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cherrycocaineee · 1 year

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35. Joker - Safe With Me

*Warning: I’ve incorporated characters from both Gotham and Suicide Squad. Mention of Violence. Abuse. Legal Age Gap. Whatever else is considered a warning.*

Synopsis: After one of the most intense beatings she’s ever experienced by her father, Paisley runs away; only taking a pre-packed backup with her and ditching her cell. Not wanting to go to the Joker, afraid of what he’d do to her father if she did, she goes to an abandoned building instead. But being the property of the Joker means that he knows where she’s at at all times.

* Paisley’s p.o.v *

It was the worst it had ever been before; and even though it had been two hours since I had just experienced the most gruesome beating in my life, the pain was still fresh. The bruises formed almost immediately, and there were popped blood vessels in my eye coloring the white part red. My face was sticky with old tears, new ones adding to the mess as I looked at the mirror in my room. I hadn’t done anything wrong that warranted this type of outburst, in fact, it had nothing to do with me at all. Apparently, dad was going through some things at work that had him considering leaving Gotham; which I found out meant that he might lose his job if he stayed. He was so stressed out that he drank too much before coming home to take his drunken frustration out on me to make himself feel better.

I moved some of my blonde hair out of my face; dry blood had crusted into my hair from the cut that it hid. My other hand reached up and touched my busted lip, wincing as I felt the sting of how fresh it was. I tried not to look at the thousands of bruises littering my body or the sharp pain in my ribs that might indicate a broken bone. The only thing I could think of the entire time I cried and looked at my wounds was that I couldn’t do this anymore, and that I deserved better than what I was getting. So I quietly opened my closet door, listening intently to the television downstairs, then grabbed my pre-packed bag out from underneath a few extra quilts and blankets. I was never worried about dad going through my belongings, I was worried about Freddy going through my things and finding stuff that I didn’t want to have to explain to him or my dad.

I didn’t plan on taking my cell phone with me, so I made sure to block the Joker’s number and hope that when I did see him again, he’d understand. I even deleted our messages so no one could go through them when they realized I was gone. I opened my underwear drawer and pulled out a wad of cash that I had been saving up from allowances. Once I had everything that I needed, I opened my window and crawled onto the extended tree limb that normally helped me sneak back in after my nights with Mister J. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I took off down the streets as quietly and quickly as I could. I didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention. All I wanted to do was get away from this man who was no longer my father.

There really wasn’t anywhere I could go where someone didn’t recognize me; the whole city practically knew who my dad was, even the criminals knew. I’d go to the Joker later but right now, I was afraid of what he’d do once he saw me in this state. In the meantime, I dodged anyone I thought could recognize me and call home to inform my dad that I was wandering the streets of Gotham late at night. After some time, I had managed to walk my way into some abandoned building that I’d never noticed before. Glass covered every inch of the ground, mixing with the gray sand and dead grass, all of the windows were boarded up and I wondered if maybe the windows were broken on purpose when they closed down. It also could have been teenagers breaking in, similar to what I was doing. I could read the sign that was painted on the moldy bricks because it was too faded.

“God,” I mumbled, “This is definitely how people die.”

But even that was a better fate than being alive and beaten.

Taking a large breath, I made my way into the building. There were no lights on but the small cracks in the foundation allowed a few slips of moonlight to give me direction. In the distance, I could hear a small bubbling sound coming from a room. A green, illuminated light peeped underneath the door that contained it. Swallowing hard, I shuffled to the door and pushed it open; an eerie creek echoed off the empty, damp walls. Leading through the room was a high pavement of metal that looked wet like everything else in the building, however, surprisingly it wasn’t rusted. I placed my foot on the metal carefully and listened for anything that would indicate I’d fall to my doom. When I was reassured that it was safe, I started walking further into the room. Underneath the walkway were enormous vats of green, steaming liquid that I recognized easily; the only reason I knew what it was was because of the lesson we did in chemistry class. It was acid. I was quickly reminded of Harley’s beginning, how it all started for her here. Part of me always wondered if the Joker kept me around to fill in the hole Harley left, if he really cared about me at all or was he doing it all to help him then toss me to the side. I was afraid to tell him that, to see what his reaction would be. Would he hit me like my father did when he was angry? Would he just leave me? Would I ruin something that I considered perfect in its own way?

I eventually made it to the edge of the path and peered down at the rolling acid beneath me. I remembered telling Mister J that I didn’t want to end up diving into a pit of acid and becoming the new Harley, and he had been okay with it but I still wondered if that were the case. Sighing gently, I sat down and let my feet dangle over the edge. The drop looked further than it probably was, like if I was peering down at the mess beneath me from a tower. More tears slid down my cheeks and I buried my head into my hands as I started to sob uncontrollably like I had at home.

Time seemed to speed by while I sat alone, crying and wallowing in my own self pity. When I was officially cried out, I wiped all of the tears away as well as the small amount of snot bubbling at the end of my nose. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t notice the door opening or feet approaching me until I had a feeling someone was standing behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, sending a rush of fear rolling through my body. I was afraid that my dad had found me here and that I would receive more than what I’d gotten earlier. But that fear was tossed out the window when I heard the Joker’s voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, angry by the fact that I had blocked his number.

“I just needed some time to think,” I whispered, never making eye contact with him so he couldn’t see my face.

“You blocked my number,” his breathing was huffier, angrier, “Is that your way of telling me you’re done with me?”

That time, I couldn’t even form the words to explain myself. All of the emotions resurfaced as I began to choke on sobs again, covering my mouth to quiet them to no avail. Mister J kneeled beside me, gripping my shoulders hard and forcing me to look at him. His eyes were cold and hard, dangerous and calculating; probably all of the ways to kill me. Then they softened and relaxed when he saw the condition I was in.

“I had to leave,” I cried, “It was so much worse than…than before. And I had to block your number so he wouldn’t see I’d been speaking to you, in case he found me.”

“Why didn’t you come to me, Paisley?”

“Because I don’t want you to kill him! He’s my fa-father!”

I buried my head into the silk of his shirt, gripping the leather of his jacket while more sobs escaped. Drool started gathering onto his shirt creating a wet stain but he didn’t say anything. Instead, Mister J wrapped his strong, thick arms around me in comfort while brushing my hair with his fingers. When his fingers found the blood tangled in my hair, he froze but still kept whatever was brewing in his head to himself. Once again, I felt cried out so I pulled away, wiping away the drool and tears from my face as well as his shirt, at least the best I could.

“I sh-shouldn’t have blocked you,” I croaked, “but I didn’t know what else to…to do. I’m so tired. Drained.”

Mister J sat beside me, keeping his arm around me firmly.

“Luckily,” Mister J muttered, his voice still rough with anger, “I know exactly how to find someone when I need to.”

“How did you find me?” I asked, sniffling.

“Someone I work close to saw you walking down the street with a frightened face. I figured it was because you were scared of me finding you but now that I’m looking at you, I know that wasn’t the case.”

Mister J pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and clicked around before putting the phone to his ear. I stared up at him, wondering who he was calling right now.

“Frost,” he said, answering my unspoken question, “Go to Paisley’s home and collect the rest of her things to bring back home. And take her dad too.”

My eyes widened and I tried to tell him no or anything else that would get him to leave my dad alone. When he hung up on Frost, I pushed him off of me angrily.

“I told you I didn’t want you to kill him!” I snapped.

Mister J stared at me with a large grin on his face. His silver teeth glowing in the moonlight and the green, illuminating acid. I shook my head; it felt like he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. I climbed to my feet and grabbed my pre-packed runaway kit then started to leave. Mister J was quick to his own feet and grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving.

“He hurt you and he continues to hurt you. He wants to take you away from me too, and I can’t allow that. I won’t allow that. As long as you and I are together, Paisley, you belong to me, and I won’t allow anything to happen to you like with Harley. Especially when I could have put an end to it. I listened, I didn’t go near him and I didn’t kill him like you asked but enough's enough.”

My bag slipped off my shoulder, hitting the metal with a loud thud.

“But I…what will I do?” I whispered.

“You’ll come stay with me like we’ve talked about.”

“People will come looking for me.”

“We’ll fake your own death. They’ll think you and your dad died.”

“What if I want to go out and get coffee or just for a walk or to pick something up?”

“Then you’ll go with the guards so they can watch and protect you, otherwise, you’ll be with me. You’ll be safe, Paisley.”

I wiped away the remaining tears and looked up at his icy blue eyes with my own. He was watching me, reading everything he could off my face to see if I’d agree or not. How could I say no? He’d always taken care of me before, he listened and didn’t act when he discovered my dad was beating me or that he wanted to take me out of Gotham. Mister J had never given me a reason to distrust him, even his anger and the way he acted sometimes didn’t scare me because he didn’t take his anger out on me. In fact, he treated me like a princess all the time.

I reached out and took the hand that wasn’t grabbing onto me. It was covered in tattoos and thick calluses. I led him back to where we had been sitting and pulled him down beside me. I rested my head against his shoulder and sighed. Our outer thighs touched and I kept our hands entwined with one another.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll come stay with you. But I swear to God, if you ever lay your hands on me the way he did…”

No more words left my mouth as Mister J burst into laughter, the sound stretching across the room creating an echo.

“I’m serious,” I protested.

“I know,” he laughed, “that’s what makes it hilarious because you think I’d stoop so low as to hit someone as pretty as you.”

“You’re so unlike yourself when you’re around me.” A giggle left my own lips.

“Is that so?” He hummed.

I nodded.

And it was true too. Everyone knew how the Joker really was to people; he was a ruthless killer who had no problem manipulating his way out of any situation so he could get what he wanted. But that had never been the case with me; he had approached me, he asked me to be with him, and he continued to see me afterwards without asking for anything besides my loyalty. I didn’t even have to get him out of Arkham when he wound up in there, I just had to promise to come see him on the days I visited my mom and had to be with him once he got out. It was like our relationship was purely based on a need for someone to love him because he didn’t have that anymore. How he ended up falling in love with me was still a mystery but I knew how I fell in love with him. And I didn’t regret being in love with him. If Mister J swore he was going to take care of me and treat me the way I deserved to be treated, then I didn’t mind the darker side of him.

“Paisley,” Mister J called out.

I looked up at him and hummed in acknowledgment.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he had ever said that to me before. I smiled, nibbling on my bottom lip as I felt happiness erupt inside me.

“I love you too, Mister J.”

He climbed to his feet and held out his hand. I didn’t hesitate to take it and he easily pulled me off the metal platform. Not another word was spoken between the two of us as we left the abandoned building. And for the first time in a long time, I knew I was going to be able to sleep peacefully without the fear of being woken in the middle of the night to be punished.

It was refreshing.

Taglist: @w4nt-h1s-d1ck @leaveitbythewave @ellatitanium @gaymistakeboi @erika-solic @weepingwitchofthewest

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) PART 2

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1

PART 2.

You tell him that you’ll meet him there. After your little crying jag, you have to go home and clean up. Maybe with some painkillers and a nap with an ice pack on your eyes you won’t look like death warmed over. He offers to pick you up, but you decline, knowing it would make the drive twice as long for him.

For a moment he seems like he wants to argue, but in the end he lets it go.

The restaurant is in Manhattan. It’s the sort of place you could never afford, and maybe even if you could, it wouldn’t exactly be your scene. You smooth your dress over your hips as you get out of your cab, hoping you won’t embarrass John. It was the nicest thing you own for a respectable rendezvous, a dark green paisley Etro dress with long sleeves that you’d scored at a thrift shop. It bared your shoulders with a wide neckline, but not much cleavage. You were behaving yourself tonight, despite the little suggestions the devils on your shoulders were whispering into your ear.

Despite the fact that you arrive early, John is waiting for you outside, looking utterly edible in another black on black three-piece suit. Does he buy them in bulk? The thought makes you smile a little, a thing he returns in small measure. There is a sadness that cloaks this man like a mantle, and for a moment you wonder if that is what people see, when they look at you. You’re not sure you’re qualified to help him at all, but maybe, just maybe, there could be some solace in your shared grief for the same woman who left you both behind.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Nervously, you look through the window at the glittering lights and swanky diners laughing over their expensive glasses of wine. You feel unbearably self-conscious. “Am I dressed ok for this place?”

“You look beautiful.” He says it so matter of fact, his tone completely platonic. And yet…

And yet.

He looks at you with a haunting intensity that grips you to the bone. He isn't even looking at your body. He's looking at your face, almost as though he's seen a ghost.

You know you remind him of her, and you wonder if maybe this is a bad idea.

But he shakes himself out of it, offering his arm, and even though you have an inkling that maybe you shouldn't, another part of you that is usually kept locked up in the dungeon with the rest of your worst impulses pushes you to take it, because you want to. Bolstered by his approval and your own special brand of foolhardiness, you slip your arm through his with your head held high.

You haven't technically done anything wrong yet. Lusting after your sister's husband in an abstract way you never had any intention of acting on isn't exactly new. But the rest...is edging into a murky gray area.

What would Helen think? She'd probably be amused, truth be told, at least by your own inner turmoil. You remember that she told you once that she never got jealous when women went all googly eyed over her model-handsome husband, because she trusted him so completely. He doesn't even look at them, she said.

Well. He'd looked at you, like he was a wolf and you were a tasty little bunny. Just the thought made you flush all over again, your fingers involuntarily flexing on John's bicep.

Dear lord, it was like granite.

He looks down at you, curious, and you know you look as embarrassed as you feel. “Sorry,” you quickly apologize, looking anywhere but at his burning anthracite eyes. He pats your hand, but says nothing, sparing you the embarrassment of making up some lame excuse.

You go inside, and the maître d’ is exceptionally solicitous. Welcome back, Mr. Wick. This way please, Mr. Wick. He and Helen must have been quite the regulars.

Once you are at your table John waves off the maître d’, opting to push in your chair for you. His fingers brush your shoulder afterwards. It was probably a mistake, but you cannot suppress a small shudder. He does not look at you as he seats himself, opting to pick up the menu.

You follow suit, your skin on fire.

It was an accidental touch, you tell yourself.

He didn't mean anything by it.

You glance up from your menu, to find he is looking at you out the corner of his eye.

You tell your treacherous heart that attempts to pound out of your chest to settle the fuck down.

“So...what was Helen’s favorite dish here?”

He doesn't look up, and for some reason you are relieved.

“Guess.”

“Hmm.” You scan the offerings. It is mostly French leaning nouvelle cuisine. It all looks delicious, and very expensive. You know the moment your eyes find the line, and you smile. “The magret de canard.”

This time he does smile with you. It is tinged with nostalgia, and your heart aches. For him. For you. For the woman you are remembering together.

“She took me to Europe when I graduated from high school. She ordered that dish in every restaurant in France we went to. She said it was so delicious there was no point in trying anything else.” You cackle with another memory. “Then when we got home she was determined to learn how to make it. It went ok until the sauce. Holy shit, the black smoke in that kitchen was like a tire fire!” You wipe away a tear that is borne of mirth and memory.

When you look across the table again John is smiling gently, as though he can see it perfectly in his own mind’s eye.

“She was a terrible cook.” He says it fondly, like it amused the hell out of him.

“I know. I am too, I’m not throwing shade here. Do you like to cook?”

The side of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. “Yes. I find it relaxing.”

Figures. He would be so perfect. One of many reasons Helen undoubtedly fell in love with him.

When the waiter comes John orders a filet, and you, the duck. “For Helen,” you say with a wistful curl of lips. He stares at you silently for a long beat before nodding, returning your smile perfunctorily. You marvel that you can already tell when his expressions are genuine, and when he’s playing the part he needs to for the sake of social nicety. Your heart aches for him. It must be so painful to be here, where he'd dined with Helen so many times. Maybe more like sticking a finger in a wound, than a brave act for the sake of nostalgia. What were the two of you thinking?

It occurs to you, from things Helen had said, that maybe this is more than just her favorite restaurant.

“This is where you met, isn't it?”

His eyes are fixed on a particular spot at the bar. “Right over there. She was meeting a client, but he canceled. So we had dinner together.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn't happen to have anything to do with that?” All Helen had ever told you about John's occupation was that he worked in security, but she had implied multiple times that he was resourceful, smart, and not someone to be fucked with.

The corner of his mouth ticks, his eyebrow rising slightly. You congratulate yourself for lifting him at least a little out of his funk. “I'm afraid it was just luck on my part.”

“Fate,” you correct, toasting with your water glass, because you haven’t been brought drinks yet.

“It's nice to think so.”

“So then you had dinner.” You know the story. “Where did you sit?”

“Right here.”

You feel a chill, knowing that once, your sister had sat in this very place, across from this very man, and changed the course of her life forever. You marvel at what that must have been like. You never fall for men quickly, usually keeping them at arm’s length for as long as you can manage. You’ve never experienced love at first sight, or first night, but looking at this handsome man across from you, it's not so hard to imagine.

“Did you fall in love that night?” you ask quietly.

“I did. I think for Helen...it took a little longer.”

Immediately you shake your head. “No,” you contradict, wanting him to know this. “She called me, the next day. She told me she'd just met the most amazing man and that she wanted to spend her life with him. I thought she was crazy.” You look around at the intimate setting, the low soft lighting and the swanky surroundings, a little misty eyed. Then, you look at him. This handsome devil with the soft eyes of a poet.

Helen hadn’t been frivolous. She hadn’t even been particularly romantic. Meeting John Wick changed all that.

“Maybe I understand a little better now.”

You look at each other from across the table. There is a longing in his eyes that you know you do not have the power to heal, and yet you would if you could. You would give a great deal to see this man made whole again—you’re not really sure why.

He looks away first, and you feel…raw.

“Thank you. I…was the best version of myself, for her.” His long fingers trace a circle in the white table cloth, a hairline of a frown appearing on his brow. “I've slid backwards a bit, since.”

Hoo boy, did you get that.

“That’s ok,” you say softly. “We do what we have to, to survive.”

He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes through his long hair. Your fingers itch to brush it out of his face. To touch him, and you absolutely know you shouldn't. Shouldn’t even think it. But there is something in the way he's been looking at you today. Something almost like…hunger, and your belly flutters with a thousand butterflies made of bad ideas and midnight longings.

“So…what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

You shake your head with your heart in your throat. Is he asking out of politeness, making chit chat, or does he want to know if you’re unattached?

The truth is you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months, and a nervous little laugh escapes you.

“I’ve…never met anyone who it was worth the sacrifice. Things are always nice at first, but then he starts to try to mold you into the person he really wants you to be, and you realize all along he just wanted someone to cook his meals and wash his socks.”

John lifts an eyebrow at this, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“Maybe you should try dating someone who can afford a housekeeper.” He looks up at you then, his dark eyes soft yet penetrating, and you swear he can see straight through to the depths of you. The look almost feels like a challenge, somehow. You try to meet him head on, but in the end the unbearable heat of it makes you squirm, and you look away.

The waiter saves you from what you might say next, bringing the bottle of wine John ordered.

Thank god, because you need a drink.

#john wick #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you fic #john wick x reader fic

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 1 year

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First Date

A/N: I had really bad writer's block until this came to me.

Warnings: smut 18+, P in V, oral, awkwardness, as always self-indulgent.

Word Count: 4.0k

Frankie sat at the bar nursing a whisky and waiting for his blind date to show up. All he knew was her name and how Pope thought she was “perfect” for him. He tried telling Santi he wouldn’t go if he didn’t get any details about her but Santi laughed and told him he was more in need of a date than a profile. Will and Benny laughed at his expense and he let it go because Santi wasn’t lying.

Since his divorce Frankie found it harder to get back out into the dating world, he wasn’t the young buck he used to be. His muscles softened, his once flat stomach now rounded, and his hair was littered with grays. He wasn’t sure this date would even pan out after you actually got a look at him. Even with the doubt and insecurity, Frankie was excited.

He began making reservations at an upscale restaurant that serves 5 courses. He pulled out an all black suit with a purple paisley tie his daughter picked out. He threw mousse in his curls to liven them up and finally finished his look with cologne. He fiddled with whether to leave the jacket open or buttoned it up but he decided to leave it open.

Before he left his condo he saw Santi on his couch with a beer. He claimed he wanted to make sure Frankie was presentable, and he was. Santiago pulled out a white rose and pinned it to his suit informing Frankie that’s how you’ll know who he is. Although the whole thing was very James Bond-ish he was already enjoying himself.

When he arrives his nerves are all over the place, he worries about her leaving him stood up. He worries that this might be too much. Or not enough. By the time he goes to take his next sip the only thing left in the glass is the ice. He looks around once more before he thinks about getting another.

……….

Never have you felt so nervous over the prospect of a date like this. You knew Santi from him dating your friend Kim, so when he approached you about one of his friends you weren’t sure. Your dating history was questionable at best and downright depressing at worst. Santiago assured you that the two of you would be a great fit. He even showed you his picture, which may have sealed the deal for you. You were nothing if not a sucker for older men.

Kim ratted you out by telling Santiago that Francisco was just your type. After he gave you the rundown on his newly divorced friend he said he’d set it all up. He told you the dress code, the reservation time, and if you couldn’t find him he’d have a white rose pinned to his outfit. Though he kept his mouth shut about anything else.

They said Frankie offered to pick you up but you declined and wanted to go with a cab instead, just in case. While getting dressed you had to call Kim to help you pick something good enough for a restaurant that fancy. Ultimately you two agreed on a mid-thigh, red satin dress that had a slit. You even had a nice lacey thong instead of your usual granny-panty. With a red lip, some blush, and your lashes glued on you headed downstairs to meet your cabbie.

When you walk into the place you're immediately greeted by someone checking coats, it’s that kind of place. You thank them and move toward the hostess in front of you. She greets you with a fixed smile asking if you have reservations.

“Uh yes, it should be under Francisco Morales.” Even you could hear the nerves seeping into your voice.

“I see, the other half of your party is at the bar.” The realization that you’re actually about to be on a date finally hits. “Let me make sure you’re table’s all set and I’ll meet you two back here.”

You turn to the left and look around the bar, reminding yourself Santiago said if you had trouble he’d be wearing a white rose. But you didn’t need that, you could tell from his side profile that it was him. He was sipping on a drink and your eyes widened a bit, the picture did him justice but in person is another story. Snapping out of your rude stare you walk up to him you place a hand on his bicep to gain his attention.

“Francisco?” Although you’re 99% sure it’s him you still want to check.

“Yes.” He turns his head and clears his throat before standing to properly greet you. Which to him means kissing your hand, you can’t stop yourself from giggling when his mustache tickles your knuckles. “You look stunning, bebita.”

Heat rushes to your face and butterflies flutter around your stomach, causing you to clench it. “Thank you Francisco, you look even better than your pictures.”

“Call me Frankie.” Although he’s a little miffed he didn’t get to see a picture of you, nothing could’ve topped seeing you in person the first time.

Despite the haze Frankie put you in, you quickly remember why you’re there. “The hostess said our table should be ready.”

“After you.” He gestures with his hand for you to take the lead while placing his other in the middle of your bare back. Just that touch had your heart thumping erratically, you don’t want him to see the goofy smile taking over your face. But he already had, you did a terrible job at hiding it.

The hostess takes you to your table which is a mini booth, while you two settle in she gives you a quick run down and presents the wine menu. Instead of looking at the menu you study Francisco, his patchy beard filled with grays that fill you with temptation to play with them. His brown and gray curls look unruly, like he doesn’t have to try. You see he had to put on glasses to look at the menu but all it does is make him more attractive. Finally you reach his tie, the purple paisley sticking out like a sore thumb, it seems like an odd choice but you love it.

Frankie goes to ask you what you would like only to find you staring at his tie. He becomes self-conscious and adjusts it before telling you, “My daughter picked it out, it’s her favorite.”

As if the man couldn’t be more attractive you internally swoon at his confession. “Well she has good taste,” you run your thumb along the fabric and look into his eyes.

Frankie can’t believe Pope got him a date with you. Not only are you striking, the red dress you're wearing makes it hard for him to look away. The way your hair frames your face perfectly, it gives him the perfect view of your neck. You just look so soft. But the best thing about you has to be your smile, it’s breathtaking. He could turn to mush just from looking at you look at him like that. Even your eyes sparkle, as idoiotic as that sounds. He may have to actually thank Santi for this if he manages to not fuck it up.

“What’s your favorite color?” You can’t help it, you love asking little questions like this.

“Green.” Frankie says without missing a beat, he may not have been asked that question in decades but the answer never changed. “What’s yours?”

“Pink.” Frankie gives a soft smile at your answer but before you could question it your waiter arrives at the table. Realizing you didn’t look at the wine menu you take a quick look while Frankie asks questions. But you find that there’s no prices anywhere, a quick jolt of panic runs through your body.

Frankie’s hand squeezes your knee to gain your attention, “Any preferences on wine?”

“No, whatever you order is fine.” Even if you did go through the menu you knew next to nothing about wine. He places the order and the waiter tells you he’ll be back with the wine and soup. Frankie tries to remove his hand but you place yours on top of his, enjoying the intimate touch.

“How do you know Santi?” He’d been trying to figure out how you two could cross paths but he’s falling short.

“Oh he’s dating my friend Kim. I don’t know if you met her yet.” You see realization dawn on Frankie’s face at your statement. He had met her but only once in passing.

“Yeah she stopped by to drop something off for Pope on a game night.”

“Pope?” The confusion on your face has Frankie diving back to his youth before he could stop himself.

“It’s a callsign. I enlisted in the military and ended up being recruited for Delta force, which is how I met Santiago unfortunately. Mine is Catfish.” You scrunch your nose at the revelation but before you can ask Frankie explains further, “The patchy beard, I never could grow a full one.”

Before you could stop yourself you reach out and lightly scratch it, “But I love it like this it really suits you.” Frankie leans into your fingers while gazing deeply into your eyes. The butterflies in your stomach return full force at the way his chocolate eyes refuse to leave yours.

The waiter comes back with the wine of Frankie’s choice and soup interrupting whatever moment you just had. He informs you that it’s french onion soup and he’ll be back with your appetizer soon. After tasting the wine you must give Frankie props, to which he just shakes his head.

“What do you do for a living?” Frankie asks loving how easy it is to converse with you.

“I’m an editorial assistant for an independent magazine.” From the look on his face you can tell Frankie is interested. “I basically do any and everything, between reading potential articles, to helping design the format, and I make sure everything is done on time. What about you?”

“Nothing fun like yours I just fly helicopters.” He says it so casually you almost miss his answer.

“No shit.” You look at him in disbelief for thinking your job is more fun. “My job is like purgatory compared to yours.”

“Why don’t I take you on a ride and you can decide for yourself?” It takes you a minute to remember your conversation, you almost thought he meant something else.

“As in a second date? We haven’t even finished this one.” You finish off your glass and go to refill it.

“I enjoy your company and that’s all that really matters.” If he kept talking to you like this, you would be giving it up on the first date.

Throughout the next 4 courses you and Frankie go from asking meaningless light questions to heavily personal ones. He talks about his divorce and even owns up to his part of it. He tells you all about his daughter, Rose, with such pride in his voice. You talk about your dating history, which has Frankie clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. Usually you would be embarrassed by someone laughing so much but it’s Frankie. He makes a point to tell you he’s not laughing at you but rather at the audacity of the idiotic men before him.

Being in his company was so easy, you’ve never been able to bounce off of someone like this. You could tell the feeling was mutual from the soft smiles, lingering gazes, and the intimate touching. Frankie couldn’t stop looking at you, he had to check himself multiple times to try and not scare you off. It wasn’t just your face but your entire energy was so mesmerizing.

“What else do you like to do besides going on bad dates?” He pokes fun, the wine having loosened up the both of you.

“I love reading. But not like serious reading because that can be tiring sometimes it’s nice to escape in a book.” Frankie nods in understanding at your answer.

“I mostly read non-fiction but if you have recommendations I’ll gladly take some.” He’s interested to know what else he could learn about you through the books you read.

“Oh I don’t think you’d really like them,” you’re quick to deflect because you didn’t think he’d actually be interested in anything you’ve read. Which is borderline erotica. Well it is erotica.

Frankie leans closer with his hand returning to your knee only this time rubbing it, “If I wasn’t interested I wouldn’t ask bonita.” Your thighs clench together involuntarily and you can’t figure out if it was his deep, low voice or the nickname itself. Probably a combination of both you thought. Your faces are already close together if you moved just an inch closer you would touch the lips you’ve been glancing at all night.

“Romance mostly.” You state just above a whisper.

“Mhmm what about?” He matches your low tone while moving his hand past your knee.

Your breath hitched slightly before you answer, “Primitive alien boy meets modern human girl, they are soulmates and have nothing to do besides have sex. And hunt.”

Despite the tension Frankie’s head is thrown back, almost like a reflex to your hilarious choice in books. You two are so wrapped up in each other you almost miss the tiramisu and second wine bottle being served. As the two of you thank the waiter you dig into the cake. Frankie groans in appreciation and you follow suit, soon enough there’s nothing left save for the crumbs on the spoon. You quickly resolve that before tending to your wine.

Even though you huffed down that tiramisu Frankie was still finishing up on his which gave you time to stare at him unabashed. You’re met with his striking side profile, mostly his nose drawing you in. You really loved a man with a big nose. With the comfortable environment you and Frankie spent hours creating, you snake your other hand up his arm towards the back of his neck. Reaching for his curls you play with them and using your nails to lightly scratch his scalp.

Frankie feels all the blood rush to his cock, the way you tug at his curls makes him want to signal to the waiter for the check. “Baby if you keep doing that-”

Instead of responding verbally you just hum, prompting him to tell you exactly what he wants to do.

………

The sound of your front door slamming shut after Frankie’s kick sounds worrying, but you can’t focus on anything besides his lips. They’re everywhere. It’s like it’s his mission to distract you from getting to your bedroom, he’s probably getting his revenge for the stunt you pulled in the restaurant.

The first to go is Frankie’s jacket, your eager hands making their way to his tie tugging it loose. As you begin to unbutton his shirt your back hits a wall, the both of you being too distracted to pay attention. Frankie pulls away and you chase him but he has to check on you first, one look into your eyes and he knows you’re fine. Instead of returning to your lips he goes straight for your neck, his tongue darting up your neck towards your earlobe. When he sucks on it the moan you let out is a sound even you’ve never heard yourself make.

He comes impossibly closer to you gripping your waist with his thick hands. They continue to travel down until he cups your ass and pulls your dress up to your hips. Now you could feel him skin to skin. Wrapping your leg around his hip you could feel Frankie’s cock straining against his pants. Your hips start moving on their own, grinding against his bulge somehow making it grow. You swear you could almost feel it throb against your clit, making the wet patch in your panties grow.

Frankie’s groans vibrate against your neck while he licks, sucks, and bites making sure he leaves his mark. Feeling the need to grip something your hands find purchase in Frankie’s curls again, you don’t care how loud you’re being or if it sounds cringey. But Frankie loves the sounds you’re making. Those little breathless pants that turn into full blown moans when his cock hits your clit just right. There’s a wet patch on his pants but he doesn’t know if it’s you or him, he doesn’t care either way.

Frankie’s hips slow to a stop and you protest with a whine before he drops to one knee, hooking his fingers in your underwear dragging them down. He quickly places your leg on top of his shoulder, your hands finding their way to your favorite spot. Before you could even react his face is buried in your pussy, licking a long stripe before teasing your entrance with his tongue. You jerk as you feel his nose bump your clit, moving your hips like you did before you feel it again. And again. And again.

That coil that sits deep in your stomach is slowly making its way to the top with each rock of your hips. Your hips move as though they have a mind of their own, and it seems Frankie likes it since he’s moaning. The vibrations cause you to tug harder than you have before at his curls. You feel a heat spread throughout your belly and you know you’re close. Frankie must know too because he gets even more incessant. Your mouth opens with a silent scream that has you throwing your head back against the wall. The aftershock of your orgasm has your belly clenching and hips stuttering.

Frankie continues to lap it all up until you’re pushing his forehead away telling him, “too much.” He stands back up with his face glistening in your juices and you bring him down to kiss you. His tongue and lips tasted strongly of you and it was only stirring you up more. You’re the one to break the kiss and take his hand leading him down your hall and into your bedroom.

Frankie can’t take note of much except your pink walls before you guide him to sit on the edge of your bed. You take a small step back while maintaining eye contact as you bring your hands to the zipper of your dress. The hunger in Frankie’s eyes grows as you unzip your dress and let it fall in a pile below you. He reaches out to grab your thighs, rubbing them before kissing your stomach. Too soon for him do you pull back to kneel in front of him, your hands running up and down his thighs.

Frankie is so hard that it hurts especially now that you’re looking up at him with those eyes. Your hands find their way to his belt, unbuckling it and sliding his pants down. The wet spot on his briefs is noticeable, he would be embarrassed but you kiss it before you move to pull them down too. He swears his dick jumps from excitement when it’s finally free, the shocked look on your face making him giddy.

Never have you seen a cock as girthy as his, at least not in real life. He was thick enough that you would feel every vein, but you would have trouble wrapping your hand around him. Although he was only a little above average length-wise you prefer it that way. You swirl your tongue around his tip to taste his pre-cum before licking a stripe along his vein. His breathing becomes heavier when you take his balls into your mouth to suck on. Wrapping your hand around his cock has his hips jerking into your touch. You stroke him slowly, teasing him.

As you unlatch from his balls with a pop you lick from his base to his tip before sucking his tip in your mouth. Frankie’s head is thrown back from the jolt sent through his body because of you. You slowly bob your head trying to become accustomed to how much he stretched your mouth. The further you go down the more you hollow your cheeks, coaxing out sounds Frankie didn’t know he could make. The way your mouth felt on him was indescribable, all he could think about was how your tongue was swirling on the underside of his cock. His hips moved on their own volition, chasing more of the pleasure you gave him.

“Baby wait, not like this,” Frankie pleads with his last shred of self control, you rear back without hesitation internally questioning what he wants.

He pulls you up right before gently laying you down on your mattress. He slides his hands up the backs of your thighs and cup’s the back of your knees. Frankie capitalizes on the fact that you can’t move by rocking back and forth between your lips, riling you up. He looks at you before he slides himself in, the both of you gasping.

You arch your back at the feeling of him teasing your walls, only pushing the tip in and backing out. “Please Frankie-” you beg him to put you out of your misery, “need you. All of you.” Your hands have a steel grip on his shoulders for future purchase.

Frankie believes he is a man of patience but hearing you beg has him rearing back and snapping his hips into you. He lays above you with your mouth to his ear, panting relentlessly. The sounds you’re making have him digging deeper and deeper, grinding his hips into your pussy. All you’re thinking of is his pelvis rubbing your clit just right with every thrust he gives you.

You open your neck to him as he resumes his kissing and sucking, all of it adding to your heightened senses. As you clench down on him it’s almost as if you feel him pulsing inside you.

“Jus- just like that Frankie,” you whimper as he fucks you in an almost brutal pace with your knees straddling your ears. The way he fits inside you is almost perfect. His lips crash down upon yours and you're reminded of how talented he is with his tongue. He goes from coaxing you to having you full on chase him with whimpers as soon as you lose contact.

He knows he doesn’t have long until he finishes and he wants to make the most out of it. He pulls back from your pouting lips and continues to fuck you without abandon. You know he’s close when he starts losing focus in his eyes, looking everywhere except where you are. His rocking hips become irregular due to him chasing his own high.

Frankie cums while groaning in your ear, you feel his warm spurt painting your walls before he slows his pace. He pulls out and you feel the absence of his warmth.

“Where are your hand towels?” Frankie asks as he rises to his feet.

“There should be a linen closet in my bathroom.” You don’t even know if he can understand you but you lazily point in the direction of your bathroom, just in case.

Moments later you feel a warm towel wiping you despite how sore you feel you are most definitely grateful. You definitely weren’t getting up to do anything. Your half-lidded eyes search for Frankie only to find him cleaning himself up.

“Come to bed with me when you’re done m’kay?” You don’t wait for a response of any kind before you turn over and make yourself comfortable in bed. Frankie finishes cleaning himself up before he lays beside you. The fact that you invited him to stay the night makes his night. He decides to let Santiago know that he may have actually done something right.

Don’t ever mention it but thank you, she is in fact perfect. - Frankie 12:32

It’s a little late for you to be texting, especially after the first date. Someone must’ve gotten lucky… - Santiago 12:33

Night Pope. - Frankie 12:33

C’mon you can’t leave me hanging - Santiago 12:34

Fish??? - Santiago 12:35

I know you’re up, just tell me - Santiago 12:35

Fine, be that way then 😣 -Santiago 12:36

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut

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