#Frankie always breaks my heart and I always come back for more

[puranami]

✿ It's The Little Things ✿

A/N: My first time writing! Admittedly I'm very nervous, but also so excited!! Kept it simple with a small headcanon list to start, but I tried to write a decent amount for each point, and I hope that everyone is in character :0 Posting at 4am because I have no control over my life...

Summary: Little relationship things with the Strawhats. Can be interpreted as the anime/manga or the live action version of the character.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji

Content: SFW, G/N reader, slightest hint of angst in Sanji's part, but otherwise, pure unadulterated fluff! ✿

(Part 2 - Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk) (Part 3 - Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer) (Part 4 - Crocodile, Rosinante/Corazon, Doflamingo)

Luffy

✿ He absentmindedly draws shapes on your leg, back, or whatever part of you is there as you sit together, whether you are watching the waves, or listening to one of Usopp's stories. He is almost magnetic in the way he ends up attached to you. If you're not feeling it, he will do his best to keep his hands to himself, but as soon as his focus shifts onto anything else, they're back on you, drawing little clouds and hearts. He tried, he really did!

✿ This bottomless pit inhales food like it's going out of fashion, but, much to the bewilderment of the rest of the crew, he will actually feed you from his plate as he eats, even though you are eating your own food. It may be a case of "1 for you, 5 for me," but it's almost instinctive for him; he's sharing something he's passionate about with you, and making sure that, in his eyes, you are happy, healthy and strong. He values your wellbeing more than food; you are one of the most important things in his life.

✿ Despite how chaotic he is in every aspect of his life, his presence brings you to a state of complete peace, even when he's yelling about whatever currently has his attention. Just knowing he is there comforts you in a way that nothing, and no one else can. As long as Luffy is there, being the same old Luffy he always is, you know everything will be alright in the end, and if it isn't alright, well, it isn't the end yet.

Zoro

✿ He always places a comforting hand on your head when he passes by, or ends up in the same general space as you. It's his version of a hug, a reassuring touch that he is there, and that he's happy to see you. Zoro is very subtle with his affection, at least in public, but even when it's just the two of you, he automatically defaults to the head pat. It comforts him as much as it does you, and the simple action alone conveys his feelings far better than he ever could with words.

✿ You both love silently observing everything going on around you, and it's such a comfortable silence. You just enjoy each others company while watching the world go by, with Zoro also keeping an eye out for any threats, as he does. Sometimes you end up passing silent judgement on what you see, and you have both developed this uncanny ability to gossip without saying a single word. It's honestly unnerving at times, but you are just so familiar with each others micro-expressions that it's second nature.

✿ Insults are terms of endearment. If anyone else called either of you such things, all hell would break loose - swords drawn, blood spilt, bodies hit the floor, the whole song and dance. It actually started out as a form of deflection, with both of you being far too stubborn to admit any feelings were there, even to yourselves; "No, I don't like you, shitstain, I tolerate you." - "Whatever helps you sleep at night, arseface." As you connected though, it just became your thing, and you love seeing who can come up with the funniest insults. Zoro is surprisingly creative in this regard.

Nami

✿ Nami has a habit of fixing your clothes and hair if something is out of place. It can seem overbearing to others, but she knows you appreciate the gesture. She spent years putting up walls to defend herself, and this is a safe way for her to have a little moment alone with you, giving you gentle little touches without revealing to the world just how important you are to her. It is a very grounding experience for both of you, and you end up doing the same for her on the rare occasion that she isn't completely flawless. She may purposely put things out of place so you have the opportunity to fix something too.

✿ She has an eye for the finer things, and loves getting you little trinkets, and especially pieces of jewellery, which often match or pair with hers, like pendants that fit together to make a whole shape, and such. Just don't ask her where she got them; "Shhh, you don't need to worry about that." All that matters is that you now have a tangible connection to each other, no matter how close, or far apart you are.

✿ Another person who relishes in comfortable silence. Of course you love chatting with each other, and often do so later into the night than you intended. Nami is very quick-witted and your shared snark is always so enjoyable! But it's the moments when you are doing your own thing together, basking in the warmth of that closeness that brings the most joy. Every so often, you will share something interesting or amusing, depending on what you're doing, but you always return to that silence. It's very domestic.

Usopp

✿ You both end up in regular fits of giggles, that grow into raucous laughter, before devolving into the sounds of various suffocating wildlife, which only fuels the hilarious fire. He doesn't even have to say anything at times; he just has a look, and as soon as he catches your eye with it, you absolutely lose it. The amount of nonsensical inside jokes you have is absurd in itself.

✿ Ever the storyteller, Usopp will wind down the day with you relaxing under the stars, telling you fantastical stories about the impossible feats of the great 'Captain Usopp.' His creativity and imagination are something you greatly admire, and as much as you try to stay awake to appreciate those qualities, the comfort he brings has you dropping off every time. He'll carry you to bed most nights, but sometimes he can only manage to drag you around like a corpse he's trying to hide, and he'll end up waking you up laughing about it.

✿ You automatically link your little fingers whenever you are close enough to. It doesn't even register half of the time, only realising when you need that hand or try to go your separate ways. When this happens, providing there isn't anything that needs your urgent attention, you like to dramatize your parting, playing up that this is the most painful moment of your lives! "Don't you dare let go, Usopp! We can both make it out of this alive!" - "I'm so sorry, I can't hold on any longer, and I refuse to drag you down with me." - "No! Don't say that!" - "I love you so much, but you need to let me go..." Leading to you unlinking your fingers, and exaggerated fake cries of anguish. It annoys everyone around you immensely.

Sanji

✿ You shamelessly flirt with each other, making everyone around you uncomfortable, groaning at how painful it is. You weren't together when you started playing this romantic game of chicken, giving back everything Sanji threw at you, and then some, but once you figured your feelings out, you actually developed it into a legitimate game where you attempt to be as sickening and obnoxious as possible. If there is no one grimacing, angrily telling you both to pack it in, or simply leaving the room; you aren't flirting enough. There is a points system, and you're currently in the lead. Sanji ends up caving over the things you say, and his brain loses the ability to form words, let alone string them together in a coherent sentence.

✿ Sanji always leaves a drink and a bite to eat for you to wake up to, since he isn't there in person, having to wake up much earlier to prepare the food for the day. Growing up in a restaurant, early starts are just part of his natural rhythm, so it doesn't bother him, but sometimes you try to wake up with him to at least watch the sunrise together, before going back to bed for a couple more hours. He cherishes those mornings, and there is always an extra spring in his step on those days.

✿ He takes every opportunity he can to share a glance and a warm smile, a gentle touch of your hands, or a chaste kiss with you. They are agonisingly brief moments, but Sanji needs them to get him through the day, otherwise he would just cling to you, and neither of you would get anything done! Unknown to you, these moments are also his way of reminding himself that you chose him over everyone else, that he is loved unconditionally, and that he is enough, without having to, in his opinion, burden you with his insecurities. He'll open up to you one day, and you will be able to give him verbal affirmations along with everything else~

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #zoro x reader #zoro x you #nami x reader #nami x you #usopp x reader #usopp x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #god usopp #blackleg sanji

[undercoverpena]

frankie, baby

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: “Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

warnings: explicit. 18+. smut. p in v. nsfw chat up lines. flirting. one slight spank. frankie undressing you. frankie being gorgeous, minor cock worship, christmas themes. reader wears a green dress, talks of lipstick - but nil else.

wordcount: 3.7k an: huge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this and ensuring words meant what i meant. to all my frankie-lovers, this one is for you. credit to this tiktok for the idea.

It wasn’t that Frankie hated Christmas parties, he just found they weren’t his favourite.

Over the years of attending the Miller’s annual bash, he’d always found himself asked the same questions over, and over, again. They would always come at him in varying voices, accompanied by different expressions.

But they all had the same undertone: what’s next for you, Francisco? What’s your future like Francisco?

He’s sure he wouldn’t find it all so tedious if it were only once he had to deal with it.

However, it replays itself—almost like a rerun—when he visits his own family. The only difference is there’s more judgement, a higher pitched concern and intermittent Spanish.

This year, there was at least one noticeable change. A thing which spoke for itself: you.

Stepping out of the cab, you close your bag, fussing with the bottom of your green dress before you look over at him—eyes finding him.

He counts—a thing he does now. He does so until it appears. Having begun doing so without realising when the two of you made it official. He’d learnt that sometimes it comes by the count of five, but he loves it when it’s on the count of three.

Tonight, it’s two—two, measly seconds.

Eyes zoned in, Frankie watches it like a spectacle—like it’s a firework show just for him. His eyes trained as it blooms and stretches out, gazing as it brushes out over your cheeks. It hits your eyes, that smile which could stop his heart.

The one which makes him feel lucky; that burned a bonfire inside of him that no rain, wind or hail could ever extinguish.

“Keep looking at me like that, Morales, and we’ll break Will’s one, and only, rule.”

While the two of you would never describe yourself as animals, apparently the Miller brothers disagreed. Unbearable had been another descriptor used—

It’s not that we’re not happy for you both. But, around my family, could you calm it down?

Smirking, he holds his hand out to you. Something shifts back into place when your palm meets his and your fingers find their homes between his.

“I’m not the one with their legs out, querida.”

“I didn’t want to be underdressed!”

Snorting, he pauses at the steps to the front door. The music from inside thrumming, the hard-to-contain usual excitement is practically already trying to seep its way out into the night, trying to brush over the two of you, as he takes a second to admire you.

Because you looked radiant, indescribable. Yet, it isn’t even the half of you.

Fingers brushing your smile, he swallows, half thinking to himself if this is all a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Not from this, from you.

“I tell you that you look good?”

Stepping closer, you press your lips to his. Bathing him in heaven and sweet scents, leaving a mark of you against his mouth.

“You did,” you whisper, breath dancing with his when you part before your thumb wipes over the stain your kiss left. “Now, let’s go in, so we can begin the countdown to getting home.”

Foolishly, Frankie had expected you being on his arm would answer questions.

But if anything, it forced more to arise.

Some he could answer with a smile, a laugh, even a shrug, and others he found were ticking time bombs that no amount of sips of his beer would dilute. It was made worse when you’d slip away, tempted by a cocktail or a glass of bubbles, a kiss to his cheek as a parting gift while you left him to the hounds.

When he managed to make a break from the third when are you asking her to marry you, Frankie hides next to Ben—who is eyeing up the buffet table like it has all his answers and prayers layered over it.

“Hey man, having a good time?”

“Yeah, Benny. Great.”

Snorting, Ben grabs a piece of fruit. “Y’good?”

Twisting the cap off another bottle, he shoots a glare at Ben—hoping it’s readable, his anguish, how fucking uncomfortable he is. “Your Aunt just asked me when I’m getting married, and when I’m making her a great aunt.”

Laughing, he watches as his friend pops another piece of ham in his mouth. “And are you?”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“Jus’ saying, maybe I wanna be an uncle while my knees are still good.”

Shoving him, Frankie leaves him laughing, moving through the guests, nodding and hugging those he had managed to avoid thus far. But his eyes are fixed on finding one thing—you. With each brush over a group, his heart sinks a little.

It only returns to its rightful place when he finds you in the corner, tucked away. Close to the overzealously decorated Christmas tree, positioned close to a set of bookcases he remembers hiding next to himself last year.

You have your back to the room, allowing him a moment to brush his gaze over your spine—over the way your dress skims down over your curves. Your attention is stolen, either genuinely interested in what you’re holding or busy pretending to be in a book covered in more dust than an abandoned building.

Sliding his arms around your waist, he feels you curl into him.

“Answer me this honestly. Do you think if I drank a smidge of bleach I’d still be able to fly with you to your family, or will I ruin Christmas?”

Laughing, he hooks his fingers together over your stomach, thumb brushing out over the silk—allowing himself to feel the softness that glides between his touch and your skin.

“That bad, huh?”

“Apparently I both have good skin and simultaneously could benefit from a skin regime—I found both out in the space of five minutes.”

Pulling a face, Frankie turns you, resting his head on yours as he feels your arms slide around him. Hearing you softly murmur which relative handed you both pieces of information.

“We could hide out in this corner all night? It’s a nice corner.”

“This where you hid last year?”

He says nothing, but the face he lets fall out says enough.

“We could hide or…” you say, an infliction to your tone.

One he doesn’t catch immediately, but dawns on him in the seconds that pass. More so, when he feels your eyes on him, burning, glaring.

“Or?”

Smirking, you bat your lashes—feigning innocence. A look he knows all too well means anything but angelic.

“Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

Leaning closer, Frankie narrows his eyes, pinching the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“So, let’s see who can get away with saying the wildest, but publicly appropriate things.”

His mouth twists, watching your head tilt ever so slightly, lips remaining parted, waiting.

“Who wins?” he asks.

Tracing the edge of your upper lip with your tongue, you slowly begin to smirk—all wide-eyed, practically fucking shimmering.

“The person who calls an early cab home.”

It thrums in him, the tension of when you’ll say something.

Your fingers are in his as the two of you join the others, finding a place next to Will—who is busy both telling and reenacting a story Frankie is already sure he told last time.

He’s also sure you know it. Having been sure it was one Will had told most chances he got. But the way you’re hanging on to every word, makes him question otherwise.

“Very on top of things, isn’t he?” you whisper, nodding your head to Will.

Pausing, Frankie bites his smile, brow raising as he watches you twirl your finger over the top of your glass. The distinct sound of Santa, Baby playing in the background, fading from the loudness to a simple hum as you adjust your dress in front of him. Letting him see a glimpse of your breasts—showing him how all that remains between him and your skin is one single, thin piece of silk.

Keeping his hand at his side, he watches you. Assessing. Trying to work out your direction, your ploy—taking a sip from his beer just as you begin to add:

“I like to be on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?”

He almost chokes. Heat flushing on his neck, burning up to his ears. Somehow able to bury the splutter, your face shifting into one of concern—but he sees the devilishness under it. Your eyes giving you away, even if your hand is patting his back, calling his name.

Moving closer, your lips almost brush his ear. “You like that one, Morales?”

Catching himself, he knocks the bottom of his bottle against your glass. “That’s a good one, querida. But, wait—are you an elevator, because I’d love to go down on you.”

It’s instant, the way your mouth falls open— eyes widening before he swears they twinkle.

“That was…”

Moving closer, he presses a kiss to your forehead, taking your empty glass from your hand. “Can’t wait to see you crack, baby.”

“Oh, it’s so on, Morales.”

At one stage, between you whispering ‘is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ and him replying with ‘nice dress. Can I talk you out of it?’, Frankie had lost you to Will and an intense game of darts.

When he manages to pull himself free from an intense questioning from one of the smaller cousins on helicopters, he finds you in the kitchen—just tidying up some plates.

“Hey.”

Smiling, you slide the one in hand into the dishwasher. “Hey, handsome.”

“Why you in here alone, querida?”

Standing straight, you sigh, resting your palm on the counter as you look across at him. “Just… I’m not feeling myself.”

Placing his drink down, he moves around the counter. A wave of guilt crept up, wondering to himself how he’d missed it when he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you.

Placing his palms on your jaw, he slides his fingers up your cheeks—lifting your chin.

“Can I feel you instead?” you add.

He feels your smirk sliding up into your cheek—slowly shaking his head as you begin to bite your tongue, his nose scrunching.

Laughing, low, almost gruffly, he smiles. “You’re so bad.”

Nodding, you slide your arms around his neck. It’s second nature to move you, press your lower spine into the counter—press his hips to yours.

“How you gonna make me good, Morales?”

“Well, I’m not a dentist, but I bet I could give you a filling.”

Grinning, you tighten your arms around his neck, mouth ghosting over his. For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The room fades out, the party a distant memory and the music nothing but a soundtrack. His fingers fall, sliding down, knuckles brushing over the silk which sits over your breast, running over your nipple he feels harden, before sliding down. Moving, slowly trailing his way until his hand grasps your hips—hearing the soft gasp you let escape.

You make him so hard—make him desire and crave.

Make him want to slowly pull up the skirt of your dress and feel for himself too if you’re having the same effect. If you’re soaked, if the tops of your thighs are coated in want.

“Frankie,” you whine, all low, barely more than a whisper.

As his waist presses against you, survey you as your brows rise at the realisation of how hard he is inside his jeans—how hard he is for you. Eyes flashing, something shifting—no longer a game but a prize within reach—as you lift your chin, slotting your mouth over his.

It begins soft, gentle. But in a click it's desperate. The words, the insinuations—all of them—slamming into the two of you as you crawl your nails against his scalp, and tug on his curls. His own grip tightened on your hip, keeping you flush to him, letting him rock his hips ever so slightly, the friction helping, groaning into your open mouth.

“Want you,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” he pants, drawing a circle on your hip, feeling you urging to kiss him. “Call a cab, baby. Call one and I’ll make it worth it.”

You halt, pause.

Blinking a few times, before clarity washes over lust—drowning it, dragging it back out to sea, leaving the beach with only memories.

“You should know…”

Tracing his nose over yours, he bites your bottom lip. “What should I know?”

Rolling your lips, you stare at him—the biggest, fullest eyes he’s seen. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He knows you move, but he doesn’t feel you do so.

Suddenly short-circuited. Left with only a fleeting recollection of the way your hip felt in his palm, the way your dress felt under the callouses and years of service. It isn’t until the door to the kitchen swings back, brushing against the frame, does he blink. Snapping out of it. Forcing him to realise what it is you just said.

“Fuck.”

Moving, he turns on his heel—palm flat on the wooden door as he pushes it open. His blood is thumping, jeans are uncomfortably tight as he scans the area.

All of the lines he’d found on his phone were seemingly pointless now. Hell, even the game seems pointless now. How close it was already, the fact all his nerves were sizzling, faint memories of how warm you were against him.

Especially now he knows he can pull you into an empty room, slide the fabric up which covers your body and find you bare.

The only thing he wants to do is surrender.

Is it say his goodbyes, call a cab, and have you at whichever home is closest. He just needs to find you. Doing another look, another scan. Moving through the room—spotting how the numbers have dwindled—before he finds you with Ben, no drink in hand, just a tight expression on your face.

“Hey—”

“I’ve called us a cab,” you announce, staring pointedly, the weakest wink sent only for him. His lips desperate to crawl up, clamber into his cheek. “Told Benny my headache was getting worse.”

The two of you are barely through the door when he presses you flat against it, it clicks into place—his finger-twisting the lock, sealing the two of you inside, nothing and no one allowed to interrupt.

“Bedroom, now.”

You slip out of your shoes, fingers wrapping around his chin as you slant your mouth over his—and he’s able to taste the bubbles you enjoyed earlier, the faint remnants of mint from gum you likely chewed in haste. Then it’s gone.

Fingers around his wrist, dragging him past furniture and rooms until he’s being led into his own room, your touch falling from him—feet stepping back, moving closer to the bed.

“If I said you had a beautiful cock, would you put it inside me?” you ask.

Groaning, he closes the gap, and pulls you flush to him as his palm comes down on your ass—your gasp spreading into his mouth, before your groan replaces it, washing past to his throat, tongue licking past his teeth.

His mouth on yours, his shirt coming undone. Your nails scratch down his chest, his stomach, pausing right where his belt sits on his waist—

“Dress on, or off.”

He barely registers the question at first, until his fingers grasp the dress by your waist. He tortures you with it, the way he bunches it up, slowly pulling it up, letting the edge of it skate past your knees, up your thighs. Each inch unveiled meaning the cool air is kissing your skin, brushing over it, likely making even more of a mess between your pressed-together thighs.

Not halting his movement until he can see you weren’t lying earlier, and then he aids you in getting it over your head, unveiling you—a goddess, the hottest fucking thing his eyes have ever seen.

And, you’re all his.

“Sit down, baby,” he moans.

You do, slowly perching your rear on the end of the bed, spreading your legs—looking at him with the same wide eyes as you’d given him in the kitchen. But, he’s only focused on the space between your thighs. How you’re drenched. Practically desperate.

“You want me?”

He watches you nod, and he steps closer—forcing your thighs apart, spread by his thighs as he slowly removes his shirt—eyes gesturing down to his belt. And, you read his mind well. Tongue swiping over your lip as you begin to undo his belt, the melt clattering, his jeans loosening as you move to the button, then the zip—the noise cutting through the slow breaths the two of you keep trying to take.

Commanding your eyes up to his, he slowly kneels on the bed—one on either side as he watches you slide back, the two of you moving more into the middle, bodies almost touching, heat searing between the two of you. It only warms further when his lips find yours, when it’s needy, all tongue and whimpers.

His hips move with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest moans as he grabs a hold of his cock, dragging the head of it through your slick folds, making you plead, beg—smearing and skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he knows he’ll think up when the two of you are apart and he can’t sleep. When he’s rock hard and only imagining you being with him—I want to feel you tomorrow, Frankie.

It unlocks something. Floods him. He manages to take in a breath before he buries himself inside you, right to the hilt, going deep. He feels you stretch around his thickness, as he revels in your tightness, the way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into his sheets. In awe of you, momentarily just watching you before he wrenches your back from his sheets, perching you on his thighs, needing to see you, needing to run his palms up your spine.

“You look beautiful taking me, querida?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good querida taking me like this. And he expects a comment, a thing you bite back.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and clattering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“More, Frankie. Please.”

His hand sliding down between your thighs, above where the two of you are joined, thumb finding your nerves, drawing circles—languid, slow. Tracing the letters of his first name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier.

"Love your cock, Frankie. Always feel so good inside me."

You're a mess, covered in a sheen of sweat and make-up smudged, but to him, you're still perfection. A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to emptying himself inside of you and writing his name there too.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he grunts, teeth pinching your ear as your hand grips his wrist—thumb still swirling, the R and N being from your favourite from the way you moan, the way you clench around him, “Thought about this all night. Only fuckin’ thing that got me through it.”

He feels your nails dig down into his neck, mouth searing as it burns against yours, moan after moan coating him, letting him taste the sound of his name.

“Y’ruin me, Frankie—only one I ever want fucking me.”

It spurs him on, angling his hips, hitting the spot which makes your words slide into moans, all pleases and yeses, undoing you. It ripples out. Making your back arch into him, tightening up from your head to your toes, before it bursts. Erupts.

You clench all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against his mattress—both of you gasping, his heart hammering in desperation to rip out his chest and be with yours, as you turn in his grasp. Then, he feels your lips on his, burying three words against them, three words he says back, pressing them to your mouth, so he knows you have them.

Both relaxing, your ear coming to his chest, hand sliding out over his body.

“I liked our game,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

“Next time, we should make it more fun.”

Next time, he thinks, letting his eyes drift out to the drawer you never go in—the one stuffed with his underwear, and a box you no nothing about.

“Could get toys we need our phones for,” you continue, a mix of mischief and sleep adorned on your face.

Kissing your hairline, he sighs in contentment. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

Because next year he’ll let you have whatever fun you want, as long as you’re his fiancé and not his girlfriend.

an: think sundays are now feral-frankie-sundays with jo...

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier x you #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier smut #santiago garcia x reader #benny miller x reader #will miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia #benny miller fluff #frankie morales fluff #will miller smut #frankie morales #benny miller #will miller #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller fluff #santiago garcia fluff #santiago garcia smut #frankie morales smut #benny miller smut #pedro pascal #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund #oscar isaac

[kodydrs]

The Vice Admiral’s Daughter - Portgas D. Ace (|||)

a/n: part 3!!! idk why but this part was honestly the hardest to write and idk why bc i always right smut. um, anyways, this is gonna have like 1 or 2 more parts and then it’s done 🫶🏻 and i’m back to other fanfics (i have an iceberg & franky one sitting in my ideas box). feel free to send in asks / requests, and comment & reblogs are appreciated!!

warnings: ace x fem!reader, pirate!ace x marine!daughter!reader, fxm, 21!ace, 19!reader, oral (f & m receiving), (slight) fingering, cunnilingus, smut, mdni, i’m bad at tagging, not proofread (it’s never proofread)

ib: tagged in earlier post

request: yes / no

You’re awoken in the (very) early hours of the morning a few months later when you’re back at Loguetown. The transponder snail that sits beside your bed feels like it’s screaming in your ear and you groan into your pillow.

‘Hello?’

The voice on the other side comes over clearly, and you’re almost motivated to hang up right then and go back to sleep.

‘Hey sleepyhead.’ Ace laughs quietly. ‘I’m surprised you picked up. Did I wake you up?’

‘No.’ You lie through your teeth, rolling in your bed. ‘I was just walking my fish.’

‘Oh. That’s good… Have you missed me?’

You’re silent on your end of the line, and you can hear Ace’s smile drop.

‘Ace? How did you get my number? It’s private.’

You hear his laugh crackle over and it warms your heart a little.

‘Don’t worry about that. I just need you to come into town. To that bar we met at last time.’

‘The Smog Cutter? That place has been closed for a few months. It’s all abandoned now.’

‘I know, but I really need you to meet me there. Please.’

You groan again, weighing out your options before inevitably agreeing.

You don’t bother properly changing into clothes. Instead you just throw a shirt over your bra and shorts before running out of the house and into the township.

Ace is standing outside of the Smog Cutter. You hadn’t lied when you said it was closed and abandoned. The paint that used to decorate the front of the building had long since peeled off, and you could barely read the name of the place.

‘So that’s where you live?’ Ace said, looking at where you’d come from.

You’re out of breath when you reach him, but you stand up straight with your hands on your hips.

‘Well yeah. It’s the Vice-Admirals house aswell.’

‘They do live well, don’t they?’ He scoffed. You give him a sideways look as you both walk into the empty tavern.

‘Did you just call me out here to make comments on my lifestyle or what?’

‘…I missed you.’ His smile stretched and you’re met with piercing blue eyes looking straight at yours. ‘And I wanted to talk to you.’

You freeze for a second before giving him a “are you fucking serious” look.

‘Why would you “miss me”?’ You ask, sitting on one of the counter stools.

‘Because you’re special. You could’ve turned me in at any point, but you didn’t. You’ve talked to me. And the second time we met, you drank with me and made me laugh. And we’ll forget about the 3rd because that was a little messy, but besides the point. But the point is you’re special and i can’t get you out of my head.’

You listen to him closely, finally breaking a soft laugh at the end.

‘Careful, Fire Fist. You’re making it sound like you’re in love with me.’ He blushes and looks away, and you realise at that moment what he’s trying to say. ‘Oh. Oh.’

‘What on earth do you mean “Oh”?! I just poured my heart out to you and your reply is “Oh”?’

‘It’s an “Oh”, as in “Oh. The Vice-Admiral's daughter was correct in thinking that Portgas D. Ace did in fact want to take advantage of a 17 year old girl that night.’

‘Well, duh. But that only because you said-‘

‘Oh just the fuck up.’ You grinned, grabbing his chin and pressing your lips together chastely.

It takes Ace a minute to register before he relaxes into the kiss, being quick to add more fervour. You wrap your arms around his neck and he steps off his own seat and stands between your legs. He wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he continues to return your kiss passionately.

‘This is stupid.’ He whispers, trying to pull back from the kiss slightly. ‘We should stop. You have no idea how much trouble you’ll get in if we’re caught.’ He smirks, knowing he’s about to get a reaction.

‘Oh. But my warnings for the past 3 years have been ignored? Seems a little unfair.’ He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

‘Fine. But I’m being serious. This is dangerous. What happens if your dad finds out?’

‘He just won’t find out.’ You’re quick to reply, and even quicker to lean back into the rejoicing your mouths. Ace grins, pulling you impossibly closer. You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. 3 years seems long enough for a starved man. He sighs into your mouth, pulling back to see your slightly dishevelled look.

‘You look so beautiful right now.’

You smile, lightly nipping at his jawline.

‘I want you so bad, Portgas D. Ace.’

He brings a hand to the back of your head, guiding your face back up to meet his lips. He bites down on your bottom lip, inciting a moan from you.

‘That’s not helping. I’m gonna go crazy if we keep doing this.’ He groaned, leaning over you so your back was pressed against the counter, one hand holding him up. ‘But god, do I love you so much. I’m gonna marry you someday.’

‘A bold statement.’ You whisper as he begins to explore your neck and collar. ‘Especially to make to the Vice-Admiral’s daughter.’

He grins and nods.

‘Well, you know me, princess. I like to take risks.’ He winks, coming back up to capture your lips once again. Sweet noises drip from your mouth and they all go to Ace’s dick as he slowly grinds his hips against yours. His free hand moves from your hip down to your ass, grabbing at the clothed muscle. Your own hands run up his forearms, then down his torso til they’re resting just above the waistband of his shorts. Teasingly, you grab his belt, holding him like he isn’t as close as possible.

‘Cheeky.’ He hisses, littering kisses over your shoulders. ‘Don’t make me fuck you in an abandoned bar.’

‘It’d be awfully fitting though, wouldn’t it?’ For once, it’s your voice that drops to a seductive tone. Ace groans lustfully, pressing his forehead against your skin. You bring your hand up to pull on the hair on the back of his neck. ‘Come on, Ace. Please fuck me in the bar.’

He feels himself fold right there and then. All sense of dignity fell out of him faster than he dropped to his knees for you.

‘You’re gonna be the death of me.’ He sighed, kissing your stomach. Wanted hands followed slowly after him, tracing the bumps of your spine. He kissed each of your thighs, biting lightly then smoothing the wound, littering your skin in love bites.

Your back’s digging into the counter as he decorated your body, even with your arms keeping you stable. Calloused fingertips trace your inner thighs, parting them slightly. Black eyes meet yours, the pirate leaning back to look at you.

‘You’re so hot from down here.’ He coos, resting his chin on your stomach.

‘I could say the same about you.’ Your hand finds its way to his face, caressing his cheek. ‘You look good on your knees.’

A fire lights in him, hotter than the one already there. You’re so unbelievably attractive, and he can’t even begin to process how he’d come to be blessed enough to get you.

Your thighs are once again littered in kisses, marks all along your inner skin. Your lips are slightly parted as he gets closer to your core. The only thing obstructing him is your thin pajama shorts. Your eyes met again and neither of you need to speak to know what he’s asking. You nod, holding your breath as your soft, pink folds are exposed. The hand on his cheek moves to his hair, running your fingers through his soft black strands. His eyes don’t leave yours as he takes the final step, his tongue flicking out to taste you for the first time. You gasp, mouth open and your head back. Ace smirks, lapping at your folds, then slipped a finger inside you, watching your wetness already coat his digit.

‘Ah fuck.’ You moan lowly, harshly massaging your breast through your top while the other tugs at his hair. A groan from Ace sends vibrations to your clit, stimulating your core. He smirks against your cunt as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, finding your sweet spot. You’re a whimpering mess in a matter of minutes, and you can feel your legs threatening to buckle beneath you. As if he can tell, Ace adds another finger, stretching you more as he thrusts increasingly deeper and eats you out.

‘A-Ace.’ You cry, tears threatening to spill. ‘I’m gonna cum.’

You’re holding his hair so tight you’re sure you’d have pulled some out by now, but it’s the last of your worries. His grin grows wider, feeling you pulsating around his fingers increasing his own arousal.

‘Cum for me, baby.’

Euphoria washes over you by his command, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back.

Touching yourself for the past 3 years had surficed, but this was by far the most intense orgasm you’d spent in your entire life, and all it took was Ace’s mouth and fingers.

Ace continued to lap at your folds, tasting and milking you through while you shake and shudder in pleasure.

‘Are you alright?’ You nod slowly, taking a moment to look down at him while you struggle to stay up. He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at you. ‘Quite the climax, aye?’

‘Shut up.’ You pant, pulling him up to his feet so you can kiss him again. You cringe slightly at the taste of yourself on his lips, but it’s so hot that you ignore it. As you’re making out, you run your hand down his torso, letting your fingers drag over his abs, then past his belt til you’re delicately palming his erect cock. He groans into your kiss, his body already trembling slightly from both your touch, and the adrenaline.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ He whispered, holding your wrist. You’re quick to shake your head, pulling away. His hair is messier than usual, and he looks absolutely divine like this.

‘That wouldn’t be fair.’ You pouted, putting on a sad girl act. You hold his shoulder and turn you both around so it’s now his back pressed against the counter. ‘Plus, you mustn’t think I love you enough if you think I’m going to wait another 4 months to give you head.’

His gaze is one of surprise, but then a soft smile emerges.

‘You think I’m gonna disappear again?’

Your foreheads are pressed together, and you slowly begin to stroke his dick, watching his breathing change.

‘Please don’t lie to me and say you won’t.’

He laughs lowly, hands finding your hips.

‘I promise I won’t leave. Not now that I have you. Do you trust me?’

‘No.’ Your reply is plain and harsh, but yours holds more truth than his. ‘You’re a pirate, Ace. You’ll need to leave whether you want to or not.’

He shrugs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and holding your gaze.

‘True. But I meant more in the long run. I’m not going to leave you if you’ll be mine.’ He feels your smile against his lips, and it makes his heart flutter. You peck then quickly before lowering yourself to his knees.

‘I’ve been yours since Day 1, Fire Fist Ace.’

A shallow gasp escapes as Ace’s breath hitches, focused on your movements as you undress him. You’re working slowly, teasing him as you pull him free of his shorts. His hands slide round your face to your scalp, holding your hair back in a makeshift ponytail. A hum escapes at the slight tug. Eyes lock as your tongue pokes out in kitten licks against his tip. His reactions makes your insides giggle. His eyes roll back and his hands shake, hips leaning forward at your subtle touch.

‘You’re so sensitive, baby.’ You tease, peppering kisses down the length of his shaft. He just groans as you moan, your hand wrapped around him to pump rhythmically.

‘That’s because-‘ He’s cut off temporarily by a squeeze to his base and your lips pressed to his tip.

‘Because what-‘ You whisper, finally letting his cock slide into your mouth.

He shakes his head quickly, taking a deep breath to try to steady himself.

‘Because I’ve been avoiding other women since I saw you.’ A moan fills the bar, his dick plummeting deep into your throat. Your face lights up and you feel your heart melting at his confession. With an internal smile. you quicken your pace, stroking where your mouth can’t reach. Your other hand rests on his thigh, running your hands along the skin to keep him calm.

His fingers are digging into your scalp, holding your hair tightly as his hips involuntarily thrust forwards to meet your rhythm.

‘Oh fuck… I’m yours.’

You can hear your own muffled moans bouncing off the walls, and you should probably be concerned about who else can hear them. But that doesn’t matter when your boyfriend that you aren’t going to see for another long while is with you.

Ace’s breath becomes ragged, his other hand coming down to your cheek.

‘You feel so good, princess.’ He releases a long, low moan, his climax shuddering through his body. Your gag reflex kicks in as the fluid shoots down your throat, but you swallow it nonetheless. Common courtesy as he’d done the same for you. He’s shuddering in pleasure and relief while you milk him through, not releasing him until you’re sure he’s done.

You laugh quietly to yourself, pressing a few kisses to his thighs before standing and kissing him softly.

‘Are you still alive?’ You whisper, holding his waist. He gasps, heart racing and shaking, but nods.

‘Yeah… I’m alive.’

‘Good.’ You reply, pressing your foreheads together. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Maybe water in a minute.’ He laughs, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

‘Mkay.’ You hum. ‘You lie down in one of the booths and I’ll get you a drink of water, ok?’

A weak attempt of helping him to the seat is made before you’re running off to the abandoned kitchen to look for cups. Ace’s eyes follow you as you run, filled with love and gratitude. You’re back in only a matter of seconds, 2 glasses of cold water in hand. You help him drink some of his water before taking a sip of yours and laying beside him.

‘Better?’ You ask, watching his carefully while love clouds your vision.

‘Much.’ You nod slowly, lips pressed together in a line.

‘Can I hug you?’

Ace stares at you with a raised eyebrow.

‘We just gave each other head and now you’re asking if we can hug?’ It’s a dumb question, you knew. But you’d have much rather asked and he’d said no than just “attacking him” and it’s not being reciprocated. You shrug and he just laughs, opening his arms to welcome you into his embrace. A welcome you take very quickly. Your face is quickly buried in the crook of his neck, feeling his breath fan against your skin.

‘If I was to sleep, would you still be here when I woke up?’

There’s a long silence between you both, and it makes the last event feel like a fever dream. It’s a silence that answers your own question.

‘You should come with me. To sea, I mean.’

You sigh, holding him tighter like he’s about to escape.

‘I can’t, Ace. Not right now.’

He hugs you just as tightly, twirling your hair around.

‘I promise I’ll be back soon. Ok? And then someday, I’ll come back and I won’t leave you.’

You’re not quick to respond, but a simple nod seems to suffice.

‘Ace.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I love you.’ You whisper, feeling your eyes start to droop and sleep start to take over. ‘And I’m really glad you manned up and asked me to be yours.’

Ace smiles softly, pressing his lips against your forehead for a long second.

‘I’ll make sure I never stop reminding you.’

You’re unsurprised when you wake up in your room the next morning, no sign that you’d even left (mind the slightly open window). There was a tinge of sadness knowing it would be a long while before you saw the pirate again, but you smile, tracing the marks he’d left on your body. These were the marks of your first time.

taglist: @rotin0

© kodydrs

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform or media.

#kody​☆ #kodydrs #kody’s corner #ace one piece #one piece ace #one piece masterlist #one piece portgas d ace #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece #one peice #portgas ace smut #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #ace smut #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x y/n #portgas ace x y/n #portgas ace fluff #ace fluff

[metalhoops]

Steddie Week Day 4:

Familiar / Hurt/Comfort / Here Come the Tears by Judas Priest

Eddie and Steve had never been close before the world went to hell. They’d known of each other, as everyone knows everyone in small town, middle America. They’d gone to the same school, smoked behind the same abandoned buildings and knew all the best places to make the worst decisions, but they hadn’t done it together. They were disparate figures, drifting around each other’s edges. That all changed in 1986 when through fate or chance the two boys had been flung together. 

By the summer of 1988, they’d grown into and around each other like vines beneath forest foliage. They’d become inseparable, familiar. Steve showed up outside the garage at closing time, the Beamer tearing down the gravel path, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. When Robin and the kids weren’t around, Steve drove fast, throwing caution to the wind. No one else knew that about him. Eddie did. 

He didn’t know what to do with all of the pieces of Steve that were uniquely his. He felt the illogical urge to write them down, catalogue each one as though designing a character for a new campaign. He wanted a record of each minute detail of Steve. 

“Your yuppie boyfriend’s tearin’ up the drive again, Manson,” Eddie's boss, Frankie, hollered from his spot behind the service desk. 

In the year he’d worked at the garage, he’d never seen the guy move from behind his desk, yet his hands were always grease-stained. Eddie hated his boss, but the job paid well enough. He was saving up to high tail it out of Hawkins, where nicknames like ‘The Freak’, and Frankie’s newest addition ‘Manson’, as in that Manson, the one with the cult in the 60s, weren’t so widespread. 

“I was off twenty minutes ago, Frankenstein. You want him to stop kickin’ up dust you could just let me off on time,” Eddie grumbled, grabbing a spare rag and trying to scrub the worst of the grease and engine gunk from his hands and overalls.  

“You think that carburettor was going to replace itself? You wanna finish on time? Work faster,” Frankie noted, punctuating his point by kicking his feet across the desk. Charming. 

Eddie made his way to the car, drummed his knuckles against the passenger door and waited as Steve leaned over to push it open, his precious seats covered haphazardly with one of Eddie’s ruined bandannas. This was their habit, how the two worked. Steve was wearing sunglasses, which usually meant he was fighting off a migraine. They’d been more frequent in recent months. Eddie blamed the hot weather. 

“How was your day?” Steve asked, starting the car.

Eddie flopped into the passenger seat and groaned. He let his body lay slack and boneless as the leather seats cradled him and the cool air from the A.C. took his breath away.

“That good, huh?” 

“Everyone’s cars decided to break down on the hottest day of the year and Frankenstein’s still giving me shit about being a cult leader. I think the dude used to hold out hope for you since you were the town's golden boy, but now he thinks there’s some kind of Stepford wife thing going on.” 

Steve snorted as he turned onto the familiar street leading to The Harringtons’ house. 

“I saw Dustin today. The kid wanted me to remind you, you’re picking the twerps up on Monday,” Steve informed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The guy had no sense of rhythm, but Eddie never had the heart to tell him. 

“Remind me why you can’t,” Eddie muttered as Steve’s house came into view. 

“Because I work late and you get off by two.” 

“I thought you said my van was a ‘death trap’. I could always take your car,” Eddie proposed with a devilish smirk. 

That car was Steve’s baby. Not even he was allowed to drive it, save that one night in Indianapolis when Steve was drunk and Robin broke her wrist. They’d spent five hours together in the emergency room. It’d brought back all the wrong kind of memories for Steve and Eddie could tell. 

Steve and Eddie talked about everything except Eddie’s stay in hospital and defining the liminal space between platonic and romantic, their relationship had been drifting for the past six months.  

“In your dreams, Munson. You staying at mine tonight?” Steve asked, pulling up and walking around to open Eddie’s door for him. 

He always made excuses about Eddie getting engine oil all over the passenger door, but he thought Steve liked playing chivalrous in the same way he liked playing up his less-than-stellar reputation.  

Steve kept asking him to spend the night. Eddie had his own drawer in Steve’s room. He couldn’t help but feel like he was asking him to move in. Eddie kept turning him down, not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in Hawkins, even if it was with Steve. He’d tried to convince himself he’d be able to do it, so they could get out of their goddamn stalemate and get on with the rest of their lives. Yet, Hawkins had always been inhospitable for the likes of people like him and the person Steve was becoming.

“If you’re cookin,” Eddie agreed, unbuttoning his overalls.

By the time Steve found his keys, Eddie had managed to strip the sweat-slicked clothes from his body and dumped them unceremoniously on the front stoop. The good thing about rich people’s houses? No neighbours for miles. 

They followed the same old routines. Eddie made his way upstairs to shower while Steve started prepping for dinner. Once Eddie didn’t smell like the inside of a boys' locker room, he returned to find Steve spaced out in the kitchen. 

Eddie’s heart was a hummingbird in flight. Steve’s body was stock still, his eyes a thousand miles away. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathed, signalling his approach. 

He tried to focus on the kitchen. This wasn’t two years ago. Vecna was dead. 

He laced his fingers into the crook of Steve’s elbow and finally caught the boy’s attention, the pot on the stove having boiled dry. 

“Migraine?” Eddie asked as Steve’s eyes snapped shut, frown lines marring the landscape of his forehead. 

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed through gritted teeth as Eddie guided him to the couch, switching off the lights on the way.

“Looks like you’re going to have to put up with the Munson special then, eggs on toast,” He breathed, sitting down beside Steve and guiding his head into his lap. 

He’d sat through a couple of Steve’s migraines. Sometimes they were fast and painless as a sun shower, other times he’d spend hours disorientated and puking up his guts. There wasn’t much Eddie could do for him, but sit there and be with him for it. In sickness and in health, all that crap. Eddie wasn’t sure when he’d become close enough to Steve that he’d sit through anything with him, but he knew now he would. 

“Stevie, you know when I get outta this hellhole, I’m taking you with me, right?” Eddie breathed, feeling the sudden need for candour. 

Sometime in the space between getting to know Steve and getting to love Steve, they’d crossed the line from familiar to familial.

Steve’s face nudged against Eddie’s palm, his forehead beaded with sweat. 

“I’d like that,” he confirmed. 

“We’d have to take Robin with us, though,” Steve added after a beat, causing Eddie to let out a breathy chuckle and dip down to press their foreheads together.  

“Fine by me, long as you’re there.” 

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddieweek2023 #steddieweekprompts #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #ficlet #drabble #steddie ficlet #stranger things 4 #stranger things #I'm getting this one out right before bed #but I made it #Metalhoops writes

[rosepascal]

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Key

F - Fluff | A - Angst | S - Smut (Must be 18 or older to read/interact with)

oneshots

Trust Issues A F

how many times do i have to tell you you can trust me?

Long Long Night * S

"I'm not done with you." or big dick joel miller fucks you hard

NSFW Alphabet* S

Can't Break a Promise A F

of course the one patrol you're on without Joel is the one that lands you with a knife in your side.

Taken It Easy* S

“Don’t fucking stop, baby.” or you ride a cowboy (even if Joel says he ain't one)

Call My Name A F

Joel is bleeding out and he calls out for someone, but it's not you.

Put On a Brave Face A F

Joel Miller almost loses you the same way he lost his baby girl.

On His Time S

Joel isn't nice and to him you're just a willing cunt to fuck.

You Don't Belong A F

You really like Joel, more than you've ever liked someone before. But the most important person in his life absolutely hates your guts and you have no idea what to do.

I Have No Use For Rings Of Gold A F

The citizens of Jackson have already made their mind up about Joel Miller and the sins of his past. But you don't think the man who sits by the sheep can truly be that bad

A Wound That Never Heals A

For the last twenty years you believed your parents to be dead. But after stumbling upon Jackson with Joel and Ellie you come to discover that's not true at all.

Desire S

You need money and a offering your body for some mutual pleasure doesn't seem like a bad idea. If only you could know the man behind the wall who is set on ruining you for anyone else.

Crave S (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)

After the mysterious man you now know as Joel Miller leaves you his address and a message to find him, you do just that. How will the man who ruined you be in person?

Strangers ((NON CON/DUB CON WARNING (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)) S

an attractive man on a crowded train leads to an experience you've never thought you'd ever have

Venom A F

Joel says things he doesn't mean but he's might have pushed it too far this time.

Ups and Downs F

sat next to each other on a rollercoaster as strangers

Kiss and Tell ((Stepdad!Joel) (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)) S

Joel is your stepdad and your mom goes away for the weekend. Guess its back to normal for the two of you. Normal being fucking behind your mothers back.

beekeeping age F

Joel reads thirst tik tok comments

drabbles

my hero (pre!outbreak Joel) F

best medicine (pre!outbreak Joel) F

beating heart F

dance with me F

rained out F

bad first date F

nursing kink S

squirting S

Series

Joel Miller Rated XXX

A series of joel smut shots based on porn tropes

Say Something (complete) A F

Joel is overprotective to a fault and when he can't express how he feels you leave. But then he comes knocking on your door with a teenage girl and a plea for help. Is it too late to fix what you had before?

The Light Of All Lights (Teacher!Joel x Teacher!Reader) A F

Joel Miller is an AP English teacher on thin ice with administration and a past that has turned him into a cold, withdrawn man. You're the new English 1-2 teacher who didn't get off on the right foot with him. But being forced to work together could change things between the two of you as you learn more about him and about the school.

Bookstore Universe (Bookstore Owner!Joel x Single Mom!Reader)

Miller's Bookstore F

Who knew that taking your daughter to a story time at a local bookstore could lead to meeting its handsome and slightly intimidating owner.

oneshots

Bucket of Bolts F

The dad and the dog he didn't want but its Din Djarin and a BD unit.

Aliit ori’shya tal’din F

Aliit ori’shya tal’din: Family is more than blood

oneshots

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home F

20 years ago you left your home town to pursue your dreams. Now you're back after your grandmother's passing and you're reunited with your old bestfriend Frankie Morales.

drabbles

sub!frankie S

franking feeling insecure F

frankie going down on you S

Other Pedro Characters

Headcanons

pedro characters getting their dick sucked S

how I think different pedro characters would eat pussy S

pedro characters when you don't feel well

#joel miller #din djarin #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal

[wildemaven]

Your Plans & Slow Hands

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

WC: 1921

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Smut, Nipple play, orgasm through nipple stimulation, praise, arousal as lube, masterbastion (m), cum eating/sharing, mirror watching, Frankie can’t keep his hands to himself, established relationship/husband and wife, readernhas zero descriptive features

A/N: I had this random thot about Frankie’s hands… and here we are. This is part of the Weekend with Frankie universe, but can be read as a stand alone fic. Thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for looking over it for me and suggesting Frankie taking care of himself 🔥 Title is from this song

Weekends with Frankie / Playlist / Main Masterlist

It’s a heady sensation.

Visceral. Demanding. Gratifying. 

His touch. A grounding force that burns through you, igniting every nerve ending in its wake. 

Plaint and warm, your body blooming with a carnal appetency. 

He’s emboldened by every sound he plucks from you. Forever addicted to your willingness to take what he has to give you— always wanting more. 

Generous. Attentive. Steadfast. 

Earnestness bleeds into selfishness. The anticipation palpable, watching as you come apart in his arms, your pleasure is his forevermore. 

*

It’s intuitive, the way he’s drawn to you. Most mornings, taking advantage of what little time he has with you, before work is pulling you from his grasp. Then you’re reunited for the evening and he’s making up for lost time well into the next day. 

An endless cycle of being connected and reconnecting. 

When weekends come around, he’s selfish, knowing he has ample time to relish in the closeness. Met with endless opportunities to have you near as the hours of the day tick on, time he doesn’t take for granted. 

Today is no different. From the moment the car backs out of the driveway, beginning the several mile drive across town in the direction of Will’s home, he’s reaching for your hand. Palm to palm, fingers perfectly intertwined as your hands stay connected over the center console of his pickup. The afternoon sun streaming through the window, adding to the already budding warmth that’s building between you. The conversation is light, Frankie listening intently as you share details from your week, his thumb working over your knuckles as you move through your story. 

The remainder of the drive has a comfortable lull as the miles roll by. Music streaming through the cab, the lyrics provoking a wave of affection. Frankie’s lips find the top of your hand periodically, his gaze never breaking from the road ahead, your heart racing instantly at his instinctual gesture. 

The gathering of friends— barbecuing, music and laughter, doesn't deter him from keeping you within arms reach. 

Frankie’s hand settles on the small of your back, fingers lightly dragging back and forth over your tingling spine as you catch up with Benny, while Will tends to the food on the barbecue. 

The both of you listen to Benny explain some new strategies for his upcoming fight, complete with a live action demonstration of his “knockout” moves, before Will is calling for him to grab plates from inside. 

The minute you’re alone his hand is wandering south, grabbing at the meat of your ass and pulling you flush against him. It’s the first moment you’ve been alone since arriving and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to take advantage of it. 

You smile into his kiss, fingers toying with the buttons of his patterned shirt as he leans in close, his hushed words fanning across your ear. 

“You look so pretty in that dress. I can’t wait to get my hands on you later.” The husk in his voice nearly makes you melt into him. 

“Hmmm— your hands haven’t left me since we got here.” You muse. 

“I like having you close.” 

“I couldn’t tell.” You joke, before he’s silencing you with another less than chaste kiss. 

Dinner is served as the sun begins its descent. The air dropping a few degrees cooler, has goosebumps pricking at your skin. But it’s nothing compared to the shiver Frankie is causing you, his hand nestled between your legs under the table. 

You find it hard to focus on the conversation being volleyed across the table, dishes being passed around and laughter cutting through friendly an onslaught of fuck you’s. Frankie mindlessly massages your thigh, filling the guys in on some projects he started around the house, while your brain is muddled with thoughts of Frankie’s hands and only Frankie’s hands. 

You can’t be positive it’s a deliberate move— or is it? You’ve been with him long enough to know what a calculated man Frankie is. He leans forward to reach for the ketchup bottle, his other hand shifting further up your thighs, his demeanor is cool and even as his fingers brush over your clothed mound. You swallow a thick gasp as your hips cant forward on instinct chasing his retreating hand, your cunt aching and desperate for more.

The wink he shoots you as he settles back in his chair is all the evidence you need to know his plan worked. 

“Everything okay, Hermosa?” You want to kiss the devilish smirk right off of his handsome face. 

“Yeah— I’m fine.” Horny, but fine. 

“Are you sure about that? Your perked nipples tell a different story.” He quietly calls you out. You glance down to see the thin fabric of your summer dress and your lace bra are no match to conceal your hardened nipples— your body betraying you is nothing new. 

“We should head out soon.” You say softly, Frankie nods immediately, the silent agreement has you eager for what’s in store when you arrive home. 

The ongoing conversation among the others is now muted background noise as you stare into his needy eyes, your hand cupping the side of his face as your thumb traces over his plush lower lip. 

“We’re heading out. Thanks for having us. I’ll call you this week about getting together at our house next weekend— show you the new fire pit set up. ‘Night.” Frankie rushes through announcing your departure, his body crowding behind you as he  ushers you towards his truck. 

“You’re not even gonna stay and help clean up?” Benny pouts from his chair. 

“You’re a big boy Benjamin, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Frankie yells over his shoulder, the gate clicking shut signals that home and you are the only thing cares about for the remainder of the evening.

*

“Fuck Frankie!” Your mind slowly seeping into a deep pleasured state. 

There’s little recollection of leaving Will’s house and the drive home, other than Frankie’s unrelenting need to have you close at all times— no complaints from you whatsoever. 

Frankie's grip on your hand is firm and he all but drags you to the bedroom of your shared home, clothes stripped at the foot of your bed in a hasty fashion. 

The accumulation of Frankie’s fiery touches throughout the day were merely effortless foreplay, all considered and aiding in his profound efforts that have been unfolding since arriving home. 

“You look so good like this, Hermosa.” The low gravel of his voice is overwhelming, but laced with pure authenticity. You lift your head just enough as your eyes slowly flutter open, trying to catch a glimpse of what he sees in the full length mirror positioned on the wall across from where you both are in bed.

The sight has your cunt clenching, Frankie sitting up against the headboard holding your body close to his— your back firm and sticky against his chest, his feet hooked around your ankles to keep your legs from falling closed, his hands holding the weight of your breasts as he whispers the most beautiful obscene things into your ear. Your eyes catch his and a new wave of arousal trickles down to the bed sheets. 

Frankie’s thumbs swipe over your hard sensitive nipples, pulling a breathy gasp from your lips, your head falling back into his shoulder as you let the sensation fully consume you. 

“You like this don’t you?” You can only manage to hum in response, which encourages him to continue his work over the pebbled skin. 

Rolling. Pinching. Pulling. Flicking. 

Each caress sent an intense and deep feeling of bliss surging through you, building and building the structure for an elaborate release. 

“Do you think you can come like this? Cause I think you can. I think you’re almost there, just need a little more.” 

“Frankie! I-I don’t think I can. I need— oh fuck Frankie!” 

You’re cut off when you feel Frankie’s fingers faintly slide over your throbbing clit, but bypassing it completely. He swipes through your wet folds, and you think he might finally give in and plunge into your aching heat, but he surprises you by gathering up your arousal on his fingers then brings then returns his previous ministrations. 

His slick digits glide over each of your perked nipples, the wet strokes have your back arching as you moan into the room, your body tense and vibrating. 

“Frankie, please!” 

“I’ve got you— I’ve got you, Hermosa . You’re doing so good— just let go.” His hushed words paired with the way he rolls your stiff nubs between his fingers is just the push you needed, your climax vibrant and beautiful as it washes over you. 

Frankie watches you fall apart in the mirror. Your breathless state as he continues to clutch your breasts. The glimmering beads of sweat rolling down your throat and chest, joining the layer pooling between your bodies. It’s the view of your cunt that nearly takes him out, empty and pulsating, he’s never been so proud of a sight. 

“God, Frankie. That— that was amazing! I didn’t know I could even come that way.” You say, peeling your satiated body from Frankie. 

Turning to face him, you sit in the space between where his legs are sprawled open, your hands massaging at his calves. You take in how enticing he looks, laid back on the stack of pillows, a blissed out smile on his handsome face, as he slowly strokes his hardened cock. 

“Y-yeah— it was definitely amazing to watch. fuck! We’ll add that to our little bag of tricks.” His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, neck taut and nose flared as he tries to breathe through how good he’s making himself feel. “Why don’t you come on up here, we can try some of our other favorite tricks.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll stay put, I’m actually enjoying the view quite nicely from here. You look so good like this Frankie.” You watch him absorb your praise, allowing himself to take what he needs. 

Frankie’s fist pumps over his length ardently with his eyes locked on your still naked form, ragged breaths and eager moans. Seeing him so blissed out as he nears his finish has you falling a little more in love with him. 

“Shit! I’m— I’m gonna— Hnng!Fuuuck!” 

“Come Frankie.” You’ve shifted yourself a little closer to where he’s eagerly working himself over, encouraging him to let go. 

He does— white hot ropes of cum paint his stomach, his actions slowing as the last few drops spill over his hand. He breathes out a deep sigh, giving you a lopsided grin as his arms fall to his sides. 

“Fuck— what a night.” 

You draw your lower lip between your teeth, now hovering over where his now softening dick rests against his thigh. You don’t break eye contact as you lean down and lick at the sticky mess, purring with satisfaction as you swallow it. 

“What. A. Night.” You echo his words back to him, your lips move over his— he groans at the taste of himself still on your tongue. 

“Give me a minute— I just need to regroup and then I’ll be ready to go again.” 

“Whatever you say, my love. Or we can get cleaned up and go to bed, then you can wake me up in the morning for round two.” A yawn perfectly placed at the end of your suggestion. 

“Sounds like a plan. Sex, coffee, then more sex— a perfect Sunday to me. I love you.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”  

#Frankie morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #weekends with frankie #triple frontier #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #pedrostories

[absurdthirst]

Hey! I hope you’re having a nice day and don’t feel pressured to answer this, but how do you think the Pedro boys would react to having triplets? (I just learned im having two boys and one girl)

Heaven knows I’m already worried about mine with the casually offered reductions and all the talks about how difficult it’s going to be since it’s my first time. My heart goes out for the Pedro boys in less advanced universes knowing the complications that could come up.

Having Triplets:

Javier Peña: Gets drunk. Like - very drunk. Smokes an entire pack of cigarettes while he drinks. Worrying. Obsessing over the idea that he was already nervous to be responsible for one kid, but three???? He's never gonna sleep again. He's going to be grey by the time the kids are born, or bald from the stress. Once he's gotten over his hangover, he's asking questions. Demanding to know the risks and he has a fucking notebook full of questions for the doctors every time you go. Turns into the most solid father that you've ever seen.

Ezra: Speechless. For the first time since you have met the loquacious prospector, he is completely speechless. "I don't quite thing your suit's gonna be fitting you soon, little gem." His life has been one big adventure and he has just floated along. Now he will have to put that sharp mind to work to make sure that his little family has their feet firmly planted on a safe planet. Ezra will be planting roots - just don't ask him where he acquired the things he brings home for the babies.

Mando: Have you ever seen a wall of metal worry? That's what it would be like. This towering hunk of beskar would just lurk and be underfoot. Silently watching and you would wake up to any and all little luxuries that he could possibly get his hands on. The man would invest in a real bed for Maker's sake. He would even get a medical droid, putting aside his dislike for most tech to make sure you had the best help available.

Pero Tovar: Pero wonders why you are as big as a horse. (You hit him with a frying pan for saying that) When the midwife tells him that she feels more than one babe in your belly, he starts to worry. Childbirth in his days is not without risk and multiple babes are even riskier. He will start praying to God to allow the babes to born healthy and breaking his back even more to provide for the four of you.

Frankie Morales: His military training is the only goddamn thing keeping this man from having a panic attack, or a stroke. Definitely going to be getting high one last time before he flushes the coke down the toilet. If for nothing but to work out that fear without you knowing. To your face, Francisco Morales would be the most calm, rational man with dealing with the idea of triplets. He even trades in his beloved truck for a van - not a mini van, because those things drive like fucking ass - but a cargo van to haul the kids and all their shit around. He will be working himself into the ground to his get license re-instated so he can be earning more. He can't raise triplets on his retirement alone.

Agent Whiskey: In complete denial. Absolutely refuses to believe that you are having more than one baby. Like complete disassociates when it comes to that. Despite Ginger confirming it and everyone talking about the babies. He's convinced that everyone is pulling some elaborate trick on him. Right up until the moment he has baby number one in his arms and you start pushing again for the next one. Then shit gets real.

Dave York: Dave is another cool cucumber when it comes to dealing with the idea of triplets. He starts planning. Logistics is what matters. Paying for these kids. He will start taking more contracts and being away from home, but he always tries to make sure he's home for doctor's appointments. Surprisingly handy. Already put together the three cribs and started stocking up on diapers. He's changed his share before with Molly and Alice, but this time it's going to be interesting with three at the same time.

Oberyn Martell: Thrilled. He will be on the maester's ass to make sure that the births are smooth sailing for you. Multiple babies at once? He will enjoy running his hands over your swollen belly and making sure that the servants are nearby all the time so you do not have to do a thing. Spending hours with you in the water because it easy on your body with all three babies growing. Present for every moment from the moment your pains begin, until you are holding all three.

Max Phillips: Mixed feelings honestly. Three little baby biters? Pretty cool. Three sets of dirty diapers to change? Less so. Max is smarmy and cocky, but the cracks of that facade start to show when he realizes he's made three tiny little half vamp/half human beings that will need to be cared for. He might even put his little feud with Evan aside because the man has bigger fish to fry. But expect him to start offering you blood smoothies. You know, for protein.

Marcus Pike: The combination of stress and excitement inside him is like being pulled in two different directions at once. Immediately starts reading books on the subject of twins and making a detailed list of everything you need to buy. Will be making full use of his paternity leave to help you with the babies.

Marcus Moreno: It's a good goddamn thing he's a super hero. Marcus literally saves the world, so he is used to stress. There's a little bit of panic behind those rimmed Clark Kent glasses he has and he wonders if his powers was what caused this. He knew that copper IUD was a bad idea. He can only hope that Missy loves being a big sister, because she's gonna have 3 younger siblings.

Max Lord: Passes out. Literally the man faints at the news that he is going to be a father to triplets. The internal panicking that this man does rivals ten men. Nearly enough to do something stupid like wish he had the dream stone back, but not quite. You end up having to calm him down.

Zach Wellison: Gets a second job. Then a third. You practically don't see the man for nearly three weeks after being told that he's going to have triplets with you because he's working so damn much. Trying to make sure that he can buy everything you need and provide for the babies. Only starts to slow down when you remind him that you need him with you now. You don't want to do this alone. It takes him a minute to get that through his head, but he's pretty happy as soon as he gives himself a moment to be.

Dieter Bravo: FREAKS OUT. Like has a melt down as he denies it. Until he can see the ultrasound and has the three little nuggets pointed out to him. He's wide eyed and asking you if you want some of his drugs. You might need them more than him. When you decline, he takes all of them himself and starts to ask if you feel any different now. Playing with your stomach and talking to the babies as he lays out why is he upset. He's scared. Scared he's going to screw up and then it's three little people he's fucked up. Showing exactly why Dieter will end up being a good dad. Whacky as shit, but a good dad.

Javi Gutierrez: Obsessed with them. He has already been thrilled by your pregnancy and having a baby, but now that there will be three? Completely in love with the idea of built in best friends. The decorating of the nursery is now tripled and Javi just completely throws himself into it and treats you like a queen the entire time. Waits on you hand and foot and marvels over your changing body. Gets you one of those belly harnesses to make sure that you are as comfortable as you can be.

Tim Rockford: Have you ever seen the scene of a man pacing back and forth and running his hands through his hair? That's Tim. Like seriously concerned with how he is going to pay for three babies. On a detective's salary. There's going to be a lot of overtime in this man's future.

Joel Miller: What the hell can he do? Not like he can go back and unring that bell. He's panicking, his heart racing and his entire body feeling weak but he hides that from you. Does you no good and he won't have you worrying. He's fucking worried. Because this is a shit world you live in and there's a very real possibility that he will lose you and the babies. Rest assured that he will BURN THE WORLD DOWN to keep you and them safe.

🎉🎉Congratulation Anon!!! I hope that you have a smooth rest of your pregnancy and birth! Fingers crossed and good vibes being send your way!!!

#pedro pascal #the mandalorian #pero tovar #marcus moreno #agent whiskey #dieter bravo #ezra prospect #javier peña #dave york #oberyn martell #frankie morales #marcus pike #max phillips #javier gutierrez #tim rockford #joel miller #zach wellison #max lord #headcanons

[gatitties]

May you please write a Strawhat, Heart pirates and Kid pirates with an autistic and/or ADHD young reader ? Who have zero respect for adults and hates them unless they were cool/kind to them

─ Strawhats, Heart Pirates & Kid Pirates x reader

─ Summary: It's just you having your little autism/ADHD moment with this crews

─ Warnings: none

Part two

I don't know if I related the autism or ADHD aspects well, sorry about that :s and I don't know why whenever I write something about Kid pirates, reader tends to bite people jhadjhs omg it's a headcannon that I can't get out of my head sorry 😭🤚

─ You and Chopper are the spoiled and protected of the ship for being young.

─ Although they are more careful with you because well, you'll simply end up lost in some random place due to your attention deficit at the least convenient times.

─ It was hard for you to trust them at first but your weak point was Brook and Franky, they were the most outstanding and cool, of course Robin's kindness also captured your sensitive part.

─ They find it adorable how sometimes you just ramble out loud about everything you see in the place or think about something that catches your attention.

─ I can see how Zoro, Brook and Luffy think that you are just a little stupid and distracted (like their captain) and that the ones who really know about your ADHD are the rest, maybe Usopp thinks that you are also something wrong with directions just like Zoro.

─ Robin tries not to overload you with the tasks you have to do, she always gives you a hand if she sees that you are starting to dissociate more than normal.

─ Luffy will be the one to end your most hyperactive side, he will make you tired when playing with him, although he have to change games every so often because you'll simply get bored.

─ Franky or Usopp will make small de-stressing or sensitive objects to help you if you need them or make you feel better.

─ You don't know how you do it, but you always end up in all the villains' speeches, you try to listen to their story but you just get bored and end up ignoring them until the fight breaks out, you have the nerve to even sleep while someone tells how miserable their life was, but you know, you don't care for and dislike most adults.

─ But don't worry, you have a whole crew that covers your back while you sleep on these occasions.

"My parents were killed by pirates, my daughter, my wife… everything was destroyed by vile beings like you all, that's why I swore revenge for-"

The words of the angry person next to you went to the back of your mind, you let out a yawn even though your head continued to watch the surroundings as you fiddled with your hands, somewhat impatient for all the chatter to end.

You tried to stay focused on at least one thing, which was usually Usopp's nose, why? No idea, you just liked it because it was unusual, even though you don't think the crew you're with is normal.

You didn't even notice how a knife was thrown at you for simply not paying attention to your surroundings, Zoro's sword quickly deflected it as Nami pulled you closer to her, you looked at her silently asking if she needed anything, at this point you had forgotten that you were in the middle of starting a fight.

"Just stay by my side, okay?"

"Why- Oh, careful!"

Pulling out your own weapon you fended off an attack coming towards you, your mind coming to its senses as to the current situation, taking another approach, your hyperactive side taking over the rest of the battle where luckily you could focus on an enemy, although you had many weak points, Sanji took care to cover them so that you could concentrate on your fight without distractions that could injure you.

"Nice, you're giving them a beating!"

And in the middle of the battle Luffy took it upon himself to break all your concentration with his praise, which you loved to receive like a puppy hungry for acceptance, you turned around ignoring your opponent's attack, smiling at Luffy as you gave him some thumbs up.

"Luffy, this is not the time!"

Jinbe deflected the attack coming at you for paying attention to your captain instead of the fight you were fighting, again preventing you from getting hurt, though before you knew it the battle was already over and now everyone was just scolding Luffy while that Chopper checked if you had hurt without realizing it.

─ He took you as a patient to analyze for your unusual behavior.

─ Then he simply appreciated your skills without giving importance to your ADHD or signs of autism, at least it was something that made you look at him with different eyes, he didn't treat you as someone different just because of your small condition.

─ The relationship with them at the beginning was a complete tug of war of insults, absurd fights and a lot of disrespect towards them for the simple fact of being older than you, maybe the only one who was saved from all your crap was Bepo because an animal that speaks? It was the coolest thing you've seen so far in your short life.

─ After a while you started to get along better with everyone, Shachi's and Penguin's jokes started to make you laugh, Law easily earned your respect, Ikkaku was very nice to you as was Jean Bart when you joined permanently.

─ Although from time to time you mess with them as a joke, only small harmless fights.

─ Law takes care of your problem with attention deficit, giving you activities that keep your mind active efficiently, however Shachi and Penguin end up messing up your concentration somehow.

─ You usually help Ikkaku in the kitchen, although sometimes she's the one who has to help you because you try to do so many things at once (and end up not completing any) that you need her to organize the things you have to do.

─ Normally they have you in the rear when they fight, they are not risking your little habits hurting you, although Law is not one to confront someone directly, he is more cunning than that.

─ Of course, on many occasions you have broken that moment of secrecy that they need but they have never thrown it in your face, they know the consequences of your distractions but they will not leave you behind.

You were on an undercover mission with Jean Bart, both of you acting like family having a drink in a bar while what you really want is to listen to the conversation of a few pirates that Law wanted to steal a map from.

The others were also around controlling the rest of the crew and their movements, and you were really doing well, behaving like a minimally normal teenager without anything distracting you for more than a few seconds, you had been training your concentration but there are moments when those intrusive thoughts win.

Today and now seemed to be the right time for your impatience and impulsiveness to drive you enough to break the role you were playing, listening to the conversation of an adult who seemed to be an idiot, although everyone seemed so to your eyes, it was a breaking point.

"You're so damn annoying! Just tell me where you got that damn map you stole!"

You jumped out of your seat pointing your weapon at the man who nearly fell over in shock at your aggressiveness and spontaneity, and immediately everyone jumped into the fight aware that you had exposed your stealth strategy.

"You've lasted longer concentrated than last time, keep it up!"

"I don't need your stupid flattery!"

Ignoring the guy you were threatening Shachi distracted you, which led to Jean Bart stopping a small blade you didn't see directed at your abdomen, Law switched your location to his and did the job of the threat quickly with the help of his power.

"You have to control yourself more, we will not always be there to cover you."

You crossed your arms a little annoyed that they didn't let you finish the job they had given you, also blaming yourself internally for messing it up again, but Bepo took care to make you think of other things when he asked for your help to organize the new loot obtained, although it took the rest of the day because you just stood around taking a good look at all the cool stuff.

No one would blame you for your little outbursts or for your curious habits, that's how you were, that's how they accepted you and that's how they love you, after all, you were unique in your own way.

─ You probably looked like a wild animal to them the first time they saw you because you attacked them for trespassing on your property, more like the forest you lived in.

─ You were practically a wild and completely impulsive, simple-minded person who was raised by, in fact, animals.

─ Adults normally came to destroy the nature of your home, and you developed a certain hatred towards them. Kid noticed this when he found you again biting a villager who tried to hunt a rabbit that was originally your prey.

─ It was so hilarious that he thought you would be a good addition to the team, you were just as rude as them although he also noticed that you had concentration problems, he thought it wouldn't be a big problem.

─ Ah yes, the reliable old one, he just dragged you onto his ship and at first it was like you were an abused cat getting used to a new life where they didn't abuse it, lots of scratching, biting and hissing if any of them dared to get too close.

─ Once you gain confidence or at least, accept their presence without hating them, they will find your impulsiveness amusing when it comes to battles, they just sit and watch how you fight against five men much stronger than you, keeping them at bay because your lack of focusing on a single target makes you somehow attack everyone at once.

─ Although Killer always has an eye on you, you are too young to end up dead because of your impulsiveness.

─ They don't care about your strange nature, they simply interpret your autism as if it were the fault of your contempt for adults for being away from society for so long.

─ I can see that these idiots only increase your attention deficit instead of helping you, as if they had competitions to see who can distract you the most.

You were calmly observing some fish, everything was strangely calm, you frowned, touching the tips of your fingers to your thumb in succession as you turned around only to be greeted by a necklace that was swinging slowly between Wire's fingers, your attention being immediately stolen by some floating bolts because of Kid.

You shook your head back to your thoughts, you knew they were trying to have one of their silly competitions over who could get your attention the easiest and you were simply too proud to fall for their tricks again.

"Oh look, a sea king!"

You cursed yourself internally when you fell into the trap of one of the boys, getting your attention back to the immense sea in search of that creature, you returned the gaze with some insults that only made everyone laugh, they continued trying to steal your attention but you just focused on other things like the seagulls or the clouds.

Inevitably your brain shut down and got carried away when you saw a big blaze of fire as well as the slightly warmer environment, no matter how many times Heat did that trick, he would always gain your attention by spitting fire, making you forget everything and focus just in the fire.

"Looks like I won again."

"You're just cheating! If I had more metal I could do a lot better than your stupid little flame."

And then started a discussion between Kid and Heat about which of the two would be better, Wire sneaked up to you, you looked at him while you moved your arms impatiently as if you were waiting for something to happen, he knew that when you started to move so much something was irritating you and if he didn't you want to start a fight where you'll probably end up biting someone's ankles he decided to take you to the kitchen with Killer.

"Have they started fighting again?"

It didn't take a word from Wire for the blond to know why you were there, he just nodded and left you both, Killer always knew how to make your hyperactivity not hurt you too much as well as your impulses, he gave you self-control methods, although they didn't always turn out well.

"Killer, I think I want to stick a fork into someone."

"And why this time?"

"It's just… an impulse, can I do it?"

"No..." you opened your mouth to complain but he continued "not someone from the ship, we'll talk about it when we disembark on the next island."

"Yes, sir…"

Killer smiled vaguely as he saw how in a couple of seconds your attention simply went to the kitchen stools, you had been in the habit of placing them in a specific way because if it didn't bother you, at least he thought this helped you to forget your desire to stick a fork into someone.

#op #op x reader #reader is not specified so... #fem reader #male reader #gn reader #one piece #one piece x reader #strawhats x reader #heart pirates x reader #kid pirates x reader #Luffy #Zoro #Usopp #Nami #Chopper #Sanji #Franky #Brook #Jinbe #Robin #Kid #eustass kid #killer #wire #heat #law #shachi #penguin #ikkaku

[coolprettyleo]

the traffic lights didn't know - begin again au ☆

wc: 1.2k

tw: depression. heartbroken. lmk if theres more

hughes sister x ryan leonard

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

frankie hughes was in a weird place in her life.

she didnt have the feeling of dreading to go to hockey practice anymore, and call her crazy she missed that feeling. not the sport, she wanted the sport dead in a ditch for what it did to her, but she missed the feeling of hating something so much.

she thought about directing her anger towards drew. but she was way to heartbroken to do that. she wanted to erase all her thoughts of drew, but he invaded every inch of her; her heart, hips, body, and love. there wasn't anything he didnt touch or get too.

frankie was starting to get depressed because she felt like her days were on repeat. over and over again. the only light of her day was when she would see ryan, or whenever he texted her back, and depending your overall happiness on a boy was not in any way smart.

she felt like nothing in her life was okay and resorted to asking the traffic lights if it was all going to be okay. news flash! they didn't know.

at the moment though, she was dressing up for a lunch...meeting with ryan. she wanted to say date, but ryan wanted nothing to do with her romantically, till she was fully over drew.

she wasn't but she thought she was. which is why she had been feeling blue. its not like she still wanted drew though. she just felt embarrassed and insecure. and the fact the reason he didnt want her, was because she was dumb?

I mean frankie knew she was ditzy. her family has always said that her blonde was showing, whenever she was being slow. but thats just family teasing. hearing other people talk about how dumb you are makes you want to crumble and die.

she was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a buzz coming from her bed. it was her phone, which had a text from ryan, saying he was outside.

she quickly finished applying her lip combo and sprayed her favorite perfume, and rushed out. her favorite handbag of course coming in tow.

she loved when her and ryan, were able to hangout. he was always busy and his schedule was always jam-packed so days like these were the best because she finally got too go out and enjoy life.

she had been trying to enjoy it on her own though, she's resorted to taking the long way home from class.

"hi ry" frankie said as she got into his car.

"hey, why are you all dressed? you know were only going to chipotle"

"yes i know. i can read! i honestly just dressed to kill my time. a girl just cant get all cute for no reason?"

"no- I mean- you can. you look cute- i mean you look good." Ryan stumbled face red as he drove.

frankie loved how he'd get all flustered.

"you think I look cute" frankie said, she needed that compliment really bad.

"yeah, you always look cute" softly smiling as he looked over at her, at the red light.

this is why she loved to see ryan. he always put her in the best moods. he made her want to break through the windows she had boarded up and see the love the world was capable of giving. he had the goofiest, cutest smile and freckles that made her want to kiss everyone of them.

she hadn't realized they were starring at each other, till the car behind them honked and cut them out of their trance. both of them turning away with red faces.

"are gabe, will, and jacob coming today?" frankie asked as they pulled into the parking lot. she liked to hang around them, they were all so funny and in a way reminded her of her brothers.

"uhm no, I thought it could be just me and you today. if thats okay- I can call them to come. but lowkey will and gabe are busy with class, but I can make jacob, if that would make you feel bette-"

"ryan! im okay with just us two" she said laughing at his rambling.

"sorry" he cringed.

he opened the door for her, as they walked into chipotle.

and load and behold, drew was in there. laughing with aram in all his glory. she felt like she saw drew everywhere, and the only thing they shared was this damn campus.

she looked back at ryan with a glare.

"did you know?" frankie asked as he followed her sight too drew and aram.

"I swear I didn't. I wouldn't do that to you. we can go somewhere else" he said hoping he didn't just ruin all his chances with her.

as much as frankie wanted to run away and get drunk, she knew the morning would be right around the corner and it wasn't going to change anything. he still wouldn't be hers; not that she wanted him to be.

"no, its fine" she said still walking in. ryan following after her like a puppy. they both ordered and as she was paying she heard ryan dabbing them up.

"you guys wanna sit with us?" drew said motioning over to frankie. he honestly didnt think there was a problem within them.

"uhm-" ryan looked back at her.

"we already planned on going to the park" ryan said as he waved goodbye to them and met frankie whereas she had been filling her water cup, that was full of sprite. she refused to pay for a drink.

"where we sitting" she smiled at him.

"I actually thought we could go to centennial park" he said as he guided her out.

"what- I was fine with sitting in there" frankie said feeling her heart drop because maybe ryan was embarrassed to be seen with her in front of drew.

"drew asked me if we wanted to sit with him"

"oh."

"yeah, I didnt think you wanted too"

"I could of sucked it up"

"you dont have to though"

"no- I want too. I need you to know and see that im over him"

ryan sighed. he knew she wasn't, and he wanted believe her, but he knew her all too well.

"okay" ryan said to frankie.

"okay?" frankie asked confused.

"your over drew"

"I've been saying that"

"then go on a date with me?" ryan asked.

frankie hesiated. did she really want to start this relationship with ryan on a bad foot? it was all going to go bad if it was doomed from the start. she didnt have any romantic feelings left over for drew, but every time she saw him, she had to act like everything was okay; when it wasn't.

"see I knew it! theres my answer" ryan said pulling frankie out of her thoughts.

"ryan" she sighed. if the story was over why was she still writing pages?

"its okay frankie. i already told you i'd wait for you, however long it takes" ryan said looking at her seriously.

her heart fluttered at that, and she softly smiled at him.

"i won't make you wait long leonard" she said pholding out her pinky.

"and I'll hold you too that" he said locking it around hers.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

this idea came from @crazy4minty !! she ate with this lol. i had never made the connection... im seriously thinking about renaming the au to death by a thousand cuts. anyways I have a really bad fever right now, so im probably done with writing for today! <3

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #ryan leonard #gabe perreault #hockey fic #will smith hockey #bc hockey #frankie x ryan #quinn hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine

[undercoverpena]

x. make me yours

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings/love confessions. smut - p in v, mirror sex, praise (for both) worshipping frankie's cock. happy ending in more than one way.

word count: 4.6k

an: thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for being here every step of the way, holding my hand. to @secretelephanttattoo for the comfort over the last week since i finished and to you, amazing readers, for putting trust in me once again that i could write something. i was so nervous after late night texts i'd never deliver a thing you'd all love, but here we are. thank you.

There’s a calmness to an early morning—especially one where you feel his legs tangled with yours.

Your room splayed in the glow of a new day, it fluttering through the slit of the closed curtains. Just enough for you to know it’s morning, but not enough to convince you that you need to rise.

Especially when he’s beside you.

From the steady, faint way the tips of his fingers seem to trace up and down your arm, you can tell he’s been awake for a while. The world around all so silent, just his breath and yours—the soft thudding of heartbeats and the occasional moving of limbs brushing against your sheets.

It’s enough to soothe you back to slumber, faintly hearing him whisper I’ll be right back, just awake enough to mumble an okay as the mattress dips and your cocoon of warmth begins to cool without him.

All of it perfect, almost picturesque—doing all you cannot to ruin your own delusion or fantasy with thinking about last night.

When you finally move from your sheets, you listen for him. The heavier footsteps, the way he occasionally bumps into the corner of your counter—a thing he’s done ever since you moved here.

But, there’s none.

Not even as you layer on a jumper, or pull on some socks from your bedside drawer—nothing flooding the silence except the water down the drain as you brush your teeth, as you make eyes at the bleary eyes coming back to you in the mirror.

It’s only when you leave the haven of your room, do you see him walking back in through your front door, his keys joining yours in the bowl on your side table—jacket hung beside the other, hat thrown onto the sofa.

And it makes your heart squeeze, makes your chest tighten for a moment. Because this is what you want. This. Him. His things being all messily arranged around yours, your things moving for him. A morning like this, down to the sheepish smile he gives you.

Lifting the paper bag, he begins to grin—all soft, gentle—lines beginning to appear near his eyes as he does. “I got us breakfast.”

Biting your smile, you nod, moving from the doorway to the kitchen—helping. It being all you can focus on, breaking the things down into small tasks, because it’s that or fall apart. It’s that or spill to him a mess of words you’d rehearsed for last night.

Swallowing them, the two of you move instead. All in a fluid motion, grabbing plates, a mug for him and a glass for you. The scrunching of the paper bag is all that can be heard, not the clatter of your hand against the plate as it shakes or the way you keep swallowing back a lump. One which sounds awfully like I don’t want to lose you.

He must know—be able to tell. Always able to read you like you’re the most obvious flight plan laid out for him. Because he nudges you, just ever so slightly:

“We’re okay, alright?”

You’re not sure if it’s the years of being let down by others or the sheer weight of your feelings for him, or the odd combination of both, but it crashes together inside of you, dissolving the lump, making fresh tears rise to your eyes. One falling, unable to cling itself to your lashes—unable to hide it, disguise it, not quick enough in turning before he’s already seen it.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he whispers, all soothingly.

It’s similar in tone to the one he used in the Heli that one time. Close in relation to the voice he used sometimes when he had his hand between your thighs, pleading with you to give him another, because you can do it, hermosa, you can.

Covering your face with your hands, you bite down on your cheek—the tide of pain enough to halt the fallout of tears. The pitter-patter on your cheeks, fingers sliding them down, smoothing them out over your skin as you take a breath, remove your palms, lashes lifting.

His brows are pinched together, one thick line, surrounded by a few others—eyes wide, all brown, glistening in worry and concern.

“I don’t want breakfast.”

Blinking, his eyes move around the room, before landing back on you. “O-okay, that’s—that’s okay—”

“I want you.”

It isn’t anything you like you rehearsed.

Nothing close to the script practised in mirrors and as you chopped, prepared and cooked the dish last night. It’s more an array of balled-up words which hastily leave your lips—chest rising and falling, a pang in your chest.

“I want you—and admittedly I do actually really, really want breakfast. But I want… this, the whole thing, not just the food, the act. I want the morning we began having—I…”

Your voice trails off. Keenly aware that your body has begun to tremble, the enormity of it all rising inside of you like a snake—slithering, clotting, making it hard to breathe without focusing in on it coming up your throat.

“I’m not—this isn’t making much sense. I want mornings like this. I know you saw what I did—and I don’t know if you cleaned it up because you don’t feel the same and that’s your wonderful, gentle way of telling me. And, I’m not sure if you came to fetch me out of some guilt, just like I’m not even sure if you lay with me because you wanted to make sure I wasn’t sad…

“But, Frankie, I like you. I like the way you make me feel lighter and happier, that you don’t even pretend to have all the right words. I like that you show up, that you make me feel…”

His head tilts, eyes fixed on you—unwilling to move.

Captivated. Enchanted.

It makes your skin warm and the nerves seem to settle as you take a settling breath.

Swallowing, you smile. “I like the way you make me smile. That you make me feel good, incredible even. I like you, Frankie. You.”

You watch him roll his lips, gentle movements, brain likely whirring a mile a minute under his curls. Ones you want to run your fingers through—soothe him, comfort him.

But you remain where you’re stood. Feet planted, unwilling to move closer. Not prepared to bend and curl into him, even if everything in you is screaming too.

The fear of him rejecting you keeps you still, braced—waiting and watching, studying each micro-inflexion for an insight into whether sun or rain is going to come and land on your parade.

Then, he whispers your name.

It sounds so jagged—sharp in places it is usually soft. It hits your ears wrong, not matching the look on his face, as a hand reaches inside of your chest and squeezes, while other parts of your crumble.

“Do you… not want to be with me?”

You shouldn’t ask, but you have. It's more pitiful when you replay it back, worsened by the look he gives you. It’s one you assume he’d wear if you’d slapped him. Half-wounded, half-irritated. As though what you had just proposed was the most stupid thing you could ever say.

“Fuck, no. I just—”

“Just, what?”

His jaw slides from side to side, fingers picking at the bread he’d just gone out to fetch. “I just think…

“Think what?”

“That you deserve better, alright?”

Your face falls.

Inch by inch of it shifting, feeling it do so—as though a mist has washed down over you, clinging to your features, dragging them down. From your eyebrows to your upturned lips.

Slowly, you press your spine into the back of your kitchen counter, hand resting on the top of it, not moving, not circling the pattern or tapping against the side.

“Frankie…”

“No, listen. You deserve someone who has their shit together, someone who can take you out—spoil you—give you the life you want. I… I can’t do that. But someone else, someone like—“

“Like Will?”

His chin lifts, his eyes landing on you. Fear and panic eroding away the earlier irritation.

You’re breathing heavily, seething and panting. Adrenaline darts through you, making your back straighten and your fingers want to close into fists.

“Yeah, I know. Surprise, surprise, you don’t need to be military-trained to know that you’re being a dick to him because you’ve created a narrative in your head. Which, by the way, is all that is, because I don’t like Will like that. Never have. He’s… he’s not my type for one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I like you.” You chew your cheek, staring at him, sighing. “Frankie, I don’t deserve better.” Trying to blink away tears that begin to spring, feeling them practically stinging. “What is even better than you?”

He shoots you a look, lips rolling, before he pushes a heavy breath out through his nose.

You don’t care if it’s childish, you fold your arms. Anger suddenly crawls up your throat, wanting to throw whatever you can at him.

Narrowing your eyes, you drop your voice, “So, what? You’re good enough to be my best friend, to have a key to my house, to sleep with me—fucking regularly, by the way—but not to put a different label on it?”

He says your name, soft, barely in a breath. Eyes all dark, swarming with things you can’t begin to work out.

And it rises in you again. The feeling from last night.

The matted mess of emotions that rumbled out of you in floods of tears as your glare intensifies, your heart aching as you dig your stare into him with all you have.

“No, Frankie. No. You know I like you. I always have. It’s… it’s always been you. And, I think you know that, just like we both know this hasn’t just been fucking.” Straightening your spine, you take a more measured breath. “So, if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine—but I’d like you to go.”

The latter comes out more shaky—a crack in your resolve. Each syllable all practically broken by the time it hits the air, eyes unwavering in their stare at him, watching, studying. Easily able to spot the slight shift of his jaw, the tick of it to the side, and the way his throat bobs as he contemplates it—whatever he's fighting inside his head.

Then, he takes your hand and moves it from being around your other bicep, unfolding your crossed arms.

It’s simple to take your hand. Easy. A gesture he hopes says more than it does.

From your glare, he’s not sure it does.

So, he takes a moment. Weigh it up, tries to align up the words which will make the most sense, and have the most impact. Holding your fingers in his. Allowing himself to feel the little bones that make it up, the knuckles and the way your hand just instantly fits inside his own.

If anything, it’s only more evidence of how long this has been in front of his face. A thing he now can’t unsee or unnotice. Because with you it’s never forced, not the way he feels or the way you fit. A place there for you, growing as he did, especially made for you inside of him.

He beats for you.

A realisation he really only accepted last night when he stood in your home—the one littered with the little quirks he’s been around to witness take shape. Like your obsessions with fake hanging plants, because you can’t keep real ones alive; that you like black and white images over colour, because it doesn’t matter what colour the room is.

“I think…”

Your brows rise, pulling your eyes with it—making them wider, more like pools. There’s hesitance embroiled in the rest of you, appearing so close to unravelling that it hurts his heart.

But it’s your eyes he focuses on. He’s always found them beautiful, and expressive—a thing he could happily dive into and contently live inside of if allowed.

“I think we make new rules?”

His grip tightens on your hand, and he feels your fingers slide with ease between his. Letting yourself soften to him, come to him—like you always do.

It would be easy for someone else to admit it all, to tell you that he wants you, likes you, practically fucking needs you. That you’re important, the most important thing, if anything—that he couldn’t leave you, not ever.

It had already pricked at him before the of you began all of this. When the two of you were nothing more than just best friends. It being there, ready to pierce him when he leaves for work, when he says goodbye; when he’s in a different city reading your text messages.

The idea of leaving, leaving, would kill him. Would be worse than a bullet ripping through flesh or a knife plunging into muscle. It would ruin him, end him.

Because you’re the light that leads him back. The hands that somehow find all the pieces of him that have shifted from their places, able to solve him, complete the puzzle. You see him, bloom inside of him, force away the darkness and add little beams of sunshine when it had only ever been shadows.

“We can’t see other people—”

“Frankie—I already know this.”

He gives you a look, a pointed one. A give me a second kind of look, and you relent, mouth clamping shut, eyes narrowing a touch.

Tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. “And, one of the nights I’m back—we go out. Whether it’s for a drive, for dinner, for a movie, something—anything. I… I wanna take you out.”

Your face flickers, attempting to shift. “Okay… I think I can do that...”

Taking a half-step closer, he watches your other hand fall to your side, allowing him to slide his hand over your hip. “And, I want you to cook for me. Baby, I miss your cooking so fucking much. I miss the little smile you do when you see me take a second bite—I… I miss it.”

“You gonna turn up for it?”

Smirking, he pinches your side. “I deserved that.”

Nodding, you smirk, and he takes the opportunity to look at you—really look. The shine in your eyes having returned, the slight upturn of your lips.

Seemingly, and obviously, coming to the conclusion he’s offering—and he’s sure if he could tell you what he thinks, what he said to Will, it would shift into a grin.

Holding your hip, he takes another half-step, the gap gone, faded, vanished. “And, I’m going to buy you wine—because… well, hand it to you, I never actually stopped.”

“Wait. What? What do you mean?”

Letting his hand release yours, Frankie instead cups your cheek, thumb stroking against it in a soft line. “Couldn’t help it. Each time I went to the store, I ended up buying it anyway. I have been for months, since we first began our arrangement. It’s just…. stored away. My cupboards are full of it, my truck even—it felt wrong not to buy it for you.”

Glancing down at you, he quickly spots how your eyes have begun to fill, water filling at the bottom that he already feels is different from the way they had done earlier. The sun catching them, twinkling, practically shimmering with something he hopes is joy.

It’s why he reaches his finger to brush out over the corner of your growing smile, feeling it, basking in it.

Clearing your throat, you bite your lip before saying, “Can I stay at yours—'cause your bed is so much nicer than mine.”

Laughing, he feels a grin explode across his face. “Can stay over at mine whenever baby.”

“Because I’m yours?”

The question makes his throat tighten, just a touch before his body floods with warmth. “Because you’re mine.”

And fuck, the way you look at him as the words hit you, it’s like nothing he can ever explain. No words able to describe it, no phrasing that can properly explain it. It’s like a thousand things all flickering over your face.

It’s why he kisses you, needing to feel it, taste it. Finding you moving your fingers around his neck, nails scratching lightly at the base of his hair.

“I like our new rules,” you whisper, mouth hovering over his.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, twirling a curl around your finger before tugging ever so lightly.

“Yeah. I agree to all our new rules.”

As he smirks, you must want to feel it—because you press your lips back to his, deepening it, tongue sliding past his, licking behind his teeth as his body presses you more to the counter. So reminiscent of that first time—your words coming to him.

That is—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.

He groans against you, keeping you close, flush. “Fuck you must really like me, querida.”

Licking your lips, he hears you let out a soft breath. “I do, actually—in fact, I love you.” Lifting his brows, knowing they’re cutting into his forehead, likely all deep lines appearing as his eyes get even wider. “Have done for a stupidly long amount of time.”

“How long?”

Needing to hear it—needing it to coat him.

Shrugging, you smile, his hand rising, taking yours from around his neck and pressing it against his cheek. “Too long to not have said anything.”

“Me too.”

He wants to tell you it all. The speech that barely makes any sense. How his feelings for you are something akin to love at first sight, but not. Like an ache, a need. A purpose to make you smile, to make you happy—a thing he tried to do at all the chances he had.

And at some point, between then and now, he’d fallen, head over.

And fuck was he glad. More so as he has the opportunity to dance his breath along your lips, feeling the softest flicker of your hammering through his chest.

“Been crazy about you for ages,” he says, instead. “Made it easy to be too. Nothing about you has ever been difficult.”

“Not what I’ve heard you say in bed.”

Smirking, he purposefully slants his mouth over yours, wishing to paint your lips in the feelings that rage and flow throughout him. That he wants this, you, for the rest of his life.

“Thought I could never deserve you.”

“Fra—“

Your chastise is swallowed, muffled against his mouth as he silences you with his lips. Moving you, walking you—happy that you let him, as he twists his body, the two of you walk back to the room the two of you had woken up in. The one he wishes he gets to wake up in many more times.

“Tell me again.”

He knows he’s not specific, but he hopes you know. Not hiding the doubt he knows that usually strums inside of him, offering the chance for you to brush it away, remove it. Like you have done so many other times, but just never like this Your brain is cruel to you, Morales.

“I love you, Francisco.”

He kisses you, a groan vibrating against his lips as your body smothers his—all welcomed, a weight he’d missed.

“I love you so much, Frankie,” you whisper again, closer to his ear, his mouth on your neck, finding that spot.

Lifting the bottom of your jumper up, his thumb brushes over your soft stomach as he pulls it up off your body—unveiling you, smothering you in soft yellow as the sunlight tries to peek through your curtains.

“I love you, querida.”

He speaks it, then he burns those three words against you. Right under your ear as he casts your clothing to a corner, then against your pulse as he cups your breast, thumb brushing over the hardening peak as you whimper, before he does it a millimetre from your lips, watching you fix your gaze on him.

Your body is slowly smothered with his, letting himself feel you, all that he can. The few items the two of you are wearing are removed, falling in a littered pattern against the floor, until it’s just a skin-to-skin—the cool air pebbling both of your skin.

It’s your turn: say it again.

And he does. Not just with his lips, but with everything he has. Warming you, making you smile against his mouth as he slides his hand between your thighs, feeling it, how much you want him, how much you love him. Coating his fingers in it, that honeyed slick that he would feast on forever—almost tempted to drop to his knees and draw each letter of those three words against you.

“Wanna try something,” he whispers, instead.

Your eyes pinch, before smoothing out as he slides two fingers inside of you, easily up to the knuckle. Feeling enveloped, delving into silken warmth that welcomes him like you have done since the beginning.

“Wanna show you how pretty you are.”

His thumb catching your bundle of nerves, your pussy fluttering around his fingers—tightening, pulling him in. A gasp of his name leaving his mouth, already so wet, all beautiful, a sight to fucking behold as the tension fades and you relax around where he’s touching you.

“Can I?” he asks. “Show you?”

Yes.

I love you, he responds.

And you grind into him at the words, chasing a high from the fingers buried inside of you. He wants to say it more, let it be all he says to you today. Press it to every part of you, make sure you know only those words—

Your hand wraps around him, gripping him, thumb sliding over the head of his stiff, leaking cock as he grunts—and you grin. Twitching in your hand, mouth open as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Y’have the nicest cock, Frankie.”

“Fuck, baby.”

His eyes clench shut, your name falling from his mouth.

“Love how it feels inside of me.”

“Y’want it now, baby? Want my cock inside you?”

Please, you whimper. But, it’s only when you moan his name does he move, shifting you, removing his fingers from you, noting the whimper at the loss of him, as he guides your body in front of him, shifting until the two of you are standing in front of your mirror.

That mirror.

The one he’d thought of nothing else since you’d begun sending the photos, the phone call, the noises he was able to pull from you even miles away.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about your mirror, baby,” he whispers, nipping at your ear lobe. “Thought of taking you in front of it.”

Your head tilts, eyes meeting his, lust there—

And you sink to your knees without hesitation, staring up at him, waiting. That wave of whether he deserves you darting through him, but he stuffs it away, easily able to do when you offer your hand to him.

Following behind you, your back to his chest, a hand planted on your hip, the other guiding, leading the head of him in until you’re sliding yourself down on his cock. He buries himself inside of you, hissing as he does, as you take all of him, hearing the noticeable gasp as you do.

You’re so right, tight—so perfect. Moulded around him, adjusting, stretched just for him.

“So good for me.”

“I like it when you say that to me,” you whisper, eyes locking with his.

His fingers are on the base of your neck, staring at you in the mirror, letting his gaze wander up and down your naked frame. His hips slowly moving—cock sliding in and out. All slow, deliberate strokes that are so deep you whine in the base of your throat each time he leaves just the tip in.

“You look so beautiful taking me,” he hums, fingers flexing on your hip. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Me or—fuck, Frankie—my—“

He doesn’t let you finish, nipping your ear lobe. “You, querida. Always you.”

Your hand coming up around his neck, gripping, digging your nails into him as you move with him, hips slamming back into his—thrusts increasing, the noise the two of you are making together filling the air, a poignant reminder that it’s real, this, the two of you.

“I’m yours,” you croak.

Heat pools in his stomach, more so when he watches you in the mirror as your fingers slide between where the two of you are conjoined. Moaning, whimpering as your fingers move just above where his cock pistons in and out of you.

“All yours—always yours—“

Your walls tighten around him, fluttering, sucking him in and he wants nothing more than to fill you. Taking in each moan, noise, gasp you emit as your fingers begin to draw circles, his eyes focused on it, lasered in on your movements—knowing your eyes are on him.

“Gonna come, Frankie—so close—“

He’s tight, fingers grasping as his hips snap to yours, his mouth on the space between your neck and shoulder, licking, kissing, biting.

“Please, baby, please—“

“Let go for me, baby. Show me, let me have it.”

It’s heaven.

Getting to both feel it, watch you in awe of yourself as you do, while still getting to enjoy a view of you as your body tightens and then snaps. Your body arching into him, nails likely cutting into his skin, but he doesn’t care. Wants a bruise, and desires little half-moons scarred on his skin—evidence of the marks you constantly leave on the inside of him. The ones he welcomes, thankful for.

M’gonna come.

It leaves his mouth all foreign, your eyes opening, landing back on him—in awe, like he’s something you’ve fantasised about and found truly exists. And it’s all he needs, the look in your eyes, so close, impossibly so, flames dancing through him, all twisting, becoming an inferno.

“I love you, Frankie.”

His eyes lock with yours, your words hit his ears—and he comes hard. Shivering from it, shaking from it. Blissed out and fucked out as your name rips from his throat, painting the air in the same way he paints your walls.

Then he breathed, twitching, one last roll of his hips as he dragged your chin to face him, kissing you hungrily, desperately.

“I love you too,” he says, breathless, but very much fucking content.

At some point, you’re led back from the carpeted floor, back to the sheets you both woke in. His mouth sliding over your shoulder, fingers looped in yours.

The breakfast he had bought long since cold, but devoured, his hand on your knee as he grins at something you say, and you want to find your phone, open the camera and snap it.

It isn’t until the two of you are lay, silent, your hand inside his, head on his chest.

“When are you taking me on a date then?”

Hearing him snort, you look up, finding his eyes already on you, watching. “You free tonight?”

“I think I could move things around.”

And you smile, mirroring the one which slides across his—your heart thumping, all in a pattern it has been since the very beginning. I love you. I love you. I love you. Excited, thrumming with energy that slides against contentment, because—

“Really glad I’m yours, Frankie.”

Feeling his fingers fan out across your jaw and cheek, you let your eyes trace his smile.

“Glad you’re mine too, baby.”

Body curling into him, you let your fingers slide across his chest, you let the beat of his heart hammer against your wrist, smiling. Brain ticking, thinking, suddenly coming to a thought.

“Since Will knows. How long do you think it’ll take Benny to figure out we’re together?” you ask.

Staring off, you watch his eyes narrow as he begins to smirk. “Wanna see?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Time.

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will all have their own ways of helping you heal.

Pairing - Santiago Garcia, Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood, gunshots

Word Count - 4329

Author's Note - hi lovely people. i loved writing this one so much oh my :( those four boys in one movie together is a dream. and i don't know if you noticed, but i have a real soft spot for will. and yes, i did photoshop ben afflecks character out of that picture. more than happy to write for any of the triple frontier boys individually - just send me an ask! as always, lots of love x

my other triple frontier fics - Tethered, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

It’s been 6 days since you were shot.

6 days of blood, pain, sterility, stitches, hazy memories that float into your consciousness like smoke in the air.

You somehow remember it both clear as day and blurry as night.

The metallic taste of copper in your mouth, clear as day.

The searing, burning pain in your side, clear as day.

The panicked looks on the boys faces, the yelling, the frantic scrambling – clear as day.

The rest of it? Blurry as night.

You can’t remember getting home. One minute you were bleeding out on the ground in Colombia, and the next minute you’re back on US soil, lying in a bed in Houston Methodist Hospital.

You can’t remember your discharge. You fell asleep on those sterile, crinkly white sheets, and woke up in a soft bed, wrapped in a navy blue comforter that smells like Will.

All you’ve known for the last 6 days is sleep. That molten sleep that moves like molasses, warm and slow and sticky. The sun rises and sets, and you’re none the wiser. Floating aimlessly through unconsciousness, just you and your dreams.

Unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone for a minute since you got home. The boys have taken turns sitting by your bedside, heart rates rising whenever you stir. All of them silently processing what all of this means, for you and for them.

It was damn close. Too much blood. Pints after pints after pints of it. Pouring over Will’s hands, soaking into Benny’s jeans, slipping beneath Santiago’s boots, choking the air around Frankie where his forehead was pressed to yours, begging you to stay awake. All of them wondering the same thing – where has all of this come from? Surely one person can’t have so much blood in them. It can’t all be from her.

The Doctor said that you got lucky. Any more blood loss and you’d have lost your life too. Your surgeon said that you owed your life to whoever stopped the bleeding.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller. He’d shoved his hand straight into the wound, applying as much pressure as he could without breaking any ribs. It was the worst thing he’d ever seen, but he was in fight or flight mode. He knew it had to be fight. He hoped you were making the same choice as you were lying there, breath rattling in your chest like pennies in a tin can.

Some would call it a miracle. Divine intervention, perhaps. You shouldn’t have survived. Scientifically, statistically, you should have died right there on that floor, in a mission gone wrong. Tragic accident. Caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re half conscious in Will’s guest bedroom, enveloped by his scent. Warm, cozy, safe, and alive. You’re struggling to stay awake for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. It’s all catching up to you. You had to fight so hard to take each breath, that now you’re exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep can’t fix. No, it’s settled into your gut, wrapped it’s limbs around your bones. It keeps you weighed down and heavy, a reminder of the trauma. You’re alive, but you’re tired. So tired.

The boys are worried. Worried beyond belief. When the Doctor told them she was happy to discharge you, reality hit the four of them like a high-speed freight train. How do they navigate this? You can’t go home. You can’t be by yourself. They’re all back on Texan soil, which means work, and family, and bills to pay, and routines to carry out. How do they factor in the woman they call their best friend, who’s currently in the deepest sleep of her life with a healing bullet hole in her side?

“I’ll take her,” Will had said. “She can stay with me, in my guest room. You guys can come over whenever you want. I have the most space, anyway.”

That was true. Santiago and Benny live in apartments, bachelor pads really, and Frankie’s second bedroom is his daughter’s room. She was only with him on weekends, but she needed a place to sleep, so that was him out of the question. Having you stay with Will made the most sense. They all agreed to come and sit with you in shifts, so Will could go to the grocery store, or for a run, or to take a shower. The Doctor never actually said that you needed twenty four hour surveillance, but the boys thought it would be best. Just in case.

So that’s exactly what they did. You’re on bed rest, and they’re all happy to play nurse for a few hours during the day, and to leave you with Will during the night. He’s been sneaking in to sleep in the armchair next to your bed. His room, a mere ten feet away, feels too far. He wants to be able to hear if you need his help. Just in case.

None of the boys quite know how to treat you. They don’t want to act any differently around you, but it’s hard not to. They haven’t seen you like that before. You, a force to be reckoned with. The backbone of the group. You, with your sharp wit, quick humor, blinding smile. You, who always seems to be a step ahead of them. You, a pillar of strength, proving yourself just as capable in this world designed for men. Lying on the ground, painted crimson, you looked fragile. Small. Frail. You looked so… innocent. So afraid. That was the scariest part for all of them – seeing the fear in your eyes. They’ve never seen that before. They never want to again.

So, they all take their different approaches. They cope the best way that each of them knows how.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Frankie visits, he always brings a book.

Cracking open the door, he pops his head around the frame, smiling as he sees both you and Will asleep – him in the chair, you cozy in bed. He gently squeezes the blond man’s shoulder, whispering as he wakes.

“I got her for a while. You go do what you need to do.”

Will shoots him a grateful smile and stretches his arms above his head, before padding out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Frankie opens the curtains, letting the soft morning light fill the room. It illuminates your face, catches on the strands of your hair, making it glow. You look like an angel, in this orange haze. But Frankie already knew that.

Your eyes flutter open, and land straight on the broad man standing next to your bed, trusty cap sat atop his head. You smile, and his heart stops for a second. God, he’s missed that sight. All of the tension from the last week leaves his shoulders, and he sinks into the armchair next to you.

“Hi, Francisco,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse from minimal use.

“Hi, cariño,” he whispers back. “You doing okay?”

You nod, golden smile still etched on your face. The wound in your side is a dull ache, and the psychological pain keeps washing over you in spontaneous waves. But you’re okay.

“You here to babysit me?” you tease.

He smirks, which is all the answer you needed.

“You don’t need to. I’m okay, I swear,” you insist.

He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow, the corners of his lips still turning up slightly.

“Well, you’re my baby, and I’m sitting,” he winks. “Now that we’ve established that, what do you wanna do for the next few hours?”

His abysmal attempt at a joke makes you chuckle, which in turn makes you wince, pain shooting through your abdomen. He jumps out of his chair towards you, placing a hand on your cheek gently.

“Shit, querida. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Breathing deep and slow, you tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“Yes. For you to stop fussing. Sit down, Francisco. Your nervous energy is making me stressed.”

He exhales carefully, and presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am.”

He returns to his original place, and grabs a book from the nightstand.

“Have you read this already?” he asks, showing you the cover.

You shake your head, and he flips to the first page.

“It sounds good, actually. You comfy, cielito?”

You nod gently, holding his gaze. He flashes you one of his signature smiles – the rare, genuine, time stopping ones – and begins to read softly, in that dulcet, honeyed voice of his.

He reads to you for hours. You were only awake for 45 minutes, but he continued reading aloud anyway. Morning becomes afternoon, yellow sunlight beating through the open window. A gentle breeze blows the curtains and ruffles Frankie’s hair that is ever so slightly too long for his liking. He’d be perfectly content to read to you like this forever. He’s gotten so into the plot of the book that he doesn’t notice Will stood in the doorframe, watching with those careful eyes of his. They gleam blue in the sunlight, his golden hair glinting like citrine. He eventually catches Frankie’s eyes, and the older man makes his way over to the door, both boys talking in hushed whispers so as not to wake you.

“Has she been okay?” Will asks, eyes scanning your sleeping form.

“Perfectly fine. She was awake for about 45 minutes,” Frankie replies, pride evident in his tone.

“That’s the longest she’s been conscious since. Progress, huh?” Will smiles. Frankie can’t help but smile too. A week ago, they were huddled around your lifeless body, hands deep and bloody in your wound. Now, they’re watching you slumber peacefully, life returned to you like a gift from the universe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Benny visits, he brings comfort with him.

He uses his key to let himself into Will’s house quietly, aware that you’re most likely asleep. It’s been a week and a half since everything happened, and while you’re awake more and more each day, you’re also still on bed rest.

Creeping up the stairs and peeking his head around the door that’s ajar, he finds Will sat at the end of your bed. You’re awake, but barely. The light shines from the hallway into the bedroom, and illuminates your tear stained cheeks.

Will wipes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and moves to meet his brother. The older Miller pulls Benny into the hallway, shutting your door momentarily.

“She’s having a real bad day. The worst since she’s been home. The memories are flooding back man, they’re drowning her.”

All the colour is gone from Will’s face. He looks helpless. His brother hates it.

“I don’t know how to help her,” Will continues. “The tears won’t stop. It’s like every time she calms down, another nightmare takes her by surprise. I don’t know what to do, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”

Will’s voice is shaking, tears threatening to spill from those cerulean eyes. He has a hand fisted into the front of Benny’s shirt, as if he’s grounding himself. There’s something unsettling about seeing the calmest person in the room start panicking. Benny doesn’t like it.

“Hey, it’s okay. She’s gonna have bad days, that’s a given. Go get some fresh air, go for a drive or something. I’ve got her. I ain’t gonna leave her.”

Benny looks pointedly at his big brother, and inhales deeply. They exhale together, and Will wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

Benny nods. Will trusts him.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything and I will come straight back. I mean it, Ben. Anything.”

Benny pulls his brother into his chest, holding him for a moment. Will isn’t used to being the glue holding everything together, he thinks. It’s usually you.

Will pulls away and starts his journey down the stairs, momentarily pausing to watch Benny straighten his shoulders and clear his throat before opening your door carefully.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles.

You don’t feel gorgeous. No, you feel like you’ve shattered into a million pieces in William Miller’s guest bedroom. The weight of your trauma has come crashing down on top of you suddenly. It’s suffocating and it’s choking you and no matter how many times you inhale, your lungs won’t fill with air. Tears keep streaking down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stifle them. You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever – forced to carry around the weight of surviving something that you weren’t supposed to.

Benny’s never been any good with words. So he tells you what he needs to with his actions instead.

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it on the chair. Then, he unbuttons his jeans and slides them off his legs, tossing them sideways with haphazard aim. The last thing to go is his t shirt, which he shucks over his head with ease, landing somewhere with the rest of his clothes. He moves across the room towards you and pulls back the comforter. He strokes your cheek with his knuckles gently, looking at you carefully to gauge your reaction. When he’s satisfied, he climbs into bed behind you, pulling you mindfully to sit in between his legs, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls the comforter back up over the two of you, and uses his arms to cage you in to him, enveloping you in his warmth.

Benny’s always run hot. You joke that he’s like a walking space heater, a radiator if you ever need one. Right now, it’s like having your own ball of sunshine, warming you gently from the outside in. You feel the safest you have in two weeks.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. He pulls you in tighter, and nudges your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply – the first real breath you’ve been able to take all day. He smells like sunshine, and salt, and sandalwood, and safety. You relax into him and let all the tension leave your body. You let go of the flashbacks, and the fear, and the chaos, and surrender yourself to Benny.

He stays with you like that for three days. He doesn’t separate himself from you more than a few inches for 72 whole hours, keeping his arms wrapped around you from behind, as if holding you together. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, he takes you with him. You stay attached for three days, skin to skin, allowing his warmth to seep into your bones, to settle your nerves. You’re convinced that no medicine could heal you the way Benny is. Science doesn’t have a match for this. It never will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Santiago visits, he brings his guitar.

The first time he came to see you, right at the beginning, he sat with you for 20 minutes before he careened out of the room, gasping for air. The silence was strangling him, sending him into some sort of panic attack. Then, the guilt settled, and he felt like he’d betrayed you so badly that he couldn’t bring himself to go back in. He sat on the floor of the hallway with his back pressed against the door for 6 hours before Will returned home, concern coursing through his veins.

When Santiago explained what had happened, Will looked at him knowingly.

“You don’t have to be deathly silent, you know. You can watch some TV, turn the radio on. Frankie reads to her. Benny talks her ear off - doesn’t stop fucking rambling. I walked in the other day and he was explaining the current state of the NBA to her, team by team. She’ll sleep no matter what.”

Santiago nods, patting Will on the back lovingly before leaving, weighed down by shame.

The next time he visits, he brings his guitar.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s hoping you’ll be asleep. It’s easier to play for you if you aren’t looking at him like he hung the moon with those big, bright eyes of yours. But, lo and behold, he walks into the room you’ve made your own, and you’re wide awake.

“Hi, handsome,” you smile. “Where you been?”

“Oh, you know,” he smirks, “just caring for all the pretty girls that need my help.”

“And here I thought I was special,” you tease.

That smile of yours wraps itself around his heart, tangling in the core of him. You’ve always had that effect on the boys. One grin from you, and all of their problems melt away, even if just for a moment.

“You staying today, or you gonna run away again?”

You’re joking with him. Why are you trying to make him laugh? You should be upset, telling him that he’s a bad friend, that all of the other boys have sat with you for hours, so why can’t he?

But instead, you continue.

“I’m kidding, Santi. I get it, you know. I don’t think I’d be able to sit in a room with you lying there all half dead and helpless if the roles were reversed.”

You’re looking at him with so much understanding in your eyes that he has to choke down the tears that are trying to escape from him.

“It’s not that. It’s just – it’s my fault, bebita. You wouldn’t have even been in Colombia if it wasn’t for me. I’m the reason you got shot.”

He’s crying now – heavy, ugly sobs crawling their way from his chest, up to his throat. His knees give out, and he sits on the side of the bed, hands fisting in your comforter.

“Santi, baby. Hey. Look at me. Please, Pope.”

Your pleading gets his attention. He looks at you with those red rimmed, watery eyes, and your heart breaks so hard you swear you can hear it shatter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Santi. I followed you out there voluntarily. We all did. You know I’d follow you anywhere. I still would. It could have been any of us that got hurt. I’m glad it was me. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing any of you in a hospital bed. It’d break me.”

You’re crying now too, at the thought of one of the boys in your situation. The bullets, the blood, the makeshift bandages they shoved into your side, ripping their shirts and tearing apart anything they could find. You couldn’t have survived that, if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t have wanted to.

You press your forehead to his, hands tangling in the front of his shirt. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, needing you as close as possible.

You fall asleep like that, face pressed into him, his heartbeat in your ear. Santiago tucks you back into bed gently and takes his place in the armchair, settling down. Pulling his guitar out of the case, he tunes it slowly, meticulously, before beginning to strum the strings carefully. He picks at the strings, playing you tune after tune, only stopping to stretch his arms and crack his knuckles. He plays for you for hours, time slipping by him like sand through his palms. When you wake, you keep your eyes closed, savouring his presence for just a moment longer.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Will doesn’t visit.

He sticks steadily by your side, day in, day out. If Frankie visits for 6 hours, Will sits with you for the other 18. When Benny holds you for 3 days, Will gets anxious, popping his head around the doorframe every few hours, checking in just in case. Since everything happened, Will’s whole universe has revolved around you. Which, he’s realising, is the way it’s always been. His whole world has always been you. He’s just been forced to confront that truth now, and it’s scaring him.

He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he almost lost you. He’s never felt fear like that before. He’s had men press guns to his temple, shoot at him from mere feet away, fight him with their fists. That’s nothing, now. He’d take that any day over watching you lie there, drenched in crimson, dripping with pain. His hands, twisted into your side, wet and slipping, trying to quell the dam that’s broken inside of you. Your eyes, looking into his, terror grasping your whole body like a cold chill. When he falls asleep at night, all he can hear is the way you said his name, like it was the last thing tethering you to the Earth.

He makes a silent vow to himself. A promise - to never let you go again. To protect you forever, no matter what. All of this trauma has just made him love you more. He’s not sure what the future will look like, for him, or for you. But he knows that right now, you need him.

And so he pours all of his love into his actions. He makes you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sits with you as you eat slowly. He eats at your speed, too - always doing everything at your pace. He combs your hair every morning gently, brushes your teeth twice a day carefully. He tucks you in when you fall asleep, pulling the comforter around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as one of the other boys leaves, he takes their place, sitting in the armchair – making sure you’re never alone. Whenever you’re awake, he listens to you pointedly, nodding and smiling. When you have a bad day, he’s right there next to you, wiping the tears from your cheeks and murmuring reassurances gently.

He watches as slowly but surely, you come back to yourself. You’re awake more often, smiling more confidently, cracking jokes and asking for laughs. The two of you are chatting like you used to, about nothing and everything. And you watch as slowly but surely, he returns to Will. The frown lines in his forehead become less pronounced, the worry in his eyes fades slightly. The smiles he throws your way are bigger, more genuine. The scales balance out again.

You’ve been in bed for two weeks when you decide to ask him for a favor.

“Hey, Will?” you query, looking at the blond man who’s currently folding laundry on the dresser.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replies instantly, ready to give you anything you could possibly ask for.

“Can we go outside? I think I might go insane in this room real soon,” you smile, bright and bold.

He beams at you, relief washing over him like an ocean wave. You haven’t left your bed for a fortnight. He’s offered a couple of times, but you refused, scared to leave the comfort of the safe haven you’ve created. But you’re ready now.

“Of course we can. You want me to carry you?”

His tone is light, jesting, but you know he’s being serious. Neither of you are actually sure if you can walk all the way outside.

“I can walk if you carry me down the stairs? Not sure I’m quite ready for those yet.”

He grins at you, and your heart stops. That smile of his seeps into your pores, lifts you up, sends energy flowing through your veins. You’re alive, and you’re okay, and Will Miller is looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel invincible.

Admittedly, it does take you 20 minutes to get from your room to the back patio. Will throws a strong arm beneath yours, holding you up as you take the journey step by step. When you reach the stairs, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you carefully. Before he sets you back on your feet, he nudges his nose to yours, still grinning.

The sun soaks into your skin outside, gentle breeze rippling your t shirt that you’re now realising is Benny’s. The leaves rustle in the trees, and you inhale the world, as if seeing it again for the first time. Will sits right next to you on the bench, hand holding yours tightly, fingers interlaced as if he’s worried you’ll blow away.

You glance at Will’s watch and see that it’s only 1pm. You have so much time left. So many possibilities to be fulfilled, so many people to love, so many places to see. But for now, you press yourself into the blond man’s side, settling in. You fit perfectly. Almost as if this is where you belong.

“Can’t believe I almost died without telling you I love you,” you murmur. It’s quiet, but he hears you, loud and clear.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re here now. We have time. So much time.”

“Forever,” you whisper. “We have forever.”

He turns to look at you in the hues of the bright afternoon. His blond hair is glowing gold, and his blue eyes match the sky, hopeful and full of promise. His hands come up to cradle your face, and he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He moves in closer, and nudges his nose into yours. He breaks out into a grin, and you can’t help but join him. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours, soft and reassuring. You melt into him, running one hand into his hair, the other at the nape of his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, until every part of you is pressed together. The sun is still beaming, and the birds are chirping, and you have time.

“Forever,” he whispers into your mouth when he breaks the kiss.

“Forever,” you murmur back. “We have time.”

You have time.

You have time.

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[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 7) "in my side"

moodboard by @hellishjoel (ty, honey ♥)

pairing: frankie morales/oc!river price (they/them) rating: E (18+) chapter warnings: deadnaming, misgendering, seriously there's a whole character that just dismisses river's entire being so if that triggers you or you don't want to read it i completely understand, one (1) panic attack, one (1) depressive episode, frankie being the best boyfriend in the world, possible food triggers (river doesn't want to eat while depressed), discussions of past abusive behavior (gaslighting, belittling, etc), if i missed anything lmk! word count: 3.5k dividers by @saradika-graphics beta: @scenaaario

main masterlist | series masterlist

They had been at the mall for a couple of hours now, but Frankie didn’t mind. He enjoyed helping River pick out clothes, but he preferred when they went to thrift stores. Less people, fewer crowds. 

Plus, the thrift stores usually had something that he could fix up. He had been working with his hands a lot more lately in his free time. 

Now, he leaned against the dressing room outer wall, waiting for River to come out and show him a shirt they wanted to try on. Frankie smiled to himself as he thought about his partner. 

They’ve been official for six months now. It feels as fresh as when he first saw them at the Night Owl, and as comfortable as if they had been together for years.  They spend an equal amount of time at their respective apartments, and visit each other on their lunch breaks frequently. Frankie isn’t sure he has ever been so happy in a relationship as with River. In previous relationships, there was always an expectation of him. A role he had to play. With River, he can just be. They don’t expect anything of him. Except maybe his attention and love. 

And he had no problem giving them that.

“Frankie?” River laughed softly.

Frankie startled and turned his head toward his partner. “Sorry, Riv,” he smiled sheepishly. “Zoned out a little. Is that the shirt?”

River’s face softened at their boyfriend’s easy smile. The past six months had been some of the best in River’s life. They were so thankful for Frankie’s respect and patience.

“Yeah,” River nodded. “What d’you think?” They tugged on the long sleeves, pushing their thumb through the hole cut into the fabric. They twirled a little and did some silly, flirty poses for Frankie. He smirked, his eyes twinkling in interest as he shamelessly checked them out. 

“You’re insatiable,” River giggled, pushing Frankie’s shoulder playfully.

“Rachael?”

River froze, their entire body going cold in an instant. Their smile dropped and they shut their eyes, face pinched. They’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

“Riv? What’s going on?” Frankie stood, one large hand reaching out to cup their face. When River flinched slightly, his heart cracked, just a little. “Baby?”

“Rachael!” The voice chirped again, “It’s been so long! I didn’t think I’d see you here!”

Tears welled up in River’s eyes at the sound of the voice. Her voice. Why did she have to come back into River’s life now? Of all times?

Frankie felt unmoored, suddenly lost for a way to comfort River. He was interrupted by a short, very pretty woman appearing at River’s side and clutching their bicep. She was blonde, and had an almost ethereal beauty about her. Frankie’s brows furrowed and his chest puffed up a little, feeling possessive. Who was this touching his partner?

River opened their eyes slowly, and when they did, Frankie didn’t see his partner in them. His Río. They looked completely numb. “Hello, Evangeline,” River said in a flat tone Frankie didn’t recognize.

Evangeline? Frankie blinked, his left hand tightening around the handles of the bags he was carrying. 

Who was Rachael?

“It’s been such a long time,” Evangeline sighed wistfully. “What have you been up to?”

River hadn’t turned to look at Evangeline yet, staring at Frankie’s chest and tracing the pattern of the t-shirt he was wearing today; Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. They swallowed around a lump in their throat and let out a shaky breath. “Working,” they answered simply.

Evangeline ignored them and turned towards Frankie, startling like she just realized he was standing there. “Oh, I’m so sorry! How rude of me, I’m Evangeline.” She said her own name like she was someone to know, and held out her hand for Frankie to take. He looked at her face, then her hand, then River, and decided against it. “I’m sure she’s told you about me?”

“Frankie,” he said simply, voice low and eyes never leaving River’s face. He had to get them out of here. “And no. They haven’t,” Frankie bristled, dark eyes finally landing on Evangeline’s face and finding her staring at him, accusation hardening her features. She was judging him.

Well, the feeling was mutual.

“Riv?” He said softly. River blinked away tears as they looked up at him, avoiding his gaze. This was the smallest he’d ever seen them and he hated it. He didn’t know where his confident, loving River went, and had no idea how to get them back. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually go by that silly nickname still?” Evangeline giggled.

River winced and bit their lip. They turned and went back into the changing room without another word. When Frankie heard them sniffling, his entire body stiffened.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Frankie snapped, finally finding his voice, and crossed his arms. He stood a good foot taller than her, but that didn’t seem to bother the petite woman. It didn’t seem like much of anything did. “And why are you calling them Rachael?”

“That’s her name, obviously,” Evangeline rolled her eyes. “Her real one. We dated. For a long time.”

Frankie squinted his eyes. This must have been River’s last serious relationship. He had only heard of her in passing, and certainly never a name or how demeaning she was. Not that they ever needed to, now that they had him.

He ignored the name part on purpose.

“You must be her new plaything,” Evangeline sighed, like she felt sorry for him, as she pretended to check her manicure. “It won’t last long.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking for your opinion. You can leave now,” Frankie grumbled, taking a step closer to tower over her.

“I’m just trying to help,” she rolled her eyes again. “This is what she does. She’ll keep you around for a little while and when she gets bored, or finds someone new, she’ll leave.”

Frankie sighed angrily, the bile in his throat starting to sting. He set the bags of River’s purchases down on the floor next to the dressing room and quickly turned toward the checkout. Making a harassment complaint would probably get rid of her easily enough. He squeezed his fists tighter at his sides, heavy work boots thundering across the linoleum. Before he made it very far, he heard the sound of heels clacking and turned back toward the changing rooms.

Evangeline was gone.

Frankie sighed and made his way back to River. He stood in front of their changing room and knocked softly on the wall next to the curtain. “Río? Baby? Are you okay?”

River felt like they’d been kicked in the stomach. They could barely breathe or stand. They were hunched over on the bench in the changing room and hiding their face in their hands. They sniffled a few times before coughing, their hand pressed against their chest to try and breathe.

“I’m going to open the curtain, okay?” Frankie’s voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away. Light from the store poured into the small room, making them look up. Frankie was illuminated by the shitty fluorescent lighting, but it was one of the most beautiful things River had ever seen. “Mi amorcito,” he said softly, getting down on his knees in front of them. He cupped their face tenderly and rubbed their tears away with his thumbs. 

“Frankie,” River sniffled, face pinched in pain.

“Shh, c’mere,” he soothed, pulling them down onto the floor with him so he could hold them close. He rocked them in his arms and pet their hair comfortingly. “Do you wanna go home?”

River nodded against his skin, their face buried in his neck. He felt the collar of his shirt getting wetter by the minute, but he didn’t care at all.

“C’mon, baby.” He patted their arm gently, encouraging them to stand with him. He laced their fingers together as he grabbed their bags, and led River out of the mall.

It took a few days for River to explain just what happened at the mall. They’d asked Frankie for some space and while he really didn’t want to give it to them, he also respected their wishes too much to argue. 

When River texted a picture of Jonsey napping on their lap and their Baphomet slippered-feet in the background, he knew he had the greenlight to visit them. He was at work when he received the photo, and he knew River knew that, so he waited. He responded with his own picture of his greased up hand and forearm and the hangar he was currently working in. He spent the rest of his workday thinking up a plan for that evening. 

River hadn’t seen nor heard from Evangeline in a long time. At least seven years. Hearing her voice again brought River back to a place they hoped they’d never return to.

River’s therapist told them that Evangeline was gaslighting them. They’d heard the term used before, but didn’t fully understand what it meant until Dr. Owens explained it to them. Evangeline had been emotionally manipulative and abusive, and even got physical once or twice.

She never accepted River for who they were and did everything in her power to downplay River’s feelings. River still didn’t understand why.

Evangeline would tell River that all of their dysphoria was something else. Everything River felt or even thought was strange or abnormal. Evangeline was the only one in the relationship that was of sound mind. River was already in a vulnerable place when they met, and Evangeline knew just how to exploit that. 

There was a chance that Evangeline did actually love River. When they first met in their statistics class in college, their connection had been magnetic. They did a lot of the same sort of things that River and Frankie did now, but River could see now how different it was with Frankie. River was never scared that Frankie would judge or make fun of anything they said. With Evangeline it was like trying to cross a minefield. Whether it was a new band they found, or exploring feelings about their sexuality, River could never predict what would set Evangeline off.

The straw that broke the camel’s back for River came when they wanted to get top surgery. Evangeline blew up, throwing things around her apartment because she was “tired of the weird nonbinary bullshit”. She didn’t believe it existed, and was convinced River was just looking for attention.

River left, changed their number, and never looked back. The night Evangeline tried to get into their apartment in the wee hours, they had the locks changed, too. 

A soft mrrp beckoned River’s attention from the floor. Jonsey tilted his head to the side as he looked at them before jumping up onto the couch. He walked his way over to them and got comfy on their lap, kneading the skin of River’s tummy like dough. River smiled sadly and scritched his face lovingly. When Jonsey started purring, they knew they would be stuck there for a while. 

Looking through their phone at photos of Frankie, they felt awful. They hadn’t told Frankie any of this, hoping that they just didn’t ever have to think about her ever again. Frankie deserved to know, though, and they wanted to get it out in the open and out of the way.

When they received the photo from Frankie at work, their heart thundered in their chest. They really did love him. They just couldn’t voice it.

Yet.

The smell of River’s favorite takeout place filled the air in Frankie’s truck. His stomach roared to life at the smell of noodles and vegetables. Chicken for him, none for River. He looked in the backseat at the giant pillow/stuffed animal of a bat he found at the store. He hoped they’d like it.

He pulled into River’s apartment complex and parked outside their building. He took a deep breath in the silence of the cab, grabbing the food and the bat, and kicked the door shut with his boot. He held the pillow close as he knocked as softly as he could with his boot against the door.

All the tension in Frankie’s shoulders left as soon as he saw River’s tired face. It looked like they hadn’t slept in a while. Their hair was in a high messy bun, and they wore a pair of boxer briefs, an old faded t-shirt with the words Sisters of Mercy across the chest, and their Baphomet slippers.

“Hey, baby,” Frankie hummed softly, a hopeful smile gracing his features. “Got you something to eat in case you were hungry.”

River smiled sadly at the food. They hadn’t eaten in days, and they probably looked like it, too. The smell of the food hit their nose, making their stomach grumble in protest. Frankie chuckled softly at the sound.

“Figured.” He held out the bag toward them before doing the same with the stuffed animal.

“And who– who is this?” River had to clear their throat in the middle of speaking, realizing they hadn’t spoken in days either. They set the food down on the coffee table as Frankie shut the door behind him, looking over the large bat pillow with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you hate it?” Frankie asked, biting his lip. He usually got Marisol a stuffed animal whenever she was upset. He knew River wasn’t a toddler, but he also knew that they deserved something soft, too. “I saw it at the store, and…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

River hummed and hugged the pillow close. “I love her,” they smiled up at him.

“Her?” Frankie grinned.

“Her name is Agnes.”

Frankie snorted. “Alright. Agnes it is.” He stepped closer to them as they hugged Agnes and tucked a few stray hairs from their bun behind their ear. “How are you doing, mi río?” He asked softly, cupping their face and rubbing his thumb across their cheekbone.

River’s eyes grew a touch sadder at the question, but they smiled anyway. “A little better,” they answered honestly. “Missed you,” they mumbled, setting Agnes down on the couch so they could wrap their arms around Frankie’s middle. They held on tight, squeezing the air out of his lungs but it felt like the first time Frankie properly breathed in days. He held them just as tightly, before kissing the top of their head.

“Missed you too, baby,” he hummed. “Was worried about you.”

River frowned and squeezed him a little more. “‘M sorry for making you worry,” they said into his shirt, the smell of oil and metal wafting off of him. The scent grounded them.

“Shh, no need to apologize, okay?” He pulled back a little, keeping his arms around them, but looking into their eyes seriously. “I’m always gonna worry about you. Even if I know you’re okay. You know I care about you,” he smiled, brushing the knuckle of his index finger against their nose softly.

River’s heart melted at the gesture, their cheeks growing warm. They smiled and looked at the bottom of his neck, a particular freckle catching their eye. They leaned forward to press a soft kiss to it before resting their head on his chest. Frankie held them close and rocked them gently.

River’s stomach roared, causing them to freeze for a second. Frankie chuckled and kissed the top of their head again. “C’mon. Lets get some food in you, yeah?”

They ate in silence. And when it wasn’t silent, Frankie was talking about Marisol or work. River listened intently, the sound of their boyfriend’s voice soothing them. Frankie put down his spoon after he finished off his fried rice, and grabbed some chopsticks. River’s eyes were glued to the thick fingers of his right hand, pupils dilating. 

“Baby?” Frankie smiled softly, picking up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks and holding it above his plate. “Did I lose you?” He teased.

River jumped a little in their seat, their eyes snapping up to his face. “Hm? No,” they cleared their throat, picking up a piece of zucchini with their own chopsticks. They stared at the vegetable and bit their lip. They probably wouldn’t be able to finish the meal Frankie went through the trouble of getting for them. Their appetite seemed to have disappeared again.

Frankie raised a brow, face pinched in concern. “You don’t have to eat anymore right now. You ate most of your noodles, which I’m glad to see,” he said softly. “You can always finish it later.”

River nodded, feeling like they were on autopilot. “We were together for five years. I didn’t… I wasn’t… me, yet.”

Frankie froze, watching River’s face carefully. They were staring out into the middle distance, somewhere around Frankie’s shoulder. “Baby, we don’t have to–”

“Yes, we do,” River’s voice was scratchy, but firm. “I went to therapy after we– After I left her. She wouldn’t let me get top surgery.”

Frankie’s eyebrows furrowed and he set down his chopsticks, crossing his arms over his chest on the dining room table. The air in River’s apartment was still, the dim light from the kitchen making River’s dark features even darker. “‘Let’?” He asked quietly.

River nodded as they swallowed around a lump in their throat. “Yes. There were… rules. Well, unspoken ones. She never believed in, well… this,” they sighed, gesturing to their torso. “Still doesn’t, it seems.”

Frankie stayed quiet, letting them continue, despite wanting nothing more than to put his fist through the table in front of them.

“The… name she called me doesn’t apply to me anymore. My parents don’t even call me that anymore,” they whispered, a bitter laugh tacked on at the end. 

“Deadnaming,” Frankie mumbled softly.

“Yeah–” River looked up at him, a confused expression on their face. “You know what that is?”

Frankie smiled shyly, but sadly. “Y-yeah, uh,” he chuckled. “I’ve been doing some research. Only fair,” he shrugged easily.

Tears welled up in River’s eyes as they smiled, picking at the nail polish on their fingers. “You’re amazing,” they whispered.

Frankie blushed, but didn’t argue. This wasn’t about him right now. He rested an open hand on the table, inviting them to give him one of their own. When River gave him one of their hands, he held it firmly in his own, thumb rubbing against their knuckles protectively. “Go on,” he encouraged gently.

River sighed heavily and nodded. They talked for a long time. Explaining anything and everything about their relationship with Evangeline, who they were before, and what brought them to him now. Not much was different, just the fact that they were more secure in who they are now.

“Gotta be honest,” River said softly, voice a little hoarse from talking so much. “Was scared how you’d react to a lot of this. I’m not sure why,” they shrugged. They knew deep down that Frankie would never judge them, nor would he be scared. They’d been through too much together.

Frankie lifted their hand and kissed River’s knuckles tenderly. “I get it,” he nodded. “I felt the same way when I told you about the military. About Colombia. I wasn’t sure if you’d see me differently or not.”

River shook their head. “No. Love you too much for that,” they mumbled quietly.

A wide grin broke out onto Frankie’s face slowly, cheeks burning red. “Love you, too, Riv.”

River hummed happily, then froze. With wide eyes, they stared at Frankie for a minute. They pointed at themself, a silent question written all over their face.

Frankie laughed softly. “You did,” he grinned, standing slowly so he could be closer to them. He cupped their face in his big hands as he looked down at them in their seat. “Love you so much,” he whispered, kissing them properly, lips melding easily against theirs. 

River was completely lost in it, fingers tangled into the fabric of Frankie’s t-shirt tightly, like if they let go he’d disappear. They moaned softly into his mouth, a tear falling down their cheek. Frankie hummed in response, catching the tear on his thumb. He pulled away slightly to catch his breath and pressed his lips to their forehead. He kept them close like that for a little while, smelling the old dry shampoo stuck to River’s scalp.

“You should take a bath, baby,” Frankie said softly. River snorted into his shirt, face buried in his tummy.

“You saying I smell?”

When Frankie didn’t answer right away, River laughed, really laughed, for the first time since they were at the mall together. 

“I–I’m not!”

River rolled their eyes and smiled up at him, chin resting on his torso. “Wanna join me?”

Frankie raised a brow and smirked, but his face grew serious quickly. “Río, we don’t have to do anything like that–”

“I know,” River muttered. “I didn’t want to. Just wanted,” they bit their lip. “Just wanted to be with you.”

Frankie’s heart melted and he nodded, kissing the hook of River’s nose. “I think I can do that,” he winked.

River didn’t doubt that for a second.

a/n: if you're curious, this is agnes and river's slippers ♥

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales angst #frankie morales au #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #oaksfics

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: December 9

I'm doing my best to get through my massive reading list by the end of the year, so buckle up, fam, you're about to get served a buffet of fic. There's so many tasty morsels here, even Mama Flores has to appreciate this feast.

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation Fics!

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FRANKIE MORALES

Sheer Desire by @the-blind-assassin-12 Okay so imagine you're Frankie's +1 to a Millerboy wedding. And there's dancing and yearning and flirting involved. And the knowledge that after the reception, you're going to have him all to yourself. Now add in black thigh-high nylons. And the desire to see them in his hands. And his desire to have those lacy tops pressed against his ears.... IT'S HOT LIKE FIRE. DID YOU THINK IT WOULD NOT BE. GO GET IT.

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #2: Frankie Morales - Kiss in the Hammock by @something-tofightfor I mean, who doesn't want to be cuddled up in a hammock with Frankie? Who doesn't want those soft curls and soft lips and warm arms all pressed up against you?

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #12: Frankie Morales - Kiss in the Dark / Break Up Kiss by @something-tofightfor A little angst and a lot of love are on display here. Frankie's here to show his responsible and protective side, and while there's plenty of hurt, he does it oh so softly and I'm just glad we are left with hope.

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #14: Frankie Morales - “I miss you” Kiss / Angry Kiss by @something-tofightfor So remember that hope I just mentioned up there? Same pairing here, and the hope pays off. It's not without some real talk, but perhaps that's what makes the love even more deliciously sincere.

The day Frankie both loves and loathes the kitchen counter by @undercoverpena This is such a wonderful domestic Frankie POV piece. The way he wants to be better for reader, to provide more, to keep promises...the way he adores everything about her, including how she loves to bundle up in his clothes... Getting a peek inside a man who is sweet and loving and seeing the motivations there is such a treat. I really got swept up in this one.

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MARCUS PIKE

The Thing About Second Chances by @artemiseamoon 🪐 This is exquisite. The pain of walking away really hurt. But then, when they met again it is so masterfully done...there are all these little impulses of his, wanting to do everything for her that could easily be overbearing except that he's just so damn loveable and it's hard to watch two people who clearly live each other be denied. I'm not sure he can really change all that much, but I am really pulling for them. Sometimes a little time apart can really drive home how much you can miss someone. Beautiful.

The Moon in May - Full Moon by @hopeamarsu Alpha Marcus. and. sitting on lap. purring and. teasing and soft and spreading you open but requiring go slow. is a tasty treat. brain mush. purring chest at my back. yes please.

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JOEL MILLER

Something Wild and Unruly by @ezrasbirdie Okay, remember when I said that there was a fic that was so beautiful it made me want to quit writing? This is it, and I mean that as a high compliment. Like, I finished it and just put my head in my hands and stared out the window with a big smile on my face. It's outlaw!Joel and old west sex worker!reader with a heart of gold and a good attitude about what she does. It's got so so so much feels and yearning and softness and bathing and the ending is beautiful and full of hope...this fic is up all of my alleys and making all of my jams and is my entire life mood. It is my new official Fave Birdie Fic™️ and I need to sing that to the world.

Small Joys: Wheelbug by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 The whole point of Lyr's Small Joys series is just that--joys. So it seems antithetical for Ellie to have found a bug that's big and bitey and for Joel to freak out about and try to bat it away. But the joy part of it comes from reader's reaction--to the wonder at finding a wheelbug in nature where it wasn't expected--and Ellie's, who of course will always find wonder in something new. Simple and beautifully done.

Small Joys: Leaf Pile by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 Yes, the joy here is jumping in a leaf pile, but the joy I got from it was being able to hear Joel and Ellie perfectly in this. I also love the process Ellie gets to have in collecting the leaves and talking to a neighbor. It's really delightful.

The Sun Will Shine Again by @foli-vora I can't imagine dealing with crippling depression during the years after the outbreak, how hard and crippling it would be. And yet, I think I'd be able to manage if Joel was on my side, telling me he'd carry me as long as he could just to make sure I made it through. This is just such a beautiful piece. I want to curl up in it like a blanket.

Tangled Triumphs by @planet-marz1 I think my blood sugar levels hit an all-time high with this one and I ascended into the heavens. Joel learns to do Sarah's hair and it's so sweet and precious and I love them. Please read this. I need other people to share my squeals.

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JACK DANIELS

Cast Iron Sunshine part 1: Think I'll Call You Sunshine and part 2: Daisy by @blueeyesatnight Color me intrigued. We got ourselves a cocky cowboy in the wild west and a female doctor reader with some determination, sass, and willingness to sport a revolver, and I want more of that push and pull I'm sure is coming. The first meeting is just enough tingle to rub my hands together with glee. HE'S SUCH A SHIT. But then comes Daisy and she's here to lay some hearts open...

What Happens in Vegas.., ...Never Really Ends in Vegas, and Forever by @wildemaven A beautiful drabble trio that encompasses the realization that you've accidentally-in-Vegas married Jack, trying to quit him, and being unable to do so. Do yourself a favor, don't think about it too hard, and give into your cowboy.

Remember Me by @toomanystoriessolittletime This twisted my little heart and melted me in so many ways. When Jack is brought back and can't remember his girlfriend? Can I just cry a river? No worries though, the ending's a happy, hopeful one.

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DIETER BRAVO

Thought That I Was Dreaming by @haylzcyon Salty, spicy, and sweet all at once...this may just be my dream Dieter smut. I very much love a "did he really say???" but then the reason for her not asking was perfect. How does Haylz make the very filthiest filth the sweetest sweet?

Sleazy Santa by @morallyinept This what happens when Dieter's not an actor, just a tremendous sleezebag working as a mall Santa (he's respectful to the kids) and you can't stop wanting that scummy D and go bang dirty in the Grotto. There's candy cane action. It's real nasty. And written like a fkn gourmet meal. The sweatier Jett writes this slimeball, the more I want. I don't know how. It's like Christmas magic. Delicious.

Crawling Back to You by @prolix-yuy This fic is a feast and all of my favorite dishes are on the table. Monsterfkn. Demons. Blasphemy. Sexy contracts. Dieter being a menace. And softness????? This is smut and it is hot hot hot, but there's enough here that's sweetness and fondness that it's going straight to my forever faves list. HE RUINS HER SO NICELY. UGH!

Rendezvous in Reno by @theywhowriteandknowthings A Dieter with small-dick insecurities? Please and thank you, this is super cute. I'd love to get called out for describing his junk wrong in my fics and get a personal correction.

It's Never Over by @pennyserenade We don't get enough exes-to-friends fic around here, and this one is really nice. As much as I hope for them to connect again, I respect their love for each other and their need to just let themselves be special to each other. There were moments here that were bittersweet, but I really loved that about it.

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DIN DJARIN

Birfday--Din by @writeforfandoms Listen. Is it so wrong that I want to cook a nice breakyfast to show Din how much he's loved? Is that too much to ask? Thanks, Jen, for something soft and sweet.

Then We'll Find Out Together by @missredherring A lovely little drabble about settling down in a new home with Din, getting used to the slowness and softness and niceness of everything. And when reader can't sleep, the one thing that's familiar--Din himself--is what calms her down. A lovely little drabble that I would like to live in.

Bounty and Hunter by @never--doubt 🪐 A soulmate fic wherein soulmates can't hurt each other. How interesting then that one of you is being hunted...and makes quite a game out of it?

Significant by @softlyspector He's been calling you riduur for months and you still don't know what it means. Once you find out, that's when the fireworks start. I don't know that I've read dialogue for Din and his sweetheart that affected me the way the last two lines of this fic did...... *swoons*

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PERO TOVAR

Watercolor by @iamskyereads I mean, give a sellsword a bath and you may be in for trouble. But not this man. This man just needs a little care, and while he may not say much, he make good on all kindnesses. I would do anything to give this man a bath and have him speak kindly to me.

Date or Inseminate by @sirowsky Now listen. You're gonna have to read the warnings on this, because I for one get really squicked by dub-con mixed with medical malpractice. I didn't read the warnings and it came out of nowhere....but I'm telling you my eyebrows shot up and then I just giggled through the whole thing like WHAT IS HAPPENING. Sometimes fic is just there to be fun and slap you silly. IRL? No please. But this? Go in with the right mood and it's just strangely and shockingly delightful smut.

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

Formula 101: December to Remember Part 2: Take What Comes by @littlemisspascal There's a lot to love about Rae's F1 media fic. Even outside of the easter eggs in the worldbuilding and the lovely way Javi and Oddball's relationship develops, there are the delightful media interludes--emails, texts, instagram posts complete with character comments--that use pictures and dialogue to move the plot along in a unique way. I love how a short text chain not only sets up a later story locale, but illustrates a history and relationship between two characters so fluidly. Every chapter is a delight to see how the media enhances the storyline...a storyline that is moving in a very interesting direction...

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

BO KATAN KRYZE

Hiding Away from the Galaxy by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 I love a good reunion story. Here, you're an ex-Jedi who has a past with Bo and come to find her when all the wars are done. I'd agree that it's worth the wait when she takes you in her arms....

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MARC SPECTOR

My Knight in White by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 Jey's been doing a year of protectiveness, and you know I don't mind that AT ALL. I would love nothing more than to have Marc follow me home and protect me. And then, yeah, if he let me follow him home...and into his bedroom....I wouldn't complain..... *swoon*

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#triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike #tlou fanfic #joel miller #kingsman golden circle fanfic #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #star wars fanfic #bo katan kryze #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #The bubble fanfic #Dieter bravo #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #the great wall fanfic #pero tovar #tuwomt fanfic #javi gutierrez

[pedroscurls]

Always Here For You

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales and Reader (female, second person POV)  Summary: Frankie comforts you as you cope with your grief. Word Count: 1,193 Author's Note:  This is part of @pedrostories 1k celebration. Prompt quote is: “Alright baby, alright baby. Come on now.” and fanfic trope is Hurt/Comfort. I also just want to express my gratitude for allowing me to submit this even past the deadline. This was very cathartic and very close to home (with the recent loss I've experienced). I know I said I was taking a writing hiatus, but this was something that had been in the back of my mind for a little over a week now... Warning:  mentions of grief

Frankie knew that you were struggling with the recent loss of a loved one. The news came suddenly; you had gotten a call at four in the morning and when he heard the tone of your voice shift, he knew that something was wrong. He didn’t know how to comfort you, how to tell you that eventually, things will get better, because he didn’t know for sure. He had been more acquainted with loss and grief more than any person, but seeing you in this much pain… Frankie felt helpless. 

You barely ate. 

You barely slept. 

Every night, you cried into his arms. 

And every night, Frankie didn’t know what to do. He tried to make you smile, make you laugh, but nothing he did worked. He hated seeing you in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it. 

Grief was crippling, Frankie knew that. The fact that someone could be gone in a second and the world would continue on like nothing happened, it was frustrating. 

And you had always been so positive, always looking at the brighter side of things, even when it didn’t go your way. You were always a bright light in Frankie’s life, but the news of your loved one’s passing had dimmed that light. 

And tonight was no different. You were sitting on the couch in sweats and one of his hoodies that were obviously too big on you. The hood was over your head and you were mindlessly watching whatever was on the television. You hadn’t even turned your head to look in the direction of the front door opening. 

“Baby?” Frankie called out, removing his boots and his hat to set on the coffee table. 

You looked up at him and Frankie felt his heart break. Your eyes were red, puffy, and you were quietly sniffling. 

“Hey,” you whispered, stretching your arms out for him. Frankie bit the inside of his cheek before he sat next to you instead, pulling you onto his lap. His arms snaked around your waist as your arms moved to wrap around his shoulders. You buried your face against the side of his neck and felt tears building in your eyes once Frankie’s hand rubbed your back. 

“How was your day today, hermosa?” 

“Rough,” you whispered shakily. “I’m glad you’re home though.”

Frankie nodded and pressed a kiss to your temple. He continued to run his hand along your back in a comforting manner, which he found you leaning further into him. He could hear your quiet sniffling and could feel the tears begin to stain his shirt. 

“Did you eat today?”

You just shook your head.

“Baby,” Frankie said quietly. “How about I order us some pizza? We can have a movie night, eat some food, cuddle…”

“I’m not hungry,” you replied, but your stomach said otherwise. Both you and Frankie heard your stomach rumbling and you pulled back enough to look up at him with soft eyes, biting your lower lip. “Don’t listen to that.” 

“Sounds like you are, hermosa,” he said with a smile, gently poking your abdomen. “What about breadsticks?”

You shook your head. 

“French fries?” 

You didn’t respond, but instead just kept your eyes locked on his. 

“Oh, so French Fries might be something we can work with.” 

“And chicken nuggets?” you said with a hopeful tone. 

Frankie smiled, gently leaning in to peck your lips. “I’ll get you anything you want as long as you eat something, hermosa.” 

“Can I come with you?” you asked, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

Frankie’s eyes lit up. It had been a little over two weeks since you found out the news and since finding out, you didn’t want to leave the house, which Frankie understood. “You sure?” 

“As long as I’m with you, I’ll be okay.” 

Frankie smiled and moved a hand to cup your cheek, wiping away the fallen tears. He stared deeply into your eyes and leaned in to press a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. 

“You know I’m here for you, okay?” 

“I know,” you whispered shakily. “I know.”

“And no matter what, you don’t have to go through this alone, hermosa.” His thumb caressed your cheek and his eyes bore into your own. It was overwhelming, the amount of safety you felt just being in Frankie’s presence. 

“It’s just–” you whispered, tears beginning to pool around your eyes again. “I don’t know how to cope with this, or move on from this and I just–”

“The pain may never go away,” he said honestly. “And there’s no timeline for these things, so if you want to cry, you want to scream, you want to just let out your emotions, then do it, hermosa. I’m here” 

“But it just hurts so much and–” A breath caught in your throat and you brought a hand to wipe at your eyes, but Frankie moved both hands to cup your cheeks, wiping the tears from your cheeks. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay, hermosa.” 

You looked into his eyes, searching for comfort in the depths of his brown orbs and immediately felt yourself breaking down all over again. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders tightly, burying your face against his neck as you let out a quiet sob. 

“Alright baby, alright baby,” he whispered, holding you tightly against him as well. “Come on now,” Frankie said. 

Frankie could feel your body trembling against his own, his shirt beginning to get wet with the stain of your tears. Your sobs filtered the living room and Frankie shut his own eyes, hoping and wishing the pain away. 

“I’m here, baby,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”

You continued to cry against him, taking comfort in his strong arms wrapped around you. The pain of losing a loved one was nothing like you ever experienced before; it was debilitating, crippling, and every time you thought about what happened, your heart just broke all over again. 

But Frankie was always there to pick up the pieces. 

To hold you.

To whisper sweet reassurances in your ear.

Frankie was your home, your safe place, and you didn’t realize how badly you needed that right now. 

When you felt yourself slowly begin to calm down, you pulled away to bring the sleeves of the hoodie to wipe away at your eyes. You looked over at Frankie and noticed him staring right back at you with soft eyes. 

“I love you,” you whispered.

Frankie let a small smile line his lips. He leaned in and pecked your lips, pulling back enough to rest his forehead against yours. “And I love you, hermosa.” 

Just as Frankie was going to say something, your stomach growled once more. Louder than earlier and he saw a small smile line your lips. He felt his heart soar at the sight and when he heard you let out a quiet giggle, Frankie finally felt like things were going in the right direction. 

“So, fries and nuggets?” he teased.

“And a milkshake?” you asked.

Frankie smiled. “Anything you want, baby. Let’s go.”

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[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 14: Enjoy the Silence

Gif by @hunterschafer

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

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Chapter Summary: The final heat...

Word Count: 7k

Rating: R

Chapter Warnings: Cussing, violence. I will not be warning anything else due to spoiling the story. We are all grown. You can stop reading when you want to.

A/N: Has it really been a year? I wish I had a better excuse than "I haven't been doing great." But that's what it is. I've had huge changes in my life. New job, new career, new goals, and a greater sense of self-worth. I'm feeling a lot better. But my new schedule is busy! Hopefully you can forgive me for such a long cliffhanger.

Finally, a heads up. This has been the arc I have been working towards for almost two years, and I'm not going to waver. Just stick with me like you have been. It’ll be worth it.

I also did the absolute most and made a specific playlist just for this chapter here.

Forever thank you to everyone who commented, reblogged, shared, boosted, made content for, and supported me. It meant a lot and definitely kept this fic in the back of my mind. As always, most love to my girl @musings-of-a-rose who has tolerated me being a shitty friend for a whole ass year, and always talking things through with me in life and in this fic. Cheers.

Suggested Songs: Depeche Mode "Enjoy the Silence", Fitz and the Tantrums: "Out of My League", Lizzo "Truth Hurts", Michael Kiwanuka "Cold Little Heart", Cigarettes After Sex "Cry", Guster "Demons"

Frankie and you decided to break your apartment lease starting October 1st. Fall term started on the 30th of August, and you wanted time to settle into your schedule before planning a move. You spent almost all your time at his house anyway, only stopping back at your apartment for more clothes. Frankie had already given you a row of drawers to keep your things in.

You’d honestly never been happier, both on cloud 9 and it never faded, you were incredibly excited to begin this new start with Frankie and Gabi. It all seemed to have happened so fast. It had only been five months, you hadn’t even told your family about him yet, mostly to avoid comments on the age gap. 

You were relieved the hiccup in your relationship settled, you didn’t like feeling unsure or that someone resented you. When you started feeling secure again, you clung to it. That sparkle of joy was hard to keep in check.

You picked your Fall schedule out together and spent the remaining weeks of summer basking in your relationship, playing with Gabi, going out with the guys, and constant fucking. But your most favorite thing was still lying on the couch with Frankie, teasing each other and watching bad TV.

“This is simultaneously the best and worst movie I have ever seen in my life. I don’t understand how they achieved this.”

Frankie shrugs, reaching to your lap for the giant bowl of popcorn, his eyes still glazed to the TV where Mad Max: Fury Road is playing. “I dunno. Who cares? It’s cars and chaos!”

“And Tom Hardy. And Charlize Theron.”

He pinches you on the waist, acting threatened by your thirst just to tease you. “You ever been to a demo derby? This kind of reminds me of it.”

You sit up from where your back is resting against his chest. “Um, no? Isn’t that kind of…for rednecks?”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but Benny and Will are rednecks. But no, it’s for anyone who likes cars crashing into each other. There’s actually one at the fair every year. We always go to it. You should come.”

“I’m not going to a demo derby.”

“Aw come on! It’ll be fun! First time for Gabi too, and there’s rides and games and funnel cake and fried oreos—” He pauses as you hold your hand up to silence him.

“I’ll go. You had me at ‘funnel cake.’”

The fair is packed. The final hurrah of the summer before kids return to school and university students dive back into their studies. The derby started at 8 PM sharp, you, Dali, and the boys got there plenty early to look around a bit, get some food, and find seats.

You forgo any typical entree and go right for the funnel cake, heaping fruit and extra powdered sugar on it until the plate is a big mound of sweet. The guys had talked you up on this for days, Benny wouldn’t shut up about it, and you found yourself excited to watch. Your legs bounce impatiently as you scarf down your cake, breaking off pieces here and there to feed to Gabi and your boys.

The seats were bleachers, hard metal planks that hurt your butt and back and caught vibration from every footfall, but Pope sat behind you so you could lean back against his legs to be more comfortable. 

It’s a long wait. The bleachers eventually fill up, you certainly had the best seat in the house (thank you Will), and you could see the hoods up of participating cars behind the commentator podium. The air is musty, the odor of wet dirt from a quick August shower earlier that day.

When the first round of vehicles start revving their engines, Frankie pulls some earphones for Gabi and secures it to her head. Once he’s sure she’s comfortable, he quickly runs you through the basic rules. “So there’s several ‘heats’, and which heat you’re in is based on how many cylinders the car has. Last car moving is the winner, but you can’t just avoid the other cars the whole time. No continuing if your car starts sparking from the engine, no hitting the driver side door, and no hitting anyone who’s already out.” 

“Wait, cars catch on fire in this?”

Before Frankie can answer, the announcer calls out the first heat and you almost choke at the state of the cars coming out. They were completely dilapidated, windows punched out and hood frames reinforced with extra steel. It looked like each entry had about 5 different parts all from different cars, horrendous paint jobs, and one of them even had a stuffed dinosaur duct taped to the hood. Some of them looked like they had already been hit by cars, parts hanging off and bumpers pressing in on itself. None of these cars would last at all. There’s no way...

The rink was surrounded by giant cement cinder blocks creating a large “rink” type area. The contestants lined the front bumpers of their vehicles up parallel to each other at the barricades separating the cars from the bleachers, alternately revving their engines during the countdown.

“Okay, so, usually we all pick the car we think is going to win.” Benny says. You lean forward to look over the assortment of jacked up cars for this heat, eventually settling on an old Toyota Corolla painted a matte black. Benny chooses the dino car, Will chooses a Dodge Stealth with it’s headlights hanging outside the socket, Dali and Pope argue over a Ford Taurus whose back end was already smashed into the back seats, and Frankie chooses a Chevy Impala, which you immediately regret not taking because it has such a long front and back end. Lots of room for smashing and being able to keep going.

Gabi jumps up and down on Frankie’s lap as he points out things to her over the sounds of engines and a countdown, and then the cars are off off, engines roaring and dirt kicking up as they all reverse at full speed, several of them crunching up in the middle while others circle around the perimeters.

It soon becomes clear to you that there is no rhyme or reason to which car makes it and which doesn’t. Pope’s Taurus didn’t even start and is eliminated after 2 minutes of no movement, and whoever is driving the boxy piece of shit Honda Accord that Dali had to select is a fucking maniac, winding and weaving at full speed backwards, hitting whoever gets in their way. Her choice is the winner of that heat. 

Most of them are driving backwards, and Will tells you it’s because they are trying to protect the engine. You deflate in your seat a little in disappointment, but he assures you that as the heat winds down and there's fewer cars taking up the space, the drivers and announcer will get impatient and they will hit each other head to head.

You’re shocked at how much you enjoy it. At one point a car hits the passenger side door of another so hard that it is pushed up and onto the barricade wall from the inertia, hanging from an angle as the crowd jeers and shrieks in excitement. One car flips over completely, another’s engine bursts into flames and the crowd all starts crying out caution because the announcer can’t see it. You’ve never seen anything like it before and there was so much fire you were sure the whole thing would blow up, but the driver slid out the glassless driver’s side window like it was no big deal and walked it off.

There is something satisfying about two cars hitting each other at full speed, the bodies of them crunching, wheels hanging off axles, bumpers being dragged behind and run over by other drivers, cars with mangled pieces becoming stuck to each other so they can’t separate until another car hits them, tires completely gone and cars only moving on its hubs. It’s chaos in a safe format, a way to experience destruction and violence in a way that feels good and unharmful. 

Gabi has never been so amazed in her entire life, her mouth hangs open and she wriggles against her dad to see everything, laughing every time a collision happens. The audience oohs and ahhs and boos and screams and cheers and teases, you and your friends join the clamor as you have your own mini competition with yourselves.  

Giant fork tractors come into the arena area to lift the cars that can’t move anymore, some guys are able to get theirs back up and running, driving them to the sides to shape up for the final Battle Royale.

The final heat is fucking wild. All the cars that were already battered enough before they even began to come back out, returned to do another round for the final winner. With all the action you’d barely even noticed that contestants whose cars were still driveable had spent the remaining heats beyond the barricades hammering and reforming their vehicles enough to compete again. 

And at the end, the winner of all faces the crowd, pulls off their helmet to reveal a thick curly mass of long hair.  The winner is a woman. You and Dali cheer until your throats hurt.

It’s over too soon. There’s a mass exodus the instant the derby is over, the packed stadium standing and pouring down the stairs pressing so tight that you and your boys decide to hang back until it thins out. You lead the way, Frankie’s large and warm hand grazing your waist as you slowly move down the stairs and back out into the fair, turning to wait for the rest of your friends to make it out.

“What next?” Benny says when you are all reunited. “More food? Games? Rides?”

“I’m not eating more before getting on rides, let's do those now.” Says Frankie, grumbling as he hears you tease him with Benny. He whips his head around to glare at you. “Just you wait until you get older and start getting sick on rides, I cannot wait to make fun of you back.”

The wait for the ride tickets is long, but it leaves plenty of time for the group to decide how many are needed. Who is riding what, who isn’t, what pairings and who will watch Gabi on the rides she can’t do. You’re surprised when Will and Pope back out of the Zipper, leaving you and Benny as a pairing for that.

Riding it was a mistake. The ride is basically a giant airborne conveyer belt with completely enclosed containers for people hanging off it that were 360 degree capable. And it lasted FOREVER. You lose some of your funnel cake behind the ride out of sight, threatening violence on Benny if he outs you to the others. 

But it didn’t stop you from riding The Freak Out immediately afterwards, a rotating pendulum swing that made you feel like you were going to be catapulted out of your seat. The ride seated 4 groups of 4 so that in between squeezing your eyes shut, you could catch watery glimpses of Benny red-faced and cackling hysterically, Will’s chants of “ohfuckohfuckohfuckOHfuckOHFUCKOHSHIT FUCCCCCCK!”, and Frankie looking…absolutely fine. It was almost disturbing really, he was calm and collected, the only hint that this might have been something other than a nice drive in his truck was his giant smile, the tears leaking from his squinted eyes, his chocolate curls whipping around in the breeze as his hands clutch his hat in his lap with a steel grip.

“How the fuck were you so calm?!” You gasp as you stumble off the rickety landing platform. You hadn’t moved yet you felt like you had run a mile, your heart was beating so fast from the adrenaline it almost felt like you might have a heart attack. 

Frankie shrugs. “Feels like a copter in a bad air current.” 

You simply stare blinking. 

“No, he’s always like this. Like this one time, we were flying in a helo over the Andes mountains, and—”

A sharp stare from Frankie that he tries to hide from you makes Benny backpedal. 

“Uhhh yea we were flying over some mountains and the air current was wild but we got over the mountains just fine and everything was fine and we were fine.”

Your heart seizes in your chest, that same feeling of not being told something creeping up. You hate it. You push it back down, swallowing heavily to center yourself. “So I assume you were fine.”

“Yea. Yea. Cat is a good pilot.” 

You hum, the panic still not leaving your chest.

Frankie grabs your hand as you walk. “It happened a lot, I just got used to it.”

“It happened a lot?”

“Yea. I mean, sometimes we were flying through shit climates, sometimes even pursued. Doesn’t make for a smooth ride. I’m just used to it. They always scream bloody murder though.” Frankie smiles softly.

“Oh.”

You go silent, continuing to walk to the next destination: the scrambler. You had already established you would not ride and Dali wanted some funnel cake herself, so she heads off while you stay off to the side with Gabi to watch, lost in your own thoughts.

“Just don’t fucking talk about that, none of that. That never happened.” Frankie seethes to Benny as they are strapped into the ride. 

“Sorry dude, I can’t read your thoughts. I figured she knew.”

“No. I don’t want her to know. No one else needs to know about it.”

Benny falls silent, looking to Will beside him. Pope lowers his head, choosing to say nothing.

“Catfish…you have to.” Says Will.

“No the fuck I don’t. I never want her to know. If she knows…she’ll actually see ‘real me’. ‘Fuck-up me.” And I don't want her to yet. I don’t want to lose her yet. I don’t want her to be afraid. Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

They stop. But only because the ride starts, and they can’t see anything other than blurs.

You hate this feeling, this fluttering in your stomach like something is wrong but your heart knows, it knows it’s fine. It has to be. Your mind is spinning, trying to combat the rising anxiety clenching in your chest, doing gymnastics to find reasons to not be alarmed.

He’s not lying about something. He’s not. …He promised….I’m just overthinking this…

You can’t. You refuse to even think about it. Confronting the terrible possibility that you might’ve done it again, you might have thrown yourself all in to someone only to—-no. 

He’s not lying. He’s not. …He promised….he’s different. I’m just overthinking this…

You can feel butterflies bubbling in your stomach and you feel like you might throw up. Fucking men. You huff in frustration and try to distract yourself with your surroundings, watching people on rides, sharing funnel cake. Your eyes scan over two men staring at you silently by a skewered chicken cart and in your current mood it makes you furious. “What the fuck are you staring at?!” You growl at them. They say nothing and slowly walk away, disappearing into the crowd. Fucking. Men.

You try not to let your emotions show. You sit back while Gabi goes on some rides for her age, using the time to rehydrate and calm yourself down. Living through Gabi’s joy helps.. She’s having a blast, choosing a different person to pair with for each time ride. Pope in the Wacky House, the Helicopters with her dad, Benny on the mini Viking ship. Once you feel better you join in to play bumper cars (Will and Gabi win) and ride the high-rise swings with her seated in the cool metal chair next to you, Benny singing along to the ambient speakers playing “Out of My League” so loud eventually all the other teens on the ride join in.You enjoy the mini coaster more than you thought you would considering it’s for kids Gabi’s age, you and Dali are the only others who can fit in the seats, no matter how hard Benny tried. It was easy to quickly forget.

After the coaster, Gabi begins to slow down, so you hit the fried oreo stand, paying for several batches despite protestation and alternately feeding everyone as the group slowly walks through the agricultural parts of the fair. It’s calmer here, the air warm and quiet. The pathway is less crowded so Gabi is able to frolic around on the walkway in front of you safely. 

You walk through every barn, stopping to pet every animal. She’s a natural with them. Completely fearless, not one flicker of apprehension as she approaches cows and horses that are easily 6 times her height, paying close attention to her dad in how to not spook them. Everyone finds the goats to be the favorite because of the sounds they make. Even more so when Frankie engages in a screaming contest back and forth with a bunch of them until someone shoos them out of the pavilion.

Soon, all the sugar Gabi consumed rears its ugly head in the rabbit barn, she throws a fit when Frankie won’t let her get a pet rabbit and you only just catch her upper arm in time to keep her from collapsing on the filthy barn floor. You’re surprised she held out so long. Even you were crashing and getting tired. Also, the rabbits were ridiculously cute.

“Listen Gabi, how about we ride the ferris wheel? Would you like that?” You kneel before her, swiping the tears off her cheeks as she catches her breath. “It goes really high! Higher than the swings!” She nods, sniffing in a snot bubble as she takes your hand. The two of you lead the way, and as you get closer and closer, you start to regret your decision. 

It’s much taller than the Freak Out. By more than 100 feet. It doesn’t look very stable either.

“Wait...this…this looks kind of high, don’t you think?” You turn to the guys, trying to conceal the wavering in your voice. You were scared enough at 70 feet. This was more like 200.

“Height requirement says she’s fine. And it’s enclosed, goes really slow. Come on.” Frankie takes you by the hand and your heart leaps into your throat, your feet skidding across the lawn as you try to pull back. 

A light shove pushes you forward and you turn to glare at Will as he smirks down at you. “If you don’t go I’m never going to let you hear the end of it. Not after you called us “old and broken down.”

Well shit.

“Fine.”

You’re shaking when it’s your turn, the group mad dashing to three cars next to each other so you could talk throughout. Benny pairs with Pope, Gabi is vibrating with excitement as she’s put into a carriage by Will and Dali, and Frankie is beaming as he motions you towards the left car. He pats your butt as you gingerly step in, waiting until you’re seated before joining you and taking your hand. 

“Babe…are you okay?”

You swallow, grateful it’s dark enough he can’t see you trembling. “Yep. I’m good.” 

He leans forward in his seat, the glowing phosphorescence of the lights of the ride and around the fair bathing him halfway in a multicolored glow. tThe colors and shadows fold into the angles of his face like rainbow chiaroscuro, an angular stained glass window. He takes your hand again, yours is swallowed in his palm and you close your eyes as he rubs his thumb across the top. The dark beat of Depeche Mode pounds against your chest and echoes in your ears and you briefly imagine this is what it must feel like to drop acid.

“Your hands are really sweaty…and you’re breathing really fast. Are you sure you’re okay? Hey…” He squeezes your palm and you open your eyes to meet his. “It’s okay if you’re scared. I won’t joke anymore about it, I’m sorry.”

You swallow. “It’s just really really high.”

Frankie watches the ride operator out of the corner of his eye passing their car as he makes sure everyone is safely locked in before tugging on your arm slightly. You slide forward minutely, he meets you more than halfway with his large limbs and rests his hands on your hips. You gasp as the ride jolts and begins rolling, lifting the cabs up in the air. His calloused fingertip pushes your head back up.

“How about I distract you.” He murmurs, shifting forward one inch more, tilting his neck as his soft pouty lips meet yours. 

You close your eyes, trying to lose your self awareness into him and his mouth and the soft skin of his nose that bumps your cheek and tickles your nose with its little breaths. 

The lift mechanism suddenly shudders, clunking over something and it feels like when you run over a squirrel in your car. You inhale sharply against Frankie’s lips as your cab jostles back and forth. Not much, but enough for you to slam yourself back against your seat and clutch the seat bottom as hard as you can. Your heart beats wildly and you imagine the ride breaking and dropping you on the ground to be crushed to death by this stupid fucking metal cab.

You feel pressure on your knees and look down, focusing hard to not see double from fear. Frankie cups both in his hands, thumbs lightly stroking the inside of your thighs. “It’s okay.” He reassures, squeezing your knees once more. “Probably an under-greased cog, it’s nothing. They test these things like 50 times a day.”

You simply stare, forcing yourself to nod. 

“Close your eyes.”

You open your mouth to argue then close it and obey. You trust Frankie, and it can’t be any worse. 

“Just focus on me. And…you hear the music? It’s called “Enjoy the Silence.” I was obsessed with this song when it came out. And can you hear Benny below us? I can hear Gabi laughing too. We’re all okay, you’re okay too.”

You bite your lips into your mouth, focusing on the song and Frankie’s husky voice. The meditative synth pop calms you, and the carefree voices of your friends below does help calm you, but you can’t slow down your heartbeat. 

“I’m okay. Just too much adrenaline.”

The hands on your knees slide up your bare thighs and wrap around the bottoms of them. Frankie pulls you forward in your seat with a smirk. “I’m feeling a little amped up too.”

“Frankie.”

He doesn’t respond, his sole focus on your thighs as his hands slide up and up and up until he is just able to slip the tip of one of his fingers under one leg of your shorts. For some reason, it pisses you off.

“Frankie!” You hiss. “People could see us.”

“Nah…” He shushes you, his finger sliding lower. 

You clamp your legs shut and push his hand back in his direction. “Frankie, I don’t want to right here.” 

He sits up. “Oh.”

Suddenly you hear Benny’s voice from below. “Hello we are underneath you guys! I don’t want to hear any hooking up sounds!” He trolls, and you fully push Frankie back to his side, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

It’s the first time you can remember that it’s ever been uncomfortably awkward between the two of you, and you’re not sure why. The silence seems so much more noticeable and weird against the clanking of the Ferris wheel gears and the chattering of random other people.

You’re not even looking at each other, you realize. When did that happen? Your neck cranes to the left as you gaze at the stars, and when you turn back towards Frankie, he is looking to the right and down at the fair. 

“…Is everything okay?”

His eyes snap back to yours. “Yea? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause I pushed you away, and…I dunno, you’re being weird..”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not intentional. I’m not upset, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide to you, scooting on his bench so there’s enough room for you.

You hesitate. “Won’t it…won’t it throw off the balance?”

You feel ridiculous asking but he doesn’t laugh at you, just shakes his head slightly. “Nah, they wouldn’t be able to run this ride if people couldn’t sit on the same side.”

You balance awkwardly on the edge of your bench overanalyzing what exact moment during the track of the ride to launch onto his, but you overthink it and end up jostling the cab more than necessary. Frankie’s arms pull you into his side and you burrow your face in his neck as the cab continues to rock. The music fades from Depeche Mode to Lizzo to Lil’ Nas X (Will clearly enjoys that one) and then back to Lizzo, and you forget all about your uneasiness.

He was right. It did feel better being with him. 

The ride does one more pass then rolls to a halt, letting off you with Frankie and Benny with Santiago. You hover at the exit for Will and Gabi, who have to wait for their cab to reach the platform before dismounting. Frankie takes your hand as you wait.

Gabby’s adrenaline rush runs out fast, and you spend the remainder of the fair eating more fried Oreos and playing games. Somehow you manage to beat them all at the water shooting game, which amps up the competitiveness to the point you’d rather just watch.

Which is how you end up at the “star” game. 

“We’re so fucking good at this game, it pisses them off every time.” Laughs Benny, as he shoots the entire Star out perfectly with the gun that is specifically not given enough ammo to achieve this. You hop up on the far side of the counter to watch, noting the way each of you boys handles their weapon and the differences in each. Benny held his gun loosely, like he was relaxed and self assured. It almost seemed like you would be able to slap it out of his hands but you knew he still had an iron grip. Will was precise and, as you expected, “perfect form”. You could tell just from Pope’s posture change that he was the best shot on the team, you’d never seen him look so focused. Frankie held his with a tense white knuckle grip, the folding stock tucked against his shoulder joint. The tension carrying up his arms as his veins popped out in his forearms and biceps. He looked fucking good. And you wouldn’t consider yourself a “gun person.” In fact, you kind of hated them. But there just was something about a strong non-douchey man holding a rifle like that that activated you. Damn the patriarchy. Even Dali is a great shot, though not as good as the guys.

After a few rounds, the carnie finally stopped allowing your posse to keep playing, frustrated that somehow the rigging system didn’t work on your group. You lean back on your hands, your legs swinging against the wood counter, observing Benny arguing with the carnie with a smirk. Gabi is passed out in her stroller next to you as Frankie sidles up to you, feeding you a piece of Fried Reeses, then promptly kissing you so the taste floats between you. 

He hums deeply, stepping closer to you til he’s between your legs. His hands rest low on the top of your thighs. “This ok?”

You smile. “Yes. More than okay. And I want more.” 

Frankie beams and cups your face, his lips crashing into yours as he all but breathes you in. You tilt your head and poke his mouth with your tongue. He responds immediately and opens for you, meeting you halfway. You whine softly as his hands leave your cheeks and trail down your back, one hand sneaking a bit lower to discreetly cup your ass. You’ve just wound your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck when you hear a shrill voice cut through the din of the dwindling crowd.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your heart slams to a halt so fast it hurts. You recognize that voice. And so does Frankie. Your heads both snap to the left as a disheveled looking Lex stands there with a bunch of her friends.

Frankie simply stares. She repeats herself. “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. The BABYSITTER? Are you fucking your BABYSITTER??? Oh Frankie…come on…how pathetic can you be? She’s like a child!”

You look at Frankie, receding into himself like a silent, terrified puppy. You’ve never seen him like this before, it unnerves you.

“Excuse me.” You snap back. “I am 28.”

She scoffs. I fucking knew something was going on with you two. And you’re doing this in front of my child?”

“Well, actually, Gabi is sleeping. At least she was, until you came ranting and raving.” You make eye contact with Pope, who reads your perfectly and starts steering Gabi’s stroller away so she can’t hear. “We made sure to be careful for her but why do you even care if we are fucking? You left him! You didn’t want him anymore, so it shouldn’t fucking matter who he dates.” 

“He’s a drug addict and a pathological liar. He will NEVER change.”

“Yea? And you are a drunk, controlling, OCD bitch who can’t mind her own fucking business. He’s happy with me. I trust him. Unlike you. Bye.” You couldn’t help yourself, you just fucking hated her.

But that set her off. “Did he tell you why he was suspended?”

“Yes, he—“

“Did he tell you he was high, flying a family and he almost injured everyone from a sloppy landing? Did he tell you how he would take Gabi to his drug dealers house with him? How he went on a STUPID fucking mission with these idiots to burglarize a fucking drug lord completely off paper? That I deliberately asked him not to because we had a new baby? That he crashed their helicopter, dropped all their money and shot innocent villagers to keep them from getting it? At children and old men adn women? That because of that, Molly’s husband was shot in the fucking head by one of those people? And then they couldn’t even bring the money back so it was all for no reason?”

She’s shouting now, spittle flying from her inebriated lips. One of her friends tries to grab her arm but she shakes them off. People in the crowd are starting to stop and watch. “Then, THEN, he treated me like shit, saying horrible things to me just when he was mad, throwing things, scaring me!”

You feel like you can’t breathe, it’s too much information all at once. “...What? I don’t…No. no, he said he was on a delta mission–”

“Oh sweetheart,” She sneers condescendingly. “He was on a greed mission. He was retired from delta. This was like a year ago. They all wanted to get rich and robbed a fucking drug kingpin and Frankie shot innocent people to make sure he got alllllll that money. And because of that, his friend was shot and killed and his family has NO idea why. He lied to you.”

You turn to look at him, and all his friends. Everyone is silent, trying not to look up from the ground. Dali looks as bewildered as you. “Frankie…?” Tears water in your eyes and you feel like your heart is going to burst. You thought he told you it was an enlisted mission, but on top of everything else you just learned your thoughts are rushing so fast you can’t seem to remember specifics. 

Frankie can’t even look at you. And that’s how you know. 

It’s true…

“Lex. Stop.” Will’s Southern drawl cuts through the silence, the commanding officer in him coming out. “It’s over. This shit between you two has to stop. Enough.” His eyes shift to Lex’s friends, who are nodding and repeating the same thing. Lex finally allows them to pull her away muttering under her breath, sending one last glare in your direction.

The walk to the truck is silent. The ride home is a foggy blur. But the minute you step into the house, you crack. 

“Frankie please tell me all this is not true.” You can’t read him at all, his face is completely blank as he moves around you towards Gabi’s bedroom to tuck her in.

So you wait.

His hackles are already up when he comes back out.

“Frankie–”

“Yea.”

“Well?”

“Yea. It’s true. We tried to steal money from one of Pope’s cases and it backfired and Tom got shot.”

“Because of you.”

His expression changes then, from blank nothing to vicious defensive anger. “Yea. Because of me. I fucked up the flight back and we crash landed and these fuckin’ villagers were gonna take the money! And it was an accident!”

“You ‘accidentally’ shot innocent people?”

He swallows, his jaw clenching and unclenching. You can see he’s doing mental gymnastics in order to avoid accountability. 

“Did your finger slip?”

No answer. 

“Frankie. Did your finger slip on the trigger?”

You already know the answer before he says it. And somehow it’s like he morphs into a Disney villain as he says it. “No. My finger didn’t slip.”

It burns, the sharp pain in your heart that makes you feel like it’s having a seizure or forgot how to pump blood or is pumping too much blood. “How many people did you kill.”

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know? How can you not know?! Frankie, you told me this was your job! You- you fucking lied to me! I-I I asked you if you were hiding anything else from me and you fucking lied to me!” You can’t help your voice raising, the tears spilling out of your eyes as you realize how fucking stupid you had been. Somewhere in the background you can hear Gabi has woken and is hysterically crying. Frankie, clearly having enough, turns back towards her room. But you continue, screaming at his back. “And that’s why Tom is dead? And his family doesn’t know why?!”

Frankie doesn’t answer and suddenly you are enraged. You run behind him and shove him forward. “I’m fucking talking to you! How can you just be so fucking blase about this??? And…all that other shit???—I feel like I don’t know you at all!”

He whirls around, that furious murderous face you ‘ve seen him give others is finally directed at you. “Because you don’t!” He screams back, his teeth nash and he shoves a finger one inch from  your face. You flinch.

“Frankie, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you? Really? I thought this was your thing?” 

You blink, confused, tears stalling on your face. “Don’t–”  You plead softly.

“No, Lex is right. You’re a naive little girl who thinks she can save worthless idiots like me and live some fucking fantasy happily ever after. You won’t. You can’t. I’m unfixable.”

“How can you say that!! Frankie, I love you!

He scoffs. “I know you think you do. And I know you aren’t stupid, you told me you’ve done this before. But guess what sweetie, you aren’t better, you’re still doing it because you’re so fucking desperate for someone to love you. You don’t love me. You just want to feel like some fucking savior.”

“No! No… I didn’t, I don’t…you told me you loved me!”

“I wanted to fuck you.” His eyes are black as far, it’s like you don’t even recognize his face anymore. Lex was right. Lex was right. How…did you make all of it up in your head?

“You…You’re a fucking psycho…I feel like you emotionally manipulated me into caring for you only for you to play games with me! I specifically told you I couldn’t go through this again and you fucking did it anyway!”

“Hey, you kissed me. And you were fun to fuck, I will admit that. Let me do fucking anything. But we both knew this would happen. You set yourself up. I did shoot those villagers. I caused Tom’s death. I just wanted the fucking money. And I wanted to kill a bunch of kids too, when they got in my way. Fuckin’ teenagers and I told Pope to fucking shoot them all.  And you know what else? We went back and got all that fucking money we hid, and we are fucking swimming in it. And I didn’t share a goddamn dime with my ex. You’re right. I am a psycho, so it’s a good thing this is over. Pack your shit and leave me alone.”

“Fuck you Frankie.”

You don’t wait another moment. You don’t need to be asked twice this time. You shove him aside on your way down the hallway, doing everything you can not to let the second round of tears fall. He’d seen enough.

You slam the door of the master bedroom behind you, frantically bouncing around different points in the room to grab all your shit. When did all of this stuff even get here? Anxiety bubbles up your chest until you can’t take it anymore and say fuck it, he can just throw anything else out. I have to get out of here.

You rush back down the hallway like a speed demon, praying to whatever that he won’t be standing in the hallway still. He isn’t. He’s sitting on his couch facing away from you, his head in his hands. You hate yourself for wanting to go comfort him. He’s right…I’m

not better…

You pause on the front doorway, struggling to say what needs to be said. Don’t be weak. Don’t keep letting people do this to you over and over. “Don’t contact me.I never want to see you again.” You say to his back.

He doesn’t move a muscle, or even look at you. “You won’t.”

You were able to make it halfway across the lawn before the grief fully hit. By the time you got to your car you were gasping like you were no longer able to breathe. And the minute your car door shut you broke, a wailing sob bursting from your lips as you bury your face in your palms. 

Again. It happened again. And it’s just as crushing as every other time, except now it feels like you never healed from the others and now they are all piling on top of the other with this one as the final blow.

Why. WHY? Was there something wrong with you? Why were you never enough? Why couldn’t you make them stay? What did you do to keep having to go through this? It almost killed you last time, your eyes squeeze shut as you remember the look on your parents face as they watched you writhe on your bed screaming and crying hysterically from your latest breakup.

And why did you let yourself fall into it again, like you had never learned a goddamn thing. It was like you were masochistic, you told yourself you would never need someone again so badly, you wouldn’t enmesh yourself so fully that when it fell apart you could barely function. Your heart was once again ripped out of your chest and thrown to the floor, the cracks from before making this shattering into pieces so small you know it can’t get repaired again.

With a trembling whimper, you pull your face out of your hands and wipe your eyes, your nose. You realize you’re still sitting in Frankie’s driveway and you immediately look to see if he's at the window, concerned for you. He isn’t. You hate yourself for it but it breaks you even more. 

It’s over.

You drive home mindlessly, your Spotify on shuffle and you aren’t aware of anything else. Just get home. Just get home and then you can cry, try to move on. But you already know you won’t. 

You finally tire yourself out of tears, and you try to talk yourself up, turning up the music and chanting “it’s okay” to yourself. 

It’s Coldplay. You always liked Coldplay. 

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try, you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you…

Tears stream down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face, and I–

You slam the on/off button so hard you actually cause the auxiliary cord to malfunction, so you rip it out of your phone and throw the damn thing on the passenger seat. You drive home in silence.

It’s dark in the lot when you arrive. You park in a spot along the side and towards the back because the lot is mostly full. The only light shining is the pole yards away, the bulb switches off and on opposite of the dark one right above you. 

You feel numb. You can still feel sticky dried tears on your face, but your ability to utter a sound is gone. You close your eyes and try to compose yourself, simply sitting in your car in the dark. You’re avoiding going upstairs, you know. You’ve pretty much been living at Frankie’s. Walking through that door would make it feel too ‘official’. You cover your face with your hands and rub the tears tracks off your raw face, and are about to take a breath and gather your shit when a THWACKING sound bursts right in your left ear.

You startle with a yelp and look out your window, prepared to tell off whoever is messing with you, but freeze when you find yourself face to face with the barrel of a gun, the only thing separating you from it is the shitty window glass on your cheap car.

»»———————►

Post A/N: Don't yell at me lol

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