#Hurricane x Frankie

[dragons-and-magic]

I find it hilarious that I don't ship most of the mainstream TTTE ships. I'm practically the queen of rare pairs.

Sonny x Rebecca? Ship it. Frankie x Hurricane? Ship it. Boco x Edward? DEFINITELY ship it. Y'all can keep your James x Edward and Gordon x Henry. They're all fine and dandy. But you can pry these rare pairs from my cold dead hands.🤣🤣🤣

[dragons-and-magic]

Okay!

The engines and other vehicles can actually speak a few animal languages. But it's kept secret by most.

In addition, Henry understands the most animals out of all of them.

James is surprisingly good with kids.

Not a whole lot of basis for this one, but I like to think Emily and Connor have a mutual crush on each other. It's based on one episode were he seemingly flirted with her a bit. I just think they're cute.

Despite seeming uncaring, Gordon really loves his little family. He just has a hard time showing it sometimes.

Hurricane and Frankie are the engine equivalent of a married couple. Lol.

Thomas's way of dealing with stress is venting. He usually will just talk about his troubles and how he feels about them to Percy or Edward. And sometimes Emily.

And, that's it! Hope you liked these!

Im bored out my mind

SO QUICK SOMEONE REBLOG THIS POST WITH THEIR HEADCANONS ABOUT ANY AS IN ANY AMOUNT OF CHARACTERS

[l-in-the-light]

About pirates and their treasure (a theory)

You know what they say, right? X marks the treasure. Luffy has a huge X on his chest, where his heart is. Buggy has big crossbones painted all over his forehead. Chopper's hat bears the X mark. Strawhats used to have an X mark on their hands in their famous farewell scene with Vivi.

There are many really ridiculous theories trying to connect the X on Chopper's hat to the main treasure of One Piece, claiming it points towards Long Ring Long Land because the dots surrounding the X (post-timeskip) remind them of that island's shape. Don't worry, this won't be one of those theories. In fact, we're going completely different direction here, and by the end of this post you might instead start to vomit rainbows of happiness. Don't blame me if that happens :D

Let's start off with this mysterious occurance. Both Chopper and Franky mistake the symbol for danger with that of a pirate flag. What's up with that? Do those two scenes have anything in common?

Let's take a look at Hiluluk trying to explain the meaning of skull and crossbones. "This shows there's nothing a man can't do", "it makes man fight like a pirate", "it's the symbol of man's faith", "thanks to it the man rejects impossibilities". To understand this, let's take a closer look at history of Chopper's hat that bears an X, because it's for sure connected to this idea.

Chopper got that hat as his first ever gift, from his first ever friend, as his very first peace offering. Triple first meaning. And he got it from his most favourite person in the world. That's why it's his treasure from now on. Both Chopper and Hiluluk have matching hats from now on.

Hiluluk has his "treasure" symbol on his medical suitcase, because it's thanks to the specimens he keeps there that he can cure people (later it's the same for Chopper and his medicine bag, also bearing an X). Being a doctor and curing people is his treasure. Kureha is wearing a shirt with a cherry blossom image on it, just like on Hiluluk's flag. The symbol on the shirt is close to her heart. That's because Hiluluk was her treasure. That's why she picked his dream and took care of Chopper. Soon Chopper becomes her treasure as well.

Kureha and Hiluluk bantered with each other all the time, but they also knew each other for ages. Hiluluk knew that Kureha isn't overly emotional, but that he can count on her. After all she always helped him without taking any money for it. Her actions are honest, unlike her words. who does it remind me of? Do you catch the drift?

Pirates love their treasures. But pirates are just people, and actually for most people their biggest treasure can be something like a memento, autograph or other object holding emotional value, but if we put it in the context of One Piece we have for example Chopper's hat. Obviously it's his treasure, but not because it's a hat, but because it's a gift from Hiluluk. They both wore hats from then on and it symbolically connected them together. That connection is what is Chopper's actual biggest treasure. The reminder of love and acceptance he received from the most important person to him.

Okay, let's switch to someone else:

Did you know Nami and Nojiko wear matching bracelets? Those bracelets are cheap and worthless, the only value they carry is that they connect the two girls, no matter where they are. That's why those bracelets are their treasures, because they mark each other and serve the purpose of a symbolical connection between them.

Remember Vegapunk's broadcast when Nojiko declared she's not gonna listen to it anymore and instead went back to her tangerine groves? That's because she understood, in case the world is truly going to end, the least she can do is to take care of Bellemere's tangerines, because that's also a treasure for both her and Nami. And she for sure wants to keep those tangerines in top shape for her sister. All she can do to help her is just to do her best and have faith.

Next stop is Brook and Laboon. This theory explains why Brook's afro is so important to him. It's his treasure, because it reminds Laboon of a whale/himself. Rumbar Pirates even mentioned that Brook's afro looks just like Laboon. That's literally what connects them together, again, no matter how far apart they are from each other. Brook safekeeping the music dial in his head is also quite symbolic, since it will be a present for Laboon, for keeping his promise. Brook's treasure is his afro, but his biggest treasure is Laboon; that afro serves only as a reminder of their connection.

The talk about treasure always reminds me of Shanks and his strawhat. He claimed it was his biggest treasure when he handed it to Luffy, but later on Buggy is so perplexed: if it's Shanks's biggest treasure why would he just discard it like that, right? But Buggy is actually wrong. That hat means a lot to Shanks and is his treasure, but he has even more important ones. And in his case, it means the person he gave his hat to is his treasure, bigger treasure than the hat itself. And the funniest thing of all is, Luffy isn't even his biggest treasure. There's a person Shanks treasures even more.

In the first flashback of Buggy and Shanks we see the red-hair jumping in the water to save Buggy, uncaring what happens to his strawhat, not even stopping for a moment to remove it, it just flies somewhere to the side. That's Oda's hint: for Shanks, Buggy is his biggest treasure. Other treasures be damned.

And what's the most ironic here is that this is mutual. Buggy was ready to give up on his dream for Shanks. Despite being so disappointed in him, later on Buggy still said things like "I'm not gonna tell you anything about Shanks, not even as a send-off to afterlife", he's still defending him. It's ironic because neither of them is aware how important they actually are for each other.

This paragraph will enter speculation territory. My suspcion is that Shanks earned his scar against Blackbeard because the other surprised him by mentioning Buggy. He probably thought he's the son of Rocks D. Xebec. Blackbeard's ship is called "Xebec" and I bet there is a connection here. Shanks probably did the same thing Buggy did - refused to say anything not to sell off any information about Buggy. Those two might have seperated ways because of a misunderstanding, but they remain each other's treasures and defend each other to this day. Despite Buggy's promise/threat that they will be enemies the next time they meet, they both avoided each other. They finally met at Marineford and they were not enemies back then either.

And then I realized, it's just like in real life. Pirates or not, people's biggest treasures happen to be usually other people. That's why so many characters have specific X marks on them. Like Luffy or Buggy, but not only that. Scars, tattoos, they can also serve for symbolically marking a treasure. And just like in real life, one person can have many treasures, but only that One Special Person in their life.

For Shanks, he has this scar on his eye, while Buggy has crossbones on his face. X marks the treasure, their marks are kinda matching. Their jolly rogers also emphasize the marks around the eyes.

Now let's take a look at Whitebeard and Ace. Both got defeated by blow to their hearts. Whitebeard's treasure wasn't money or fame, it was finding a family. It was the same for Ace. They have the matching family symbol on their back: jolly roger of the Whitebeard Pirates (we're never shown any other crew having those tattoos on their backs, or at least I don't think I saw it, but please correct me if I'm wrong). The last words Ace said: "Thank you for loving me" weren't meant only for Luffy, but also for Whitebeard and his fellow crewmates. They were all Ace's treasures. But he also had just one Special Person and it wasn't Luffy.

In the very first introduction scene of Ace we see his back with the tattoo and the tavern people presume Ace is dead which feels like a very symbolic scene. Last scene we see of Whitebeard is his mantle falling revealing his back tattoo, identical to Ace. That's the mark of their treasures and it's on the same place on their body! Sure, Whitebeard has his other children, and Ace also has Luffy and a tattoo in memory of Sabo, but all of this exposition actually shows us something important: this means their biggest treasure is actually each other. Whitebeard loved Ace the most (that's why he said he's just a man with one heart doting for one lad of the young generation and he meant Ace then) and Ace finally found the ultimate answer he was searching for in Whitebeard's love for him.

Isn't it oh so curious that Law and Luffy share a mark in exactly same spot? They're matching. Luffy has a scar over his chest, marking his heart. Law has a a heart tattoo on his chest, in the middle of which there is a smiling face. Luffy rescues Law literally sitting on a Heart Throne. This is so straightforward it freaking hurts.

Of course Luffy has his crewmates and friends, they're his treasure. But after losing Ace Luffy earned himself a scar. It marked him. It shows us that from this moment on Luffy gained his most favourite person in the world, the Special Person. Who would that be? It would have to be someone who chose him over everything else, right? Because Luffy has serious abandonment issues. And what did Law do for him? He risked his life to get Luffy's ass out of the danger in Marineford, healed him and quietly sat there waiting for him to recover. So far significant people in Luffy's life always leave him (sometimes even his own crewmates, as sad as that is, and he needs to chase after them. Damn, even Ace finally left on his own, didn't he?), but this time this guy just appeared out of nowhere, he didn't even know Luffy well, but he was there in Luffy's lowest moment, and saved his life unconsciously fullfilling Ace's will ("live, Luffy!"). And that guy didn't even wait to hear thanks for that, leaving Luffy to do whatever he wants with the life he just saved. Like, how can we not think that Luffy would be all crazy about that person, knowing what we already know about Luffy?

As for Law... Law's novel puts it very nicely. His biggest regret and worst nightmare fuel is that he couldn't save anyone in Flevance. Not even one person. He helped quite a few people from then on. But many years later he managed to actually save Luffy's life, against all odds.

The life of that rascal who also defended prejudiced fishman in Sabaody, indirectly defending Law at the same time ("don't come closer, you will spread diseases!", that sure reminded him of Amber Lead Syndrome trauma or maybe even triggered him), just like Law's other favourite person did before, Cora-san.

I don't think it's a stretch that for Law rescuing Luffy was a big deal if not The Biggest Deal, exactly because Luffy survived. Just by that fact alone he became his biggest treasure. After all, in that situation, Law was literally the only person in the world who was able to save him.

Another potential "treasure" pair. After timeskip their eyes are marked - by a swirling eyebrow and a literal scar. We know that Kuina was the most important person for Zoro, she was his rival. Now that place is reserved for Sanji, he's Zoro's rival, and Zoro never misses opportunity to pick up a fight with him. And how are things from Sanji's POV? Perhaps all you lovely ZoSan shippers can tell me why Zoro would be marked as Sanji's biggest treasure. I know he must be the one, after all Sanji asks Zoro and not anyone else to eliminate him in case he loses control of himself thanks to Germa's suit. Sanji would never say it to just anyone but only to someone special, that much I'm sure of.

Another possible pair. They have scars/tattoo running all over their face, one diagonally, the other vertically. It's probably not a coincidence. Considering both have the same goal of creating their very own armies, there is probably a story waiting here to be told. I doubt it's a happy story though, my bet is that their ways got seperated. They're kinda like Shanks and Buggy, constantly missing each other, at least that's my bet. I don't think this means automatically that Crocodile is one of Luffy's parents, sorry.

Caribou and Coribou, they're also marked as each other's treasures. We learn from the cover story that their grandma told them to get along and not fight, because they're brothers and should support one another. Indeed that's exactly what they're doing as adults. They are each other's most important people.

Other possible treasure/special persons matchups: Franky and Franky's Family, Franky and Iceburg, Usopp and Yasopp and Usopp and Kaya, Page 1 and Ulti, Kid and Killer (maybe Killer will even earn a matching scar to Kid now after he took the blow for him against Shanks, who knows). And possibly countless others.

Mr 3 and Bon Clay? Why not! But that's not why I chose this image. "Jolly Roger is not something to laugh at or shot at". Replace "jolly roger" with "treasure" and we get this: "You don't laugh at other people's treasure". And since we know now that the treasure is love, we get finally: you don't laugh at other people's love.

For jolly roger/treasure/love one is willing to "fight like a pirate" which means "risking your life". It's a symbol of faith and a promise of life. All of that applies when thinking about "love" as well, you fight for your loved ones (all the freaking time in One Piece), you show unbreakable faith in them (also all the time, especially Luffy's crew for him but he always returns the favour as well), and it's a promise of life because what's the point if you die and leave your loved one all alone?

Other possible indications that X marks the treasure on the jolly rogers. Bonney's favourite dish is pizza, Apoo's most favourite thing in the world is his music.

If Shanks is right that scars don't make a man and there's always a lesson behind the scar that you need to learn, then that lesson in this context would be: to realize who is the dearest person to you and how much you're willing to risk for them. Only then you "earn" your treasure, because if you have love but can't treasure it, what good is it for?

Live action actually plays with this motif one more time when small Luffy declares proudly he ate the devil fruit because it was an important treasure to Shanks, and now Luffy has to be that treasure for him instead. Sneaky child!

Every pirate treats their treasure differently, right? Some tuck it away so others can't find it (Law tucked Heart Pirates at Zou to keep them safe... to keep his treasure safe), some just reach their hands for the grab and always keep their treasures close to them (Luffy - any time he finds a good person he just forces them to become his crewmate), and some just resign from reaching for it at all, thinking they're unworthy or because they don't think that treasure belongs to them (that's Buggy in a nutshell). Other people just let it go, like Shanks.

How does it all relate to One Piece's titular treasure? Well, if it was treasure left by Joyboy, then I assume it was very personal, something or someone he loved the most. The same way with Roger's treasure btw. That one? Most likely snatched by Whitebeard for himself heh. Yes, I think it's likely it was Ace. But it could also be Roger's whole crew, Rayleigh included. "My treasure? You need to search the whole world to find it", because indeed, those people are scattered all over the seas. "I left it all there" part still remains a mystery though.

Post dedicated to @tae-rambles because she claimed I interested her in the art of fishing. This theory is your fishing rod. All of you, please go fish! I want to see what treasures you can find!

This is the theory I used as basis for my Lawlu series of analysis posts. This is why I'm convinced Luffy and Law are Special for each other. You think this is going too far and there's no way Oda did a code like that in his pirate manga? But he always says, even in the SBS, that love is an important part of his story. "Love" was the answer to a question of how exactly Sanji's legs can ignite! Why do you think Sanji is constantly repeating "love is a hurricane" otherwise? Love is everywhere in One Piece <3

[uselessalexis165]

tried making some ttte memes (325)

[so-much-fandoms]

Hey!

For the ship thing

What about 2×4, Hurricane ×Frankie and Victor×Hiro?

Edward x Gordon is such a cute ship! As well as Victor x Hiro! Both are so gay married couple coded

And I know a power couple when I see one, and Hurricane x Frankie is the textbook definition of that!

[dragons-and-magic]

YES. Just YES.🤣

I love how Frankie and Hurricane are completely unaffected by the stream engine and Diesels rivalry. They're just doing their own thing trying to hold little tiny tank engines against their will in the steel works cause nobody bother to help them. Now that's Peak Steamie and Diesel friendship (or possibly romantic )

[bruhstation]

/slaps roof of the steelworks/ frankie and hurricane for the ask game 😎

THE EVIL JBS COUPLE. I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!!!

SHIP IT

1. What made you ship it?

all thanks to the journey beyond sodor special. whenever they're on screen I just giggle and kick my feet because their interactions are always so golden

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

I can see some kind of brains and brawns dynamic between them like frankie does much of the talking while hurricane does more of the heavy physical jobs (I noticed he's also sliiiightly softer). they are forces to be reckoned with like DAMN THEY DIDN'T HESITATE TO POUR LAVA AND PUSH LOADED TRUCKS AND FLATBEDS TOWARDS THOMAS AND JAMES!!!! I HAVE NEVER SEEN THEM THINK TWICE ABOUT WHETHER WHAT THEY'RE DOING IS RIGHT OR WRONG. THEY JUST FULLY BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES AND HAVE NO REGARD FOR OTHERS' LIVES. THEY ARE ABSOLUTELY DETERMINED TO A TERRIFYING DEGREE AND I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!!!

also the part where frankie panicked when hurricane's wheels got melted and immediately stopped what she was doing and finally showed some vulnerability .... she doesn't pursue thomas' makeshift troupe anymore and just right out explained why she and hurricane were doing all those heinous shit. I bet hurricane went along with frankie's plan because he knew how exhausted she was working at the steelworks but in that scene frankie showed her worry for hurricane. they are major haters towards everyone but damn in my eyes they really do love each other

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

mattel is a dogshit company but they truly are ahead of their time for putting an insane t4t bi couple representation in a kids' show

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.” 

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade. 

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less. 

“Hurricane’s coming.” 

“Bomb’s dropping.” 

“World‘s ending.” 

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic. 

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense. 

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning. 

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last. 

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?” 

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself. 

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.” 

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed. 

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.” 

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back. 

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding. 

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood. 

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.” 

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home. 

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound. 

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon. 

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up. 

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours. 

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down. 

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!” 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you. 

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under  your breath. 

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had. 

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them. 

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions. 

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like. 

You know he’s right. 

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.” 

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.” 

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game. 

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. 

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention. 

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?” 

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf. 

“Hey!” 

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you. 

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming. 

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat. 

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold. 

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-” 

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!” 

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.” 

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them. 

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.” 

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?” 

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you. 

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.” 

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small. 

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.” 

Frankie. 

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.” 

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name. 

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?” 

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him. 

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed. 

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort. 

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks. 

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.” 

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment. 

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which. 

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.” 

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke. 

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade. 

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours. 

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football. 

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you. 

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you. 

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task,  to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales. 

You weren’t ever going to let him down. 

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you. 

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.” 

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?” 

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.” 

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend. 

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them. 

“Fine. She can stay.” 

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi. 

“Nice work, Kenz.” 

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest. 

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind. 

Frankie, Present 

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there. 

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place. 

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t. 

“Hey, Mamá.” 

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”  

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-” 

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.” 

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?” 

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.” 

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-” 

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.” 

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago. 

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there. 

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey. 

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come. 

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all. 

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person. 

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for. 

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad. 

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too. 

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!” 

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!” 

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.” 

“Perfect, you look just like him.” 

“Frankie!” 

“Kidding, kidding!” 

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same. 

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters. 

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it. 

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you. 

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now. 

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is. 

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi. 

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass. 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.” 

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth. 

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?” 

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you. 

“Fine. What flavor jello?” 

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.” 

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left. 

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.” 

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.” 

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering. 

“Your dad only eats jello?” 

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.” 

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before. 

“Um, w-why?” 

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better. 

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.” 

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.” 

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.” 

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back. 

“Your dad sounds nice.” 

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?” 

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.” 

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building. 

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys. 

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.” 

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.” 

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?” 

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.” 

“Are they as bad as mine?” 

“No. They’re worse.” 

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say. 

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[dragons-and-magic]

I hope this doesn’t overwhelm you with more questions, but I LOVE THIS AU!😭💖

What are your main shippings?

What’s the dynamic between Nia and James?

Who’s most likely to go close up to humans if given the chance?

Do dragons hoard things like gold or piece of trash?

Can dragons purr like cats? LOL

How do dragons display of affection (both romantic and platonic)?

What type of dragon is Mavis and Hiro?

Has any of the dragons been raised or rescued by humans?

Do all the dragons have unique powers or fire breathing techniques?

Is there any dragon that are venomous like snakes?

What’s the funniest thing that Gordon does?

What’s Toby’s biggest pet peeve? (Example: Chewing loudly)

Lol! It's fine! I've been itching to get this lore written out! And these questions definitely motivate me to do so!

Apologies for there not being any art. I'm still not feeling great and unfortunately, don't have any concepts prepared. But I'll try to answer the questions as best I can!

1: What are your main shippings?: OH BOY.🤩🤩🤩 I have so many ships! Lol! I'll try to just put down the most important ships though. There aren't actually that many that are super important to the story. But let's see what I can do!

Edward x Boco: This one is one of the first ships to occur in the story! Boco makes his debut in the this AU's version of Day Of The Diesels. Him and Edward are an adorable couple and love them with all my heart!

Thomas x Ashima: I've been shipping these two since I was a little girl! I love them together and honestly, I'm shocked that there isn't more stuff for them in the fandom!

James x Nia: THIS ONE is the RAREST of rare pairs. But I love it. Please just trust me on this one. Please please please please please please please please please please ple-

Frankie x Hurricane: They were totally married in Journey Beyond Sodor. At least that's what I thought.🤣 I've written them a super interesting backstory. I can't wait to share it!

2: What’s the dynamic between Nia and James?: I'd say, begrudging allies, to friends, to lovers. He meets her when he gets lost in Africa and is at first a bit annoyed by her. But after she becomes his guide, and saves him a couple times, he slowly starts to warm up to her. And vice versa. They discover they have a lot in common! Both outgoing and playful individuals! Also, on the adventure, Nia helps James to see the world and himself in a new light. And Nia finds that he isn't all hot air. He does have a loving and gentle side. But he's scared to show it, fearing it will effect his image. She helps him open up and accept those parts of himself. They're adorable.🥰 I can't wait to write about them!

3: Who’s most likely to go close up to humans if given the chance?: Definitely either Thomas or Percy. Thomas because humans intrigue him. And Percy because he's young and a bit naive. Edward would probably too, but very cautiously. While he has known good humans, he's known more bad ones.

4: Do dragons hoard things like gold or piece of trash?: YES! I need to tell you about James's hoard. It's frickin hilarious! So, James is part wyvern, right? So, because of that, he basically has a crow brain. Meaning he'll collect anything that is remotely shiny. And despite his collection being mostly made up of tin foil, candy wrappers, glass, and bottle caps, he convinced it's absolutely priceless.🤣 Also, you could say that Edward hoards books, since he's a wizard and has tons of magic and history books stashed in his house!

5: Can dragons purr like cats?: Yep! Dragons can purr, chirp, hiss, growl, screech, chuff, and roar! They communicate with their wings as well! Fluttering wings means excitement. Flared wings can mean shock, or an act of intimidation. Folded wings means the dragon is neutral or simply calm. But wings pinned tightly against the back means fear or anger. Kinda like a cat flattening their ears.

6: How do dragons display of affection (both romantic and platonic)?: Oh! This is a great one! I'm not great at explaining this stuff, so just bare with me. Okay?😂 One form of affection is sun bathing together. Whole clans cam sometimes be seen sun bathing in a nice warm rocky place. Grooming each other is another one. It's considered more intimate and usually only done between immediate family members, very close friends, or mates. Also, dragons gives kisses kinda like cats, by licking. Mates definitely do that to show affection, though like the others, it's not strictly romantic. Dragon mate's may also entwine tails and rub noses to show affection. In addition, Dragon's have various ways of showing interest in a potential mate. Wyverns sometimes have flashy feathers and dances. Regular Dragons have certain calls or nest building techniques. Some species even bring their mates presents like fruit or shiny stuff.

7: What type of dragon is Mavis and Hiro?: I haven't decided on Mavis yet. She's been a tricky one to figure out. But Hiro is an ancient Wind Spirit Dragon! He was among the first dragon spirits, like Lady! He is spirit of Sky and Wind! Hiro looks like a usual Eastern Dragon, but very big, and with beautiful black and gold scales! He also has the usual lions mane his species is known for. A long flowy white and silver one!

8: Has any of the dragons been raised or rescued by humans?: Yes! Salty was! When he was a young dragon, he got lost in a storm and landed on the deck of a pirate ship! He was welcomed aboard by the pirates and became part of the crew! He was quite well respected actually, despite obvious language barriers. Lol. He knew how to get his thoughts across anyways! And that's why he has that name and so many adventure stories!

9: Do all the dragons have unique powers or fire breathing techniques?: Not all do. Even within species were they usually have it, some simply won't inherit the powers, cus genetics are weird. And sometimes dragons that have never been known to possess any sort of magic will miraculously get some! (Like Henry!) Some say this is the work of Lady. She is the Spirit of Magic and Life and will give magic to those she thinks will need it. And as for fire breathing, not all dragons breath fire. Some spit venom instead!

10: Is there any dragon that are venomous like snakes?: There most definitely are! Some species even slightly resemble snakes! Like the species Sonny is! He can spit venom, and has a cobra-like hood! And certain dragons and wyverns also spit venom. They live mostly around the equator. Since fire isn't very helpful in places with a lot of vegetation. (Fire hazards! Oh no! 😱🔥🔥🔥🧑‍🚒)

11: What’s the funniest thing that Gordon does?: Crash land and get his head stuck in the branches of a tree. Percy and Thomas were laughing about it for days. Not around him of course. He would probably end them if they did.🤣

1: What’s Toby’s biggest pet peeve? (Example: Chewing loudly): Actually, annoying sounds is probably very in character for him. He likes quiet, so I could see repetitive noises being very frustrating for him. Totally not self projecting. Haha. :D

Thanks for the questions!😁

[absurdthirst]

Hurricane Heat {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Hurricanes, dangerous weather, alcohol, fear, anxiety, sexual innuendo, the boys being menaces, oral sex (male and female receiving), sixty-nine, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Comments: With a hurricane headed straight for you, you decide to shelter in place with the boys. Frankie's house being the best location to ride out the storm. Once the power goes out, the howling wind will push the two of you together.

A/N: @storiesofthefandomlovers and I wrote this as Hurricane Milton was barreling towards and affecting Charlie's area of Florida. This is not to make light of anyone's suffering from either hurricane over the past weeks or to encourage anyone to stay in the path of a deadly storm.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Hey man! I’ve got six cases of beer and twelve bags of chips!” Benny hits the door with a grin and holds up the two cases in his hands. “Let’s get this hurricane party started!”

You snort, shaking your head and coming to help him haul in supplies. The hurricane that is bearing down on your town is supposed to be a doozie and because of that, you had all agreed to hunker down at Frankie’s house. He’s got a generator and more importantly, a grill, so it’s a natural choice. “So what will you eat and drink?” You joke.

Benny snorts, “you laugh, but lemme tell you, Doritos have got me through a lot of shit.” He sets the cases down and you look over at Santi and Frankie while Will brings in another case of beer. “We got the ice in the cooler. Extra gas cans and flashlights.” Santi lists and Frankie pats his friend on the back, “we got it all covered. We just gotta ride it out.” He says and you nod, “the worst part is the air going. It’s been a heatwave. If I could guarantee AC and Internet, I’d be fine.” You confess with a sigh, glad to be with the boys for the storm. They are all highly trained and they wouldn’t put you in danger if they thought it was best to leave.

“We’ll grill up the steaks and make that five pounds of bacon I know Frankie bought.” Will snorts and Frankie shrugs. “You laugh, but bacon cures all ills.” He huffs. “BLTs, Bloody Mary’s, just eating bacon and drinking a beer while the wind howls. Good times.”

“Bacon and booze. The best combination.” You grin, “and I have my Bluetooth speaker so we have some tunes. It’s gonna be a bad storm but we are ready.” You nod and Frankie comes over, “I have the sofa bed pulled out for you. The boys are on the blow up beds.” Frankie says, methodical and wanting to make sure everything is ready before you shut up for the storm. “Thanks.” You smile, squeezing his upper arm. You’ve known the boys since you were their medic on their missions, serving your country with them by your side and you’ve been close ever since. You’ve been in love with Frankie for the same amount of time but the timing has never been right. You’ve been in a relationship or he has. You’ve yearned for him and the timing has never worked out for you. Even now, you’re both single and there’s a damn hurricane coming for you.

Frankie shifts and props his hands on his hips. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” He leans in closer and speaks quietly, sure that you wouldn’t want the others to hear. You are nervous about the storm, much more than you are letting on, he can tell. He’s spent plenty of time studying the way you act over the years. “I know you’re scared, but we will be fine. Even if the shit hits the fan, we have an evacuation plan and plenty of survival gear.” He tosses you a small grin. “Just think of it as a deployment.”

You nod, knowing he’s being logical but these storms always make you nervous. You can’t control them. It’s completely at the will of the earth and you hate that. With ops, you could control your destiny, account for all factors that could happen, and ensure your safety but Mother Nature? You can’t control her. You snort and lean a little closer. He’s always made you feel so safe.

Hugs have always been freely given and this time is no different. Frankie pulls you against  him, trying not to feel guilty for enjoying how you feel pressed along his body. He’s comforting you, not trying to cop a feel. “Come on. I’m almost done making that crack chicken dip you like so much.”

You grin, "you're too good to me, Morales." You enjoy how he holds you and you hug him for a moment before you step back, "come on. Let's finish up and get locked in." You wink at him and walk into the kitchen to finish getting your snacks prepped. "Fuck, Will. How much booze did you buy?" Santi chuckles as he looks at the bottles and Ironhead shrugs, "Publix had a bogo. It's a hurricane, man. Nothing to do but drink." You chuckle and shake your head, looking over at Frankie as he works on his dip.

“I’m going to put the extra gas cans out with the generator on the porch.” Will tells everyone, disappearing outside again to bring them in and you know that he will check and double check that everything is ready for the storm

You watch the news as the storm keeps its track and you are nervous now that you’ve locked yourselves in. You sit next to Frankie, biting your lip, and he slides his arm around you to rub your upper arm. “It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart.” You nod, looking at him before you look at the screen.

He ignores the sly grins from the guys, keeping his arm around you. They know how he feels about you. They’ve known from the beginning. Frankie doesn’t lack confidence, he has no problem going out and picking up a girl, but you are different. You are a part of their team, family in a weird way. If he took his shot and you turned him down, it would change the friendship you have and you mean too much to him. “Getting another beer.” Benny announces as he climbs up from his spot on the floor. “Anyone else want one?”

You shake your head and Frankie nods, “I’ll have one.” You chuckle, patting his leg, “you’re all gonna be wasted for this storm.” You look over at Santi who has Jack and Coke in a tumbler. “Nothing else to do. Other than fuck and I’m not Benny’s type.” Santi chuckles and Benny snorts, “in your fucking dreams, Pope.” You giggle and lean into Frankie, loving how he smells. Strong and capable. The musk has you crossing your legs to squeeze your thighs together but you are just friends and you cannot make it awkward.

He enjoys the way you curl into him. Pulling you close and humming. If it weren’t for the wind blowing outside and the guys here, he could pretend this is a cozy evening watching tv with you before he takes you to bed. “You okay?” He asks, checking in again to make sure you are good.

A few hours pass with pizza being cooked from the freezer, drinks poured and you are watching the news show the storm barrelling towards your state and you sigh, nerves twisting in your stomach. “You want another beer?” Frankie asks, sitting down next to you and you shake your head, “Valium?” You tease and he chuckles, “I’m fresh out.” You rub your cheek, “it’s the waiting that’s frustrating me. I wish it was here already so we could get it over with.”

“Ready for the dark already?” He teases. “The internet will be down and we will have to play poker or a board game to stay entertained.” He grins and jerks his head over at Will. “And that one is too competitive at Monopoly.”

“God and no AC. It’s gonna be killer.” You confess, “and you know I kick all your asses at poker.” You remind Frankie who chuckles and nods, remembering how you’ve schooled them during your time served together.

“We’re gonna play poker?” Pope asks as he smirks. “Strip poker?” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why, cabron? So we can all be sitting butt ass naked while the only woman here is fully clothed?”

You giggle, glad that Frankie thinks you’d win and you nudge him, “why don’t we play Monopoly? I need a distraction from the storm.” You shudder as you look over at the TV to see the storm heading towards you. The boys nod, not arguing with you when they see you’re nervous and you work fast to get everything set up.

Frankie helps, wanting you to be comfortable and feel safe. The wind has picked up and the storm shutters are starting to rattle on the kitchen window. “Too bad they don’t have a helicopter playing piece.” Frankie huffs, picking up the ship. “I would definitely be playing that.”

You giggle, “I think the cat is the best one for you. Catfish.” You wink at him and he nods, taking the piece from you. The storm shutters shake and you shudder, nervous about the storm hitting you outside. You sigh and take a seat, calling the others over to begin the game.

****

“No fucking way. Pay up.” Santi demands from Benny, holding his hand out for the cash just as the lights flicker. “Shit.” You murmur, looking up at the light. “Dude, that’s not a hotel. I don’t owe you that much.” Benny argues and Santi goes to speak just as the lights flicker then it goes dark. “Well, fuck.” Will mutters, “maybe they will come back on.”

Frankie groans, knowing that it’s wishful thinking at this point. Power will be out for the duration and he immediately reaches for the lamp he had put on the end table and flicks it on before he grabs his headlamp. “We’ll give it a few minutes but then we start the generator.” Cords have already been run through the house to everything they need to power up to keep things somewhat comfortable. “Knew I should have bought one of those standing AC units.” He grumbles to himself.

“We will be fine. Hopefully power comes back soon.” You murmur, shivering despite knowing the heat will creep in soon enough. The power doesn’t come back and Frankie makes the decision to start the generator. The wind blows outside, rain hitting the shutters, and you fan yourself with the monopoly instructions as the heat starts to get to you. “Okay. I think we are done with Monopoly.” You sigh, reaching for the money. “How about truth or dare?” Santi suggests with a smirk. “Truth? We know literally everything about each other and we aren’t teenagers.” You scoff, gathering the tokens before you fold up the board.

Frankie glares at Santiago, knowing he would be pulling some shit in the effort to get the two of you together. All of them think that you want him, but he isn’t convinced. Normally, he knows when a woman is interested. “Why don’t we go to bed? Things will look better in the morning.”

The boys smirk, nodding at each other, and you don’t notice. “Sure, Cat. Let’s get to bed. It’s gonna be a long night and I’m sure we’d all rather sleep through this shit.” Will says and everyone nods. “I call dibs on the bathroom before you all go in there.” You declare and Frankie hands you a lamp. “Thanks.” You smile and make your way into the bathroom after grabbing your toiletries.

“Go to bed.” Benny scoffs as Frankie throws him a frown. “She’s scared enough that she might crawl in the bed with you.” He teases, Laughing when Frankie shoots him a bird. “Keep it up and I’ll make you sleep outside with the generator.” He threatens. Although he knows that he wouldn’t do that. The bad thing is that Benny knows it too.

“Just trying to get you guys together, man. It’s gotta happen. We are sick of watching you two make eyes at each other.” Benny says and Frankie scoffs, rolling his eyes in disbelief that you make eyes at him. You get ready for bed, changing into a tank top and shorts. It’s too hot to wear anything else, and you brush your teeth before you take the lamp and make your way back into the living room. “Bathroom’s free.” You tell the others, knowing they will want to clean up.

Frankie groans quietly when he sees your outfit. It’s nothing extremely provocative, but he still thinks you look stunning. All the guys go get ready for bed and Frankie changes into some shorts and a t-shirt. “You good, sweetheart?” He asks, coming through to check that .

You nod, “I’ll be fine.” You promise, offering him a small smile despite your stomach twisting with nerves. “Just - just nervous to go home and see how it is.” You confess, “what's gonna be damaged.” You bite your lip, “anyway, let’s get some sleep, baby.” You murmur and rub his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his cheek without thinking about the term of endearment.

Frankie hums and turns towards you, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth and he inhales sharply. “You- you come to me if you need anything. A distraction.” He manages, his voice rough and low.

His words make your stomach twist and you nod, “thank you.” You pull back to look at him. So many years you’ve hidden your feelings and tonight could be worse than all your nights spent on ops. The boys are ready for bed and you watch Frankie as he makes sure everyone is comfortable before he makes his way to his room. You settle into the sofa bed but it’s hot. So damn hot without the AC running. You toss and turn as the wind howls and the shutters shake against the windows. The boys snore around you and you huff, sitting up, and you decide to get some water. It’s dark and you curse quietly as you try to navigate the boys laying on the floor until finally you stumble into the kitchen. It’s so hot. You grab the lamp and turn it on, finding a bottle of water, and you decide to pull your tank top off since everyone is asleep, allowing yourself to cool a little with your bralette on.

Frankie wakes up the moment he hears someone moving. The drone of the generator chugging away mixes with the hurricane and honestly had become background noise. But he hears a cabinet door open and then the fridge. Getting up, he knows it’s one of the guys or you, but he wants to check. If it’s you, he wants to make sure you aren’t about to jump out of your skin.

You hear footsteps and turn to see Frankie standing there in his t-shirt. “Shit.” You hiss, still startled despite his slow approach and you place your hand on your chest. Your normally steely nerve is displaced by the storm. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He murmurs, stepping closer and watching you in the lamplight. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I know you’re nervous.” His eyes dip down to where your hand is on your chest. “I’ve got a fan in the bedroom.” He offers.

You are tempted. It’s so damn hot. You press the water bottle from the cooler to your chest, sighing in relief. “I - are you sure? I don’t wanna - I’m sure you want to stretch out.” Frankie rolls his eyes which you see in the lamplight. “Come on. Cool down.” You grab your tank top and make your way into his bedroom, “oh God it’s so cool in here.” You groan, walking towards the fan.

“Sorry.” He swipes his hand over the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “I sleep better when I have a fan blowing on me. So instead of charging my phone, I plugged in my fan. It’s the only one I have unfortunately.”

You shake your head, walking to the unruffled side of the bed. “It’s your house. Your generator. Your gas. You are more than entitled to use the fan.” You promise and shift to lay down, still in your bralette and you sigh in relief as the cool air hits you. The wind rattles around the house and you shiver. “Too cold?” Frankie asks as he shifts to lay down next to you. “No. Just hate that sound.” You murmur, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“I know.” He hates it too, but he tries to not let himself think about what is happening outside. “You need to think about something else.” He offers. “What’s your craziest idea?” He asks, suddenly wanting to know. “Could be anything.”

You chuckle, “oh God. You cannot drag this out of me after tonight because I’ll never admit it but right now, anything for a distraction. I, uh, I want to have sex in a helicopter while it’s flying.” You confess, “everyone has a mile high club in a plane but that’s boring. I wanna have sex in a bird. Thought about it a lot when we were running ops.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching in his shorts. “Fuck yessssss.” He moans, not looking over at you. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself. “I have that same fantasy. Although it would be difficult to maneuver.”

“I know but if anyone could figure it out, it would be you.” You giggle, shifting to lay on your side to face him. He looks up at the ceiling and you bite your lip, knowing he doesn’t want you like that but right now it’s too easy to imagine. “Imagined it so many times when you were the pilot.” You confess quietly, keeping your eyes on him.

He closes his eyes, swallowing harshly and taking a deep breath. “Baby, you shouldn’t say things like that to me when you’re in my bed and wearing the sexiest little shorts and bra that I’ve ever fucking seen.” He opens his eyes and looks over at you, eyes dark with lust. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing to you.”

You inhale sharply, your heartbeat dropping into your pussy as you clench, slick from just being near him. “Show me. I want you to show me what you’ve imagined. Because I guarantee you it’s along the lines of what I’ve imagined you doing to me.” You promise, shifting closer to him.

Frankie takes a second, watching you to see if this is some kind of test or joke. When he doesn’t see anything but impatience, he lunges forward and grabs you as he presses his lips to yours eagerly.

You gasp into his mouth when his lips press against yours. Surprised but delighted as he pushes you back into his mattress, shifting closer to hover over you. You cup his cheek and eagerly let his tongue tangle with yours as the wind howls outside.

Your thighs part, letting him settle between them and press his hardening cock against your core. Making him groan into your mouth as his hands turn greedy, practically ripping your little bralette off your body to get to your tits.

He is immediately kissing along your jaw as his hand cups your tit, squeezing, and you moan, grateful that the storm is covering your noises from the boys sleeping in the living room. Your hands grip his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he reluctantly pulls back to let you drag the shirt from his head. You toss the shirt across the room, your hands sliding along your back, and you moan, “you are so fucking strong and sexy, Frank. Always thought that.”

He hums, taking the compliment when it would have been easier for you to have thought that about any of the others. You’ve chosen him to fantasize about and that makes him burn to make you happy that you wanted him. His fingers pinch your nipple and roll it around before he ducks his head down and wraps his lips around it.

You moan, sliding your hand up to tangle your fingers in his hair, his tongue lathes your nipple before he sucks on it, releasing it with a pop that makes you whimper. You rock your hips up to grind against his hard cock. He switches to your other breast and your hand snakes between you so you can slide your hand into his boxers and wrap your fingers around his hard cock.

Frankie grunts, rocking his hips forward and groaning against your nipple. You are so much more responsive than he ever imagined, your sounds sweeter. He flicks his tongue over the taunt bud and carefully grinds his teeth around it until you are whining his name.

You whimper when he switches over to your other nipple, making them deliciously sore and distracting you from the roar of the wind outside. You try to pump his cock, squeezing him in your hand as he releases your nipple with a pop to groan your name. “Lay down.” You plead, wanting to touch him.

“You don’t want me to eat your pussy?” He rasps out, nearly salivating at the thought. “What do you want, baby? I can lick your little pussy and make you forget all about the storm outside or you can ride my cock and see what’s louder, you or the wind.”

“Fuck.” You gasp at the filth from his mouth but it makes you wetter. “Wanted to suck your cock but shit. I need your tongue. You want me to sit on your face while I suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly.

“We can do that.” His grin is filthy and he licks his lips suggestively as he pulls away and flips onto his back. “Come sit, baby.” He coos, patting his cheek. “Always wanted to smother myself in your pussy. Drown in it. Bet you taste fucking amazing.”

You shift to kneel above him, dragging his boxers down to expose his cock, and you groan at the thickness of him. “Holy shit.” You murmur, “you’re gonna stretch me out.” You confess and he groans when you slide your finger along his length. “Sit on my face.” He demands and you push your shorts down along with your panties, naked as you straddle his chest.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” He groans when he gets the first glimpse of your cunt when you bend over. “Sorry.” You cringe slightly and rock your hips away from him as if you are embarrassed. “I didn’t know I was going to do this. I would have shaved.” Frankie snorts, shaking his head as he grabs your hips to drag you back. “I don’t give a fuck if you shaved.” He huffs. “You have a pretty pussy and I’m going to bury my tongue in it.”

You moan when he surges forward to slide his tongue through your folds. “Fuck, Frank.” You gasp and close your eyes as his hands squeeze your ass while he slides his tongue over your clit. The wind howls outside and you inhale shakily, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. You love how he groans into your folds and you bend over so you can take him into your mouth. You flick your tongue over the head, the salty taste of pre-cum hitting your tongue and you swirl your tongue around the head before you close your lips around it.

He can tell that you’re surprised by his enthusiasm, but you shouldn’t be. Any and all of his girlfriends had bragged about his willingness to go down on them, but you make him eager for it. Wanting to show you how good he can make you feel and taste how you come apart for him. He groans into your flesh, enjoying the tangy taste of your cunt while you lap at his cock.

You moan around his cock, taking him deeper as you relax your jaw. He’s thick and stretching your mouth, but you love it. The storm shutters shake but you don’t pay attention as you focus on Frankie sliding his tongue through your folds and you take his cock deeper until you choke. It’s been a while since you’ve given a blowjob to a cock this big and you pull off to catch your breath.

“Don’t hurt yourself baby.” Frankie reluctantly pulls his tongue away from your clit to warn you. He knows he’s a lot and if you can’t handle it, he won’t be upset at you, “I’m still going to make you cry out even if you don’t suck my dick.”

His words make you moan his name and you wrap your fingers around him, pumping him while he’s slick with your saliva. “Wanna make you feel good.” You reply breathlessly, “fuck. Your tongue - it’s so good, baby.” You moan as he flicks your clit again.

He hums, knowing that you do make him feel good. Just letting him touch you is making him feel good so he dives back into your pussy with a long lick to your pussy and feels you squeeze his cock before lowering your head again.

You want to pleasure him, and distract yourself from the roar of the hurricane outside, so you take him back into your mouth, fingers working what you cannot wrap your lips around. Your jaw is stretched as you bob on his length, saliva dripping down into the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

He moans into your folds, toes curling when you swallow around him. It’s the best fucking blow job he’s ever had because it’s you. You are the girl he wants and everything you do is just amazing. He doubles his efforts on your pussy, wanting to feel you cry out around his cock when he makes you cum.

You moan around his cock when he pushes his tongue into your fluttering pussy. His mustache rubs against your folds and his nose nudges against your skin as he shakes his head. It’s incredible and you rock back against him as you relax your jaw. His efforts are not in vain as you get closer, thighs pressing against his ears as he works you over. “Fuck. Frank- oh fuck.” You gasp, letting his cock drop from your mouth when he sucks on your clit. “I’m gonna - oh God. It’s - shit. Fra-” You don’t finish your cry of his name as you choke and fall apart on top of him. Thighs smothering his face as you soak his chin in your cum.

The storm howls outside the house, but your sounds are covering them up. Making him groan ravenously when you start to shake and your pussy floods his mourn with a wave of your sweet juices.

You pant against his thigh as he works you through it, lapping at your clit, and you whimper when it becomes too much. You shift away from his face and wrap your fingers around his cock again. “Want you inside of me.” You murmur, squeezing him.

Frankie grunts, twitching against your palm. “How do you want me, sweetheart?” He pants. “You want me to be in control or do you want to ride me?” He knows you would never let him pressure you into sex to begin with, but he wants you to choose how you take him the first time. 

You let go of his cock and shift off of his chest, kneeling on the bed. “I want you to be in control. Show me what you’ve wanted.” You demand, shifting to stretch over his body so you can kiss him. “Take what you want from me, Francisco.”

That is fucking music to his ears. Gone is the worry, the softness. His jaw set and his eyes narrow as he wraps his arms around you and flips you both over on the mattress, eager to get you under him. “God, you won’t regret that.” He promises, his voice low and husky.

You stare up at him as he settles between your thighs. “I want you to fill me up. It’s safe. I have an IUD and fuck, Frank, I need you. I want you.” You promise as he hovers over you and you surge up to press your lips to his.

He hadn’t even thought about protection, but he trusts you. He knows you and knows you would never lie about something like that. So he’s kissing you back while he’s taking hold of his cock and sliding it through your folds to press against your entrance. Groaning when you nip his bottom lip with your teeth and he pushes inside you with a slow, firm thrust until he is buried in your pussy.

Your mouth falls open as he pushes into you, stretching you out, and you caress his shoulders until you grip his back. “You’re so thick, baby. God, so fucking good inside me. I need - I need you to move.”

He groans, loving how needy you are. Leaning down and pressing his lips to your before he starts to move. Right now, his control is threadbare and he shows that with the harsh, sharp snaps of his hips, pulling back and drilling into you again.

He seems animalistic and you love it. Your focus is solely on Frankie and you moan his name into his mouth as he slams his hips against your ass. “Oh fuck. I - I love this. You feel so much better than I imagined.” You moan into his chin and he squeezes your thigh.

He grunts in agreement, teeth snapped together and his brow pinched in concentration. Wanting to see how much you can take and greedy for every time your pussy squeezes his cock tight. “Fuuuuck.”

You tilt your head back into the pillow, mouth open as you moan, “oh shit. Yes. Right there baby.” You whine, rocking your hips up to meet his and the room fills up with noises of sex, drowning out the gusting winds.

He is spurred on by your breathless praise. The needy whine for more, making his hips plunge down again and again. He’s drunk on you, completely wrapping up in how you react to him.

You wrap your legs around him, needing to be closer, and you love how he looks as he looms over you, illuminated by the lamplight. “Wanted this for so long.” You confess breathlessly, squeaking when he adjusts his hips and thrusts into a spot that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He groans, loving your confession. “Me too.” He pants into your neck. “Fuck, want you to cum for me baby.” He concentrates on that spot, hammering against it again and again and chuckling when you start to squeal every time.

He hits that spot over and over and it makes you squeal his name until you finally fall apart around his cock. You soak him, thighs shaking as you arch your back, consumed by an orgasm from the man you’ve wanted for so many years.

Frankie growls your name, hips stuttering and his pace grinding to a halt from how hard you are beating down on him. Your orgasm pushes him over the edge and he buries his face in your neck, painting your walls with ropes of his sticky seed as he cums.

You grip his back, your nails digging into his flesh as he rocks into you. Grunts muffled into your neck and you moan, loving how the warmth of his seed feels around you. “I love you.” You pant breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, keeping him inside you.

Frankie whimpers your name, turning and pressing his lips to your pulse. “I love you too.” He promises. Even if you are just saying it because you’ve been caught up in the moment, he means it. He has always loved you. “So much, baby.”

You sigh, a smile on your face as your heart pounds. Maybe it’s the high of the moment for him. The stress from the storm and the first time you’ve had sex, but you feel warm throughout your body. “I think we are in the eye of the storm. It’s gone quiet out there.”

He listens for a moment, his head lifting from your neck. “You’re right.” He murmurs. “We are through the worst of it.” He promises, kissing you softly. “Are you still scared?”

You shake your head. “No. I know you’ll keep me safe. And the guys. Can hear them still snoring from in here.” You joke and caress his shoulders before you run your fingers through his hair. “I really do love you. I have for years. You’re - you’re the man I’ve always wanted. That’s why it’s never worked out with others. I love you, baby. I’m here and I’m all in if you want me.”

“You’re mine now.” Frankie promises. “The moment you wanted in my bed, I knew I was keeping you.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “We will work out the details, but I want you, sweetheart.”

You smile, kissing his nose and you whimper as he pulls out of you. “I’m gonna clean you up.” He declares and you stretch out on his bed while he grabs the lamp to get you a rag to clean up. Once you’re cleaned up, you settle under his sheets, glad to have the fan, and you curl into his chest. The winds are picking up again as the eye passes and you close your eyes. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. The storm will pass.” He promises and you sigh, listening to his heartbeat as you fall asleep. You feel protected and loved and safe which is more than you ever imagined when you heard the storm was heading your way. Yet here you are, you and Frankie together in the eye of the hurricane and you’ve never felt happier.

[chronically-ghosted]

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

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

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

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

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

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

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

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

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

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

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

That’s –

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

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

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

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

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

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

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

His real fucking problem is Nick. 

Your boyfriend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s your friend.

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

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

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

And you deserve the world.

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

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

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

Never a good idea with Benny Miller. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie. 

Don’t, man, just don’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.” 

That was a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

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

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

Frankie only ever asked for one. 

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

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

“Six tequila shots, please.”

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

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

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker. 

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

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

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

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

22%

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

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

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

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

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

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benny, fuck off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck!

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

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

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

You stare at the phone on your floor. 

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

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes. 

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

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

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

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

“So you listened to it already?”

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

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

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

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

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

“We need to talk.” 

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

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

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

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal? 

Do you want to– 

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

He called you baby.

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grateful.

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

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

This is the right time, he supposes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about conchas?” 

Translations:

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

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

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

[fettuccin-e]

AYO- DONT MIND ME JUST HAVING A GENUINE LITERAL FREAKOUT OVER HERE

Close - An Insatiable Extra

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Reader

Word count: 2k

Tags: Edging, bondage, orgasm denial, Mean!Dom Santi vibes, a bit of inspection kink, choking if you squint, fingering, oral sex, PiV sex, fluff

Author’s Note: This oneshot only exists because of @radiowallet. My love. My pumpkin wife. Thank you for bringing me back to my boys. I genuinely wasn’t sure if I’d ever write for them again. 🥹

And a huge thank you to @acrossthesestars​ for beta-reading this filth, much of which I wrote in a haze at 4am 😅

Missed Part One? You can read it here. Which, if you’re not familiar with the worldbuilding and relationships in Insatiable, you may want to check out! This one does mostly stand on its own, other than a few references to the three of them being mates.

Keep reading

[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

[uselessalexis165]

tried making some ttte memes (284)

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Illicit Affairs

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

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

Wordcount: around 9k

Rating: E

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

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

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Fic

First Ending (with Joel Miller)

Second Ending (with Frankie Morales)

[tuiccim]

Wrecked (Part 2)

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

Trigger Warnings: References to infertility, smut

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

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

Wrecked Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know me so well,” Cecily grins.

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

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

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

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

“Can't argue with that. I-”

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

"Hey Frankie," Cecily teases. 

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

“All the fun kind,” she grins. 

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

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

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

"Heard from him yet?" You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm-hm," Cecily sips her drink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is his last name?" Cecily asks. 

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

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

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

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

“Night,” you and Frank say in unison. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Frank asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shocking,” you tease.

“Mm-hm,” comes out quietly. 

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

–

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

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

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

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

“Any-”

“Top shelf,” he interrupts your question. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Is she the owner?” 

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

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

“Do you always interrupt people?” You counter. 

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

Part 3

Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction​ for update notifications. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!