare returned, and he stepped up to you, challenging you.

“My fuckin’ problem is you’re not thinkin’ with your goddamned brain!”, he bellowed. “My problem is you’re thinkin’ with your pussy like a fuckin’ whore- “

Before you could register your actions, your hand harshly made contact with his face; you slapped him hard.

The room fell silent, and Benny’s head snapped back to you, all fury gone. What was left was the look of hurt and disappointment, and you weren’t sure who it was directed at – you or himself. Will rushed in and grabbed Benny, hauling him back. Benny’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Will had dragged him out of the room, cursing at him for his temper.

And once again, you were alone. Your chin quivered and your body trembled as the rage dissipated from your system, replaced with shame and remorse. What did you do?

Before you could collapse under the weight of your actions, Frankie stepped into the doorway.

You raised your eyes to him and held back a sob as you shook your head, silently saying please – I can’t handle any more.

“Baby girl...”, he spoke softly as he walked slowly towards you and pulled you into his arms. You tried pushing him back, but he gently used his strength against you, holding you in his embrace. His gentleness after the harsh intensity of what you’d just experienced with Benny broke you, and you let out a heavy sob that wracked your body. His large hand held your head against his chest and he murmured softly, trying to soothe you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl... come on, Honey... calm down... he’s gone... I know, baby... I know... he’s gone now... I’m sorry... he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, baby... he doesn’t know what he's talkin’ about...”

“Stop... just stop!”, you squirmed out of his hold and stood back from him. You furiously wiped your face again and shook your head. “He’s right! He’s right about everyth - “

“No, baby girl... no, he’s not!”, Frankie pleaded, holding his hand out to you, beckoning you to come to him.

It made you angrier, his actions seemingly still trying to train you to be his good little bitch, coming when he calls. You shook your head, rage taking over. “I’m not a fucking dog! You don’t order me around like one!”

His voice was so soft. “Baby... Honey, please...”

“No! Mr. fucking Morales! He’s right - I’m just another one of your dumb whores that you can throw away! I’m no better than that bitch you had on your lap at the bowling alley! You just keep me like a pet and bring me out when you need a fuckin’ fix! You don’t want me - no one does!”

You didn’t realize you were screaming at him and walking towards him. Frankie’s hands were held up, trying to calm you. His eyes were wide and pleading, his mouth was open and frowning, as he shook his head.

“Baby girl… shhhhh… no… no, Honey…”, he shook his head, and cooed, moving towards you again. “No, Honey… you got it all wrong…”

“Don’t…”, you warned as you stepped back, glaring up at him. To Frankie, you must have looked like a cornered, feral cat, fueled by rage and fear.

You didn’t intimidate him. He reached out and cupped your cheek, as he’d done countless times before, but this time you pulled out of his grasp.

You didn’t scare him. But he needed your softness back; this harsh and jaded version of you hurt him in ways he didn’t know he could be wounded. His heart ached as his other arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him again. He smoothed his hand over your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your lips. You tried, albeit half-heartedly, to get away, but he saw the softness slipping back into your eyes.

You didn’t deter him. “Don’t push me away, baby girl…”, he said softly, bringing his face close. He ghosted his lips over yours. “I want you here… with me.”

He pressed his lips gently against yours. Your resolve to fight dissolved and you wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping for more contact with him. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, he followed suit, slipping his tongue against yours. You were both desperate. Yes, you’d fooled around in a bowling alley, but this was something that wasn’t scratching an itch or a power play; this was the two of you finally, without words, admitting that you needed one another on a baser, more human level.

Frankie pulled back first, breathing heavily and his eyes scanned yours, asking silently for more. You nodded, and with that, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your room and into his.

*****

After his run in with Benny and making sure his windpipe wasn’t crushed, Pope was back outside around the building in an alleyway. Hidden in the shadows, the only sign of his presence was his phone screen lighting up his face.

As he searched through images confirming Steven’s demise, a call came through. He answered it quietly, keeping his voice low but harsh.

“I need more time - … no, you don’t understand, he - ... I know that was the deal, but you gotta hear me out- … I can’t just… I know it has to look like an accide-… I tried! The fuckin’ little brother… Yeah… fuck, no… No… I know, but I ca-… fuck. Okay… I understand… Yes! Fuck! I got it!”

Will watched from the far end of the building. Pope’s voice, although quiet, carried, and Will’s mind raced, putting piece by piece together, not quite being able to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He didn’t know what he was up to, but he knew he didn’t like it.

He watched as Pope hung up and stopped himself from throwing his phone against the wall, and he clenched his fists and teeth. Will moved on his feet, causing the gravel to shift and crunch under him.

“What do you want, Will?”

He stopped, feeling his body tense at Pope’s recognizing his presence, even in the dark.

“Who you talkin’ to, man?”, he asked. Will tried to keep no discernable emotion or feeling in his tone, trying to keep Pope off his anxious scent.

“No one… one of the grunts fucked up… just tryin’ to set them straight.”

Will hmm’d in acknowledgement; he knew it was a lie and he knew Pope wouldn’t be convinced that he believed him, but he knew saying anything more would probably drive more suspicion.

“I’ll ask again, Will… what do you want?”

Will moved closer to Pope, trying to keep his voice down when he spoke.

“You gotta stop rilin’ Benny up. I know you think it’s funny, but he’s gonna really fuck someone up and we don’t need that.”

“Fuck you, Will… what are you, his keeper? His fuckin’ nanny?”

“I’m the last thing keepin’ him from killin’ someone… If wasn’t there tonight, you think you would’a made it?”

“So, what you’re saying its you’re the one keeping a leash on him?”

Even in the dark, Will knew Pope was facing him. He could feel the breath on his face. He was close – too close.

“If you weren’t around, no one could stop him?”

“Jesus, man… You know he’s got a fuckin’ temper... he needs someone to hold him back.”

“Yeah, he does have a temper.”

“Then stop pushin’ him! Stop antagonizin’ him!”, Will pleaded. He heard Pope huff a laugh.

“You’re in his fucking way, Will.”

Will heard the smile in Pope’s voice, and his blood ran cold.

“The fuck is that supposed’ta mean?”

Pope got close to Will and grabbed the back of his neck and held his face to his.

“You’re in my fucking way.”

Will felt a sharp sting in his stomach, and then warmth. Wet, hot warmth on the skin of his abdomen. The sharp sting erupted into searing pain, and he sucked in a ragged breath as his head spun.

“Santi… wha- don’t….”

“Fuck you, Will.”, Pope huskily whispered, ripping the knife out of Will’s gut. “This is on you. You wouldn’t let him just...”

“San-Santi? Pope? … why?” Will gasped, stepping back and clutching his middle. He stared up at Pope, wide eyed and trembling as he fell against the wall behind him and slid down to the ground. A tear slipped down his face as he watched his friend – his murderer – turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the alley to slip away into the inky darkness.

--------<3---------

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