#Hurricane x Frankie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chronically-ghosted · 3 months

Text

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!

one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day.

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams.

So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . . he can’t classify this as a bad problem.

In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden.

Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.

He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –

He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.

There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –

Wait.

That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass.

That’s –

“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”

You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh.

“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”

He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own.

Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem.

His real fucking problem is Nick.

Your boyfriend.

Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair.

“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”

He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is.

But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.

“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.”

Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.

See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really.

Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.

So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.

The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.

And he’s your friend.

Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.

Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care.

So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .

And you deserve the world.

You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.

That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.

Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line.

Never a good idea with Benny Miller.

I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.

“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road.

“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”

“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks.

You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight.

“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie.

Don’t, man, just don’t.

Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out.

Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers.

“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”

Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you.

“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back.

“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”

Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier.

Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet.

Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.

“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.

Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.

“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”

Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.

He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.

You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet.

The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.

“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”

He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest.

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.”

That was a mistake.

This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now.

Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”

But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world.

C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this

C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all.

When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.

Frankie only ever asked for one.

He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart.

The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar.

“Six tequila shots, please.”

You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.

Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night.

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker.

You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system.

The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you?

And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.

You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch.

22%

Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.

But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.

He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning.

One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u

You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail.

Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play.

First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.

But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami.

But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language.

“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”

There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.

“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”

“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall.

“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”

You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding.

There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.

“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”

His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion.

“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”

And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:

“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”

“Benny, fuck off!”

And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.

Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?

The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy.

You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on.

This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.

Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart.

Fuck. Fuck!

You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.

The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.

“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”

You stare at the phone on your floor.

Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes.

“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”

You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”

You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.

“So you listened to it already?”

“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”

He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”

“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”

“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on.

You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.

“We need to talk.”

He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.

His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off.

Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal?

Do you want to–

“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –

He called you baby.

You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags.

“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.”

With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail?

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”

“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”

Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees.

“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.

“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”

His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another.

You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.

“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”

“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.”

You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle.

Grateful.

He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude.

“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”

This is the right time, he supposes.

Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.

Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover.

“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.

You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”

He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”

“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”

Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold.

“How do you feel about conchas?”

Translations:

Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.

¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?

Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal characters

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 months

Text

Illicit Affairs

Summary: Stranded in an airport hotel because of hurricane warning, you snatch the last hotel room for the following two nights, not knowing that these two nights would change your life forever. You meet Joel and spend every moment you can with him until he leaves you in the middle of the night the day you both had to go back home. Months later, heartbroken and pregnant from a man you hadn't even exchanged last names with, you go back to your hometown to meet your mother's new boyfriend, not knowing it's Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader (Joel Miller x fem. readers mother // Frankie Morales x fem. reader in the second alternative ending)

Wordcount: around 9k

Rating: E

Warnings: meet cute, age gap (around twenty years, but it's not specified) flirting, kissing, smut (oral f receiving, protected sex, unprotected sex, so much sex) accidental pregnancy, angst, vomiting, fluff, heartbreak

A/N: While I was inspired by some lyrics of Taylor Swift's Illicit Affairs this is by no means a song fic. This is what happens when I have an idea and get talked into writing it lmao

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Main Fic

First Ending (with Joel Miller)

Second Ending (with Frankie Morales)

#my fic #masterlist #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Joel Miller #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x fem. reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #Pedro pascal

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tuiccim · 2 months

Text

Wrecked (Part 2)

Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader

Trigger Warnings: References to infertility, smut

Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader and hype princess, @whisperlullaby

Wrecked Masterlist

Thursday night ended up being busier than usual with a large group coming in to celebrate… something. You never quite caught the reason. You were so busy tending the bar that you rarely looked up to see faces. It was nice to see the tip jar nearly overflowing towards the end of the night.

You were pulling drafts for a couple of regulars when the door flew open and a grinning Cecily walked in as if she was a triumphant warrior returning from battle. You laugh and announce loudly, “Batten down the hatches! Hurricane Cecily is blowing through town!”

“Hey!” Cecily laughs as she hugs you, “The place looks great! How are you?”

“I’m great. I’m really good. Looking forward to hearing more about your adventures.”

“Yes, but for now, I need a drink!” Cecily drags you to the bar.

“Let me guess… a blue motorcycle?” You smirk.

“You know me so well,” Cecily grins.

“How was your trip?” You smile as you make her drink.

“Fabulous! Saw the sights, made some friends, and had some good times. Pissed my dad off to all hell and back because I refused the match he arranged,” she giggles.

“He should know better by now,” you laugh. Cecily’s father had won the genetic lottery when he, a beta, and her mother, also a beta, produced an Omega offspring. He had hopes of marrying her off to make connections and strengthen the family standing. What he hadn't planned on was her strong will and refusal to marry until she fell in love. It was something you envied about her and probably one of the things that had drawn the two of you together. She was an Omega that a family centered their hopes on which she refused to comply with and you were the broken Omega who had disappointed your family with your inability to comply.

“No matter their designation, men are all the same. Hard headed and yet oblivious,” Cecily rolls her eyes.

“Can't argue with that. I-”

"Oh, Jesus. Here we go," Frank's raspy voice interrupts.

"Hey Frankie," Cecily teases.

“Welcome back. What trouble are you planning to get into?” Frank asks as he takes the stool next to her.

“All the fun kind,” she grins.

“Oh, Cec, Frank's best friend is coming to town soon. You'll have to meet him. I have a hunch you two will be hilarious together,” you giggle as Frank narrows his eyes at you.

“Don't give her any ideas. Those two would tear apart the town together,” Frank turns to Cecily, “And if you let him, your bed, too.”

“Well, I'm certain I can show him a good time while he's here," Cecily says slyly.

"Heard from him yet?" You ask.

"Yep," Frank says with a withering glance at Cecily. "He'll be here tomorrow. Leaving Sunday night or Monday."

"I can't wait to meet him," you wink at Frank.

Cecily gives him a wicked smile, "Your best friend must be so interesting. Tell me about him."

Frank looks up at the ceiling as if praying for help but, knowing Cecily won't give up easily, he gives a few details, "He's an Alpha. Owns a security company. Real smooth with the 'megas and isn't the kind anyone can pin down. Just your type."

"What are you trying to say, Frank?" Cecily narrows her eyes.

"Nothin'," Frank gives a shit eating grin.

"Mm-hm," Cecily sips her drink.

"Okay, you two, enough. I've got the room ready for him and a bottle of booze waiting," you say as a fresh group comes through the front door, "Play nice while I deal with the newcomers."

You walked away unworried about the two. Despite the way they ribbed each other, they actually liked one another. Cecily held respect for the man who had seen the gem that is her best friend and Frank was grateful for the unwavering support she showed you. So, while they always had harmless barbs to lob at each other, there was a mutual respect shared.

Occasionally as you poured drinks and served, you would glance over to see them conversing companionably. In one such moment though, your stomach dropped a bit seeing Cecily's hand on his knee as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. You shook the feeling away, knowing she would never do anything untoward, and relaxed even more when Frank laughed while shaking his head. She was probably making a comment she didn't want overheard. You berated yourself for being so insecure. Frank was a good man and, even if he did choose to leave you for an Omega without your hindrances, he would never hurt you in that way. He would tell you... or he would just disappear, which was one of your biggest fears. One day, you would wake up alone and every trace of your life together would be gone.

Just the thought was devastating. You had never expected him to stay this long and now you were spoiled by the presence of an Alpha in your life. You shake the negative thoughts away. Frank is your Alpha and he is going to mate you. But even that thought came with doubts. Your mind wouldn't let you believe that he would really mate you. He had said it to comfort you. He hadn't really meant it. He wouldn't tie himself to a wrecked Omega for life. No Alpha would.

"Hey! Can I get another one?" A voice pulls you out of your melancholy thoughts.

"You got it," you smile at the man and pour. The night is busy for a Thursday but you manage to make it back over to Frank and Cecily after a while.

"Frank has been filling me in on his friend. I can't wait to meet him," Cecily smiles.

"Well then, he's given you more information than he's given me," you laugh with a wink at Frank.

"That's not true. I've told you stories about Bill," Frank laughs.

"I had pull teeth just for you to tell me his last name!" You assert.

"That's highly personal information," Frank smirks.

"What is his last name?" Cecily asks.

"Now see what you've started!" Frank exclaims. You stick your tongue out at him and laugh as his face drops. "Oh, very mature," Frank grouses.

"I'm sure your thoughts were when I did it," you tease him, leaning over the bar to whisper the words.

"You're gonna be using it tonight," Frank groans out and then grabs you by the back of the neck to lay a kiss on you. His tongue plunders your mouth before he releases you with a smirk. You knew you were in for it when you got home and you couldn’t wait.

“Ugh, now I’m looking even more forward to this friend of yours coming. Maybe I can interest him in a little PDA,” Cecily pouts. “I’m heading out. See ya tomorrow.”

“Night,” you and Frank say in unison.

“Do you want me to stay?” Frank asks.

“No, it’s okay. Head to the cabin and rest. I’ll see you in a bit,” you reassure him.

“Alright. Be careful,” Frank gives a backwards wave as he heads for the door.

The cabin. You always called it that or the house, never home. Part of you was scared he would correct you if you did; the other part worried it would scare him away. It was a precarious place that you stayed mentally with Frank. A fine line you balanced between loving his presence and fearing his absence. Would you ever feel confident in his commitment?

Billy coming had to mean something. Frank wouldn’t introduce you to his best friend, the closest thing he had to family, if he didn’t have intentions of staying. Maybe it was because you felt like Frank always had his eye on the door, waiting for the moment he would have to leave or for his past to catch up to him. How much did you even really know about his past? Maybe meeting Billy would give you more insight into him.

When the bar closed a couple of hours later, your bouncer, Jordan, walked you to your car. A precaution he insisted on since the incident with the drunken Alpha. You wondered at times if Frank had asked him (or threatened his life) to ensure you got to your car safely. He really was sweet in his gruff way.

By the time you made it to the cabin, the windows were dark. The porchlight and a small lamp just inside the front door were on but the rest of the house was dark and quiet. You smile to yourself, remembering Frank offering to stay until closing. Obviously, you had made the right decision to send him home since he was already asleep. He worked hard and deserved the rest.

You quietly make your way to the bathroom and quickly wash up. You peek out the door at him and a sliver of light falls over his body. His arms were curled behind his head, his bare chest rising and falling with slow breaths, and between his thick thighs his heavy cock laid. You lick your lips and feel a surge of disappointment that he’s not awake but then a wicked thought crosses your mind. He never shies from waking you up by fucking you… maybe he wouldn’t mind the same treatment. After all, he had said you'd be putting your tongue to work when you got home and you didn't want to make a liar out of him.

Shedding your clothing, you make your way to the bed. The sliver of light from the bathroom still lays over him. When he first came to your house, he would wake at every noise or touch but over the months, he had relaxed and was actually a fairly deep sleeper. Leaning over him, you lick a stripe from tip to base. His cock jumps and he stirs but his eyes don’t open. You repeat the action bringing another small response from him. Taking him into your mouth, you work your way down his thick cock inch by inch, your hand wrapping around what you can’t fit. Frank makes a sexy groan as he flexes towards you, his eyes slowly open as you watch. He grabs your head and moves you slowly up and down.

“Fuck, this’s the hottest way to be woken up,” he growls. “Couldn’t wait until the morning for this cock, huh, babe? Had to have it in you one way or the other?”

You moan your agreement while hollowing your cheeks. Frank’s deep growling moans are making you wet and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure.

“Goddamn, I can smell you. Getting wet from sucking this cock. Get up here. C’mon,” Frank uses his grip to pull you away from his cock and then up to straddle him. You immediately position him at your entrance and sink down, biting your lip to hold in your moan. “What’d I tell you about that?” Frank pulls your lip from your teeth.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“I wanna hear every sound,” he insists. “Now, you wanted this cock so bad, let’s see what you do with it.” His smirk relays the challenge as he lays back, folding his hands behind his head.

Never one to back down from such a challenge, you knew you had to make this good. You worked your hips to get every last inch of his thick cock inside of you. He was so thick that each drag of his cock was a direct hit to your g spot but he was in so deep there was a bite of pain when he hit your cervix. You ignored it as you rode him and eventually it lessened to a mere whisper of discomfort. Putting your hands on his chest, you leaned a little more forward to grind your clit against him and let out a long moan as the new angle hit even more pleasurably.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Frank groans and then flexes up into you.

“Oh! Fuck,” you whimper. You move more quickly, squeezing him as you barrel yourself towards orgasm. Not worried anymore about living up to his challenge, that first spark had alighted in your belly and you chased it.

Frank ran his calloused fingertips over your nipples, no longer content to be a mere observer. He squeezed and feathered over them while watching your face. His hips came up to meet yours and your mouth dropped open to let out a small cry. He repeated the motion until he saw that sweet look pass over your face. The one that told him you were too far gone to turn back and he held himself back from coming with you. He wasn’t ready to be done yet.

“I’m coming,” you cried as the waves of pleasure took over. Your body spasms around him as you ride out the orgasm.

“Atta, girl. Squeezing my cock so tight. Fuck,” Frank watches as you fall apart on top of him. When your orgasm had run its course, you stopped for a moment to catch your breath but it didn’t last more than a few seconds when a smack landed on your ass and Frank’s gruff voice said, “We ain’t done yet, ‘mega. You wanted this cock so bad, you woke me from a dead sleep. Now you gotta finish what you started. Move that ass.”

The shit-eating grin on his face made you want to be just a little defiant. You pull off of him and he immediately protests, “Where do you think you're going, ‘mega?”

Pushing him back down on the bed, you lean in to give him a small but potent kiss. “Trust me, Alpha,” you give him a seductive look before turning around and straddling him again in reverse. You work his cock inside of you again and then look over your shoulder, “You wanted to see me move that ass…”

You bounce on top of him, being sure to give him a full view of your ass cheeks as you fuck him. Frank loved your ass and was always grabbing, slapping, or finding some other way to get his hands on it. Somehow, you had never gotten around to this particular position with him and you could tell right away it wouldn’t be the last time. His hands shot out immediately to grope you, a smack landing only a few seconds later.

“Fuck, yeah,” Frank growled, his hands never stilling as he watched you fuck him. He was mesmerized by the jiggle of your cheeks with each motion you made while seeing his cock splitting you open. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, wetting it before pressing it to your tight little hole. He rubbed back and forth, teasing just the tip against your ring of muscle, as you rode him harder and harder.

“Oh, fuck, Alpha. It’s so good,” you whined. The angle was hitting your g spot and you could feel yourself building again.

“That’s right,” Frank growls, landing another smack to your ass, “Good, little ‘mega. Just need this Alpha’s fat cock splitting you open, huh?”

“Yes!” Is the only word you can manage at this point. You were tiring but the pull of another orgasm and Frank’s words were enough to keep you going. You were dripping from his praise.

“Fuck!” Frank cries out before grabbing your hips and slamming up into you forcefully. He repeats the motion over and over again and you can’t hold in your scream when you come. Frank’s loud grunts as he releases inside makes you clench around him. He flexes a few more times while holding you in place against him. When he had calmed, he pulled out and then positioned you to lay next to him. “Thanks for the wake up call,” he chuckles in your ear.

“My pleasure,” you laugh. “I think I’ve always known the answer to the question of whether you’re a boobs or butt man but I think tonight solidified it.”

“Ass man, all the way,” Frank’s laugh rumbles through his chest.

“Shocking,” you tease.

“Mm-hm,” comes out quietly.

You glance over your shoulder at him and see he’s already drifting back to sleep. You smile to yourself and listen for his breathing to even out before slipping out of the bed to clean up. Glancing back at Frank from the door, you shake your head at his ability to be fucking the life out of you one minute and then practically asleep the next. “I love you,” you whisper to his sleeping form, knowing you’d probably never hear those words from him.

–

The next night, Friday, was busy as usual. Frank had sent a text that a water main break had delayed him and he’d be late making it to the bar. It made you a little nervous that you might meet Billy without him here but you try to brush it off and keep up with the crowd. Especially since your other bartender called out. You were glad Cecily had made an early appearance and you set her to work behind the bar with you. She was great at helping out in a pinch and genuinely enjoyed working the bar, as the tip jar showed. Her flirtation skills were on point as you watched her flip her hair and wink at a patron. She knew how to play them like a fiddle.

She looked gorgeous. Her short, wavy hair fell over her forehead attractively, giving a peekaboo effect that was coquettish. Tight black jeans, boots, and a one shoulder green tank hugged her curves as she twirled a glass in her hand before pulling the tap. You smiled as your eyes followed her for a few moments and she sent you a wink when she caught your stare.

You were in a lull when the smell hit you, something dark and woodsy and undeniably Alpha. You turned to find a stranger sitting at the end of your bar with his eye on you. His incredibly dark eyes seemed to bore holes right through you. He was handsome, lean but muscular, dark hair brushed back from his forehead in an undercut, and casual clothes that seemed tailor fit. He was dreamy for lack of a better word. Making your way over, you smile at the newcomer, “Well, hello there, stranger. What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey, neat,” the man says as he eyes you.

“Any-”

“Top shelf,” he interrupts your question.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you smirk, “I’m afraid this bar’s version of top shelf is Johnny Walker. You strike me as more of a Lagavulin man.”

His face cracks a smile that had probably dropped more than a few pairs of panties, “You’re good, but don’t worry, I’ll stomach the Johnny Walker just fine.”

“You got it, chief,” you turn to pour the drink. Setting it in front of him, you lean on the bar, “What brings you to town?”

“Visiting a friend,” he says as he glances over at Cecily as she puts on a show while making drinks.

Following his line of vision, you grin, “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Is she the owner?”

“Mmm, excuse me,” you are distracted by another patron motioning for a refill. You quickly pour the drink and a few others before making it back to him. Pouring him a second drink, you breath in his scent covertly, “Ac-”

“So, do you ever take a customer home?” He gives you a smoldering look.

“Do you always interrupt people?” You counter.

“Only when going after something I want,” his eyes take a lazy path down to your cleavage before flicking back up to your eyes. You lean in closer to him, lowering your voice conspiratorially you say, “Not really but just occasionally someone tall, dark, and handsome blows through and I find I just can’t resist.” His eyes darken as he studies you and you could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. “Oh, and to answer your earlier question, no, I’m the owner… Billy. Welcome to town.”

Part 3

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javipispunk · 15 days

Text

frankie ‘catfish’ morales x f!reader

summary: you and frankie make the best of a rainy vacation

warnings: hurricane, established relationship, smut, pwp, f!receiving oral, slight overstimulation, frankie comes in his pants,

word count: 583

a/n: this is for @undercoverpena April Shower’s Challenge! And dedicated to the loml @syd-djarin

divider by @saradika-graphics

Paradise on Earth, that's what your friends said about St Kitts and Nevis. You’re sure that is the case when it’s not the middle of hurricane season. But right now it’s down pouring with no end in sight. So much for the beach vacation you and Frankie booked for your anniversary. Not to say it’s been a complete bust though, the weather has led to more indoor activities than you had anticipated. Time you thought you would be spending on the beach is now spent in bed with Frankie’s head between your thighs, which is the true paradise on Earth.

The howling winds drown out your screams of pleasure as his tongue takes turns licking your clit and delving inside of you. He can’t get enough of your sweet, sweet pussy, as is evident by his constant moans. He’s made himself a home in your cunt. Your hips are bucking wildly at the sensation, begging for more and squirming away for some reprieve at the same time. It’s getting so intense that Frankie has to hold you down with his strong arms.

He speaks directly into your center, “you gotta relax for me baby.”

“I’m trying Frankie,” you whine.

“Feels too good huh?”

You let out a strangled moan as your answer. You’re close, you can feel it and you know Frankie can feel it too. He continues his besiege on your clit and with one final suck you are coming all over his face. Like a man starved he drinks up all of the juices that pour out of you. The over stimulation from that quickly becomes too much. You whine Frankies name again but he doesn’t respond, too lost in the euphoric haze he falls into every time he makes you orgasm. With all the strength you can muster you tug on his hair to get his attention.

When he looks up at you he looks throughouly fucked. His pupils have taken over the mass of his irises and your spend covers the whole bottom half of his face. You drag your thumb across his chin to collect some of it and bring it to your mouth. When you start to lick it up he whimpers and jerks his hips into the mattress. Anyone else might think it pathetic the way he gets off on just your pleasure, but not you. The way Frankie worships you is unlike anything you’ve ever experinced, more powerful than any storm, and louder than any beat of thunder.

You motion for him to move up your body and bring his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. You’re both a mess, panting wildly through clashes of lips and teeth, hips bucking into each other with wild abandon. You curl one hand around the back of his neck and use the other to palm him through his boxers. There's a wet spot right at his tip. It’s not a small spot either.

“Have you been leaking Frankie?” You ask him condescendingly.

He looks at you with his brown puppy dog eyes and nods.

“Poor baby. Want me to make it better?” You ask and he nods again.

You put your mouth back on his and palm him a few times. With a final squeeze he groans and spills his load into his boxers. He collapses on top of you with a big smile on his face. The rain continues to pour down as you run your fingers through his hair, causing Frankie to fall asleep.

#frankie catfish morales #triple fronteir fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #undercoveraprilshowerschallenge

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ohforficsakelibrary · 6 months

Text

The Margay: Chapter 5

'That Your Husband?'

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~4.9K

Rating: Explicit 18+ / masturbation (f & m), dirty talk, Frankie offers guidance, exchanging of naughty pictures and suggestive texts / tw for physical violence (I may have beat Frankie up a bit) / Minors DNI

A/N: Frankie's grounded with an injury. Audrey's good at care packages. They both need each other more than they realize.

Every time I open this file I keep fucking with this chapter so please take it now. Your effort to overlook anything that seems overworked is much appreciated.

Their third job out, Frankie manages to get himself into a bit of a scrape.

When a hurricane flattened Barbuda’s infrastructure it created opportunity. A perfect little hideaway among the wreckage.

A waypoint for heroin exporters to rest their weary heads.

It’s just a seaplane over to St. Thomas and U.S. territory and a stack of bills pressed into a customs officer’s palm before making the jump to mainland soil.

And in the process of surveilling a safe house, Frankie manages to trip a sensor.

A blow to the back of the head drops him before Audrey or Santi can get to his location.

And so they lie in wait for the right moment to spring him free.

Santi fidgets, buzzing with impatience.

Audrey turns to stone.

Nothing else will contain her rage.

When half the men leave for beers at a local bar, Audrey and Santiago split directions, cutting a quick lap around the house.

“You take the front door, I’ll take the back,” Pope directs their breach in hushed tones. When they’re in position, Audrey counts them down before putting a boot through a rusted lock.

They can hear Frankie scream. And Audrey’s stomach roils.

In pain.

In sympathy.

In possession.

“I got him,” she spits into their comms, prowling through shadows between the bare lightbulbs that hang from the ceiling while the incessant buzz from the generator outside covers her tracks.

They’ve only left two men guarding their catch.

Well, one guard who’s slumped in a chair in the corner fucking around on his phone, and a taller man who has Frankie on his knees by the hair, arms zip-tied behind his back. He asks who sent Frankie and when he’s told to go fuck himself he lands a a kick Frankie’s ribs that has him screaming through gritted teeth before briefly losing consciousness.

The man catches Frankie, holding him up by the roots of his hair, repeating the question with the toe of his boot dangerously close to knocking against Fish’s balls.

“I need those,” Audrey mutters before a bullet finds the taller man between the eyes and the butt of her gun finds the seated man’s temple. “Santi, need you in here,” she fires off into comms before dropping her gun and dropping to her knees to keep a woozy Frankie from slamming teeth-first into the floor.

She cradles his face and surveys it, peeling each eyelid up in turn to check his reaction to light. She's not sure how hard he was knocked in the head.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna save me,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he sees that it’s her and not Pope who has his face in their hands.

“Yeah, I dunno how to fly a chopper,” she lies with a wink, “so Pope and I are swimming to Antigua without you and I just got my hair done.”

Frankie manages a snort before he spits blood onto tile. His bottom lip is split, left eye swollen shut and blooming a neat shade of purple. Road rash or something akin to it mars one side of his face.

Frankie rests his cheek against her shoulder and she supports his weight as she searches him with her hands, checking for slashed fabric and gaping wounds. For areas of tender heat insulating broken bones.

For bullet wounds.

Frankie yelps when her right hand applies light pressure to his side over his tactical vest.

"Okay, okay, I've got you, Frankie."

"That bit's bad," he groans.

“Can you stand?” She snaps a ceramic knife through the zip ties binding his hands behind his back as they hear two more shots and Santi calling “clear.”

“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”

But he can't right himself from where he's leaned heavy against her.

She shifts to kneel with his arm around her shoulders and her fist gripping his belt, hauling him up with her when she stands.

"Take your time, find your feet," she whispers, a stone under his weight.

“You lovebirds good in here?” Santi pokes his head around the corner.

“Lovebirds is a strong word,” Frankie quips and Pope is glad for his sense of humor, but he can't help the way his mouth presses into a tight line as he winces.

Frankie's so pale.

“Get him to the car,” Audrey pauses to allow Santi to shoulder Frankie’s weight. “Careful of his left side. Find anything other than the stash in the dining room?”

“Nah.”

“Alright get him out of here I’m right behind you.”

She sets charges around the safe house on a delay, pausing when she passes the room Frankie was held in. She grabs his hat off of the floor and slips it on backwards before taking off towards the car.

Santi guns it the moment she slips into the open back of their Range Rover.

“How is he doing?” Pope chances a glance back over his shoulder at where Fish is laid out across the folded back seats.

“Keep driving. Do you know how to fly a chopper?”

“That’s what I have him for.”

“I do,” Frankie whispers.

“You don’t have to do anything but stay awake for me," she demands, sweeping sweat-slick hair off of his forehead.

But it’s becoming increasingly hard, it seems.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “Santi, do you know how to place an IV?’

“No?” He sounds panicked. “Am I supposed to?”

“No, I’ll do it now then. Just…call out before we hit anything rough.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Keep. Driving.” The urgency in her voice has Santiago’s heart in his throat.

He can hear Audrey shuffling around for med supplies.

He can hear how Frankie whimpers every time they hit a bump.

“I’m fine, babe,” he tries weakly to brush his knuckles against her stomach. She takes his hand and holds his arm out turning on the flashlight on her phone before slipping it into the front pocket of her tac vest. A tourniquet tightens around his arm Frankie hears the squishy crunch of an IV bag being prepped.

Mercifully, the vessels in his arm aren’t shy.

“You’ve got sexy veins, Morales.”

He starts to make an off-color comment but she tells him to keep quiet and hold still. Pope holds the car as even as he can, slowing down just a hair.

Audrey steadies her breathing and lines the needle up like lining up a shot, sinking it perfectly between beats of her own heart.

“We’re good, Santi, step on it,” she hooks the IV bag to the roof and tapes the needle in place on his arm.

Mercifully it’s only five minutes until they hit the helipad.

Audrey grabs Santiago by the shirt before he can get out.

Speaking quickly and quietly so Frankie can’t hear.

“He’s gonna need to be helped into that bird, can you walk him? I’ll hold outside until he’s in the back, just keep the IV bag up, try not to dislodge it.”

“Done.”

They have him loaded into the chopper in two minutes and Audrey has the bird in the air in another sixty seconds.

“Thought you said…couldn’t fly?” Frankie mumbles from the back seat.

“Yeah, you know how parents tell their kids that Santa Claus is real?”

They unplug Frankie’s headset after that.

So that he can't hear the worry in their voices.

“He’s not in a good spot, is he?” Santi glances back at the pained expression on Fish’s face.

“I think his ribs are cracked under there and he’s bleeding from places he shouldn’t be.” Her body is calm but there’s urgency to her words.

And anger.

“Can you get a call through to Davis? We need to change our itinerary.”

Santi’s voice crackles over the communications channel after two minutes. “They’re saying he can’t be reached,.

“Tell them it’s me.”

And he's impressed when it works but he doesn’t question it, plugging her headset into the satellite phone when they’re connected before he slips into the back seat to keep an eye on Fish. He only hears half of the conversation from there on out.

“Davis, change of plans, we’re in the helo now, but I’m going to need a charter waiting, Morales needs medical attention.”

“I’m thinking PR, likely fractured ribs with internal bleeding, he’s in and out. He needs his head scanned to rule that out too.”

“How quick can Gordon get down there?”

“Roger.”

“Beautiful. Tell him I owe him one.”

“Fine, then we’ll call it even.”

“Confirmed. Over and out.”

_____

Frankie remembers only the whirr of seaplane engines and red lights flashing through his eyelids before he wakes with a start the next afternoon.

“Easy, hermano, hey,” Santiago soothes with a smile, sitting up in the chair next to Frankie’s hospital bed.

“Where?”

“A hospital in Puerto Rico, hey, take it easy,” Santi tosses a frayed paperback onto a side table and shifts closer to where Frankie is trying to sit up. “Hey, don’t move too much, here,” Santiago puts a remote in Frankie’s hand for him to adjust the bed rather than himself.

“You took a few nasty hits. Four broken ribs, nicked your liver and caused bleeding. Probably got a bad headache too, but no permanent damage as far as we can tell.”

“I feel like shit,” Frankie croaks.

“I would expect that you do. Had us worried for a second there. You want some water?”

“Us. Where’s?”

“Jane Bond is catching some z’s,” Santi holds a paper cup out to Frankie and nods at the floor on the other side of Frankie’s bed.

He winces when he brings the cup to his split lip, glancing down to where Audrey is curled up on a blanket. He takes a few sips and hands the cup back to Pope.

“You said Puerto Rico?” His voice is thick with disuse.

“Antigua didn’t have the facilities, so she hooked you up,” Santiago continues in hushed tones. “Called in a favor and flew out the best doc that Davis has. Stayed up the whole night until they had you scanned and stabilized. I told her to head out and sleep in a real bed, but she’s fucking stubborn.”

“Mm, thanks, Santi,” Audrey murmurs before she realizes who he’s talking to.

She’s quick to her feet and quicker with a soft smile.

“Francisco.”

“Hi,” he tries to mirror it but his whole face is tight.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pretty fucking sore.”

And Audrey hums a laugh, throaty and warm and not unlike she does when they’re in each other’s arms.

She gently brushes matted hair off of his forehead but stops short of caressing his cheek even though she’s burning with the need to do it.

To touch him.

Feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.

To let her skin confirm what her eyes are seeing.

A soft knock sounds on the glass wall of the hospital room and a man motions for Audrey to join him in the hallway. After a few minutes they both step in.

“Frankie, this is Nick Gordon. He’s the best doctor I know, patched me up more times than I can count. We were in the same class and he was gracious enough to fly down. He’s been looking after you.”

“She threatened me,” Gordon quips with a wink and an outstretched palm. “Happy to see you’re awake.”

Frankie manages a shake as best he can with the cannula in his hand.

“I was just telling Aud that we’ll run a few more tests now that you’re up, go through a little bit of basic physical therapy and then have you back in here. We’ll probably keep you another night, possibly two, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need,” Frankie tries to sit up straighter and winces.

“Yeah alright, at ease Morales, you don’t have to impress me,” Gordon offers a small smile before turning to Santi and Audrey. “It’ll be a few hours, so if you guys want to grab something to eat now’s the time.”

“Yeah,” Santi runs a hand down his face and scratches at stubble. “Could probably use a shower too.”

Audrey swings around the bed and grabs her phone, pausing to gently squeeze Frankie’s foot, silently reassuring him that she’ll be back.

"C'mon," Santiago still has to coax her to leave.

“We’re booked in across the street, text me when you guys are through. Doesn't matter what time it is.” she says to Nick.

“Yes, ma’am.” Gordon catches her arm when he sees the look in her eyes. "Hey, I've got him, Aud."

“Thank you,” she whispers and slips out the door.

_____

Audrey and Santiago stumble into some tourist trap restaurant on the water because it’s the closest thing they can find with cold beer on the menu. They don’t speak again until there are appetizers in front of them.

“He’s got someone at home, right?” Audrey asks, taking a sip of beer. “To keep an eye on him. Help him out? Might be hard getting around the first few weeks, showering, cooking, all that. The less he does the quicker he’ll heal.”

“He uh,” Santiago pauses but her green eyes are filled with concern. “He can stay at mine for a few weeks. He did the same for me when I had a neck operation, it’s the least I can do.”

“Where’s his girl?”

Santi angles heavy-lidded eyes up at her across fried plantain, hesitating before he continues.

But she hasn’t asked it out of a need to move into an empty space in Frankie’s life.

Audrey’s asked it with conviction because she doesn’t want to hear that Frankie’s been abandoned.

And he hates that he has to tell her the truth.

“She’s not…she left a few months ago. Took the baby with her. Moved out to California to be closer to family. They’re not…"

"There’s no one at home, Aud.”

And Audrey lets out the breath she was holding and sits back in her chair and stares out at the ocean.

“Because of this?”

And she means professional pursuits rather than personal ones.

“A few months before this. Probably why he agreed to take that first job in Nicaragua.”

He doesn’t tell her about the coke relapse that drove the final nail in.

“But, is he…does he get to see her?” His daughter. Asked like anything less is an injustice to someone she cares for and therefore an injustice done unto herself.

“He tries to fly out there once a month or so. They Facetime a lot.”

It unsticks a corner of the papier-mâché Frankie’s covered in.

The shell around his heart.

What’s underneath is as battered and bruised the body in that bed.

“Fuck,” she whispers, mouth catching on the “k”.

“Yeah it’s not ideal,” Santi takes a swig of beer.

"My dance card is full over the next few weeks."

“I’ve got him, Aud. You handled the first part. I’ve got the next.”

“You’re a good friend, Santi.”

“How long you think he’ll be down for?” He says around a mouthful of plantain.

“Nick said six to eight weeks, but probably more like ten before Davis un-grounds him," she moves to run a hand through her hair and realizes that she's still wearing Frankie's hat.

“Yeah, he’s gonna fucking hate that.”

“He hasn’t got a choice.”

“He’s gonna hate not seeing you.”

And she looks down at the ice melting in her glass of water.

“I can’t be that for him, Santi.”

“I know. And I didn’t...didn't mean it like that. Didn’t mean to put it on you. Make it heavy, ‘m sorry.”

“Yeah," she looks down at her plate. "I know,” she sticks grilled shrimp with her fork. “I’ll send him a care package.”

_____

And Santi laughed in the moment.

But she does.

Every week, like clockwork, first to Santiago’s house and then to Frankie’s apartment when he’s back on his own.

An infrared heating pad shows up early on and Frankie swears it works better than the one that Santi bought from the drugstore that smells like popcorn and piss after two minutes in the microwave.

Week three she sends the memoirs of famous pilots. Books about Arctic expeditions and alpinists.

You ever climb a mountain, Aud?

He texts her from where he's shirtless on Santiago’s couch after having finished a novel about one of Everest’s most dangerous climbing seasons. He's warm and loose. Soothing heat seeping into his ribs.

Absolutely not, I’m a sea-level girl.

Why not?

Just not my medium, I suppose. Some beautiful things are better admired from afar.

And it’s probably the pain meds contributing to his reply.

You feel like one of those things right now. too beautiful. too far away.

You need to be in good working order to climb mountains, Frankie.

Miss taking you to that peak though.

Corny.

Oh she’s picky.

Discerning.

Where are you?

Uruguay. Me and mini bar gin for the night. Where are you?

Pope’s couch. he made a run to the store before it closes.

Hot. How are you feeling?

Sore. useless. bored. I miss you.

And he takes a calculated risk because he feels sore, useless, and bored.

Miss eating that pretty pussy. just thinking about how wet you get for me.

Are you hard, Frankie?

Getting there.

And he doesn’t expect what she says next.

Show me.

Frankie tongues his bottom lip with a shake of his head. He reaches under his grey sweatpants to take his length in a fist, coaxing it with the memory of her taste on his lips. He palms the base of it over cotton and snaps a picture angled down his stomach where his length rests hard and heavy angled over his left hip bone.

Fuck, you’re so big Frankie.

Miss hearing you say that, baby.

You cleared for this, Morales?

Broke my ribs, not my dick.

That would have been a real shame. Wouldn't be able to enjoy this.

And she sends a photo of her on her stomach, taken just over her left shoulder to shows off her naked back, the exaggerated arch in her spine accentuating the bare curve of her ass.

And he calls her now.

“Hi, Frankie.” She purrs when she picks up.

“I didn’t know nice girls like you sent pictures like that.”

“Who said I’m a nice girl?”

And he hums from low in his chest.

After a moment, “you ever bring toys with you, baby?”

“I was supposed to bring you,” she quips. “Now all I’ve got are my hands.”

“Well then let’s see what I can do.” He puts the phone on speaker and leaves it on his chest, rubbing a palm low over his stomach.

“You gonna listen to me, gatita?”

And she grins on the other end of the line.

“Whatever you say, Frankie.”

“You serious, Aud?”

“Keep talking, Frankie.”

“Still on your stomach over there?”

“Mhmm.”

“Stay there. Go ahead and slip your hand down. Down to that pretty little clit.” His voice is thick with want.

And he can hear the faint slide of skin against the cotton of the duvet.

“Slowly now. Just soft little circles for me, baby.”

Frankie again reaches under his sweatpants, rubbing that sensitive spot just under the head of his cock with his ring finger before working his foreskin over the tip.

“Fuck, I wish I was behind you right now. You wet, baby?” Frankie growls.

“A little,” she whispers.

“Ohh,” he chuckles darkly. “A little’s not enough, baby. You know better than that. Move those fingers a little faster for me.”

And he mirrors the command before shifting to pull his cock out of his sweatpants entirely, wrapping his whole fist around his length. Pumping his cock in time with her moans.

“Oh, yeah baby.” He grunts and squeezes the base of his dick. Frankie's breathing has picked up to something that’s starting to make his ribs smart from the exertion. He swirls his middle finger through the slick dripping from the head of his cock, using it to ease the slide of his foreskin over his shining, reddened tip. “Louder for me, gatita.”

“Need more, Frankie,” she sighs.

“Mmm, my baby needs something inside, doesn’t she?” He teases.

“I’m gettin’ real close to not following orders, Morales,” her voice is husky when she bites back.

“Okay, baby.” he grins. “Okay. Just two fingers, hermosa. Inside.” She moans as she does it. “Yeahhh,” Frankie answers, pumping himself faster.

“Bet you’re so wet for me right now. So warm. Does it feel good, baby?”

“It’s not enough, Frankie,” she whimpers. Her fingers aren’t long enough—not thick enough—to do what Frankie does.

“I know, baby,” he soothes through his own desperate ache. “I know. You’re gonna move those hips for me, okay?” He’s hissing through teeth now, bucking up into his fist. “Go on. Grind down on your hand—for me.”

And she rolls her hips to put pressure on her clit with the heel of her palm, her fingers buried in her cunt, pressing against that spot inside that builds a warm wave of pleasure on the verge of breaking.

And Frankie can tell from five thousand miles away by the way she starts to cry out.

“Feels so good, baby.” She’s breathless.

“Oh yeah,” his pace speeds up, “fuck yeah, baby. Yes. Let me hear you.” He tugs on his balls with his free hand and imagines each thrust of his hips is a thrust up into her hot, tight cunt.

“So close, Frankie,” she gasps, open-mouthed against the bedspread

“Yeah, baby. Come for me. Babyyy. Oh—ff—fuck. Let me hear it." His voice is ragged—wild with need. With desperation. "Let me hear you fucking come. As loud as you want, gatita. Come for me. Come, baby, come.”

And she pants his name until her voice breaks on a moan and a choked screech of the last syllable.

“Baby....baby, my sexy little ba—ooh fff—UCK.”

And Frankie grunts and grits his teeth through growls as his hips snap hard against his fist, spilling thick stripes of semen over his bare stomach.

His breathing is hard and pained as he hears Audrey’s soft, answering moans.

And for a moment they just listen to each other breathe.

“You okay, Frankie?”

“So good,” he murmurs.

After a thick pause, “ribs hurt like a bitch. Possibly…overexerted myself," he pants, lifting his hand up to survey the sticky white that coats his fingers.

“Oh, Frankie,” she sighs.

Sighs like she wishes she was there, fitted against the ache.

Sighs like she wants to kiss it better.

“It was worth it, ba— fuck.” Frankie hears the garage door open.

“What…”

“Pope’s back.”

“Tell him he can blame me for his living room smelling like come.”

“Fuck. Yeah, I gotta go.”

“Go Frankie.”

“Good night, pretty baby.”

“Night, Frankie. Good luck.”

He hangs up with a smile and pockets his phone, rushing to crack a window with his clean hand as quickly as he can given the sticking pain in his ribs.

Frankie slips into the bathroom seconds before he hears plastic bags being loaded into the kitchen.

“You good, Fish?” Santiago yells out.

“Yeah,” he answers and starts the shower as his phone buzzes with a text.

You’re stunningly good at that by the way, Francisco.

He sends a winking face.

Can’t wait to do it in person, baby.

In time, Francisco.

_____

The next week she sends both sweet and salty snacks because she doesn’t know which he prefers until he texts her that the sour peach rings she sent were amazing.

The following week a whole case of them arrives at his door.

Around week six Frankie finds that she tucked a tastefully suggestive polaroid into a particularly salacious chapter of The Delta of Venus and between it and the reading material and how long it’s been—

Frankie completely ruins his copy.

His ribs don’t quite hurt as much this time.

He briefly considers shipping it back to her, wrinkled cover, pasted-together pages and all, along with a note that reads “enjoyed this one” but he doesn’t know her address.

Frankie figures you can’t ship biohazards anyway and tosses it instead.

The polaroid though, he keeps.

_____

Week eight her phone lights up with a text from Frankie, right around midnight in his time zone.

I miss the way you smell.

Your hair. your skin.

And Audrey’s heart aches with the intimacy of his confession.

Oh, Frankie. I miss you too.

I've been cheating though. I have your hat.

Keep it for now. send me something in exchange?

A few days later, her favorite hat shows up at his door.

"Crossroads Bar and Grill," he reads out loud with a smile. Sure enough, it smells faintly of her hair and he idly holds it to his nose before he notices something else in the package. He lets the strap out an inch and pops the cap on his own head before pulling out a blue linen pillowcase.

Frankie crushes it to his nose and breathes in the scent of her hair, exhaling with a deep moan.

That night he slips it over one of his extra pillows and sucks in breath with his face buried in it until he comes hard into his fist.

Open-mouthed.

Lungs full of her.

_____

Week nine she’s on a plane back to DC when he texts her a picture with the caption:

PT going well. worked out without pain this afternoon. bruises mostly gone.

The text loads before the picture does, and she smiles because he’s on the mend.

Audrey is not, however, prepared for the image taken in his bathroom mirror.

He’s turned to the side, brushing his teeth with one hand, elbow picked up to display his ribs, phone held in the other hand angled in towards the mirror.

It’s a thought captured in the moment that it happened. Meant only to display the faint yellow that’s left on his ribcage, a scant suggestion of the symphony of purple and blue that marked it weeks before.

But Frankie is fresh out of the shower. Naked as the day he was born.

And the bathroom countertop is only so high.

Frankie, I’m on a plane.

That’s fine.

I just noticed that it looks a lot better. thought I’d share. Where to?

And she realizes it really was a mistake.

I’m happy to hear and happy you shared! Working out without pain is huge progress.

But half your cock is in this shot, Francisco.

Ah fuck.

I sent that to all the boys.

And Audrey has to keep herself from cackling because surely Big Dick Morales’ phone is blowing up with the kind of shit that only good friends can dish out.

Shame, I thought it was just for me.

He sends the wild-faced emoji with its tongue out.

Where you off to?

Back to DC actually.

Nice to be heading home. text me that you got in safe.

And something warm spreads in her chest.

She chances another glance at the photo, zooming in first on his ribs, then the curve of biceps that seem more heavily-muscled than she remembers.

She scrolls down the image to the suggestion of abs where he was softer before. Frankie, it seems, has been taking physical therapy seriously and then some.

And she scrolls down a little further to the brush of curls at the base of—

“That your husband?” The older lady to Audrey’s right asks and she immediately clicks her screen off.

“Yep,” she lies because you can never be too sure and she doesn’t need a lecture on the premarital sending of accidentally nude pictures. “Yeah, he fell off his motorbike a few weeks ago. Bruised his ribs, but they’re looking way better now.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“He makes you smile. Keep him. For now.”

And Audrey laughs with her head thrown back and buys the woman a glass of wine and they fall into easy conversation and the rest of her flight isn’t as dismal as the first half.

When she steps through the door of her apartment she remembers Frankie's ask.

Made it back home.

Not one minute later, her phone lights up.

A photo from Frankie. Taken just above his hips. The outline of his thick, hard length evident under the rumpled green of his bed sheet, hand closed loosely around the base of it.

There’s precome smeared on his tanned stomach, catching the light from a bedside lamp.

That one’s just for you.

You sure you didn’t send this to all the boys?

Only you, baby.

This right now?

Ten minutes ago, I’m afraid. fading fast.

I miss you.

I miss you too, Francisco.

_____

Week ten there’s a knock on the door of her hotel room in Trinidad.

And she opens it to big brown eyes peering at her from under the brim of a cap from Crossroads Bar and Grill.

“Audrey,” he smiles.

“Frankie,” she sighs and wraps her arms around his neck as he presses her tight against him.

She feels his ribs expand comfortably as his lungs fill with the scent of her hair. His lips are warm against her neck and she tucks her nose into the tender spot behind his ear.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.

And her skin confirms what her eyes are seeing.

And in some small way.

They each feel a little more whole again.

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #ohforficsake #The Margay

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dragons-and-magic · 21 days

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Does anyone else ship Frankie and Hurricane? I'm curious.

#ttte #journey beyond sodor #ttte frankie #ttte hurricane #Frankie x Hurricane #Hurricane x Frankie #They give me Gentle Giant x Evil Queen vibes.😂#I can't really explain it either way.#In my AU they're a married villain couple. Lol.#And they're head over heels in love with each other.#I mean like they are DEEPLY IN LOVE.#So what if everyone thinks steamies and Diesels should hate each other?!#They pretty much gave the middle finger to society and eloped to the Mainland Steelworks or something.🤣🤣🤣

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uselessalexis165 · 1 year

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tried making some ttte memes (113)

#i need to find one for the entire steam team #my edit #my text #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #ttte rosie #ttte thomas #ttte hurricane #ttte frankie #frankie x hurricane #ttte james #ttte gordon #ttte henry #3x4 #ttte bash #ttte dash #ttte ferdinand #ttte toby #ttte percy

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valhallaas · 1 year

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Sweet Like Honey

Benny Miller x fem!reader

Warning: smut(18+, minors dni) fingering, p in v, creampie (use a condom please)

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You and Benny are two peas in a pod

A/N: I listened to Honey by Halsey while writing this. Anyway. Here it is friends! My first Benny fic! I hope you all like it. I love Garrett and this was VERY self indulgent. As always, feedback is very much welcome, and enjoy!

It’s been a long night. Friday night and you’re slammed. People are bleeding in after the fight, a victory for the local Miller boy. You lose track of time, serving as quickly as you can. The crowd is thicker, live performances are lined up–including yourself. You dabble with a mic and your guitar from time to time. Nothing serious. Billy, the bar owner, uses your pretty face and talent as a mule ticket for the younger crowd. You don’t mind so much.

What you do mind, is the guy who doesn’t know how to take a simple no as an answer. He presses on you as you walk past him, hand lingering on your waist. Your elbow hits his gut, but somehow it only encourages him. It’s the same guy who’s on your ass every night that Benny isn’t there. Your goddamn guard dog, he spits in your ear, grip too tight on your arm. It’s nothing you can’t handle, a real pain in the ass is all he is. Benny doesn’t know–Benny can’t know, because it would not end well.

A familiar whistle catches your attention. You lift your hand in acknowledgement when you see Frankie and Santiago walk to the back booth. Your eyes scan the bar for the Millers, a frown forming when you realize they’re missing.

Benny Miller had come into your life like a hurricane, a potential apocalypse, a force to be reckoned with. He’s hard to miss. Tall and broad with eyes that could drown you. Not that you’d mind. Not when they’re accompanied by a smile so bright it’d save you from the depths of hell. He’s just built that way.

Every Friday night he’s there at the bar, waiting on you to take his order for him and the guys. It’s an order you remember quickly. Grabbing their drinks you head to the table.

“Where’s Benny?”

“Relax,” Santiago says, grabbing his beer. “Will’s stitching him up.”

“I thought he won?”

“He did. Doesn’t mean he didn’t get hit once or twice.”

Your frown deepens. But then—

It hits ten, and it’s your time to shine. Casual wolf whistles echo around the bar as you make your way to the stage. You’re handed your guitar and slowly step onto the stage. You move to the mic. “Good evening, how’s everybody doing tonight?” The crowd cheers and you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m going to sing some songs for you, if that’s alright?” When the cheers from the crowd die down the second time, you strum a tune, a small giggle spilling from you. “Good, that’s good. Because you don’t really have a choice. Let’s go!”

The lights are blinding, but you can feel Benny’s eyes on you. You know him in darkness, and probably even in death. It brings you comfort to know he’s finally here and he’s watching. You breathe in and relax. A small smile teases your lips, your fingers moving over the strings. The crowd loves you. A ten minute set that feels like an hour. You’re sweating by the time you walk off the stage. All you want is a cool glass of water and Benny. Your eyes track him as he follows closely behind his brother and the others. He towers over everyone, his eyes searching. When Benny’s gaze finds you, he gives you a knowing grin and a wink.

You weren’t paying attention, you ran face first into the guy. He’s drunk enough that the smell of him makes you gag. Unfamiliar hands grab your shoulders, fingers digging into you. It makes your skin crawl.

“I knew you’d come around babydoll,” He slurs, lips pressed to your neck, hand coming forward to grab at your chest.

“What the fuck,” You can hear shouting behind you, the sound of glass breaking.

You know, you can feel it. He’s waiting for you, he’s holding on to that rage that rushed him the moment this fucking guy touched you. If Benny’s got a short fuse, yours is even shorter. As soon as Benny reaches you, your hand is already flying towards the drunkard’s face. Blood gushes everywhere, you smile, knowing you broke his nose.

“You fucking bitch!”

Just as quickly, you’re yanked back right out of his grip, a large body blocking your view. “Hands off the goods,” You shout venomously as you stumble, Will and Santi at your back, holding you when you hear the telltale crack of fist against bone, a body tumbling backwards onto the floor.

“Pay, tip, and get the fuck out.” Benny’s voice is ran through gravel, and fuck if it doesn’t scream dangerous. “You touch her, even fucking think of her name, or come back to this bar again, my face will be the last thing you ever see.”

And you’d hate to admit that it does something to you, that low voice and the blood on his knuckles and the way he stands in front of you.

***

When Benny makes it back to the table, you’re pulling your hand from Will’s grasp only for him to snatch it up. Your knuckles are slightly bruised. It was a solid hit.

“Who taught you how to throw a punch like that?”

You bite down on your smile, tugging your lip between your teeth. He’s doing nothing to hide the pride in his voice. Slowly, you take him in from top to bottom, gaze lingering only for a second at the quick stitch job on his right eyebrow.

“Mmm. A rowdy patron.”

“Must have taken a liking to him.”

You grin, pulling him closer to you by his belt loops. “Something like that.”

A hand wraps lightly around your throat, Benny grins at the sparkle in your eye. His voice drops lower, making heat throb in between your legs. “You think Billy would get mad if we fucked in the bathroom again?”

“Yeah, probably. Won’t get mad if I ride you in the backseat of your truck, though.”

“God dammit, honey. You can’t just say things like that.”

“Come on, Miller,” you whisper, taking a step away from him. “Bet you can make me cry on your cock.”

“Jesus,” he mutters.

Pulling you behind him, you both wave a quick goodbye to the guys as he parts the crowd, heading for the door. You’re laughing as he drags you to his truck, door already unlocked. There is no preamble. There are no sweet nothings. Your shirt is yanked off, hot kisses pressed to your skin. Moans are pulled roughly from you when he begins to suck, leaving his mark on you. Your knees rest on either side of his legs. Clothed center rutting against the denim that holds him hostage. You ache, you burn. Benny, Benny, Benny.

“This won’t be sweet,” Benny breathes into your hair, hands gripping you to hold yourself up, you hear the flick of his pocket knife, and fuck, you know what he’s about to do. You aren’t even angry that he’s going to destroy your favorite pair of panties. He can always buy you more. “This won’t be gentle.”

The blade cuts through the lace and you whimper.

“I know. I know. I don’t want it gentle.”

“Think you can handle it?”

You bite his neck, making him groan. His hip bucking up into your naked core. “Yeah, baby. I’m certain I can.”

His fingers dig into your thighs before trailing towards your core. He groans, feeling how slick you are. Curses fall from his lips, his finger running up and down your seam. Back and forth, back and forth before he shoves a finger inside you. It’s not enough. You want so much more. Need it. Your Benny, your boyish, chaotic and mean Benny boy knows exactly what you need. Pulling his finger out only to shove three in, you keen, hands running up his neck and into hair. You huff, pushing his backwards cap off, the blonde locks falling free. Your hips are moving on their own, fucking yourself on his hand. He curves his fingers, reaching up in a ‘come here’ motion, and you tumble over the edge.

“You’re easy tonight,”

“‘I’m always easy for you.”

Benny laughs. “Only me?”

“Yeah, Benny.”

You see the flash of his smile before his lips are crashing against yours. He undoes his belt, pulling his pants down far enough to spring himself free. Your breath catches as you stare down at him. He’s leaking, hard, and throbbing. You pull yourself up as high as you can head lifting to look at him. His pupils are blown, black encompassed by a tight blue ring. It’s hot in the cab, sweat slicking up every inch of available skin. You run a thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. Your nails nip at his skin and he shivers. Your knees bump against the buckles, as you hover over him. His dick nudges the soaked folds of your cunt.

“Come on baby,” you say softly, lowering yourself down. “Wreck me, I can take it.”

And you know he wants to. Can feel the pent up energy from the fight vibrating his very being. He’s always keyed up after a match, but if he's won? There was no stopping him.

“You’re too good to me, honey,” his voice is thick with want.

Slowly you sink down onto him. He’s almost too big. The head of cock snags at your entrance, causing you to start over. You breathe in nice and slow, working yourself slowly until you’re at the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” You hiss as he bucks, you had given him permission and he’s taking it, demanding more–needing more the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.

“Benny,” you whine, forehead resting against his.

He nods. He knows. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, hands tugging at his hair, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. His thrusts are slow, building a slow burn inside of you. Your toes curl because it’s just the beginning. You draw back, hips moving in a smooth tempo. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself breathe, relax, and suck him in deeper. You’re almost where he wants you. He meets your gaze and his eyes hold something akin to mischief. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts up a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.

“Eyes on me,” You whimper and lift your head. “There you are, my pretty girl.”

You watch each other, a breath apart as you circle your hips and ride him nice and slow. You’re waiting for him to break. Any minute now. You go from circling your hips to lifting yourself up and down. He muffles out curses, hands gripping your hips to help you set a pace. It’s not a nice one. You flex your cunt, lower muscles bearing down as you grip him. He groans, the sound booming in the tight small space.

There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Benny, fuck,”

“What do you need, honey?”

“Fuck me,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I need it, need you.”

His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “Stay with me. Ready?”

You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. You never got your water after that set. Sighing, he’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you to the brim, cock dragging against your walls. You love every minute of it.

He hasn’t started yet. Not really, but your orgasm takes you by surprise. The rough graze of his pants against your clit. You know that your thigh is going to have his buckle imprinted on it. You lurch against him as a whimper escapes. You melt, boneless, like jelly. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.

“I love the way you feel when you’re coming on my cock.”

You snort, pulling yourself closer to him. Guttural grunts and low growls meet your ear. Heavy breaths that fog the windows. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. You feel him firmly plant his feet, delivering a sharper thrust that nearly has your head hitting the top of the cab. He mumbles a shitty apology (clearly not sorry at all) but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. You’re bouncing on his cock now, meeting his every thrust. He’s deep, so deep you’re surprised you can’t taste him. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.

“You gonna come for me again, honey?”

Benny knows you can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. He loves when you get like this, even better when you’ve asked for it. You shift, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re swollen and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips, breathless–he’s your only savior.

It builds and builds and builds until it has nowhere to go. It roars forward, jolting you, a scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Benny is right there. He holds you into place, stubble grazing your cheek. He fucks you through it, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low gravel filled groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. Shuddering he falls back against the seat, gasping for air.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

You fall forward, hugging him tightly to you. You hadn’t realized how much you’ve been missing him until you were drunk off of him. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you.

“Keep me in there,” he reminds you.

“Always.” You hum, scratching his head with your nails. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here, honey.”

“I know, still. Heard your fight was a good one.” You lightly run a finger over his brow making sure not to touch the stitching.

“It was. Wouldn’t have gotten hit if my lucky charm had been there.” His words make you grin. “But lo and behold, I walk into the damn bar and there you are. Hell in a basket just makin’ a racket.”

You laugh, lifting your head to kiss him. Both of you jump when someone bangs against the hood of the truck. You press yourself tighter against Benny.

“If you guys are done fucking, I’d like to go home.”

Your eyes widen. Will. Benny laughs and pulls your shirt down over your head. You adjust your skirt, watching Benny as he fixes his pants. He looks back at you, sunshine pouring out of his smile.

“It’s okay, honey. I know you’re mean. You’re mean and you’re mine.”

#benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller one shot #benny miller smut #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier one shot #triple frontier smut #benny miller #benny miller x female reader

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brewsterispunkk · 2 years

Text

sunshine state.

PART FIVE: FORTUNATE SON

pairing: benny miller x f!reader

WC: 4k !

warnings: PTSD (this one is rough, friends). dumbasses in love, we get some of Benny’s POV here ;)

summary: benny is living with reader, when a hurricane hits further up the coast, causing a week of perpetual thunderstorms. what could go wrong?

a/n: a shorter one before things REALLY heat up. And recently sunshine state has received a lot more notes and exposure so: if you’re new, hi!! i love u and I’m so happy ur here with us! as always, notes and feedback is so SO appreciated! xx, L

PART FIVE: FORTUNATE SON

Benny would never admit it, but his PTSD was getting worse.

He’d never say it out loud, and it was easy for him to hide it. He was good at hiding a lot of things. He was good at hiding how insecure he was about his attention span, he was good at hiding how much it hurt that his brother’s fiance hated him, he was good at hiding how his best friend made his insides feel like they were on fire and his heart feel like it was going to beat out of his chest. He was even better at hiding how nervous he was all the time.

Ever since his nightmare at the beach house, he’d felt that familiar pit of anxiety in his chest knotting and knotting in a way it hadn’t since when he’d first gotten back from his time in the service.

His PTSD came and went.

When he’d first gotten back, it was awful. There were days at a time when he got no sleep at all; either he’d wake up screaming his throat raw, or he couldn’t close his eyes long enough without the images of war seeping in. That was a time he tried not to remember. It was right after Kelly had left, leaving him with a half- empty apartment and trust issues. Depression hit, and most days it took all the effort he had in him to even get out of bed to make a meal. He’d been on a one-way flight to hell.

It had been Will and Frankie who pulled him out of it. Pope was still in the service, taking another tour god-knows where, and Will and Frankie had already been out for a few years. They knew the signs to look for.

It had taken weeks for Benny to be convinced to get help and finally go to therapy at the VA. After a particularly drunken night, he’d hit rock-bottom, sobbing into Will’s arms in the bathroom. The next day, he’d made the appointment.

Since then, there had been spurts; weeks or days at a time where he’d feel a little more on-edge than usual, where a car backfiring would send him into a fit, where he couldn’t sleep because of the flashbacks. But it was nearing on a week since the storm, and he still felt on edge. He was holding his breath for it to pass.

The doorknob turning pulled Benny from his thoughts.

He looked down into the pot on your stove, and cursed when he saw the broth there boiling.

“Shit,” he hissed, hoping it wouldn’t affect the soup that much. He poured in the chopped vegetables and set the stove to simmer, covering the pot with the top.

“Hey,” you sighed, finally back from work. “What’s all this?”

“Ah, It’s supposed to be dinner.” He smiled. “If it turns out alright is to be determined.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.” You shook your head, reaching down to give Salem a scratch behind the ear as you toed off your shoes. “I’m gonna go change, ok?”

“Alright!” He called after you, leaning on the counter.

How you were always so encouraging was beyond him. You were optimistic of everyone, but especially of him in a way that seemed so effortless. Like you weren’t even trying to be that way, you just were. It made his chest constrict. A purr from his feet caught Benny’s attention.

“Oh, you.” He said sarcastically, eyeing the black cat perched in front of him. She was glaring at him, and Benny didn’t care what you said, but she did it on purpose. He was sure of it.

Resting bitch face, my ass. He thought, recalling what you’d called it, as the feline swished her tail at him.

Her green eyes regarded him coolly, judging him as if she could read his mind.

“In your dreams,” he imagined her saying as he watched the hallway you’d retreated to. Hell, even your cat knew you were too good for him.

He snorted at his thoughts. Maybe he was going crazy.

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, sending a thrill of dread down Benny’s back. He looked out the small kitchen window above your sink. The clouds looked darker than they had earlier, and no blue could be seen in the sky. A hurricane had hit land further up the coast a few days ago, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the fallout made its way here, but that did nothing to dull the anxiety he felt staring the storm down.

“Jesus,” you called from your bedroom, emerging in sweats and a T-shirt. “I wasn’t expecting the storms to get here so quickly.”

“Yeah,” he added lamely, eyes still on the clouds.

“At least the hurricane didn’t hit us, right?” You asked, making your way over to him. “Hey,” your hand hit his shoulder, and your concerned eyes met his. “You okay?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, looking at you, hoping his eyes didn’t give away his obvious anxiety. You cast him an unconvinced look that held no real venom.

“Yeah, okay, big guy. Go shower or something, let me deal with this.”

“No, no.” He said with conviction, knowing that the last thing he needed was to be alone with his thoughts. He knew you were just trying to help, but still: the thought of leaving the task at hand made that familiar thrill of anxiety course through him. He caught your surprised look out of the corner of his eye and sighed. “No. This helps and,” he paused. “I wanted to do something nice. To say thank you.”

All of a sudden he felt sheepish, looking down at the recipe he’d stolen from one of your cookbooks. He felt your eyes on him but didn’t look up. He was too scared he’d find pity. You sighed.

“Okay,” your voice was a tad softer. “But you need to use egg noodles, not angelhair.”

His eyes met your amused ones and he chuckled, grateful that you were treating him normally.

That was something he never could quite get over with Will; he knew he meant well, and that he got it, but whenever his PTSD would act up, he’d handle Benny like he was delicate. Like he needed to be fixed, to be handled like fine china. It wasn’t like that with you.

You moved out of the kitchen, Salem at your heels, and flopped down on the couch. Outside, thunder rumbled, and he felt his heart speed up.

This was gonna be a long night.

“It’s my turn to pick the show!” You called, and he groaned. If he had to sit through one more episode of New Girl, he was gonna lose it. And not because of the storm.

“Please tell me it’s not—“

“It’s New Girl!” You laughed, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Consider it revenge for Rick and Morty.”

He rolled his eyes fondly, feeling his chest decompress the slightest bit. A warmth replaced it and he caught himself smiling to himself as he stirred the noodles into the broth.

Shit. He thought to himself. I’m in deep.

- - - -

It was half past two when you stirred awake, a particularly loud crack of thunder waking you. You jumped as another sounded.

You shook your head and burrowed back into your pillows, mind set on getting back to sleep, before you started.

Benny.

You slid out of bed, bare feet hitting the wood floor as you made your way down the hall. You tried to be as quiet as possible—on the off chance that Benny actually was asleep, you didn’t want to disturb him. As you got to the end of the hallway, you heard the muffled voices of the sitcom on the television.

The first thing that you noticed was the fact that Benny hadn’t pulled the couch out into a bed yet. You’d told him multiple times that he really didn’t have to fold it up again every morning, but he insisted—something about not intruding on your space or whatever. He sat in the middle of the couch, bleary eyes trained on the TV. It seemed he wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight. The second thing you noticed was that the show playing on the TV at near nonexistent volume was New Girl.

Checkmate, Miller, you thought smugly.

You walked over to him, sitting beside him on the couch, pretending to be invested in whatever Nick and Schmidt were arguing about.

“Hey,” you offered lightly, not knowing if he was in the mood to talk or not.

“Hi.” he said, sounding beaten down. It made your heart ache for him because god, it was tearing you up to see him like this. You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, offering the best form of comfort you could. You thought you felt him relax a bit at the contact, which made sense, because Benny’s love language was physical touch.

“Not planning on sleepin’ tonight, then?” you asked, genuine. No judgment involved.

“Yeah, no.” the words came out sounding choked in his throat. “I, I don’t,” he stopped, as if thinking for the right words. You lifted your head and looked at him, prepared to lend your ear. “I don’t think I can deal with the dreams tonight.” He sounded defeated, and your heart broke.

You nodded.

A few more moments of silence passed before he spoke up again.

“It’s fuckin’ ironic.” His voice was dry, bitter.

“What is?”

“So many people, so many,” he continued. “Like to thank me for my service. For serving my country or whatever. For being ‘brave.’ They call us brave. But I can’t even sit through fuckin’ rainstorm without getting confused and thinking I’m over there again. Pretty fuckin’ brave.”

You grabbed his hand, squeezing like you were the one going through it.

“It’s not fair,” he said after a minute. “I get a pension check once a year and in exchange I have to deal with all this shit alone.”

You stayed silent, because you didn’t know what to say. He was right; it wasn’t fair. It was horrible to you—that someone as kind and happy and pure as Benny was having to put up with this. If you could have taken it away, you would have. Instead, you just squeezed his hand and put your head back on his shoulder.

After a few more minutes of watching the TV screen monotonously, you spoke up again.

“So, no convincing you to try to get some sleep?” you asked casually.

He craned his neck to look down at you, a guilty look on his face. His brows were pulled together tight.

“I don’t think so, honey. M’sorry,” he said apologetically. You shook your head.

“You don’t have to apologize, Ben.” you murmured. “I’m not tired either, I’ll stay up with you.”

He sighed, not believing you.

“Honey, you don’t have to–”

“I know, dingus.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and to you it was. “I want to.”

He shook his head.

“Alright, then.” he said, before muttering under his breath, “stubborn.”

“I heard that.”

“And?” he challenged. You rolled your eyes and pinched his thigh, all of a sudden invested with what was happening in the show.

“Just shut up and watch the show.” The order held no real venom. The only response you got was a chuckle, as the both of you turned your attention back to the TV, waiting to see if Schmidt would be successful in wooing CeCe.

“You’re wrong, you know,” you spoke as the credits rolled, catching Benny by surprise. He tilted his head a little, not taking his eyes away from the screen as he pressed ‘play’ on the next episode.

“Wrong about what?”

“Not to sound like a broken record here,” you sighed. “Or, like, be too cheesy, but you’re not alone, Ben.” you paused, waiting for him to say something, but panicking when he didn’t. Your mouth moved faster than your brain, just spitting you what you meant. “You–All this shit you’re dealing with, it’s awful, like, insanely awful, and I’m not gonna pretend like I know what it’s like at all, but you’re not alone. I love you, but that’s the biggest load of horse-shit I’ve ever heard. You’ve got the guys, and you’ve got the people at the gym who love you, Ben. Your students worship the ground you walk on, and I’m pretty sure that girl Patricia is, like, in love with you or something, but that’s not,” you took a breath, feeling his eyes on you but too scared to look up. You exhaled, trying to calm your nerves, and hoping that at least some of that made sense. “And you’ve got me, Benny. I’m not going anywhere unless you, like, shun me or something. You’re not alone.” You added the last part quietly, bashful all of a sudden.

When he didn’t say anything, you cleared your throat.

“Sorry if that was out of line–”

“Thank you,” his choked up voice cut you off, and you finally looked up at him. His eyes were glassy, and he was looking at his lap, sniffing like he was trying to hold back tears. “I,” he paused. “Thank you.”

You just hugged him, letting him bury his face in your shoulder. You pretended not to feel the moisture from his eyes seep through your shirt.

You let him be the first to pull back, letting him set the pace. Besides, if it were up to you, you weren’t sure you’d ever break the hug. Being that close to him was addictive.

He pressed play on the TV, watching the show with more relaxed attention; his shoulders had relaxed a bit.

You smirked, your head on his shoulder again.

“I told you I’d convert you,” you said smugly.

“Hmm?” he hummed, not quite catching your meaning.

“New Girl is so much better than Rick and Morty.”

“Oh my god,” he laughed, and it sounded even deeper and fuller than it usually did, the sound hitting your ears differently with your head on his shoulder. “Just shut up and watch the show,” he added fondly, parroting your own words from earlier back to you. You couldn’t help the stupid, stupid smile that came across your face.

You didn’t go back to bed, no matter how many times Benny insisted you needed sleep. Once, around 3:30 am, you’d yawned and he’d nudged you, chuckling.

“Get to bed, honey. I’m keeping you up.”

You’d just jutted your chin at him, rubbing at your eyes.

“Don’t order me around in my own house, Miller.” you’d said sourly, and that was that. He didn’t argue.

And by four a.m., you were out. Completely dozed off, hands clutching Benny’s arm and face smushed into his shoulder, completely missing the way he was looking at you like you hung the moon.

- - - -

It was half-way through the week when Benny found himself curled up on your bathroom floor, knees to his chest, eyes wide, and breathing stuttered.

It had been stupid. So, so stupid.

He was getting ready for the day–it was half-past nine, and he had a class at 10:30. He’d slept in a bit, but he didn’t mind. The six hours of sleep he had gotten had been the most he’d gotten in days, and he’d take what he could get. He’d been reaching for his pomade for his hair when his elbow slipped, knocking over your metal hand-mirror from the counter.

It had hit the tile with a loud crack, and in an instant, Benny was on the ground, hands pressed to his ears.

The flashbacks varied. Sometimes, he was in a jungle somewhere, bullets flying from the brush and he couldn’t see. Other times, he was in a desert, the dry heat burning at his eyes as he watched his comrades fall. Once, he was underwater: a memory from a training drill gone wrong in which he’d almost drowned.

This time, it was the desert.

As he squeezed his eyes shut, he saw visions: the gold slope of a dune, Will’s pained expression as blood poured from a flesh-wound, his friend from bootcamp shot through the head, eyes wide and unseeing.

He gasped when he felt something warm and wet against his arm. A curious meow sounded from next to him, and his frantic eyes opened to a furry black head tilted, close to his. Salem pawed at his arm, claws extended only a little bit, until he dropped his arms completely. His breath came a little slower now.

She gazed at him annoyedly, as if to say, “really, this is what you called me in for?”

She meowed again, brushing up against him this time, her soft head rubbing against his knee. Benny couldn’t believe it; this was the closest the cat had gotten to him without her trying to either pee or inflict some kind of bodily harm on him. He liked it.

Shit, shit, shit, he thought to himself, forcing his eyes open. He frantically looked around the room, trying to focus on anything enough to distract himself.

His breath was still labored, and every time he blinked he saw it; the blood, his friend’s wide, lifeless eyes. He clenched his fists, trying desperately to remember what he learned in therapy, or the breathing techniques Will had taught him, or your voice talking him down, or anything, but he couldn’t. His mind, and his lungs still thought he was over there, fighting for his life, and his body was in panic mode.

He was surprised to find Salem still beside him, her tongue still licking his arm. Her small, dark figure sat beside him, her eyes trained on the door, as if on guard. Her tail swished every now and then, brushing up against his back, and he thought that sitting like this she looked more like a companion than a pest—vigilant and loyal.

I could get used to this, he thought.

Then, all of a sudden, he realized that the pit of panic in his stomach was nearly nonexistent, banished by Salem’s presence beside him.

He looked at the cat in shock, and she just stared back. Her green eyes were knowing, he thought, almost smug. No wonder you swear she understands you. As if hearing his thoughts, her tail swished, and with a purr, she turned around and strutted out of the bathroom.

Benny sighed, all of a sudden tired from the ordeal. He decided he’d call off from work today–give Lance something to do other than sit on his ass and check out minors for a living. But for a minute, he just sat there, perplexed and a bit amused, at what had just happened.

- - - -

The next curtain didn’t fall until a few days later.

The days had passed slowly from your point of view, though you knew it was probably the opposite from Benny’s.

You knew that it’d been hard on him. He hadn’t been open about it since that night a few days before, but you knew the signs—no matter how good the thought he was at hiding it. There were times you’d catch him staring a bit too intensely into space, or gripping the table too hard, and you knew. Luckily he’d been able to sleep the past few nights— or at least had been willing to try. If the bags under his eyes were any indication, though, you’d venture to say that he hadn’t been sleeping much.

And unfortunately, the storms had gotten worse. The hurricane was a category 4, which meant that the fallout would be more intense than a few light showers. They were supposed to pass by the weekend, but even that was wishful, in your opinion: bad weather had a habit of sticking around for longer than it was supposed to in Florida.

Tonight was the worst storm yet.

The wind howled and the windows creaked in your shitty apartment and you tossed and turned.

It’d been a hard day at the museum: your boss getting on your ass to file new artifacts while also expecting you to do the secretarial work at the front desk. Jen had called off again, and Will, like always it seemed, hadn’t shown up. His presence was practically nonexistent there nowadays. In fact, he only volunteered on Saturdays, which you had off, so you only really saw him at events with the guys. You all were still worried.

It was near midnight when you heard your door creak open. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; Salem was much quieter when sneaking into your room at night. It had to be Benny.

You sat up in your bed and he froze in your doorway, the throw blanket from your couch clutched in his hands. His eyes were wide in the dark of your room. He’d obviously thought you were sleeping. Your eyes held his for a moment, before you scooted over in your bed wordlessly, opening your covers for him. He sighed, before laying down in your bed, pulling the covers up to his chest.

You reached down to his hand, giving it a squeeze in reassurance. He squeezed it back two times consecutively, like a heartbeat, before letting go. You sighed, rolling over on your side, trying to get back to sleep.

You tried to fall asleep like that for what must have been thirty minutes, but couldn’t, acutely aware of the presence of the man beside you.

Your bed was a full, so while it wasn’t small, it definitely wasn’t too spacious—especially considering the size of the person you were sharing it with. You felt like you could feel his every breath. You stopped when you felt him trembling.

You turned over, facing him, to see his back, his shoulders shaking. You reached out, turning him over to face you.

His face was beaten down, and his expression held embarrassment. You wanted nothing more than to smooth the lines on his forehead away, to ease whatever pain he was feeling.

Your eyes held his for a moment.

“Benny,” you whispered, though the only two people in the house were you two. Your hand was still in his, squeezing in silent support.

“M’sorry,” he whispered back shakily, and you just shook your head, pulling him closer to you wordlessly.

The two of you folded together, easily, nicely, as if the two of you had been sleeping like this every night since the beach. His head found your chest, right beneath your collarbone, as he half-layed on top of you.

His shoulders shook for a moment as he sniffled into your collarbone. Your hands found his hair without thought. Subconsciously, like you always were longing to do. You hummed something–a song from your childhood as you smoothed his hair, no words being spoken between you two. Neither of you needed to. You were there for him—if this was what helped him ground himself, then you’d be there. No questions asked. Like you knew he’d be there for you. And you were glad that Benny trusted you like this: trusted you enough to show you the most vulnerable parts of himself.

He breathed shakily into your shoulder, his breath humid and warm against your collarbone. His shoulders relaxed a bit, and you knew that the worst of it had passed. Still, as another crack of thunder and flash of lightning hit, he’d jolt, and stiffen up. One of his legs curled around yours and his arm came around your waist, his shoulder resting just in the middle of your ribcage.

As you thought of what must be running through his mind, your grip on him tightened. If you could take it away and give him only dreams of joy and love, free of heartache, you would. As he finally dozed off, you sighed. You relaxed back into your pillows, the restlessness finally leaving you, and drifted off to sleep.

#benny miller x y/n #benny miller x female reader #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller imagine #benny miller x reader #benny miller fanfic #benny miller #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier au #garrett hedlund imagine #garrett hedlund #sunshine state

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shannathetigeressgremlin · 2 months

Text

Thomas The Tank Engine x Five Nights At Freddy's security breach

_______________________________

Thomas as Gregory

Henry as Sunrise

Diesel as Moondrop

Edward as Glamrock Freddy

Whiff as Glamrock Chica

James as Roxanne wolf

Diesel 10 as Montgomery Gator

Mavis as Vanessa

Frankie as Vanny

Hurricane as Burntrap

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 years

Text

I'll Always Wait For You - Chapter 14

Pairing: Francisco "Frankie/Catfish" Morales x F!reader

Word Count: 5600+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Sorry it took me a minute to get this chapter out - I didn’t have the time and I don’t rush Frankie. He deserves all the time in the world. And then the power went out from Hurricane Ian just as I was finishing it!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

<;<Chapter 13

I'll Always Wait For You Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Frankie wakes the next morning to light streaming through the front windows, causing the headache that had woken him to get worse. He groans, placing his hands on his temples and rubbing them. After a few moments, his back starts to twinge and a steady ache makes itself known in his hip. He tries to shift his body and hisses, the pain in his body increasing and it’s now that he realizes he’s on the couch.

He fell asleep on the couch.

It’s definitely later than morning.

Fuck, Hermosa!

As he forces himself to sit up, he realizes his boots are off and stowed nicely off to the side, definitely not where he’d left them. He manages to turn his head and look at the end table near the front door and sure enough - your purse is hanging on a hook.

“Fuck!” Frankie chastises himself. How could he have forgotten to pick you up? What did he do after he got home?

His eyes widen in realization as he pats down his pockets, a sigh of relief escaping him when he finds his kit and stash still on him, seemingly undiscovered.

How was he going to explain this?

—

It’s around noon so you decide to make some lunch, giving in to the grumbling your stomach had been doing for at least half an hour. Wondering if Frankie was finally awake, you headed out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen, stopping to glance into the living room on your way.

He’s sitting up but hasn’t seen you yet, his face in his hands as he shakes slightly. Despite not seeing his face, you could tell he was not well. His back and hip have to be killing him from sleeping on the couch all night. You’d wanted to move him but there was no way you’d have been able to carry him all the way to the bedroom.

More concerned than upset, you quietly head back to the bedroom and grab some pain killers and the unopened bottle of water you had set on his nightstand, just in case he’d made his way there. Frankie doesn’t stir until you touch your hand gently to his shoulder and call his name softly.

“Frankie?”

He jumps, startled by your appearance and his eyes go wide. “Hermosa! I’m so- fuck!” his hand flies back to his head, the other his hip, and you can tell from his leaning that his back is all fucked up too.

“Here. Take these.” You shake out a few of the painkillers and place them in your flattened palm. He looks up at you like a wounded puppy and any trace of anger you may have had turns into straight concern. He takes the pills and you open the bottle of water, handing that to him as well.

Sitting next to him, you wait patiently for him to take the meds, drinking a little more water after. He replaces the cap and picks at the label for moment before looking at you.

“I’m so sorry, Hermosa. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

You study his face for a few moments before speaking. “Are you ok, Frankie?”

He shifts a little nervously where he sits. “I uh, why? I mean my..everything hurts but uh, otherwise…I’m good?”

A pause, your eyes studying his face. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He swallows hard but nods. “Yeah. Of course.”

“And you’re sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. Well, you need to take a bath. That hip of yours is not going to be your friend if we don’t relax it. I’ll pour you one. Give me a minute.”

You get up and head to the bathroom to start the tub, completely missing the terrified guilty look etched across Frankie’s face.

------

A few weeks later, you decide to surprise Frankie with lunch while he’s at work. He’d been working longer hours, getting in more flight time when Aurelia isn’t there, and he’d been looking so tired by the time he’d get home. Although sometimes, he’d find a burst of energy from somewhere, practically pouncing on you the moment he walked in the door.

Picking up some take out from his favorite place, you head to Flyboyz and park, seeing Frankie’s truck and…is that Elizabeth’s car?

Grabbing the food, you attempt to school your expression, wondering what you’ll be walking into. The moment you open the door, a small force of energy collides into you, nearly taking out your knees.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry ‘Mosa!”

Aurelia blinks up at you as she tightens her grip on your legs. “I miss you!”

“Oh! Aurelia! I missed you too. This is a surprise!”

She nods vehemently. “Mommy and I surprise daddy for lunch!”

“Oh?”

She nods again. “Yup!”

“Well..I…bet he loves seeing you! Um…Aurelia?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna need my knees back.”

“No! My ‘Mosa!”

A deep voice comes up behind her. “No, I believe she is my ‘Mosa..HERmosa! Dammit Benny!”

Frankie playfully argues with Aurelia for a moment before moving quickly, catching her off guard and tickling her, screams of laughter erupting from her tiny mouth. She lets go of your knees instantly, turning instead to retaliate and try to tickle Frankie back. You watch them play for a moment before Frankie calls a truce. He walks back over to you and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“What uh…what are you doing here?”

“I can’t visit you?”

“No! That’s not what I meant, I just…is everything ok?”

“Yeah. I just brought you lunch.” You hold up the bag and shake it a little to show Frankie.

“Oh. From Hattricks? Thank-”

“Frank? Did you want your pie- oh. Hi.” Elizabeth had come out of the back room, a slice of pie on a plate in her hand.

You look at Elizabeth, not surprised that she was here as you had seen her car, but surprised there was lunch.

Frankie blushes as if he’d been caught. “Ah, no. I think I’m good. Take it for Aurelia. Thanks.”

Elizabeth gives him a smile. “She’ll love it. I’ll just…go wrap it up.” Elizabeth turns and heads back into the office and you can hear the sounds of paper and containers being cleaned up.

Turning to look at Frankie you find that he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I guess you don’t need this then.”

“No - no I’ll eat it. I-”

“Frankie, I’m not going to have you eat 2 lunches. It’s ok. You didn’t know I was coming. I’ll save it for later. Oh, why is she here?” The last part of your sentence you had whispered, not wanting Aurelia nor Elizabeth to hear.

Frankie shifts nervously, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “Uh…she brings Aurelia to eat lunch with me sometimes.”

Eyebrows raised, you reply “That’s awfully nice of her.”

“I-I’m enjoying the time I get to spend with Aurelia. She’s so cute. She’ll tell me all about what she packed for us that day and why-”

“Wait…how long has she been coming?”

Frankie pales. “Oh. Um…a…bit?”

“How long’s a bit?”

Footsteps come out of the office and Elizabeth comes into view holding a lunchbox and small cooler. Aurelia stands next to her holding her own lunchbox, Frozen plastered across the front.

“Same time tomorrow, Frank?”

“Uh…” Frankie looks from you to Elizabeth and back, uncertainty etched in his features.

You look down at Aurelia and see a hopeful look in her eyes as she stares up at her dad, waiting for him to say yes.

“Make sure to pack him something special tomorrow, Aurelia!” You’re not sure where it comes from, probably the love you have for that little girl, but you manage to choke back the bile rising in the back of your throat just to see her smile wide.

“I will! I promise, ‘Mosa!”

She runs up as Frankie leans down, giving her a hug. “See you tomorrow!”

Aurelia runs towards the door, spinning on her heel to wait for her mom. As you turned back to Frankie, you see Elizabeth hugging Frankie too, a light kiss pressed to his cheek. She pulls back and looks directly at you, a soft smile on her lips. “See you around.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Aurelia follows her mom, waving to Frankie before she hops into the car and they drive off. The room is completely silent now, except for the ringing in your ears that’s getting louder by the second.

“Hermosa, I-”

“How long, Frankie?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks,” you whisper, choking back tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you that I was getting to see my daughter for lunch every day?”

“Tell me that she was coming here and being all…nice or whatever all of a sudden.”

“What? Elizabeth is fine-”

“That’s sort of my point, Frankie.”

“She just brings Aurelia so I can see her.”

“Which is fine, but..Frankie come on. She gave you a hug? And a kiss?”

“It was on the cheek!”

You scoff, looking away from him for a moment. “Frankie, if you think that those hugs and kisses are innocent, you have to be the biggest idiot on the planet.”

“She’s just being nice because we have to co-parent.”

“Since when has she been nice, Frankie? She’s always fucked with me and you. She hates me. Fuck, she divorced you while you were in a coma! She should’ve been supporting you! And now she’s decided to be nice?”

Frankie holds his hands up. “It’s not like that, Hermosa. We discuss Aurelia and parenting. Things we have to do as co-parents.”

“Which I understand-”

“Then why are you mad?”

“Because you were having lunch with your ex wife for weeks and didn’t tell me!”

Frankie falls silent, his brain seemingly searching for something to say. “I…wasn’t sure how’d you react.”

A laugh comes from somewhere inside of you, a laugh of pure disbelief at the audacity of this man. You’re so mad words fail you, so instead, you shove the bag of food at him, Frankie barely catching it before it falls to the ground.

“I asked them for extra pickles because they’re your favorite.”

Turning on your heel, you quickly head for the door and push it open, marching towards your car, ignoring your name being called out as Frankie tries to catch up to you. But before he can reach you, you’ve pulled out, driving off down the road and not daring to look into your mirror, because if you did, you know you’d turn back around.

-------

“He what?” Santi asks as you sit across from him in his living room, sipping a beer that he’d offered the moment he saw your face.

“She’s been bringing him lunch, every day, for weeks.”

“They do have to co-parent.”

“You didn’t see the hug, Santi. And the kiss..” You take another swig of your beer, hoping to quell whatever was going on in your stomach.

Santi nods. “You’re right. It’s not right that kept that from you. I…doubt he thought that far ahead.”

“I mean, I get wanting to see Aurelia. And the whole co-parent thing. I do. I just…” You sigh, setting your beer down on the coffee table. “I just wish he’d told me.”

Santi sets his beer next to yours. “He really should’ve. I’ve known Frankie a long time and if the tables were turned? He would’ve reacted worse than you. I’m surprised you didn’t knock her out.”

“Can’t do it in front of Aurelia.”

Santi chuckles. “That’s true. But, Hermosa…he’s gonna have to see her again. They do have a kid together.”

Placing your elbows on your knees, you bury your face in your hands. “I know.”

“Come here.”

Santi pulls you to him, wrapping you in his warm embrace. He’s not Frankie, but Santi has always been able to calm you down, always been there for you.

“You’re a great friend, Santi.”

“Your best friend, right?”

“Don’t tell Benny.”

Santi laughs, his whole chest vibrating with it and you can’t help but smile. Pulling back, Santi meets your gaze with his own, your laughter dying off as he continues to stare into your eyes. What…is happening?

“I think I need to go talk to Frankie.”

“Yeah…Yeah that’s a good idea.”

“Thanks again, Santi.You always know what to say.”

“That’s me.”

Santi walks you to the door, offering his arm for you to grab while you balance to put on your shoes.

“How has Frankie been? Other than this. His allergies go away?”

“Uh…well his hip still bothers him, but that’s what he gets for passing out on the couch so much.”

“He sleeps on the couch?”

“I don’t tell him to. I just sometimes find him there after a long day at work.”

Santi nods, his eyes pensieve. “And his allergies?”

“Um…they come and go.”

“Does he have them more or less than the bbq?”

“Allergies?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh…I’d say more. A few days he might not have them but now you mention it, it is more. Why, do you know something I don’t? Is he allergic to something he hasn’t told me about?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you should ask him. So you know.”

There’s a look on his face, a I know something look.

“Santi-”

“Have a good night, Hermosa. Talk to Frankie.”

--------

When you pull up in his driveway, you see Frankie’s truck already there. Pulling out the key Frankie had given you, you unlock the door and step inside quietly. The tv is on, some random movie on low volume, and a delicious smell is coming from the kitchen.

Kicking off your shoes, you head to the kitchen and see no one in it, but the timer on the oven set for another 40 minutes. Smells like Frankie’s famous lasagna.

Turning, you head down the hall towards the bedroom, gently pushing open the door just as Frankie comes out of the attached bathroom. He sees you and starts, a small yelp escaping him as he rubs his nose and sniffs.

“Weren’t you in Delta Force?” You ask, holding back a chuckle.

“Yeah but I fought people that were way louder than you.”

A silence passes between you, stretching on for several long moments.

“Hermosa, I’m sorry.”

You look at him, seeing him try to get his weight off his still healing hip and sigh, giving into the love you have for him. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you pat the space next to you. Frankie hobbles over and sits down, opting to leave his cane by the bathroom door.

“Do you understand why I was upset?”

He nods. “I..I shouldn’t have kept that from you.”

“Then why did you?”

“I…I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“What?”

Frankie takes a slow inhale. “I mean, look at how you reacted. You have an automatic hatred towards Elizabeth and yeah I mean it’s rightly earned, but…I wasn’t sure if you’d be ok with it and I just…I missed so much time with Aurelia and getting these little lunches with her, I just-”

“Frankie-”

“-she’s just growing so fast and I want to take any time I can get with her and-”

“Frankie.” You place your hand on his thigh as he turns to look at you.

“I get that. I do. I would never stand between you and Aurelia. That’s your daughter. And an amazing kid at that. You just have to tell me these things are happening. I want to be involved in your life…if that’s still what you want?”

His eyes go wide. “Yes! Hermosa, I love you and I want you always.”

“Then you have to tell me about things. No matter how you think I’ll deal with something, ok? I mean imagine if the tables were turned.”

Frankie’s eyes scan down your face for a moment. “I’d be pissed.”

“Exactly. I don’t trust her, Frankie. Not with you.”

He studies your face a moment longer. “You’re right, Hermosa. I should’ve told you. I promise, nothing has happened between us and nothing will. She treated me like shit all those years and I put up with it because of Aurelia and-” He cuts off his sentence abruptly.

“And?”

“And….because I had no one else to go to.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, his fingers rubbing and picking at each other.

“You always had me, Frankie.”

“Except that I didn’t. You…left.”

He was right. No matter that you did it to try and quell some of the fighting between them and give them a good shot, no matter that you told him you’d always be there for him, you still had walked out. It’s a memory that still plagues you to this day, the way he pleaded to you to not leave, his eyes, big and brown and watery, having to leave him just a few moments after he became a dad.

“It was only ever you, Hermosa.”

Anger forgotten, you grip his shirt, pulling his head to you and kissing him deeply, ignoring the stale taste in his mouth. He’s surprised but rallies quickly, his tongue quickly pushing its way into your mouth, his hands sliding around your head, holding you to him as he kissed you back. Without breaking the kiss, he pushes you down on your back, hovering over you from the side as he slides a hand up, pushing your shirt up your chest, palming at a boob over your bra. You let out a small moan and he does too, that same hand now sliding down your stomach, fumbling with the button on your jeans. He pops it open, wasting no time in sliding his hand under your panties, touching you exactly where you want him.

You let out a breathy moan that he swallows up, rubbing gentle circles into your clit before sliding his hand down further, pushing 2 fingers inside, his palm applying the perfect amount of pressure to your clit. A whine tries to escape you but he’s there, kissing you even deeper than before as he brings you to the edge and pushes you over. You come, crying out into his mouth as your body starts to twitch with overstimulation. Frankie chuckles, kissing your now open mouth lightly on the lips before sitting up and yanking your pants off in one motion. He pushes his own down, his hard cock springing free from his pants and suddenly you’re overcome with the need to have him inside you.

Spreading your legs wide now that your pants are off, Frankie moans and moves between your thighs, pumping himself a few times before sliding through your folds, thoroughly coating himself in you before pushing in.

A grunt from both of you and then he moves, frantic in his need to be inside of you, his need to fuck you. You meet his eyes and desire passes between you and Frankie realizes that you need this just as much as he does. Grabbing your wrists, he pins your hands down on either side of your head, feeling your wrap your legs around him as he starts to fuck you, a rough pace slamming the headboard against the wall as you cry out with every thrust. A few extra deep thrusts of his hips later and you come again, screaming out as your body tingles, your head rushing with your orgasm as you feel Frankie come close behind, hips sputtering into yours as he lets out little grunts with each sporadic thrust.

A few moments goes by, the only sound in the room your heavy breaths. Frankie goes to move and hisses, throwing his weight on his bent arm on the bed.

“Frankie?”

“My hip. Just need…a sec…” He struggles some more before you stop him.

“I have an idea?”

He looks at you, anger flashing behind his eyes. “I can do this, Hermosa.”

“I promise you’ll like it.”

Curiosity replaces the frustration on his face. “I’ll allow it.”

You chuckle and Frankie grunts as you squeeze his overstimulated cock. “Oops! Sorry!”

“So far, not liking this.” A soft smile on his face tells you to proceed.

Wrapping your legs securely around him, you wrap your arms around his back, holding his head to your chest. “Liking this a lot better.” He says, his voice muffled by your boobs.

“Shut up. Ok, I need you to hold me like you’re hugging me, ok? But don’t tighten your hips.”

He nods and you start to move, feeling him wrap his arms around you as you roll him slowly and gently onto his back, you straddling him. Sitting up, you look down at him, your eyebrows raised in question.

“You’re right. I do like this.” He grips your hips and starts to move them and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“Hold on there, flyboy. Your hip needs rest.”

“I’m fine.”

You lean down, your fingers gently scratching up his chest until you’re face to face with him. “If you’re a good boy, I promise to fuck you into this bed later. Deal?”

Frankie’s eyes darken and he nods enthusiastically. “Deal.”

--------

Seeing Elizabeth at Frankie’s work was not something you liked, but you knew that he needed this and that they needed to be able to co parent. Elizabeth seemed surprised when she was allowed back, and even offered to bring you a lunch. Which you turned down because you don’t trust this woman even when she’s standing in front of you, let alone if she’s in charge of your food.

But she’s…different. Pleasant, nice, friendly. Even to you, which makes you more suspicious, although you don’t say anything directly.

--------

About 2 weeks later, Will and Stacy were finally ready to have everyone over to meet their new baby, Charlie. Everyone pitches in to bring something to eat so the new parents didn’t have to cook.

The look of pure love in Will’s eyes as he looks down at his new son and the admiration towards his wife was nearly overwhelming, causing tears to well in your eyes as you took them in. Liam was definitely proud of his little brother too, being a big helper to his mom and getting whatever she asked him to.

Since Charlie was still so little, Stacy didn’t want anyone else besides her and Will to hold him, which you all completely understood. Instead, you all got a chance to dote on them all, even though Will kept trying to stop it.

“Will, let us BE!” You laughed, pushing him back towards the couch where Stacy was sitting and chatting with Benny, who was icing a black eye from a bad fight that he totally won if you asked him.

Dinner served and eaten, Stacy thanked everyone for understanding about not holding Charlie just yet and for coming over, especially with food. As the night wound down, Stacy and Charlie disappeared so she could start bedtime, Liam following behind her to help with bathtime. Everyone else started cleaning up to get out of the new expanded familie’s way.

“Oh hey, Hermosa-” Will beckons you over to him, out of Benny’s earshot.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to thank you for being at all of Benny's fights and takin’ care of him. I know I usually do it, but-”

Shaking your head, you place a hand on his arm and squeeze. “It’s ok, Will. He’s my friend too.”

He smiles, glancing down before he looks back at you. “Will you be there this week? His opponent is…rough. And I won’t be able to-”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for the heads up though.”

--------

Will was definitely right about the opponent.

Benny may have technically won the fight, but he was far from alright when it came to his injuries. More than just a busted lip and black eye, you had to wrangle him into your car, demanding he be checked out at the hospital. Sure enough, he had broken a rib and his nose, along with dislocating his shoulder and several other more minor injuries.

You spent most of the night in the hospital and drove him home the next morning, Benny nearly passing out from the pain killers. He was definitely more handsy on them, reaching over to rub your thigh several times before you told him you’d break that arm too if he didn’t stop.

Helping him inside, you manage to get him to his room and have him sit, yanking his boots off for him as he tried to stay upright. His shirt was torn and ratty, having never changed from the fight. Sighing, you helped him out of that too, careful not to disturb the bandages. Once you managed to get him into bed, his large hand closed around your wrist, big blue eyes staring up at you.

“Stay with me, ‘Mosa?”

Seeing the true pain that he was trying to hide behind his eyes, you nod. “Of course. Let me text Frankie to let him know.”

After you texted him, you checked Benny one last time before you started for his door, intending to sleep on the couch a bit and give Benny some space.

“No, ‘Mosa. With me. Please?”

“Ok. But you have to promise me not to let your ass get this beat again.”

“I won that fight.”

“Yeah, yeah. Scoot over, Mr. Winner.”

He chuckled a sleepy chuckle as you kicked off your shoes and slid into the bed next to him, sleeping just like you had when you were roommates and would pass out next to each other.

--------

A few weeks later, Santi has everyone come to his place. While he was having a cookout, it seemed like there was more, like he had some big announcement. Once everyone had started eating, Santi cleared his throat.

“So…I’m going to Colombia in a few weeks.”

“For a vacation or?” Benny asks, his fork paused halfway to his mouth.

“For…a few years. At least.”

Everyone went silent, staring at him.

“What do you mean?” Somehow, you managed to find your voice first.

“Well, you know I’ve always wanted to go back to my mother’s homeland. I got an in with the policia and they’re taking me on. I finally get a chance to do something with this training we all got.”

“Won’t it be dangerous?” You ask, worry in your tone.

Santi nods, palm scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably. But I can do something good-”

“What about your neck?” Frankie asks, finally finding his voice. “And your knees?”

“My neck will be fine. I mean, I might need surgery in a couple years but I’ll be ok. This is a good thing, guys. I get a chance to help the people there empower themselves against these Narcos assholes. Please, I want this. Please be happy for me?”

After exchanging looks, Tom nods. “I get it. Take care of yourself, man.”

Everyone takes turns patting him on the back and giving him a hug, except you. Grabbing several plates and dishes, you quickly head inside to have a moment to yourself. It’s not surprising that Santi wants to do something with what he had learned in Delta Force, and he doesn’t have family ties here, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt to lose your best friend (outside of Frankie).

“Hermosa?” Santi closes the sliding door behind him, walking a few plates over to where you’re standing by the sink.

“Hey! So uh…congrats? I guess?” You wipe furiously at the tears that suddenly came on once you locked eyes with him.

“Oh Hermosa, no tears for me. I’m not gone forever.”

“3 years in that sort of…climate. Might as well be.”

Santi sets the plates in the sink and turns to you, pulling you tight into him, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll always be your friend, Hermosa. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me.”

“I never want to get rid of you, Santi.”

“Well that’s good to know.”

“You’re gonna find some Colombian girl and forget all about me.

You pull back slightly and look up at him, the jesting smile fading from your lips as his dark eyes meet your with that same look they did weeks ago when you went over after finding out the whole Elizabeth lunch thing. His eyes briefly dip to your lips and back as the weighted silence between you stretches on. There was a time where you had a crush on him, especially once Frankie got married. But that was just displaced emotions, right? A crash from outside followed by “BENNY!” breaks the tension and you laugh nervously as you separate, feeling his fingers trail after you briefly.

“Better go see what he broke now.”

-------

Many fights and practices later, Benny was improving and avoiding most major injuries. Will started coming back to fights and you took turns making sure Benny was ok. While he grumbled he could take care of himself, you knew he loved the attention that you and Will give him.

Frankie on the other hand, something was definitely up with him.

After your talk about Elizabeth, things seemed to settle, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what was rubbing you weird. You asked about any allergies he may have and he was very defensive in his answers, even telling you that you’re imagining his sniffles and occasional nose bleeds.

But it was more than that. His whole personality was just…different. Granted, he was working late most days when Aurelia wasn’t here, staying late with Rick to get the most flight time in. Some days you’d see him come home so tired that he’d pass out on the couch and screw up his hip and back. Other days, he would be so excited to see you, vibrating with excitement when he saw you, often driving out to your apartment on the other side of town just to see you.

Something wasn’t right.

After one of his more excitable nights, you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you remembered Elizabeth’s letter from the hospital - and how it had mentioned drugs. You had never brought it up to Frankie, telling him to adjust and come to you when he was ready, but honestly you’d completely forgotten about that. Could he be on something? It would explain a lot, and you suspect that Santi may have figured this out a while ago.

“Frankie,” you call to him as you exit the bathroom. He was sitting up on the bed, shirtless, scrolling quickly through his phone.

“Mmm?” He doesn’t look up, whatever is on the screen continues to hold his attention.

“About Elizabeth’s letter..”

“What letter?” He still doesn’t look up.

“The one she wrote you.”

“She doesn’t write me.”

“In the hospital.”

That got his attention.

His eyes snap to yours. “What..what about it?”

You walk over and sit on the bed, legs dangling off the side as you angle your body towards him. “It’s just…she mentioned…”

“What? Said what?” He was getting frustrated.

“She mentioned…drugs.”

Silence.

“Ok?”

You pause, trying to pick your words carefully. “And..well we never discussed it-”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“I think there’s a lot to discuss-”

“Well you weren’t there so it doesn’t matter.”

Ouch.

“Even so-”

“I’m not talking about this.” He’s shifting nervously, but he’s obviously pissed.

“I’m worried about you.”

His brown eyes find yours finally, hardness and anger in them. “Worried about me? Why?”

Taking a deep breath, you calmly go into it. Telling him how you’ve found him sleeping on the couch often despite it hurting him, his personality changes, even the nose bleeds and sniffles, all of it. His face hardens the more you speak and you brace yourself for anger, which is really just proving your suspicions right.

“So you think I’m on drugs?”

“I don’t know, Frankie. All I know is you’re not you.”

“How the fuck would you know who I am?”

"Excuse me?"

"You left. You left me. You have no clue who I am anymore."

His eyes show some hidden guilt, like he regretted what he said, but he didn't say anything else.

"The way you're behaving right now tells me that something is going on."

"Maybe if you didn't spend so much time at Ben's house, then you'd be able to know me better."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Anger flashes in his eyes. "You're there nearly every weekend, sleeping over-"

"Because he was injured!"

"-doing whatever the fuck you do while there and I'm supposed to just-"

"What did you just say?"

He swallows hard but he's said too much to back out now. "I don't know what the fuck you actually do while you're there!"

"I nurse him back to health and make sure he actually wakes up."

"I bet you do."

Pure shock must be on your face because you know you feel it. "Benny is like my brother."

"Which makes this worse."

"Makes what worse?"

"You're fucking him I know it!"

Regret washes over his face as he says it, but you don't care. The audacity of this man to even think this just overwhelms you.

Standing, you grab your bag and speak quietly. "I would never. Fuck you, Francisco Morales."

-------

Chapter 15>>

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