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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over fifty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty eight and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

Taglist (if you’d like to be added please drop a note below):

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

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@taestrwbrry

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wayfaringhoax · 1 year

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Riddles

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Click here for part two

Word count: 12k+

Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts.

This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.

New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.

Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!

Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.

As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.

Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.

How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?

You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.

Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.

Sure, shit got real when you got older.

After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career.

Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.

Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.

You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.

On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.

Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.

An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking.

Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.

A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.

A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself.

A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.

Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him.

You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness.

Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available.

Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer.

Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control.

Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.

Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”

Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”

Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”

“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.

Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”

Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached?

You’d sign yourself up right now.

The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.

Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.

“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”

Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.

“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.

Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.

With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment.

Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence.

You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.

Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.

Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.

****

He’s struggling.

Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.

He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.

He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes.

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit.

And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel.

He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.

You were far too good for him.

He had baggage; struggles he was still working through.

You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him.

Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.

Yep, he needed to stay away from you.

Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.

There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.

It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.

Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.

A text message from you.

Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.

He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.

Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x

Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.

He sends his reply swiftly.

Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?

Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.

You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.

Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him?

Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response.

Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.

Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.

Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name.

Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut.

Get it together, Frankie. Get it together.

He found it a little harder to type his next words.

Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.

He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.

You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.

Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too.

The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you.

Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita.

The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.

Any guy, huh?

And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.

Even you?

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.

Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.

Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles.

On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.

“Do you wanna come over?”

Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”

“Be there in 15.”

****

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess.

What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.

You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie.

Is this really happening?

The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.

Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile.

He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there.

Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find.

And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.

His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now.

Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.

Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it.

When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic.

You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.

The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.

Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him.

He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty.

He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants.

Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard.

He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.

Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.

Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.”

How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?

By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death.

“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.

You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”

Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him.

And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs.

Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.

“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.

You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.

But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.

“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”

Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back.

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.

“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.

He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.

You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.

However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.

“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say.

“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation.

Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet.

He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.

You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.

But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win.

Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.

His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.

“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”

He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes.

Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need.

After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing.

His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him.

“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.

Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”

And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed.

He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet.

Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair.

“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you.

And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.

“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.

He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away.

It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has.

You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.

“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”

“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard.

“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face.

You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm.

There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him.

One time isn’t enough.

He can’t give you up just yet.

****

The two of you soon get into a rhythm.

You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.

But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world.

The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.

You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.

Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.

Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering.

You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded.

One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture.

You start showering together, too.

The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom.

He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine.

On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day.

You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.

After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.

You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car.

Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.

You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did.

An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it.

It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good.

You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.

“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.

You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.

What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”

Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.

You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.

However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there.

You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed.

This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby.

He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different.

But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.

Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.

The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route.

The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.

You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.

Frankie was scared, too.

In fact, he’s worried.

You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.

He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.

However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter.

Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.

Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through.

Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes.

You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.

Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.

Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely.

Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.

Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X

It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight.

He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.

Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.

Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it.

Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.

You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on.

Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately.

Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship.

Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.

You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.

You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.

It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.

Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door.

You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.

After a few seconds, you succumb.

“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”

She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.

Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.

“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.

“Who is he?”

You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”

It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”

You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.

“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.

You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter.

Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.

It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy.

He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention.

But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.

I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?

And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.

You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options.

All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this.

Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends.

You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.

It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.

****

Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.

After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do.

He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.

Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact.

He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.

And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.

Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed.

It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex.

That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend.

Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.

So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.

The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out.

Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.

It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.

Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.

Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you.

You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.

There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick.

You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.

You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you.

Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

And you’ve got him.

Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.

When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast.

He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again.

And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?

Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place.

Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.

Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship.

Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends.

You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight.

Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.

His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy.

Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way.

As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.

Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up.

Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.

You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you.

He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again.

After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you.

“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.

After a beat of silence, he pushes again.

“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.

It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you.

Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves.

He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs.

When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?

Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better.

Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.

He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now.

“You know what I want.”, he says.

The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.

And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs.

You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.

His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.

A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin.

So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you.

Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him.

The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that.

“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.

And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind.

What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want.

And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.

Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.

Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.

You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh.

“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.

You’re not ready.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads.

And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway.

This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication.

Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him?

By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out.

After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage.

As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache.

****

It’s not a secret that you miss him.

Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt.

You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’.

You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.

The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.

You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.

But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.

You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about.

It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover.

What would he say?

Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past?

Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?

You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.

And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress.

He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.

Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.

You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.

So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie.

As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him.

The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him.

Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.

Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.

Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week.

Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.

And you do, after a poignant pause.

“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come.

He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.

You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”

Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.”

He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.

You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”

Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure.

“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.

Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.

“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.

“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.

“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying.

“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.

“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”

He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.

“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.

Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.

“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.

It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.

But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.

Then, you go and throw him a curveball.

Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.

And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”

He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.

He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.

Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.

“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.

After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.

He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.

But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you.

And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.

You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.

Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something.

He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.

“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.

And he knows those last three words could scare you off.

Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful.

It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.

Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader

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zvaigzdelasas · 6 months

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Joe Biden and top aides have discussed the likelihood that Benjamin Netanyahu’s political days are numbered — and the president has conveyed that sentiment to the Israeli prime minister in a recent conversation. The topic of Netanyahu’s short political shelf life has come up in recent White House meetings involving Biden, according to two senior administration officials. That has included discussions that have taken place since Biden’s trip to Israel, where he met with Netanyahu.

Biden has gone so far as to suggest to Netanyahu that he should think about lessons he would share with his eventual successor, the two administration officials added. A current U.S. official and a former U.S. official both confirmed that the administration believes Netanyahu has limited time left in office. The current official said the expectation internally was that the Israeli PM would likely last a matter of months, or at least until the early fighting phase of Israel’s military campaign in the Gaza Strip was over, though all four officials noted the sheer unpredictability of Israeli politics.[...]

A separate White House official downplayed the idea that Netanyahu’s future was a topic of interest, saying that any chatter was just idle speculation and insisting that the administration’s focus was squarely on supporting Israel’s security. [...]

U.S. officials have taken note of Netanyahu’s falling approval ratings. [...]

With an eye toward the future, U.S. officials are talking to Benny Gantz, a member of the current unity government; Naftali Bennett, a former prime minister; and Yair Lapid, an opposition leader and former prime minister, among other Israeli figures, the former official said.

PM Lapid or PM Gantz by next year....maybe even PM Gvir.......Israeli politics sucks man [1 Nov 23]

#i literally wrote that comment before i read the part mentioning them in the article lol

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beefrobeefcal · 10 months

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Chubby!Frankie fic

Is it a one shot? Sure... for now. Nope. Totally not. send in your thoughts, ask box is always open!

The Catfish & The Mouse: Part 1

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Frankie and he begins to full-fill his destiny. AKA How chubby!Frankie came to be!

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 8,149 damn, I over shot that one

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain

Author's Notes: This is my first fic ever; always appreciate constructive critism, but pls be gentle. Thank you to the baddie who anonymously requested a foodie Frankie fics to different fic writers on here and inspired me to put the fingers to keys to create my own debauchery. And an even bigger thank you to @harryleatherfit - this one's for you, friendo!

_______________________________________________

You first met Frankie three and half years ago at a barbeque your cousins Will and Benny hosted. Both cousins had wanted to introduce you to their army friends, and Frankie was first.

“Fish, this is our cousin, Mouse.” Benny announced, slapping a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and face Frankie. You internally cringed at Benny using your childhood nickname.

Francisco “Catfish” Morales, or Frankie as you came to love him, was handsome, but also looked a little like an abandoned puppy who needed a good home and hot meal, with his big brown eyes and sharp features. From his broad shoulders, his frame was slight. He looked a little less secure about himself than some of the other guys in attendance, but this charmed you right away.

Then you were introduced to Santiago “Pope” Garcia. Santi had the handsome-and-he-knew-it personality down pat with his intense dark eyes roving up and down your body as he shook your hand, causing an intense heat to wash up and bloom as a blush over your cheeks. Had Frankie not been there and had you not met him first, Santi was convinced you might have fallen right into bed with him that night.

Instead, Frankie’s sweet demeanor and gentle brown eyes only wavering once, down to your lips while you chatted with him, had you seeing him and only him for the rest of the evening. Your chemistry was electric and by the end of the night, he’d asked you out to dinner, setting the date for the following weekend.

It was during your first date that Frankie’s ferocious appetite piqued your interest. He’d taken you to a mid-range family restaurant with a buffet, and he’d eaten close to two full plates of food by the time you’d only managed one without any encouragement or words from you about it. You spoke about your jobs – he a heavy duty mechanic and you an administrator at an accounting office – and histories, and eventually the topic of his military past came up. He’d only recently come home, discharged from the military. You had already deduced that being in said military, food insecurity through rations and high-intensity work outs had left him feeling famished, leading to his current slight state, and based on his lack of reluctance to not eat as much as he did, you took that he may not be aware of that yet.

“I’ve done a couple tours, some with your cousins, and it’s not something I would wish on anyone.” He said quietly, looking down at his fork while pushed some scraps on his plate around.

You knew how tough military service was from hearing Benny talk about it. Will was less open with you, trying to shield you from the horrors he had seen, but would begin to open up when he was drinking.

You reached your hand out and placed it on Frankie’s holding the fork, stopping his movements, and your gaze met his. You smiled warmly and nodded, no words needed to convey that you understood, and it wasn’t going to deter you from pursuing this between you. A broad grin broke out on Frankie’s face, and he broke the eye contact, dropped the fork, got up from his side of the booth and crawled in next to you. Now sitting next to you, he leaned in, cupping your face.

“Please tell me I’m not reading this wrong…” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed you. Eyes closed, you leaned into him in kind, reaching up your hands, one to his shoulder and the other on side, feeling his slight tummy from the dinner he ate.

You deepened the kiss, opening your mouth slightly, and Frankie took it as an invitation to push further. You let a small whimper out, and his hold on you tightened.

Before the kiss could escalate further, you both heard someone clear their throat. Breaking apart and looking up, you were greeted with a scowling, middle aged waitress bearing the name tag “Martha”.

“You two need the bill?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes, contrasting the frown on her mouth.

After an awkward exchange with Martha and paying the bill, Frankie held your hand as you walked through the parking lot to his truck. Once there, he went to unlock the passenger side door for you. Before he could turn the key in the door, you stepped in between him and truck, wrapping your arms around his neck. Gently pulling his face to yours, you murmured, “You’re not reading anything wrong.” before pulling him back into a kiss.

Frankie dropped his keys and wrapped his arms around you, no longer just a kiss, you reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair and the other hand clawed at the back of his shoulder as you made out. His hands traveled around your back, and one reached down, grabbed a handful of your ass, and pulled your leg up onto his hip, pushing you into his truck. From the angle he held you at and the way his hips had thrust you up against the vehicle door, you could feel his hardening cock press up against your lower stomach, and you sighed into his mouth.

That night, after prying yourselves off each other and making your way in the truck to your house, you invited him in, and he made you come on his mouth no less than 3 times before he fucked you.

You were not letting him go.

*****

After a few months of dating, your lease came up on your apartment and Frankie asked you to move in with him; you excitedly agreed. Benny was instantly supportive of your solidifying relationship, saying, “Fish finally caught a good one!” while Will took a little longer to warm up to the idea. Santiago was happy for his friend, albeit a little disappointed and jealous that you went for Frankie and not him.

Living together allowed you to create a home and you carved out your roles together. He handled the maintenance and outdoor upkeep, you both shared the household chores, and you handled the laundry and the cooking. You had learned how to cook from a family friend with a large family, and thus you only knew how to cook for a crowd. At first, there were always leftovers after each meal, but slowly, there seemed to be less and less of that happening. You noticed Frankie having larger servings, seconds or both. After a large dinner, he would haul himself to the couch and lay back, hand on his stuffed tummy, and say how he may have overdone it but, “damn, that was good.” You took it as a compliment and carried on.

You, on the other hand, started to use the gym membership offered by your job, taking advantage of the different classes, getting up early to go work out so your evenings with Frankie weren’t interrupted. Over time, both of your hard work started to show; you were in the best shape of your life and Frankie was filling out his frame. Frankie loved your lithe body, and you loved his fuller one.

Your sex life with Frankie was – in a word – amazing. He could be gentle during Sunday morning sex, rutting into you, murmuring sweet words of praise into your ears, bringing you to a beautiful, soulful orgasm while staring into each other’s eyes. He could also use his entire body’s weight to pin you to what ever surface he was fucking you on, using his strong arms to hold you in place and his military trained voice to bark orders and causing you to almost black out from coming so hard.

Then there were the evenings after he would eat a large dinner; like the last time you made lasagna – Frankie’s favourite. After he ate all he could handle, he cradled his poor, bloated tummy as he gently laid back on the recliner, popping the foot rest out with a grunt.

“Oof, Mouse, baby. That was amazing. Gets better every time!” he said, trying to tug his now too-tight t-shirt back over his engorged belly.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You said with a smile as you leaned down and kissed him.

You stood up, and as you turned to walk away, Frankie reached out and touched your leg to get your attention.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” He gave you the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

You laughed and rolled you eyes, then said while attempting to leave the room, “Yeah, yeah… I’ll get dessert.”

His hold on your pant leg did not let go. You turned and looked back at him. His wanton gaze roaming up and down your body.

“Oh no, baby… nuh uh… dessert is right here.” He said lowly, and tugged you back towards him, running a hand up to between your thighs and cupping your heat.

“Yeah… you take good care of me, baby…” he croons as he rubs your damp centre through your leggings while a quiet moan escaped out through your barely open mouth. “Tell me how I can take care of you.”

He was offering for you to take the lead; this was the dance you both would move through on evenings when he overindulged on your cooking. Standing over him with his hand between your legs, you run your fingers over his taut belly, lifting his tight shirt up and push down gently feeling his fullness, eliciting a grunt from his mouth and stopping his hand’s movement.

“You look like you’ve already had your fill for the night.” You coo, leaning down and rubbing a little firmer over his tummy. “Ready to pop.”

You push in a little harder with the final ‘P’ sound come from the word pop, and Frankie whimpers. You know it’s not from pain or discomfort because of the tenting that had grown in his sweatpants. You ran your hand to his waistband and pulled down, his hard cock popped out and hit up against his belly, tip angry and red, weeping precum.

Frankie shivered as you grabbed his aching member and ran your thumb over the slit. “… fuck… I’m… I wan-want to take care of you… baby… please… fuck.” He begged, each pant causing his belly to move up and down.

You stood back to your full height and removed your shirt and bra, then reached down to remove your leggings and underwear, stepping out of them and standing in front of Frankie naked, while he watched, mouth agape.

“I know, Frankie… shhhhh, I know. And you will. Can I ride you? You gonna let me do that?” you cooed again as you threw your leg over him and began to straddle his thighs. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Please baby… let’s me eat your pussy… want to eat y-your pussy… need to…. Fuck, please… ” he pleaded, as you palmed his tummy and grinded down on his thigh.

“Don’t think you could handle another meal in here.”, you interrupted him as you pushed down gently on his very full belly, right in the middle, not to elicit pain but to emphasize how full he really was. Frankie keened, eyes pleading for whatever it was you were wiling to give him. You eyes broke contact with his, and looked down where you were pressing into his middle, smiling devilishly.

Frankie shivered again and mewled, “A whole tray of your fucking delicious lasagna.”

He grabbed your waist as you moved forward on his lap. You brought your slick cunt over this throbbing cock, aligned your entrance to him, and gently sunk down, both moaning.

He held you in place, not allowing movement just yet, and said in an almost whimper, “Not too rough, baby. I-I’m pretty full.”

You smiled at him, and as you pushed to move your hips against his firm hold, you mock-whimpered to him, “You can’t handle me, big boy?”

Frankie’s eyes rolled back with a groan loudly escaping his mouth; any restraint he was trying to exercise to console his over-stuffed belly broke, and he planted his heels into the couch, thrusting up into you repeatedly. His hold on your hips was harsh, you knew it would leave bruises for you to discover tomorrow, and he alleviated any responsibility to your own movement on his cock.

Every downward movement you made had his belly crashing into your mound, sending shocks throughout your body, bringing you closer to your peak.

“Frankie! …oh fuck… baby…. Keep going….” You cried out with your head thrown back.

“You close? Yeah? …. I can feel it…. Baby… let go… baby – fuck – let go… come for me-m’you look for pretty when you come…” he called back to you in equal desperation.

A few more thrusts caused your orgasm to crash over you, sending waved throughout your body. Frankie soon followed with panting and groaning, and you collapsed on to him.

“Careful… careful… full… so full… “, he panted, smiling, one hand leaving your hip to place on the back of your neck, soothing you to quiet your movements over his aching, yet satisfied, middle.

This was not the first or last time this happened. These kinds of intimate moments remained unspoken between you. You had discussed sex, even kinks, before, but this was topic that hadn’t been discussed before or after each encounter. Although he figured you liked feeding him based on the look of awe you gave him when he ate more than his fair share of the food you prepared, purposely not allowing leftovers if he could manage. He liked to tease you by pretending he couldn’t eat another thing, then continue to finish what was ever left on the table while you praised him for being a “good boy”. He especially enjoyed when he caught you watching him while he would lay in the couch and his shirt would ride up his swollen stomach involuntarily when he really over did it, dramatically rubbing his belly. Anyone of those actions generally led to you needing him like you were in heat. He enjoyed eating to his heart’s content and was encouraged by the response he got from you; he was all too willing to go down this route, never feeling like you were making do anything he didn’t want.

He didn’t over do it or push himself every day, but it was beginning to happen more often, and he could see the effect him letting his inhibitions go had, feeling his clothing fitting different, especially around his midsection. He didn’t care, except for the nagging thoughts about what you thought of being with a big guy, one that he hadn’t been when you first started dating.

The guys at the mechanic shop teased him in good humor when he had to size up his coveralls, all making comments about how lucky he was to have a lady who cooked that well for him at home. He smiled and knew he was lucky, but still wondered if you felt the same about him.

*****

It was about 6 months later, you were at one of Benny’s fights, along with Frankie and Will.

“I’m going to get something to drink, and maybe eat. Want anything?” Frankie asked, pointing between you and Will. You both shook your heads, and Frankie nodded and smiled at Will for his approval of his next movement, then leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before heading to the concession.

Will watched him walk away chuckling, then turned back to you. He knew both you and Frankie were still nervous about being an item in front of him, but he thought it was sweet.

“So… everything is going well with you, Mouse?” Will asked as he turned to you.

“Yeah,” you said with an equally bright smile. “It’s good… great! He’s … we’re great!” you smiled, looking down at your hands. “Work is good and Frankie is great.”

Will smiles, softer this time, and puts his arm around your shoulder. “Glad to hear it. You look happy… happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

Will was like an older brother to you, the one you wish you had. Being an only child of a single mother, he offered additional stability when you needed it, whether you wanted it or not. He was your babysitter growing up and kept tabs on you during high school onward. Benny, on the other hand, fit the goofy brother mold to a T; you were the same age and we’re raised together. If Will was getting you out of trouble, it was usually because Benny got you into it.

“Yeah, I’m really happy. You know, I have a good routine down; work, gym, Frankie. It’s good!”

Will gives you a soft smile and nods. You both look back towards the ring, but you get the feeling that he has more to say. You knew Frankie’s bulkier frame was not lost on your cousin, but that didn’t seem to the button he wanted to push. After a pause, he cleared his throat.

“But, uh, Fish is treating you good?” he said, voice quiet, and his eyes not moving from the boxing ring.

You turned your head and looked at Will’s profile. “Yes, he’s treating me really well.” You paused a beat and put your hand on Will’s shoulder to get him to turn to you. “I’m really good. He’s … I love him, Will.”

Will turned to look at you, eyes scanning your face, then nodded and smiled. His eyes caught something behind you and you turned to see Frankie coming back, carrying a beer and two hot dogs – one he was already halfway through.

Will smiled as he saw his friend approach and said while chuckling quietly to you, “He looks really happy, too.”

*****

Santiago was back in town for the first time in a while, and the guys wanted to go out to their favourite bar. Both you and Hannah, Will’s wife, were invited along, as it had been over six months since you’d seen each other. Frankie had taken a shower and was now standing in the bathroom, jeans on but not done up and slung low on his waist with his stomach pushing over the waistband of his boxers, brushing his teeth.

You stood, leaning against the doorway, and watched him. His mechanic job kept his body strong; his shoulders were broad and lead into his strong, thick arms and large, beefy chest. He was still muscular, but it was all now covered in a layer of softness. His thick, meaty thighs carried what bore the brunt of his new eating habits; his waist had filled out, producing love handles, and then his stomach. It was no longer flat and toned; it was a good sized belly – round and soft with a firmness underneath. But through his changes, he had never lost his strength, and it was still easy for him to pick you up like you weighed next to nothing.

“Well, hello there.” Frankie crooned at you with a sly smile. “And what are we looking at, lovely lady?”

A blush rose on your cheeks, and you smiled back. Sauntering over, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around on top of his belly. “Just my sweet, sexy Frankie.” You planted a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he leaned back, his hand on yours.

A little while later, you and Frankie got out of the truck and walked hand-in-hand into the bar. Frankie scanned the tables and saw Will with Hannah, waving. Waving back, he pulled you by the hand towards them.

“Fish! How you doing, buddy?” Will asked while standing up, coming over to give a hug. You noticed that he looked Frankie up and down quickly, trying to take in his friend’s now larger figure.

Wait until he takes off his coat. You thought to yourself, knowing the tight grey t-shirt underneath would really highlight all the newly added Frankie there was.

Hellos and how-are-yous exchanged while you take your seats. Benny arrives and has a similar response to Frankie as Will, but neither saying anything. The conversation between the five of you flows naturally, and Frankie has his arm around the back of your chair.

Santi hasn’t arrived yet, and you’re somewhat relieved. You like Santiago enough, and he’s Frankie’s best friend, but he’s not the kindest or gentlest person. You we’re told by Benny that he had taken it a bit hard when you started to date Frankie, but hadn’t heard anything further about it. Frankie, on the other hand, got the ribbing and teasing from Santi, and although he said he was fine with it, you knew Frankie could be sensitive.

The guys started to catch up and you offered to get you and Frankie a drink.

“Just a beer, baby. Whatever is on tap.” He said, then turned back to Benny to hear his outrageous, and probably over embellished, story about grocery shopping.

You nodded and headed towards the bar. You waved down the bartender and placed your order. While waiting for your drinks, a familiar voice says your name. You turned and saw Santi.

“Hey!” and you smile as he pulled you into a hug.

He pulled back from you smiling, with his hands on your waist, “Wow… you look… insanely good!”

His eyes roaming up and down your figure. “You hitting the gym?”

You laugh and roll your eyes, still not used to compliments about your fitter form, and feeling more so that it was coming from him. “Yeah, yes… my job comes with a gym membership and I’m finally putting it to use.”

Santi nods. “Need a workout buddy? A spotter? I’ll be in town for a while and need something to do.” He said as he leaned his face closer to yours while making intense eye contact.

You try to not let your smile falter and you pulled back; Santi is smooth, but not that smooth. You’ve caught on to what he’s doing.

“I, uh, have a personal trainer.” You lied.

“And it’s a women’s only gym.” You lied again, nodding like you’re trying to not only convince him but yourself, too, so it seems credible.

Santi’s smile simmered down a bit and he pulled you back in for a tighter, more intimate feeling hug, lingering just a bit too long with his arms around your waist. You swore you heard him take in a deep breathe and smell your hair, but you couldn’t be sure.

“I missed you, Mouse.” He says in a hushed tone.

You broke the hug abruptly when the bartender called out that your drinks were ready and stated what the total you owed was. Santi tried to keep a hand on your waist and went to pay, but you were quicker and moved away, handing the bartender cash and telling him to keep the change. You hurriedly grabbed your and Frankie’s glasses and turned to Santi.

“Everyone else is here. Over there.” You motioned with one of the glasses to the other side of the room.

Santi followed you to the table and greeted everyone, and then gave Frankie a once-over.

“Fish! Man oh man! Are you enjoying the tethered life or what!” he exclaims, pulling Frankie into a hug and patting him on the back firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, Pope.” Frankie says with a headshake and a smile.

The conversation flowed again, and you started to relax into your chair. Frankie’s arm went from the back of your chair to around your shoulders, fingers drawing shapes on your arm, as he continued to chat with Santi.

After a bit, Benny wanted to get another round for everyone, and Frankie offered to help. As the two walked back to the bar, Will came and took Frankie’s seat.

Leaning in, he asks quietly, “How’s it going? Everything good?”

You look at him with confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. Why? Does it not look it?”

“Well,” Will paused then chuckled to himself, “Frankie looks like he’s really enjoying living with you. What are your feeding him?” he asked, laughing.

“Hmmm?” you responded, turning your head to Will, with a questioning look.

He laughed again. “Frankie. What are you feeding him?” he pauses, “I’ve known Fish for a long time, and I have never seen him this…” he gestures his hands like he’s trying to find a nice way to put something. “…well-fed.”

You shrugged and feigned innocence with a head shake. “He really likes my cooking. What can I say? Just let him be happy.”

Will’s hands went up in surrender, smile growing. “No, no, no… I mean, I’m glad he’s comfortable, and being taken care of… and happy. And that you’re happy, too.”

You gave him a stern look, leaned in, and hissed, “Don’t you dare say a thing to him about this.”

Will let out a hearty laugh, waving you off. “I won’t, Mouse. I won’t.”

Benny and Frankie came back to the table and, once the drinks were handed out, Frankie took his jacket off, hanging it over the back of his chair. His shirt pulled tight on his arms and shoulders, and emphasized his protruding belly.

“Whoa, Fish!” Santi, exclaimed with raised eyebrows and eyes scanning down his ample torso. He then reached out and poked Frankie’s belly with two of his fingers roughly. “You enjoying civie life that much?”

Frankie forced a fake laugh, shaking his head as he pushed Santi’s hand away. He looked up and stared right back at him, and snarled with a not-so-friendly grin, “With this girl by my side? Absolutely.”

He sat back down and put his arm around you again, although it was a little more of a firmer hold this time. You looked up at Frankie and then to Santi, giving him an awkward smile and shrugged.

Santi’s mouth was in a tight line, and he nodded, staring back at Frankie then sneered, “Mouse says she’s hitting the gym.” He looks at you, his eyes exaggeratingly moved from your chest back up to your face with a feral grin, then back to Frankie and spat, “Clearly, you’re just making it to the kitchen.”

Before any further nastiness erupted, Will leaned over the table, hands up with a palm facing each man. “Alright. Enough. Knock it off, both of you. Let’s just enjoy tonight you guys.”

Frankie’s smile was gone, replaced completely with a challenging scowl directed at Santi across the table and his hold on you tightened. You looked up at him again, and his gaze softened. He then nodded at Will then dropped his eyes to the beer in his hand.

Santi continued to stare at Frankie, watching him in the same way, then to you with a smirk. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to return his gaze with a furious glare. What you could only describe as regret washed over his face before he looked at Will and nodded.

The conversation began slowly again, awkward at first, then picked up. Benny had more to say about his upcoming boxing opponent, Santi shared stories from his travels, Will talked about his and Hannah’s vacation plans, and Frankie talked about the interesting people he encountered at the mechanic shop he worked at. You chimed in occasionally to share an anecdote here and there, too.

After a while, Benny said he was hungry, and wanted to go to a real place with real food. After deciphering that he meant a restaurant, you all, but Frankie, started throwing out ideas of where you could go. Frankie’s lack on contribution to this topic was not lost on you, and you watched as he kept his head down, fingers playing with the residual condensation on his glass. It was Santi’s voice that made you wince.

“Come on, Big Fish.”, curling his lip as he sneered. “You must know a good place to eat. I’m sure you’ve had your fill from every restaurant in town, buddy.”

You stared at Santi, completely gobsmacked and horrified by not just his words, but his nasty tone. And you were not alone. Benny’s mouth hung open with his brows furrowed in disgust, Hannah just closed her eyes and shook her head, and Will stared at him with a terrifying intensity.

Before you could answer, Frankie, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Nah, I think this is it for me tonight.”, he said quietly, trying to force a smile, while not making eye contact with anyone in particular. “You guys enjoy. I’ve, uh, I’ve got an early morning, and need to head home.”

You knew that was a lie. He’d purposely taken tomorrow off in case tonight went on into the early morning hours, but it was barely 7:30 pm.

You were enraged. You wanted to lunge across the table and throttle Santi. But before you could do anything, Frankie turned to you as he got up and said with the same quiet tone and sad eyes, “You go with them, get some food. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up.”

That look and those words broke your heart.

You shook your head and got your purse and jacket. You said your goodbyes to the group, except for Santi, purposely avoiding him. Santi only looked up at you once, but when to refused to meet his eyes, he sat back and lowered his head. Benny hugged you goodbye, giving an extra squeeze before letting you go. He then hugged Frankie next, saying quietly - but you managed to hear him- “Ignore Pope. He’s just jealous. She picked you, Fish.”

Frankie pulled back and nodded unconvincingly, and Benny patted him on the shoulder and Hannah pulled you both in for a hug.

Will waved both you and Frankie off with his anger at Santi barely being contained, not moving from his seat until he deemed that you both were out of earshot. Before you walked out the door, you took one last look at the table and watched as Will stood over Santi, berating him. You couldn’t hear what was being said but knowing Will and seeing Santi just sit with his head hung low, you knew he felt like every word like a dagger.

The ride home was quiet. Any topic you tried to bring up, Frankie either responded with in one-word answers or not at all. As soon as the truck was parked, you undid your seat belt and shuffled across the bench seat towards Frankie.

“Honey? Frankie? Talk to me, baby.” You said reaching up and cupping his cheek.

He turned his head, but his eyes stayed low. He sighed and shook your hand off his cheek, then got out of the truck. You felt crushed.

You followed him up to the front door, then into your home. You both removed your coats, hanging them up. As he was kicking off his shoes, you pushed yourself in front of him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Frankie, please. Talk to me.” You said into his chest.

He sighed again. You could feel his body tense up under your hold and his hands came up to your shoulders. It felt like he was going to push you away, but instead, he moved his hands around your shoulders and buried his face into your hair.

“I love you, you know.” You said to finally break the silence.

“I love you, too.” He responded in a sad sigh.

“And you know I love everything about you.” You pulled back, hands on the side of his waist, staring up into his eyes. “Everything.”

Frankie hesitated. He looked away from you and stated, “I saw Santi and you at the bar. I saw him hug you - his hands on you.”

He looked back up to your face, eyes wide with worry. You ran a hand up through his hair, resting it on his cheek.

“What did you talk about?” he asks, quietly, shifting away from eye contact.

“He asked me if I needed a workout buddy…”

Before you could end you sentence, you could see the hurt that crept up into his eyes. “…but I lied. I told him I had a personal trainer. And that it’s a women’s only gym.”

The hurt, while not completely gone, was now mixed with you recognized as amusement and pride as he knew for a fact those statements were both lies.

“Santi’s an ass.” You state bluntly, cocking your head and softly looking up at him.

“A skinny ass.” Frankie retorted; his brows furrowed again.

There it was. It wasn’t that Santi having interest in you that upset him or how he may have been jealous of you being with Frankie - it was the nagging worry of you wanting to pursue a leaner body than he now offered.

Scratching your fingers gently through his beard, you look up at him through your eyelashes, and coo, “Good thing I don’t have a thing for skinny guys anymore.”

Your hands moved down to his waist then under his shirt, gently caressing his middle. You feel the goose bumps on his skin and see his eyes flicker.

“Good thing I want a big boy who likes to eat and can pin me to the mattress when he fucks me.” You said softly as your hands moved further down so you could hold his belly and lift gently, feeling it’s weight.

Frankie’s breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed harshly. His now darkened eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes, his confidence growing hearing your confirmation out loud.

Normally, when anything to do with Frankie’s expanding waistline came into play, you held the control - seizing it – and he was more than happy to oblige, not being fully sure what you were getting out of it. But hearing you confirm that you wanted this - him in his newer, fuller state - and seeing the arousal screaming in your eyes, it was his turn to dominate.

“Yeah?” Frankie asks in a breathy voice, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lips before he begins to gently push you backwards towards the back of the closed front door.

“That why you feed me good? Huh, baby?” his voice almost in mocking tone when he asks you. “Stuff me and keep me happy?”

Your back hit the door and Frankie pushed his belly up against you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “I’m asking you a question, baby.” His voice dark and teasing. The unspoken thing was now in the wide open, and there was no putting back into what ever box you both had kept it in. The heat pooling in your lower belly was beginning to become more and more intense, and you could feel your cunt fluttering and clenching on nothing.

“Uh huh.”, you nodded dumbly, your eyes wide and your arousal saturating your underwear and into your leggings.

“Yeah, I bet. That’s why you cook too much food, huh? Keep me big and round?” he asks again, is a voice dripping with taunt and need.

You whimper. Frankie smiles menacingly and puts his hands on either side of your head and cages you in.

“Baby,” he licks his lips and runs his eyes down to your heaving chest, encased tits moving up and down with every strangled breath you take. “I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

He leaned in and ghosted a kiss over your wanting mouth. He pulled back enough so you’re unable to reach him with your lips and he smiles darkly. “I’m starved.”

“Wh-what do you want me to make for you?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth, trembling. Your eyes were heavy lidded with arousal and begging. Between Frankie’s whole domineering demeanor and being pinned between the door and his belly, you were like a rocket, ready to launch the second NASA gave the go ahead.

Frankie chuckled. “I want you to make yourself comfortable on our bed, baby. I’m going to devour that sweet cunt of yours, over and over and over and over….”

He trailed off as he began to nip and suck your neck, turning you into a panting, gasping, moaning mess.

“Fra… Frankie!” you keened as one of his knees jutted up between your legs, pushing into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh Mouse… baby... I can feel how wet and hot you are through your leggings and my jeans.” He cooed mockingly at you, one hand coming up and stroking your cheek. “What’s got you all worked up? Huh?”

You moaned and whimpered as he pushed his knee with more force into your aching apex - any friction at this point sending electricity directly through body from your throbbing cunt.

“Words, baby. Use your words.” He huffed.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out were pathetic whimpers and gasps.

“You gonna come from my knee, baby? Just my knee?” he snarled as his knee pulled back and you whined. “Nuh uh, baby girl. You’re coming on my tongue, on my mouth. I’m ready to eat.”

He grabbed you by the waist and flung you over his shoulder. You squealed as he carried you to your bedroom.

Frankie tossed you on the bed and grabbed the waist of your leggings, pulling them down along with your underwear in one smooth movement.

“Frankie… b-baby… pl-please!” you cried, not really sure what you were asking for.

As soon as he had your bare, glistening cunt in the open, his eyes went dark and feral. He crawled up, laid himself down on his side next to you and forcefully kissed you. One hand snaked down your body and pushed in between your legs, gently moving his middle finger through your slit.

He pulled away from the kiss and nudged you with his nose. “Fuck… you’re so wet for me… you have no idea what you do to me.” He paused to insert a finger into you sopping cunt, thumb circling around your clit. He watched your face with a smile and continued, “So fucking good to me… keeping me happy… keeping me fed… fuck baby… keeping me full…”

He could feel your cunt squeezing his one finger, starting you towards your orgasm, and he then added another, pumping into you with a little more effort. You cried out and gripped the wrist of the hand he had buried in you, while the other pushed up into your headboard.

“Baby… fuck… you look so good falling a part around my fingers… you’re so close… I can feel it.” an evil smile crosses his face. “But I’m hungry, baby…” he hisses as he pulls out his fingers.

Your eyes shot open, and you growled, trying to continue your hold on his wrist. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Francisco!”

He pulled back and grinned at you, breaking out of your hold, while sitting back on his knees. He sucked his fingers clean and moaned in contentment, “So fucking tasty, baby.”

Before you could use your own hands to get relief from the unsatisfied edge in your heat, he moved between your legs, laying down on his belly and pulled you by your thighs toward his face. Your legs were draped over his broad shoulders as he wrapped his arms under your hips to anchor you to him , then pushed his face into your cunt and licked harshly.

Your eyes went wide, and you shrieked and writhed, shooting both hands down into his curls and yanking. Frankie hummed, holding you in place with his strong arms, and began to fuck you with his tongue while his nose rubbed into your clit. You could feel the tight coil in your lower belly begin to reach a breaking point, and then you saw stars.

You came hard and loud and Frankie moaned into your pussy, lapping up everything you had like he had promised - like he was starving.

You rode out your orgasm on his face, gripping his hair and crying out. As you started to come down, Frankie moved and sucked your clit between his lips harshly, while thrusting a finger in and out your cunt.

You cried out and dug your heals into his shoulders.

“Frankie! I-I can’t! T-too much!” you wailed, as tears began in your eyes and you tried to close your legs.

Frankie wedged his shoulders further between your thighs to hold you open to him. He pulled his mouth off your clit and added another finger to his pounding of your pussy.

If you hadn’t been in a fucked-out state, you would have been unnerved by the gentle, saccharine sweet tone of his voice, crooning, “You can do it, baby girl… shhhhhh… yeah you can.”

Then he dropped his voice low and snarled, “Be a good girl and FEED ME.”

He dove his mouth back onto your swollen clit. Your grip on his hair only egged him on while he pushed another finger in and made you come again.

He didn’t relent. Before this one ended, you could feel another building up but far more intense. You knew the feeling well, being Frankie was the only man who had ever made you come that hard.

“F-FRANKIE-EEEEEE! Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…” you chanted as you came again, arching your back right off the bed and feeling a gush from your abused pussy right into his waiting mouth.

“Yeah baby! Give it to me! Fuck baby!” Frankie moaned while you squirted and came all over his face and in his mouth, causing a damp spot to widen under you on the bed.

As you came down, he placed gentle kisses and licks on your pussy, nuzzling you with his nose through the aftershocks. He pulled his face back and laid his head on your thigh, looking up at you with adoration.

“Good girl.” “You did so good for me.” “Yeah, baby, you’re such a good girl” he praised while rubbing your hip with the hand that had been holding you down.

You raised your head and looked down at Frankie. He smiled, moustache and beard scruff wet. You smiled back, still trying to catch your breath.

You flopped your head back onto the pillow and closed your eyes as Frankie crawled up your body. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he smiled and chucked.

“Hey.” He said gently, while cupping your cheek.

You gave him a goofy grin, eyes still closed. “Hey.”

You reached up and put your arms around his neck. He kissed you deeply, pulled back and said, “You ready to get fucked into the mattress by a big boy with a big cock?”

Your eyes opened wide and you nodded eagerly. He sat up on his knees and helped you removed your top and bra. He kissed you as you laid bare before him and grabbed one of your bare tits in his hands while worrying your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

You broke the kiss and reached out and started to remove his clothing, not wanting to wait any longer. Frankie stood up to the side of the bed and took off his shirt while you started on his jeans. The waistband of his jeans was straining under his ample belly, enough so that the button keeping his jeans closed was so pulled tight that you couldn’t undo it without his assistance.

Frankie chuckled, his belly moving along with his laugh. “I have to suck in to get them open now. Might need new jeans.” He said, playfully, a blush of embarrassment flushed his cheeks.

Your cheeks flushed back, knowing that his belly was not currently full - not even close - and you wondered how much trouble it would give his jeans if he’d just finished a big meal.

You couldn’t help it and leaned forward to caress and kiss his belly, while he sucked it in and open his jeans, and you marveled at his stomach’s weight and size pushing the zipper down on its own.

You pushed his boxers down with his jeans, his cock popped out pushing against his plush middle, and he kicked them off entirely. You grabbed his cock and began to eagerly pump it. Frankie grunted and bucked his hips with a whine, trying to stop you.

“No… no, baby. If you do that, I’m going to come, and I want to come in that sweet, tight pussy.” He murmured as he grabbed your wrist and pushed you down on your back, crawling over you and holding you in place with his weight.

“Oh Frankie… please… fuck me… please… ” You panted into his ear.

He grunted again, and l leaned up on his elbows, maneuvering one arm between you to line him up with your entrance.

He then braced himself, elbows on either side of your head, and pushed in.

Your mouth opened and your eyes closed. The feeling of him opening you up never got old, each time splitting you into euphoria.

His eyes never left your face, looking for any indication that you wanted or needed him to stop. He bottomed out and you whimpered, pleading with him.

“Baby… pl-please, Frankie!” you moaned. You tried to move your hips to get him to move, but his weight pinning you to the mattress had you stuck.

“Oh fuck you’re tight… just… so tight and warm… fuck, baby….” He panted, enjoying you squirming underneath him.

His hips began to move, slowly, giving him time to acclimate so we wouldn’t blow his load too soon. He continued on this pace, you walls getting slicker as his cock rammed deep.

“Please… Frankie… baby…. Harder… Harder!” you cried, wrapping your legs around his waist to get more leverage.

He picked up the pace, adjusting his position over you to piston you on his cock, harder and faster, bruising into your cervix. You could tell he was getting close with his movements beginning to fall out of rhythm.

“Baby girl…” he panted and began to beg, “Come with me… I’m close. Touch yourself… pl-play with your clit…”

You reached down and circled your middle finger around your tender clit and felt yourself moving fast to your next orgasm.

“I’m close… fuck… Frank-kie… I’m close..” you moaned.

“I know…I know… Look at me when you come. Fucking look at me.” He growled through clenched teeth.

You felt your orgasm begin to wash over you, and you looked up to his face.

“Good girl… fuuu-uck!” he grunted as your pussy clench him, and he began to paint the inside of your pussy.

With one final thrust, Frankie threw his head back and cried out, “fuck!”

He was breathing heavily when he dropped your shaking legs from his hips, while you laid fucked out and panting on your bed.

Evenutally, Frankie pulled out and you let out a whine.

“I know, baby… I know.” He flops over beside you and pulls your back up against his chest, making you the little spoon to his big one, both breathing heavily.

There’s a comfortable quiet as you both lay in the bed you destroyed together.

Frankie breaks the silence with a sigh. “So… you… like me like this?” he asks into your hair.

You smile and nod, eyes still closed. “Yeah. I like, well, I love that you like to eat, and..” you pause then let out a sigh. “…and your belly. And you’re strong and make me feel safe.”

You can feel Frankie breath a laugh, his stomach pushing against you with each breath, and feel the light kisses he’s adorning the back of your head with.

As you said that, you heard a low rumble. You turned your head and Frankie smiled sheepishly at you.

“I’m hungry… like actually hungry.” He laughed. “You make me work up an appetite!”

You rolled over in his arms, facing him, and you grinned like idiots at one another. You placed a hand on the side of his tummy, drawing circles with your fingers. “Poor baby… can’t let you go hungry.”

Frankie giggled and laid his hand on yours, then kissed you and leaned his forehead against yours.

You released yourself from his embrace and got up off the bed with a slight wobble in your legs. You wandered into the bathroom to get yourself cleaned up.

When you came back out, Frankie was standing, having just pulled his boxers back on. You walked towards him and patted his grumbling belly.

“Let’s get you fed, big boy.”

You managed to get a slice from the large frozen pizza you made, while Frankie happily enjoyed the rest. When he finished that and half of a McCain’s frozen deep-dish cake for dessert, he leaned back as his stuffed tummy pushed out against the table, and sighed, rubbing it gently.

“Thank god you like to feed me because I fucking love to eat.” He laughed.

-----

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#frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#triple frontier #frankie morales x f!reader

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nerdieforpedro · 26 days

Text

It’s not that crazy of an idea

Chapter One of “Come live with me Angel” Series

Benny Miller x Diana (plus size OFC)

This fic is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.2k

Summary: Bailing your friend Benny out of jail isn’t what Diana counted on for her night. She also didn’t count on needing to explain anything to him either.

Warnings: mention of jail/county, mention of violence, injuries from a fight, implied family issues, some pining (maybe)

Notes: I’ve had this idea for quite a while, a friends to lovers with our dear Benny Miller! I was finally able to make my ideas coherent. So here we are. 😆 We’re keeping it cute from now on, maybe. 🤔

Main Masterlist / Benny Miller Masterlist/ Come live with me Angel Series

“I’ll send you the money Diana, I just need you to go get him tonight before midnight. After midnight they’ll take him to county and we won’t be able to get him out until Monday.”

“Will, I mean I get why you can’t you’re out of state but I don’t know how to bail someone out of jail. Never done it. Like do I just someone?”

A deep roll of laughter is heard on the other end of the phone as Diana sighed. This was not funny. It’s 10:45pm and there’s a little over an hour to bail Benny out of jail.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine. Just use the money I sent to you and bring him home. I’ll deal with him Tuesday.”

“Did he say why he beat the guys up? He took down three of them didn’t he? That’s a lot.”

“Not really for Benny. That’s an easy job for him. The problem is his current profession and history. He can be considered a deadly weapon. In some circles, but he’s just my idiot little brother that I need you to bring home. Just help him out.”

“...Okay Will. I just go to the central booking. I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll be fine Diana. You couldn’t fuck it up if you tried.”

“I’m glad you're confident. I’ll call you again when he’s home.”

Nothing exciting had happened on a Friday night for Diana. She came home from work, cooked dinner, watched some TV and then showered and put on a Hallmark movie. It was after she had dozed off when her phone vibrated on her lap. She never had the ringer on. It was Will. He had never called her and she didn’t know he had her number. He asked her to bail Benny out of jail. Pope was overseas advising some local government on security, Fish was on daddy duty and Will was in New Mexico speaking to new recruits and wouldn’t be back in time to get to Benny. She was the only option. As far she knew, Benny hadn’t had any trouble with the law for the last few years. He had been keeping his nose clean and in his MMA career. Will never answered her question about why Benny would send three men to the hospital. But she could ask him in person, she popped on a grogu t-shirt and black leggings with her sneakers and headed out, following the directions from her phone to a large imposing building.

She told the man at the gate who she was here to bail out which he snickered and allowed her in. She didn’t get why he did that but focused on parking her small blue car and headed inside. Diana was patted down twice on her way in, it disturbed her both times. Not that either officer did anything odd, she just wasn’t good with touches from people she didn’t really know. Eventually through different gates and several sleepy looking guards later, she arrived at the holding cells. They were behind another large gate. The woman at the counter looked to be close to retirement, the fluorescent light highlighted the purple in her blonde wig. Diana didn’t think that it was supposed to be that color, but gave her a warm smile. The woman’s orange lipstick twisted with her lips as she spoke.

“Who ya here for honey?” She asked with a slow drawl. A question she’d asked many a time over the years.

“I’m here for Benny. Ah, Benjamin Miller. He would have come from the Tipsy Cantina bar.” She answered softly, her hands squeezing her phone and wallet.

The woman chuckled and reached through the small oval opening at the bottom of the plexiglass to touch Diana’s hand. “Simmer down honey. First time? No one usually tells me that much info. Yer boy’s fine. Few scrapes and bruises. Tell him to keep his nose clean. I wasn’t supposed to see him again before I left this place behind and got my place in the glades.”

Diana nodded and let go of her phone, setting it down on the counter and held the woman’s wrinkled hand, her rings dug in a little bit but that was fine. At least there was a person here who was calming. The woman turned toward a tall guard with a long beard that was braided at the bottom. “Johnny, bring out the Miller boy. His lady friend is here. You got his bail honey?”

“Y-Yes. Right here. Um, do you take cash, credit or…”

“Any’s fine dear. Whichever ya got.”

Diana let go of the woman’s hand and put her debit card in it. The woman swiped it and took the amount of money that Will had told her the bail would be. She put the card back and heard several loud buzzes before hearing two gates open.

“He’ll be out shortly honey.” The older woman assured her. And he was, but watching him walk down the hallways toward her felt like it was at least ten minutes.

Benny was glad to be out of that small cell where he had been stuck for the last three hours. He swore he’d never end up back in here after the last bar brawl he’d been in with all the guys. At least in that one, Pope, Fish, and Will had been in here to make the time to go easier. He did strike up a conversation with a guy who got caught with a prostitute and they discussed beer of all things. Weird subject to talk about but better than listening to the other guy who clearly was high speaking about the aliens telling him to probe people. He didn’t have much with him, the one office gave him his jacket and wallet back along with his hat. Benny was expecting a stern talking to from his brother who said he was going to come up with the money. He didn’t mention how he was going to get here though. Will had left for New Mexico sometime last week and that flight was at least a few hours if they even had one coming out this way.

The MMA fighter was shocked to see who was here to pick him up. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why he was here. It’s bad enough she knows he’s in jail, but did she bail him out? Did Will give her the money? She looked worried and scared, they still do pat downs and crap when you come in here don’t they? That might be why, or she could be scared of him now. She’s supposed to know him as fun-loving goofy silly Benny, except in the ring of course. He licked his bottom lip that had a cut on it and ran his fingers through his hair he’d let grow out to the base of his neck. The bruises and cuts were still fresh on his hands and face from the fight and there was a little dried blood on his white t-shirt, could have been from him or one of the guys he decked, wasn’t sure. Benny was going to say high at least but Diana wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him tight. It hurt his ribs a bit since he had taken a few hits there, but bent down slightly to hug her back and patted her head.

“Hey Angel, sorry you had to come here. You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He led with a weak joke that earned a sniffle instead of the chuckle he was hoping for. Diana looked up at him with her face tight. Instead of fear, now she was angry.

“Such a stupid joke Benny. Are you okay? You look worse than after a match! What the hell happened?” She asked as they let go of each other and walked over to the desk with the elderly woman. She handed Benny his wallet and jacket.

“You scared your girlfriend here Benjamin. I thought I wasn’t going to see you back here until I retired and went down to the glades.” She gave him a wry smile. He returned it and counted his money in his wallet before sticking it in his back jeans pocket and put on his jacket.

“Yes Ma’am. That was the plan but circumstances didn’t allow for that. Had those guys shut up, I’d be seeing you the next time me and the guys go fishing.” He answered and held the old woman’s hand.

“She seems sweet. Don’t worry her too much now.” She cooed.

“Ma’am. We’re not…” Diana went to clarify but shooed Benny away as he was given a final check by a nearby officer. She whispered to Diana as she took her hands and pulled her close.

“He’s impulsive but a good man. You came because you care. Get ya man hun.” She let out a long laugh as Diana felt her ears burn and nodded. Not that she disagreed with the woman but they’re friends. Have been for the last six months since they met at the Saucy Cantina bar. The pair left the building and Benny chuckled wondering how he was going to fit in her tiny blue hatchback car. Diana put her hands on her hips and said that if he wasn’t willing to sit up front, then he could lay in the back, just to be grateful that she came. Benny gave her another hug and told her that he was, though he still felt bad that she had to come and he knew that he’d interrupted a movie for her. Diana hated that he knew her routine so well already.

Being the goof that he was, Benny spread his long body across the backseat of the car and Diana drove, telling him to keep his shoes off the seats and he spoke about the new specials Ramon was starting at the Saucy Cantina. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted to know what possessed him to beat up three men. It was clear Benny wasn’t up for talking about it right now. They arrived at her apartment where Benny could sleep on the couch and she would take him home tomorrow. As Diana unlocked her door, she had forgotten about the boxes though and how she’d have to explain them.

“So were you going to tell me that you’re planning on moving or just stop coming out with us and let me figure it out?” Benny asked, mimicking her with his hands on his hips as she had done.

“Well, my roommate is moving out with her boyfriend so I can’t afford this place on my own. It’s going to be an hour commute to work instead of thirty minutes and I planned on mentioning it eventually. I wasn’t sure how to tell you Benny.” Diana admitted. Her roommate still had some boxes to pick up so most of them were Diana’s. She needs to be out by the end of the month and planned to move back in with her mom for now.

“Why didn’t you just ask me? I got room. My house has three bedrooms and despite what you think I do clean, when I remember.” He flashed her a smile and she nearly said yes, but she’d be moving in with a man she had a crush on. What if he brings back someone? Will we have to talk about socks on doors?

No, no no no.

“I appreciate the thought Benny but it’s the most cost effective-”

“Are you sure you wanna move in with your mom? Didn’t you say you have issues with her and you two normally end up fighting?” Maybe she spoke to Benny too much about her family drama. She was seeing that now and she’d have to remember not to do that from now on.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow? Let’s just get some sleep.” Diana settles and walks to what will be her room for the next two weeks. Benny watches her walk away and waits until her bedroom door closes. He hears her on the phone and it sounds like Will since she said his name. It was short, just letting him know that he’s out. He then got a text from Will saying that they needed to talk when he got home.

“Ain’t shit to talk about that. I need to think about how I’m going to convince her to move in with me. It does sound crazy, but an hour away? That’s bullshit.” He removed his jacket, putting it on the back of the couch and set his shoes by the door. He laid on the couch and closed his eyes. Having Diana that far away bothered him for multiple reasons. Not only could he not just pop over to her place after practice, for a meal, movie or just to play some games with her. He would play his guitar sometimes because Will took it after his last visit to county. Benny had been able to convince Fish to bring his guitar over to Diana’s for safekeeping from his brother.

There’s too many things Benny wants to experience with Diana and to tell her. He’ll come up with a plan in the morning.

Hopefully.

Peeps who’d bail Benny out no questions asked ❤️: @tinytinymenace @laurfilijames @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @megamindsecretlair

#fanfiction #benny miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #benjamin miller #benny miller x ofc #Nerdie fic

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 4 months

Text

"If we back down from this---there is nothing left"

Lara Logan (God bless her) interviewed Rep Clay Higgins who has a career in law enforcement. I hope Representative Clay Higgins is right. -GRITS

Lara Logan's Truthinmedia.com Episode 9

www.policestatefilm.net @Truth_InMedia

Police State Trailer:

youtube

Episode 9: Rep. Clay Higgins Speaks Out

Clay Higgins brought his investigative skills from the streets of Louisiana where he was a cop for years to the halls of congress, where he’s been investigating January 6th ever since it happened.

We sat down for a tough, far-reaching interview to explore what he’s learned…

Read the Episode Transcript:

Lara – studio intro

We’re breaking with our regular series to bring you a rare, in-depth interview with a man who is no stranger to controversy and doesn’t seem to give a damn what people think of him. Clay Higgins has gone from cop to congressman. And along the way, did things law enforcement officers don’t normally do, like the way he delivered his message in crime stopper videos that earned him the name the “Cajun John Wayne.”

If you look him up online, you’ll find no shortage of articles condemning Clay Higgins as a far-right conspiracy theorist, peddling in crazy, unfounded ideas about January 6th. Then again, these are the same people who told us Hunter Biden’s laptop was Russian disinformation and President Donald Trump was a Russian spy. Simply put, they often lie and we don’t care what they think.

We know we’ve been deceived about January 6th because the narrative has shifted. For example, we now know from court cases and the FBI itself that the bureau did have undercover assets on the ground. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to speak to Representative Higgins. He’s one of the few in Congress who’s challenged the insurrection narrative from the start and as a former law enforcement officer himself knows a thing or two about investigations.

Powerful people who dominate the flow of information don’t want you to hear what he has to say or what he’s learned over the past two and a half years. That alone seems like a compelling reason for us to find out.

Lara

This is a letter from Bennie Thompson, who was chairman of the January 6th Select Committee, and he sent this to TSA, to the Honorable David Pekoske, who’s the administrator for TSA.

They want a briefing on “efforts to address the travel of white supremacists and other domestic terrorist groups. Options for quickly denying air carrier service to individuals posing a potential threat, and current status of efforts to identify and add to watchlists.” How far does this go?

Clay

That letter was the beginning of an executive action by the TSA to use its authority to instruct America’s air marshals to track and follow Trump supporters that have been charged with no crime. They were guilty only of – of arriving by air into D.C. on January 4th, fifth or sixth. And those – those manifest were turned over to the FBI.

The FBI went through those manifest. And every American that they identified, that the FBI identified as a Trump supporter, that was on those manifest was added to the FBI’s suspected domestic terrorist watch list. The FBI create the profile on those people – a suspected terrorist profile, and then the TSA administrator used his authority to instruct air the Marshals of America to track those Americans wherever they fly and

Lara

Still today?

Clay

It’s still happening. This is who our air marshals are following, the Trump supporters and that letter signed by Bennie Thompson, who was chair of the J6 Select Committee and signed by John Katko, who at the time was a ranking member.

Lara

A Republican.

Clay

He was the lead Republican of the Homeland Security Committee advising the- the Pekoske, the TSA senior guy to use all of that authority to track Trump supporters that have not been charged with a crime. They were guilty only of arriving in D.C. by air.

Lara

And every time they fly, they’re being tracked?

Clay

That’s right.

Lara

If they have never been convicted of terrorism, why are they on the terror watch list? It’s a violation of the First Amendment. They exercise their First Amendment rights. They’re being punished for it. It’s a violation of the Fourth Amendment. I mean, how many laws does this violate? How many rights does this violate? This is not a free country.

Lara

You’re not a free country where you’re tracked by air marshals, by the way, at taxpayer expense. And we’re not talking about an insignificant expense. Teams of three air marshals tracing people all over the country? You’re putting physical detail onto people.

Clay

That’s right

Lara

That’s the most expensive form of surveillance that exists.

Clay

Let me say – let me clarify. It’s very comforting to Americans to think that there’s, there might be an air marshal on your flight.

Lara

Not if they’re tracking you for your political beliefs.

Clay

Well, not if they’re being used for nefarious purposes. But the people that are complaining about this are the air marshals themselves, digital whistleblowers that are coming forward to tell a congressman that they felt would pay attention.

Lara

This has been going on since January ‘21 and you just found out about it. What else is going on, that we don’t know about?

Clay

We don’t know, but I’m telling you, we’re in uncharted waters as it relates to the weaponization of our government against the American people. I am not frightened of these people. I’ve spent my life serving others and and I love my country. This thing is not going to just slip away. They’re not going to take us without a fight.

Clay

And I’m going to fight legally and peacefully and within the parameters of the Constitution that I’ve sworn to serve, but they’re going down. These – these men, and their high perch in there, their position of power and authority and are walking upon our entire history, our deepest core principles. They’re not going to get away with it.

Lara

They have so far.

Clay

We’ll see.

Lara

Powerful people in this country. They want to make sure no one hears your voice. They want everyone to look at you like a far-right, crazy conspiracy theorist. Is that who you are?

Clay

No, m’am. I’m a regular American man. I’m an investigator – police officer by background. I’m going to continue to speak the truth, whether anybody likes it or not.

Lara

You’ve always been controversial. I mean, even when you were in law enforcement, you did those crimestopper videos that went viral. People loved them. You got a lot of heat for them, too.

The Gremlin Street gang is responsible for hundreds of violent crimes: Murders, armed robberies, witness intimidation, burglaries, drug trafficking, extortion, and brutal beatings.

We’ve arrested 10 of these thugs and have warrants on seven more. You will be hunted, you will be tracked, and if you raise your weapon to a man like me, we’ll return fire with superior firepower.

Darren Carter – you think men like these are afraid of an uneducated, 125-pound punk like you? That’s never won a fair fight in your life and hold your gun sideways? Young man, I’ll meet you on solid ground any time, anywhere. Light or heavy. Makes no difference to me. You won’t walk away. And for those who would use this message as a way to create false racial division in our country, take a close look behind me. Standing next to every cop is a leader of our black community. This is not about race. It’s about right versus wrong.

Lara

Was that your idea with you? Were you the reason behind that?

Clay

Those videos, those public service announcements were part of my job that the sheriff asked me to perform.

Lara

Because you were the press officer? Public affairs person?

Clay

Public service, but that was a late in my career. I didn’t ask for that position, I had been a swat cop for long time. In fact, when the sheriff asked me to to take that role, I first I thought he was joking. And I told the sheriff, “I don’t know how to do that.” and he said, “well there, it’s easy.”

Clay

And you show up where the TV people tell you to show up and you stand where they tell you to stand and somebody holds the script for you and you read it. I did that a couple of weeks. I read the script, but I was uncomfortable with that because it wasn’t real. It wasn’t reflective of what I had been telling actual suspects for many years.

Clay

In the dead of night. That direct conversation that a lone cop will have, whether a young man has taken a wrong turn in life and asked to be arrested. That’s a very special communication for a good cop.

Lara

How do you do that, Clay? How do you have that conversation?

Clay

Well, you speak candidly and honestly and from your heart with compassion, but discipline and confidence. I mean, if – if I show up in your life at 2:00 in the morning, it is not because you’ve had a good day. I don’t consider you to be a bad man. You’ve just done something that has crossed a line and – according to statute, and I’m ‘a help you through the booking process and hopefully lead you to a better day.

Clay

Their only path really to freedom was through my jail and – and real freedom. Spiritual freedom would – would be if they could break the bonds of darkness, you know. So the way I deliver the message when I began having to record video segments, I just communicated in that same honest manner. And – and what started happening is people started turning themselves in.

Lara

People responded. And even beyond your little sheriff’s department in Louisiana.

Clay

It was big.

Lara

Right?

Clay

Worldwide. Some of those videos, wh- they were translated in eight languages, I’m told. IT people told me they were viewed 150 million times across the world.

Lara

No one had seen anything like it.

Clay

It was just honesty. And that’s what I do in Congress.

Lara

Well, there is another video of you that went viral not so long ago, which is when you at that press conference on the Hill and that activist kept coming up and you leaned in and took your sunglasses down, you told him, “I’m going to give you an interview. I’ll give you what you want, but this is what you got to do.”

Lara

And then he came back.

Clay

You had a Freedom Caucus press conference immediately following a Bernie Sanders-like rally. So they had, you know, not necessarily a good mix. You – one could anticipate there might be some activists there that that would not necessarily agree with the kind of things we were saying in our in our press conference. And one of those little fellas figured out there was no police around.

Clay

So he wanted to be more aggressive than he should have been.

Man causing a scene: Can you talk about when your family did an ad all endorsing your opponent and…?

Clay

And he came on and saw the barriers, you know, into the press area. He was not a journalist.

Lara

He was walking right between the group of congressmen.

Clay

Yeah, he came – he was trying to get around to Lauren Boebert and I had already dressed him down a little bit and put him in a box.

Man causing a scene: You can’t answer the question that he has.

Clay: No I can answer the question.

Man: Okay, listen, What’s your name?

Clay: Clay Higgins. I represent South Louisiana. All I’m asking you is to just peacefully stand by with your camera. I promise ya – look at me – I’ll come talk to you straight up and answer all your questions. Fair enough?

Man: Do you know about his family and his endorsement? Yeah.

Clay: I’ll answer that when we talk.

Clay

That didn’t last but maybe a minute and he decided to get even more aggressive, so I just – I had to escort him out of the area. I turned him over to the police. That was the end of it.

Lara

I like the way you say “escort him out.” You basically picked him up and walked him over and put him down.

Clay

That was an escort.

Lara

That’s a Clay Higgins escort?

Clay

That’s a Clay Higgins escort, Yeah.

Lara

And you stayed very calm and said, “Calm yourself.”

Clay

Calm down, son.

Lara

It sounded like you’d said those words before.

Clay

Yeah, I’ve said them before. Kind of where we are as a nation right now. It calls for calm consideration and response to the oppression that we face from within. It’s – it’s quite nefarious.

Lara

Tell me what you mean. What do we face as a nation?

Clay

Generationally, we have allowed our federal law enforcement agencies to gradually become commanded by corrupted men, and they’ve been corrupted not so much by money, but by power. And that power really began manifesting itself insidiously with The FBI and DOJ and our intelligence services since 9/11, since the Patriot Act. We gave them great authorities and power.

Clay

Those powers are no longer being – being used to thwart terrorists. They’re being used to oppress the individual rights and freedoms of regular Americans like me and like the citizens I’ve sworn to serve. So I have a problem with that.

Lara

The counter to that would be these are not ordinary citizens. These are domestic terrorists. Because that’s, I mean, it’s very clear from Christopher Wray, the letter that he wrote about parents going to school board meetings that need to be investigated as terrorists. You speak at a Moms for Liberty event today, you get targeted by the Anti-Defamation League or the Southern Poverty Law Center or someone like that as a domestic terrorist. And these organizations are working very closely with not just social media companies, but with law enforcement.

Clay

Regular patriotic American men and women are not terrorists. Let me say the factions within our highest levels of federal law enforcement – And I and I and I – FBI and DOJ and intelligence services, these corrupted men we’re discussing, they could be more readily identified and more accurately described as domestic terrorists than – than me. They’re the ones treading upon my individual rights and freedoms. They’re the ones that’s spying on – on Americans. They’re the ones traveling uh great distances to, to insert themselves into the lives of Americans that are just communicating freely, as is our right online or anywhere else, at meetings as we congregate and gather.

Lara

What about those who say your, your right to gather and uh have a conversation doesn’t give you a right to assault police officers and disrupt Congress and so on?

Clay

I don’t support battery on police officers or, uh, nor – nor violent disruption of – of government operations, but I will remind everyone that a free American has a right to resist an unlawful arrest.

Lara

At the last hearing where you addressed Christopher Wray, you produced a photograph of what you called “ghost buses.”

These two buses in the middle here, they were the first to arrive at Union Station on January 6th. Zero 5-hundred. I have all this evidence. I’m showing you the tip of this iceberg.

Lara

Your point really was that they’re unmarked vehicles full of individuals that have not been explained. Is that right?

Clay

A “ghost vehicle” in law enforcement is not an uncommon reference. It’s vehicle has been purposefully concealed to – to whereby it’s not easy to identify. So no license plate. It’s been painted over its original cover. In this case, these two buses were totally painted white, like a cheap, vast overspray over all of the markings. So when you have two charter buses show up, the very first buses to show up in Union Station on January 6th…

Lara

Around 5 a.m.?

Clay

Around 5 a.m. The initial witness, another charter bus owner, arrived at – at 5:20. He thought he would be the first to arrive because he knew the schedule of all the other charter buses and he knew that most the buses would begin arriving around 6. So this charter bus operator was very experienced man. Very squared away. When he arrived with his couple of buses, these two white buses were – were to his surprise already there, and he immediately noticed that these buses were odd because they were totally painted over. It was a bad paint job. There was no markings, no phone numbers, no company name, totally outside the parameters of the way charter buses are required to operate and by law. So he said, “these buses are weird” and no one was getting out.

Clay

So something else that happens within that charter bus driver community is the drivers know each other. The passengers may stay on a bus if they’re especially in a parking lot, and not ready to disembark yet.

Lara

Sure.

Clay

The passengers might stay on a bus, but the bus drivers get off and they talk to each other.

Clay

They talk to the other bus drivers. So there are things that happen normally that the absence of that happening was odd. So he was suspicious enough of these buses as a professional, that he collected some digital evidence of those buses and then estimated with him and – and other eyewitnesses between 40 and 50 guys that they described as “Trump supporters.”

Clay

They all disembarked from the bus and they gathered in front of – of the two buses and they had like some kind of discussion, a briefing like the way a military leader would address his troops.

Lara

Yeah, they call it a huddle.

Clay

And then they together went to the escalators and up into Union Station and were gone.

Lara

And they were all men?

Clay

They were all men in all the Trump regalia. These men were in really good shape. They made comments like, “Wow, these are real serious Trump supporters. These guys” and they said they all had elbow pads and knee pads. And least they appeared like they had common equipment, but they were not in uniform, but they – they behaved in a uniform manner. 0

Clay

And we intend to get all of that video evidence from Union Station, from the escalators, from the parking lot. We have other eyewitnesses, much to the chagrin of everybody that was in those buses and everyone who commanded them to be there. We’ve identified one of those buses. And you know what that means? That means that’s their ass, because a bus is a serial numbered vehicle.

Clay

And in America, the change of ownership of a serial numbered vehicle…

Lara

Is recorded.

Clay

Is documented. So that means we can begin to trace from the original owner of that bus where it was sold and who bought it, and then who it was leased to and where it disappeared. And then eventually those buses were removed from the Union Station and we’re going to document all of that.

Lara

So you believe that those buses held undercover officers, not informants? Correct?

Clay

I feel very, very confident that – that everybody that was on those two buses were FBI assets.

And I have a high degree of belief there were actual FBI agents. And – and I’m, I’m sorry to say, ma’am, my objective conclusion is that – that senior officials at the at the FBI were deeply involved there.

Clay

You had a combination of FBI confidential informants either registered, unregistered – or a volunteer informant, or actual FBI agents depending upon a group and how significant a group was. Like the agents inserted in say the Proud Boys groups that we’re going to come to D.C. Those are most probably actual FBI agents. Whereas some, you know, random Facebook group of patriots from Arizona or something were most likely an informant.

Clay

So it would still fall under the umbrella of an “FBI asset” if they were communicating with the FBI – data that they were harvesting and information that they were recording and delivering it to the FBI, screenshots of text chats or actual recordings of phone calls, things like that – that they were delivering to the FBI, all part of the web of surveillance of the American people.

Lara

What have you seen? What can you tell us about? I know you can’t get ahead of everything. I know there’s limitations on some of this, but can you tell us anything?

Clay

I can tell you that, that the FBI had, had established a formula in 2020 that, that they pursued with all their – their power and authority to infiltrate groups across the country of Americans that were essential discussing online. They’d formed online groups.

Lara

Like chat rooms?

Clay

Yeah, like chat rooms.

Lara

Discord and Telegram.

Clay

Etc. to discuss their frustrations with COVID oppression and so the FBI identified groups and and – and infiltrated them with undercover operations that were very effective and they began planting seeds of discord. If you track the – the text threads, which I’ve – I’ve seen some of again, through evidence that I’ve been able to witness, but I cannot, I cannot share publicly because it would be in violation of – of court orders.

Lara

But to be clear, this is video you’ve seen with your own eyes?

Clay

Yes, ma’am. The evidence that was in criminal cases.

Lara

Is this what it’s based on? It’s based on the digital evidence, what you have on camera and supporting evidence for that and other kinds?

Clay

Yeah, eyewitness testimony, sworn testimony, affidavits, text messages, emails, and digital – digital footage. Yes, ma’am.

Lara

A lot of people would say “Clay, you’re lawman, right? That’s what we do. We infiltrate groups where we perceive there to be a threat or potential of crime being committed. We have undercover officers. We have undercover assets like informants. This is the bread and butter of law enforcement. What are you complaining about?”

Clay

They were the criminals. They were the threat.

Lara

Based on what?

Clay

We were just Americans. We were Americans that were that were angry and – and we were enraged that our freedoms were being oppressed and that FBI and the powers that had become corrupted, the those – those bad actors within the federal government that had this authority, they said “these Americans, how dare those Americans challenge the oppression that we’re putting upon them.”

Lara

Can you share any of the messages yet that you have said you traced back to FBI undercovers inside these groups and these chats?

Clay

No m’am.

Lara

Will you share it when you can?

The moment that I’m able to reveal that – that stuff, I will.

Lara

You said specifically that you saw that there were undercover police officers who were inside the Capitol before any of the protesters came in.

Clay

That’s right.

Lara

How do you know that? And can you give us any sense of what that means?

Clay

I mean, if you clearly have men dressed as Trump supporters walking around inside the Capitol on the other side of police officers who are, to one extent or another, not engaged with them, like they’re not concerned about them.

Lara

Right.

Clay

Then you have a set of closed doors like exterior doors and interior doors closed, and you have police officers positioned outside and then in between the two doors and then on the inside of the second set of doors –

Clay

Doors weren’t open yet.

Lara

What time was this?

Clay

This was – a couple of videos that Trump was still speaking and then on the inside, it looked like Trump supporters walking around in groups of five or six, so these were clearly separated physically and by doors and by police officers from the guys on the outside.

Any reasonable man would come to the conclusion– When you have videos of the doors being opened and police officers allowing Trump supporters that had gathered at the door to now enter, no violence, just walking in. “Just come on in, some fist bumps, and come in.” A second set of doors open, then there’s a group of Trump supporters on the steps, interior steps saying, “Come on this way, this way.”

Lara

What does that tell you?

Clay

Any reasonable man would look at that and say this was a coordinated effort by a law enforcement to have these people come in to. So who was that? They had to be, you know, I think as nefarious forces and part of the whole agenda of the – of the FBI with their involvement of this whole thing. We have other evidence, specific observations of police officers, Capitol police or metro, both entering rooms and here in the Capitol in uniform and coming out as Trump supporters and construction workers.

Lara

You’ve seen that?

Clay

Yeah, so…

Lara

Why has that video not been released yet?

Clay

One would say that’s a pretty good clue.

Lara

Yeah.

Clay

The other reason that we believe it’s just practical to have someone who knows how to get around, I mean, you know yourself, you can’t walk around his place. You have to be here for years and years.

Lara

The capitol is a maze.

Clay

That’s right. And it’s incredibly difficult to get around. You have to know where you’re going.

Clay

You had to have people that were very familiar with the the capital itself in order to lead to random groups of citizens that have come from every corner of the country in many cases, never been to D.C. before, much less walked around in the capital. So it – it just makes sense that the Trump supporters that were leading the way and were clearly already inside the capital before the doors were open, were working in coordination with the FBI agents and assets that were embedded into the crowd.

Clay

In some cases in these groups had been embedded for months. This is ugly stuff we’re discussing, but the American people deserve to know the truth and I intend to see that it happens.

Lara

A lot of people just won’t believe it without – they have to see the evidence or they just don’t believe you.

Clay

I don’t want to believe these things. I’ve been a cop for a long time, since I was a little boy. The FBI shield was – that was the baddest ass badge a cop could ever earn. It was an honored achievement to become an FBI agent so it’s with great pain I describe the corruption that has taken hold within our FBI, and we intend to clean it up because these rank-and-file FBI agents, let me tell you that a lot of these men and women are quite disturbed about what has happened to their beloved FBI. Same thing inside the DOJ. We have an obligation as Americans to embrace truth, whether it’s ugly or not, so that we can take corrective action.

Lara

Okay so you have the floor now, but you don’t know how much longer you have it for, right? And you don’t have forever.

Clay

We don’t.

Lara

And it’s been how long?

Clay

10 months.

Lara

10 months?

Clay

Some things have not happened that – that – that the conservatives within the people’s house would like to happen. We’ve had some disagreements internally regarding who shall be our speaker. We just had to go through what we went through in order to arrive at that particular junction of American history where a man like Mike Johnson became our speaker. Mike gets it, that all the digital evidence of for instance J6 has to be released to the American people, talking about altogether between 40 and 50,000 hours of digital evidence.

Clay

No one has a staff large enough to go through that evidence. So it has to be crowdsourced, have to give this stuff to the American people. And then the truth will be revealed, clip by clip.

Lara

Mike Johnson has released precisely 12 and a half thousand hours of that 40,000, and he’s not releasing 5%, which is 2,000 hours. Whether it’s for a good reason or a bad reason, it provides opportunity to hide whatever you want in those 2,000 hours. I’m not saying he’s hiding something because I don’t know.

Lara

But I’m just saying is when you’re withholding 2,000 hours, you can put whatever you want in that 2,000 hours. There are American citizens who are sitting in jail, some of them for three years without a trial. People have gone to solitary confinement for misdemeanor charges, nonviolent misdemeanor charges.

Lara

They’re still arresting people. You expect people to go to an election and vote when they don’t even have answers on their questions on the last election. And over time, more and more and more evidence is coming out in court cases. Right? Judges that wouldn’t take those cases when the light was on them. Now they’re not able to avoid them anymore. So what are you waiting for?

Lara

The people who don’t want the truth out have complete information dominance.

Lara

Right? You come out with something, you have a committee hearing? Dismissed. Conspiracy theories. “Ah Higgins. He’s a far right lunatic. Now, you know, don’t listen to him.” And so there are millions of people in this country that read The New York Times every day. Some of them were in this room, right? They hear you saying this and they think you’re just a nut.

Lara

You’re just a nut. And where’s the evidence or Mike Johnson’s going to release it? What is he waiting for?

Clay

The truth of what happened on those days, J 4 or 5 and 6 is in the digital evidence that Speaker Johnson has control of. And thank God we have a speaker who has stated that he is committed to release all of that data. Now he’s restrained to the extent that he’s restrained by attorneys, but he’s an attorney himself.

Clay

And, and we’ll see. When you when you say not going to release at all, I say, let’s see.

Lara

Well, those were his words, not mine.

Clay

Well, I know the man’s heart and it is pure and he knows that American needs full truth. I believe, I speak on behalf of “we the people” when I say we demand full release. The whole thing. Not just from the Capitol grounds and within the Capitol proper by the way. We want it all. We want all the DC Metro digital evidence. We need evidence from Union Station and and some other spots that we’ve identified.

Lara

Can you tell me any of those spots that you’ve identified, Union Station being one. What other the spots?

Clay

The parking areas and, and areas for dismemberment.

Lara

What do you mean by that?

Clay

The escalator areas where you can connect the dots from agents disembarking from vehicles and going either on foot to their stations and their teams of three and four and five, or getting in other vehicles that were dispersed and where some actions were noted that were born of of those vehicles, where some actions were taken, nefarious stuff.

Lara

What can potentially happen there? If you were a J6 defendant who’s in prison or was convicted of a crime, but you find out later that – that Brady material was withheld from you in violation of the law, is there legal redress for you here?

Clay

Yeah, that would flip the case. The bottom line is that if we are successful, if Mike Johnson is successful at getting all the digital evidence from J4, 5, and 6 released entirely to the American people, including the body cam footage of – of – of every police officer that was either operating in uniform or not in uniform, shall we say, then all these J6 I call “persecutions”, these political prisoners, those cases will be flipped because it’s exculpatory evidence that’s been withheld and the prosecution has a legal responsibility to provide exculpatory evidence that they’re in possession of to the defense. In this case, in every one of these J6 cases that have been prosecuted, the FBI and the DOJ has most certainly been in possession of all the digital evidence that we’re describing right now. If we’re successful at getting that evidence released to the American people, the American people are going to be stunned into acceptance of the reality that our FBI and our DOJ, and in some cases, head people in our intelligence services, have been corrupted by power.

Lara

Have you seen all the video? I know it’s a lot.

Clay

it’s a lot.

Lara

Have you seen the key parts?

Clay: I’ve seen many segments of video that most Americans have not seen, that is incredibly condemning. They’re so desperate to keep this digital evidence away from Americans, just regular citizen’s review, that they’re going through quite complex legal maneuvers to stop Americans from viewing this evidence. Every American that’s watching this should ask themselves why. Whether you’re liberal or conservative, ask yourself why.

Lara

Why do you think?

Clay

Why are you concealing that evidence from me? Why can’t I see that? It’s video from my own capital. People have a tendency to forget, especially my liberal brothers and sisters across the country. This is your country. This is your capital. You have the right to know what actually happened in 2020 in the months preceding J4, 5, and 6. You have the right to see the digital evidence of what truly happened in your capital on January 4th, 5th, and 6th. This is my position.

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