#FRANKIE KNUCKLES – YOUR LOVE

[becertainlust]

NEVER EVER LOSE ME! | Sanji Vinsmoke

synopsis: take care of him like you always do.

content: smut.

The dim glow of Sanji’s lamp cast long shadows across the galley, flickering against stacks of neatly organized receipts and scribbled-down figures. He sighed, fingers threading through golden strands as he rubbed at his temple, the weight of the crew’s weekly grocery budget heavy on his shoulders. Between Luffy’s endless appetite, Nami’s high expectations, and Franky’s outrageous cola needs, every berry had to stretch beyond reason.

You lingered in the doorway, watching him, the soft scratch of his pen filling the quiet space. His cigarette burned low at the edge of his lips, the cherry barely flickering as he barely remembered to inhale. He was in the zone, lost in numbers and calculations.

“Sanji,” you called gently, stepping further inside. He hummed in acknowledgment, but his eyes never left the budget notes. His eyebrows knitted in adsorbed concentration.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” you murmured, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You should take a break.”

He exhaled through his nose, flipping to another page in his ledger. “Just a little longer, sweetheart. I have to make sure we have enough for the next supply stop.”

You kneaded at the tight muscles beneath your palms, feeling the tension wound deep in his frame. “You always make sure. It’s okay to rest.”

His fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before he resumed his work. “I know, but if I don’t do it right now, I’ll be thinking about it all night.”

You smiled softly, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek then to his neck. “Then let me give you something else to think about.”

He let out a shaky breath, his free hand coming up to rest to cover his neck. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You grinned against his skin. “And you love it.” you peck his hand holding his tired gaze.

Finally, he turned his head, looking at you through his pinned up hair. “Yeah. I do.”

His voice was softer now, the weight of his work temporarily forgotten. You could still see the hesitance in his posture, the way he wanted to let go but was still tethered to his responsibilities.

You guide his eyes tilting his gaze to you. “You trust me, right?” you whispered, your fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt.

Sanji swallowed his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Always.”

You moved lower, taking your time, watching the way his breath hitched a bit. “Then let me take care of you for once.”

The air in the galley felt charged, the faint sound of the ocean waves outside the only thing that could compete with the quiet tension between you and Sanji. His breath caught in his throat as your hands slid lower, inching past his waistline, gently brushing the fabric of his pants. His fingers tightened on the pen, knuckles going white as if he were holding on to something just as tangible as his work.

“Darling,” he murmured, his voice a mix of desire and hesitation, “this... this really isn’t—”

“It is,” you interrupted softly, placing a finger to his lips. “You’ve done enough for everyone. Let me give you this.”

Sanji’s eyes softened, the tension from earlier stubbly melting away in your presence. He let out a quiet, resigned sigh as his hands dropped to his sides, finally giving in. “You’re impossible,” he said, but there was no heat in his words, only affection.

You smiled, pulling him gently away from the desk, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor almost louder than the pulse in your ears. The cool night air, tinged with the faint smell of barley dried ink and paper, wrapped around you both as you settled in front of him.

You climbed into his lap, placing soft kisses along his jaw, tracing a path up to his lips, savoring the way he melted into your touch. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you up, pulling you close, until there was no space left between you. His lips were warm, urgent but sweet, like he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say out loud.

With slow, deliberate movements, you unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric sliding off his shoulders with ease. His breath hitched again as you scoot closer, your hands tracing the line of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every little detail of him was carved into your memory—the way his body tensed, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you.

“Relax,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough to make him exhale in a long, slow breath.

You slipped from lap to in between them and his eyes widened a bit. You took your time, savoring the moment, your fingers gliding over his skin as you worked to free him from the confines of his pants. His body twitched slightly, but he didn’t stop you, didn’t pull away. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of his heart, a steady reminder of how much he trusted you in this vulnerable moment.

His hands reached for you, fingers brushing over your arms as if he were grounding himself. His voice was low, almost pleading. “You’re making it so hard to focus.”

“Then stop trying to,” you murmured, your lips grazing his clothed thighs. “Let me help you sanji.”

Sanji let out a hushed groan, his hands slipping into your hair as when leaned in, dragging your tongue flat against the underside of the weeping head of his dick. Your hands moved over him, tracing the contours of his thighs, feeling the muscle tense beneath your fingertips. His breath hitched when your fingers grazed higher, his body subtly jerking under your touch. 

Was he always this sensitive?

His eyes never left you, a mixture of desire and lust in his gaze, but there were no words—only the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the quiet hum of his breath in his chest.

The quiet of the galley seemed to fade away as you focused on him, giving him a moment of peace, away from the numbers and responsibilities that always seemed to weigh him down.

You leaned back with a smile watching as his cock twitched up, your hands skimmed up his sides, lightly dragging your nails against his heated skin. His gaze followed your every move, his lips parted slightly, but his body was no longer tense. You could feel the slow relaxation in the way he leaned into your touch, the tension slowly easing from his shoulders.

You continued to move, steady and slow, your lips brushing against his inner thigh, the warmth of his skin almost intoxicating. Sanji’s breath grew quicker, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for you, but he held himself back, letting you guide him.

With each movement, you leaned closer, closer still, feeling the heat of his body as you settled fully between his legs. You met his gaze once more, holding it for a beat longer before your lips brushed against the bright pink head of his dick once more. He seemed more sensitive, more under the underside as he practically leaked from the tip. His hands gripped the edge of the desk, as if trying to ground himself, his breathing uneven.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, rising up letting go of him brushing your fingers along the nape of his neck as you seated yourself in a striped lap. “Then let me be good to you a little longer.” You reached between you both and grasped him in your soft palm, pressing your thumb to the slippery head of his cock peppering kisses to his face before he gave in, pitifully resting his head on your shoulder in rugged pants.

Sanji sighed, the fight leaving his body as he finally let himself lean into your touch. 

The space between you both was filled only by the sound of his breathing, the way his hands gripped the chair for balance, and the soft press of your fingers against him. You watched him closely, the way his body responded to each touch, the way his gaze softened as if giving you everything he had in that moment.

Sanji’s breath slowed, a soft, almost contented hum escaping his lips as his fingers traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer still. “Fuck, feel so good baby” His body, which had once been coiled with tension, now melted into the rhythm of heat. The sound of the ocean outside and the gentle hum of the ship were the only reminders of the world that existed beyond the galley, but for now, it felt as though there was nothing else but the two of you.

You pressed your palm to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, grounding you in the moment. He rose from your shoulder to your neck with kisses, “Keep going please”  He crashed his lips on you, slow and deep, as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of you—of this shared intimacy. He pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his hands caressing your skin in gentle, loving strokes.

"You always know how to make me forget," he whispered, his voice a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "I can’t tell you how much I needed this... how much I needed you."

You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair, the golden strands slipping through your touch like silk. "I’ll always be here when you need to forget," you murmured. "When you need someone to just take care of you."

Sanji’s eyes softened, a flicker of something deeper passing across his gaze. "I don’t deserve it," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I spend so much time making sure everyone else is alright... I forget about myself, i neglect you"

You cupped his face gently, tilting his head so that he had no choice but to look into your eyes. "Sanji, you deserve everything good. You give so much of yourself, you’ll be busy, just talk to me about it….” you plant a kiss to his lips “that’s all I ask” He leaned into your touch, his breath shaky your deep drag against his dick making speech a difficult feat. 

"You’ve carried so much for everyone, and now, it’s your turn to let go. Let me help you carry that weight, even if just for tonight."

You kissed him again, this time with a gentleness that mirrored the calm between you. Slowly, you pulled away, guiding his fingers to rest against your tongue as you leaned into him. 

You slipped from his lap once more, your gaze overwhelmed him, like a magnifying glass picking apart his every reaction. You place a kiss to his palm before you thread your fingers with his own free hand bringing his dick on your tongue wrapping around the . He mumbles curses into the air, and his flurry of praises sends flutters in your stomach, “You're so good”

You grew warm from his velvety voice, leaving you you hooked. He makes you a bit greedy right now. You rise a bit over his oozing tip, allowing your spit to dribble over him before forming a makeshift hole with your hand, tightening it snug against him while having the audacity to call out to him as you show him no mercy twisting and licking at his tip of his strained dick, a sharp shiver wracking his body.

 “Sanji”

You sound so sweet too

“Sanji, I wanna see you cry”

But just filth pours out. His eyes flutters open, his gaze soft, his head light as you hollow your mouth around him, twisting at the base. Releasing him with a pop.

“You make me feel so– fuck-” he whispers, gently squeezing at your arm. You watched as his eyes rolled back, his hips twitching slightly. “Sanji you look so pretty” you tightened rolled your palm over the head of his cock a few moans slipping by and he fought you as you slapped his hand away.

“Mmm, slow down-” his body withered, and your mouth is back on him, taking him deeper keeping the exact firm tempo at the base holding his fucked out gaze, his crystal blue eyes filling with water at the lash line.

Sanji’s breathing turned ragged, his chest heaving with each unsteady inhale as you pushed him further, deeper into the abyss of sensation. His fingers, trembling against the armrests of the chair, flexed and curled, struggling to grasp at control that was slipping like sand through his hands. He was always so composed, so controlled—until now. Until you.

A strangled groan tore from his throat as his head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of his neck, golden strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead. His lips, parted in a breathless gasp, quivered as he fought for air. The sight sent a wicked thrill down your spine, knowing that you were unraveling him, stripping him down to raw, unguarded need.

The taste of him was intoxicating—salt and heat, a heady mix of desperation and pleasure. His thighs tensed beneath your palms, the muscles flexing as he fought against the wave threatening to overtake him. His breath hitched sharply, and then—

"F-fuck—" he choked out, voice rasping with something between agony and bliss. "You're… you’re gonna kill me."

A low hum vibrated against him, and he jerked, his fingers snapping shut into fists so tight his knuckles turned stark white. His whole body shuddered, his legs spreading wider as if surrendering, as if pleading for more.

Your lips left him momentarily, tracing slow, deliberate kisses along his inner thigh, teeth grazing over sensitive skin. The sharp inhale he gave in response sent a pulse of satisfaction through you. He was teetering on the edge, his body taut like a bowstring, straining, waiting—

"Sanji," you whispered against his flushed skin, your fingers ghosting up the trembling expanse of his thigh. "fall apart for me."

His breath came in ragged bursts, his hands moving at last—one diving into your hair, threading through with a desperate grip, the other latching onto the chair, his entire frame taut with restraint. His gaze met yours—dark, hooded, burning with something primal, something that made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

When you took him back into your mouth, sinking down with slow, merciless precision, the reaction was instantaneous. His back arched, a harsh, broken moan spilling from his lips. His grip tightened, his fingers twisting into your hair, hips twitching like he wanted to thrust forward, to chase more, but he held himself back, even now, even when he was falling to pieces in your hands.

"Shit—baby—" his voice was wrecked, barely more than a gasp. "I—"

You didn't stop. You didn't even slow. The soft suction of your lips, the languid stroke of your tongue, the steady rhythm of your hands—each sensation layered over the next, pulling him higher, dragging him deeper into the overwhelming tide. His thighs trembled violently now, his breath coming in short, desperate pants, his muscles rigid beneath you.

His head snapped forward, dazed blue eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide with helpless need. "I—" he tried again, voice shattering mid-word.

You quickened, tightening your grip, pushing him that last, torturous inch toward oblivion. His breath stuttered, a strangled noise catching in his throat, and then he was unraveling—completely, utterly, violently. A choked cry ripped from him, his body jerking as pleasure overtook him in waves so intense his hands lost all their strength, falling from your hair as he slumped back, boneless and trembling.

You pulled away slowly, wiping the corner of your mouth as you sat back on your heels, taking in the sight of him—utterly wrecked, chest heaving, strands of  golden hair damp and sticking to his forehead, his usually refined composure shattered into something raw and beautifully human.

His eyes fluttered open, still heavy-lidded, still unfocused. He blinked at you, lips parted as if trying to speak, but no words came. Instead, he reached for you, pulling you up and into his lap, wrapping himself around you like he needed to anchor himself to reality.

"You…" he swallowed hard, his voice still hoarse, still trembling. "You’re unreal."

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, letting him taste himself on your tongue. His fingers traced slow, reverent circles against your back, as if memorizing every inch of you, as if grounding himself in your presence.

"You always take care of everyone else," you murmured, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead. "Let me take care of you."

Sanji exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip around you tightening like he never wanted to let go. "You already do," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "More than you know."

[inseobts]

Can we get a oneshot the strawhat crew members with a fem reader like the wrestler mizuki? She’s dresses super cutesy but can beat the crap out of her opponent’s without breaking a sweat!!

Sugarbomb Slam!

strawhat crew x fem!reader (platonic)

a/n: omg I honestly didn't know mizuki, so I did some research and watched many photos and video AND OMG SHE'S SO COOL, I love it!! I hope I made the fanfic right tho

words count: 1.3k

tags: platonic, comedy, action, fluff, deceptively cute but deadly

masterlist || ko-fi

The Sunny drifts lazily across a glittering sea, the air warm, the skies clear, too peaceful for pirates this chaotic.

“Oi, Luffy,” Usopp calls from the crow’s nest, peering through binoculars “There’s someone out there… on a floating bunny?”

“Bunny?!” Luffy rockets to the bow of the ship “Let’s go get ‘em!”

“Wait—what?!” Nami shouts, already steering toward the mystery raft.

Sanji’s a blur, heart practically launching from his chest “A ladyyy?! No time to waste!”

Zoro doesn’t move “Sounds like a headache already.”

Within minutes, the crew is gathered around as Franky hauls up the soft, oversized bunny-shaped float.

Perched neatly on top of it is you, sipping a juice box, your boots laced with pink ribbons and your outfit a burst of ruffles and pastel colors. You look more like a candy shop mascot than someone lost at sea.

“Hi!” you chirp, like this is the most normal situation in the world “Thanks for the lift. That whirlpool nearly trashed my hair.”

Luffy tilts his head “Who are you?”

“Y/N the disaster magnet, that’s how people call me” You grin, eyes sparkling “But I make up for it with a cool dropkick.”

Usopp snorts “Wait, you what?”

“Uh-huh.”

Brook tilts his skull “With all due respect, miss… you look more like you wrestle with fashion choices.”

You smile.

And then you casually grab Brook by the collar and flip him overhead. His skull clacks against the deck as he lands flat on his back.

“Respect is earned” you say sweetly, patting your skirt back into place.

The crew freezes.

“Whoa,” Chopper gasps “She didn’t even try…”

“That was… hot!” Sanji whispers, nosebleed creeping in.

Robin chuckles “She’s got flair.”

Franky grins “And moves.”

Luffy’s eyes sparkle “Join my crew!”

“Huh?” You blink “You just met me.”

“You’re strong, you’re cool, and you beat up the skeleton,” he shrugs “That’s good enough for me!”

“I don’t even know where you’re going.”

“Neither do we half the time” Usopp mutters.

You look around. Pirates, but not the burn-and-loot kind. They seem… fun. Maybe even your kind of crazy.

You stretch, cracking your neck “Alright. But only if I get to beat up the next idiot who tries anything funny.”

“Deal!” Luffy laughs.

Zoro closes his eyes “Why do I feel like this one’s gonna be worse than the cook?”

Later on, the Sunny docks at a sleepy little island, just a quick stop for supplies, snacks, and the kind of chaos that always seems to follow the Straw Hats.

You bounce lightly on your heels, hands behind your back. Your puffy boots squeak a little “Alright! Who wants to throw down? Just a little warm-up match!”

Zoro glances up from where he’s leaning against a tree “…Why?”

“Because I need to move or I’ll go insane!” you say brightly “Also, I wanna see what you guys can do. And maybe you’d like to see what I’m capable of doing as well.”

Luffy’s eyes light up “Ooooh! Fight! Yeah, let’s see what you got!”

Sanji steps forward, already loosening his tie “My lady, if it’s a match you want—”

Robin, lounging under an umbrella with a book, raises an eyebrow “You going to break your code for her, Sanji?”

He freezes “…Tch. Damn it.”

You grin “You can’t hit girls, huh?”

“I won’t hit girls,” he says, adjusting his collar “There’s a difference.”

“Well, I respect that.” You crack your knuckles “But I still need a volunteer.”

Usopp immediately points at Zoro “Why not him?”

Zoro scowls “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one who won’t cry if she throws you through a wall” Nami says, sipping her drink.

You smile “Aw, come on, greenie. Scared I’ll mess up your hair?”

Zoro stands up slowly “Fine. Five minutes. But don’t expect me to go easy just because you’re wearing ribbons.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, taking your stance “But I wouldn’t want you to.”

Five minutes later the crew forms a loose circle around you and Zoro.

He cracks his neck “Last chance to back out.”

You tap your boots together and blow a bubblegum bubble “Nah. You’ll be fine.”

He rushes first… quick, but not reckless. He goes for a clean sweep at your legs.

You jump way higher than anyone expects, twist in mid-air, and come down hard on his shoulders, flipping him flat on his back with a move that should not be humanly possible.

WHAM.

Zoro blinks up at the sky “…The hell was that?”

“A headscissor takedown,” you say, offering a hand “With extra sparkle.”

Luffy howls “YOU’RE SO COOL!”

Chopper’s fur is bristling with excitement “Can she teach us everything?!”

Sanji, conflicted but heart-eyed, mutters, “I’m fine with being kicked if it’s her.”

Robin flips a page in her book “This trip just got more entertaining.”

Zoro accepts your hand, dusting himself off.

“Not bad, but you’re lucky I didn’t fight you with my swords.” he says.

You grin, brushing your skirt back into place “You’re not so bad yourself, greenie.”

Later on you all decide to stroll into the small, quiet island town.

Luffy’s chasing the smell of meat, Nami and Robin are window-shopping, and you’re just enjoying the breeze.

Everything’s peaceful, until a scream cuts through the air.

The crew halts. Your eyes snap toward a side alley.

“What was that?” Chopper asks, ears twitching.

You don’t wait for permission, you’re already sprinting.

You turn the corner just in time to see a woman shoved roughly to the ground by a man with a long coat and bounty tags clinking from his belt. Three others stand nearby, laughing.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” the leader sneers, grabbing the woman by the arm “We were just askin’ a question—”

CRACK.

He steps back, hand now twisted in your grip. You didn’t yell. You didn’t threaten. You just showed up.

Your voice is light “Leave her alone.”

The man snarls “Who the hell are you?”

You smile “Someone who really hates cowards like you and your friends.”

He pulls a knife “You wanna get cute, princess?”

You sigh, glance down at your frilly dress, then back up at him “Too late. I already am.”

Behind you, the rest of the crew rounds the corner.

“What’s going on?” Usopp pants.

The bounty hunters were circle you, laughing like they’ve already won.

You crack your neck and bounce once on your heels.

“Alright,” you say, smiling “Who wants to be first?”

Ten seconds later you launch forward and take the knife guy by the wrist, twist, and throw him overhead. He slams into the ground and doesn’t get up.

The others charge. Bad idea.

You spin into a high kick that flattens the second one against the wall.

The third swings a bat.

You duck, sweep his legs, grab him mid-fall and powerbomb him into the cobblestones.

The alley echoes with the sound of bones hitting stone.

Then silence.

You’re still smiling as you dust off your skirt “Anyone else wanna bully someone smaller than them?”

The first guy groans from the ground “What are you…”

You lean down, voice sweet “I’m Y/N.”

The Straw Hats stare, completely frozen.

Luffy’s mouth hangs open “That. Was. AWESOME.”

Chopper’s eyes sparkle “She was like—bam! And then—WHAM! And then the suplex—!”

Nami blinks “I knew she was strong, but—damn.”

Robin chuckles “She’s holding back more than I thought.”

Usopp points “She... she was faster than Sanji to react at that scream. And did you guys see that? She broke the ground!”

Sanji clutches his chest “She’s… so perfect…I am totally in love!”

Zoro grins for real this time “Alright. She’s one of us.”

You turn back to the woman, gently helping her up.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, brushing dust from her dress.

She nods, eyes wide “T-Thank you…”

You smile again bright, gentle, sweet as sugar.

“Of course. Guys like that piss me off.”

You twirl back to your crewmates like nothing happened “So... lunch?”

[berryispunk]

Blurred Lines

pairing: Frankie Morales x gn! reader

tags: friends with benefits, wet Frankie (yes, that's important), confined space, friends to lovers, allusions to smut, some angst, kissing, swearing, love confession (kind of), communication is hard, mutual pining, yearning

summary: You’re stranded in the middle of nowhere during a storm, and there’s no escaping your feelings now.

word count: 2,4 k

also readable here

The rain was pouring, the thunder rolling through the sky like a warning you had ignored for too long. Frankie gripped the steering wheel of his old truck, his knuckles white against the leather as he cursed under his breath. The headlights barely cut through the wand of rain. 

You shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find some comfort in the cramped space, your knees bumping against the glove compartment. Your usual banter with Frankie was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of the engine and the pounding of rain on the roof. Being stuck in the middle of nowhere with him, in a car, miles from civilization… it felt like a pressure building up between you two, something you hadn’t fully addressed yet.

“Should’ve listened to you,” Frankie muttered, glancing over at you, his jaw tight. “Guess you were right about the storm.”

You smiled faintly, knowing exactly what he meant. The storm wasn’t the real issue though. No, it was the fact that for months now, your relationship had been nothing more than a series of stolen moments—no strings attached, just two people who knew exactly what they wanted from each other: easy satisfaction. Friends with benefits, the arrangement was simple. No responsibilities whatsoever, him coming and going like a stray cat whenever he pleased. But being stuck here in this situation, the two of you alone with nowhere to go felt different. 

The silence between you thickened, more charged than the heavy air outside. You could feel it in the way Frankie kept glancing at you, the weight of his gaze lingering just a little too long. “Guess we’re gonna be here for a while,” you said, trying to break the tension, but the words felt forced.

Frankie gave a short laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… guess so.” He hesitated, fingers tapping on the wheel nervously. “You cold?”

“Not really,” you replied, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. The tension between you was the quiet kind of tension, one that made you second-guess the lines you’d drawn between friendship and something more. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about until now.

He shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering between you and the outside world. The storm outside raging, the only thing keeping you safe the vehicle you sat in. He moved the car off the road, the rain still heavily patting on the hood of the truck. Of course you started to get cold but you didn’t dare to say anything. You stared out of the window, chin resting in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door watching the outside. Letting the rain soothe your troubled mind. Finding peace in it when your thoughts were a mess. Rain always had that effect on you. 

“Fuck it,” he finally said next to you and the next thing you knew was the door getting slammed and his warmth gone. You turned around to see where he went but the rain was so heavy and thick against the car windows you couldn’t make out where he was. You were about to grab the door handle to look for him but just in that moment the driver door opened and Frankie slumped back into the seat. Soaking wet and with a blanket in hand, which was not as wet as he was. 

You just stared at him in disbelief, his clothes were so wet they were dripping. The little droplets heard falling down. His tousled locks stuck to his temples, some water drops even falling down from his strong nose, his plush lips glistening wet making you stare at him for longer than what would be considered decent. He wordlessly handed you the blanket and you shook your head. 

“Frankie, what—?” 

“Don’t ask,” Frankie cut you off, his voice rough, his teeth chattering slightly from the cold. He glanced over at you, his eyes bright but tired, and then focused on the road ahead. His clothes were soaked, clinging to him in all the wrong ways, but he didn’t seem to care.

You took the blanket from him, still too stunned to speak. The weight of the moment was heavy, too heavy, and you found it hard to breathe. There was something unsettling about seeing him like this—vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about before.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up, and the noise of the storm outside seemed to grow louder, pressing in on you both. The truck was small, the space cramped, but there was something about it now that felt even more suffocating. Like you were both trapped in a moment neither of you knew how to escape.

“Why’d you go out there?” you finally asked, your voice quieter now, the words barely escaping your lips.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wet locks before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know. I just… I had to move. Had to do something, you know?” He paused, clearly trying to put his thoughts into words. “I’m not good at sitting still when things start to feel… off.”

You shifted in your seat, pulling the blanket around your shoulders, but it barely made a difference against the cold that had settled deep inside you. It wasn’t the temperature. It was the tension, the sudden awareness that you were both in a place you hadn’t planned on being. Frankie turned to face you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. The edges of his usual cocky confidence seemed to have worn down, leaving a raw honesty in its place. 

“I didn’t want to sit here with you, pretending like nothing’s changed.” His voice dropped lower. “I’m not sure if I’m even capable of pretending anymore.” You stared at him, unsure how to respond. There it was—the thing you’d been avoiding, the truth neither of you had wanted to face. For months, it had been easy to keep things light, easy to convince yourselves that this thing, whatever it was, didn’t have to be anything more. But now, stuck here in his truck, you could feel it. The shift between you, lines blurring between what you are feeling and what you really were for each other. 

Frankie shifted closer, the movement so subtle it was barely noticeable, but you felt the pull of it—the closeness, the heat of his body against yours made your head spin, like it always does. 

“What do you mean by that ? I thought…" 

“I thought so too. But, fuck, I—“ he stopped mid sentence, his brown eyes now almost confused on you. Your pulse quickened, a knot forming in your stomach as you looked at him. The storm outside had nothing on the storm inside of you. You could feel the words on the tip of your tongue, but they wouldn’t come. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. Or maybe, you didn’t want to say it at all, too afraid of the aftermath of them. 

The tension simmered between you and Frankie was now so close, you could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of him seeping through the layers of clothing, even if he started to shiver. 

“You really have to get rid of your clothes, Frankie. You’re gonna get sick,” you reasoned with him, the words almost feeling too big in the small space. Too unimportant in their meaning.  

He scoffed sarcastically. “That's what you’re worried about right now? Me getting sick ?” You had to chuckle to yourself about the absurdity. Here you were, stuck in the middle of nowhere, the tension between you both thicker than the rain pounding on the truck, and Frankie was still being his stubborn, sarcastic self.

Ultimately his gaze softened for a moment, the sarcasm falling away, leaving a raw vulnerability behind. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, the earlier bravado gone. “I should probably get out of these wet clothes before I turn into an icicle.”

He moved to unbutton his soaked shirt, but you stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let me,” you said softly. You didn’t quite know why you said it—it was just instinct, a need to do something, to help, to close the distance between you both despite the closeness of the space you were stuck in.

Frankie hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between your face and the damp, clingy fabric of his shirt. Then, with a deep breath, he gave a small nod and let you help him. As you carefully slid the shirt off his shoulders, you couldn’t ignore the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. It was strange—intimate, even in the way you were touching him, in the way his body was bare to you now, vulnerable in a way he’d never been before.

You paused for a moment, fingers lingering on his chest, and something shifted between you. The storm outside no longer felt like the most overwhelming thing. You searched for his eyes, but he was already looking at you, all the different emotions you felt yourself so visible in his warm brown eyes.

Without another word, he leaned in, slowly, giving you the space to pull away if you needed to. But you didn’t. You closed the gap between you, and when your lips finally met, it was slow at first, hesitant. But soon, the kiss deepened, the warmth of his lips and the heat of his body surrounding you, pulling you into something that felt bigger than both of you. You wanted to say so much but the words died in your throat, all the feelings you so desperately tried to ignore bubbling up all at once, threatening to suffocate you in their intensity. Frankie’s hands wandered all over you, exploring the body he had mapped out in the countless hours you spent tangled into each other. But something was different. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and when he leaned further in, his mouth latching onto the delicate skin of your neck you were sure he could clearly feel your fluttering pulse underneath it. His fingertips brushed your sides, leaving nothing but goosebumps behind as he pulled your shirt over your head and for the first time since you were in this kind of relationship that wasn’t really one, you felt vulnerable too. It wasn’t only the fact you were naked from the waist up, it was the way his eyes danced over your skin, he looked right through you. The weight of his gaze was heavy and for a fragment, it felt like everything had paused. Words had no place, no meaning right now, only actions spoke. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingertips brushed along your shoulder, tracing the curve of your collarbone. 

But there was something about the way he looked at you, something that went beyond desire, something deeper, more unsettling. It wasn’t just hunger. It was like he could see every part of you—the things you weren’t ready to admit, the things you’d been hiding even from yourself and it scared you immensely. Your skin was burning hot, prickling wherever his fingers touched your skin. It felt like your chest could no longer contain the weight of your own feelings. You should have pulled away, should have said something but all you could do was stare back at him, feeling both terrified and drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore anymore.

He was so close, so all consuming the heat from his body radiating against yours and all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your pulse, matching his, quick and frantic.

“Say something,” Frankie finally whispered, his voice strained, raw with something you couldn’t quite place. “Anything.” he almost pleaded.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. How could you explain this? How could you explain what had shifted so suddenly between you two, when you’d spent months convincing yourself this was nothing more than a casual arrangement?

But it was something more now, wasn’t it? You could feel it in the way your chest tightened, in the way your hands trembled as they rested on his bare skin. You’d crossed the line you fought so hard to uphold and now you couldn’t go back.

“Frankie…” Your voice barely rose above a whisper, sounding way more desperate than you anticipated. He got the cue, the way his eyes softened on you and it was all the answer you needed. He was just as lost in this as you were.

His lips brushed against your forehead before trailing down to your temple, each kiss a silent promise. You could feel him unraveling in the same way you were unraveling, piece by piece. The walls you’d built between you, the boundaries you had insisted on, were crumbling under the weight of something more, something you were too afraid to speak out loud.

His hands cupped your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze once more, and this time, you didn’t shy away. There was nothing left to hide now. No walls to protect you, no distance between you to keep the ache at bay.

“I don't only want you like this,” he confessed, his voice low and more real than the sarcasm and bravado he’d always used as armor. You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. “Neither do I,” you whispered, the words finally spilling out, the truth you’d been denying yourself for so long. You could no longer pretend it didn’t hurt, this pull between you two that had been there all along, hidden beneath the surface. Something much more powerful and raw than carnal desire.

Frankie leaned in, his lips capturing yours once again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was frenzied, desperate, as though you both knew the gravity of the moment as you climbed into his lap and straddled him. There was no going back now. Whatever it was that finally was freed in this moment in time, in the midst of a storm, had changed everything.

And as the rain continued to pour outside, you both lost yourselves in each other, in the weight of what had been unspoken for too long, until there was nothing left but the sound of your moans, the warmth of his skin underneath your hands and your bodies moving in sync, seeking this new found connection between you.

The windows were fogged up from your body's heat, the storm only fleeting background noise now. You were finally facing the truth—whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it was something worth holding onto. 

thank your for reading <3

my masterlist

[wildthings04]

[ghoulishhx]

um so i was the one who requested frank x switch!reader and JESUS CHRIST im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

i would love perhaps a part two? 🤭🤭

(ps, calling frank a good boy???? is all i need in life. yes ma’am thats my good boy right there without a doubt)

EHEHEHE I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME OH MY GODDDD

ok this may not be for everyone, idk how the general frank fanfic enjoyer feels about kindaaq subby!frank but im giving the people (me) what they (i) want. enjoy this absolute self indulgent smutfest!!

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: a big steaming pile of smut, switch!afabreader, edging, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v sex (no creampies in this but still don't do this irl), dirty talk, praise, use of restraints, choking

Tags: had some help with dialogue from my wife @carbonfiction , also my other wives @nogoodbee and @yur1addict were along for the ride

Wordcount: 2.1k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ use your words

“You trust me, right Frankie?” you whisper into your boyfriend’s ear as you wrap your arms around his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline, trailing to his neck and chest. Your innocent, doe-like demeanor as you bat your eyelashes at him makes a groan hitch in his throat. 

“Depends on what’s runnin’ through that pretty lil head, sweet girl.” he growls, wrapping his fingers in your hair, tugging softly eliciting gasps from you. 

Your arms run down his body and stop at his belt, his jeans the only item of clothing between you and ecstasy. Your mind fixates on the leather hoisting the garment around his waist. Your fingers toy with the material, running your fingers along his waistband. 

He raises his eyebrow at your fixation, confused at where you’re going with this.

“You’ll like it Frank, don’t worry.” you mumble as you push him onto the bed, straddling him as you begin unbuckling his belt.

“Doll, what are ya-”

“Shh Frankie.. Lemme make you feel good, okay? Lemme have my fun with you.” you kiss his neck as you unsheathe the belt from his denims. You push your fingers through his belt loops, pulling him closer to you briefly, before you push him down onto his back. You begin running your hand across his prominent bulge, palming him through the fabric as he groans. “Lemme take what I want,” you coo as you grind your desperate core into his thigh, “Take what I need.”

You use your hands to grab his larger ones, pushing them together as you wrap his belt around his wrists. He opens his mouth to protest, but you stop him with a grin.

“You want me to feel good, right Frankie?” you tilt your head to the side with a mischievous glint in your eyes, pouting at him. 

“Kinda question is that doll, course I do,” no matter how hard he tries, he can’t say no to you, especially with that pout on your face. “Just confused s’all..”

“Nothin’ to be confused about Frankie, I know what I’m doin’.” you wink as you continue tightening the leather, bounding him tight as you raise your handiwork to your face, kissing his knuckles as you bend over him, pushing his hands above his head. His eyes don’t leave you as you do this, watching intently as his breathing intensifies. The action rubs his bulge deliciously into your sex, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Shit.. so fucking hard for me baby.. So handsome.” you coo as you place your lips on his forehead before sitting back up. The sight before you makes your clit throb, Frank Castle, the fucking Punisher, bound beneath you and enjoying it.

He can't help but blush at your words, trying his hardest to be nonchalant and fight his body's reaction to you taking power. You push down your hips into his, eliciting groans from him at the sensation, you bite your lip to subdue whimpers from escaping your mouth. 

You can't help but giggle as you slip down from him, removing your clothes slowly until you're bra-less and only wearing a lacy thong. His favourite. It takes every bit of self restraint for Frank to not tear his way out of his restraints and feel your body, run his calloused fingers across each of your curves, tasting every inch of you with his tongue, but he's intent on allowing you to continue. Allowing you to take what you need, trusting you to do whatever you want. 

You play with your breasts in front of him as you smirk, watching his cheeks flush from need. The effect you're having on him floods your panties as you tug and twist at your pebbled nipples. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful baby.. shit” he darkly groans, his cock twitching in his jeans. Placing your hands on the waistband, you tug them off and allow the clothes to pool at his feet. Your eyes lock onto his dick, straining against the fabric of his underwear, leaking into the cotton. 

Your fingers begin stroking his member, tracing his prominent veins and frenulum teasingly, your touch so soft it's barely there. However Frank being as aroused as he was, it felt like heaven. He can't help but buck his hips into your touch, chasing friction. 

“My eager boy, shh baby tell me what you want.” you coo, retracting your hand from his sex, trailing your nails along his bare thighs, making Frank shudder at the feeling. He groans at the loss of contact. “Use your words baby.”

“Shit don’t make me beg, doll.. Fuck..” he mumbles, tugging at his wrists, rutting his hips into the air desperately. 

“Use your manners Frankie..” you taunt, pulling your thong to the side as you hover above his length. “Isn’t that what you always tell me, hmm? Say please baby and I'll give you what you want.”

His jaw tightens, realising this little game you’re playing, you completely switching the power dynamic on its head. His eyes roll to the back of his head as you push his leaking red tip between your folds, grinding on him, pushing him between your swollen lips. His cock collects your slick as your juices mix together, his precum intertwining with your wetness. His head thrusts deliciously over your bundle of nerves. You can’t help but moan around his length, desperate to fuck yourself on him but enjoying having complete power over him that much more. 

“Gonna be polite f’me baby? Gonna use your words?” you lean down, pressing your lips along his jawline, licking stripes along his skin. Your touch is borderline overwhelming, Frank is utterly helpless, unable to feel your soft, plush skin with his calloused hands. His desperation is unwavering, he can no longer subdue the whimpers threatening to escape his throat. Your cunt just feels too good enveloping his cock. 

“P-please.. Please baby, I-I need ya. Need ya so bad.” Frank gives in, his desire consuming him as you grin inches from his face.

“That wasn’t so hard was it Frankie? My good boy, I’ll give you what you need, baby.” you croon, leaning back as you wrap your right hand around his neck, pushing his length inside of you with your left. Your jaw falls slack as he fully sheathes himself inside of you, filling you to the brim. Frank needily starts thrusting his hips into you, chasing the pleasure he’s so desperately craving. You tighten your grip around his neck, eliciting a growl from his throat.

“Eager tonight aren’t we?” you laugh, halting his movements. You relish in the way he pants beneath you, chest heaving from being denied the pleasure he needs. “I wanna take my time with you, is that ok?” you place a kiss on his forehead as you begin gently rocking your hips. You throw your head back, taking your lower lip between your teeth as you bite down, your thumb rubbing comforting circles on Frank’s throat as you run your free hand down his chest, inching towards your needy clit.

“Fuck doll, ‘m not gonna last much longer.. Y-you feel too good..” his back lightly arches from the bed, tensing as he feels his orgasm quickly approaching. 

“Mhm, the feeling’s mutual Frankie.” your pace quickens as you bounce up and down on his length, rubbing harsh circles around your bundle of nerves, swirling your slick across your pussy. “Fillin’ me up so good, such a good boy f’me.” you whine as his tip nudges your spongy spot. “Lemme have it Frankie, cum for me. Fill me up baby.” 

Your permission sends jolts of electricity up his spine, he’s so close to ecstasy. He starts rutting his hips up to match your pace, his movements relentless. 

“Just like that baby, fuck don’t sto-”

Silence. Your motion comes to a complete standstill as you pull yourself off of his cock in a rapid motion.

You can’t help but allow a mischievous grin to smother your face as you watch Frank whine at the loss of pleasure, his orgasm denied, cock and balls twitching hopelessly.

“Fuckin’ hell babygirl, I was so fuckin’ close, what the-”

“Shh Frankie, ‘m not done with you yet.” you trail your hands across his body as you kneel before him between his thick thighs, back arched and ass up as you come face to face with his purplish tip. His dick is covered in a sweet mixture of your fluids, you can’t help but drool as you playfully run your tongue from his balls to his mushroom head. 

Frank’s whole body jerks beneath you, the overstimulation from being so severely edged stunning him. His hands are still bound above his head, despite how much he wanted to break free and wrap his fingers in your hair, he loved how much you were enjoying being in control, so he kept his wrists there and he’d be damned to try and break free. Anything for his girl.

“You taste so fucking good Frankie, filling my mouth already with just your precum.” you softly speak as you begin bobbing your head up and down his cock. The noise that erupts from Frank’s mouth is primal, groaning louder than ever before. You can’t help but smile around his length, your effect on him is dizzying.

It’s not long before Frank’s impending orgasm, the pace of which he bucks his hips into your mouth faltering as he releases breathy moans of your name. 

But you’re not done yet.

You remove your mouth from his cock, much to Frank’s disarray. He growls as his cock throbs and twitches impossibly harder, begging to cum, begging to spill his seed down your throat.

“Tell me what you want Frankie.” your eyes glint as you match his needy gaze, his iris’ non existent as his pupils are so lust blown.

“Fuck.. I- I need-” Frank babbles, so out of character for him.

“Shh shh shh.. Deep breaths, baby. Use your words. You wanna cum, huh? Fill my mouth Frank? Make me yours?” you coo, resting your cheek on one hand propped up by your elbow, the other running your nails across his tensed thighs. “Who do you belong to, hmm?” you test the waters with your final question, wondering if he would fully submit.

“Y-yes.. Fuck babydoll please.. I need to cum.. Shit I belong to you, o-only you.” his reaction stuns you, not once in your entire relationship did you expect to hear such submissive words from your boyfriend, the Punisher.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely baby, my good boy.. you can cum.” you hum appreciatively, resuming your movements, bobbing your head up and down his cock hastily.

Within seconds he spills down your throat, followed by a string of curse words, thank yous and your name all in between moans. You wanted him to fill your mouth, and my god that is what you got. Your mouth gets flooded by his hot, sticky release and you swallow every drop gleefully. 

You finally pull yourself from his softening cock with an exaggerated pop of your mouth. His whole body jerks from overstimulation, and you can’t help but giggle as you reach above him to finally remove his restraints.

He takes his wrists in front of his face and rubs them dramatically as if he were a convict just released, pulling you into his embrace as you pepper kisses across his face and chest.

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, didn’t know you were hidin’ that from me.” he chuckles darkly into your hair.

“Was it okay, Frankie? Did you enjoy it?” you meet his adoring gaze, blushing at the feeling of his vulnerable eyes bearing deep into your soul.

“Enjoy it? You kiddin’ me, sweetheart? Fucking loved watchin you up there." he hypes you up as he places kisses along your forehead, still pussydrunk as fuck. "Know how good you looked, takin’ control like that? Fuckin angelic." you sigh as you sink into his arms, grateful you could explore your more dominant side with him.

“Mhm, I’m glad baby.” you hum into his chest, “I’ll dust off the strap for next time.”

“Yeah not happenin’ doll, not in a million years.” the room fills with an eruption of laughter from your both, completely at bliss in each other's company.

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: the gif was too perfect to not use. i love you frank castle please let me chain you up. i also wanna make it clear in my own personal headcanon, frank isnt the biggest fan of tying you up, loving you too much to potentially make you uncomfortable, but if you wanted to tie him up.. he would be damned if he didnt give his girl what she wanted. thank you for indulging me, i love you

my inbox is open!

[donatellawritings]

hiii mamita!! first off i wanna say i love ur writing and characterization SO MUCH!! ur my absolute fav latina representation in this fandom and im sending u sososo much love <3 secondly, could we pretty pls have rafe w latina reader who’s constantly using spanish around him and he eventually understands her enough to get some things but doesn’t say anything until she says something slick one day under her breath and he calls her out so she’s like oops🫢🫢🤭

tysm for the kind words, angel <3

this is so bff!rafe coded …

rafe was an obsessively busy man — the poor guy just had to keep himself occupied, or he’d find himself slipping off into the deep end. so, he never actually took the time to learn spanish, but he had a pretty basic understanding of the language, solely thanks to the fact that he spent most, if not, all of his free time around you, listening to your jumbled rants. and it was clear to him which words were profane and insulting, by the way you’d huff and roll your eyes whenever they rolled off of your tongue.

you see, rafe was fully aware of your bitchy side and how your sweet and delicate demeanor could quickly flip into a bratty and entitled state, especially when you didn’t get what you want — which just so happened to be your current dilemma with rafe.

it was simple — you wanted to soak up some sun in your brand new frankie’s bikinis two-piece, while your bossy best friend, rafe was adamant about going to the country club to catch up with topper and kelce, over a glass of whiskey.

lifting your miu miu sunglasses to sit atop of your shiny blown out hair, you leaned your head back against the cushion of your lounger, the sun deliciously biting your bronze skin, “pendejo,” you mumbled, rolling your bambi eyes as rafe began to walk away from where you reclined.

stopping dead in his tracks, rafe cocks his buzzed head to the side, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, “the fuck did y’just say to me?” he spoke, his voice low as he approaches you with quick and long strides, before yanking you up to your feet by your elbow.

with pouted lips, you kept your eyes away from rafe’s, “i didn’t say anyth—”

letting out an unamused chuckle, rafe grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his, “y’lucky i don’t break y’fuckin jaw,” he warns, harshly releasing your face from his tight grip as he watches your eyes well with tears, “don’t start that cryin’ shit — fuckin’ kid,” he spits, balling his fists at his side for a brief moment, before opening his hands, muttering under his breath as he walks away from you.

furiously knuckling away the tears that threatened to spill down your flushed cheeks, you keep your head down, a wobbly pout on your swollen lips.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

rafe didn’t go to the country club that afternoon. and you sat by the pool for about an hour, mindlessly splashing your french pedicured feet in the light blue pool water — you hated when rafe was upset, more so when you were the reason for his anger. but, you also knew how volatile and impulsive the son of ward could become, so you decided to wait it out for as long as you could.

rising to your feet, wet footprints stained the pavement as you padded towards the door, you eyes sparkling with shock as rafe walked through the door, “what are y’still doin’ here?” he questions blankly, monotone and all as he brushes past you, shoulders tense and jaw locked.

ignoring the way your tummy swirled and churned with disappointment, you exhaled sharply through your button nose, deciding to force yourself to be unfazed by rafe’s harsh words, “i don’t like when you’re mad at me,” you whine, dragging yourself where rafe sat, legs spread and a sweaty bottle of cold beer in hand.

taking a quick swig of the beer, rafe shrugs, “and i don’t like when y’get a smart fuckin’ mouth with me, just because y’wanna be a spoiled fuckin’ kid,” he counters sharply, setting the beer down beside his foot.

you really pissed him off.

nodding your head, you quietly brought yourself to straddle your best friend’s hips, noticing the way he licked over his lips, before pressing them into a tight line, “can i give you a besito? i’m really sorry, rafey,” you sighed, batting your cutesy lashes as your softly brought your nails to scratch at rafe’s abdomen.

remaining silent, rafe earned a playful eye roll from you as you leaned your tits into his chest, pressing your full lips into his structured cheek with quick pecks, “i - mwah - am - mwah - sorry - mwah - papito,” you giggled between kisses, sealing your apologies with a stolen kiss to rafe’s lips.

craning his neck back to get a better look at you, your skin all bronzy and dewy from your earlier suntan, rafe raises his eyebrows, “papito? that’s a new one,” he comments, raising a hand to rest on your the sweaty skin of your lower back.

with wide doe eyes and parted lips, you gasp, “you like it?!”

letting out a defeated sigh, rafe pulls you in by the back of your neck to press a kiss to the top of your warm hair, “yeah, s’cute, kid.”

[eupheme]

PPCU - 2024 FIC RECS

a rec list to share and support all the gorgeous fics I read this year. please check these out and support these writers, they are all incredible! 💖

COMANDANTE VERACRUX X READER

— the bet by @/flightlessangelwings

DAVE YORK X READER

— sweet dreams by @toomanystoriessolittletime

For you it was just a very intense wet dream, clearly never thinking a candle you bought at an occult store would give you the best orgasm you had ever experienced. For Dave York, cursed to fuck whoever lit said candle, you were a willing virgin waiting for him to take you.

DIETER BRAVO X READER

— i'll try anything once by @murder-wife

When you make a joke to your boyfriend about pegging him, he takes you up on it

FRANKIE MORALES X READER

— do me yourself by @/jolapeno

a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

— seasons of you by @kedsandtubesocks

your first winter in the valley brings in a frosty breeze & a push towards a certain blacksmith

— wet 'n wild by @/jolapeno

“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”

JACK DANIELS X READER

—trussed up by @wannab-urs

The stress of being a Statesman Agent, especially one in charge of the entire New York operation, gets to Jack sometimes. When he needs release, he comes to you.

JAVIER PEÑA X READER

— bite me nicely by @jolapeno

Javier Peña, a guilt-ridden vampire, struggles with the growing intimacy between him and Bones, the woman who willingly offers her blood to keep him alive.

JOEL MILLER X READER

— a happy man by @/psychedelic-ink

when your friend sets you up on a blind date, you had no idea how impactful it would be.

— anywhere but here by @pedgito

A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

— as it was by @/psychedelic-ink

you decide to host a New Year’s party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

— could i have this kiss forever? by @flightlessangelwings

— don't move, honey by @jolapeno

joel doesn’t want you to move or touch until he comes back to bed.

— eleven stitches by @/almostfoxglove

After Joel comes back from patrol injured, he wakes up restrained to a bed in Jackson's clinic where you've been tasked with patching him up.

— flowering by @tinycozycomfort

Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold.

— first love in the late spring air by @moonlight-prose

in the late spring air with summer setting like the sun, life with joel suddenly becomes clear.

— get you alone by @5oh5

joel wants you, but you aren't his to have.

— half asleep, half awake by @morning-star-joy

Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

— handyman by @/mrsmando

it’s the worst time of the month for you, and you’re in pain. joel hates to see it, and will do whatever he can to make you feel better.

— him. he. joel. by @/jolapeno

you don't know his name. he doesn't know yours. yet.

— hiraeth by @honeyedmiller

the most invigorating and intoxicating drug you’ve had in your life is completely forbidden… and then there’s weed.

— his sweet secret by @ozarkthedog

joel fucks you over the kitchen sink.

— how do you sleep? @thriftedtchotchkes

joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

— is it that sweet? by @joelscruff

you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right?

— it’s different in the sun, in the day by @/jolapeno

— juno by @lotusbxtch

Your honeymoon with Joel is off to a bang.

— knuckles deep by @/ozarkthedog

 joel fingers you for the first time in his truck.

— mornings like these by @pedrospatch

There’s a reason you’re always late to morning patrol. That reason’s name is Joel Miller.

— night breeze by @hier--soir

joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes.

— no one can hurt you now by @guiltyasdave

You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.

— pretty baby by @mrsmando

working as a nanny for joel miller is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

— phonophilia by @ozarkthedog

Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

— put your sweet lips on my lips by @/thetriumphantpanda

He won’t ever kiss you, those are the rules, but you fall in love with him anyway.

— real love, baby by @/honeyedmiller

joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

— red light by @kiwisbell

The men you keep bringing home are no good for you. It's up to your landlord Joel to protect you from heartbreak. 

— ripe by @/hier--soir

a night out with old friends helps you and joel realise what’s been missing in your relationship.

— road trip by @elflutter

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip ;)

— say yes to heaven by @/psychedelic-ink

joel finally allows you to pamper him.

— seasons of you by @kedsandtubesocks

it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you to leave

— so much goddamn talkin’ by @stargirlfics

Sometimes Joel has to quiet the noise in your head. Luckily he’s quite good at that.

— sundown by @bageldaddy

you're used to being alone. that changes when joel moves into the trailer across from yours.

— sweet days of summer by @ozarkthedog

you and joel sneak away for a quick fuck during a family outing.

— sweet release by @/cavillscurls

the aftermath of finishing without joel’s permission.

— take care of you by @theidiotwhowritesthings

You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

— that pretty girlfriend by @psychedelic-ink

When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

— the checklist by @thetriumphantpanda

Your new boyfriend Joel finds your hidden stash of porn, full of pages with their corners folded over, marking the things you like the most. Expecting him to feel bad about finding things you’re into, things you haven’t asked for from him, you’re surprised when he offers to help you tick them off.

— the duke's illicit affair by @hellishjoel

You want to tame the wild stallion that is ‘the Duke’, Joel Miller. Even if you have to lose your virtue in the process.

— the last day by @elflutter

It was the morning of his thirty-sixth birthday the last time he saw you.

— the older one by @frannyzooey

Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

— the way he was by @/cavillscurls

a recollection of joel miller and the man he was for you.

— trouble by @/mrsmando

joel miller hasn’t seen you for years, and what a goddamn surprise you turn out to be.

— you all the way down by @covetyou

You have a rare moment of privacy, a chance to luxuriate in bringing yourself closer and closer to a peak you’ve been teasing yourself with for hours…. Until a knock at your door snatches it all away.

— walking through fire by @macfrog

you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

— what happens here, stays here by @fettuccin-e

— when his eyes open by @/jolapeno

joel wakes and admires you and the morning.

— wherever you stray, i'll follow by @cavillscurls

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

JOEL MILLER X READER X TESS SERVOPOULOS

— between two lungs by @/ozarkthedog

you join Joel and Tess mid fuck.

— july by @psychedelic-ink

you’re new to town and tess invites you to go camping with her and joel.

— three's a party by @/studioghibelli

joel knows you, his pretty little girlfriend, has always harbored sexual feelings for tess. he can’t help but oblige you on your birthday.

JOEL MILLER X TESS SERVOPOULOS

— wish you were here... by @always-andromeda

Joel mourns a life he wishes he could've had.

MARCUS ACACIUS X READER

— broken vows by @the-ginger-hedge-witch

When Acacius receives word that he is to be sent to the arena, he must decide where his true loyalties lie.

— prima nocta by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

MARCUS PIKE X READER

— give and take by @agentmarcuspike

marcus asks you for something he's wanted for some time...

MAXWELL LORD X READER

— stiff by @idolatrybarbie

Blackjack has the best odds of winning in any casino game. All you have to do is beat the dealer. Still, the notion doesn’t comfort Maxwell Lord. He likes to be certain. He likes to win.

MAX PHILLIPS X READER

— the prettiest by @almostfoxglove

After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

[hellishjoel]

uneasy hearts weigh the most

7.3k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: Benny hosts the party of the year where broken pieces of Frankie's past are unearthed. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking and drinking alcohol, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.), house party, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, vivid writing of a mental disorder [capgras syndrome] and an accompanied nightmare, descriptions of violence against a parental figure, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers) A/N: I know this has been in the works for a while and I thank you for your patience! special shoutout to @thetriumphantpanda who beta'd this for me!! I owe her a 100 grand bar now! listen to the song uneasy hearts weigh the most and I'll kiss you on the forehead

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers. “Do it again,” he mutters.  You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles.  “Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration.

The last time Francisco Morales saw his father was when he was punching his face in. 

It was a blur. 

Blood splattered across his face, neck, and shirt. His fist was crimson, his knuckles ached. But he couldn’t will himself to stop. 

Frankie would draw his arm back, using as much force as his little twelve-year-old body could muster, and plunge his whole body forward as he landed another hit. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, even when he was at his angriest. 

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying? 

Frankie’s dad wasn't exactly father-of-the-year material. More like a drill sergeant with a drinking problem. When things got tough, he’d ditch his family for drugs and booze and only ever circle back when money turned to dust. 

His mom was falling apart before his eyes. His younger siblings were fearful because their mom, who was supposed to take care of them, couldn’t, and their father, who was supposed to love them, hurt them. 

Frankie was the oldest; he felt an obligation to protect everyone. But what can you do when you’re not even five feet tall?

If his father hadn’t been so strung out that night, Frankie wouldn’t have been able to tackle him to the ground like he did. He wouldn’t have been able to pin him down by fisting his ratty t-shirt and hit him like he did. As hard as he did. As many times as he did. 

Then, his father lay lifeless. Frankie blinked away his tears and let out a shaky sob. He got scared because he thought he had killed him. After all those puny hits, he laid limp. He wasn’t smart enough to know that he had just passed out from the drugs in his system. 

Frankie was so torn because how can you hate someone you’re supposed to love? How could his father leave the family he was supposed to be the foundation of? 

The Texas Department of Family and Protective Services intervened not long after. And he doesn’t like to think about it, any of it. 

Not growing up, not his family, nothing. 

But now he’s staring at a letter from his father. It’s his handwriting; the slant in the L’s, and the hook of his Y’s. Slightly smeary, written in pencil with eraser shavings damn near burned into the lined paper. He wrote this letter over and over again, trying to author the right words, to say the right things. 

Frankie’s heart stops, and all the memories rush back in a flood. It hits him like a fucking hurricane. 

Tommy’s Diner settles after its Friday night dinner rush. The hour before closing was always erratic, putting together to-go orders and ushering stacks of dirty plates from the tables to the back sink. 

Your shoulder blades collide with the swing door connecting the kitchen to the rest of the diner, using the force of your body to swing it open as you balance the ceramic plates in your arms. 

“Sorry, Lou. Just a few more.” You mutter tiredly as you set the stack beside the teenage dishwasher, hearing him sigh loudly before putting his earbuds back in place. He wasn’t one for many words. The most you knew about him was he listened to cringey, whiney rappers. 

You close your eyes for just a moment and lean back into the counter, craning your back and feeling each vertebrae realigning with anguish. Tina called in sick and you offered to work a double to pick up some extra hours this week. Besides, on days you didn’t work with Frankie, you were more… productive. 

The hum of customers gradually subsides, their chatter tapering off until the bell above the door chimes, signaling their exit. It’s nicer like this, when you don’t have to be the charming server who keeps up with all of their conversations from table to table. Especially after pulling a double, and your brain feels like it might melt. 

The staff worked diligently throughout the rest of the night, tidying up the tables and floors, not letting up until the countertops gleamed, the coffee pots shined, and the strong smell of cleaning fumes mingled in the air. 

You grow a fond smile thinking about spending the summer with Frankie. He adores being outside far more than you do. It’s impossible not to imagine how stupidly sexy he would look with his skin glowing a golden tan and a pair of sunglasses sitting lazily on the bridge of his aquiline nose. Loose, flowy shirt and a pair of shorts. Curls lost to the wind. 

He talks about taking you on nature walks through his favorite trails and driving you further out of your nowhere town so you can stargaze at midnight. Or maybe you could hit the beach and spend your days under the sun drinking margaritas and Coronas. 

Summer could change things for you. 

Admittedly, you’ve been fantasizing—romanticizing. You think about him even when he’s not around. You miss the home you’ve made on the open side of his bed, where you’d curl around his orange tabby cat with his arms circled around your waist. 

Worst of all were the nights you were back at your place, where there was no one around to cook you dinner or dish out goofy conversations. Having to snake touches over your own body, over the curve of your belly, and sinking your fingers past your panties where the only remnants of Frankie is you muttering his name at the peak of your orgasm, wishing it was him showering you with his affections rather than your fingers or toys. 

God forbid you enjoy solo sessions anymore because Frankie has totally ruined that for you. It wasn’t as fun knowing you had a brown-eyed, curly-headed man across town who would beg on his knees given the chance. 

Anyway. Enough of that. 

You count the till’s cash, level out the profit, and put it all in a small bank bag before your manager, Carla, tucks it inside the safe. The metal keys on your carabiner clip jingle upon flipping the lock, the cool night air tickling your skin as late spring shows its face under the velvet night sky. 

A truck rumbles up the drive, and you know the signature death rattle all too well. 

“What are you doin’ here?” You lean against the driver's side of Frankie’s truck once he pulls up to you, your sneakers shifting gravel, his mouth tilted in a smirk. He leans past the truck’s frame and kisses you, cradling the back of your head to keep you against him. 

“Mmm,” he hums against your mouth, tasting cherry chapstick as he glides his tongue across your lower lip. “Get in. Benny’s having a house party.”

Eyes narrowing, you run your thumb up his beard scruff and gently scrape your nails down the dark hair. “I need to go home to change. Plus, I need a shower. I smell like grease, and I have grime under my nails.” 

“Fine, I’ll take you back to your place. I can wait.” 

A breath stalls in your lungs, eyes unblinking as you stare at him for a moment. 

Frankie has yet to visit your place — your dungeon, a basement-level one-bedroom apartment made up by a measly excuse of a kitchen and a tiny living space. You’re by no means embarrassed of its appearance. You’re rather clean, and you’ve made it as homely as you possibly can with bright-colored rugs and wall art. But it was sort of your final boundary. He was literally about to pass the threshold. Master the final boss. 

He’s let you have your space and never pushed you. The least you could do was say,

“Okay.” 

A contagious grin catches his lips, pulling you closer by the hand still cradling the back of your head, and he takes you in for a few more slow kisses. 

A car’s honk and bright lights jolt your heart, and your eyes squint until the flashers go down on the car Frankie has parked in.

“Can you two lovebirds hurry it up?” your manager, Carla, yells from the driver's seat of her rust-red 2006 Honda Civic. “You’re blockin’ me in, Francisco.”

You purse your lips with embarrassment, heat flushing the back of your neck. Carla was going to find out one way or another that you two have been sneaking around. She knows everything about everyone. 

“Hey, sorry, mama,” Frankie nods as she shakes her head slowly, mouth tainted with a smirk. 

“I’ll follow you back to your place,” Frankie whispers and you nod shyly, wrapping around the front of his truck and letting him tail you home. 

Frankie takes two steps at a time down to your basement-level apartment. His boots thump against the cold stone, and you push the front door open with the force of your shoulder. 

His eyes drag along the different pieces of the apartment that make you, you. Soft blankets that drape along the back of a loveseat accompanied by little, fluffy pillows, different pairs of sneakers sit stacked beside the front door, and a small table for two holds random clutter in the criminally tiny dining room. 

He follows your lead and kicks off his shoes, watching you unfold into your natural routine: you drop your bag on the kitchen counter, and your fingers are already tugging a black hair tie loose. He trails you down a narrow hallway, squinting as you turn on the harsh overhead lighting to the bathroom. 

Out of your clothes without a second thought, Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way you fling your bra past his head, tunneling down the hallway and landing in what he presumes is your bedroom. The shower curtain is something abstract, most likely purchased from the Target down the road. 

“I’ll be quick if you wanna wait outside,” you offer, body shielded by the curtain. 

Frankie shrugs, eyes glancing to the toilet opposite the shower.

“I don’t mind waitin’. Wanna tell me about your day?” Frankie asks, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. He sees you fight away a timid smile and slink behind the shower curtain. The beads of water hit your body and change the tune inside the bathroom. He can tell each time you shift and twirl. It takes you a moment to become acquainted, but you retell the details of your day in a sweet lull. 

“I, uh, I usually listen to music when I shower,” you admit between the spray. 

“Oh, so you want me to start singin’?” Frankie asks with a smirk, to which you quickly shout no! 

It doesn’t stop him from breaking into a pitchy rendition of a song by the Bee Gees. 

After a fit of laughter, you both settle down, and Frankie is back to smiling at the sheer, cheaply-made shower curtain. He can see your silhouette dance under the shower head, gathering your hair and rising out the suds, grabbing a loofa to scrub away the worst of the grime from Tommy’s Diner. 

Holy shit, Frankie thinks, you smell like heaven. Oh my god, he likes you. It hits him like a bullet to the chest, the impact rippling through his veins and making his heart beat so loud that it rings in his ears. It’s a silent reminder that feeling things are beautiful when they are about you. 

The bathroom grows steamy, fogging up the glass of your medicine cabinet mirror. His skin grows clammy and his knee starts to jump in anticipation. 

“I’m almost done!” Your voice sing-songs as he slips off his jacket, his eyes still cast upon your body beyond the curtain. He’s in love with the way your body moves, fluidly and without intention. You’re just taking a shower and he thinks you’re beautiful. 

Just as you’re about to flip the water off, the curtain rings screech to open. 

“Frankie,” you breathe, eyes falling to his exposed tan skin. No other words come to mind other than another breath of his name. 

His lips attach to your neck, slow but faltering. Like he’s searching for the one spot to push you over the edge and join him in oblivion. 

The tension in the air rises as the water cascades down his back and soaks his dark curls. His frame, large and broad, protects yours as his arms circle your waist like wild vines.

Your eyes slowly fall closed, lips parted as your head eventually tilts back and rests against the shower wall. It exposes more area for Frankie to explore, his palms kneading at your lower back, arching your torso into his own. 

His teeth skim along your skin, the steam already forcing your flesh to glow and rise under the growing pressure of his hunger for you. 

He begins to navigate a new path, his lips finding purchase above your breastbone. Your fingers start at his biceps, feeling the strong muscles protruding underneath. He’s so unbearably handsome, and you can’t believe his body is fitting in the small shower stall with you. 

Finally, a heavy breath slips, something that resembles a moan. After that, he’s starving for you. 

The teeth that were once just grazing your skin, now nipping and sucking. His hands fall lower down the curve of your ass, squeezing and lifting as you gasp into his ear. You're dripping with arousal that sits achingly between your legs. 

You place a slender hand over his more muscular one, guiding it between your legs and gently cupping your mound. 

“Please,” you whisper, like the only thing Frankie needs to hear. 

He paints your mouth in a wet kiss, drowning any better judgment that may have resided. 

Intertwining your feelings together, the steam buckles heatedly in the small space. 

His fingers curl in your hold, swiping between your folds and feeling you. There’s a whimper let out against his ear, nipping at his lower lip once his fingers push past your threshold. 

And he groans. 

You’re so fucking tight, so fucking perfect for him. His forehead lays against your temple, your nose brushing against the coarse hair of his beard. Frankie sinks his fingers into you, knuckle-deep, and leaves you squirming under his hold. His fingers are so thick, it’s a bittersweet symphony the way your moans mingle in the air.

He’s got you cornered in the shower, body pressed against the hot mold. Two fingers move fluidly inside, stretching your core and stoking the burning embers that rest low in your stomach. 

“There,” you breathe, gasping as he adds more pressure to one spot that makes your legs nearly collapse out from under you. He still has you locked with an arm around your waist, holding what’s left of your presence. 

He’s skilled, his thumb finding your clit, and you want to scream at the way his fingers are long enough to fuck into you and massage your aching pearl at the same time. He’s the only one who can make you unfold like this.  

“Christ,” he mutters into your ear as he feels your walls desperately clench around him. “You can take another, can’t ya, baby?” 

His brown eyes melt you, waiting for your confirmation. You sigh weakly but ultimately nod. It’s all you can think about. 

He groans as he works a third into your entrance, and it burns, the way your pleasure mixes with the pain. 

You wrap an arm weakly around the tops of his shoulders, nails etching into his skin in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself able in his arms. 

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, long and bratty almost. You’re so close already, he knows just how to get you to the brink. 

You tingle at his touch, your muscles going numb as he fucks his fingers at a now unrelenting pace within your tight core. 

He works you to the edge, feeling the tick of the timebomb slowly begin to set off inside you. 

With all the energy you have left, you swing your leg up and hitch it on his hip. 

He looks bewildered for a moment, shocked eyes meeting your own as you rest your shoulder blades back against the shower wall with enough room to move your hips. You begin rolling your core down onto his fingers and he makes a noise resembling praise. 

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers.

“Do it again,” he mutters. 

You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration. 

He watches your body with fascination, Frankie’s eyes obsessively taking in your movements. His lips are quick to bow down at your alter, lips latching onto your exposed nipples that perk up in his mouth with all the attention. It makes a tingle shoot down your spine, only making your hips move faster as you fuck yourself down onto his fingers. 

Frankie kisses down your body until he’s sunk down onto his knees, damn near growling as your hips grind against his awaiting mouth. He latches his lips to your clit and harshly suckles, causing a high-pitched whimper to leave your mouth. 

You’re so close and he knows it, he can feel your thighs trembling under the heat of his palms. It’s the only thing holding you up at this point. Weaving your fingers into his watered-down locks, you grip them tight and keep Frankie close. 

He chuckles lowly, eyes flicking up to yours and seeing the desperate look cast over them. 

“You wanna come?”

Like he even has to ask. 

“Please,” you say, desperation leaking from your voice as you feverishly nod. 

Frankie tsks playfully, humming lowly against your clit. “Love when you beg for it, sweetheart.” 

Frankie circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, making out with your pussy and lapping away at your sweet juices. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing his fingers to move with more precision. 

You can feel your muscles contort as he starts to massage your spongy sweet spot. It’s enough to make your jaw drop and heat to spill down your spine. Your fingers clench his curls tighter between your fingers, holding him against you as your orgasm finally breaches. 

The leg hooked onto his shoulder shakes with each uneasy wave of your orgasm. The shower’s heat leaves you breathless, crying out in pleasure as your body shudders. 

Frankie smirks as he slowly loosens his fingers from your entrance, taking each finger into his mouth, one, two, three. His tongue swirls around each digit before he inches your leg back to down to the shower floor, planting your feet on solid ground before he stands and twists the shower’s handle. 

It only takes a few seconds, but the high of your orgasm and the heat of the shower makes you lose your sense of self. Your legs tremble and your hands feverishly grip Frankie. 

The ringing in your ears slowly fades away as he snaps the handle on the shower, letting the room calm into gentle silence. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as he wraps you in his arms, feeling weightless as he talks you down. “Wow,” he breathes, “never had a woman faint from how good-”

“Stop,” you laugh breathlessly, peaking your eyes open, and seeing the glittering haze of the handsome man in front of you. Water droplets run down his face, cascading down his neck and gliding horizontally across his shoulders. 

“I like hearing you talk about your day.”

Innocent eyes meet his own and you nod. “Okay.”

Frankie wasn’t joking when he said his friends threw a house party. They threw a goddamn party. 

After winding down a long gravel road about thirty minutes out of town, you arrive at a two-story classic country home. It’s surrounded by acres and acres of green grass and tall trees in the distance. The most action this house has seen in years is most likely deer or coyotes. 

And now it was seeing the house party of a lifetime. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out in disbelief once he parks his truck in the grass and kills the engine. “Whose house is this?”

His mouth tilts in a smirk as he peers forward up at the house, not sure if he’s staring at the long string lights that reach from one side of the home to the other, or the drunkards climbing onto the roof. 

“Will and Benny’s, after their grandfather passed away. Pretty sweet, huh?” 

The crunch of a beer can under your shoe is the first thing you hear, other guests quick to park their vehicles and rush inside with cases of beer on their shoulders. The echoes of the partying inside could be heard from the dirt driveway, Frankie wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he escorts you in. 

A chorus of people bump against your shoulder as they step outside, laughing hard and obviously tipsy. 

“What is this place?” You mutter in slight amazement and curiosity. 

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” Frankie whispers against your ear, making a tingle slip down your spine as you playfully nudge your elbow somewhere between his ribs.

He walks you through the living room, easily the most filled room in the house by the looks of it. All the furniture has been pushed aside and a band resides at the forefront of all the chaos. The lead singer and guitarists stand on the sitting area of the recessed mantle. The cheering rings in your ears and the bass thumps through the floorboards, electrifying everyone’s bodies to move and dance. 

Off the dining room is the kitchen. You can’t really tell how modern or outdated it is due to the sea of people making drinks. Frankie reaches through the hoard and retrieves two beers, popping the top off yours and slipping the cold bottle into your hand. 

“Thanks,” you mutter as you clink your bottle with his. 

Aside from the noisiest parts of the house, there were chill places where people were talking and sharing ideas or the latest things that were happening in their lives. You try not to laugh as a woman swaying in a hammock accidentally falls out, landing with a thud. Thankfully, her friends in the bean bags below caught her with bellows of glee. 

“Best part,” Frankie whispers to you as he opens the door to a nearly pitch-black room, only lit by two lanterns at the very front of the mostly wood study. People are sat on the floor, whispering and shushing each other as you and Frankie fill in quietly towards the back.

“And now, may I present to you, Santi, the Significant!”

Your eyebrows furrow as Santiago steps in front of a white flashlight’s spot, bowing ridiculously as everyone laughs. 

“Santi the Significant?” You whisper as Frankie chuckles quietly and nuzzles his nose against your temple. 

“He thought Magnificent wasn’t spectacular enough, or kitschy.”

“He performs real magic? Isn’t that kind of…” At the risk of offending one of his best friends, he fills in the blank for you.  

“Nerdy?” Frankie snidely smirks and shakes his head. “Works better than you think. Watch.”

You're skeptical about the magic act, but you can't help but be impressed as the confident Santi pulls roses from his jacket sleeve and hands them to the most eligible ladies in the audience, eliciting gasps and enthusiastic applause.

“No way,” you shake your head as Santi continues a few close-up magic tricks, enough to keep his drunk audience convinced. After a few more card tricks and cheesy jokes, the crowd applauds and whistles.

“That’s all from me today, folks. If you want my number, please see me after the show.”

“Dear god,” you mutter, hiding your face in Frankie’s shoulder. “How is this working?” You ask as a group of young women circle Santi with praise and lusty eyes. “Should I go ask for his number? I was pretty wooed back there.”

Frankie tuts as he ushers you out of the study. “Absolutely not.”

The entire night thrives on high energy with a constant flow of surprises. The decor of pink plastic flamingos and a surprise disco ball is making this everyone’s night one to remember - as long as the guests don’t drink too much. 

You’ve let Frankie go to mingle with his friends while you keep an intoxicated Benny at bay sitting at the top step of the staircase that looks over most of the party. 

“Quite the bash, Benny.”

“Thank you, m’lady. You’re enjoying yourself?” He slurs and sways, even while sitting. 

“I didn’t even know this many people our age live around here.” Your head rests against old yellow wallpaper, the design mostly faded and lightly curling at the floorboards. Your finger plays with the exposed edge, fighting the urge to tear it off or keep peeling it. 

He hums and throws an empty beer bottle behind his shoulder, hearing it clatter against the wall. “The best distraction for someone like me is people. I like people. And everyone needs a good distraction.”

You narrow your eyes on Benny curiously, the disco ball flashing along the bedazzled beads hanging around his neck. “Distraction from what?”

Benny seems like a very happy person, but it’s moments like these that reveal one's vulnerability. He slowly shakes his head with a very telling smile, gently squeezing your shoulder as he sighs. “It’s okay,” he slurs, “it’s why our friend group gets along so well because we all need distractions.”

He speaks so knowingly, almost like a prophet speaking in riddles, so you decide to amuse him. 

“Yeah? What about Frankie? He needs distractions too?”

Benny hums and points at Frankie down below. You peer through the wooden balusters, seeing Frankie mix and mingle with a drink in one hand and a lit joint in the other. He takes a hit and sputters up a cough as he laughs at what his group is saying, making you smile. 

“Frankie… is a very special case. He’s uh,” Benny’s eyes droop, his head resting on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and relaxes with your presence. 

“He’s what?” You whisper, reassuringly running a hand up and down his back. 

Benny lets out another sigh, breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re a good distraction for him. ‘Nd I don’t mean a distraction like a bad thing. You’re… You’re very good for him. He’s had a hard life and y’know, I’m sure he’s told you. But now he’s happy again.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest and you’re afraid Benny might be able to hear it. The large grandfather clock standing by the front door chimes, and you can’t read the time from this distance, but by the multiple rings, it must be midnight. 

And before you can stop him from spilling, Benny shares maybe more than he should. 

“Y’know with his dad. His whole family, really. His mom has capybara… no, not capybara syndrome.” Benny pauses to laugh before finishing. 

“Capgras syndrome? She just wasn’t all there when he was growing up and she didn’t get the help she needed until later in… in life. Frankie was just a kid and all of his siblings were, y’know, younger than him. Plus his dad wasn’t around to help her, drunk asshole that he was probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway.”

You stare straight ahead, watching your happy goofball down below with a new view.

“So his mom was there but not really there. He hasn’t seen his dad in years, but now, he’s back around and sent Frankie a letter or some shit. I don’t know what about. But everything has just sort of sucked for him for a long time.” Benny scoffs and lays his forehead against your shoulder, muttering now. “Especially that damn letter. ‘Nd his damn dad. But you know about all of this already.”

No, you didn’t. You’re stunned into a soft silence, the hand on Benny’s back slowly falling. 

“This party and you, good distractions. But Frankie told me he started having nightmares again.”

Suddenly very awake and alert, Benny sits up straight and looks you in your eyes. “Don’t let him drink too much tonight, okay? He’ll start spiraling if he thinks about this shit too much. Keep… keep being a good distraction.”

Benny pauses and clenches his stomach, his face turning a little pale. “Fuck,” He mutters as he quickly shifts onto his knees and crawls up the opposite side of the staircase, pushing himself to his feet and rushing towards the bathroom.  

The buzz of the party slowly fades, like the sound of snow falling outside. It’s a silence that isn’t silence at all. Everything falls into slow motion, the confetti falling and the disco ball gleaming all halting mid-air. 

You weren’t supposed to know this much, or Frankie would have told you if he wanted to. But now as you stare down the staircase to Frankie, seeing him throw his head back in laughter, it’s hard to imagine someone like him had a past like that. 

Benny was drunk. Maybe he was mixing Frankie up with someone else? You didn’t know why, but instead of your usual instinct to flee, one of protection starts to come over you. 

“Hey,” Frankie breathes out with a big smile, his eyes glazed over and a little red from smoking as he watches you step down the staircase. 

“Hey,” you say with little to no masking of your emotions. 

He tilts his head adorably and rests his hand on your hip, pulling you in closer to him. “You alright?”

After nodding quickly with wide eyes, you know it’s more important for Frankie to believe nothing is wrong. 

“Yeah! Yeah, all good. Do you think we could head out soon? I’m getting pretty tired, worked a double and all.”

Frankie smiles and pulls his truck keys out of his dark blue jeans, doing the responsible thing and putting them into your very capable hands. “If you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s go.” 

He’s cross-faded for sure. At one point on the drive home, Frankie hung his head out of the passenger-side window and stared at the stars, giggling, as the wind whipped his face. But he never let go of your hand. 

 The exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both once you return to the comfort of his apartment, a small orange fluffball hopping off the couch to run his body against your lower calf. 

“Hi, Leo,” Frankie whispers, squatting down to gently scratch the cat’s chubby cheeks. 

After stripping your clothes and turning on his television in the bedroom, the lull of a sitcom settles him into slumber. You lay with Frankie in bed, his arms slung low around your waist and his head nuzzled into your chest. He snores quietly as Leo curls up between you two. 

Sleep seems to escape you, because every time you close your eyes, you picture a young Frankie with a tortured past. A shit father, a not all there mother. How was he so seemingly pieced together as an adult? 

With one hand gently stroking his hair and massaging his scalp, you use the other to search capgras syndrome on your phone. 

The National Institutes of Health describes it as, the most prevalent delusional misidentification syndrome and is characterized as a delusion of doubles. Patients falsely believe that an identical person has replaced a person close to him or her… CS symptoms may result in intrapersonal and interpersonal conflicts, along with poor social relationships. An individual with this kind of disorder is prone to self-harm and violence. There are also implications for the patient's family, as the stress on the caregiver and stigma-related stressors could further compound the issue.

Clicking the lock on your phone as fast as you can, you shakily sigh and wrap your arms tighter around Frankie. 

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard of and Frankie was at the center of it all. It felt like your stomach bottomed out thinking of what he had seen. 

Was his mother ever violent with him? Or to herself? 

And this letter from his father that Benny mentioned, what did it say? 

You manage to exhaust yourself to sleep, but it doesn’t last long. 

Frankie sweats bullets, his body rustling against the bedsheets that now make him feel confined. His heart hammers against his chest and pounds in his ears. 

These dreams would be just dreams if they were happy, but there’s nothing happy about what he sees. 

On a stormy night, his mother cries. The sobs fill the house, his younger sister fears it’s a ghost by the shaky howling that sways down the hallways to their bedrooms. 

“It’s okay,” his uncertain voice reverbs as he fluffs her light pink princess pillow and tucks a lilac quilt over her small body. He smiles convincingly and closes the doors to his closet. 

He walks alone down the dark hallway, his eyes anxiously peering from left to right. He spies his father downstairs drinking alone at the dining room table. The glass bottle shimmers as lightning strikes outside. 

Is he passed out or impossibly still? 

His mother lets out another wail. 

“Goddammit,” his father curses to himself, shaking his head and finding a coat from the closet before slipping outside and into the rain. 

It’s okay, Frankie thinks, because it’s easier to take care of her when he’s not around to intervene.

With a breath of relief, little ten-year-old Frankie walks downstairs and gets a glass of water. He’s so scared, his hands won’t stop shaking. No matter how much he tries to fill his lungs with air, the shaking doesn’t stop. Dribbles of water slide down his hand and wrap around the outside of his tiny wrist. 

He follows the cries with hesitant steps, lightly pushing open the door to his mother’s bedroom. 

“Mom?” He asks into the dark, his voice soft and squeaky.

“No! No, get out!” Her cries have turned to yelling, scrabbling up to the top of the bed and flushing her back against the bed frame. 

“It’s me, mom, Frankie,” he whispers, slowly walking forward with an arm extended with the water. 

She lets out another wail and shakes her head, causing Frankie to lurch back. He thinks the lightning strikes and the thunder booming outside is scaring her, and all he wants to do is soothe her panic. 

“D-do you want some water?” He asks as she sniffs, her wide and unblinking eyes enough to keep him awake at night. 

In a wake of reality, she wipes her face and whimpers. “Is that really you, Francisco?”

His bottom lip trembles as he nods feverishly. “Yeah mommy, it’s me.” Can’t you see it’s me?

She slowly lowers the covers that she had previously clutched to her chest, nodding slowly. But then she freezes again, horrified, unconvinced. 

“I-It’s not you.” She says with uncertainty, shuddering at another clap of thunder. 

“Momma,” he whispers as he moves closer, reaching out and touching her arm as he stands at her bedside. “Drink some water, momma.”

He offers the glass, her eyes shifting from Frankie to the glass and back. 

“No-no! Your smile is bigger! That’s not my Frankie, his smile is bigger! Stay away from me!” She yelps, harshly smacking the glass of water out of his hands. Frankie jumps but can’t pull away, the grip of her hand wrapping around his wrist burns. 

“You need to stay away from me, you hear me? Stay away from my family!” 

Frankie tries to pull away, his own tears sprinkling along his eyes as he yanks yanks yanks and finally he’s free, running out of her room as adrenaline pumps through his little body. He quickly closes her door on the way out, sobbing erratically as he runs to the safety of the staircase, black funneling around his imagery. 

Frankie’s eyes pop open, feeling the tight hold of your arms like the one of his mother. He shoots up and pushes your arms off, seeing your sleepy eyes tiredly open. 

“Frankie?” You whisper, soft eyes meeting his own.

Fear still possesses him, it was overwhelming like a heavy weight sitting on his chest. It was all-encompassing, his manifestations of terror and panic being linked to the feeling of being chased by something from his past.  

“It’s me, it’s me!” He shouts, his throat feeling like something was clawing at it. 

You nod your head and reach out for his arm to which he instinctively rips away from you. 

“It’s me!” He shouts again, causing Leo to scurry off the bed. His stomach felt uneasy, dread pounding a dent into his head. 

“I know it’s you, I know it’s you, Frankie,” you breathe out, pushing yourself up fully as you take his hand and reassuringly squeeze.

He swallows down an impossibly large lump in his throat, catching his breath seems impossible. He couldn’t escape it, overwhelming helplessness nesting itself deep inside. It’s always the same nightmare or similar variants from his childhood. He used to think that he had blocked them out, shoved them away to a teeny tiny part inside him, locked away inside a vault. But recently, they’ve been coming back in swarms. 

The reality that his nightmare is over suddenly hits him and his back slumps weakly. Like a human no longer possessed, his physical existence slowly turning from mush back to something concrete. Suddenly, a sense of relief washes over him. It wasn’t real, he was safe, he was with you. 

“Frankie, you’re crying,” you whisper, slowly moving your hand up to wipe away the streams on his cheeks. 

Frankie’s shaky hand holds yours, tight, and brings it to his heart, letting you feel the impossibly strong beat. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, putting his head in his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry,” he quickly shakes his head, feeling his body subtly relax from the strong heat that was tingling from his head to his toes. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now, it was just a bad dream.”

He knows now and he nods, but he still feels lost between his past and his present. 

He shouldn’t have drank as much as he did, and he certainly shouldn’t have smoked. He knows that now, but he was hoping it would help him sleep, keep him at bay until you were gone in the morning. But now you were here and he felt so exposed, his open wounds now out and in the open. 

Please don’t run. 

“I’m sorry,” he says on repeat as you slowly run a hand up and down his back, his body leaning into yours and nodding; he needed this, he needed you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you whisper, “can I hold you?” You ask so sweetly, your voice dripping in kindness lined with concern. 

He’s already nodding as you gently wrap your arms around his broad torso. He puts his arms over yours and sighs weakly, his fingers interlocking with yours. 

Comforting energy exudes from you, the thing he desperately needs the most right now. Your soothing voice is nothing like his mother’s anguished cries, breaking him into reality with the honey drip of your sweet whispers. 

“A nightmare?”

Frankie nods and closes his eyes, wiping the stray tears that still fall down his cheeks. 

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” he tries to laugh, but it just comes out wrecked and thick from crying. 

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying?

Your chin rests on the dip of his shoulder and he can feel your slow breaths against his back. He aligns his wrecked breaths with your calm ones, your bodies slowly becoming in sync.  

He’s so tired. He wants to close his eyes, but every time he does, he sees the flashes of lightning outside his mothers window and hears her untrusting words. 

It’s not you!

You sit together like this for fifteen minutes and he’s becoming grounded again. He strokes the blankets and relaxes the clutching hold he has on your hand. 

“I’m gonna get a cold washcloth, you’re burning up.” You whisper. He doesn’t want you to go, but he knows it will help - something his mother never understood. Help was good. 

“Leo wants to sit with you,” you whisper as you round the bed, Leo already leaping up onto the bed and circling himself between Frankie’s parted legs. 

“Sorry buddy,” he whispers, his voice raw and still shaky, but no longer feeling like he was choking on the air his body was desperately craving. 

With hazy eyes, he watches your body move in his bathroom, the light making his eyes squint. Your soft legs tucked under his large t-shirt was a sight. He was definitely here again, in the present. 

Benny had warned you, but nothing could have prepared you for that. But again, your usual feeling to run wasn’t here, because Frankie really fucking needed you right now. Your own concerns about this relationship were pushed aside. He needed comfort and reassurance, love where there wasn’t any before. 

You soak a washcloth in cold water until your fingers turn numb under the streaming faucet. Squishing out the excess, you return to his bedside and gently dab at his neck. His honey-amber eyes have never looked so dark and lifeless. 

He blinks slowly, he must be so tired. Frankie rests his hand on your upper thigh, fingers sinking into your plush flesh. He’s trying to ground himself, you think. A reminder that this was real. 

“It must have been really scary,” you whisper as you bring the washcloth up to his rosy cheeks, then to his temple and across his forehead. “Does this feel good?”

He nods and squeezes your thigh reassuringly. “Really good.”

“Okay, baby.” You whisper, running the washcloth slowly down both of his arms. The cooling sensation should help him fully awaken. You rest the washcloth on the back of his neck and rest your hand on his now cool cheek. 

His words ring through your ears, begging to be heard that he was real, that it was him. It was a dream about his mom, it had to be. 

He lets out a breath of relief, smiling weakly. “You must think I’m insane.”

He grapples to find the right words, and you think it’s best to come clean. 

“Benny told me,” you whisper, seeing his eyes harden at your truth. “About your mom, Frankie. Is that… is that what your dream was about?”

He sits impossibly still, but something in his gut must condemn him to tell you the truth. “Yeah, it was.”

You nod and run your fingers delicately across his cheek, giving him a reassuring smile. “You can tell me what you want when you’re ready. But it doesn’t scare me off, and I don’t think you’re insane.” 

An exhausted breath of relief mingles between you both and he agrees. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. 

“My dad, he sent me a letter and the nightmares started again,” Frankie whispers, brokenheartedness laced in his words. 

You press a gentle kiss to his lips, one of understanding. 

“I wanna read it to you in the morning.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, nod, and kiss him again.

After making Frankie a sleepytime tea in his favorite mug, he settles back into bed. He was so vulnerable tonight when he really had no other choice. He falls asleep with his ear to your heart, and his arms wrapped loosely around your hips. 

You stay awake and watch the television for as long as you can, hoping the comforting vibes of a sitcom will calm your racing heart. Gentle fingers draw shapes over Frankie’s back and you share a look with his cat. One that said you were both in this together. As the sun slowly slips across the horizon, your eyes finally close knowing this night of terrors is over. 

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt. 1

a/n: request made by @harmonity-vibes. had been thinking about this specific plot for a long time and this lovely angel gave me the inspiration i needed. this will divided into three parts because it's simply too big lmao that's what she said. s/o to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, abuse of power and blood.

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

two | three | four | five

What was once a home filled with love, laughter and passionate moans is now hollow and empty.

The haunting silence of the house only fuels his self-hatred. He can’t stop blaming himself because he knows, deep inside, that he could’ve avoided all this mess if he had only listened to you.

When a dead body showed up in the river by the old mill, David was quickly assigned the case. It might have taken him a couple of months, but he successfully found the man responsible for a such a horrendous crime.

The man was Frankie Donovan, a bus driver and self-made drug dealer. You would’ve never guessed by simply looking at the man, due to his scruffy appearance and uneducated demeanor, but he had successfully made around 500 thousand dollars from producing and selling meth.

It might not have been much to some people, but to a man who grew on the country skirts of Conyers, bouncing around from trailer park to trailer park and addict parents, that money was more precious to him than his own life.

No one would’ve believed that Donovan was capable of making so much money. Most people underestimated him either because of his job, his poor background or, what appeared to seem like, his friendly nature. He might have fooled many, but not David.

In the empty house that belongs to both of you, David stands in front of the foggy bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped his hip.

He stares at his stoic reflection and takes in the physical effects your absence has had on him. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Hollowed cheeks from the loss of appetite. The prickly 5 o’clock shadow growing out that he refuses to waste time shaving.

The lingering heat from his hot shower constricts the air around him. He leans down to splash some cold water on his face, hoping that it will provide just a little bit of relief. Although the water soothes him on the surface, it fails to subdue him within.

He runs a trembling hand over his face to try and keep his composure, but he’s losing it. His breath shortens as the room spins around him. What feels like rocks settle in his throat. His chest tightens with rage until he finally explodes and punches the mirror before him repeatedly.

“It’s your fucking fault!” he repeatedly shouts at himself.

Dangerous shards shatter into the sink and onto the counter. David doesn’t feel it just yet, but blood drips from his knuckles over the shards. He takes a look at his hand. His fit of fury let out a bit of the steam that he had pent up inside him, but it’s not enough to make him better.

Nothing will make him feel better until you’re home, safe and sound. He promised he would always keep you safe and he feels like he failed you. There's nothing that can silence that thought in his mind.

Once he’s poorly rinsed and wrapped his knuckles with gauze to stop the bleeding, he drags himself into the bedroom that lingers with the scent of you and haphazardly chooses a few items of clothing. He doesn’t bother with the usual button-up shirt. A simple black thermal, a pair of pants and usual boxers. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can.

David hates being in the house for too long, but he tries to avoid the bedroom as much as he can. Not only does everything there remind him of you, but it’s all still the same as you left it before you went to work that day and he wants to keep it that way.

The uncertainty of the future fucking terrifies him. He doesn’t know if you’re alive, he doesn’t know if you’re hurt. His colleagues are doing their best to find you, but the fear he secretly has of you not coming home is ever present. So, he keeps the bedroom the way you left it to create a false sensation that you’re somehow still there almost like a ghost.  Like you're still coming home, even though he's not sure you will.

It’s been almost two days since you’ve been missing. The captain made it very clear to David that he could not, under any circumstances, take the case due to his close relationship to the victim. Being off your case drives him insane, but it’s not enough to make him stop looking for you.

He might not be able to professionally investigate, but it doesn't stop him from questioning the local thugs in the neighborhood about the recent kidnapping. After coming to a dead-end last night, he spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly, hoping he might find you somewhere.

He came home for a quick shower before resuming his illegal search for you. He’s tired beyond belief, but his mind can’t concentrate on anything else besides his missing fianceé.

Sat on the edge of the bed you used to share, he looks over at the engagement ring still sealed in a plastic baggie on your nightstand and reaches over to hold it in his hands. Letting his head hang low, he lifts his bloodied hand and holds his forehead in it. His head pounds as memories flood his thoughts.

When a call about an abduction came in from a co-worker of yours, David could feel his heart sink down to his stomach. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the thought that you could’ve been the one kidnapped scared him to death.

He is in another town, a more populated, small and neighboring town who’s courthouse Conyers was appointed to. David hadn’t been aware of the newly opened case until he made it back to his car and saw 3 missed calls from his captain.

When he arrives at your workplace’s parking lot, he climbs out of his car so quickly that he doesn’t even remember to close the door to take the keys out of the ignition. It all feels like a dream, like nothing is real, everything around his is far from touch and he’s floating through the air

“Tell me it’s not her,” he begs already fearing the worst as he marches towards the blockade of police officers preserving the scene.

“Loki, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here right now. I can’t let you through.”

O’Malley has to hold him up as David’s knees give in and sits him on the curb. Kneeling in front of him, he instructs David to breathe as the air thickens in his throat.

“I-I gotta find her, captain. I gotta-“

“What you gotta do is let us do our job, Loki. You can’t work on this case and you know why. Tell me what you know.”

The truth, at the time where he can barely remember his own name, is that he doesn’t know who could have taken you. He’d put away so many bad guys already and, just like the Keller-Birch case, kidnapping were becoming more and more often in the small town of Conyers.

David is in no condition to answer most of the questions that his boss needed to ask. At least, not right there.

“David, let’s go back to the station. We can talk better there.”

“No. I’m not fucking leave. I need to be here. I need to find her!” he insists, wide eyes locked on the scene as the forensic investigators search the area.

His watchful eye notices one of the investigators lift something up from the ground after taking pictures of the object. As the woman places the small item into a plastic bad to preserve for DNA or prints, he quickly stands on his feet. Despite the dizziness that strikes him suddenly, he pushes his way through the uniformed cops, but there are too many of them to hold him back from the scene.

“Get the fuck of- Let me go! That’s her ring! That’s my fianceé’s fucking ring!” he shouts at the investigator while being restrained.

She looks at O’Malley who nods and allows her to show David the evidence. Walking towards David, he finally calms down enough and complies in order to make sure it is yours. And, just as he fears, it is indeed yours.

His hands tremble as he looks at the plastic evidence baggie containing your engagement ring. He closes his eyes as dread floods his chest.

The ring is technically evidence and is actually supposed with the forensics team to process, but David stole it from the scene to bring it home with him.

Tears drip against the plastic. He just wants you to come home.

The buzzing cellphone he'd left on your nightstand snaps him back to the present. Quickly wiping his tired blue eyes, he looks over at the phone placed beside his gun and badge. The thought of taking his weapon to his head to end the agonizing pain and guilty flashes in his mind.

Before he finds the courage to reach for the firearm, his gaze drifts and lands on a book you had been reading when you were home and he recalls one specific conversation you had had one night.

“You got a strange call today on the landline.”

You’re sat on the bed with your back against the headboard and a book in hand.

“Yeah? What’d they say?” he asks lying tiredly on the bed beside you.

Lifting your arm to make way for him, he nestles himself into your side with his strong arms locked around your hips while his face nuzzles into your waist with closed tired eyes.

“I dunno. I mean, I do, but it was just strange,” you lower your book, combing the fingers of your free hand into his luscious brown hair. “The guy just said told you to call him back or you’d regret it.”

“Probably just a prank call, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”

“But they asked for you. They said your full name and they know you’re a detective. Isn’t that a bit too personal?”

“I’m a cop, babe. That information is public. Anyone can find that out if you know where to look.”

You nod and stay silent as you try to continue reading, but it’s unsettling.

“I’m just saying,” you start as David groans tiredly. “Why would someone call and threaten you? Not to mention you just recently closed the Donovan case.”

Rolling over onto his back, he looks up at you from his side of the bed.

“Babe, Donovan is a small-town meth head. He doesn’t have the balls to come after a cop.”

“It’s just a strong coincidence, David.”

A lightbulb goes in his mind. Finally, a lead he could work on. How the hell didn’t he think about this before?

He shoots up onto his feet to get dressed and, just after he slides his boxer briefs on, his phone buzzes again with another incoming text.

Due to his close relationship with you, O’Malley didn’t allow him to take the lead on the case. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but he knows the close relationship could impair David’s judgment. David’s already known for his temper and the last thing he needs is him risking the case because he didn’t follow procedure.

Instead, Chemelinski’s been assigned as the lead detective on the case. And, influenced by their close friendship, he’s ignored the direct and important order O’Malley had given him of keeping any new information from David.

The way he sees it, David’s a smart detective. If it hadn’t been for the close relationship, the case would’ve been his because he’s the only one that has solved and closed difficult disappearance cases like this.

“Evidence found at Penn Aire Motel, 46th and western. No vics”

“Didn’t hear this from me”

He wastes no time replying to his co-worker’s texts. His heart pounds with hope and adrenaline as his mind races with a thousand thoughts, wondering what kind of evidence they found. Even without a body or blood, assumptions can still be made based on the scene which is why he needs to be there.

Speeding in his car, his stomach churns contemplating what he might find once he’s there. He knows the procedure in case of dead victims. If you were dead, he would’ve already heard about it, so he’s hopeful it’s not the case.

As his car pulls up, O’Malley sighs already feeling the heavy headache setting in of having to deal with a distraught David.

“Who the hell told him?”

Chemelinski shrugs avoiding his accusing eyes, but mutters it wasn’t him as David quickly marches over to the captain, ducking under the yellow ‘do not cross’ tape with curious eyes scanning the scene to understand what’s going on.

“Loki, I told you-“

“I know, I’m off it. I know, I just wanna know what you found.”

David keeps a strong facade with hands up in surrender as O’Malley approaches him.

“You know I can’t share that information with you. You’re involved with the victim and it ca-“

“Yeah, I fucking know it can cloud my judgement! I know!” he shouts back.

O’Malley watches him take a deep breath to compose himself. He understands how stressful this is, especially for a detective.

“Captain, I-I’m losing my fucking mind. Please, j-just tell me something. I-I need something.”

He can’t ignore David’s pleading blue eyes or the crack in his voice. David’s a strong man who’s endured some of the most awful things life could throw at anyone. It takes a lot to scare him to this point.

He informs David that they’d tracked down the car from the location of your kidnapping. After identifying the vehicle with the help of local security surveillance footage, a dispatcher had ID’d it after receiving a call about an abandoned car in a rundown motel parking lot, just off the freeway.

No one saw you at the motel; the clerk working the desk that night said a man checked in alone, but a maid who had been getting off her shift mentioned she saw the man – who was staying in the room in question – putting something in the trunk of a different car before driving away in it alone.

The forensic investigation is still processing the scene, but the unit was able to find a small earring in the truck of the car, which was now in a small plastic bag labeled evidence in O’Malley’s hands.

O’Malley would’ve asked him if the earring was familiar, but the way David froze and stared down at the small accessory with swelling tears in his eyes is enough to confirm his belief.

He’d given you the beautiful jewel on your first anniversary. He remembers how happy you got when you opened the gift and saw the sparking, delicate pair in the small velvet box. His heart broke a little when you mentioned no one had ever given you jewelry before. You loved them so much that you wore them proudly every day to work.

He never thought he’d be the one having to identify a personal item of a victim.

“Y-yeah,” he sniffles blinking away his tears. “That’s hers.”

“We’re gonna find her, Loki. Loki!”

David can’t stand it anymore. The ring found at the site of the kidnapping and the newly discovered earring leads him to believe they weren’t left there on accident. He knows these are items you treasure more than anything and you would never take them off unless you were at home to avoid the risk of losing your precious accessories due to their sentimental value.

They’re breadcrumbs. They’re clues you’re leaving behind, calling out for him to save you. He needs to take matters into his hands.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Straw Hats as Physical Affection

OKAY - I've put some thought into this, and the headcanons here are strictly my own thoughts on how I feel the crew would show physical affection (platonically.) This can be applies to friends, allies, or even reader OCs. Just a general overview of how I think they'd be with physical affection.

LUFFY  Hugs! HUGS HUGS! Luffy loves nothing more than wrapping his arms not once, but two or three times around the people he loves. He loves to cuddle, to poke, to tease and ruffle hair. He'll casually sling his shoulder around you and lean in as if it's the most comfortable spot in the world. Luffy is very affectionate towards anyone he cares about. It's second nature to him, really. 

ZORO Zoro isn't outwardly affectionate. It's something that's just never come easy to him. However, Zoro will check on his friends and loved ones for injuries, sometimes helping to patch them up if no one else is around to do it (he'll complain about it the whole time, though.) If he picks someone up, it's always over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and typically not affectionate. Though, if he's in a particularly fond mood, he's been known to give head or shoulder pats. Never comment on it, though, or he'll never do it again. 

NAMI She loves to groom the people she cares about. It might seem vain to any onlookers, but really it comes out of a place of wanting them to look their best. She'll adjust their hat, their shirt, maybe even fix their hair. If something’s out of place, Nami will fix it for them without a second thought. 

USOPP He'd deny it if accused of it, but Usopp is incredibly shy. This doesn't mean that he doesn't like to be affectionate, he just never knows how to express it. He'll sling an arm over a shoulder if he's in a good mood, maybe give a high five, but that's the extent. When he does these gestures, though, it means that he feels safe. 

SANJI For Sanji, it really depends on who it is. Towards the ladies, he'll allow himself the chaste kiss on the knuckles and the occasional arm around their waist. If they'll allow it. For everyone else, his affection truly shows in the way he stands near people. Whether it's out of a need to be protective or just to be nearby, Sanji is the kind of person who stands close. 

CHOPPER Baby reindeer boy loves physical affection. Hugs, cuddles, all of it. He's shy about it at first, but quickly grows more accustomed to being held and doted on. He likes to sit on the shoulders of his friends, and even returns the favor when he makes himself bigger. He's the tiniest, cutest little thing, but don't tell him that. Just enjoy the fact that he lets the cuddles happen in the first place. 

ROBIN Robin isn't very physically affectionate, mostly because she didn't grow up around that kind of thing. She'll give a hug when necessary, and often won't deny any sort of physical affection from others, but she's typically not one to initiate. That being said, she loves when her hair is played with, and she'll happily return the favor if someone asks for it. 

FRANKY SHOULDERS! He likes to pick people up and put them on his shoulders. It's his favorite because not only does it show how strong he is, but it boosts up and shows off his incredibly super friends and loved ones. Otherwise, high-fives and pats on the back are a standard from him. 

BROOK Brook loves skin-to-skin contact - well, he would, if he had any skin! YO-HO-HO! No, but seriously, he laments the ability to connect with people in that way like he used to when he had flesh. His physical affection now centers around resting his skeletal hand on the shoulders of his friends, but otherwise he keeps to himself. 

JIMBEI Jimbei is another that's not necessarily physically affectionate, but will not turn down any advances. He'll happily give a hug when prompted. On his own, he also keeps it pretty limited to head pats and clapping a hand on your back.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.

[andiberzatto]

Tomorrow, You’ll Break My Heart (Angst! Frank x Reader)

SUMMARY: Frank and you broke up years ago. Frank shows up on her bed one night after she comes home from work because he found out she got engaged. He wanted to see for himself, even if it hurt. (Frank being sentimental and angsty, based off of “Someone Else and Jesus” by Ricky Manning)

“hey doll, sorry to drop in unannounced…I just missed you so much” frank says softly looking at her with his infamous sad puppy dog eyes. Frank doesn’t even do it intentionally, it’s just how he looks when he’s feeling vulnerable and emotional.

he takes in the sight of her standing there, looking exhausted but still as beautiful as ever. His heart aches at the sight of the engagement ring on her finger, a constant reminder of what he's lost.

she walks over to the bed, “you’re really here…” it feels like a sick dream.

he stands up and walks over to her, pulling her into a hug. “fuck, I missed you so much. I'm so sorry for breaking up with you. It was a stupid mistake.” he buries his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. “you still smell the same...” he mumbles mostly to himself.

she nods “you look different…” she takes a look at his longer hair with small curls that fall more by his face and his full beard. Most gruff than the clean shaven marine he was when he left.

he pulls back slightly, running a hand through his longer hair. “you like it? I grew it out.” He looks at her, his brown eyes searching her face for any reaction. He's changed his appearance, trying to move on, but seeing her again makes him want her approval.

He sees the nod and takes it as a sign that she doesn't hate it. He sits back down on her bed, patting the spot next to him. “sit with me?” he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why are you here… why now?”

"Because hearing you're engaged fucking broke me, Doll." He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, looking down at his hands. "I went back to therapy. Started dealing with my shit. Realized I let the best thing in my life just... slide through my fingers."

He grumbles audibly at the frown that swallows your lovely face,"Don't give me that face. I deserve it." He turns to face her fully, his knee brushing against hers. "I ghosted you. Threw away six months of perfect, and I'm here because... fuck." He touches her ring finger again. "Tell me you're happy."

her bottom lip pokes out. She doesn’t ever want to hurt Frank. She was happy but now she’s conflicted.

"Fuck, Angel." He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I can see it in your eyes. You're conflicted." His heart is racing, hoping he's not too late. "Tell me to leave and I will."

she starts to tear up, “he’s a good guy.. he’s a really sweet guy”

Seeing her tear up, Frank's heart shatters. "No, no, no." He pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he rocks her back and forth. "Please don't cry, Angel. I can't take it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

she sighs “I’m sorry Frankie I didn’t mean to cry…”

"It's fine, Doll." He pulls back slightly, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "You're engaged. You're happy. You meet 'a really sweet guy'. Where the hell am I?" He laughs softly, but it's forced. He's jealous.

she smiles softly “my first love.. my everything?”

His breath catches in his throat at those words. The exact words he once told her about himself. "Then why are you crying over me being here?" He cups her face gently, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Are you engaged because he treats you right... or because you miss me?"

“I said yes because I didn’t think you’d ever come back for me” she says it soft and slow.

"So you settled?" He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. "You settled for a'really sweet guy' because you thought I was gone for good?" He searches her eyes intensely, looking for any sign that she still has feelings for him.

“I guess in a way I settled but I made sure he wasn’t a dickhead” she admits softly, no one could be frank. Frank is a unique person to love…

"He makes you laugh?" He asks softly, his voice laced with jealousy. "He holds you at night? He knows your favorite movie? He remembers your favorite ice cream?" He's torturing himself, but he needs to know.

she nods “he even takes me to Tony’s on water street. He did it of his own accord..”

His stomach churns at the thought of another man taking her to their favorite spot, the place where he first kissed her, where they had their first date. "He knows you like the chicken parm there?" He asks through gritted teeth, trying to keep his anger in check.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep the jealousy from consuming him entirely. "He's probably a great guy. Probably treats you right." His voice catches slightly. "Probably tells you you're beautiful every damn day." He looks away for a moment, fighting back more emotions.

she nods “you showed up to see for yourself?”

"I had to know." He looks back at her, his eyes searching her face. "I had to see for myself that you're really happy. That you're really in love." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "But now that I'm here, I can't just leave."

“No one can ever replace you in my heart. To love me they get to learn you in the process” she says it so matter of factly. Like it’s her golden rule.

His eyes widen slightly as he hears those words, feeling a glimmer of hope. "You mean he knows about... us?" He asks, leaning in closer. "He knows that I was your first love? Your everything?" He uses her own words against her, needing to know more.

“Of course” she says it so easily.

"And... he's okay with that?" He asks softly, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. "With replacing the man you were originally in love with? With being compared to me every damn day?" He searches her eyes, hoping for any sign that she still loves him.

“He and I have had long tough conversations about you and what you mean to me” which isn’t a lie. You needed your current relationships to always know they’re a special part of you that burrows away holding onto the memories of Frank.

Frank nods slowly, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he imagines those conversations. "So he knows. Really knows what I meant to you." He takes a trembling breath, realizing the weight of that knowledge. "And still, he chose to love you anyway."

“Yes. He knows every part of me was shaped by you. And for that he thanks you for.” Another thing that was true. Frank is the reason you wear your hair up more, you were self conscious of your ears so every time you wore your hair up Frank would kiss just behind your ear and murmur how beautiful you looked. He’s the reason you sing in the car at red lights with the windows down, Frank told you to not give a fuck what anyone thinks as long as it’s not hurting anyone. What’s the shame in blasting Lizzy McAlpine and screaming along at a red light? Helps the time go by.

Frank's heart aches at her words, feeling a pang of regret and longing. "He thanks me for shaping you?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "For making you the person he loves?" He looks away, his eyes welling up with tears he refuses to let fall.

He chokes back a sob, his heart feeling like it's being torn apart. "And... you're happy with him? Really happy?" He asks, his voice shaking with emotion. "He makes you laugh the way I used to? He holds you the way I used to?"

she moves to hold him “Frankie don’t do that to yourself”

His arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her tighter than he has in years. "Tell me he doesn't." He begs, pressing his face into her neck. "Tell me he doesn't love you the same way I did. Tell me he doesn't kiss you like I used to."

“He will never love me to the same depth you did. You love with every fiber of your being…”

Frank nods slowly, tears finally falling down his cheeks. "And no one else ever will." He whispers. "No one else ever could." He holds her tighter, burying his face in her neck. "But he gets to keep you. He gets to wake up to you every day."

she nods “it’s starting to look that way”

"Do you still..." He swallows hard, almost too scared to ask the question that's been burning in his mind since he saw her again. "Do you still have dreams about me?" His voice is soft, almost unhearable. He waits for her answer, his body tense.

“Occasionally”

A single sob escapes his lips, and he pulls her even closer, his entire body trembling. "At least I'm still in your dreams." He whispers against her skin. "At least I'm not completely gone from your heart." His fingers trace her jawline, memorizing every detail.

“You’ll never be gone there”

His fingers trail down to her collarbone, tracing the same path they used to follow years ago. "And you know what kills me? Knowing there's a man out there who gets to hear you say 'I love you' every night." His voice breaks. "Who gets your morning smile."

"But most of all, it kills me knowing he gets to hold you at night. To feel your heart beating against his chest. To know that you're safe and loved." He buries his face in her hair, his entire body shaking with sorrow. "I should be the one holding you."

she hugs him tight “I know I know”

"I'm so sorry, baby." He whispers, his voice muffled by her hair. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything. For not being there. For not being enough. For letting you go." He holds her like she's the only thing keeping him alive.

“There’s a reason I didn’t send you a save the date card…”

His breath catches in his throat as he understands the unspoken words. "Because you knew... seeing it would destroy me." His arms tighten around her. "Because you knew watching you marry someone else would feel like a bullet through my heart." He presses a tender kiss to her forehead.

His lips press into a thin line as he fights back fresh tears. "And I'll always love you, more than anything in this world." He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'll always love you, even if it kills me." His voice cracks.

she kisses his nose softly like she used to.

"Tomorrow.. you absolutely kill me.." He says softly more to himself than you, his thumb still brushing away her tears. "And if you need me, if you ever need anything...I'm just a phone call away."

He stands up, his movements stiff and awkward, but determined. "I should go." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I do something stupid." He looks at her one last time, committing every detail of her face to memory. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

she nods “you take care too… and uh”

He hesitates, turning back to face her as he's about to leave. "Yeah?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, waiting for her to say more. He can see the unsaid words hanging in her eyes, and it makes him pause. "What is it?"

“Can I have one last hug… please” her voice is a soft break

His breath catches sharply, and for a moment, he seems frozen. Then, slowly, deliberately, he opens his arms. "Come here." His voice is thick with emotion, cracking slightly on the words. As she steps into his embrace, he wraps his arms around her fiercely, almost desperately.

she hugs him tightly “promise me you’ll be okay”

His forehead rests on top of her head. He swallows hard, his arms tightening around her waist possessively. "I promise." He lies smoothly, knowing damned well he won't be okay without her. He'll be violent, dangerous, lonely. But he won't tell her that.

she sighs softly “you are every fiber of my being in another living person..” she means like soul mates

He closes his eyes, his heart aching with the truth of her words. "And you're the missing piece of my soul." He whispers against her hair, his voice barely audible. "I'll carry you with me, always."

she nods and pulls away wiping her tears with her sleeve

His fingers trace one last tear away before he forces himself to step back. "Tomorrow." He repeats again softly, like a mantra. "Tomorrow you'll break my heart." There's no malice in his voice, just resignation. "And I'll die inside a little more."

she nods “goodnight frank.” she can’t force herself to say goodbye

He nods slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. "Goodnight, sweet doll." His voice is a rough whisper, the words heavy with unspoken feelings. He turns to leave, each step feeling like it tears away part of his soul. "Hope you get some rest."

she watches him close her apartment door before she breaks down. He walks away from her door, his shoulders stiff. He can hear her quiet sobs echoing down the hallway. It shreds him. He stops midway, his fists clenching tightly. He wants to go back, comfort her. But he knows he can't.

The only sound echoing that night were franks boots as he left her door and started the long journey of finding out what it means to live without her…

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

santiago garcia x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: dirty talk

warnings: reader wears a skirt, exhibitionism kink, public teasing, creampie

word count: 0.9k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

Santiago had developed the habit of being the worst kind of tease in public. 

He knew it made you slightly embarrassed, not to the point of uncomfortability though; he would never do something that you didn’t feel comfortable with, and he knew you liked playing along, acting like it bothered you when in reality you enjoyed it.

It was rather frequent for his public teasing to resurface, especially at parties like the one you were at at the moment. 

It was Benny’s birthday, and his garden was rather crowded, including with people you weren’t familiar with. That fact didn’t particularly bother Santiago, and you both knew it. It actually excited him more to have complete strangers around, so you knew he could be insufferable, and it had already started when everyone started eating and his hand had conveniently settled at your thigh, progressively going higher up under your skirt as he acted completely oblivious and chatted with Frankie across the table.

This was step one, and the day was far from over.

Despite your best efforts to always be surrounded just so he could be annoyed by the fact he wouldn’t be able to tease you, you forgot the game for a second to take another drink in the kitchen, and Santi took advantage of that weakness. 

You hadn’t even heard him coming, you only felt his arms wrapping around you when he hugged you from the back, making you jump in surprise, your glass almost slipping from your grip.

“I can’t wait for everyone to go to sleep so I can wreck you” he whispered into your ear as he shifted his position to grind his hard on against your ass, making you bite back a moan. 

Goosebumps raised over your skin, your grip tightening over your glass. “Really, I can’t wait, maybe I could take you right here, where anyone could come and see us” he mutters as he puts his hands over the globes of your ass, kneading the tender flesh over your skirt. 

“Bet you’d love someone walking in while I pound that pretty pussy” you can hear the teasing tone and the sly smirk in his voice as he raises the piece of cloth, exposing your underwear, a small whine leaving your mouth as you feel air hitting the damp patch between your legs. “Mh?” his hand pushes onto your lower back so you could bend against the counter, and you don’t even put any force to try to stop this – objectively – unreasonable decision. 

“Tell me to stop, baby” he whispers, pressing himself over you to speak to your ear, his erection pressing even more firmly against you. You don’t say anything, because you don't want him to stop, and that’s when you hear the sound of his fly before feeling him push your underwear to the side, the feeling of his tip circling your entrance eliciting a small grunt of anticipation coming from your throat.

“Quiet” he murmurs as he gathers the wetness pooling at your folds before progressively inching himself inside you, a low groan escaping his own mouth as he bottoms out and really plunges his cock inside of you. 

Benny’s bathroom had already seen its fair share of action from the both of you, but having your way in the kitchen was a whole new experience, no lock and the possibility of everyone and anyone walking in on you at any moment.

Technically, the chances that someone would walk in on you or hear you were low. Everyone was outside, music was blasting and almost every drink was within reach; you only came to the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water.

Now you were gripping onto your filled glass, knuckles turning another color from how hard you were holding onto it while Santi was pounding into you. His rhythm was demanding, restless and a bit desperate; you feel his hands bunching up your skirt, holding onto it tight as the obvious sound of skin on skin resonates in Benny’s open kitchen. 

You have no idea what you would actually do if someone walked in while Santiago was taking you, and despite your best efforts to think of a backup plan, you give up on trying to ponder over that subject when Santi’s hand wraps around you and his fingers settle to rub rough circles over your clit.

Your body jolts at the feeling, the glass in your hand being the least of your concern at the moment; it rolls over the counter with a coarse sound as you come, its content spilling in a trail falling to the floor as you writhe under your boyfriend, drips falling beside your feet. 

His movements hasten as he helps you ride out your high, seeking his own; he presses himself flush against you, his breath halting as he pumps his seed inside you, your head falling to rest over your extended, numb arms. 

You feel him gently ease himself out of you, pull your underwear back over your sensitive cunt.

"Good girl." he smirks as he slaps your ass, smoothing the fabric of your skirt so it could look like no one had ever touched it. “My pretty little slut.” he hands you a kitchen towel, kissing your cheek before leaving, as if nothing had ever happened, like every single time.

No one would ever know what happened here, if it wasn’t for Benny’s high tech fridge having a camera.

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

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[wildthings04]

[inthe-dark-tonight]

end up here

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: you’ve had a distaste for frankie for as long as you can remember, so how did you end up here?

word count: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ mdni!!, smut, unsafe p in v, porn with literally no plot, pet names, creampie, kinda enemies to lovers vibes, no mention of age gap so read however you’d like

notes: soooo i basically only wrote this as a little exercise to get myself back into writing after not feeling it for awhile. i wasn’t really going to share it but!! here we are lol. i used the prompt “if you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?” from this list as inspo to write this. if you decide to give this a read i hope you enjoy <3 also a big thanks to @javiscigarette for being a big part of helping to making the writing process enjoyable for me again i love you so so much my baby & @pr0ximamidnight for also encouraging me and taking a peek at this before posting i love you mother 🩷 MWAHHHHH xoxo

You’re not quite sure how you ended up with Frankie pressing you against the wall in his apartment as he desperately kisses you and grabs at your waist, but it’s the last thing you would’ve expected. Your distaste for the man, if you could even call it that, goes back further than you can remember. At this point you’re not even sure what caused it, the two of you bickering and making snide comments whenever there’s a chance, but here you are now, hands wandering up his broad chest as he presses his tongue into your mouth.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, breathing heavily as his dark eyes roam your features. “Bedroom?” His low husky voice sends heat straight to your already burning core.

You frantically nod your head and he grabs your hand, not wasting any moment. As he leads you from the living room down the hallway towards his bedroom, your heart beats rapidly in your chest, adrenaline from the way he was pressed against you just moments ago rushing through your body. Your eyes are glued to the back of him as he pulls you into the bedroom, roaming over the expanse of his broad shoulders and the way his hair curls along the back of his neck. He pulls you close to him when you enter the room, spinning you around before kicking the door shut and attaching his lips to yours once again.

You let out a small moan as his lips press into yours, soft as they move in sync. His hands trail down the sides of your body and over the curves of your waist, stopping at your hips as he grabs onto the fabric of your shirt. Slowly he starts to walk you backwards towards his bed, never breaking the kiss. The back of your legs hit the mattress, he lets out a small grunt as you squeeze his biceps to keep yourself steady and break away to look up at him.

“Lay back for me baby.” Baby , something you never thought you’d hear him say, at least not towards you.

You don’t hesitate, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and laying back with your legs slightly spread where he stands between them. His hands immediately latch back onto the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms allowing him to pull it up over your head in one swift motion before tossing it across the room.

“Christ…” he shakes his head in awe of you.

Becoming impatient, you grab at the hem of his own shirt causing him to remove his unbuttoned flannel leaving him in a gray tshirt and dark jeans. You bite your lip in anticipation, arms falling to your sides and grasping the comforter of his bed. His large, warm hands trail down your stomach before toying with the hem of your bottoms. He slips his finger below the hem and runs his knuckles back and forth on your soft skin, causing you to shudder, before pulling them off along with your underwear. Your hips lift off the bed the slightest bit as he takes a good look at your dripping cunt.

“All this for me?” You don’t say a word as he cocks his head to the side, a sly grin on his face as he looks down at you.

“Yes.” Your hands grip tighter as you hear the sound of his belt coming undone.

He unzips his jeans, pulling them down to reveal his hard cock and you let out a low whine as you watch him. He’s huge, precum already dripping from his dark red tip.

“How long have you thought of me this way querida?” Two large fingers run through your slick folds as he speaks, teasing you.

“Frankie,” you groan, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down toward you to capture another kiss. “I hate you.” You whisper, a small smile toying on your lips as you stare back at him.

He rests on his elbows, one on either side of your head as he laughs at your statement. “If you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?” His voice is just above a whisper.

One of his arms moves between the two of you and without a warning, he lines up his cock with your throbbing entrance and slowly begins to push in. You let out a gasp, mouth falling open as you grip onto his shoulders.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your eyes fall shut as he splits you open, stopping only once he’s filled you to the brim.

He stays still for a moment, letting out a pleased hum as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, one hand grabbing at your waist as he tries to compose himself. Your arms wrap around his large frame, splaying out across his back as you hold him close to you. Once his breathing starts to steady, he begins to move, not hesitating to quicken his pace.

When he lifts his head from being buried in your neck, his eyes dart back and forth between your own. You can’t read the expression on his face as he continues to thrust in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

“I’ve thought about this,” he lets out a huff. “so many times.” His hand moves to caress the back of your neck as he kisses you again, deeper than before, if that’s even possible.

You sigh, wrapping your legs around his waist as your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt covering his upper back. He’s thought about this so many times. You try to wrap your head around the words that just left his mouth, unable to believe that it’s true even though you’ve thought about it many times as well.

“Frankie-” he thrusts deeper, causing a whine to leave your lips and interrupting your thoughts as you clench around him.

His eyes close and he lets out a shaky breath as he pauses, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him, the heat of your bodies pressed against each other as he hits that perfect spot in you. The pool of heat in your stomach is growing by the second, his unexpected words fueling the fire.

“I’m close.” You rasp, barely able to form the words.

His thumb gently swipes across your cheek, other hand moving from your hip to caress your covered breast. “Let me feel you baby.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, then begins trailing them down your neck and chest.

Your back arches, a low hiss leaving your mouth when his large hand removes your tit from your bra. His soft, wet lips latch onto your already hardened peak, tongue circling the sensitive skin as your hands find their way to tangle in his curls. The combination of his quick thrusts and his tongue drawing circles on your breast finally send you over the edge.

You can’t help the cry that leaves your mouth as the coil in your stomach finally snaps sending a white hot sensation throughout your body. Frankie doesn’t stop his thrusts as he stares down at your trembling body beneath him. As your orgasm starts to come to an end, you tug at his curls, instantly triggering his own orgasm.

“Fuck.” He whimpers, forehead pressing against yours as he unloads himself inside you.

His body stays still, falling limp against you as he closes his eyes and catches his breath, shirt sticking to his damp skin. You lift your head to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, he lets out a deep sigh before he jolts up, eyes flying open.

“Oh shit I- I’m so sorry.” He looks down between the two of you where his spend is seeping out around his cock, still buried inside you.

You grab his cheeks, stopping him from moving any further. “Hey, it’s okay. Promise.” You give him a reassuring smile.

His hand smooths over your cheek as a smile grows on his own face. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You give him a small nod before he pulls out of you and you gasp at the loss, sitting up on your elbows as he goes in for another kiss. You watch him constantly as he pulls his jeans back on and runs a hand through his hair before sauntering off towards the bathroom.

You sit there for a moment while you wait for him, wondering how the hell this all happened before he returns with a washcloth to clean you up.

“What is it?” He stops in front of you, a wondering look on his face.

You snap out of your thoughts. “Hm?” You look up, eyes meeting with his.

“What are you thinking about?” He reaches down to start cleaning you up.

“You.” You say shyly.

He hums, nodding his head as he tries to control the smile on his face. Once he’s gotten you cleaned up he grabs a tshirt from his drawer, helping you put it on before changing his own and slipping out of his jeans. He pulls the comforter back so you can crawl in and nestles himself behind you as he pulls the blankets up.

“Still hate me?” He whispers as his hand drapes over your waist, pulling you closer.

“Hmmm, don’t know. Ask me again in the morning.” You press your lips together trying not to smile.

He lets out a deep laugh that shakes the bed as you turn to face him, snuggling into his chest as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He plants a small kiss there before the two of you drift off to sleep.

thank you for reading <3

[berryispunk]

Past and Present

Chapter 6 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to ???, betrayal, inner turmoil, they talk, kinda soft Frankie (how we love him), talks of parental death, grief mention

notes: I finished their story just today and boy oh boy lemme tell you you guys aren’t prepared! Also a huge THANK YOU to everyone keeping track of these two idiots. They really grew on me. Anyways, enjoy 🤍

word count: ~ 1,8k

You slip into the car before you can second-guess yourself, the box of lemon cupcakes still clutched to your chest like some kind of fragile truth.  You don’t look at him. Just stare straight ahead, jaw tight, pulse loud in your ears. Every instinct is telling you to get back out, to walk away before this gets any messier. But you don’t. Maybe out of guilt. Maybe because he drove all that way. Maybe because you owe him a thank you, even if it tastes bitter on your tongue.

The rain drums softly on the windshield, steady and unrelenting. The car is quiet otherwise—too quiet. It feels like something is coiled in the silence, like if one of you breathes wrong, it might snap.

Frankie’s hands are still on the wheel, knuckles white, like he’s afraid to move.

Then, finally—his voice, rough and low:

“I didn’t mean it.”

Not an excuse, not a plea. Just the truth, stripped down and raw.

He glances over, but you still won’t look at him. Not yet.

He shifts, finally letting go of the wheel, hands dropping into his lap. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But I swear, there wasn’t a real bet. Not like you think.”

You don’t answer. Just stare out the windshield, jaw tight.

“It wasn’t about getting you into bed.” He pauses. “Not exactly.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Seriously?”

Frankie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. “Benny was running his mouth after that party. Said something like, ‘She’s already into you, man. Give it two weeks, she’ll be sleeping in your hoodie’ Just—stupid shit.”

You glare. “And you what? Took him up on it?”

He shifts in his seat, defensive now. “No. I said he was wrong. That was it.”

“You said you'd prove him wrong. Sounds like you were still playing the game.”

“It wasn’t a fucking game,” he snaps, then immediately curses under his breath, glancing away. “Sorry.”

You don’t flinch, but your voice is like ice. “So what was it, then? You let your friend think it was a joke. Let me think you were different. And for what? So you wouldn’t look whipped?”

He groans softly, leans back against the headrest. “I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling, okay? You scare the shit outta me. I didn’t plan any of this, and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and that’s not something I’m good at. So yeah—I acted like a dick. Like it wasn’t serious. Because if I admitted it was, then I’d have to be real about all of it. And I haven’t been real with anyone in a long fucking time.”

You stare at him for a long beat. “So instead, you let me believe I was just… something you were trying to win?”

He goes quiet. Then, softer: “I didn’t think you'd find out.”

That makes you laugh—sharp and humorless. “Wow. That’s your defense?”

He looks at you, really looks. “No. That’s me being honest.”

The silence that follows is a different kind—thick with something unspoken. Wounds not yet healed, but no longer ignored. You don’t answer right away. But you don’t get out of the car either.

—

Frankie doesn’t know what he expected when you got in—maybe fury, maybe that razor-edged silence you used like a weapon. But not this.

Not the way you’re sitting now. Shoulders drawn in, hands wrapped tight around the box like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. You look smaller than he’s ever seen you—not physically, but like someone dimmed your light. Like the fire that used to dance behind your eyes had been snuffed out, and all that’s left is smoke.

Gone is the girl who snapped at him for breathing too loud, who met every one of his jabs with a sharper one of her own. The girl who could slice him open with a look and still make him want to get closer. This version of you is quieter. Exposed. And it slices right through him.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t dare move. Just watches you from the edge of his vision like you’re wired too tight, like one wrong move might set something off.

Then—softly, almost swallowed by the sound of rain—you speak.

“That bakery…” You’re staring straight ahead, eyes glassy. “My dad used to take me there. Every Sunday. Just the two of us.”

You pause. Inhale like it might steady you. But your hands stay tight around the box.

“He died when I was eleven.”

The words hang there—soft and brutal—and Frankie feels them like a punch. Not just because he’s known grief too. He’s buried friends. Held memories like shrapnel in his chest. But this? This is different. This is you. And you never talk like this. Never let people in far enough to see the cracks, let alone the break.

It knocks the breath from him.

He wants to reach for you—do something, say anything—but he can’t. His throat’s too tight. His hands feel too heavy. So he just sits there. Quiet. Still. Holding the moment like it’s fragile glass, and trying not to shatter under the weight of everything you just gave him.

You laugh once, a dry, breathless sound. “It’s stupid, I know. But those cupcakes… they were always part of the good memories. The safe ones. It’s like, for a second, I could go back. Be that version of me. The one who didn’t feel so goddamn replaceable all the time.”

And that’s when it hits him.

Not like a jolt—no, it’s slower than that. Heavier. Like something sinking deep into his chest.

Because he’s never seen you like this. He’s seen the fire, the pushback, the way you wield sarcasm like armor. He’s seen the curve of your smirk when you called him an idiot, and the flicker of something softer when you thought he wasn’t looking. But not this. Not the girl sitting beside him now, swallowed by a hoodie, clutching that box like it’s the only thing keeping her from splintering.

He thought he knew you. Thought maybe he was falling for the version of you who let him in just enough to drive him crazy. But this? This changes everything.

This is real.

And something in him aches, full and sharp and warm, like he’s breaking open just to fit more of you inside.

You wipe your eyes fast, like you’ve done it a hundred times, like it’s a reflex, like you’re used to hiding softness the second it surfaces.

Frankie’s voice is a little hoarse. “It’s not stupid.”

You don’t answer, but this time, you don’t look away.

And in the quiet, something eases. Not gone, not healed—but shifted.

—

You don’t respond right away. Just sit there, the rain thinning on the windshield, the sound of it soft like a lull in a storm that hasn’t really passed.

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, but you manage to say, quieter now, “You really don’t know how much that messed me up.”

Frankie’s voice is lower too. “Yeah. I’m starting to.”

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t cut like before. It settles.

You glance down at the box in your lap. The cupcakes are a little squished from how hard you’ve been holding them. You loosen your grip, slowly peel the lid back. The smell hits you—lemon, sugar, home—and something in your chest pinches tight.

Frankie watches you carefully, eyes unreadable.

Then he clears his throat, awkward. “You… uh. You gonna share?”

You look over at him. And it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but the way he says it—like it’s neutral ground, like maybe this is the only language you two can speak without fighting.

You dig into the box, pick one out, and wordlessly offer it to him like a peace offering. His brows lift, surprised, like he didn’t actually expect you to say yes.

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, but doesn’t eat it right away. Just holds it. Looks at you like you’re something fragile—like if he moved too fast, you’d crack right down the middle. Under any other circumstances, you’d hate this. Hate being seen like that—exposed, vulnerable, ripped open at the seams.

But somehow, in the hush of his car, with the rain tapping gently and the scent of your childhood wrapped around you in the air, it doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels... okay. Like maybe you’re allowed to be soft here.

And you try, quietly, not to let that scare you too much.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, not looking at him. “Driving four hours round-trip for these?”

Frankie huffs a laugh, small and real. “Not if you keep hogging the frosting like that.”

You glance sideways at him, and there’s a flicker of something—not forgiveness, but maybe the ghost of what used to live between you. Something that still wants to survive the wreckage.

You look out the windshield again, cupcake resting in your palm, warmth bleeding into your fingers.

And you don’t say it, but you think it— Don’t make me regret this.

—

You sit in the silence for a while. The rain’s thinned to a drizzle now, just enough to paint the world in glistening streaks. Frankie’s hands stay on the wheel, unmoving, but his gaze flicks to you every few seconds—like he’s still making sure you’re real. Still here.

Then, finally, he says, voice low, almost hesitant, “There’s this fair. Out by the beach.”

You turn to look at him, one brow lifting.

“My parents used to take me and my sister there when we were kids,” he continues. “It’s kind of a tradition.”

A beat.

“You have a sister?” you ask, surprise flickering in your voice and your face.

Frankie shoots you a look, lips twitching. “Yeah. A big one. Why is this so surprising?”

You lean back in the seat, the smallest, tired laugh slipping from you. “I don’t know. I just didn’t picture you as someone with siblings. You’ve got that only-child brooding thing going on.”

He huffs a short laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”

You’re still looking at him, the now-soggy box of cupcakes cradled in your lap like it’s something sacred. His face has softened—still wearing that infuriatingly gentle smile, eyes warm and steady on yours. He’s quiet, careful. Watching without pushing, like he knows one wrong word might send you retreating again. And then, something in you shifts. Just slightly.

Your shoulders drop, your grip loosens, and your voice is quieter than before when you finally say, “Okay then.”

Frankie blinks. “Okay?”

“Take me to the fair.”

He blinks again—maybe just as surprised as you are that you’re actually agreeing.

“But,” you add quickly, lifting a warning finger, “this is not a date. It’s a make-up. For all the shit you’ve pulled. All food’s on you. No complaining.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked, and annoyingly smug.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, something between you doesn’t ache.

It breathes.

Also, this is them:

thanks for reading 💌

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