#Francisco 'CATFISH' Morales | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

qveerthe0ry · 3 months

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If You're Crazy Too

Summary: It isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Word Count: 8,600 Pairing: Santi x m!amab!reader x Frankie Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, mutual masturbation, watching porn together, threesome, handjobs, ass eating, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, polyamory Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you both so much, you're angels for helping me through this <3 A/N: Special thanks to the author of this post for making an excellent resource for writing Spanish in fics, it came SO in handy. Also thanks to @triplefrontier-anniversary for inspiring me to finish getting this brainworm all written down before the deadline!

Santi is an incredible fuck. Also, he’s a fairly sweet guy.

You met him at your favorite club. He’d been dancing with men and women all night long, graceful and respectful, and you itched to get your turn with him.

When you finally got the chance, his body was solid and sweaty and sure against your own.

You could barely hear him over the music when he told you, lips brushing over your ear, that he was hoping you’d seek him out.

He kissed you, after a few songs, and you met it with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had in you. It wasn’t long before he asked you to come back to his place, and he made you fall apart underneath him.

The morning after wouldn’t have been awkward, either, if his roommate hadn’t been cooking breakfast for the both of you.

Santi introduced him as “Frankie, or Catfish, or Fish.” He was gorgeous, too, in a softer way than Santi. His brown eyes were wider and less menacing than Santi’s, and his curls peeked out under a well-worn trucker’s cap.

He said it was nice to meet you, and asked how you liked your eggs, and if you were way too loud the night before with Santi, he didn’t mention it. You did, however, catch him sneaking glances at Santi while the three of you ate, and wondered what they meant.

It didn’t matter much at the time when you thought you’d never see Santi again. But he walked you to your Uber after breakfast, and asked if you maybe wanted to do this again, no pressure, no strings attached. And you did. So you exchanged numbers and he kissed you on the cheek before sending you off.

You’ve met up with him a few times now. Each time Frankie makes himself scarce. You either hear the TV in his room, or you pass him on your way in, telling you he’s got errands to run. What errands he’s running at 10pm, you’re not sure you want to know, but you don’t think much of it.

Until now. You knock on the front door of their apartment and hear voices, too muffled to make anything out clearly.

Santi answers before too long with a smile, and you follow, intent to trail him to his bedroom like you usually do.

This time, though, Frankie’s sat on the couch in the living room, a beer in his hand, and he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

“Am I, uh, interrupting something? We can rain check.”

Frankie looks to you, and then to Santi, and you feel like you have your answer before either of them speak.

“No, no, you haven’t interrupted anything,” Santi starts, “it’s just our favorite OnlyFans guy released a new video a few days ago and we haven’t had the chance to watch it yet. Fish is a little eager.”

“Fuck you, I’m not. Just thought we were watching it today is all. No big deal.”

It’s a lot of information to process, that these two not only share a favorite OnlyFans creator, but watch his videos together. And— not to assume, but you’re sure they probably do other things together too.

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s fine—“

Frankie’s reassurance is cut off by Santi though, something that seems like a common occurrence by the way he settles back into his seat and closes his lips when Santi begins to speak.

“You wanna watch with us? First orgasm of the night, but I promise I’ll make it up to you after.”

And fuck it, you think. It isn’t quite what you imagined when you left your place, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend your Friday night.

“I’m down,” you shrug, and Santi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and winks at you.

He turns the lights off while Frankie casts the video to the TV. You settle in the armchair, as Fish looks a little uncomfortable, but he assures you he isn’t when you check in with him.

Santi takes the opposite side of the couch as Frankie, and then he’s ordering him to start the video.

The bar on the bottom reads 45:06. Longer than you expected. The video is well-edited with soft royalty-free music over a logo that fades when the man appears on screen.

You chance a small glance at the couch. You aren’t really sure what the etiquette is here, but neither of them seem to be making any moves yet, hands resting on their own thighs. You mirror them, subtly shifting to do so, and avert your eyes to the television once more.

The man on the screen is a wicked dirty talker. He spends a good five minutes telling the viewer what he wants done to him. He’s also quite submissive by the sounds of it, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Santi loves the way you submit to him, tells you so every time you hook up.

You find yourself wondering what Frankie likes in the bedroom, if he’s also just as dominant as Santi, if he’s more sweet or hardened, if he would be vocal like Santi or more reserved like he seems to be in his daily life.

Before you realize it, the man on the screen is stripping down into a skimpy, lacy set of underthings. His cock is on the smaller side but rock hard and leaking, tenting his little lacy briefs in a deliciously obscene display. Your cock stirs at the sight, and you peek over at the couch again.

Frankie’s palming the bulge in his sweatpants, eyes glued to the screen so diligently that you think it’s calculated. Santi, in contrast, has his hand under the waistband of his gym shorts already.

But you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker from the screen, and not to you, but to Frankie, flitting up and down quickly from his face to his lap.

You try not to sigh too loudly as you cradle your own package, half-hard in your own skimpy briefs you wore just for Santi. You watch as the man on the screen turns his back to the camera and bends over, allows the camera to get a full view of the outline of the plug nestled between his juicy ass cheeks.

The air in the room feels humid, almost too hot as the video goes on. You definitely get why this guy is their favorite OnlyFans creator. He’s gorgeous, first of all, all lithe muscle, soft in the perfect places. And he’s an incredible performer. He talks to the camera like he’s talking to you, desperate and breathy. It doesn’t take long for your prick to fully fill out in your briefs.

The camera angle changes on screen. It cuts to him on all fours on the bed, his hole gaping from removing the plug, his pretty pink cock leaking between his legs. A rough grunt from your left has your eyes wandering to the couch again.

Santi’s cock is out, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. Thick and glistening in his big hand, his balls sat atop the waistband of his shorts. Your own throbs under the pressure of your palm, and you let yourself sneak a look at Frankie, too.

He’s finally got his hand down his pants, and you almost feel bad for wondering what his cock is like, too. If it would mirror the differences between he and Santi’s bodies, longer but thinner. You wonder if he’s uncut like Santi is, and you wonder what he’d taste like.

A loud whimper makes you peel your eyes away from the couch and look back at the TV. The guy is three fingers deep in himself, fucking them in along with the messy amount of lube he’s used. It’s fucking hot, and you throw all caution to the wind to unzip your jeans and pull your cock free from its confines.

“He’s fucking hot right?”

You turn your head to Santi at the sound of his voice. Your heart picks up at the sight of him, one hand stroking his balls while the other works slowly up and down his shaft.

You squeeze your own in response.

“Yeah, not exactly my type but he’s still doing it for me.”

Santi chuckles, nods his head back to the screen. But before you turn back yourself, you see Fish glance at Santi out of the corner of his eye. He starts to shuffle his waistband down his hips, but you turn away before you see anything you think you shouldn’t.

The guy on the screen is limber. On his back now, knees pressed to his chest, he’s whining and whimpering while he fucks himself with a big, realistic dildo.

It’s massive, much bigger than any real cock you’ve taken, but you guess that’s some of the appeal. You try to quietly spit in your hand, then spread it up and down as you lazily stroke yourself off to the video.

It’s loud. The obscene squelching and consequential moans fill the living room, but not enough that you can’t hear the strokes from both Santi and Frankie on the couch next to you. Occasionally you hear a muffled curse, or a stilted gasp, and you can’t be sure which man they’re coming from but you want to hear more.

You glance over again. Your eyes land on Santi first, of course, who’s almost shamelessly staring at Frankie’s crotch, the way he lifts his hips to fuck into his fist every few thrusts.

Frankie’s cock is longer, and thinner, and you’re delighted to find that he isn’t circumcised either, the fat head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin.

He turns his head, and you stop stroking your cock all together, afraid of Fish’s reaction to you sneaking a peek. Only, when you meet his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look, he’s not looking at you.

He’s looking at Santi, staring, eyes roaming up and down his body, lingering where he fists his prick, then back up again. You’re stunned still at how intimate it feels, the heat in Frankie’s gaze as he licks his plush lips.

You turn your eyes back to the video with a pounding heartbeat. Your erection begins to wane as you stare through the TV. You can’t get it out of your mind, the way they look at each other. You’re surprised they haven’t caught each other looking yet. The heat from both of their gazes looked tangible, hungry and yearning. It’s as plain as day to you, on the outside looking in.

“Ah fuck—”

The curse is not from Santi. Your eyes trail over just in time to see Frankie pull his shirt up and spill across his stomach. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall behind the couch, and you see Santi’s fist speed up, a blur of tan skin.

You watch him watch Frankie, unabashed now as Fish’s eyes are shut in bliss, and Santi comes too with a deep hum, closing his own eyes just in time for Frankie to open his and look at the both of you.

He quickly averts his gaze when he sees you staring, reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table in front of him. In a move that looks so familiar, he pulls out two for himself, and then two for Santi, handing them over with practiced ease.

Santi pants out a gruff gracias and uses one to clean up with, then holds out his hand to offer you the other.

“Oh— no thanks, I’m good. Didn’t quite get there.”

Santi hums, uses the extra tissue to finish wiping himself up.

“What’s wrong, hermoso? Have I ruined you for all other men?”

His grin is cocky when he asks, tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Yeah Santi, that’s it.”

You roll your eyes and look over to Fish as if to say this fuckin’ guy, but he’s busy boring a hole into the paused TV screen like his life depends on it.

Your dick is hanging fairly limp out of your underwear, so you stow it away, pull your jeans back up.

“Don’t bother,” Santi tells you, nodding his head toward his bedroom, “let me make it up to you now.”

So with your fly undone, you stand on weary legs and follow Santi to his room. When you make it, you turn back to Frankie, to say thank you or sorry, you can’t be sure, because he’s already closing his own bedroom door behind him.

Santi makes good on his promise, though. He eats your ass for what feels like hours, until you’re shaking and begging for him to fuck you. And then he does, somehow riding the perfect line between rough and tender, holding your back against his front with one big hand on your chest as you both kneel on the bed. His other hand works your cock so perfectly that you come unglued in a grand way, like you always do with him.

He cleans you up after, gentle. He’s a huge cuddler, so it doesn’t phase you anymore when he spoons you close and presses his mouth along the little love bites he’s left.

“You really aren’t into subs, are you? Not even a little bit?”

You know he’s referencing your lack of interest in the video. You could agree with him, or you could tell him the truth. You’re not sure what to do, and so you sit in silence for some time before you decide to bite the bullet.

“It isn’t that. I mean, I am more into doms but— that wasn’t it.”

You feel him go stiff behind you.

“Shit, was that too weird for you? I didn’t mean to force you into—“

“No! No, Santi, it was fine. I just— you’re into Frankie, right?”

Air escapes his lungs in something akin to a sob.

“What!? Why would you say that?”

He’s not denying it, which is a good step.

“C’mon man, you were watching him more than you were watching the TV.”

“Pendejo, no I wasn’t.”

“Pendejo” you mock him, “don’t gaslight me. I don’t care. This isn’t, we’re no strings, right? I’m just saying, I don’t wanna come between this thing.”

“There’s no thing to come between. Even if you were right, which you’re not, Fish isn’t into me like that.”

You laugh.

“O-kay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me. How would you know? You’ve known him for a grand total of an hour and a half.”

“He was looking at you, too. You know that, right? You’re just in denial?”

“I would’ve seen if he was looking at me.”

“Because you were looking at him.”

“Fine! Okay, I was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at me so what’s it even matter?”

“He was, Santi. He was looking at your cock and licking his lips like he was starved. I saw it.”

Santi huffs behind you, and it tickles your neck.

“I’m not lying to you. I’m not in love with you or anything but I care about you a little bit.”

His arm around you tightens for a beat.

“Awww, so sweet, querido.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “you’re changing the subject. He was looking at you, like he’s always looking at you. I’ve watched him moon over you every single breakfast I’ve eaten here. You know how bad that makes me feel, eating the breakfast he made me while your cum drips out of me?”

“Fuck, why’d you say it like that? That’s so hot.”

“Because it’s true. If you guys have feelings for each other you need to figure that out before I die of a guilty conscience.”

You can practically feel Santi’s eyes roll behind you.

“Dramático,” he groans.

“You do have feelings for him. It seems like he does too. Get your poop in a group about it, man.”

“Will you still stay over? I’ll need a morning fuck if this is the way my weekend’s gonna go.”

——

I can’t do it. Frankie’s visiting his kid this weekend

The text comes a few hours after you shared your now routine, dysfunctional family breakfast, where Fish was indeed making googly eyes at Santi, and Santi’s cum was indeed leaking out into your underwear.

Likely story

No really. I don’t want to mess with his vibes, his kid is super important to him. It’s cute.

Oh my god just fuck him already

I’m TRYING okay? Can you help? I need moral support.

And look, it isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten.

So the two of you devise a plan. It’s convoluted as all hell, but also fairly simple. The next time their OnlyFans guy posts a video, Santi invites you over to watch again. Conveniently, just before you arrive, he spills a glass of red wine all over the seat of the armchair, and soaks the cushion trying to get the stain out of the beige fabric.

You show up, ‘none the wiser.’ Still, the vibes are absolutely weird in their two bedroom apartment. Frankie’s fidgeting on the couch, and Santi misses your cheek and plants a kiss to your eyelid. You have to get these boys together.

The plan goes off without a hitch from there. Santi flicks off the lights, and Frankie casts the video to the TV, just like they did last time, just like they’ve probably done dozens of times before. But now, the armchair is out of commission, so you all squeeze together on the couch. Santi’s in the middle, of course, his thick thigh pressing against your own as you all point your attention to the flatscreen.

You’re kind of excited. It’s a weird thing for you to be excited about, but you weren’t lying all those days ago. You do care for Santi. And Fish too, really, if only for the delicious breakfasts he makes, and for making Santi happy.

This time, you don’t wait for any of their cues. You pull your cock out as soon as the OnlyFans guy starts stripping his clothes. Santi grabs your hand, and for a second you think you’ve ruined the plan. But then spits into it, and Frankie groans from Santi’s other side as he watches the display. You moan a little too, partly for show, partly for the way Santi never fails to make your dick rock hard in record time.

You stroke yourself, and it goads the boys into pulling their pants down, too. The guy on the screen is doing things a little differently this time, fingering a see-through fleshlight as he lubes it up. This is hotter to you, anyway. It doesn’t take long at all for pre-cum to gather at your slit and slick your strokes even more.

By the time the guy is fucking into it with timid strokes, whimpering through the speakers, Santi still hasn’t made a move. You elbow him in the side, and he flinches, then elbows you right back.

You turn your head toward him, make like you’re kissing his neck, because Frankie’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull with the way he’s got them trained on Santi.

“Go on. You already have an audience,” you whisper.

Santi shudders, and Frankie looks away. Just in time, too. Santi eyes the way Fish is stroking himself, and then you hold your breath as Santi lifts his hand and wraps it around the base of Frankie’s cock.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.”

Frankie’s head thunks against the wall behind him, and his hips jolt up into the touch. You’re watching without any hesitation now, and Fish’s eyes are closed anyway. Santi squeezes and Frankie whimpers and scrambles to find Santi’s cock without looking.

“Fuck, Fish. Yeah?”

Santi’s voice is dripping with arousal, low and gruff, his cock twitching in Frankie’s grasp.

“Please, please.”

Frankie finally opens his eyes, lets his head loll to the side to look at Santi. But his eyes quickly flutter to you, his expression twisting up in confusion.

“Santi, what—“

“Shhh, hermano, s’okay.”

You lean forward, and for a moment you’re having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cradle into Santi’s side, not knowing if you’re helping or hurting their cause, but wanting to reassure them both that this is a good thing.

Frankie takes the encouragement for what it is, allowing himself to fuck up into Santi’s fist and look at him with hooded eyes, mouth gaping open.

Like a fish, you think, and chuckle against Santi’s neck.

“What’s happening? Why?”

Frankie looks between the two of you for an answer, and you bite down on Santi’s earlobe to goad him to answer.

“He caught you looking, last time. Caught me looking at you, too. Put two and two together for me. This okay?”

Frankie shudders and closes his eyes, but nods his head.

You watch both of them, their hands on each other’s pricks, their hips meeting the thrust of foreign fists.

“Waited so long,” Frankie whispers.

“Lo sé, me too.”

Their faces inch toward each other, and you nuzzle the curls at the nape of Santi’s neck. To encourage him, or maybe to shield your eyes from the intimate moment, or probably both.

You feel the kiss, the way Santi’s neck cranes and flexes, and you hear the ragged moans from their lungs, and you are rock hard.

But your work here is done. You may need to jerk off in Santi’s bathroom before you leave, lest you tumble down the apartment stairs since there’s hardly any blood flow to anywhere other than your dick.

But as you make to get up, Santi’s free hand plants firmly on your thigh. You still behind him, a rush of awkwardness flushes through your system.

His head leans back when he pulls away from the kiss, and you watch the way Frankie physically recovers from it, takes a big lungful of air and slowly opens his eyes, licks the taste of Santi from his lips.

“What do you think, Fish? Should we thank him?”

Your cock throbs where it’s pressed against Santi, and you feel him chuckle, but Frankie’s nodding his head fast and looking straight at you.

“Yeah, yes,” he answers, breathless.

“My bedroom or yours, hermano?”

“I couldn’t give any less of a shit.”

They both laugh, and you find it in you to huff, but it’s anything but authentic when all you can think about is having these two men in bed with you, thanking you.

“Go get comfy, yeah? We’ll be there in a minute,” Santi tells you.

You’ve never moved more swiftly in your life, and you’re sure it looks so graceful, walking to Santi’s room with your hard prick swaying in the wind. But you, like Frankie, couldn’t give any less of a shit.

You undress in the now familiar bedroom, lie back on freshly washed sheets as you hear Santi and Frankie mumble, incoherent all the way out in the living room. Your heart rate picks up when you hear footsteps, but only one pair, and Santi struts in. You can hear rustling from beyond the door, a kitchen cabinet opening and closing.

“He‘a grabbing us some waters. I wanted to check in, make sure this is all okay? I know it wasn’t the plan.”

Now you laugh.

“Is it okay? Do I want two gorgeous men thanking me for squishing their heads together like Barbie dolls? It’s more than okay.”

Santi clicks his tongue at you.

“No need for the sass.”

Your blood runs cold at his tone shift, even as his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at each corner.

Frankie walks in, then, and almost looks startled by the staring match happening. Still, he wades further into the room, sets a few glasses of water down on the nightstand.

You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, naked and spread out on the bed in front of these two men, fully clothed and practically leering at you. Frankie’s not so shy now; you can feel his eyes on you as they roam across every inch of exposed skin. It’s a heated, tense moment that only breaks when Santi tugs Frankie to him by the hem of his shirt.

Christ, is it hot to watch, the way Fish’s body goes lax as Santi’s tenses, grabbing the back of his neck. His strong arm flexes as his hand gets lost in Frankie’s curls. They share a kiss that looks like less lips and more teeth. Then Santi’s sliding his hands under Frankie’s shirt, along his flanks, exposing smooth, tan skin.

They part to fling their shirts off, and you can’t help it, you reach down to touch yourself. You’re watching something beautiful. Their dance is stilted with novelty but still looks so easy, familiar in an unfamiliar way.

Their noses bump together awkwardly at times, but their hands map out patterns across each other’s bodies that look practiced, like they’ve done this thousands of times before, if only in their dreams.

And they look incredible together. Santi’s thick and bulky, skin so taught over his frame. And Frankie is leaner, corded muscle covered in softer flesh. It looks so squeezable. It is, you find out, second-hand, by the way Santi grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer, just to push him away to get his pants down.

They don’t part for long, and you’re stuck in this haze, a participant only by the way you’re sliding your hand lazily up and down your shaft while you watch them. Santi hasn’t waxed since you first met him, and now all that chest hair is growing in, a stark contrast to Fish’s hairless one. And you know it feels incredible, to be in Frankie’s position, getting scratched by all that wiry hair. You know his own hairless chest will be red and splotchy by the time the night ends, like yours has been countless nights before.

Finally, they come up for air, naked and heaving breaths across each other’s faces as they share a look. Santi raises his strong brow, tilts his head in your direction, and you’re snapped out of your voyeuristic state.

“Let’s show some gratitude, yeah?”

His voice is all low and hoarse, and you watch it affect Frankie in the same way it affects you, cocks jumping. And fuck, Fish does exactly as he’s told once Santi coaxes him with a playful slap to his ass. He crawls up between your legs, and his full lips are even more so now, bitten and slick and deep red. Glancing up at you with those long, pretty, fluttery lashes, his sweet brown eyes are all heavy-lidded and hesitant.

“This is okay?”

His voice is small, and he’s so goddamn perfect.

“Yes, Frankie. Please.”

You both exhale at the same time, and then he gets to it, immediately. His tongue hangs out of his mouth when he opens it wide, and he wastes no time sinking down on your prick.

“Jesus Christ, Fish.”

You damn near give yourself whiplash to look over to Santi, frozen in place next to the bed, eyes glued to where you and Frankie connect. The latter moans around your cock, encouraged to bob his head faster already, take you deeper.

“Knew you’d be such a good little cocksucker with those pretty lips. Fuck.”

It’s so hot, it’s too hot. You’re going to blow in record time with the warmth of Frankie’s mouth and the filth Santi is reciting.

He must see it in your face, the panic of this all being over way quicker than you want it to be. He kneels on the bed beside you both, gets a hand in Fish’s silky curls and you see the shudder that cascades down his body.

“Not a race, hermano,” Santi says, tugging at his hair to get him to lift off of your leaking prick.

Fish stares, wide-eyes and ragged breathing, as Santi arranges himself to lie beside him, both of their faces now inches from your throbbing cock.

“Control freak,” Frankie mumbles, but the smile on his face makes any heat from his words dissipate.

Santi punishes him with a bruising kiss anyway. Your hips jolt as Frankie’s hair brushes across your dick, so on-edge that even that whisper of a touch sends you reeling.

Santi chuckles around Fish’s bottom lip that he’s got between his teeth.

“He so sensitive, Fish. Gotta take it slow, alright?”

It makes your entire body burn, the way he’s talking about you like you’re not even there. The way he’s been guiding Frankie through everything so far, and the way Frankie follows so obediently.

Santi shuffles a bit, and Fish does too, so in-sync that you almost laugh. Their unplanned choreography has them both straddling one of your legs respectively, arms in between, their hands finding each other just close enough to your heavy sac that you can feel the heat coming off of them.

They both look up at you, and for a moment everything is so eerily perfect that it feels like you’re in some sick, twisted Truman Show remake, and this was all a ploy to get you into bed with them.

But then Santi looks at Frankie, a soft bueno? uttered toward him, and Frankie nods. Santi leans in, for what you assume is to kiss him more, but his nose brushes the base of your shaft. And then Fish leans in too, his own strong nose nuzzling just under your head.

Your hands find purchase on the backs of their necks, a light touch to ground yourself as you watch. It’s so fucking intimate, and you’re the catalyst for their exploration, and it’s driving you up the goddamn wall. Your curse and watch twin grins break out on their faces.

Shitheads, both of them.

They continue on with this dance, breathing in your scent as they nose up and down your cock. Their eyes open and close, but their gazes always seem to land on each other at the same time.

And then Santi leads, licking a long stripe up the side of you. Frankie follows eagerly once he catches on, meeting him for a sloppy dance of tongues all over the head of your dick, your frenulum, lapping up the pre-cum that’s been steadily leaking from your slit.

It jerks wildly under their loose attention, and Frankie chuckles deep and low as he chases your cock and Santi’s mouth at the same time. Your nails start to bite into their napes, the burning in your gut becoming far too intense.

“Guys,” you gasp, “I— fuck. I can’t.”

Santi hums, leaves a playful nip at the base of your prick that nearly sends you over the edge. Fish lets up, intent to lick up every last drop of your taste from Santi’s mouth, and groans when he succeeds.

You’re all left panting for a minute. You can’t decide who to look at. Santi’s head has fallen onto your thigh, and Frankie’s propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, all along the dips and curves of his tan skin. Santi gets a hand around Fish’s cock, thumbing under the head in slow circles, soothing and relaxed.

“Everyone still having a good time?”

Santi’s tone implies he already knows the answer. A weak Jesus, yes huffs out of your vocal chords, just as Frankie nods his head eagerly where it rests in his palm.

Santi cranes his neck to look up at you, and already you know you’re in for it, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“You want Fish to fuck you?”

Your cock throbs near their heads, and Frankie snorts.

“Think that’s a yes, huh?”

You answer Fish with a nod. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone but Santi. The thought shorts out all the wires in your system as you realize you get to learn him this way, what he’s into, what he’ll want to do to you, and how different it is from his counterpart.

“All fours, both of you. He’ll let you eat his ass for hours, Fish,” Santi instructs.

“Jesus.”

If it weren’t for the way Frankie scrambles to get into position, you’d ask if he was alright with it. But once he’s hovering on his hands and knees between your legs, he’s manhandling you to do the same, and you love it.

Your cock sways and leaks between your thighs, and Fish pulls and tugs to get you exactly how he wants you. You feel even more exposed than usual like this, with these two men behind you. He spreads you open for him, and you feel your hole clench and relax as it’s exposed to the humid air of the bedroom.

Then he spits, perfectly aimed, and you feel his saliva trickle all the way down your taint, tickling your balls as it drips onto the sheets.

A puff of hot air is all the warning you get before his tongue is following that same trail in reverse, all the way up to where your crack meets your back, and then back down, and your elbows buckle and so does your resolve.

You moan a mix of curses and Frankie’s name, and it only eggs him on, gets him to zero in on your rim with his tongue, circling then flicking, over and over.

You try to crane your neck enough to see Santi when you hear him swear.

“You really fuckin’ like this. Don’t you, Fish?”

All you can see is his tight curls behind Frankie’s own arched back, and his big hands wrapped around Frankie’s slender hips.

You feel Frankie answer him, an incoherent groan into your asshole as the tip of his tongue breaches you.

You’re on fire. Your cock is leaking a really pathetic stream onto Santi’s bedding, neglected, and you know you won’t come without any friction, but you also don’t want to. Not for a while, not until you get to feel Frankie’s cock inside you, get to see Santi watch him fuck you.

You’re anything but impatient, though. Santi was right, the smug asshole. You could keep Fish here for eternity, especially with how fucking diligent his tongue is, lapping you up and pressing inside of you, over and over. It’s dizzying, especially when he begins making desperate noises against you.

You know he’s in for the time of his life. Santi, as smug as he is, loves eating your ass ‘for hours.’ He’s fucking sloppy with it, and he does this thing with his thumbs that drives you—

“Fuck! Ay dios, Pope, what the fuck?”

Frankie falls lax into you, his nose against your hole and his lips brushing your taint as he curses.

“Yeah, you like that? Want me inside this cute little ass?”

Fish whines, shifts his face so he can bite the tender flesh where your thigh and ass meet, and all you can do is groan and push back into him as he gives Santi his answer.

“Damelo, need you, please.”

Santi hums, and you can tell by how it’s muffled that his mouth is once again occupied. Frankie recovers, though his tongue is much less coordinated now, a messy flurry of licks as he prods at your entrance.

Then you hear it, the click of a bottle opening, bouncing off the bedroom walls in a familiar way. You clench around Frankie’s tongue, a Pavlovian response, and he groans and fits his lips around your hole and sucks.

You’re babbling now, strings of nonsense, begging, and praise in the otherwise silent bedroom. You know the exact moment Santi sinks his thick finger inside of Frankie, because you feel him stiffen and shake against you, feel his nails dig into the meat of your cheeks where he’s spreading you open.

His mouth retreats, and you whine, but he’s tugging on you again to get you to lie on your back.

It’s a fucking sight when you’re finally able to watch. Fish has his back arched like a goddamn cat, presenting his ass to Santi, mouth gaping open at his skilled fingers.

Santi’s looking over him, one large hand splayed out on his back to keep him still as he fucks into him with what you assume is at least three fingers, the way Frankie’s drool is dripping from the corner of his mouth. Santi’s eyes are glued to his ministrations, where he’s slowly thrusting in and out, his big bicep flexing as he goes.

He manages to tear his eyes away, though, to look at you and wink.

“How’d he do? Think he deserves to fuck you, papi?”

You whimper at the mere thought of it, finally feeling him inside you.

You shake your head, but Santi tuts.

“Yeah— Yes, Santi. He did so good.”

Santi’s lips tilt up into a wicked smirk.

“There he is, that’s it, tell Francisco how good he is for us, huh?”

You see Frankie’s cock throb between his legs, hear a pathetic little noise fall from his lips. You and Santi both get a curious but delighted look on your faces at his reaction.

“Did so good, Francisco.”

He shivers, hides his face in the bedding between your thighs for a hot minute. A lungful of air escapes him, slow and methodical, before he tilts his head back to Santi.

“Lube?”

Santi huffs, tosses the bottle next to Fish’s head.

“Doesn’t take long for him. He likes the stretch, don’t you bebito?”

You huff, and your face feels hot and prickly as both men look at you. You squirm, and you don’t want to answer, you want at least a tiny bit of pride going into this, because you know you’re bound to come out the other side with absolutely none.

“He asked you a question,” Frankie says.

His gruff voice makes your breath catch.

Santi hums his approval behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, just— just two, give me two and I’ll be good.”

“What do you say, papi?”

And Jesus, this is the most Frankie’s said all night and it has your toes curling.

“Please, Frankie.”

He makes a patronizing, satisfied noise that makes you want to hide but also expose yourself even more. You want to give him everything, him and Santi, let them use you to get their pleasure however they want.

But then Fish groans, and you see Santi’s arm twisting behind him, reaching for that perfect spot. He makes a mess squirting lube out onto his fingers, and you at least have enough control of your faculties to lift your sac out of the way so Frankie can spread it across your hole.

It twitches under his fingers, begging, and so are you, just incoherent babbles as he teases you, toys with you. You think you maybe could wait him out, knowing he doesn’t get his until his cock is pressed inside you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” you whimper, “please fuck me.”

“Yeah, good boy, there you are.”

You open your eyes at Santi’s voice.

“Give him what he wants, Fish. Give it to him so I can fuck you.”

Two fingers, right off the bat, pressed in slowly but surely in one swoop to the knuckle. You cry out, reaching for purchase and finding the bedsheets to twist into your clenched fists.

“You’re okay, you can take it, right?”

And it’s so goddamn mind-blowing, Santi talking you through it with Frankie’s fingers deep inside you.

You nod, opening your eyes again to look up at him. His eyes are so dark, and he’s stroking his thick cock as he continues stretching Fish out, and he looks hungry. He licks his lips and watches where Frankie’s fucking into you, boring holes where you’re connected. You have to reach down with your free hand and squeeze the base of your prick to get yourself together.

It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, to relax around his digits with a few deep breaths. He praises you, that’s it, take ‘em so well, wanna be fucked so bad don’t you? Your head spins with it as he works you open. Little by little your legs spread wider for him, hips canting up to direct him to the spot inside you that you want him to reach so desperately.

But he doesn’t. Once it’s obvious you’re ready to take him, he slips his fingers out and wipes the residue on the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna take me now?”

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, as he grips behind your knees and pushes them to your chest. You answer anyway, your own voice so foreign to your ears as you plead for him.

Santi shushes you, and that familiar noise is calming enough to bring you back down to Earth, where he’s resting behind Frankie, one hand caressing his chest while the other grips his waist.

“Wanna be inside you, Fish,” he mumbles, nose pressed behind his ear, lips teasing his earlobe.

Fish’s eyes close, but he guides the head of his dick to your entrance and sinks in, blinding pressure as the head of him stretches you wide. When it slips past, you both gasp, and Santi groans into Frankie’s neck as he watches.

It feels like years, waiting for him to seat himself all the way inside you. It burns in the best way, friction that has goosebumps dotting every square inch of skin.

But then his thighs reach the backs of yours. He curses, moves your legs out of the way so he can cover your body with his own. Santi’s gaze is heavy where it falls, the place you and Frankie are fused together, as he spreads a healthy dollop of lube over his prick.

“Ready for me, baby?”

It’s palpable, the way the energy of the room shifts when Santi presses closer behind Frankie. Like he’s about to step off a ledge, Fish’s eyes widen and he looks at you with his brows drawn up tight. You reach for his curls, run your fingers through them, scrape your nails across his scalp in hopes that it evens out his breathing a bit.

Past Frankie’s shaking form, Santi’s expression is nearly identical. His bottom lip is caged between his teeth, brow furrowed, shoulders squared. His eyes flicker to you, and his features soften just a fraction before his hips begin to press forward.

Frankie sobs at first contact. His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. His cock is jerking inside you, rhythmic pulses as you watch Santi’s hips slowly inch forward.

“Relax for me, Fish. Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you, take it for me.”

Santi sounds so wrecked. His voice is wispy, and so deep you can hardly hear from the bass in it. He’s never really sounded this way before, and the reality of this entire situation makes you clench around Frankie’s throbbing cock.

Santi curses in whispers, and you watch the sweat from his forehead drip down, between his eyes, down his nose, and drip onto Frankie’s heated skin. And then Frankie shifts, pulling out of you. And then, you realize, pressing Santi’s cock deeper inside himself.

You groan at the revelation, chase Fish’s hips with your own, a domino effect that sets both of them off as well. It doesn’t take much at all for them to find the right pace, like this is just as natural as everything else they do together. For a while you just take it in, let Frankie get his pleasure from you, let them discover the feeling of being so close to each other after a long while of only imagining.

Santi’s signature filthy mouth doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, he looks stunned silent above the both of you. His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but all that leaves his lips are grunts and groans that Frankie echoes into your sternum. His eyes don’t know where to look, so they float between where he’s fucking Frankie, and your own roaming eyes, and finally land where your hand grips Frankie’s hair.

He lets go of one of Fish’s hips to tangle his fingers with your own, tugging on those chestnut curls. Frankie slams his hips into you at the sensation, bites down on the meat of your pec and keens before he lets Santi’s grip pull his head back.

His eyes are completely fucking black, no iris to be found when his heavy eyelids open to look at you. And it’s a very strange thing, when you watch him look right through you and call out Santi’s name.

Strange, but fucking hot.

“Let it happen, Fish.”

“No. I– I can’t.”

“You can, fuck, don’t hold it. Come inside so I can fuck it out of him.”

Frankie crumbles. You watch it happen, his eyes snapping shut as he chokes on a high-pitched sound. His face twists up, and you feel his hips stutter against you as he starts chanting Santi’s name, over and over. His cock jerks with every wave of his release, and he’s shaking, collapsing dead-weight on top of you.

“That’s it, did so good. Feel so fucking good squeezing me Fish.”

You’re momentarily squished by the weight of two grown men when Santi rests against Frankie’s back. He kisses where he can reach, soothing the place on his scalp where he was tugging at the hairs.

“Mierda, Santi, get off you fucking oaf.”

And it’s cute, the way Frankie gets so grumpy even after he’s just come his brains out. You ruffle his hair, when he’s finally not sandwiched between you two, let him collapse beside you instead with a sweaty arm draped across your middle.

You only have a few moments to appreciate the tenderness before Santi’s lifting your leg onto his shoulder pressing his thick fingers inside you. The noise is obscene, and Santi swears as Frankie’s cum trickles out of you.

You know you’re in for it now. Santi sets his jaw and arranges your hips so he can slide right into you. You moan at the feeling, and the knowledge of where his cock has just been, noises tumbling out of you as he picks up the pace where Frankie left off.

And you almost forget about Fish, caught up in the pleasure of Santi railing you just how he knows you like. But then a warm, trembling hand wraps around your cock, even though Santi’s own are gripping onto you tight, and it’s heaven.

“Let me see you come,” Frankie says, voice all hoarse and worn out.

You whine, loll your head to the side to look at him.

But this time Santi’s hand is grabbing you, just shy of too rough when he takes your chin in his hand.

“You look at me. Look at me when I make you come, papi.”

And you take it as an order, because Frankie’s hand speeds up and squeezes tighter, and Santi’s fucking into you deep and fast like he does when he’s about to come.

You shake with it when it finally happens. Your spend splashes down Fish’s knuckles, up your stomach, your chest, christ some of it even lands on your chin. And you know you’re babbling but you don’t know what words you’re using, only know that they come from high in your throat as you gasp for air.

Santi follows you so closely, burying himself impossibly deep as he releases. You hear Frankie encouraging him, but the sound is miles away as your head swims in that familiar, blissful place.

When the ringing in your ears settles, and your vision unblurs, and all your nerve endings don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore, Santi’s cock has been replaced by his tongue. You give a weak protest at the overstimulation as his greedy mouth licks the mess out of you. It doesn’t matter, he comes up for air just as soon as you realize where he’s at.

Your bleary eyes watch as Santi leans over you, grabs Fish’s face in his hands and tugs at his bottom lip with one of his thumbs. Frankie opens his mouth, obedient as ever, and then a mix of Santi’s cum and his own is tumbling from Santi’s lips into Fish’s mouth.

Once the damage has been done, an image that will forever be burned into your mind, Santi lets his lips press against Frankie’s. He kisses him deep but slow, savoring the concoction of tastes, until Frankie has to lean back for air.

And then it’s silent, and still, and a pit of dread makes itself known in your gut in record time.

“I’ll grab us some towels. Don’t either of you move a muscle.”

Frankie huffs but stays put. You shake out some of the tensed-up muscles in your legs, grasping for something to say to break the tension.

Turns out you don’t have to.

“Bossy little prick,” Frankie mumbles.

It makes a giggle bubble up out of you, even though it’s not even that funny. You suppose the nervous energy needed out somehow.

“Don’t know what you see in him,” you agree.

Frankie hums, tilts his head like he’s contemplating it.

“I’m kidding. He’s sweet. You’re a lucky guy, so is he.”

You’re interrupted when Santi reenters, two fluffy towels in hand. You tidy up as best you can, then sigh when you no longer have anything to occupy your hands with.

“Stay the night?”

And this time, those familiar words are uttered by Frankie. It surprises you. For a moment you think he’s just being nice, appeasing you. But his brown eyes do that same thing that Santi’s do, where they get all wide and watery and it’s impossible to say no.

So you snuggle under the covers, and it’s a bit awkward at first with an extra set of limbs. Santi takes his coveted position as big spoon, but this time behind Fish. Then Frankie coaxes you closer, a hand at your back to urge you to rest your head on his outstretched arm.

The three of you talk about how hard you’re all going to sleep, and you close your eyes and listen to two other sets of breaths. You let it lull you to the edge of consciousness. Just before you slip under, Santi’s voice is deep and smooth.

“Te amo.”

And Frankie’s whisper is just as silky.

“Te amo.”

—

In the morning, you all wake up slow, and take care of business, and mosey out into the kitchen. It’s natural to watch Frankie make eyes at Santi over his eggs, but you know that Santi’s routine walk to your Uber will be anything but.

Their apartment door slams heavy behind you two as you head to the normal pick-up spot.

“So this is probably it, huh?”

You have to force yourself to look at Santi’s face, squinting in the mid-morning sun.

His brows draw up, and you really hope he doesn’t make this anymore awkward than it needs to be.

“It doesn’t have to be, no.”

His head shakes back and forth with his declaration, and you almost flinch when he reaches for your hand.

“Listen. Give us some time, you know? Let us… figure… this out. Once we settle, I wanna see you again. Fish does too.”

You’re sure your face is doing something funny, because Santi laughs and pushes you.

“Not gonna get rid of us that easy, cabrón.”

124 notes · View notes

pedropascalito · 1 year

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Pedro loves being on set with his buckle undone or what?

#pedro pascal #joel miller #francisco 'catfish' morales #belts

401 notes · View notes

thefloorisbalaclava · 2 years

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I call this disappointed dad Frankie.

#frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie baby #pedro pascal #mine

566 notes · View notes

albertasunrise · 9 months

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So I have decided to try and do Whumptober! I can not promise all the fics will be out on time but I'll do my best 😬 there is the addition of Ben Miller too!

Here’s who’ll get what:

1) Sick - Javier Peña

2) Insomnia - Joel Miller

3) Sensory deprivation - Marcus Pike

4) Hiding an injury - Din Djarin

5) Hostage - Marcus Pike

6) Forced to hurt someone else - Benny Miller

7) CPR - Frankie Morales

8) Panic attacks - Joel Miller

9) Scar reveal - Erza

10) Branding - Din Djarin

11) Paralyzed - Marcus Pike

12) Character death - Frankie Morales

13) Crushed - Din Djarin

14) Field medicine - Javier Peña

15) Self Defence - Benny Miller

16) Chronic pain - Ezra

17) Hypothermia - Javier Peña

18) Fever - Frankie Morales

19) Left behind - Din Djarin

20) Mutilation - Ezra

21) Shock - Marcus Pike

22) Nerve Damage - Javier Peña

23) Forced to watch - Benny Miller

24) Failed escape - Din Djarin

25) Nightmares - Joel Miller

26) Non-Consensual Touching - Din Djarin

27) Forgotten - Frankie Morales

28) Oxygen deprivation - Javier Peña

29) "The easy way or the hard way?" - Joel Miller

30) Coma - Frankie Morales

31) PTSD - Benny Miller

Happy Whumping folks!

52 notes · View notes

redahlia-writes · 1 year

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you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

four. crystal

content (for this chapter): smut, family gatherings and That really annoying relative, a lot of feelings, a hint of possessiveness, frankie is once again being an idiot

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, life's truly kicking my ass and i hope the chapter will make up for it. updates might be a little bit slow from now, but i'll do my best

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

“For the first few months of their relationship, Fish didn’t even know it was a relationship. They moved in together, and still he would say stuff like she’s not my girlfriend, we haven’t talked about it, I don’t want to pressure her. Considerate, really, but so–Alba, chiquitita, cover your ears a moment–so fucking dumb. And that was how I knew. We’ve known Frankie a really long time, we’ve been together through a lot, and that was the first time I’ve seen him be so stupid–which is saying a lot. But, after all, isn’t that what love does in the beginning? It makes you foolish, nervous, doubt things you would’ve never doubted before. It was a new look on him, and it made it crystal clear how enamored he was, probably without even realizing it in the beginning–because I know he fell for Camila right off the bat. And I mean, how could he not? He called me, that first morning, and even then Camila was a surprise. Will said it all already–funny, kind, smart, beautiful, but most of all right. You were, and still are, right for him, Cami, the right person at the right time, and that is something rare, something great. Sometimes I think we should thank you more, because you changed Frankie’s life, and with his, ours too–mine for sure, because not only did I get to see my best friend finally start living again, but I also gained a sister. So, one Garcia to the other: thank you. That being said, it’d be nice to have him back every now and then–seriously, they’re practically glued together, can’t keep their hands to themselves to save their lives! I have some stories–”

Frankie’s hand tightened slightly around the glass of water in his grip when he felt a hand clasping him on the shoulder, tight and all too buoyant, shaking him and forcing his eyes away from Camila, Alba and his mother–Alba was lying on her back over Verónica’s knees, the older woman laughing in her chair as the child stretched and let her head dangle back towards Camila, sitting on the grass and smiling.

“Who would’ve thought–young Cisco with an actual girlfriend,” the man at his side was grinning, a glaze clouding his eyes, mouth stained red from wine. “Well, not so young anymore, are you?”

“Takes one to know one, Nicky,” he retorted with a hint of a laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders when he saw Camila move again at the corner of his eye, could hear Alba’s loud giggles from his spot.

His cousin laughed, clearly not put off by his comment–he wasn’t trying to be mean, exactly, but out of all the people in the family currently gathered in his mother’s backyard–

“So you got one of the last good ones, huh?” he still had his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, standing a step back as they were angled towards the other three. Camila’s hand was underneath Alba’s head, supporting it up as she leaned in, brushing their noses together as the child giggled again. A small smile caught on Frankie’s lips, warmth spreading across his chest. “Man, and she’s good with the kid. You oughta keep this one.”

Frankie’s family wasn’t mean–they’d never given him too much shit for what had happened to him, for what he’d done, at least not to his face and certainly not to his mother’s, for they wouldn’t even be there if they had. But he’d gotten good at understanding people’s double meaning, at hearing the light shift in their voices. You oughta keep this one, not like the last one, or all the others before.

“Thanks, Nic,” he sighed–across the garden, Camila tilted her head as she looked at him. She quirked up an eyebrow, and he was quick to shoot a smile in her direction, the slightest shake of his head at her silent question.

“Fine, too, your girl,” he continued, clearly not put off by Frankie’s lack of trying at keeping up the conversation. “Young face, pity for the grays–I mean, she could always dye it,” he shrugged, before grinning and elbowing Frankie in the side, making him turn fully towards him, his lips pressed in a thin line as he inhaled deeply. “Although I’m sure she makes up for it plenty in–”

“Listen, Nicky–” he exhaled sharply, the sentence dying on his lips when he felt a hand brush up his back, from the lower side up–his shoulders sagged slightly, leaning towards Camila’s touch as she settled at his side.

“Sorry,” soft-voiced, she pulled his cousin’s perplexed gaze towards her, too. “I need to borrow Frankie for a moment–Alba spilled some juice on my dress and I could really use the help before it stains.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic cleared his throat, stepping back, his gaze flickering from one to the other–shy, all of a sudden. Frankie almost rolled his eyes, held in check only by Camila’s hand sliding into his, gently pulling him along.

“Alba wasn’t drinking anything,” he murmured, his head bowed slightly as they walked back inside the house. She shrugged lightly, then looked over her shoulder as she smiled–quick and amused, making him scoff. “Mila–”

“Just come with me for a moment,” she retorted before he could finish forming the protest. “Alba’s with Santiago and your mom, it’s alright,” she added as he went to speak again, walking past the kitchen and living room.

“I’m still not sure why he’s here,” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle and pull him slightly closer as she reached the stairs–he placed the glass on the closest surface at hand.

“According to him, he’s included in the family for the family reunion,” he got closer each step, his now free hand coming up to brush her hip. “Don’t get ideas, Morales,” she added, giving a delicate slap to the back of his hand.

“You’re the one getting me away from the rest of them,” he retorted as she pulled them both inside the bathroom–to which he arched an eyebrow, as if that was proof of his point even before she turned the key. “Really difficult to not get any ideas now,” Camila laughed, shaking her head before turning fully to face him, eyebrows slightly arched. “What?”

“Out with it,” she said simply, resting her hands on the countertop of the sink behind her back. Frankie frowned slightly, stepping closer again–she tipped her chin up to look at him, her gaze soft.

“With what?”

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” she told him, voice as soft as her eyes, and he wondered if he was truly that obvious or she simply knew him so well. “Your family is not so bad, you know? I mean, Nicky is–” she let the sentence hang, mouth turned in a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sighed, and she shifted the weight on one hand to reach for his face with the other, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey,” she hummed, thumb brushing along the apple of his cheek, warm from the sun. “I like them–by now somebody in my family would’ve started a fight for sure,” she added with a quick grin that made him scoff out a laugh, gaze lowered. “But they’ve all been nice,” he must’ve tensed up again, because she tilted her head to try and meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s–I’m glad they are, it’s just–” her hand moved down across his cheek and jaw, pushing underneath his chin to get him to look up at last. “It’s nothing. Nicky said some shit, and he talked about me having an actual girlfriend or something,” he scoffed, gaze darting away and back–behind her, he saw their reflection in the mirror, her hair shifting with the movement of both her arms shifting up.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” her words carried her soft smile as she took his cap off, putting it aside because she held his face in her hands, looking at him with such tenderness in her eyes he almost crumbled in front of her, hands twitching at his sides. “So what?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned softly, eyes shut for a longer moment before letting out a long sigh. “We just never discussed it, and people keep bringing it up, and I didn’t want to pressure you or–” when he looked at her again, her lips were parted, brows knitted tightly with perplexity as he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“Pressure me?” her confusion bled into her voice, her touch getting a little hesitant for a moment–if he were to look past her head and into the mirror, Frankie would register the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he only noticed the realization dawn in her eyes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry–I kept thinking I would bring it up and then never did and I was worried it would be too much, or too early,” he shifted back a little, her hands falling to his shoulders.

“Wait, so this is because he called me your girlfriend?” she asked, a little baffled. At his little nod, a quick laugh escaped her, and she pushed herself towards him. “Frankie, honey, we’ve lived together for two months,” she smiled as she said it.

“I know,” she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer in the process, fingertips pushing at the nape of his neck. “I just didn’t want to assume,” she laughed again, a little louder, and Frankie frowned once more, pouting slightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” she said quickly, getting herself closer, though still laughing. “I’m sorry, just–I thought there was nothing to discuss. You’re it for me?”

“You–” he was still frowning, a little deeper, and she let one hand move from the back of his head up across his face, gently kneading the spot between his eyebrows where lines were etched. “You’re still laughing. Camila–”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to help herself as she shook her head through the laughter turned giggles, shifting her body weight so she was leaning against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright and ducking his chin to keep his gaze on her face, the lines at the corner of her eyes deepening as her smile widened. “Why would you worry about that, honey?”

“You told me you thought you’d jumped in too fast with that guy,” he’d been that guy for months now, no longer Jason–Camila found some amusement in it, her nose scrunching up.

“I did,” she nodded, bringing a hand to his chest while the other still cupped the back of his head. “But you’re not him, and I’m no longer 20-something, so I’d like to think I’ve wised up,” Frankie sighed, carefully lowering his head towards her. “Then again, I’ve moved in with you after–what, eight months? So maybe–”

“Mila,” he groaned in half-complaint, making her laugh again before she tipped her chin up, kissing him in full. He sighed again, the tension in his back melting away as her fingers brushed through his hair, the other palm pressed firmly against his heart.

When she didn’t pull back, Frankie’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him and straightening his back to sweep her off her feet, taking the half step that separated them from the countertop to sit her there–he slotted himself between her legs, her back arching slightly as her lips parted for his tongue.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her until the rest of the world blurred away, until there was no Nicky or Jason, no Santi nor the rest of his family, just the two of them tangled together, sharing soft breaths and touches and the only thing grounding him was the weight of her against him, the shift of her body as he let his hands wandered back and thighs and legs, right underneath her dress.

“Are you gonna ask me, then?” she breathed out once they parted, heavy breaths from both of them and Frankie’s vision blurry for just a moment as he chased her, interrupted only by her soft words, the hint of laughter in them.

“What?” he licked his lips as if trying to cling onto the taste of her, fingers digging into her flesh. Her cheeks were red, bruised lips as she looked up at him while it all came back into vision for Frankie. “Is it–official?” her smile turned into a snort at the uncertainty in his tone, a shimmer in her eyes to highlight her amusement.

“You can do better than that, Francisco,” she murmured, mockingly, and he huffed out a breath as his lips quivered in a semi-pout. Camila leaned forward, kissing it away, but before he could chase her again she pulled back abruptly–one hand on his chest, the other falling behind her over the counter to support herself.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scoffed, letting his hands travel a little up across her skin, the skirt of her dress bunching up with the movement.

“Maybe,” she said with a light shrug, letting her hand travel down across his torso, lingering on each button–just teasing to undo them, Frankie’s eyes following the movement as his own fingers moved up and up. “You know what I’m going to say,” she murmured then, the tip of her first and middle finger hooking in his belt and pulling him forward ever so slightly, “ask.”

“I don’t need to ask,” he lowered his head towards hers, hooking his fingers at each side of her underwear–she squeezed her knees at his sides, humming softly as he pulled. “Do I?”

“Ask,” she repeated, lips still curved in an amused smile.

“Camila,” uttered as a warning before he kissed her again, a little harsher than before, almost feverish, pulling and pulling at her underwear that wouldn’t shift.

He could feel the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed against his lower stomach to make him step back, hopping down the counter to bare her lower half–Frankie kept his hands on her legs, her dress bunched up between the two of them, and slowly began lowering himself, ready to shift onto his knees in front of her.

“We don’t have time,” she mumbled against his lips, swiftly undoing his belt. “Later. Home.”

“Did you not tell me to not get any ideas?” his mocking question ended with a groan when she cupped her hand to his front, stroking his already half-hard length from above his briefs–his hips twitched into her touch, and he felt the grin forming on her lips at his immediate reaction.

“Ask me,” she replied instead, stroking him again.

Again, and again, until he was panting in her mouth, hips bucking with each movement–Frankie kissed her one more time before turning her around, her hands coming down against the counter for balance as he gently kicked her legs apart to slot himself closer, his still clothed front pressed against her back.

“I don’t have to ask,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck, one hand to her hip as the other bared himself. Camila’s reflection smiled in the mirror, her head ducked as if hiding herself but not quite, as he pushed the tip of his length against the seam of her folds. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he murmured then against the shell of her ear.

Before she could form a response, her mouth fell open as he nudged at her entrance, slowly–agonizingly slow–starting to push into her. Her eyes rolled back and she nodded, soft gasps leaving her as she gripped the countertop, both of Frankie’s hands now on her hips, guiding her back to meet him.

“Look at you,” his gaze remained glued to the mirror as she tilted her head back towards him–her eyelids fluttered a moment, trying and failing to focus on their reflections as he kept going. “My beautiful girl,” another kiss to her neck, right behind her ear, making her shudder and rock her hips back. With a groan, his front pressed to her back as he sank fully inside her, he spoke against her shoulder, “mine.”

“’Course I am,” she panted, her thighs trembling slightly against his. “Yours,” at the word, Frankie’s cock twitched, his grip on her hips tightening. “God–Frankie,” she moaned, back arching as her walls fluttered around him.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he mumbled, pushing forward so her hips were against the countertop, and he was leaning against her in turn. One arm wrapped around her middle to keep her flush to him, he let his other hand wander up across her torso, the fabric of her dress wrinkling underneath his touch.

“Thought you liked it when you could hear me,” her gaze flickered over their reflections, down to his rising hand and up to meet his eyes, a flush spreading from her heaving chest up and her lips slightly parted.

“Yes,” he shifted back, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out almost all the way making her breath quicken. “When I–” he snapped his hips forward, and Camila bit down onto her lip to keep herself from crying out, knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter a little harder, “can. Not the rest of the family.”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were a problem,” each word felt like it was punched out of her chest, Frankie’s movements steady, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her vision wavering. “You enjoy the thrill, Francisco,” she added–not a question, rather her ability to read him so perfectly laid out in a tease.

And he did–he liked his life, his new one, with no drugs and very little alcohol, a steady, almost boring job, a home with the two halves of his heart, a bed with hogged blankets and slow nights. He loved that life–but sometimes he missed the rush, and Camila seemed to know exactly when he felt like he was starting to waver. Exactly what to do about it so that he wouldn’t topple over again, returning back to her each time.

“Fuck–don’t stop, don’t stop,” he’d gotten so lucky. He was so goddamn lucky.

The hand that had been traveling up her body moved up again, grabbing her by the chin to turn her head so that he could kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, swallowing each sound away as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against her skin almost too loudly–and only spurring him further.

A shiver ran through her as Frankie stopped with one last thrust, his head falling into the crook of her neck as he came–he tightened his hold around her, keeping her flush to his front. Her walls fluttered around his length buried deep within her, a weak, frustrated cry leaving her at his sudden stillness–he breathed out a quiet laugh before pulling his head up, chin hooked over her shoulder as he brought two fingers to his mouth, coating his fingertips before reaching for the apex of her core.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Camila’s pupils were wide, eyes glazed over as she let her head loll back and sighed at his perhaps-too-delicate initial touch. Each of Frankie’s words was accompanied by a soft kiss across her skin–cheek and jaw and neck, his gaze never leaving her face as he began drawing quick circles over her clit.

“Frankie,” with a breathless cry, she grasped at his arm still wrapped around her, holding her upright. He kissed her neck, humming at her sharp intakes of air with each of his movements.

“I know,” he could feel her muscles grow taut under his touch, her thighs shaking as she got closer and closer–he groaned when she squeezed around his length, sensitive and softening as she tethered the edge. “Come on, baby, I can feel you–so good, you feel so good, baby, you–”

Camila twisted her neck and kissed him abruptly, harsh and trembling as her orgasm rippled through her–she quietened herself, the loud moan muffled by Frankie’s own bruised lips. He drank the noise greedily, slowing down the movement of his fingers until she twitched in his hold and dug her fingernails into the arm she was holding onto, a weak whine as she went limp into his hold.

He pulled out slowly, another softer moan escaping her as she folded forward, hands coming down to the countertop with a shaky exhale and equally shaky arms. His gaze remained low a moment longer, following the slow trail of their combined releases dripping down her thighs, and then he bowed down, kissed the space between her shoulders softly from above her dress.

“You alright?” he spoke softly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her bare hips as she evened her breathing, head hanging forward. She hummed quietly, rolling her shoulders back.

“I just need a minute,” she nodded, bringing her head upright again and wincing slightly. “Jesus–maybe two minutes,” she sighed, and Frankie chuckled softly, another kiss pressed against her shoulder as he tucked himself back in.

“Turn around,” he guided her by the hips tenderly, meeting her eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. “Let me clean you up.”

She hummed softly as she let him move her, leaning back again with her hands on the counter, her breath now even as Frankie recovered a clean towel from underneath the sink, turning on the water and waiting for it to turn lukewarm. Camila’s eyes remained on him as he moved, eyelids low and a tired half smile stretching across her lips.

He sank to the floor in front of her, gently brushing the towel up between her thighs, one hand on her calf rubbing circles with his thumb again against her skin, gentle and soothing. He helped her get dressed back up, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and pressing one last kiss to her now clothed hip before standing back up, mere inches from her.

“Promise me something,” she wrapped her arms around his middle, threading her arms underneath his. Frankie lowered his gaze to her still slightly flushed face, a small frown crossing his brow. “You’re gonna ask me whatever it is that crosses your mind, anything you want to–even if it’s something as banal as is my hair alright,” her fingers curled against his back, gently bringing him closer.

Frankie sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands before nodding–small movements, getting closer to leave a delicate peck against her lips.

“Promise,” he conceded, voice a little hoarse as he kept it low. “We should head back–you okay?” she nodded, mimicking his quick kiss before detangling herself from him and stepping aside, reaching for the door. “Wait, Mila,” he caught her hand as she unlocked the door, her gaze a little perplexed when she turned back around. “Is my hair alright?”

Camila laughed, a light roll of her eyes as she reached for the cap left on the countertop, putting it back on his head and pulling it low over his brow–he grinned in return, tipping his head back to keep his gaze on her.

“Better,” she nodded, wrinkling her nose before opening the door.

He pulled her under his arm once they were into the corridor, fixing his cap as she wrapped one of her arms around him again, bumping her hip with his while they stepped forward–and stopped at the stairs creaking, Santi’s head popping up with a deep frown that vanished as soon as he saw them.

“Ah, there you are–Alba’s been asking for you,” the other man said, looking at Camila, then made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace, muttering, “for some reason. Also, is it me or has Nicky gotten worse?” this he asked Frankie, his expression turning into a full scowl. His gaze then darted from one to the other, still tangled together, and surely somewhat guilty-looking–Camila’s face was still reddened, Frankie’s shirt slightly wrinkled, their hair just about messed up. Santi groaned, full on rolling his eyes. “Seriously? Gross.”

Camila laughed, loud and amused, leaving a rapid kiss to Frankie’s shoulder before sliding from under his arm, keeping her own open as she advanced towards Santi.

“Come here,” she said at his mock disdain, reaching for him. “Come on, Garcia–give me a kiss.”

“No, I don’t know where that mouth has been,” he argued, trying to step away and back down the stairs. Camila all but leaped for him, laughing again and throwing her arms around him–he quickly got his arms around her, too, keeping them both upright with a huff of protest as she smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Fish, will you keep your girlfriend in check?”

Frankie just watched them, the quick, purposefully sloppy kisses she peppered across his face from the upper step, his twisted expression as he tried to pull away but couldn’t make a move–they both knew it was an over-dramatization on Pope’s part, that he’d been basking in the affection Camila reserved for them all.

With one last kiss to Santi’s forehead–loud and possibly even sloppier, making him groan in protest–she skipped away with a laugh and a gentle pinch to his arm, one last glance in Frankie’s direction from above her shoulder with a wide grin across her reddened cheeks before walking down the stairs.

“What, no not my girlfriend?” Santi muttered, running a hand across his face before looking back up at Frankie–his gaze somewhat lost towards where Camila had gone.

“No, not this time, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Santi exclaimed, lifting his hands. “Seriously, fucking finally!”

Frankie had gotten used to sleeping as close to Camila as he could get–whether she was curled up in his arms, her back pressed against his front, or her body draped across his, it was rare for them to roll on opposite sides of the bed.

Mostly because she still hogged most of the covers, and Frankie would wake up in the middle of the night with half of himself exposed to the room, and she would then complain his hands were cold when he sought out her warmth.

He didn’t mind it one bit–each excuse he could find to feel her skin under his hands, to wake up and know she was still there, would be enough to make him withstand anything.

And he always woke up first, taking a few moments before her alarm would go off to look at her sleeping, relaxed face, hair braided back and away, eyelids trembling as she seemed to be following her dreams, lips slightly parted to let out soft huffs of air–he would pepper her skin in quick, delicate kisses as soon as she turned off the alarm, tightening his arms around her.

But the alarm didn’t sound that morning, and when he glanced over her shoulder to where the clock was he sat up so quickly the whole room spun, dragging the covers with him before turning towards the already curling up woman, her face twisting in a still-asleep frown.

“Mila, we overslept,” he called, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow. “Mila,” he tried again, and she turned in his direction.

“You overslept,” she protested, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “I have the day off,” she added in a mumble, head heavy on the pillow and exposing the sleep lines on her opposite side of the face. “Did you not set an alarm again?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to hers as he brought the covers back up over her while simultaneously sliding off the bed. “I didn't–you know I usually rely on you.”

“And that is twice you’ve made that mistake,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping again, ever so slowly. Frankie scoffed, quick steps around the room as he searched blindly for some clothes. “I’ll take Alba to daycare, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? You can go back to sleep,” he was still rummaging through the closet as he spoke, and suddenly the light was on and he could see the shirts hanging in front of him.

“I’m up already,” Camila groaned softly, and turning around he saw her sitting up, rubbing at her eyes again as she suppressed a yawn. Frankie’s expression softened as she kicked her legs off the bed, lingering there a moment with her head tilted forward slightly. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Frankie grabbed a shirt before turning around, padding across the room to reach her–he tipped her head back gently, hooking one finger underneath her chin before kissing her. Camila hummed softly, her eyelids fluttering open and shut and open again when he pulled back, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“See? I knew it’d be convenient for you to move in,” she snorted at his grinning remark, pushing him back with both her hands on his chest before getting up the bed, stretching as Frankie kissed her again, lips just at the corner of her mouth.

He passed by the living room once he was dressed, Alba sitting on the couch with her morning cartoons playing, hair still ruffled by the night–her breakfast was waiting on the coffee table, along with Camila’s empty mug.

“Morning, nena,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. The child moved her legs, bouncing her feet and smiling and looking up at her dad. “Are you waiting for Mila?”

“Ma!” voice laced with sleep, Alba nodded, eyes squinting as she smiled. Frankie chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen, leaving her to the images on the screen.

It was a new development, ma–an imitation of Frankie, of possibly the other children at daycare. The beginning of a word that signified much more for them both. The three of them, actually. Frankie’s doubts had dwindled with one single word, and he had started to tell her truly what went through his mind (almost everything).

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he murmured as he walked up to her at the sink, one hand falling to her hip as he reached for the travel mug she was already offering him with the other. She smiled in the reflection of the mirror, taking the moka pot from the turned off stove. “I’ll set an alarm next time, I promise.”

“Heard that one before,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into his front as she gently leaned back into his half-hazarded embrace. “Go on now, before you’re late.”

“Thank you,” he kissed the curve of her neck–a peck, really, quick and non-committal. “I love you,” he added then, stepping back.

Camila’s head straightened abruptly, the sleep seemingly still clinging to her leaving her all of a sudden, and in the reflection he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly.

He told her almost everything.

Until that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d fully woken up just yet.

“Alright, bye,” he said just as quickly, a little louder, walking away before she could even begin turning around. Alba babbled for him from the couch and he went on, holding his breath through the corridor and entrance, down the steps and across the front yard until he reached the car.

Only then did he exhale, heavy and almost too loud as he leaned his head forward towards the steering wheel, almost hitting his forehead to the honk in the process, a soft groan abandoning him. I love you. Alright, bye.

“For fuck’s sake–” he muttered, bumping his head against the wheel again. “Alright, bye?” he grimaced. He jumped in his seat at the quick knocking against the window, pulling his head straight quickly and turning around, gripping the mug tighter to not topple it. “What–”

Camila stood next to the car, hair wild around her now that it was unbraided as she gestured at him to lower the window, bouncing ever so slightly on the spot. With a slight frown he did as she asked, and before he could form the question she was leaning into the car, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt to pull him closer and kiss him.

Frankie’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted in the seat and brought his free hand to her shoulder–he could feel her lean closer and closer, her torso sticking inside the car as she used his shirt as leverage and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“I love you too,” she gasped, pulling back. Though his gaze was unfocused and he felt slightly breathless, dizzy, he managed to make out the shape of her body draped over the car door, legs dangling and the shirt of her pajama riding slightly across her back. “I thought you heard me already–a while ago.”

“What while ago?” he muttered, still a little dazed. He would think about her smile for the rest of the day, distracted out of his mind.

“I was talking with Alba, she couldn’t sleep,” the tip of her thumb brushed the side of his neck, right where his pulse was stuttering rapidly. “Telling her how much you love her–and I love her, and you,” she murmured, still leaning close, the tip of her nose almost brushing his.

“Well you didn’t tell me,” he could feel the pout on his mouth that seemed to only pull her smile wider. “I just thought–” she kissed him quickly this time, pulling back before he could register it, return it.

“Always a bad idea, honey,” she quipped, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly. “I told you, Frankie–you can tell me anything. Everything.”

“I know,” he sighed with mock defeat, leaning towards her until he was the one resting against the car door and she could touch the ground again, his head sticking out of the window. “Everything?” he asked then, looking up at her once she straightened.

“Yes,” she let her hand shift so it was cupping his jaw, thumb pushing gently into his cheek.

“You keep stealing the covers,” he whispered it, like it was a secret, and after the moment of initial shock Camila laughed. As she laughed, he turned his head to kiss her wrist, the heel of her hand, her palm, words murmured against the soft skin there– “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she repeated–she’d repeat it over and over from then on, whispered close to his ear or shouted from across the house when either one or the other left for the day, mumbled before falling asleep and just awoke. It’d always have the same effect on Frankie. “But I’m cold, so I’m not giving up the covers.”

“I know you’re not,” he chuckled, taking her hand in his to turn it around and kiss her knuckles, too. “I’ll just have to stick close, then.”

She hummed in assent, squeezing his hand in hers before leaning one last time, the kiss too brief for both their tastes–if it were up to them, that’d be where they’d spend the whole day, just as close to each other as they could get.

“I’ll see you later,” she said instead.

Frankie remained in the driveway a moment longer, watching as she ran back inside–still barefoot, a light skip in her step, and one last look over her shoulder towards him.

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icanbeyourjedi-writes · 9 months

Text

It Was Just A Dream Chapter Three

Summary: Going back to work was easy, hearing that Alex has a date is not. Frankie spirals at the news, and what happens next could change the friendship. Words: 7,591 Rating: 18+ Adult Themes Warnings/Triggers: Addiction, Falling for Your Brothers Friend, Language, OFC is somewhat described as someone with longer hair, but no race/eye color/body type A/N: I don’t know much about addiction, just the things that I googled and seen portrayed on TV. This is completely an AU. I had the beginning of this story pop in my head randomly and thought it sounded fun to explore. Sure we all love Frankie was that sweet puppy dog…but what if he had his own inner demons he had to battle with. The ‘coke charge’ was mentioned in TF and I kinda wanted to explore that side of him.

Thank you to @theewokingdead for the beta

**This is written as a first person, and it's my first time writing in first person, so please be gentle with me. I also include Frankie's POV which will be Bold

Frankie Morales, 25, a talented pilot, Army Vet and now sticker enthusiast. I don’t think I have ever spent so much time in the sticker aisle. We’ve been here for at least an hour and I am sure the pile of stickers in the basket are already at fifty bucks. But I can’t help it, he’s excited, he’s smiling and I see the old Frankie. The Frankie before he got hurt.

“Lex…Lexi they have vampire teeth!” he races over to me dropping the stickers into the cart joining the helicopters, military helicopters, cats, cat paws and of course who could forget catfish. And because that wasn’t enough he added tropical fish to the pile as well.

“I‘ve created a monster” I sigh to myself. I start to think this crazy thrown together idea might actually work. I’ve never been in his shoes. I don’t know what he deals with, what he has dealt with. But I do know a reward system works. It works for the kids who come into the doctor's office. Get the shot, get a sticker or a sucker depending on the doctor.

Frankie walks back towards me with one more package of stickers, fire trucks. I look at him and he just shrugs, the other stickers made sense. They all fit him; cat, fish, helicopters, “what?” He shrugs “when I was a kid, I thought about being a firefighter”

“You’ve always wanted to help people?” I ask

He pulls the brim of his worn out baseball cap and drapes his arm over my shoulder, a small nod. Over the years I have been able to learn his mannerisms and his ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ look. This was that look. Hat pulled down, eyes on his feet, biting his bottom lip.

“Think we have enough?” I ask quickly changing the subject

“Maybe” his voice still soft

15 packages of stickers and $50 dollars later, I hope this plan works. I know he is going to have to eventually go to classes, especially when that voice gets loud. But it’s day four and I still have some hope. We stop for some takeout. Pizza, it was quick, easy and who doesn’t love a good slice of pizza.

I lean back on the couch, Frankie finishing his slice and pushes his plate away. He picked the movie tonight…his choice of movie completely shocked me. The final scenes of ‘Bridesmaids’ starts to play, as the two characters start to sing “Hold On”. Frankie leaning against the arm rest. His hand tapping against his leg as he hums along. I can’t help the smile on my face as I watch him. He slowly starts to sing the words. Quiet at first until that first chorus hits.

“…things will go your way, if you hold one for one more day…” he sings along, eyes closed fully in the moment.

I will be fully honest with you. When I told Frankie he could pick the movie tonight. I was expecting Top Gun, Saving Private Ryan, maybe even Green Mile. I never would have guessed that he liked the RomCom genre. I turn to face him, he has my attention as he continues to sing. It’s only when I giggle that he opens his eyes and looks at me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I smile. It was cute, he was relaxed, he for another brief moment was the old Frankie. I want to keep him like this “uhm so you know I start work tomorrow”

“I know” he sighs. He sounded disappointed

“Can I have your phone?” I ask

Without hesitation he reaches into his pocket and hands it over to me. I touch the screen and it lights up with what else but a helicopter as his photo. I touch the screen again and enter in the passcode “it’s your birthday” I hear him say.

“I know” I look up and smile at him.

I asked him once, why it was my birthday. Instead of his girlfriends, or his…or literally any other four digits he could have picked. I don’t want to forget your day, he said. He rubs the back of his neck, a tell that he doesn’t know what to say next.

She’s right, it’s been her birthday since the day I met her. She was one of the few who listened when I talked. Cared how I was feeling, she was the only one to send me care packages and letters when I was away. My own girlfriend never sent me a care package.

I watch, she has her tongue peeking out of her slightly parted lips. She was concentrating, she looked beautiful, but she always did. I don’t know why I handed my phone over so willingly. But the truth is, I would do anything she asked me to. I’d take a bullet for her with no hesitation.

“Ah-ha, there it is” she says and I can’t keep his eyes off her.

“What are you doing?” I finally asks

I watch as her finger slides up the screen, “deleting your friend George” she responds matter of factly. “Frankie, I trust you. I do. But you're going to be alone. I just…I don’t want you to feel like you need to contact him”

She was right, smart even. It had been a few weeks since I had talked to ‘George’. But I didn’t think she knew how easy it would be for me to get something if I needed it. George wasn’t his only source. I didn’t want to use, I wanted to be better. But the struggle of staying clean was getting harder as the drugs left my system every day.

“And I’m adding my work number incase you can’t get me on my cell” she clicks the button on the side of the phone and hands it back over. “I also think…it might be good to find a class or two to go to while I’m at work”

“You don’t want me to be alone” I groan. The mere thought of having to go around in a ‘share your feeling’ circle had me panicking. I watch as Steve’s name flashes across the screen asking if he has been ok. It’s been well over a month since I had texted him for a supply. And no, despite my best efforts he wasn’t ok

“You know you could always call Nicole” I don’t know why I said that, I really don’t want him to call her, “she’s a nurse at a rehab facility. She would know what to do” she would and that’s what I hate the most. She would know how to help him in more ways than one

“Lex, you know you can have meaningless sex with someone. You don’t have to like the person…”

I pretend to be shocked by his statement. My number was a lot smaller than Frankie’s. Ok he probably had double maybe triple the partners than me. I know you don’t have to be in love with the person, I know you don’t even need to know their name. But call me old school, I like to have it mean something.

“Yeah, I know that, but thanks for reminding me” the words sound a lot harsher than I intended. “Look, I’m just saying you're going to be on your own, and I’m proud of how far you’ve come. But I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to worry.”

I remember the day I found him slouched at the picnic table. If I would have been a few more minutes we might not be sitting here right now. I really don’t want to think what would happen if I don’t get to him in time and he OD’s while I'm at work.

I keep checking my phone to see the time. My body is at work, and I am going through the motions, checking patients in. Answering phones. But my mind, my mind is at home with Frankie. I wonder what he is doing. Has he had lunch, did he take a shower, did he change? Did he do a line of coke, did he call Nicole?

I reach for my phone when the bell on the door chimes. My head still down when Laura elbows me in the rubs and I look up seeing a drop dead gorgeous man walk in the door. Short brown hair, styled in that way where it looks he ran his hands through it after a shower and called it good. It looked so soft. Sun-kissed skin, a Romanesque nose. Wearing a suit that fits his shoulders and muscles just right. He had a profile that romance novel authors write about.

“That’s the new sales rep I mentioned” Laura whispers as he walks closer to our receptionist desk

“Good afternoon ladies” he says with a smile that you just know gets him exactly what he wants every time. His voice is like butter, and damn can someone be attracted to a voice?

I smile at him, glancing at Laura who looks like she is about to pass out

“Hi” she says, batting her eyelashes at him, “what did you bring us today?”

“Just some new test gowns for patients. They are easier to tie when alone” he smiled again and I swear there is a twinkle in his eye

“Oh hi, I’m Dave. I don’t think we’ve met before” he looks at me and I am pretty sure my heart stops with the way he’s looking at me

“Al…Al” why can’t I remember my name

“Alex” Laura coughs

“Hi…hello, yeah I’m Alex. Alexandra” I return his smile and shake his outstretched hand. My heart beats faster as our hands touch and my face feels hot

His hands are soft, gentle but strong. I don’t know why but I don’t want to let go of his hand. After what I am sure is an extremely awkward amount of time he is pulling his hand away. I could be imagining it, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “It was really nice meeting you Alexandra. You ladies have a good afternoon and I’ll see you next week”

I don’t say anything, I just sit there and nod like. Weirdo while Laura waves bye to Dave as he heads out the door.

“Who the fuck was that?” I ask once my brain starts to function again

“Dave’s our new sales rep and we’re in love” she smiles “he just doesn’t know that yet” she twirls her long blonde hair around her finger.

Laying on the couch, my hands under my head. I’m counting the little black specks I find on the ceiling.

3,452

Did the day always go by this slow? It feels like it’s been 12 hours…I look at the clock. It’s been three. It wasn’t even time for lunch yet. I was beyond bored, if I was in rehab I would be looking for excuses to not go to the round table therapy. Finding new ways to avoid talking, waiting for Nicole to co-I closes my eyes.

After a few moments I sit up and make my way to his room, still sitting on his desk untouched was the stack of pamphlets that cop gave me. I pick one up and start to look at it. ‘Let us guide you’. I roll his eyes seeing a picture of a business type man, standing with his hands in his pockets in the front of a podium.

“Nope” I pop the ‘p’ not even bothering to open it and drop it in the trash

The next one, a few men and women in military fatigues. In big bold letters, ‘FIND YOUR HIGHER POWER’ a class for veterans run by veterans. I rub his face, the VA rehab didn’t work and this for sure wasn’t gonna help. “No, thank you” I toss it in the trash with the other one.

It felt like an hour had passed, I knew she should be home soon. I looks at the clock on the night stand, it was 20 minutes. There was a small part of me that wanted a hit. She’s at work, she’ll never know. My hands twitch, I pick up his phone, my fingers hovering over Steve’s name…

I know I shouldn’t, I’ve been trying to stay clean. I wants to stay clean, but every fiber in my being wants a little fun. A notification appears, a new text message and my heart stops for a brief moment.

I was ready for the day to be over, I wanted to go home. I wanted to check on Frankie, make sure he was doing ok. But, I still had hours to go, calling him every hour felt like I was babying him and I didn’t want that, but I was also worried that being alone the temptation was going to be too much. I deleted George, but I knew he had others, I knew if he wanted it bad enough he’d find a way.

Me: Hey, How’s it going?

Fishie 🐟: Have hours always ticked by this slowly?

Me: Valid question, I don’t know. But it feels like I have been here for a week, and I still have two hours left.

Fishie 🐟: It feels like you have been gone for a year. I need paint.

Crap, why in the hell does he need paint? What did he do?

Me: Why? Franklin, what did you do?

Fishie 🐟: I fixed the hole in the wall

Me: Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.

Fishie 🐟: Well I am the reason there was a hole, I needed to fix it

I can’t help but smile, my heart melts a little at his words. I remember that night, it was the first time I think I was scared of him, what he could do. The anger in his eyes, the way his nostrils flared. He’s never hurt me, he’s never laid a hand on me, except for our awkward hugs. But I have never seen that look, the look of rage, horror and pain. I can honestly save it’s a look I hope to never see again. I responded telling him I will stop on my way home and I would grab some dinner for us.

With paint in one hand, and a bag of food in the other I walk in the door, shouting a little ‘honey, I’m home’ kicking the door closed behind me and making my way to the kitchen to set the bag of food. He didn’t respond. I don’t know what I was expecting, Frankie running out and wrapping me in a hug. Frankie squealing with excitement, I don’t know. Really I was expecting anything to let me know that he heard me. I set the food on the table and go in search of Frankie.

His bedroom light is on, I move closer but I don’t hear anything. I turn to the open door and find him lying on the bed. Not sure if he is asleep, I tap on the door gently before I step in. I know it's my house and all, but he still deserves respect for his privacy and me not just walking into his room. I thought I was being quiet but his head instantly lifts up to see me walking into his room before lying down again.

“Do you know how many little black specks there are in this room?” he asks his voice flat

“What?” I look up to the ceiling, honestly I didn’t even know there was black speck in the paint. I never changed the ceiling paint color when I moved in. It was white and I just kinda left it

“There are 2,873…” he says sitting up, “and there are 3,452 in the living room”

“Hmmm” I comment still looking up, what do you know if you look close enough there are little black specks

“There are 643 in the bathroom” he moves closer, wrapping my entire body into a bear hug, “I was really fucking bored without you”

I don’t know if I should smile or be seriously concerned about this. I wrap my free arm around his waist returning his hug. He took a shower today, and he smells amazing. He smells like Christmas. Cinnamon, fennel and pine. There’s also something so uniquely Frankie that I can’t put my exact finger on it. He has clean clothes too I notice, and while the counting of the little black specks has me worried. I am proud of him for taking small steps without me telling him to shower.

“I got a surprise for you” I grin and pull back from the hug

“More stickers?”

“Why don’t you go to the kitchen and find out”

I watch as he all but runs to the kitchen, I stay by his bedroom and he cheers when he sees the bag of Thai food on the table. ‘THANK YOU’ I hear him yell. The feelings I get are indescribable, it feels like he has been living here with me for years. As each day passes I think I am falling in love with him. I can’t fall in love with him, my brothers will kill me if I did.

“I found a NA meeting place…class?” he says putting more food on his plate

“That’s great”

“It’s a few nights a week. The paper said I can go once a week or to all of them”

Maybe having something planned in my schedule would make the day go faster. Knowing I had something to do might help my mind not think about it. I was so close to texting Steve for a few rocks. Just a few…enough to get by until Benny was home again. Hell I was close to texting Nicole just to have something, or someone to do. I’ve been living with Alex for a little over a month, and while things were good I wanted to go home. Benny would give him my space, I could get fucked up and Benny would never notice. That, and I was falling for Alex. I can’t fall for her, she was off limits.

“I think that’s great” she smiles at him. She’s proud of me, the smile on her face says it all, “maybe you can find ways to help fight the urge. Find out how I can help you” I nod “cuz I have no fucking clue what I am doing”

The next day wasn’t any better.

Lunch had rolled around and Laura had left me alone at the desk. It was a slow day, so the workload was pretty easy. I finish up a phone call when the little bell on the door chimes letting me know someone had walked in. I love up and see Dave walking towards me, damn was he hot. I smile at him and put the phone down.

I notice he doesn’t have anything in his hands this time, like he did yesterday. Maybe Laura and him were really a thing.

“Hey Dave, Laura is at lunch if you wanna come back”

“I actually came to see you” his lips curve up, and there was that damn gleam in his eyes again

“Oh?” Was the best response I could think of at the time

“So, I know we just met and this sounds kinda crazy but…” he starts

“Here’s your number so call you maybe” the fuck was that Alex I think

He laughs, ok maybe that response wasn’t as bad as I thought. Why did I become so socially awkward when a handsome man was standing in front of me and I think he was flirting.

“Something like that, I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner on Friday?” he asks

Wait, is he serious? Did he just ask me out? Is this really happening? I think my brain stopped working for a few moments, then I heard his voice again “Alex?”

“YES” I say a little to loudly, he chuckles “yes, Dave that would be great”

We exchanged numbers, he said he’d pick me up on Friday around 8 for dinner.

I stood by the front door, adjusting my hair one last time before Dave was to arrive. Frankie watched me like a hawk from the couch. Ever since I told him about my date, he had been weird. Not wanting me to leave his side when we were home. I didn’t know what was going on, he was being clingy and we weren’t even dating.

“Where are you going?” He asks

“I have a date, I told you” I sigh

“And your wearing that?”

She was in a little black dress. The hem stopped mid thigh, it hugged every single one of her curves perfectly. The deep v-neck not leaving much to the imagination. The small strings holding it together in a complicated, twisting pattern down her back. There was no way I was going to let her be going out of the house like this. I didn’t know Dave, but I didn’t need to know exactly where his thoughts were going to be seeing her dressed like this. Her hair was effortlessly curly tonight, flowing like a wave down her shoulders. She looked like an angel in every sense of the word. Her makeup was simple, enhancing her beauty and I was jealous of this guy getting to take her out.

“Yes, is there a problem?” She slips into her black stilettos that only enhanced her long toned legs

“Yeah, there is” I was angry that she was going out with this man who was probably better than me in every way. “You look like a…a…” I stutter

“A what Francisco?” She hears a car pulling into her driveway and she grabs her dark green leather jacket

“Fuck, you just..ugh…you like Iike your asking for it” I finally says and the doorbell rings

‘Shit, did I really just say that?’ I wanted to be Dave, he wanted to be the one taking her out for dinner. I wanted to be the one she was wearing a dress like that for. My heart has belonged to her, but I am to much of a dumbass to do anything about it

“Fuck you, I’ll be back later” her words laced with anger as she opens the door. “Hey Dave, lets go” her voice suddenly cheerful as she slams the door closed behind her.

Strike two…at this rate I might as well pack up my shit and leave before she gets back. She is the one working, she is the one providing for me while I sit in my room feeling sorry for myself counting stupid little black specks of paint on the ceiling. I went to one class and hated it. I reach for my phone on the coffee table

“Hello?” The voice on the other end answers

“Hey, wanna get fucked up tonight?” I ask

“Never thought you asked. I got some good stuff, meet at Hangers?”

“Yes please. Let’s do this, I need to forget”

Talking with Dave was easy. The conversation flowed and there was never an awkward moment. Dave told me about his time working for the FBI, crime scene detective but things weren’t working the way he wanted to, he felt trapped and wanted something else.

“So now you try to convince people to buy overpriced medical supplies?” I grin

“I can be very convincing when I want to be” he smiles, “I convinced you to go out with me”

“Fair”

I should be enjoying my time with this handsome man sitting in front of me, I shouldn’t be thinking about Frankie. But that is exactly what is happening. We’ve had a rough few days, ever since I told him about my date that afternoon and I hate that we got into an argument before I left. Dave had asked if I wanted to go for a short walk around the lake and with my mind only half functioning I agreed to it. His fingers slowly intertwine with mine.

We stop in front of a little fountain with a small stringed band. A violin, a cello, and a harp play lovely music. Dave spins me and places a hand on my waist as we sway to the music. I placed a hand on his shoulder, there was a part of me that thinks he had this entire thing planned. It was too perfect, then there’s the hopeless romantic in me that is loving every minute of it. We continue to dance as more couples join us.

“I use to be in a band” his lips brush over my ear sending a shiver down my spin

He pulls back smiling at me, my fingertips gently playing with the short hair at the nape of my neck. He leans in closer to me and I close my eyes waiting for our lips to touch when I hear the undeniable ringtone ‘Highway to the danger zone…’ begins to play from my back pocket. Trying to ignore the call, I pull Dave’s face closer when the song begins to play again.

“Shit, I’m sorry” I shake my head and back away from him. I don’t even look at the name on the caller ID to know it’s him. “What do you want now?” I answer a little annoyed

“Ms. Miller?”

“Very funny Franklin” I don’t hear a laugh from the other end “Frankie?”

“Is this Alex” the voice says again, it’s hard to hear over the music and crowd hum in the background

“Yes it is, is everything ok?” sudden panic washing over me

“Hi, I’m Clint, down at Handlebars, and your friend here is very intoxicated and might be on some kind of drug. But he is trying to start fights with other patrons. I do what I can to not call the cops, but ma’am he is getting out of hand, and I need you to come get him” the voice becomes clearer

“Fuck,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, “I’m not close its going to be a little bit before I can get there”

“We have him sitting outside at the moment, but if he tries to punch someone again, I will have to have the police involved”

“Can I talk to him for a minute?” I ask

Why was he doing this?

A couple lines of coke, two beers and a half dozen of tequila shots later I was feeling pretty damn good. I was currently in the bathroom, with some blonde chick's lips on my dick. I knew I wasn’t going to last long after all the shit I’ve taken but damn did it feel good.

“Shit…” I mutter, gathering her hair in a fist behind her head, bracing myself against the sink with the other. One more deep throat by her and I was a goner. My cock still pulsing as she lets me go. Standing up, she wipes her face before leaning in giving me a sloppy kiss.

“That was fun…” she pats my cheek, “…find me again some time” she flips her hair back unlocking the door she steps out leaving me alone. Pants still around his ankles, heart racing as I try to catch my breath.

I reach over and locks the door, grabbing a paper towel I turn on the water and clean myself up. I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes red with dark circles below them. I look like I had aged 15 years from just this morning. I should be feeling great, I finally had cocaine back in my system, I was buzzed, and I just got a free blow job from Kitty? Maybe that was her name. Frankly I didn’t care, I also forgot the minute her lips touched mine. The only thing I could think about was how disappointed Alex was going to be in me. I should go home.

I step out of the bathroom and make the trek back to the bar next to Steve. Walking past the set of pool tables I stumble into a big burly biker. Leather vests, tattooed arms, a bandanna wrapped around his head with a long salt and pepper beard.

“Watch where your walking” the man grunts

“Make me fucker” I slur

The large man shoves me from behind making me stumble into a table full of empty glasses. I turn around, bringing my fist back. I go to punch the man who shoved me. My hand moved slowly then my brain was working and the large biker threw his own punch hitting me on the check. A gash opens along my cheek and blood begins to flow. A bouncer steps in pulling us apart. He drags me outside, and sets me on a bench around the corner of the building.

Steve is nowhere to be found and now a young punk looking kid is yelling at me for disturbing the peace inside his bar. Demanding me to give him my phone before threatening to get the police involved. Begrudgingly I unlock the phone and hand it over.

“Ms. Miller” I hear him say

Shit…strike three.

The man handed me my phone back, I shoved it in his pocket. And with that he was gone leaving me alone with the bouncer. I lean back, head hitting the brick wall behind me. The high I was feeling moments ago, now fading realizing that there is a 95% chance that Alex was not going to forgive me.

“Thanks, I am so sorry” I unbuckle my seatbelt

“Are you going to be ok?” Dave asks placing a hand on top of my thigh

I take a deep sigh, honestly I didn’t know. I was having fun, it was turning out to be a good night, then Frankie called. I was angry, I was frustrated, I was upset. But I don’t want to drag Dave down with me. I turn my head to face him, giving him a quick kiss to his check.

“Yeah, I’ll be good. Thank you again” I say opening the door

“Call me when you get home” I nod and close the door.

I walked into the bar, stopped by a burly man who I guessed was a bouncer. “Can I help you?” He asks

“Yeah I’m looking for uhm Cliff? Clint maybe…the owner he has my friend” I couldn’t remember the name of the man now that I was here. Hurt, anger, disappointment so many emotions and I was going to have to keep them in check when I got to Frankie. Clearly being the ‘friend’ wasn’t working and I was going to need a different approach.

“Are you Mrs. Miller?” The bouncer asks

“Ms. but yes”

“Outside, to the right. Let him know he’s now allowed back. Gary doesn’t want to press charges but your friend is trespassed from here”

‘Press charges? He’s trespassed? Fuck what did he do?’ My thoughts are racing, did I really want to know. He had been in a mood since I told him about my date, and yet here I am recusing him yet again.

I walk back outside and look to the right, not seeing right away. I walk down to the edge of the building and turn the corner, finding him sitting on a beat up wooden bench with a large man acting like a bodyguard. He was the size of a tree, his arms were massive and I’m fairly sure he could squish someone like a bug if he wanted to.

Frankie in his usual tan colored Carhartt jacket, his favorite black baseball cap pulled down low. He turns my direction when he hears my heels on the pebbles. He has a long gash on his left cheek, dried blood under it. He continues to sit there, more anger floods my veins.

“There she is, there’s my girl”

I stop in front of him, my arms crossed over my body. This is where the relationship changes, I will no longer be sweet, it’s time to lay down the law and get his ass clean.

“Get up” my voice is stern

He doesn’t move, he continues to sit there. A small smile pulling on his lips, acting as if he isn’t a complete fucking disaster. He raises his arms and makes grabby hands, beckoning me to come help him. I shake my head no.

“Get the fuck up Morales” I cross my arms, he needs to know I’m upset and his little act isn’t going to help me. I swear I hear the tree of man chuckle at the situation playing out in front of him.

“Help Me” he turns his head looking at me with this sad puppy eyes, this eyes he knows I can’t say no to

“No. You got into this, now get up” I am trying to not break, but he knows what to do to get me to break

Groaning, he places his hands on the edge of the bench and pushes himself up. He sways where he is standing. He looks at his feet, his mind willing his feet to move. Putting his left food in front of the right and he stumbles. Before thinking I move to him. My heels make us the same height and easier for him to lean against me. Wrapping his arm over my shoulder I wrap mine around his waist. Adjust his hold on me he leans his head against mine, “I knew you’d catch me” he slurs

“You’re on thin ice Francisco, don’t push it” I groan as he leans all his weight into me

“Mi Cielito” he says softly

“Where’d you park?” I ask, my hand readjusting around his hip as he holds me like a cutch and we stumble in the parking lot

He shrugs, “don’t remember” his face is towards me, I scrunch my face as he reeks of alcohol

After what feels like an hour of wandering around this parking lot, his truck finally comes into view, of course Frankie would be back in the back, in the middle of nowhere. Sighing a ‘thank god’, I hope he didn’t hear. I stop by the passenger door, and I lean him against it, praying that he doesn’t fall. Reaching into his coat pocket I pull out the keys and unlock the door. I grab him by the waist and turn his body into the truck.

“You could at least by me dinner first” he chuckles adjusting his body in the car

“Shut up Francisco, you still have the first aid kit in here?” I ask looking under the front seat before moving to the back

Before Frankie can answer I pull out a little red box, his head leaning against the headrest. I watch as he struggles to keep his eyes open. With the first aid open, I rip open the wet-nap. I take his chin and gently turn his head towards me so I can see what I am doing better. The street lamp offers minimal light. I clean the dried blood on his cheek, and expect the gash. Tossing that at Frankie’s feet, I grab a towel from the kit and as carefully as I can dap the area dry. He flinches in pain. Finally I open the antibiotic cream, and rub a line of it over the cut hoping to keep it clean for the moment.

“It doesn’t look like you need stitches” I tell him, “what the fuck happened?”

“I got punched” he mumbles “asshole”

“Yeah, I can see you got punched, what did you do?” I ask again

“He shoved me, then I tried to punch him and he hit first” he rolls his eyes “are you mad?”

Honestly, I didn’t know anymore. I was angry at him. I thought we were doing well, but that just proved to me this little sticker thing was a dumb idea from the start. I was sad, I was hurt, disappointed, but with all these feelings, the word mad didn’t come up anymore. I was worried about him.

“I don’t know…” I turn his body forward, reaching behind him I grab the seat belt and lean over his body to hook it in. “I really don’t know anymore” I sigh and close the door

The drive home was silent, he had his head against the window and I couldn’t tell if he was asleep, or just trying to ignore me. He tried to tell me how unsafe driving barefoot was, but driving with those heels and this truck was more dangerous than whatever gross shit was on his floor.

“How much did you drink?” I ask

“A couple beers, half dozen shots of tequila…” he pauses, “also…did a few hits of coke”

“Frankie…” I sigh

Before I can ask him, he begins to tell me he didn’t mean to. He wanted to forget, he wanted to numb the pain. He didn’t know what else to do, so he called a friend. They did a few lines, then went into the bar. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel guilty. I feel like his slip is my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone on a date. Work was one thing, but me going on a date made me feel worse. I wasn’t there when he needed me.

“Are you mad?” I ask again, but he doesn’t look at her, he can’t handle it.

I wasn’t worried about her being mad. No, mad I could handle that. However, the answer she gave me, that’s the answer that hurts the most. Disappointment, it was worse than being mad or angry. I could work with those. But, disappointment was the worst. I was now at rock bottom. I shake my head, and lean against the window. Closing my eyes and praying they wouldn’t re-open.

I feel her hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me “hey sleepy head. Time to wake up, we’re home”

I groan and lean further into the door trying to escape her touch. My eyes stay closed “sleepy time here”

“You aren’t sleeping in your truck, let’s get inside. You think you can help me?” She asks

“Oomppf” I groans, when the door I’m leaning against opens, the seat belt doing its job and keeping me up right in the car

Alex reaches into the truck and unhooks the seatbelt, grabbing my hands and she helps me slide out of the truck. She draps one of my arms over her shoulder, and wraps one around my waist, letting me lean against her. Our height difference isn’t much, but she is supporting most of my weight.

“Step…” she says and I lift a foot. The two of us stumble up the steps and my head is hurting. I really wish she would have just left me in the truck.

We stop at the door, my arm moves, readjusting my grip holding on to her. Standing at the front door holding on to me with one hand, while the other fumbles with his keys trying to find the house key. I know I shouldn’t laugh but watching her struggle makes me chuckle.

“Oh you think this is funny do you?” She’s frustrated and I just made it worse

I knew laughing was bad, but I couldn't help it when she was still struggling with the keys. She turned her focus to me, eyes narrow as she glares. She was cute when she was flustered. I press my lips together. Trying to hold back another laugh. It didn’t work as my eyes locked on to her and I snorted and laughed more. Laugh lines forming at the corner of my eyes I knew I was breaking her down and it would be impossible for her to stay mad at me.

“If I let you go, you're not gonna fall are you?” She asks, her voice something between concern and anger. I just shrug, I probably would fall but she doesn’t need to know the truth

Annoyed with my answer she sighs. I moved closer to her, she was warm, despite her anger and frustration with me. She was safe. She felt like home. I lean against her still struggling with the door. Finally, after a ten minute fight with the door she gets it opened. We stumble into the dark house. Thankfully getting the door locked on the inside was a much easier battle.

“Alright Franklin, let’s get you to bed”

My hallway is definitely not big enough for two people to walk side by side especially when one of the people is drunk. I try to position myself in front of Frankie, both his arms over my shoulders as his chest rests against my back.

We reach his room and I move him towards his bed. I turn him and help him sit down. His hat had fallen off someone along the journey into his room. I slide off his jacket, turning to hang it in the chair. In slow motion Frankie begins to fall back “no..no…no” I grab his arm just in time keeping him up right on the bed. If he fell backwards I knew trying to undress him would be impossible.

“Ok arms up” I say, he follows my order and lifts his arms above his head.

“So bossy” he mumbles as I take the shirt off and toss it towards his dirty laundry pile.

My hands rest on his broad shoulders. The muscle definition is still very evident in his biceps. I pray he doesn’t notice my eyes wander down his bare chest, briefly holding at his tattoo. I’ve never really looked at it this close.

His hands reach for the hem of my dress, slowly beginning to lift it higher on my thigh. “You’re turn” he says before I catch his wrists

“You’re drunk” I say softly and he shrugs

“Didn’t stop some people”

I’m sure it didn’t, Frankie never had a problem getting girls, but I don’t know thinking about him being with others makes me slightly jealous, I shake my head and let go of his wrists.

I bend down in front of him, his hands resting on my shoulders as I untie his shoes. He takes the hint and works with me to get his shoes off. I start to stand up, “what about my pants?” he almost falls forward giggling. Good to know he still thinks this is funny “I don’t like pants”

I roll my eyes and lean forward reaching for his belt buckle. I undo it and the button to his jeans. He falls back lifting his hips just enough for me to slide them off tossing it with the shirt. “There, are you happy?”

He shuffles under the sheets, before I can go he grabs my hand “stay?” He asks. I don’t even have to look at him to know the look he’s giving me. Batting his eyes, his bottom lip quivers, using his big brown eyes to his advantage

“Frankie, I can’t…” I sigh

“Please?”

I squeeze her hand, he doesn’t want to be alone. “Just till I fall asleep?” I add

“Fine, just tell you fall asleep” I watch as she slides off her leather jacket and sets it on the back of my chair. Turning the light off, she shuffled back to me

I slide back, giving her enough room to lay down. I’m on my side, has my arm out. She lays down using my one arm as a pillow and I drape the other over her. She pulls the cover up. My hand resting on her hip. I lean into her resting my forehead against her temple breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. Hints of cherry and strawberry fill my senses. It smells like summer, it smells like home.

Her hand rubs up and down my forearm in a soothing fashion. I feel so comfortable with her here. It’s where I want to keep her.

“He’s not good enough for you” I say softly

“What?” She twists her head to look at me

My eyes open to see hers staring at me, “Your date tonight”

“You don’t even know him” she sighs

“No one will be good enough for you Alex” I grip her tighter pulling her closer to me. I lean in closer to her. I want to kiss her, I want her to know how I feel. As much as I don’t think the guy she went out with today isn’t good enough, I know I’m not good enough either.

She sighs again, turning her head to stare at the ceiling. Her finger tips brush over my skin. My thumb strokes her hip over her black dress. A black dress I wished was on the floor.

I lift my head, leaning closer. I stick out my tongue and lick the side of her face. From check to temple. When her hands go still on my arm, but don’t move away I smile and lay my head back down.

Twisting her head to look at me, I watch as she smiles back at me. My smile widens, I know my dimple appears and she shakes her head, “did you just lick me?”

“I did…” I sigh and close my eyes again. Sleep just on the horizon. I hear her ask me why, “to say your mine. Like when you like something when your a kid you don’t want someone else to have”

“Frankie” she sighs

“You’re too good for him” and by him - I really meant myself.

ANN: A huge shout out to @musings-of-a-rose for helping me with this and giving me confidence to post this in first person. I am still terrified of it. @theewokingdead and @heythere-mel for listening to my random ass ideas at all hours. I love each and every one of you.

Looking for more of my fics check out my masterlist. And check out other writers at @littlemisspascal and their library for all Pedro Characters

#christina writes #Just A Dream #Pedro Pascal #Frankie Morales #Francisco Morales #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Pedro Pascal Character Fan Fic #Pedro Pascal Characters #Triple Frontier AU #frankie x f!reader #Frankie Morales x OFC

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winniethewife · 5 months

Text

I will not let you go (Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x reader)

Words: 546

A/n: Inspired entirely By @summonthesoups sharing the Above image. thanks to @romanarose for being a sounding board for this fic.

Whenever they went on walks together Frankie always had to have his hands on her, His arm tight around her waist, his fingers intertwined with hers, his arm slung over her shoulders, as long as he’s touching her he’s satisfied. After they adopt an adorable Mutt puppy that Frankie named Mullido from their local animal shelter their walks become more frequent and Frankie loves every second of it. The leash in one hand and his arm around her waist as Mullido investigates every interesting smelling thing on the path dragging them along. Frankie swears this has probably been one of the best choices he’s made, other than his lady and his daughter of course.

One sunny day right after they adopted Mullido, Their Daughter spending the day with her grandparents, they had walked with their enthusiastic pup down to the beach to meet the guys, as usual his hand held on to hers tightly as they made their way across the sand. Benny is the first to notice their approach and calls out running across the beach.

“Hey Guys! Woah! DOG!” He says excited with childlike wonder as he crouches down to let the puppy lick his face and snuffle at his clothes.

"Yeah! This is our dog, Mullido!" Frankie announces with a big smile on his face. She and the Guys are all gathered around the dog as Santiago Steps to the side with Frankie and laughs slightly

"Wait...did you really just name your dog...Fluffy?" Santi asks with a smirk as he looks at him quizzically

“Yep. We thought it would be funny.” Frankie pats his friend on the back and smiles at his girl, who was holding Mullido in her arms as the Miller brothers were enthusiastically fond of the small animal.

As the sun crossed over the sky they were all tossing a Frisbee back and forth as Mullido chases it between them, like an adorable game of monkey in the middle. Out of breath She sits down to the side and watches as the others play. A smile on her face as she watches them. She grabs a cold drink out of the cooler and takes a drink as she watches. Eventually she was joined by a smiling Francisco and an exhausted puppy.

“You doin’ alright Mi Vida?” He asked as he flopped on the ground next to her.

“Yeah, just taking a break.” She smiles at him.

“You’ve got the right Idea. Mulli is a little pooped too.” Frankie puts his hand on her thigh as he looked at the ball of fluff curled up at their feet.

“Well it’s been a good day to be a dog.” She chuckles

“I’d say.” Frankie laughs, they watch the guys abandon the frizbee to all take up a spot in the circle of beach towels that they had laid out. They all start talking and joking. Will holding Mullido in his lap as they sat together. She smiles as Frankie puts a protective arm around her. This was everything she had ever hoped for. A Happy life with a happy family.

Bonus scene

About a month later Frankie get a call. Its Benny.

"Seriously Fish. Fluffy? The dogs name is Fluffy?” “Yes! Did you just figure this out?”

“…Yeah.” They both laugh.

Masterlist

#triple frontier #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x reader #x reader #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier x you #spotify #santiago pope garcia #william miller #benjamin miller #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales #frankie morales #fransisco morales #pet fic #triple frontier fanfiction #fluff #Spotify

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pedropascalito · 1 year

Note

Is Frankie Morales having a huge dick is canon?

Seriously. Did I miss this very important information when I watched Triple Frontier ?

Every fic about him is like :

Okay baby, let me get you ready for my gigantic fucking cock. Poor reader’s pussy needs to adjust for 48 hrs before any movements can be made.

Every fic: Will likes (is obsessed with) eatinf pussy and Frankie The LEGEND Morales could kill you with one single thrust.

So. Is it Canon?

Sure

#pedro pascal #francisco 'catfish' morales #what even is canon anymore #I’ll never fuck him #so sure he can be anything I want him to be #he’s fake baby

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ghostofaboy · 7 months

Text

Rock Bottom - Benny

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

After settling into his new life Frankie gets a chance to catch up with Benny.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 1927 Chapter: 21/?

Warnings: Talk of sex and prostitution, mentions of PTSD, mentions of drug use

Note: This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 20 / Part 1 / Masterpost

After a few weeks, Frankie had started to settle into his strange new routine. While working two jobs was tiring, it was certainly filling up his savings account, which he knew he’d need later down the road if he wanted to get joint custody of Sofia. And finally, he’d spoken to Will about the Vets Rehab program and was now officially on the waiting list. At the assessment appointment, he’d been told the waiting time was two months. Will, who had come with him, had cursed under his breath at Frankie’s side at that, but honestly, Frankie was grateful to have been accepted. Two months wasn’t too long, and considering the waiting lists for other programs, Frankie knew it could have been a hell of a lot longer.

After the initial flurry of sex during the first weekend, Tilly had only used his services once more since. He’d wanted a quick blow job before he left for a business meeting the following Saturday, and after covering Frankie’s face in come, that had been that. After that day, Frankie had spent the rest of the weekend and the one after taking stock of the garage and working on the cars. The only downside of the past few weeks was that things with Tyler had slowed somewhat after he had started his job with Tilly, but thankfully, they had not completely stalled.

This week had been going by slowly. The repair shop was practically empty, with only a few regular clients to keep them all busy. The unfortunate reality was that there wasn’t enough work for them all. So that morning, Malcolm had called a team meeting to ask for volunteers to go home for the rest of the week. Frankie had immediately put his hand up.

The way he figured it, he was going to be leaving the shop at the end of next week anyway and had no right to take money out of the pockets of any of the other guys. Plus, with his job at Tilly’s, he had more money than he’d had in years. As he gathered his things, he could hear the others still grumbling as Malcolm asked for one more volunteer before heading back to his truck.

It was only Wednesday, and Tilly wouldn’t be expecting him again until Saturday, which left Frankie with more free time than he’d had in almost a year. Sitting in his truck, he knew exactly who he wanted to see and, pulling out his phone, immediately started to text Tyler. After some thought, he composed what he thought sounded like a good enough message. To the point, sincere, and hopefully not too needy.

[Hey, I know things have been a little weird with us since I took the job with Tilly. I’m off for the rest of the week and was hoping to see you. Frankie x]

Pressing send, Frankie dropped the phone down onto the passenger seat next to him. Now what? Tyler might not even reply, might not want to see him, might not… Gripping the steering wheel, Frankie took a long, deep breath in. The last thing he needed to do right now was spiral.

His head was getting clearer, but he still wasn’t sleeping too well. His body was exhausted, and he often felt like he could sleep for days. But no matter how tired he was, Frankie found himself sleeping in bursts, interrupted by bouts of nausea and the increasingly frequent nightmare. Vivid, awful dreams of Tom covered in blood. In the dreams, sometimes Tom was alive, following them through the mountains with his head half gone. He was angry at them, screaming at Pope or Frankie about their failures. Other times, Tom was just the first to die, and Frankie would watch as each of his friends was taken from him by unseen enemies.

But the worst dreams were about something terrible happening to Sofia because of him. Frankie’s mind had managed to conjure up horrific scenario after horrific scenario, covering every possible way his tiny little girl could come to harm.

After a few minutes of focusing on his breathing, Frankie felt a little better. His phone sat silently on the seat next to him, with no reply yet from Tyler. Resisting the urge to pick it up, Frankie started his truck and set off. He didn’t really want to sit at home and stew, the thought of being alone right now didn’t seem like a good idea. Then again, just heading over to Tyler’s trailer also might not be well received. And as much as Frankie wanted to see him, he also knew he needed to give Tyler space.

After that initial weekend at Tilly’s, Tyler had come around to his place just as they had arranged, but the atmosphere was tense. Tyler had admitted his jealousy and discomfort, while acknowledging that he felt like a hypocrite because of it. In the end, they’d watched a movie before Tyler left for the night. Since then, they’d seen each other a handful of times. Each time was getting easier, edging closer to the normalcy they’d once had.

Stopping at a red light, Frankie ran over the options in his mind. Home would drive him stir-crazy and let him dwell on bad shit. Tyler’s wasn’t an option just yet. Then it hit him. Benny. He knew the gym Benny was training at and that he’d be there every day. With a destination in mind, Frankie felt his shoulders relax a little as he set off toward the gym.

Benny was based in a new gym converted from an old factory. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, a little shabby even. But as Frankie made his way through the front door, he was met with a clean and modern gym set-up. The young guy at the front desk looked up when Frankie approached.

“Hi.” He smiled, setting down his notepad. “You lookin’ to join?”

“I’m just looking for Ben Miller.” Frankie shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an old friend and-”

“Wait.” The young guy’s smile grew. “Are you Catfish?”

“Yeah?” Frankie cocked his head, a little confused.

“Oh man!” The guy stood up and made his way around the desk. “Ben talks about you all the time! It’s so cool to meet you! Come on, I’ll take you through.”

Frankie couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he was led through to the main gym and to the back of the large workout area. Men glanced up as he passed, some frowning at his jeans and obvious lack of gym clothes. Frankie blushed as a fit, younger man shimmering with sweat winked at him. Finally, at the very back, Frankie could see a group of men standing and chatting next to a couple of punchbags. And there, in the middle, throwing his head back as he laughed, was Benny.

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. Even after all this time, even knowing that Benny would never be interested in him, Frankie couldn’t help admiring his friend. Benny was laughing and talking with his friends or trainers, topless in just a set of baggy shorts. Sweat clung to his toned body, making him glisten in the artificial light. Benny turned as head as Frankie approached and his smile grew.

“Fish!”

In a flash, Benny’s sweaty arms were wrapped around Frankie, his face buried in Frankie’s neck, and suddenly everything seemed right in the world. For a few moments, Frankie let Benny just hold him, before Benny eventually stepped away.

“What are you doing here, man!” Benny slapped his shoulder playfully. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Work’s slow, so I’ve got the day off.” Frankie smiled. “Thought I’d come and check up on you.”

“I’m almost done here.” Benny gestured to his trainer behind him. “You ok to wait, then we can go get some lunch?”

“Perfect.”

A couple of hours later, Frankie’s cheeks ached from smiling. It felt so good to spend time with Benny. It felt like old times. Benny told the same crappy jokes, and Frankie laughed at Benny’s terrible Spanish. It was like South America had never happened.

They ate lunch before heading back to Benny’s apartment and sat talking about Benny’s fighting. As the hours passed, Frankie could feel the tension leaving him. He needed this. He needed his old squad. He’d spent far too long in this new world created of his own mistakes, and this afternoon felt like a return to normalcy.

“So…” Benny licked his lips before taking a sip of his tea. “Work is slow?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nodded, blowing on his own drink to cool it. “Only a few regular jobs, not enough for all of us, so Malc asked for volunteers to take the week off.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Yeah.” Frankie cocked his head at Benny. “Why?”

“And you can afford to do that?” Benny was looking at him strangely over his steaming drink.

“Yeah, I can afford it.” Frankie frowned. This conversation had taken a strange turn and he wasn’t sure he liked the way Benny was looking at him. “What’s this about Ben?”

“Have you been working with that new friend? What was his name? Tyler? The streamer?” Benny took another sip. He was keeping his tone light, but Frankie knew this was an interrogation. Benny was digging.

“No.” Frankie answered honestly. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to do any video with Tyler. Pausing for a moment he weighed his options, before answered making sure to keep his tone equally as light. “I took a private mechanic job. I’m working it on the weekends until I finish my notice at Malc’s place. Ben…” Frankie set his drink down, leaning forward in his seat. “Ben, what is this about? Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just worried that’s all.” Benny let out a long sigh. “You’ve only just got clean again and…”

“And?”

“And, a buddy of mine said he saw you a few weeks back.” Benny looked uncomfortable, his cheeks growing redder as he searched for the right words. “You were, um, it was at Cutler’s and… he said he saw…”

As Benny trailed off and Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn with shame. Cutler’s was a dive bar Gavin had taken him to a few times. He’d blow guys in the dimly lit parking lot and sometime get fucked around the back of the place. The last time was around five weeks ago and Frankie had sucked three cocks in the parking lot while Gavin chatted and sold coke.

“And your friend saw me blowing some guys?” Frankie let his head drop, peeking up at Benny from under the brim of his cap. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Yeah.” Benny slumped down in his chair, looking at Frankie with those goddam big sad eyes. “He said, fuck, he said that you had a pimp.”

“Fuck.” Frankie could feel his hands shaking as he reached up to take his cap off. Throwing the Standard Oil cap down onto his knee, Frankie heard himself speaking before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. But… that’s over now. I’m clean now, I swear. It’s… all that… I… I don’t have a pimp now.”

“Fuck Fish.” Benny looked heartbroken, and Frankie had to force himself not to bolt out the door. “Fuck. How did you… how did that start?”

“You really wanna know?” Frankie could feel the tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Tell me everything.”

#frankie morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x male character #frankie morales x original male character(s)#rock bottom fic

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thatredheadwriter · 2 years

Text

Pretty

frankie morales x reader

Alright, so you know ya girl has a bit of an oral fixation. And a thing for marking (seriously, I’ve already done a whole fic about it). So it shouldn’t shock you that seeing all these gifs of Pedro from TUWOMT in his little striped speedo has✨SPARKED✨ something in me. Something absolutely fucking feral. I love thighs. Idc who they belong to, they’re fluffy pillows of sexiness and they deserve to be shown a good time. Also, we need to call boys pretty. They are and they deserve to hear it more. I totally intended for this to be pwp, but then I got a little angsty with it, and then it got real fluffy, and idk man. I think it turned out ok, but this is not the fic I planned on writing when I started, and that’s ok. Also, I suck at endings, so I guess I just stopped writing words instead of properly closing it. Whatever. Please enjoy.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing

My extreme love of thighs

nibbling/marking kink

Kinda body worship

Elements of handjob

Mention of oral (male receiving)

Frankie doesn’t think he’s beautiful and handsome

Fairly mild (IMO) body-image-related angst (just Frankie’s this time around)

Mentions that maybe reader had some past body image issues (not explicit)

Pet names

Sickeningly sweet fluff

Making Frankie say that he’s pretty (not in a feminizing way, pretty doesn’t always mean feminine)

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

It was a lazy day. You lay with your foot at the head of the bed, arms crossed underneath you, reading your newest pick from the local library.

Frankie sat beside you, propped up against the headboard reading the morning paper. You knew if you teased him about his reading glasses and old-man habits he’d take them off and go back to squinting, so you kept your giggles to yourself.

When he didn’t need it to hold the paper, one of his warm palms rested splayed on the back of your thigh, rubbing up and down in what was meant to be a soft gesture, but was pulling your mind in another direction entirely.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t fucked your brains out the night before, but you couldn’t help but want more. He was too pretty, too handsome, although every time you tried to tell him so, he’d get all flustered and change the subject.

As your eyes trailed down his form, bathed in the morning light, you couldn’t help but appreciate him. His broad shoulders and soft tummy covered in the fabric of his favorite white t-shirt, down to his thighs, mostly exposed from the hem of his plaid boxers ridden up into the seam of his hips.

God his thighs were just perfect. You loved digging your fingers into them as he fucked your face, and so did he, even if he liked to pretend he was indifferent. They were your favorite pillow when you watched movies on the couch, and you loved watching and feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he came.

So when you finished your chapter, you sat up and pulled your legs up under you, turning to face your boyfriend with a pout. Sitting back on your heels, you chewed on your lip as you studied him until he noticed your stare and set his paper aside.

“What’s up, pup?” he asked, sitting up a little more so he could place a hand on your knee. Frankie loved to touch you, and you loved that about him. He always made you feel safe and adored.

“I wanna try something,” you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wiggled his brows suggestively, “If I remember correctly, the last time you said that, we ended up staying in bed for an entire weekend.”

When you didn’t react to his joke about the time the two of you had first tried cockwarming, he shifted again.

“Hey, what is it? You can tell me anything,” his brow was furrowed adorably, and you huffed a laugh.

“I…I just don’t know how to say it. Can I just show you?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your sleep shirt and looking up at him.

“Of course. I trust you, princesa.”

You smiled and tossed your book haphazardly up towards your nightstand before using his ankles to spread his legs, earning you a look of confusion as you moved between them. It didn’t go away as you settled on your belly between his legs, head right between his thighs.

“I don’t think this is new,” Frankie chuckled above you as you reached your hands out to begin caressing the insides of his legs.

“Oh, I’m not sucking you. Not yet anyways,” you clarified, still massaging his thighs. “Frankie, I just love you so much. You’re so pretty.”

“Not that again,” he dropped his head back to the headboard like he was annoyed, but you knew it was really to hide the blush creeping up his face. “I’ve told you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk bad about yourself. You’re so beautiful Frankie. Especially your thighs. God, I love them.”

You dipped your head to trail your nose along his skin there, the light hair tickling you as you searched for the perfect spot to start. The first kiss was light, testing his reaction. But as he relaxed under you, you grew bolder. Soon you were leaving litters of sloppy kisses all over his thighs.

When you first nibbled a little, you were afraid you’d hurt him with the way he’d sucked in a breath. But when you looked up at him, his eyes were blown with lust and his fingers were tangled in the sheets.

“Love you s’much, Frankie,” you murmured into his skin, now mottled with the evidence of your mouth on him. His cock strained in his boxers, and his hips bucked involuntarily when your nose grazed it.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I love you too, princess.”

You grinned up at him, resting your cheek against his thigh. Your fingers traced up the sensitive flesh and onto his boxers, slipping up under his t-shirt and into the fabric of his waistband.

“Will you say it for me?” you asked, looking up at him with big doe eyes as your hand finally made contact with his achingly hard dick.

“Say-say wha- oh, fuck,” he cut himself off as your thumb swirled precum around his tip, toying with his frenulum.

“I want you to say that you’re pretty. Cause to me you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Seriously?” he all but pouted, frowning down at you.

“Frankie, you spent months when we first started dating telling me how beautiful and gorgeous I am, and I eventually started to believe it. I just want you to love yourself,” you said honestly, hand stilling inside his boxers as you waited for his reaction. “You’re always making little digs about being out of shape or gaining a little weight since your discharge, and I literally couldn’t care less. Francisco, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I just want you to see that. I love you.”

You could swear there was a tear in his eye when you finished, and he opened his arms wide, indicating he wanted to hold you.

“God, princesa, how did I get so lucky?” he sniffled a bit as you crawled up to his level, letting him wrap his arms around you and hold you, with you holding him back.

“I think I’m the lucky one, but that’s just me,” you grinned into his shirt. “I just don’t want you to ever feel less than, Frankie. And you always make me feel so loved, I just want to share it back, I guess.”

“Ok,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. He took a deep, shuddery breath before screwing his eyes shut tight. “I’m pretty,” he grimaced as the words came out, cracking an eye afterward to see your barely contained mix of amusement and adoration.

You leaned in and pecked a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Yes, yes you are. And you’re handsome,” another kiss, this one to his left temple. “And you’re beautiful,” a kiss to his right temple. “And you’re smart,” you kissed the center of his forehead. “And kind,” you kissed a cheek. “And an amazing father,” the other cheek. “And the sweetest partner,” you kissed one of the bare patches in his beard. “And a simply divine lover,” you kissed the other patch, although you missed a little bit because he was giggling underneath you. “And I am so lucky to call you mine.”

The last kiss you placed to his lips, but before you could pull away, he was pulling you in with his need.

You rolled your hips down on him, his hard cock still pressing into you through his boxers.

“Can you say it again for me?” you asked with your best pouty face, “You can even say handsome instead if you don’t like pretty.”

Frankie leaned in to kiss down your jaw, bucking your hips up against yours. “I think ‘pretty’ is growing on me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tugging him away by his hair.

“Yeah. Cause you’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’d kill to be anything like you, pup.”

#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fluff #francisco morales smut #francisco morales angst #francisco morales fluff #catfish morales smut #catfish morales angst #catfish morales fluff #triple frontier #frankie morales fic #francisco morales fic #catfish morales fic #francisco 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

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thefloorisbalaclava · 2 years

Text

second chances [francisco ‘catfish’ morales x f!reader]

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader

Words: 1,938

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, some angst. SMUT - frankie’s belt buckle, oral sex (m receiving), make up sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk

Summary: You break up with Frankie to give him time to work on himself, but you come to realize neither of you wants that.

[frankie masterlist][frankie masterlist pt. 2]

Second chances.

Not all of us get them. Some of us don’t deserve them.

Then there are people you are willing to give a hundred chances because you believe in them. And because you love them.

Frankie was one such person.

As he sits across from you at the little diner that had become a favorite spot for you both, you tell yourself that you are mad at him, that he needs to figure things out before you even think of letting him back into your life.

Even in the shitty diner lighting, his brown eyes gleam with emotion that his mouth can’t quite convey.

“I miss you,” he says, and you look down at the table before meeting his eye again. The low hum of the radio mixes in with the sound of the rain hitting the window. Of course, the weather chooses to match your mood. It always seems to do when you’re with Frankie.

“Frankie,” you sigh.

“I’m working on it...on myself, I mean. I need you, babe.” He uses the pet name that has you tilting your head and reaching out for his warm hands. Yours always fit so perfectly in them.

“I’m a distraction, Frankie….” It’s all you can say because the rest of your words are stuck…somewhere.

He can’t take this anymore. The table is putting too much distance between you two. He stands, and you watch him stand and make his way to your side of the booth. When he sits beside you, he brings his scent along with him.

Sandalwood, leather, and a hint of petrichor. You will never understand how this man can carry the smell of the earth when it rains, but he does, and you are willing to drown in it.

You fiddle with the collar of his worn brown jacket—a security blanket just like his hat. You look up at his cap and imagine that it most likely smells like his shampoo.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he says. “Babe…” His voice is lower now. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.” The desperation in his tone is deafening.

Frankie has never quite thought about how his life would be without you. He knows it isn’t healthy, but you are the person he will be with forever. He doesn’t need to think about life without you.

Until he does.

And what a lonely, pathetic thing it is. You brought vibrancy to his life, and when you uttered the words “take a break,” that vibrancy faded faster than he could remember.

“Where did you go?” you ask him. You always do when he seems to go into his little world.

He shakes his head. “Nowhere. I’m right here. With you. Always.”

“Are you?” you ask even as you trace the callouses on his big hands.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at your fingers. “That tickles.”

You smile for a moment, then nearly tackle him out of the booth with the force of your hug. “Frankie,” you cry, “My Frankie.”

“Take me back. Give me a chance to prove myself to you. I don’t need that stuff; I need you.” His face is buried in your neck, and his patchy scruff tickles your neck.

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t touch that shit again, Frankie.” You pull away and take his face in your hands. That boyish charm will always draw you in no matter how many greys shade his beard now.

He shakes his head repeatedly. “Never again, babe. Just stay with me. Love me.”

“I’ll always love you,” you say, and then he’s kissing you. It’s the kind of kiss that should be saved for when you two are alone, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“I need you,” you breathe between kisses. “Take me home.”

As quick as lightning, Frankie pulls his wallet out and slams some money on the table before taking your hand and pulling you out of the booth, out of the door, and to his truck. When you get there, he ends up pressing you against it to kiss you more. It’s a needy kiss that leaves you wanting.

Somehow, he can get his key in the car door, all while taking your breath away. “Get in,” he says breathlessly.

Usually, he would open the passenger door for you, but tonight you climb in on the driver’s side and crawl over to your seat. He chuckles behind you, and you look back at him. Frankie loves your butt.

As soon as you get through his apartment door, he pins you to the wall and kisses you.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” he asks against your lips.

“Hm?”

“What the fuck do I need drugs for when I have you?” He kisses you again, and you bite his lip, making him hiss in surprise.

“You don’t need them,” you say.

“No, but I need you.” After another kiss, he puts your arms above your head so he can get your shirt off. He lifts one of your legs so that it is up around his waist. His belt buckle notches between your legs perfectly, and he grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You arch off the wall, only leaving your shoulders against it for support. He also supports you by gripping the thigh of your leg around his waist. He looks down as you start rubbing yourself against the buckle, but you stop a few moments later.

“What?” he wonders.

“I can’t feel it. Get my leggings off,” you tell him, and he quickly helps you out of them. You both get back into position, and this time you gasp as the belt buckle presses against your panties.

“Feel good?” he asks, and you nod.

“I wanna…fuck you,” you moan.

“Yeah? Wanna ride me and make me yours? You gonna make me say your name?” he asks. He’s grabbing your ass, making you move faster on his buckle.

“Fuck…get on the fucking couch,” you demand. “Why can’t I stay mad at you?” you ask as he stumbles back towards the couch. You unbuckle his belt as he walks.

“It’s the puppy dog eyes. They always get you,” he teases, then you push him down onto the couch. He watches in awe as you move with lightning speed to get his button and zipper undone. “Whoa, slow down, babe.”

You kneel and look up at him, breathing heavily. “Sorry.”

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he says sweetly.

“Promise me again,” you beg as you stare at him. You reach into his jeans and find him hard inside his boxer briefs.

“Jesus…fuck…” he groans, and you stop.

“Promise…me,” you repeat.

“I fucking promise you. I’ll never touch the drugs again. …please…touch me,” he pleads.

It has been weeks for both of you.

You begin rubbing him again, and he throws his head back. “Ahhh, just like that.” His hips move with your hand. You slip your hand into his boxer briefs, and he grasps the couch cushions so hard, that his knuckles turn white.

“Been too long,” Frankie bites out.

“Only a few weeks,” you say.

“Babe, I can barely go a day without being inside you. A few weeks feels like for- ah, fuck me!” He looks down and watches you swirl your tongue around the tip of his dick.

“You were saying?” you tease, not even letting him get a word out before taking him into your mouth nice and slow, looking up into his eyes the whole time. His chest and tummy rush with each of his panting breaths.

You kiss around his cock as you pull his shirt up just enough to see his stomach. You smile up at him as you drag your nails down his tummy. He throws his head back again, and you drag your tongue along his cock, holding it against his stomach so you can get the underside.

“Don’t,” he breathes and pulls you away reluctantly. “C’mere.” He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head up so he can kiss you as you get to your feet and then straddle him. His dick is pressed between your bodies, so you quickly adjust your body so you can slide your panties aside and slide down onto him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Frankie groans, holding the vowel sound until you are fully seated.

You want to move, but he won’t let you. He wraps his arms around you tightly and pumps up into you slowly.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs. His forehead is pressed to yours as he repeats himself. “So sorry.” He begins pumping faster, still holding you tightly.

“I know, Frankie baby,” you say in his ear. “Let me bounce on it.” He lets go of you almost immediately, and you grab onto the back of the sofa for leverage as you start to move up and down on him.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Frankie says as he watches you bounce. Then his hands are on your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh he loves so much. He gives you a quick spank, and you squeal playfully.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” He does it again, and this time you moan, giving him a little pout. “You pouting at me, hm?”

“Mmhmm.” You nod and pout at him innocently.

“You know what that does to me….” He reaches down to play with your clit. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he tells you.

You move your hands to his knees as you lean back to watch him play with you. He stops, and you’re about to complain until you notice what he’s doing. He maneuvers himself to get his belt out of the loops. Then he wraps the belt around his hand with the buckle sitting in the perfect position. So while you’re riding him, instead of him playing with your clit, the belt buckle does the work.

You cry out, looking down to watch yourself get off.

“Can’t wait to wear this everywhere, knowing that I made you cum all over it,” Frankie says, moving his hand with you. You cry out and move faster, rocking yourself on his cock as you do.

You grab his hand and hold the buckle in place when you come undone as your body jerks and trembles.

“Christ…” you breathe.

Frankie lets you rest against him, holding you close as he pumps up into you again. “I’m gonna cum,” he whispers in your ear.

“Please,” you whimper, only finding enough strength to kiss and suck on his neck, which happens to be just enough to push him over the edge.

He calls out your name and thrusts into you hard one last time as he fills you.

Eventually, he falls back against the couch, breathing heavily. “I’m never waiting that long to cum again. I thought I was gonna black out,” he says, then bursts into laughter. You join in before kissing him through the laughter.

“I can’t live without you,” he says, resting his head against your breasts.

“That shit you were doing…it could have killed you, and then I’d have to live without you,” you say sadly as you play with his curls.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

“You better not.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles in a tired voice.

“For what?” you ask.

“For giving me another chance,” he yawns.

You kiss the top of his head and rub his back to comfort him. You know that you would give him a hundred chances.

Second chances—not everyone gets them or deserves them, but Frankie Morales is worth a second chance and so much more for you.

#frankie baby #frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal #headcanon #pedro pascal characters

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albertasunrise · 9 months

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Baby journey update

So after a year of trying, I have now been referred for a scan and further bloods.

I honestly never thought it’d get to this point but here we are! Obviously praying that there isn’t anything seriously wrong and that if there is anything, it’s treatable. But this has honestly been the shittiest year!

This journey has obviously made certain fics difficult for me to update but I promise you all that I will! Thanks to everyone that’s supported me through this shit show of a journey! I hope we get some answers soon!

Updates for ‘Only You’ and ‘Oops Baby’ are in the works!

Thanks for being so patient my darlings ♥️ it means the working!

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little-mrs-morales · 1 year

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A post shared by Pedro Pascal enthusiast (@littlemrsmorales)

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Was this a date?

junes.pegasus

This is oneshot that warms my heart. Such a sweet little thing to cheer you up when you feel down. Frankie Morales as a sweet best friends brother, who is also caring. “You really gave me no choice, being that sweet, kind, sexy as hell son of a bitch that you are.” and thats what perfectly describe who Frankie is. Such a comforting character.

A Second Chance at Love

@absurdthirst @wardenparker

I feels like they are going to be here every week. Every single piece written by these two is good read! I love a lot of authors from Tumblr but i need to say that they have such a unique style and are definitely one of the best authors in the fandom. Quality of their work is incredible and im in owe they share it with us for free!!

People lately starts to thirst over Wiskey again and this piece is so sweet and beautiful.

Casa Werewolf

@princessbatears

This story makes me think more about Javi G, especially about how he fit for a story with single mother. The whole story is very comfotring but brings a new element portrayed by warewolf triplets. Javi G can be a great step-father but how he deals with little warewolfs? he is so lovable and caring, that everybody falls for him. I remember reading it throught and always waiting for notification for new chapter. Its easy reading you can rest with!

#Instagram #pedro pascal #javi gutierrez x reader #jack daniels x you #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco 'catfish' morales #jack whiskey daniels #javi gutierrez #javi g x you

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goldenmayhem · 2 years

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Part Three

series masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: E/18+ only (no minors)

WC: 5.9k

Tags/warnings: cis F!reader. characters have a child. established relationship (marriage); mentions of death, mentions of drug use/addiction/alcohol, PTSD, depression, dark thoughts.

Summary: Frankie hasn’t been the same since he came back from Columbia. You’ve been trying to convince him to get help. When he finally does, where does that leave things?

A/N: If I have missed any tags/warnings etc. please let me know! This is unbeta’d. I am absolutely not an expert in PTSD or mental health.

It’s late. So late that Diego should probably be in bed right now, but at least he’s had something for dinner, even if you did have to resort to a Happy Meal. It’s fine. You just need to get through the next hour, you tell yourself. Glancing at the rearview mirror as you break for a red light, you catch sight of the dark circles underneath your eyes and stress lines embedded into your forehead. As with so many other things in your life lately, you don’t have the time or the energy to worry about how to fix it. The light turns green and on cue Diego prompts you enthusiastically, “Go mama!”

You ease your foot on the gas and make a mental checklist in your head.

Get home.

Get Diego to bed.

Check on Frankie.

Pretend it doesn’t cut you bitterly when he lies and tells you he’s fine, if only so you’ll leave him alone.

Get yourself to bed and release your tears into your pillow, crying yourself to sleep before you wake up tomorrow, put your mask on and do it all over again.

Diego cheers happily as you pull up in front of the house, but you take a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to go in. Life has been about just getting through the day lately, and tonight is no different. It had been nice to get out of the house tonight, though a Kindergarten showcase has never really been your idea of an exciting evening. Clearly it wasn’t Frankie’s either, since he’d opted to stay home instead. Well, it was his loss. Diego had been cast as a sunflower in the class showcase and seeing him up on stage, radiating with joy as he’d sung and danced with the rest of his class, was totally worth it. Hopefully it’s still worth it tomorrow when he wakes up tired and grumpy.

“Race you inside, Mom,” he calls, the second you unbuckle him. He throws open the car door and hustles out, a blur of green tights and yellow stage make-up as he rushes to the front door.

You laugh to yourself because you have the key and you’d locked the door when you left, in case Frankie fell asleep while the house was quiet. He barely seems to sleep at all anymore, but you’d told yourself it would be great if he managed to get some rest, if only to stop from feeling so bitter that he hadn’t wanted to attend Diego’s performance.

To your surprise, when you get to the front door, it’s already open. When you step over the threshold, you see Diego with Pope, who looks to have taken up residency at your dining room table. Presuming he’s here to see Frankie, you set your handbag down and hang up your coat.

“Mom, Uncle Pope is here!”

“I can see that, baby,” you reply, setting your eyes to Pope. You hadn’t seen his truck in the driveway, but that doesn’t shock you. Like Frankie, it’s his job to be discreet, only seen when he wants to be. “Hi Pope.”

“Hi,” he replies, tone sounding cheerful enough, but his expression looks somewhat morose, his features tight and downcast. He’s serious when he needs to be, but usually when he visits he’s wearing a grin, drinking beers with Frankie, showing up with gifts for Diego. The way he’s sitting at the table now with his arms folded and fingers tapping restlessly on his biceps is making you feel a little uneasy.

“You here to see Frankie?” you ask him. “Where is he?”

Pope looks away from you, turning his attention to Diego. He smiles down at him, telling him what a great sunflower he must have been and that he’s sorry he missed it. Then he clears his throat and gently places his hands on Diego’s shoulders.

“It’s pretty late right, niñito?” He asks and Diego nods. “Why don’t you go upstairs, brush your teeth and put on your pajamas? You can choose a book and I’ll come up and read it to you in a little bit.”

Diego buzzes with excitement, visibly thrilled to have someone else to play storyteller tonight, but your uneasiness only doubles, settling in your stomach like a heavy boulder. You have no idea where Frankie is, why Pope’s here so late or why he is willingly signing up to bedtime stories just to get Diego out of the room. But as soon as Diego skips across the room to you, you put your questions on hold to say goodnight.

“Sweet dreams, my darling. I love you,” you tell him, pushing a hand through the errant brown locks falling in front of his sunflower-painted face to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t forget to wash this beautiful yellow faceprint off when you brush your teeth.”

“Okay. Love you, Mom.”

As soon as he’s out of the room, the sound of his light footsteps on the stairs sufficiently distant, you start in on Pope, belatedly realizing not only did you not see his truck in the drive, but you didn’t see Frankie’s either. He can’t be at work; he got his license suspended a few weeks ago when he got caught with coke in his system during a routine drug test. You remember how distraught he’d been when he’d had to tell you, confirming what had only been suspicion on your part until then. He hasn’t been coping–you knew it. You could see it. Ever since he came back from that trip to Columbia. The one that had claimed Tom’s life. But he wasn’t accepting any of your offers of help either; shutting you down every time.

You feel your heart plummet to your feet and through the floor– your imagination leaping to the worst possible assumption of why Frankie’s not here and what Pope might be about to tell you.

“Where is he, Pope? Tell me where he is! Tell me he’s okay!” you demand frantically, feeling distraught. Your heart rate floods your ears with a deafening rhythm and you don’t even realize how hard you’re panicking until Pope gets to his feet and sets his hands heavily on the edge of your shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” he says, trying to calm you. “Hey.” He ducks his head a little, trying to put his face directly in your eyeline. “It’s okay. He’s fine. He’s good.”

You swallow the rest of your immediate worry on your tongue and fight to take a breath. Drawing it in through your nose, you slowly feel it expand your lungs, filling your chest. At your sides, your hands are still shaking. Pope keeps repeating quiet reassurance as he helps you take a seat in one of the chairs at the table.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him when you can finally speak again, breathing and heart rate under better control. “Habit.”

Pope nods understandingly. Frankie’s line of work has had you in this position of fear more than once before, and while you know that there’s obvious risks to what he does, each time it takes you by surprise with how the panic and dread consumes you so physically. Racing pulse, gasping breaths, ice cold veins, sweat collecting at your brow, mouth bone dry. Frankie’s landed in hospital upon his return only a few times, usually only nursing bruises, cuts and stitches, but it doesn’t erase your fear.

“I’m sorry for not letting you know I was going to be here,” Pope apologizes, guiltily.

You try to shrug it off. “It’s not like you need my permission to visit Frankie. I’m sorry for overreacting and thinking the worst.”

Despite all his training and stealth, the way Pope’s face falls apart gives him away. You feel your brow furrow, the wave of dread threatening to drag you back under.

“Pope,” you say, hearing your voice a mere squeak of desperation. “What’s going on?”

He takes a long, deep breath of his own and scrubs his hand over his face. When it’s gone, his face still looks just as stressed. “Frankie….” he starts slowly, sounding like he still hasn’t decided the best way to break this to you, despite however long he had been waiting here for you before you arrived home. “Frankie decided to get some help for well….for everything.”

You feel your head spin, trying to take that in. It hits you in two waves. First, Frankie finally decided to get help? Where, when, who, how? You want to ask. Secondly, the way he generalizes with the phrase ‘everything’ gives you whiplash. You’ve been convinced it’s PTSD, and you’ve been telling Frankie as such for months now. You don’t have a medical degree, but you can detail the intricate hell Frankie has been living through. The sleeplessness, the night terrors, the closed off way he’s been, the struggles he’s faced with you and Diego, icing you out and searching for solace in the bottom of a beer bottle. Despite your pleas to help him, this is the first you’re hearing of him actually being receptive to it.

“H...he what?”

Pope swallows. “There’s a really great program out of state,” he explains, “they’re said to be the best. Highly qualified and well recommended. They help Veterans exclusively. They gave Frankie a place in their program and he took it.”

You’ve given Frankie binders worth of pamphlets and research the last few months, but none of them included a place out of state. You didn’t even think of it. If the place he’s gone to is out of state then he must have found it himself. A faint ember of pride flickers inside of you for him, proud of him for seeking and accepting help. Though it still doesn’t explain why he didn’t tell you about it.

You look back at Pope. “How come he isn’t here to tell me this himself?”

Pope’s eyes cut to the floor before they come back to you, looking big and glassy, as apologetic and guilty as the rest of him. “He said he had to go and he asked me to be here for you and Diego when you came home.”

Suddenly, the missing piece of the puzzle slots into place inside your head. Why Frankie didn’t want to come to the showcase. You feel tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision. “Pope?” you ask in a weak voice.

“Yeah?”

“When did he tell you about this place? This out of state program.”

Pope’s head drops. You guess he’d been hoping you wouldn’t put it together. Maybe he’d hoped Frankie wouldn’t have done it this way at all, but you don’t blame him for following Frankie’s instructions, no doubt wanting Frankie to go through with his plan of getting help.

“Pope.” You’re on the edge of bursting into tears, but now that you assume, you need to know. You need him to confirm it so you can face it. Accept it.

He winces when he looks at you, as if it hurts him to do. Or to say. “Last week. He mentioned it to me last week. Said he’d been accepted and they’d given him a start date. Made me to promise to be here tonight when you got home.”

Vacantly, you nod. You feel resounding hollow. You feel angry. Confused. Mostly, you feel hurt. Overwhelmingly hurt. The agonizing feeling sprouts in your chest and bleeds through your entire body, seeping into your bones. From your head to your toes, every inch of you grows unbearably heavy. You almost can’t believe it. Frankie deliberately chose not to mention his plan to you. Not a word of it. And by design, he chose tonight to leave, knowing you and Diego would be out at the showcase for most of the night. Long enough for him to leave without any goodbye.

Tears spill over and streak down your cheeks, racing each other to your chin.

Tenderly, Pope’s hand stretches out to touch your arm. You quickly smack it away with a flick of your hand and he flinches, not used to such a cold reaction from you.

“Don’t touch me,” you warn him, getting to your feet. You stand tall, straightening your shirt, trying to steel yourself. You feel heartbroken inside, but until you can close your bedroom door, slip beneath your covers and fall apart in the darkness, you need to pretend you’re fine. Diego is waiting upstairs and he will want to know where Papi is for his goodnight kiss. And tomorrow, he will have questions about where his Papi is, when he will see him again and where he’s gone. Those will fall to you. This house will just be the two of you from now on. The weight on your shoulders has felt unmanageable for a while now, but you refuse to collapse underneath it all until you know Diego is in bed asleep.

“Thank you for telling me. You can go now,” you tell Pope curtly. You don’t want to shoot the messenger, but you don’t want to have a breakdown in front of him either, and you're teetering on a knife's edge.

“Come on,” he protests. He lifts his hand again but lowers it when he remembers how that had fared last time. “I know this is upsetting for you.”

“It’s not,” you lie through your teeth as tears still trickle down your face, some sliding down your neck. “I’m glad Frankie is getting help. I hope he gets well again. You should go.”

His eyebrows set, challenging your dismissal. “Frankie wanted me to--”

“Fuck what Frankie wanted,” you bite back.

Pope chews his lip. “At least let me keep my promise to do the bedtime story? I don’t want to let Diego down.”

You can’t stop the scoff that leaves your lips. As if Diego won’t be let down tomorrow when he wakes up to hear that his father took off without a goodbye. Still, the more reasonable part of your brain wants him to have this, a nice moment with his Uncle, before you have to break his heart tomorrow.

“Sure,” you say reluctantly, “go do the bedtime story.”

He nods in thanks and goes to move for the hallway, but stops himself after only a few steps. “I really am sorry,” he says.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You want Frankie to get better. So do I.”

His lips quirk, as much of a smile as he can muster tonight. Once you’re sure he’s left, you pick up a coaster from the table and throw it as hard as you can across the room. It’s one of the decorative ones Frankie had bought back from one of his work trips for you, claiming it was hand painted, so meticulous and beautiful, just like you. It glowers at you from where it lands on the floor near the wall, taunting you. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, hoping, but when you open them again, this is still your life. Your sad reality.

On your way to the stairs, you pause outside the door of the spare room, the one Frankie had voluntarily moved himself into weeks ago. The dagger in your chest twists when you open the door and find it empty. Besides the staple furniture, there’s no sign of him at all. No clothes on the floor, no photo frames on the bedside tables, no shoes in the closet.

Fresh tears fill your eyes as you shut the door and lean your head on it, biting down on your hand to muffle the sobs, not wanting them to echo up the stairs and disturb Diego’s story time.

You have spent so long watching the light leak out of Frankie, and wanting desperately to fix it. You’ve dreamed of the day he would agree to talk to someone, go to a meeting or see his Doctor, and each day you’ve felt him slipping further from you, but you never imagined a scenario like this. One where he would specifically wait for you and Diego to be out of the house so he could leave without any word of it. Making Pope break the news and pick up the pieces.

You lift your head off the door and then drop it back against the hardwood, again and again but it doesn’t help. The pain inside your chest still feels worse than anything else.

Three weeks later, you’re shopping with Diego for his friend's birthday party, trying to convince him that the $100 toy he picked off the shelf as a birthday gift is far too expensive. Your phone rings, the ringtone blaring out of your purse as you try to reason with him.

“Pick something else please, honey. Something cheaper,” you instruct with a sigh as you rummage through your purse, swatting away baby wipes, car keys and lip balm to fight your way to the phone at the bottom.

Diego skips back down the aisle, his attention caught by a large shiny transformer. You roll your eyes and glance at the screen of your phone, shocked to see Frankie’s contact ID showing.

Heart in your throat, you slide to answer the call and lift the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“H-hey,” a nervous voice replies. “It’s….it’s Frankie.”

You nod lamely, and then belatedly remember that he can’t see you. “I know,” you force yourself to articulate with words instead.

In the last three weeks you've toyed with the idea of making a call like this yourself; wanting to know he’s okay, wanting to tell him he’s in the right place, despite the way he chose to leave. You never brought yourself to do it though, instead taking his actions as a clear sign of where you two stand. But your heart flutters in your chest now, wondering if he’s about to change that. About to tell you he misses you. That he loves you. You can’t help but hope.

“Thanks for the photos you sent,” he says appreciatively.

You blink dumbly, before remembering the picture of Diego in his uniform on the field for his first soccer game that you’d sent to Frankie, without any comment. The next day you’d sent one of Diego falling asleep in the back of the car, ice cream dried in the shape of a moustache above his top lip. After that, it became a habit to send one every few days. The last one you’d sent was just yesterday; a picture of Diego with the next door neighbour's cat curled in his lap, a giant smile on his face as he petted it.

“Sure. Anytime,” you manage to reply.

“They help,” he says thickly, “on hard days. It reminds me why I’m here.”

You stay quiet, looking down the store aisle to see Diego reach out for a large stuffed toy, nearly as big as he is. “Mom!” he calls excitedly.

You shake your head. He pouts but he puts it back and grabs another, this one a teddy. “Matthew’s favorite toy is teddy bears!” he shouts, brandishing a plush one that at least looks a reasonable size.

“Is he there?” Frankie’s voice asks in your ear, hopeful. “I was hoping I could speak to him.”

Your heart soars and gets shot down in one breath. You’re so glad Diego will get to finally hear from him, but the ambiguity of further ignoring the situation between you both makes you ache.

“I’ll put him on,” you say quickly, lowering the phone before you’ve even finished your sentence, hoping he can’t hear the hitch of your breath. “Diego,” you beckon. “Come here, honey. Someone special is on the phone and wants to talk to you.”

Diego comes running, still clutching the teddy. You exchange it with him for the phone, adding the plushie to the shopping cart.

“PAPI?” you hear him exclaim excitedly. “Oh my gosh!”

Over the next six months, you can count on one hand the ways in which you see your now practically estranged husband.

A photo of him on your Lock Screen as a video call notification pops up.

Glimpses of his face as you answer the calls before handing your phone to Diego.

Curt, polite waves once the two of them have exhausted themselves in conversation and you have to end the call.

That’s all you see of Frankie for the next six months. Half a year passes like that. And he says nothing.

Well, not nothing technically. Turns out, when Diego is the topic, Frankie can talk at some length. After his first call, he calls almost every other day and checks in on Diego each and every time.

How is he going in preschool? Has he recovered from the cold he had last week? What time is his play date this weekend?

It’s not just questions either. You send him a video of Diego reading a small picture book and Frankie returns a long text, the length of which resembles a novel, praising the smarts of his son and thanking you for sharing it.

For someone not even in the state, he’s as attentive a father as he can be. But about the two of you and the state of your marriage he says nothing. Less than nothing. A few times you wake in the middle of the night to the chime of your cell phone, hoping to see a heartfelt ‘I miss you’ text, only to be disappointed by a data limit warning courtesy of your service provider. The date of your wedding anniversary approaches and you wait with baited breath, but there’s no mention or acknowledgement of it, not even when he calls on the date, unscheduled. Turns out he’s at the zoo and he wants to show Diego the giraffes via video call.

It’s frustrating. It’s hurtful. It’s maddening. If it weren’t for the ring that used to sit on your finger, now worn on a thin chain around your neck, you’d wonder if your marriage ever existed at all. You have all the hope and sympathy for him and what he’s working through, the years of trauma he must be unpacking in order to save his life. You fight to respect his privacy and his journey, but part of you still feels abandoned. Though you fought and prayed for him to get help, you never considered not being a part of his healing. You imagined helping him through it all, doing whatever’s needed or asked of you. So far, all he’s asked is that you don’t visit, and don’t bring Diego to visit - not until he gives it the okay.

He doesn’t talk about how he’s doing. You hear only via Pope that Frankie’s apparently stopped using, stopped drinking and had his suspension lifted thanks to clean drug tests and being in the Veterans program. He’s got a local job as a helicopter pilot and is doing well in his therapy appointments, but he hasn’t once mentioned coming home yet.

It’s made for a confusing situation. You love him, but you feel rejected by him. You want him here, but you know it’s better for him to be where he is. You’re married to him, but that relationship now feels unacknowledged. At social events, you don’t know what to say when people ask where Frankie is. At a school function, a parent who has a kid in Diego’s class quietly asks you if you and Frankie are now divorced and you nearly explode into a mess of bone-wracking sobs at the mention of it, because you have no idea how to answer that. Are you divorced? No. Are you together? There’s no clear answer to that either.

Luckily, you don’t have to pretend with the boys; Pope, Benny and Will. Will returned a few months ago and was obviously informed about Frankie’s absence before he stepped foot back in town, because he’s never brought it up with you. In fact, the only sign that he even knew anything of it was the tight, lengthy hug he’d pulled you into when you first caught up with him at a BBQ at Pope’s house when Pope made the long awaited introduction to his girlfriend, Maria.

She’s wonderful. Absolutely delightful. You can see how Pope is so captivated by her, why he chose to keep her to himself for so long. The way you catch him looking at her often leaves you longing for Frankie, for that feeling of being loved, that comfort of belonging to someone. Despite the jealousy you feel, having Pope and Maria for friends is absolutely invaluable. You wish you could clone them both so that every person, every parent, could have friends like this.

Benny and Will are good at stopping by and playing with Diego, tiring him out in the backyard with endless games of tag or a flurry of Nerf bullets, but Pope and Maria are like a two-man care team. They make a habit of coming over for dinner or inviting you and Diego, always with a small gift for Diego and a bottle of wine for you. Once Diego is tucked in bed, the three of you sit at the table and talk for hours, laughing, commiserating and enjoying each other’s company long into the night.

You can’t thank them enough, even when it hurts. Because while it’s sweet to look out the kitchen window and see Pope kicking around a soccer ball with Diego, it’s also yet another reminder of Frankie, of the fact that he’s gone, and how things have changed.

When six months turns into seven, things get a little rocky. You go out one night with your coworkers and come home stumbling out of a shared Uber. You fumble your way in your front door only to be greeted in the dim lights of the house by a very judgmental looking Pope. He looks like he’d woken from a nap on the couch, the flatness of one side of his hair and the bleary look in his eyes giving him away.

“Thank fuck you’re home,” he breathes in relief, but his tone is short, like he’s more pissed off than relieved. “Any longer and I was about to send a search party.”

You chuckle just a little as you step out of your heels, thankful to feel the cold tile under your sore feet.

“What’s funny?” Pope asks, folding his arms. He casts a glance down at his watch and it reminds you of your Mom when you’d come home past curfew as a teenager. “It’s 4am.”

“Didn’t realize I had a curfew, Mom,” you chide him, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the hook before moving past him to the kitchen.

“A curfew? No,” he answers, following you. “But you do have a son.”

You frown comically at his stupid remark. “It’s not like I took him with me, Pope. He was here, safe and sound with you.”

“Yeah, but it would have been great to know when you were coming home to him. I was expecting you at one am at the latest.”

Needing water, you ignore his last remark and reach for the cupboard that houses your glasses.

Undeterred by your avoidance, Pope switches on the kitchen lights, pursuing both you and the ensuing argument. You wince at the sudden brightness, taking a glass to the sink, keeping your eyes on the tap as the water fills.

“What the hell is that on your neck?” Pope accuses, coming to get a closer look at whatever he’s crowing on about.

You reach your freehand to your neck, wondering if it is a bug or something, but your fingers touch a patch of sensitive skin instead. Oh, you think to yourself as the water overflows in your glass and spills out over your hand that holds it. You probably should have kept your coat on. Or maybe not have made out with that cute guy at the bar.

“Were you with someone tonight?” Pope questions indignantly, his fingers brushing the collar of your shirt as he stares at the evidence. “Were you with another guy?”

Equally as indignant, you switch the tap off and bat away his hand. “So what if I was?”

“You have a husband!”

“Do I?” You argue, matching his outraged tone. Meeting his eye, you give him an icy stare feeling the liquor in your bloodstream no match for the hurt and ache that’s been living in your bones. Baiting, you glance around the room dramatically. “Funny, because I don’t see a husband here, Pope.”

His anger melts away, melding into something mixed with pity and pain.

“Merida,” he curses, looking visibly stricken. “Frankie—“

Your simmering rage ignites like fuel on a fire, flaring at the mention of Frankie’s name. You understand he has a duty of care to Frankie as his best friend and all, but you also don’t care. Pope has been here, seeing you fight and struggle and he was the one that had to break Frankie’s news to you. If he can’t understand then no one can.

“Take a look around, Pope!” You shout. “Frankie’s not here! He left.”

“He left, yes. To get help. To get better.” He pleads on Frankie’s behalf. And that’s just the problem. You've been living your life pleading for Frankie, but the cold reality is that he’s not here and if he does care, he certainly doesn’t show it or say it. And you’ve finally tired of waiting.

“He left without a word, a goodbye or so much as a call or a fucking note,” you remind Pope, shattering his rose tinted glasses. You’re sick of them. You’ve been trying to frame this positively for months now. You’ve been trying to desperately hold on to the fact that Diego still has a relationship with his father, that Frankie is getting help, but that doesn’t resolve the hurt of the way he left, or the heartbreak of the way things deteriorated between you two long before that. And now you’re being questioned about your commitment to this marriage? The one Frankie walked out on? You don’t want to fight to keep a lid on your anger anymore. Don’t you deserve to let it out at least once before you go back to dutiful mother tomorrow?

Pope curls his lip in a scowl. It only eggs you on. The lid has well and truly blown off tonight.

“Not that I should have expected him to mention it, I guess,” you laugh, so bitterly that it’s not really a laugh at all. “He was barely speaking to me when he left. Hardly ever looked at me either. We stopped talking about anything that wasn’t absolutely essential. Stopped having sex. He moved into the guest room just to get away from me, as if sleeping beside me was too much of a hardship. He moved his stuff in the spare room before you came over for beers. That’s why you had to get a ride with Benny when you couldn’t drive home. Because he was already living there. Just to get away from me.”

Ever dutiful to his brother in arms, Pope can’t help but continue defending Frankie. It’s like it comes out of his mouth on autopilot. “I’m sure that’s not true. It wasn’t to get away from you. He probably just didn’t want to wake you with the nightmares he was having.”

You scoff. “And not talking to me? Not touching me or looking at me?” You prompt. “What’s your excuse for that?”

“That wasn’t him. You know how much he loves you. That shit? That was the PTSD. Not Frankie.”

You close your fist around the glass on your hand. “That’s the most fucked up part,” you tell him solemnly. “The longer you live with it, the harder it gets to differentiate. PTSD doesn’t have a face, Pope. But Frankie does.”

You draw a long sip from the cup and let it fill your mouth before swallowing. A drop spills from your lips and races down your chin, so you wipe it with the back of your hand. “It was Frankie’s face I’d see turn away from me. It was his body that recoiled from my touch. It was his eyes that couldn’t look at me anymore. It was him who rejected me.”

“I’m sure that’s why he left–so that he can get well again. Back to his old self. We all know how much he loves you. There’s no arguing that.”

“Loved me,” you correct him darkly. “He loved me. Then. But not now. I’m so fucking tired of pretending that I’m not hurting. What am I even waiting for, Pope? You told me yourself that Frankie’s doing so much better. That he’s working again. Making a life. Why should I sit here and pine for him when he doesn’t give so much as a second thought about me?”

Pope refutes that. “He does think about you, all the time. The reason he’s doing so well is because he wants to be well enough to come back to you and Diego and be a better version of himself for the two of you. I know it’s hard waiting for it, and I keep begging him to let you guys visit, but he won’t let me or Benny or Will see him either. You know what he’s like–he’s stubborn and he likes to see things through.”

“And how long would you have me wait?” you ask. “While he’s working to his own schedule and refusing to speak to me about it, do I just sit here and cry myself to sleep for another six months? A year? Five?”

Pope grits his teeth, frustration tight on his forehead and visible in the clutch of his fingers curled around the edge of the countertop. “I’m not saying that it’s fair,” he growls. “But the ball is in Frankie’s court and I can’t rush him on this.”

You feel your lips curl disdainfully. “You can’t rush him and I can’t wait for him.”

“So, you’ll see this man again then?” Pope questions, looking like even asking the question makes him feel ill.

You respect his loyalty to his friend but you feel some power in imagining him relaying your night to Frankie and it finally triggering something within him. Forcing him to address your relationship. To tell you to your face if he’s done with you. Or, hopefully, to come clean and tell you if he still wants you. It’s a frightening seesaw of love or heartbreak, but anything has to be better than this holding pattern you’ve been caught in. You deserve an answer. You deserve love. You want that love to be Frankie, but if it can’t, let him at least have the decency to tell you and let you go. Holding on so tightly to something that grew thorns to protect itself from you has been painful, and you’ve reached breaking point.

Hardening your gaze, you draw a deep breath and gather a substantial dose of courage, enough to lift your eyes to Pope’s and say, “Yeah, I think I will. And if Frankie’s got a problem with it, you can tell him to take it up with me.”

Pope glares but you refuse to back down. This is it, you tell yourself, this is the line in the sand. Let the chips fall where they may. If the ball is in Frankie’s court, let’s see what he does with it.

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales fanfiction #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Triple Frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #my writing #Renegade 'verse #it's been so long since i've been on tumblr #or posted #but I literally have chapters upon chapters of this in my drafts so why let it rot #i need to get out of this writing funk somehow #so here's what i've got

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icanbeyourjedi-writes · 2 years

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Dear Frankie Chapter Four

Summary: Falling asleep in Frankie’s arms is everything you hoped it would be. He is one of a kind, and your heart breaks the moment he tells you he has to leave. Words: 4259 Rating: 18+ SMUT please don’t read if you are under 18 Warnings/Triggers for series: Frankie is active duty military, deployment, death, Adult language, themes, and SMUT

A/N: So I don’t really know anything…ok I know nothing about Fayetteville, North Carolina. I am taking my own liberties on what it’s like there. Names of places may exist, but I have no idea if they are real or not as well as some of the events I have. But its fan fiction and there are no rules. While the reader may have some descriptions, I am doing my best to leave out physical characteristics. Just try to have a little imagination while you're reading this. This story had come to be from that photo of Pedro in the white suit for the NYC premiere of Massive Talent. It made me think of an Angel, then talking with @tauralmie kinda came up with this idea of a story where what if one deployment Frankie didn’t come home, and you had been dreaming of him so much, you see him wearing that white suit. That is how this little series was developed. Special Thanks to @heythere-mel for betaing and always listening to my random half assed ideas

**Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. **

-November 2011-

I never expected ‘waiting’ out the storm would turn into staying the night. I didn’t know I’d be falling asleep in your arms. But it was the best night sleep, and something I could get used to. I have never felt so safe in an unknown place. Being wrapped in your arms felt like home. As sad, confused and a little upset as I was after hearing I wasn’t the only girl you took to the lake I am so glad I stayed. It made me realize no matter how slow we take this, as long as it’s with you, I’m in. I’m all in, I’ll go as slow as it takes.

You had to roll the waist of his boxers a few times for them to sit on your hips without them falling off with each step you took. Baby blue in color with little sail boats. It gave you a chuckle at how this big, strong, army pilot had such adorable boxers. Pulling the black shirt over your head, the smell of him fills your senses; teakwood and bourbon slowly becomes your favorite scent. Stepping out of the bathroom, the bedroom is dark; a lamp near the corner by the bookshelf and couch is the only source of light. Frankie lounging on the sofa with a book in his hand

“I’ll sleep here; and you can take the bed” his knees are up to his chest, he stretches. Setting the book down as he stands hearing you step foot into the room turning the light off behind you

“Frankie, that couch is far too small for you to sleep on comfortably. Take the bed, it’s your house. I can sleep on the couch”

He fixes his shirt and he stands up fully, making his way to you. He wasn’t used to seeing a girl in his clothes. He was almost always at the women’s home, and he was leaving by the time the sun rose. There was no need, or reason a partner would need his clothes. He’d never admit it, at least not out loud to the guys. But this look, this moment was the moment he knew he was falling, and falling hard. He liked seeing how his shirt hung on you, he liked how you rolled his boxers up so they’d fit you. Your hair’s a little damp and resting on your shoulders. He liked the length of it, just enough to hold on to. He imagined holding it, while the two of you were between the sheets. He wanted to tell you at this very moment that he loved you, and you would have let him. But he was scared that it was too fast, too soon.

A loud thunderous clap fills the room and you flinch at the sound, you’ve never been a fan of thunderstorms. Frankie wraps his arms around you. You turn your head resting it on his chest, you wrap your arms around him. He places a barely there kiss to your head “you know, we can share the bed and nothing but sleep can happen” you squeeze him a little tighter when another loud boom hits

“Just sleep?” He questions

“Just sleep…If that’s all you want” you humm the response

“But what if I want to kiss you?” He moves his hand to turn your face to him, his thumb holding your chin “I like kissing you”

“Kiss” you say and he leans in closing the distance and giving you a quick kiss to the lips “and sleep” you say against his lips

-February 2012-

Just sleeping next to you was so hard. I wanted to take it to the next level. I am ready for it and I want you to be the first. My first. Frankie, I am falling in love with you more everyday. I know at some point we are going to have to say good-bye when you get the call. It might be selfish, but I don’t care - I don’t want that day to come. I want to keep you here. With you wrapped around me I feel like I’m protected from whatever the world can throw at us. You keep me safe from the bad, until the bad comes from you.

Laying on Frankie’s right shoulder his arm stretched out, his left wrapped around you. Holding you a way a small child holds a stuffed animal while they sleep. You turn your head and place a kiss on his bare chest. His right hand moving to the back of your head, fingertips massaging it.

“Hi,” he whispers to the morning air not wanting to wake up from this

It’s been almost 3 months since that first night. That night of falling asleep in his arms. Trivia Thursday led to Frankie Friday and it was honestly your favorite day of the week. A day the two of you had free or in Frankie’s case, mostly free.

“Good Morning mi Pescado…kiss” you smile turning up to look at him

He returns the smile, tilting his head to kiss your forehead. He tilts your head up to kiss the tip of your nose, before kissing you on the lips. “Mi Estrellita, I need to tell you something”

“Ok?” You try to hide your worried tone as he lays his head back down on the pillow

“Catfish…how I earned the name. It did come from the ability to hold my breath for long periods of time. That part is true. I was a swimmer in high school…but that’s not the only reason I got the name” he says. He’s staring at the ceiling. You can tell he is trying to keep his breathing even

You lift your head up, placing your right hand over his heart and rest your chin on it, “is it because you get these little whiskers when your beard starts to grow in?” you brush your fingers over his lip with your free hand

He chuckles and it vibrates your entire body, you love the sound of his laugh and the way he closes his eyes, little crinkles appear. Seeing him happy makes your heart swell “no…well not exactly. Wait, do I really look like a catfish?”

“Lil’ bit. But it adds to your handsomeness” your thumb lingers on his lower lip pulling it down slightly

“Sure…handsomeness” he rolls his eyes “but back to holding my breath and a catfish. I can hold my breath for long periods of time, and not just when I’m underwater. But when I am under something…or I should say someone”

It takes a few moments for you to process what he means by under someone. “Oh…ooooh” you say when it all clicks. You know the guys are the ones that gave him the nickname, or call-sign as they called it. You want to ask how they found out about this ‘talent’. It was like he could read your mind and he started to tell you the story of how he and Benny ended up with the same girl. Benny after Frankie, and she had told Ben about how this pilot she had been with was the best she ever had. She met him at a bar, but he was gone before the sun. She eventually told Benny the pilot’s name; and that’s how the name Catfish was born.

“If it changes how, you look at me, I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner” his fingertips draw a line up and down your spine “I was scared, and I wanted you to know Frankie, not Catfish before I fucked everything up”

You nod your head, tucking his little whisps behind his ear. Frankie was like an onion, and you were slowly peeling back the layers

“It’s why I wanted to go slow. I’m not good at the romance thing, despite all the books. I’m…I, I didn’t want you to be a one-night stand”

Frankie removes his hands from you when you push yourself up, your body facing away from him. Frankie follows, sitting up as well. His back against the headboard. It takes a minute to find the right words. You knew he was experienced in that department; you just didn’t expect that experience to lead to his name, “is that why you didn’t want to come in on your first date?”

“Yes” he says quickly “I like you. I haven’t been in a relationship since high-school. One-night stands were easier. No strings attached. No one to miss me when I leave. The feelings I had, still have, scare me. You can do so much better than me”

Catfish: a freshwater or marine fish with barbels resembling whiskers around the mouth. Typically, bottom dwelling.

When you told me how you really got the name I’m not going to lie, it’s not what I imagined. The fact that you got the name and the pussy-eating-king title scare me and worry me that you’re going to leave when you learn my secret.

“Better?” You turn to face him; his mood has changed. He looks as if he has zoned out and, in another world

“Yeah,” he shrugs “I’m not that great” he puts his head back

The mood in the room had changed. You woke up and couldn’t be happier, and now…it’s cold and somber. Frankie kept selling himself short and you wish he could see him from your eyes. You reach for him, putting a hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb along the top part of it.

“Frankie, from where I sit. Your pretty great”

“Kiss?” He asks

Kiss…it started simple. Anytime either of us didn’t have the right words to say, we’d utter the simple word, with an even simpler response. Frankie, you always sell yourself short. You always say you aren’t the romantic type. But from our first definitely-not-a-date date, to a date. To the first kiss, to how you simply just hold me. You look at me like I’m the only girl in the world. Frankie, you are the romantic type, and I just wish you could see it.

“I have to go away for a while” he tells you. He holds his face between his hands, afraid that you're going to turn away from him. That you would get up and leave him.

“For work?” You sigh and he nods closing his eyes “how long?”

“Four to six months, I…I fuck I don’t want to leave. We were just getting this figured out. Now I have to leave” he leans forward placing his forehead against yours “I’m sorry. I am so so sorry”

“Well…” you close the short distance kissing him “we’ll just have yo pick this up when you get back”

“Really? You still want me…or to wait for me?” He pulls back just enough to see your face. Looking into your eyes searching for an answer he already knows the answer too

“Yes,” you move your body and throw your leg over him. Lifting yourself to straddle him, sitting on his thighs. Hands resting at the base of his neck resting on his shoulders “I mean you are going to have to show me why they call you ‘catfish’ when you get back” you thumbs tilt his head up and you pull him towards you, starting a slow make out session

His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, his shirt. His hands rubbing up and down your sides leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His tongue brushes against yours and he swallows your moan of pleasure. Your fingers thread through his shorter hair. Still just long enough for you to pull. He leans forward, his body weight shifting as he is about to throw you on your back so he can hover you when there is a knock on the door.

“Fish…there’s no sock on the door, so I pray to God your decent” Benny’s muffled voice becomes clearer as the door is cracked open further. You nearly jump off Frankie, moving to his side “oh shit…hey Sella. Sorry I don’t know you stayed the night”

“Hi Benjamin” you smile, hiding your face in Frankie’s shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt, whatever was going on here, but Fish we are gonna be late”

“Late?” You question. It was Frankie’s day off or well his usual day off

“Meeting. A briefing actually. Preparing us for our tour when we leave Tuesday. Wait…he did tell you right and I just didn’t drop that information” Benny puts a hand over his face

Frankie did tell you, he just failed to tell you when he was leaving. He didn’t tell you it was so soon. Benny continues to talk. Frankie telling him ‘thank you’ hoping he would finally take the hint to leave. But your mind was racing. Tuesday wasn’t that far away, he would be leaving for months, and the scariest thing. He may not come back. The door closes and the tears you didn’t know you were holding back begin to fall.

Standing in front of the buses that would soon be taking him away, brought you back to your childhood. Your Mom's hand in your small one. Your other hand holding onto a teddy bear your Dad had given you. You wipe away tears watching him get on the bus. Blowing a kiss to you and your Mom, you crying and yelling for him not to go.

Holding Frankie’s hand, staring at the ground. His thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of yours. You had so many things you wanted to tell him. “Kiss?” He asks, bringing your gaze up to him. You could see the fear in his eyes and the sadness in his voice. You nod your head yes, leaning into him. The kiss not lasting nearly long enough.

“Do you have to go?” You ask barely above a whisper. Not expecting him to hear you

“I do…” he nods. His forehead resting against yours. His hand moving to cup your face as he pulls back. His eyes never leaving yours “promise me something?”

“Anything”

“Live your life while I’m gone. I don’t want you to worry about me…”

“Frankie…” you interrupt him

He shakes his head and continues “…if a better opportunity comes along, take it”

You can’t believe the words he is saying. After all this time, after everything you’ve told him he still doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe that you want to be with him and only him. The look he gives you when you tell him you don’t want better, it breaks your heart. The man will never believe he is good enough.

“You promised” his voice cracks

“Fine, I promise you Frankie. But I need you to promise me something in return” you wrap your fingers around his wrists that still hold your face. He nods, “promise me, you’ll come home”

“I’ll do everything I can” he says, leaning in to capture your lips with his once more. It wasn’t the words you wanted to hear and he knew that. He was praying the kiss would make up for the wrong words. His hope that this kiss would be the answer you were looking for.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his jacket. His hold on your gentle, his thumbs brushing along the side of your cheeks, holding your face to his. The kiss ends all too soon as a booming voice yells at the remaining men to get to their respectful bus. Frankie pulling back slowly, his hands still holding your face. His eyes roaming your face, it was like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. The voice yells again, “I have to go now, Estrella” he sighs. You lean in quickly giving him one last kiss before he completely pulls away.

You watch as he gets in the small line boarding his bus not too far in front of you. “Hey Morales!” You yell and he turns his head in your direction, “one more thing. I love you” you say.

He stares at you wide eyed with a smile. He goes to open his mouth when the buses rev to life, starting to pull away. The sounds of the engines is all you can hear, you can see his lips moving but unable to understand anything he is saying. The men behind him usher him up the steps of the bus, and before you know it his bus is pulling away.

How soon is too soon to say those words?

I know you’ve never say them, I know you want to mean it when you do. But, Frankie, I meant it. I mean it; I love you. I needed you to know that before you left. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, I wanted you know that I won’t find something better when I have the best already.

-March 2012-

When you told me you were going to be gone 4-6 months I thought, sure…no problem. It’s not that long. But it’s only been a month and I am missing you like crazy. Saying goodbye to you that morning was hard. The worst part of all of it was knowing it could be the last time seeing you. The last time talking to you; holding you; and feeling your lips against mine

It was late, you couldn’t sleep. You turn your head and glance at the clock on your nightstand. 1:00 AM the bright red numbers read. You know you should close your eyes, beg the sleep to come. But your mind keeps thinking of him. Where he was, what was he doing? Was he safe? Was he drinking enough water? Was he thinking of you the same way you were thinking of him?

Unable to take it any more you toss the blankets off of you. Tossing your legs to the side you lift yourself out of bed. You move as quiet as you can to the kitchen, you don’t know why. Heather and Tyler were upstairs; they'd never hear you. Making yourself a cup of hot tea to maybe, just maybe get your mind to relax. It’s been almost 2 months without him. If you were going to make it through this first tour together, you were going to need to figure out a way to relax. You did it when you were a kid with your Dad, you’d totally be able to do it with him. For him.

You picked up a journal at the store the day he left. It had been years since you sat down and wrote. You thought it might help. You could tell Frankie about the things he was missing. This way when he came back, he could read it, and make him feel like he never left. You wrote about the things that reminded you of him. No matter how small they were.

Like how the supermarket added 8 new flavors of ice cream:

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, 8 NEW FLAVORS. I TRIED A BUNNY TRACKS ONE AND THEY MIGHT BE BETTER THAN YOUR SWEATY BALLS.

And how the other night you looked up to the night sky and thought of him

I saw a shooting star today, it brought me back to dancing with you at the lake that night. It made me wonder what the night sky looked like where you are

The journal entries weren’t always long, and sometimes it was just a bunch of gibberish, but you made sure to write down everything.

I miss not calling you, I miss your random texts. Even when it was about a new helicopter maneuver I didn’t understand. I miss Trivia Thursdays and I really miss those mornings on Frankie Fridays where we shared our secrets.

Working at a radio station made it hard; especially when every song reminded you of him.

Friends in low places played on the radio today. All I could imagine was you in that worn-out flannel you always wear. That favorite pair of jeans, and your black cap I hardly see you without. Standing on that little stage at ‘down the road’ your hand on the mic and singing the first few lines of the song. Just waiting for the chorus to kick in so everyone can join you. I really hope that one day I get the chance to hear you sing.

It was your birthday, you sat on your small sofa with Heather and Tyler. There was some Star Wars movie marathon on. You didn’t have any plans, it was just another day. But Heather refused to watch you, he sad. She was your best friend after all and it was her mission to make the day great. Tyler did the chef thing; making you some fancy pasta dish and a tres leches cake. The sun had just set and you were more than ready to call it a night. There was a knock on the door. You know it was a long shot, and there was no way that it could be him. But one could hope right? Your heart started to heat a little faster the closer you got to the door.

“A little late for a delivery isn’t it?” Heather questions as you open the door

You knew it wasn’t going to be him, but it still made you sad when the man at the door wasn’t Frankie. The grey haired man asked for your signature and he handed you a bouquet of pink roses, a card with the name Estrella written in elegant handwriting across the front. You close the door as you turn back toward the couch smelling the flowers making you smile from ear to ear and their sweet scent. You catch a glimpse of Heather looking at you, a shit eating grin on her face. “Shut up…” you plop on the couch

“I didn’t even say anything” she throws her hands up in defense.

You carefully rip the card from the paper around the bouquet and open it

Mi Estrellita, I am so sorry I am missing your birthday. I know a bouquet of roses is silly and probably super cheesy but it’s all I could think of. I wish I could be there to celebrate. I pre-ordered these when I found out I was leaving. The girl at the flower shop said pink roses mean elegance and grace. I found out they also mean happiness. That’s something you brought to my life. I know my crappy handwritten letter doesn’t make up for me not being there, but we can celebrate when I get home.

-Tu Pescado

Your fingers move over the last two works. Two simple words that for you held so much more meaning. Tu pescado- your fish. It may not be an ‘I love you’ but it was close enough to show you how much you meant to him.

Frankie,

If this is you thinking you're not good at the romance thing, it makes me wonder what your definition of good is. The flowers were beautiful. But it was your “crappy” handwritten letter that meant the most. I am counting down the days until I am able to see you again and know that you are safe. Until then Mi Pescado, I’ll look at the stars and dream of you.

Work had been much of the same day in - day out. Answering phones, taking requests. Going to local spots to promote the station. Working and playing songs for your 8 hour shift some days made it difficult. Especially on those days that you’d hear a song reminding you of him. The closer the day of him returning made it even harder.

“Thanks for calling WJPP, what can I help you with today” you try to sound cheerful. You were exhausted. Another sleepless night, Frankie was to be home any day now and each day he wasn’t it was harder to not think of the worse things.

“Uhm yes I would like to request a song” the voice sounds muffled

“Yes sir, what song is that?”

“Open Arms, and I’d like to dedicate it too. To Mi Stella…shit I mean Estrella”

“Uhm ok…and your name?”

“Come outside” the voice is different this time. Clearer and deeper. It’s a voice you swear you'd recognized anywhere

“I’m sorry?”

“Come outside” and he hangs up

You look at the phone before hanging it up. Looking over at your coworker she nods her head and smiles. Your work was safe, you had to have a badge to get in…security would drive around the lot. But you also have no idea what is going on. It wasn’t that you gave up hope on him coming home, it just wasn’t a day you were expecting to see him. You move to the main doors of the office, the large glass doors and you don’t see anyone outside.

“Estrella…” you hear from your left and you turn your head in the direction of the voice

And you see him, his baby face he left you with replaced with a mustache and a beard. His hair is longer now too. Still dressed in full fatigues. His eyes suckin and looks of sorrow written on his face. Your heart breaks and fills with joy. Your feet bring you to him without even thinking. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. Your arms move around his neck melting into him. You stand there just holding him for a few moments before you pull back. Your arms moving your hands to cup his face. “Hi…” you whisper not wanting to ruin the moment

“Hi, I’m home”

A/N/N: Check out @littlemisspascal library for more amazing works

#Pedro Pascal #Frankie Morales #Francisco Morales #Pedro Pascal Characters #Pedro Pascal Character FanFic #Triple Frontier AU #Christiina Writes #Dear Frankie #Frankie 'CATFISH' Morales #Francisco 'CATFISH' Morales #ICanBeYourJedi

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