#also ​franky: you mean like how you beat the shit out of him maybe two hours after i did?

[thychesters]

THEY HIT HIM WITH A TRAIN AGAIN

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 4

This is still not explicit, only fluff and some angst and a smidgen of blood. But I'm also just gonna assume you're all 18+, next chapter is definitely smut heavy so just leave now if you're a minor.

Chapter 4 clocks in at 5.2 k for those of you keeping count.

Please enjoy 😘

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi

Chapter 5

“Where the fuck is Fish?” Pope growls, looking at his watch again, “he was the one who said to meet here at noon in the first place.”

“Probably still in bed with the girl from the bar,” Benny grins, leaning back against his truck. “Call him again.” 

For the fourth time Pope lets the signals ring until it goes to voicemail. “Still no answer,” he mutters, staring down the street, trying to make Frankie turn up out of nowhere and shakes his head. “Ok, you two go ahead, I’ll swing by his place and kick him out of bed. We’ll see you at the trailhead, if not, I’ll call you.” Pope pushes himself off the side of the truck and goes over to his own car. 

…

Cursing Frankie under his breath, Pope climbs the stairs to his apartment and bangs on the door. “Fish, rise and shine, pendejo!” 

When there’s no response he bangs again, hitting the doorbell too, “Come on, Frankie, we’ve been waiting for you for forty five minutes, get your shit together, man.” He bangs the door again for good measure and finally hears shuffling behind it. It swings open on Frankie, wearing the same shirt and jeans as last night, bleary eyed and pale looking. 

“Jeez, Frankie, you look like shit, what happened to you?” Pope asks as Frankie turns around, leaving the door open and retreating back into the apartment. “Is that blood on your shirt?” 

He finds Frankie sitting on the couch in the living room, an empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, Pope recognises it as the one he gave Frankie for his birthday a few months ago. Frankie’s got his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands across his face and staring at his feet, looking nothing like the happy guy they’d sent on his way to see the girl last night. 

“I guess the night didn’t end as you hoped,” Pope says, sinking down onto the arm of the couch. 

Frankie shakes his head, elbows still on his knees.

“So you decided to beat someone up and drown yourself in expensive whiskey? Or is that your blood?” 

“I fucked up, Pope, I really fucked up.” Frankie sucks in a deep breath and leans back against the couch, knuckling his eyes, “She’s gone, I scared her off and she doesn't want to see me again.” 

“What do you mean you scared her off, what happened?” 

“I blacked out, beat up some guy who slapped her, we were at this bar, and she looked at me like I was a fucking monster, I scared the shit out of her and she left, told me not to follow her,” Frankie groans and buries his head in his hands again at the memory. 

“Fuck, Frankie, I’m sorry, dude,” Pope sighs, reaching out and putting his hand on his friends shoulder. 

“I really fucking like her, she’s fucking amazing but of course I fuck it up,” Frankie berates himself, “I can never leave that shit behind, it just always comes back and now I’ve gone and fucked it up for her too.” Frankie stands up and paces across the living room before stopping in the middle, looking down at his bruised hand, “Maybe it’s better if I just stay away, keep my shit away from her, she’s too good to drag into my shitshow.”

“Fish, come on, man, we’ve all got baggage, yours is just heavier than most peoples. Does she know about your background? How it’s been since you left the army?” 

“Only that I was in Delta Force, but I don’t know if she knows what that means. I mean, we’ve only been on one proper date and I didn’t wanna burden her with all my shit on the first date, you know?” 

“Yeah, of course, Frankie,” Pope says, standing up, “Let me get us some coffee, you’ve got some in the kitchen? Maybe we can figure this out, if she’s as great as you say then maybe you can talk to her, explain what happened, give her some background? Let her decide if she wants to be a part of the Frankie Morales shitshow.” Pope claps him on the shoulder, giving him what he hopes is an encouraging smile. 

Pope moves into the small galley kitchen and Frankie shuffles in behind him, pulling out the coffee from a cupboard. 

“I don’t know, you didn’t see the way she looked at me. I had the guy's blood on my neck and she just stared at it. I was trying to see if she was ok and she just backed away from me, like I was gonna hurt her.” Frankie groans at the memory, “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It was going too fucking well, it felt so good! I’m such a fucking fuck up!” Frankie slams his fists down on the counter, groaning loudly.  

“Frankie, I’m gonna say what I said the night she gave you her number; you’re a great guy, and she’ll see that, again, if you just give her a chance.” Pope switches on the coffee maker and leans against the counter. “Send a text at least, say you’ve got some baggage from your army days, that you didn’t mean to scare her and that you’d like to see her again, if she wants to, and explain why you reacted the way you did. You’ve got nothing to lose by it.” 

Frankie rubs his hand over his face for what feels like the hundredth time since he woke from the half unconscious slumber he’d fallen into last night after downing too much whiskey. All he kept seeing was her face, the look of fear as she backed away, her arms falling from his grip and the feeling of lead that settled in his stomach as he realised what she was doing. 

“Seriously, Fish, if she doesn’t agree to at least let you explain what happened, she’s not worth it.” 

Pope shoves a cup of black coffee into his hand and tells him to drink it and take a shower. 

“I’m taking you up to the trail, get that alcohol out of your system, and work off the energy that I can see is eating you alive.” He grabs Frankie’s arm, trying to push his message into him. “Text her, tell her and apologise. If she’s as great as you say, she’ll see past one mistake.” 

…

They talk about heartache, but in reality it’s your stomach that feels it, when something’s wrong. That heavy feeling bordering on nausea that sits in the pit of your belly as you wake up on Saturday morning. The memories from last night don’t need to be recalled, they sit at the forefront of your mind, you’ve gone over them in your mind all night, leaving you with no rest. 

Sophia sees it straight away as you arrive, late, to Lizzy’s parents house, the preparation venue for the bride and her bridesmaids. Your eyes puffy from too little sleep and too much crying, your smile weak and slipping away as soon as Lizzy turns back to her hair stylist. Sophia grabs your hand and pulls you away from the rest of the girls, into the small study at the back of the house. 

“Sweetie, what happened? Don’t tell me he dumped you? I’m gonna fucking kill him!” Sophia has her hands on your upper arms, searching your face for answers and you feel tears start to well up again. Sophia pulls you into one of her big hugs and you gratefully bury your face against her shoulder, not caring that you’re getting salt and snot on her shirt. She holds you steady, her hands stroking your back as she mumbles about how no guys is ever worth crying over, how she’s going to murder “Francisco fucking Morales” and dump the body in the deepest pit of Cefn Coed. The last bit draws a weak chuckle from you as you remember your trip to Wales two years ago, with Sophia and Carys. 

“Told you it would make a good place for nasty ex-boyfriends,” Sophia smiles at you as she pushes you back a bit to take a look at your face. “Tell me what happened, did he dump you?” 

“No, I dumped him,” you sigh, sinking down into the chair that Sophia points you to as she sits on the big writing desk. 

“Why did you dump him?” she asks, “Everything seemed so good yesterday?” 

“We went to a bar after we left the restaurant. We had a couple of drinks and then I went to the ladies and this guy groped my ass as I came out of it. When I slapped his hand away he grabbed my arm and pulled me around, you know, usual creep.” 

Sophia nods and you squeeze your eyes shut as the memories of what happened next flood your brain. 

“Frankie, he…he just…he beat the guy up, like, properly beat him up. Pulled him away from me, shoved him against the wall and punched him twice. The guy’s nose broke and blood just went flying and then I think he passed out, he just kinda fell to the floor and didn’t get up.” 

“Holy shit!” Sophia gasps. “He did not look like a violent guy when I met him, I can’t believe he would do something like that!”

“That wasn’t even the worst part,” you murmur, rubbing your knuckles across your eyes before Sophia gently pulls your hands away from your face. “When he did it, his face…it was furious at first, but then when he punched the guy there was no emotion and he didn’t even react when the blood started, like he didn’t even notice that he broke the guy’s nose. He had blood on his knuckles and on his shirt and on his fucking skin and he didn’t even care!” Your voice breaks and fresh tears spill over. 

“Fuck…” Sophia whispers.  

“When the guy was down he grabbed my arms and asked me if I was ok and I think, maybe he was worried, but I couldn’t focus. I just remember seeing the blood on his neck and his knuckles and how scared I was. I mean, I don’t really know him that well, he’s just some random guy from a bar, and he seemed so nice but then he just turns around and is so cold and violent, you know? Who the fuck acts like that?” You look up at Sophia, “It was surreal, seeing this sweet guy, he’s been nothing but so sweet and nice and a little bit shy, and then suddenly he’s like a totally different person.” 

“Seeing that guy grab you must’ve made him snap somehow,” Sophia says, “do you know what could’ve done it? Is he a cop or does he have like a background in martial arts or something?”

“He mentioned being in the army for several years, he flew helicopters.” You think back to your conversation in the chopper on Sunday. “He was in something called Delta Force but he didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t seem like a good memory.” 

“Delta Force is some serious shit though, my uncle was with them for years, he never wanted to talk about it but my dad said he suffered from PTSD and that’s why he left.” Sophia takes your hand and pulls you up from the chair, “Come on, we need some tea, and we’ll talk through your next move. I think what he did is seriously fucked up but maybe this army stuff has got something to do with it.” 

True to her adopted homeland Sophia plies you with strong, sweet tea in the mercifully empty kitchen. Only her wife Carys wanders in and gets a run down of the whole story as you sip the hot brew. 

“Ordinarily, I’d say forget him, he sounds like a psychopath based on what he did.” Carys says in her usual direct manner, “but you say you've not seen any other warning signs, no other red flags, right?” 

“No, nothing like it, that’s why it was such a shock,” you agree. 

“So I think you should hear him out if he wants to offer an explanation. Message him and say you want him to explain what the fuck happened.” Carys says. 

“No,” Sophia shakes her head, “don’t message him, he fucked up, he should message you. If he’s serious about you he should be the one to make the first move now. He needs to fucking man up and own his mistake.” 

You draw a deep, slightly shaky, breath, trying to decide what to do, both women looking at you with concern.

“This is what I’m going to do,” you decide, “I’m going to go wash my face, forget about Francisco fucking Morales for the day and enjoy Lizzy’s wedding. I’ll think about him on Monday, if he hasn’t been in touch then…then I don’t know, I’ll decide on Monday.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Sophia nods in agreement, “And we’re here until Thursday if you need us, sweetie.” 

…

It turns out you don’t need to wait until Monday to think about Frankie. During the wedding ceremony you feel your phone buzz in your handbag but you don’t get a chance to look at it until half way through the reception. Sophia and Carys have taken upon themselves to make sure you’re never alone with your thoughts during the whole day so when you finally pick up your phone, Sophia throws you a quizzical look. 

“Is it from him?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I should read it now,” you’re looking down at the screen with Frankie’s name. 

“Rip the band-aid off,” Sophia says, “or you’re just going to think about it for the rest of the night.” 

You chew on your bottom lip, thinking about what to do, and the motion reminds you of Sunday morning, Frankie’s thumb gently tugging your lip from between your teeth. You’re gonna draw blood, hermosa. When you close your eyes you can see his warm smile, the soft brown eyes under the peak of his cap, unruly curls around his ears. Your thumb taps the passcode on your phone of its volition.

“hi, if you dont reply to this I totally get it, i know you said you needed to think. I just wanted to say im really sorry about last night and i feel like shit, i know i really scared you with what i did. Ive got some baggage from the army that i thought i had under control but i guess not. I understand if you dont wanna see me again but for what its worth i think youre really special and i love being with you and if youll let me id like a chance to tell you about the army stuff. Its not an excuse but maybe an explanation for my overreaction /Frankie” 

“Ok, first, he writes like he’s in middle school,” Sophia says, reading over your shoulder, “what’s up with that?” 

“He hasn’t figured out how to do capital letters and apostrophes on his phone yet,” you smile, “the guy flies helicopters for a living but can’t work a smartphone keyboard.” 

“You didn’t say he flew helicopters for a living, that’s kinda hot,” Sophia’s eyebrows are raised in approval. “What do you think though, do you want to see him again?” 

“I do, I really do, but I don’t know if I should.” 

Carys spots Sophia and you hunched over the phone and comes over, three champagne flutes in her hands. 

“I take it he texted you?” 

You show her the message and she shakes her head as she deciphers Frankie’s text.  

“He writes like an imbecile but I say you let him sweat tonight, message him in the morning when you’ve slept on it.” 

“Yeah, always best to sleep on it, don’t make a decision with too much champagne in your system,” Sophia gives you a comforting smile and hands you one of the glasses. 

“You’re probably right, I should let him stew,” you agree and take a sip. The music has started up, Lizzy and Steve are whirling around the dance floor surrounded by friends and family, looking every bit like the happy newlyweds. 

“I remember this song from our wedding,” Sophia giggles, “we got Shane to twerk, remember? His kilt was not long enough for that.” 

“Oh god, I know I’ve got that on film somewhere,” you laugh as Sophia and Carys start dancing, twerking badly in imitation. 

“Go on, go dance with your wife,” you tell Sophia as they start twirling around each other, “you don’t need to babysit me all night.” 

“You sure, babe?” 

You nod and wave them towards the dance floor, “It’s just men troubles, won’t kill me.” 

“If only you’d change your poison, love, I’d have a queue of women waiting for you in London.” Carys smiles at you as Sophia pulls her onto the floor. 

…

“Fish, stop checking your fucking phone, she’s not gonna reply faster just because you stare at it.” 

Frankie throws a grim look at Benny but puts his phone back in his pocket. His head is still pounding, two aspirin, coffee and a bottle of water had only dulled the pain, and now he’s being forced to hike with the guys through this hot fucking forest. Granted, it had been his idea but that was back when he thought he’d need to kill as much time as possible while waiting to see her again. Now he’s jumping every time he thinks his phone pings. 

It’d taken him the whole drive up here to write the text, Pope giving him input, driving for once as Frankie was in no shape to operate any vehicle. He finally hit send and now he was stewing, several hours later. She was at the wedding, he knew that, and he knew she was in the wedding party so she probably didn’t even have her phone on, but still, he kept checking the reception on his phone every ten minutes. 

“The creek is coming up, anyone up for a swim?” Pope calls out from the front, looking back at the three guys behind him. 

“Sounds like a plan, I’m fucking boiling,” Benny says, “let’s take a break for a few minutes. Give Fish another chance to check that his phone is working.” 

“Fuck off,” Frankie throws back at him. 

He hasn’t told the other two what happened last night, they just think that he’s waiting for her to reply to a regular text. They don’t know that his stomach feels like lead and every time the conversation stops his mind wanders back to how she looked at him with fear just before she left last night. And how she felt when he kissed her in the bar just before she left for the ladies room. He feels like his head is going to split whenever he touches on the thought that it could’ve been the last time he kissed her. Her lips were so soft against his own, the taste of her tongue, alcohol, hot sauce from the wings they’d ordered, and something that he was starting to recognise as just her. The sweet look she’d thrown at him over her shoulder as she walked across the bar to the ladies, that smile that had made his heart stop a week ago when she walked into The Outback Bar. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Pope’s slap on his shoulder. 

“Come on, hemano, a swim will clear your head of that hangover.” 

…

Keeping Frankie out of your head was harder than you’d tried to make Sophia and Carys think. It feels like your phone is burning a hole in your bag, you take it out several times, re-reading Frankie’s text. When one of Stevie’s friends starts hitting on you, you make an excuse about needing the ladies and lock yourself in one of the stalls, pulling out your phone again. Reading his message again you start typing a reply before your brain has time to register what you’re doing. 

“You really scared me last night, you were the last person I expected to suddenly beat up a guy and the way you did it, like it was so easy, freaked me out. I really like you too but seeing you turn into someone else so different and violent, it scared me. But…I know you said something about being in Delta Force and that it was something you wanted to tell me about later. I feel like I maybe owe it to you to hear you out. Sunday at five pm at the coffee shop?” 

You hit send before you change your mind and close your eyes, the music from the dance floor thumping through the walls of the ladies room. 

Frankie’s reply comes through just a minute later. 

“thank you so much, i know i really scared you and i feel like shit about it. ill be there at five tomorrow” 

Frankie’s looking down at his phone, his hand shaking slightly as he re-reads her message and his reply. She wants to see him again, she’ll let him explain, it’s a tiny lifeline but he’ll take it. He puts away the phone and looks up, Pope’s got his eyes on him, gives him a questioning look, Frankie nods and gives him a quick thumbs up. 

…

For Sunday morning Lizzy has booked the spa at the hotel where the wedding is at so by the time you’ve made it through the brunch afterwards, you feel a bit more like yourself. Before you leave the hotel with your overnight bag, you seek out Sophia and Carys, they know you’re meeting Frankie in a few hours and have offered to be on standby afterwards. Carys suggests tea, Sophia offers wine and access to Cefn Coed, should you need it. 

The afternoon is warm and you find Frankie sitting at the same table out back as last time. This time he doesn’t look relaxed, he’s hunched over, hands clasped tightly and hanging down between his legs. He seems to sense you coming closer, lifting his head and looking up at you from under his cap. His eyes make you want to drop everything and just wrap your arms around him straight away, his eyebrows are tightly knotted together over eyes that are filled with stress and anxiety. He stands when you come up to the table, slow and awkward, looking like he’s not sure he’s even allowed to be there. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you say, your heart clenching tight at the way he looks at you. 

“Hi,” he says, his voice low and unsure of itself. “Thanks for coming, for talking to me,” he says, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck. By the way his curls are standing on end around his neck, you can tell it’s not the first time he’s done that today. He pulls out the other chair for you, just like he did last Sunday, and sits down after you’ve sat down. 

The waiter comes over almost immediately and you order coffee, grateful for the pause, before the real conversation has to start. 

“So…” you say as the waiter leaves, “start from the beginning?” 

Frankie sighs and draws a deep breath, “I just wanna say something first, before I tell you about all the shit I come with,” he’s been looking down at his hands but now his eyes find yours, “I really like you, I love hanging out with you and I fucking love the way you make me feel when I’m with you. I just wanted to say that to you once, at least, if you leave here and I never see you again.” 

You could kiss him right then, his face is so tense, and you can see the anguish in how he clenches his jaw, his fingers rubbing on each other. 

“I really like you too, Frankie, that’s why I’m here,” you admit, “I don’t want to regret not hearing you out.” 

Frankie gives you the smallest of smiles and then he starts talking.

He talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk before, it’s like the words just pour out of him once he’s decided to share it all. How he joined the army to fly helicopters, straight out of high school, the training, being selected for Delta Force, the friendships he made during the brutality of their missions, the people he killed, the friends he lost, some left behind, some dying in front of him. Pushing down the side of him that told him what they did wasn’t right. How he found ways to numb the pain, to become harder and stronger, to be a better soldier, to get through missions alive, to keep the men he served with alive, to protect them and have their backs, get them out when things went to shit, killing those that got in the way. 

And then starting to fall apart. Nightmares, flashbacks, depression, guilt and aggression. Being discharged from the army, losing his footing, isolating from friends and family, losing his job and doing anything to numb the pain. Doing coke. 

As he tells you about his coke problem he shrinks in his chair, his head falls down between his shoulders and you can only see the peak of his cap. 

“I fucked up so badly,” he whispers so low you can barely hear him. “Lost my pilot’s licence, lost my apartment, if Pope hadn’t let me sleep on his couch I would’ve been on the streets.” 

“What changed?” you ask quietly. 

Frankie takes out his phone and shows you a picture of a little girl. She’s about two and sitting on Frankie’s hip. Her face is alight with laughter as she presses two chocolate covered hands to his cheeks, Frankie’s smiling widely in the photo too. 

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about protection when I was high and my girlfriend at the time got pregnant.”  

He looks up at you as if to gauge your reaction and you smile at the photo, “She’s beautiful, Frankie.” 

He smiles then too, the first real one since you got there, and looks down at his daughter. “Yeah, she’s amazing.” 

He puts away the phone and looks up at you again. “She changed everything, her mom was also addicted but quit cold turkey when she realised she was pregnant. I got help through a volunteer veteran’s help centre, started going to NA meetings, got a job through a contact there, a new apartment. When Lucia was born we’d broken up, we were only ever together because of the coke anyway. But she’s cool and she lets me see Lucia as often as I can. They live a few hours away, at her parents' place.”  

He leans back, his coffee mug still full and now cold. “So that’s me, ex-army, ex-coke addict, PTSD fuck up, single dad.” 

“Frankie,” you begin, trying to find the right words, “what scared me most when I saw you on Friday night was how easy violence seemed to be for you, and how you showed no emotions doing it.” Frankie nods, his eyes back on his hands again. 

“It’s all the training, I was, for better or for worse, trained to be a weapon and to do it without emotion.”

“I understand that now and I understand how you were able to do it to him. But what I don’t understand is why you reacted so violently? What made you punch him? Much as I appreciate you defending me against a creep that gropes my ass though, a simple shove would’ve been enough.” 

“When I saw him hit you I just needed to protect you and get him away from you, to neutralise him.” Frankie rubs his hand over the back of his neck again and tugs at his cap. 

“Frankie, he didn’t hit me,” you say, surprised. 

“What?” Frankie jerks his head up. “But I saw it, you pushed his hand away, he grabbed your arm and swung you around, hitting your cheek with his other hand?” 

“No, he never touched my cheek, he just grabbed my arm.” 

Frankie groans, “And you thought I punched the guy for just touching you.” 

“Yeah, kinda…”

He pulls his cap off in frustration, shoving his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m sorry, for everything, for punching him, for scaring you, for dumping all of this on you now. We barely know each other and you shouldn’t have to deal with my fuck ups and all my…”

You reach out and grab his hands, silencing him, stopping his nervous twitching. “Did you have dinner yet?” you ask. 

“No,” Frankie shakes his head. 

“You owe me dinner,” you give him a hesitant smile, “let's just go somewhere and eat and talk about something else for a while, start over maybe?”

Frankie exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for an age and his shoulders sink. “Yeah, I’d like that, I’d really fucking like that.” His face finally slips into that soft smile as his eyes crinkle at the corners, relaxing. 

…

Frankie pays for your coffees and you walk out onto the street together. “There’s a good pizza place on the next block,” you say, pointing down the tree lined sidewalk, “wanna try that?” 

“I will never say no to pizza,” he says and you slip your hand into his as you start walking down the street. Frankie looks surprised and then elated, wrapping his hand tightly around yours. When you glance up at him you see him smiling to himself. 

The pizza place is a tiny Italian restaurant and you get a small table towards the back of the dimly lit room, the waiter leading you to it and leaving you with the menus. Frankie doesn’t want to let go of your hand, only dropping it to pull out your chair, pull off his cap, but as soon as you sit down and put it on the table he gently wraps his fingers around yours again. When you smile at him he caresses the back of your hand and you think he’s going to kiss you, you really want him to. You look at him for a few more seconds and make up your mind. 

“Will you kiss me, Frankie?” you ask, leaning closer to him. It takes him only a beat, his breath catching in his throat. Cupping your cheek with his free hand, his eyes look down at your lips before finding your eyes again. His warm scent washes over you, soft cotton and the same light spice of his body wash, his lips are on yours, pressing gently against them. He feels so good and he’s kissing you so softly, taking his time, his lips moving slowly over yours as his hand slips into your hair. You put your hand on his forearm, the sparse hairs tickling your palm as you grip him, to hold you steady as he pulls you in closer. The kiss is still chaste but your need is bubbling under the surface and he responds to it, moving to kiss you deeper until he draws a quiet moan from you. He pulls back just a fraction, locking eyes with you, his rich browns are velvety soft in the dim light. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes for you to trust me again,” he whispers, “I don’t want to be without you, hermosa.”

You reach up and stroke the curls that have fallen over his forehead, pushing them back before caressing his cheek, trailing your fingers along his patchy beard. He watches you intently until his eyes flutter shut, leaning into your touch. 

“Just be yourself, Frankie, and we’ll be fine.” 

Chapter 5

[cyborg-franky]

do you think certain OP characters would listen to sad songs if theyre having a broken heart? If so, who exactly? (Tbh i think ace would, just to make himself more miserable)

Oh for sure.

Thatch

He’s a big-time romantic, with all the romance novels that he reads and writes.

He would 100% be influenced by music and listen to sad songs after a breakup. 

Sitting there after dinner service, smoking and watching the stars. Music playing by his side as he laments in his sadness.

Humming along if he knows the tune, exhaling smoke into the air as he thinks about the person he’s lost.

He’s old enough and mature enough to know the heart heals and it’ll get better. 

But until then, the stars and sad songs will be by his side.

Sanji

For similar reasons as Thatch. Listening to music in the kitchen as he sighs and thinks about the person who broke his heart.

He’ll hear a song as he pictures their face, that song then becomes the song that forever reminds him of them. Whenever it comes on in the future, no matter how many years have passed, if he’s with someone else or not, he will still feel that pang in his chest and remember them.

He has no idea if the lyrics fit how he feels but it hit a note with him. The way it sounds more than anything. 

Buggy

He might not look the type or even seem it but Buggy is someone who throws all of himself into everything and anything he does. He feels so deeply about everything.

So when someone breaks his heart he slams the door shut and refuses to come out for hours maybe days.

Just plays nothing but sad songs so he can get his feelings out faster, maybe transfer the pain into anger so it can pass faster [he thinks] but he also isn’t the type that will let something go.

Bitter ex [™]

Someone will be worried about him, knock on his door and open it without permission to see him sitting on his bed, crying and screaming with makeup running down his face going “Don’t look at meeee, get ouuuut!”

Ace

But Ace’s sad songs are heavy ones, loud and angry-sounding music with sad soulful lyrics that resonate with him. Anger and sadness all wrapped into one ball in his chest.

The louder the music the better, he needs to feel the thumping beats in his chest, and drum it all out.

Something screaming and angry to just shift the pain. Make it easier to digest. He’ll be crying, fists balled up as he plays over every mistake but the deep heavy music shakes the walls and vibrates across the floors. Helps him put names to feelings, and helps them to process. 

The songs might sound like noise and all he feels is anger but the lyrics mean something to him and they help.

Franky

Franky acts all tough and shrugs it off. His friends ask if he’s okay and he’s all smiles and thumbs up.

For a moment.

If they ask again he folds like a deck chair.

Tears run down his cheeks as he wails and sobs and falls over himself, grabbing his friends into a hug.

Then he brings out his guitar, strums it sadly, and then sings sad love songs as loud as he can.

Brook joins in and between the two everyone else feels bummed out but Franky and Brook are living.

Boa

Boa will listen to sad songs and realize she ain’t that girl she’s Boa Hancock, girl boss extraordinaire. 

She’ll turn over the sad songs and put on the powerful breakup songs and sing them loudly into the mirror as she fixes her hair, cleans the makeup from her face, and applies a fresh face. She squshes her boobs together in the mirror winks and feels powerful.

Why was she sad? There’s no reason, she’s beautiful and powerful and no one can make her feel like shit.

Though sometimes, when she’s feeling down, feeling vulnerable she’ll curl up alone on her bed and listen to sad songs. To remind herself she’s Boa Hancock, a woman with a bleeding heart she hides from all.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Hey everyone, it’s August 19, 2023. Do you know what that means? It means happy 20-year anniversary to the events of this YouTube video!

It’s one of the less talked about of the various old Chocolate Milk Gang Edinburgh clips I’ve found on YouTube. By which I mean it’s less talked about by me than a few of the others are, but that is also an indication of how much it’s talked about in general, because I am the only person in the world talking about those clips. The CMG Edinburgh videos I’ve found span a few years, but the earliest are from 2003, so we’re going to hit twenty-year anniversaries of a couple in a row this week.

We open on Daniel Kitson doing some material that was a fairly significant part of his 2005 Edinburgh show, appearing here with somewhat cruder wording than he used in the final versions of that show. Apparently he was sufficiently happy with the concept of that bit to hang onto it for two years before making it an official part of an official show, but he had a more extreme example that he saved for when performing in the middle of the night to drunk Gilded Balloon people. When he performed it in the middle of the night to sober people at The Stand two years later, this bit did not contain the words “wanking freely”. Not that I think he wouldn’t use that phrase at The Stand. But maybe wouldn’t go to it just for the sake of impressing a raucous and filth-demanding crowd, the way that he’d clearly learned to do at Late ‘n’ Live. You can see why twenty years later he’s writing plays about the sins of his past, Simon Amstell/Grandma’s House-style. Maybe a tiny bit Frankie Boyle-style, too. Someone should make a list of all the comedians who’ve written pieces of comedy that are apologies for the much harsher comedian they used to be. Amstell blamed the "roast culture" at the intersection of popular music and 00s panel shows, Boyle can blame the bearpit that Mock the Week allegedly was in its early years, and apparently Kitson can blame the drunk people at the Gilded Balloon.

Then the montage moves on, and Jason Byrne is on stage, covered in bubble wrap. Kitson introducing him like he’s a cage fighter, and there’s clearly a lot more irony in the way Kitson’s presenting this situation than in the way the crowd is receiving it, as they are audibly yelling for blood. Jason Byrne stumbles on his words, which does not surprise me, because I think I’ve heard his name specifically mentioned as one of the anti-Chocolate Milk Gang people. By which I mean they given the name by people like Andrew Maxwell and Jason Byrne and Glenn Wool – the latter of whom has been credited with actually coming up with the term – for not getting drunk at late-night Edinburgh shows, in contrast to the people who named them, who were always drunk at late-night Edinburgh shows.

Anyway, David O’Doherty turns up, also covered in bubble wrap, accompanied by his evil manager, noted Chocolate Milk Gang named coiner Glenn Wool. And then they set about attacking each other with garbage bags. DO’D… really going for it. Just beating the shit out of Jason Byrne during bubble wrap wrestling with what must be more zeal than was planned. They cover the bubble wrap wrestling night in slightly more detail on the 2012 BBC Scotland Late 'n' Live documentary, and in that one, there's a shot of DO'D leaping through the air and pouncing on Byrne like a puma. DO’D also did something similar at a 2007 Late ‘n’ Live, getting into a wrestling match with Daniel Kitson where he attacked hard enough so that at some point you can hear Kitson make it quite clear that he did not intend for the comedy stage wrestling to go as far as DO’D is taking it. I rather love the idea of David O’Doherty as a man brimming with unexpressed rage that he only gets to take out at the occasional late-night comedy show where they set up some sort of fight. I also love how hard DO'D beating on Jason Byrne makes Daniel Kitson laugh, just cracking up from the sidelines while he's supposed to be ironically commentating.

Though it’s worth noting – I pointed this out the other week, when I wrote a whole post about Cowgate, since obviously the world needs another post about that. I said that Adam Hills got lost in the moment and was just yelling what came into his head, while Daniel Kitson was pretending to be similarly caught up, but was in fact using his status as outside commentator to give genuinely useful advice to DO’D about where to attack the cow. You get something similar here – he’s breaking with laughter at what’s happening, but still has the presence of mind to shout “Glenn, get involved” in a voice that sounds like more hype but is in fact a host controlling his gig. You can see where he developed the compering skills.

Then David O'Doherty finishes beating up Jason Byrne and jumps into his evil manager's arms like... look, last night I went to my best friend's place and we watched a video from a gold medal match at the senior national championships of actual wrestling (no bubble wrap) earlier this year. We were watching it because an athlete from our team won that match, and winning it put her on the ladder for Olympic qualifications, and she's just decided she definitely does want to make at run at the 2024 Olympics so we need to re-watch all her recent matches to analyze her weak spots and create a training plan to prep for the Olympic trials, which is very exciting, so there's a little thing going on in my life. Anyway, the point is that the match was very exciting, it came down to the last few seconds, and when it over, and they confirmed that she'd just won the national championship final, she ran across the mat and jumped into my best friend's arms, throwing herself so hard at him that she knocked him backward, since he was the coach in her corner. Watching this comedy video today, I'm struck by how much DO'D jumping on Glenn Wool looks exactly like that athlete jumping on her coach after a genuine important sports thing. You can see why this type of thing eased my withdrawal during the sport-free pandemic.

Anyway, then Kitson introduces Cat Empire, a band from Australia, which he obviously loves because he loves all musicians from Australia (except that one cunt from Sydney). He then engages in a rap battle with a member of the band, which is… to be honest, genuinely awkward. And I’ve watched everything else in this video, and in a bunch of similar videos, without cringing, I think it’s fun, and it’s acceptable to do stupid things like that if you’ve layered enough irony on top, which they always do. The Kitson vs. DO’D rap battle from another night – enormous fun to watch. But somehow, doing a rap battle against and actual musician who does actually do this type of thing makes it, sort of, not quite as much of a joke anymore. Still definitely a joke, but just a few of those layers of irony shaved off, and it turns out, a rap battle needs every layer of irony it can get or it quickly stops being funny and starts to just be hard to watch.

It may be made worse by the fact that Daniel Kitson appears to be genuinely having a good time. There is, obviously, irony when he yells at an Australian musician that he’s conquered that man’s homeland because he “Went over to Melbourne, nearly won the Barry/Motherfucker, other side of the world/Nearly won me an award, got me a girl”. But I’m not sure there’s quite enough irony to make that easy to watch without cringing. It looks too much like Daniel Kitson might be slightly, for real, sort of enjoying getting to brag to an Australian musician about how he’s big in Australia. And you just can't have that.

Then Cat Empire plays music for the rest of the video. The music is fine. The video is sort of interesting just because it gives me a bit of a sense of what the Gilded Balloon looks like away from the stage (I can piece this together with some of the backstage Gilded Balloon footage that was in the Tim Minchin documentary I watched last year, and I could probably draw a floor plan of that place).

Happy twenty-year anniversary, everyone! I'm sure most of the people in this video are very proud of their antics, twenty years on. Well, I'm sure some of them are. Maybe. Daniel Kitson's out there writing plays about regretting some of the ways he used to behave on stage. While David O'Doherty, I like to think, would probably fuck up Jason Byrne or that cow or Daniel Kitson just as badly again, if given the opportunity to do so tonight. The real lesson here is don't fuck with David O'Doherty.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & MILES — DAY THIRTY-THREE.

location :   lounge area.

time :  miles and frankie take turns throwing grapes at josh’s head. whoever wins gets 3 orgasm tokens to cash in whenever they want. 

featuring :   miles /  @heatwayve  ( and a cameo from josh / @graftisms )

miles o'sullivan

they’ve just spent the past hour running around, messing about in the pool in some sort of obstacle course/don’t touch the floor hybrid game miles made up out of boredom before he almost slammed his head on the concrete and producers put a stop to it. other islanders probably joined in. he’s probably the king of unseen bits at this point, no regular viewer knows a thing about him. now they’re sat out on the loungers with a large bowl of grapes, shooting the shit about the best kind of apple or whatever else the two of them can ramble about for ages. “bet you i can hit josh’s head from here,” he suggests, picking one of the grapes off the vine. considering josh is way across the villa by the fire pit, this is a very bold claim.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

the best thing about dating miles is that it’s like permanently hanging out with a best friend who you also get to hook up with. whether it’s shooting the shit talking about nintendo and kids movies or getting frisky beneath the covers, they’re on the same wavelength. when she’s with him, she’s never second-guessing them — it’s only when they’re apart that her brain fills up with worms. “hit josh!? like hell you can. that's like... night on impossible, dude,” frankie answers, holding an ice pack against her smallest toe, having stubbed it against the poolside during their goofy assault course. why does the baby toe always hurt like a bitch? “i’m literally willing to bet you…” frankie pauses for a moment as she reaches for a bunch of grapes, considering what she can bet that isn’t just extra cups of coffee. there isn’t much to barter with in here. “—hm. what can i bet you? i’m not above trading sexual favours to prove a point.” especially if it’s someone she already wants. dropping the bunch of grapes into her lap, she tosses one up in the air above her head and catches it in her teeth. eyes wide, she turns to meet miles’ gaze with a triumphant grin, a whooping “eyyyyyy!” sounding from her lips as she shakes her fingers in a shaka sign. 

miles o'sullivan

his jaw goes slack for a beat, looking at frankie with wide eyes like he can't believe that she dared to challenge him – well, not even challenge, just straight up diss him. "ouch, castro," his hand is splayed over his heart for a beat. "that cut me deep, actually. you're supposed to believe in me! is this about your toe? because i told you, that was an accident, and you said it was fine," he points out defensively, though he's trying so hard to fight the smile that's making the corners of his lips twitch. "i'm not above trading sexual favors either. guess that's what it is then," he says matter-of-factly, because that sounds a bit like a win/win to him – doesn't hold back from letting his eyes linger on her, still checking her out even as she tosses a grape up into the air. honestly, the way she catches it with her teeth like that is peak sexy. "alright, do me," he says, leaning back so she can toss one at him. he means the double entendre, obviously.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“hey. i believe in you. i support you.” as if to prove her point, frankie reaches over to miles’ lounge chair, and places her hand over his on his heart. “but that doesn’t mean i think you can defy gravity, so…” shrugging, she sits back on her lounger, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “it’s not about the toe. although it’s looking pretty gnarly.” maybe it’ll fall off and she’ll become one of those shallow girls who cries in the bathroom about how she can’t wear open-toed sandals on spring break. just get the stub out, girl! bathroom frankie would yell, combing bubblegum out of the end of her hair while a college girl wept in the sink. nobody’s looking at your toes when the titties are that good.  “i just think it’s healthy to have realistic expectations of a romantic partner.” using the word romantic partner to describe miles feels silly, like the two of them are children playing dress-up at being adults, her in a pair of too large heels, him in his father’s suit, and her smile wobbles on the cusp of a laugh. is that what this is? a ‘romantic partnership’? god.  “‘do me’? is that what we’re betting? you win, i put out, you lose, i don’t?” this feels like something they could get cancelled over. she plucks a grape from the bunch on her lap, lines up her shot, and tosses it over-arm towards his mouth.  “alright fine. i’ll challenge you then. first to hit josh wins. but if i win i want three orgasms to cash in, any time, any place. bar mitzvahs, weddings, your great auntie eileen’s funeral, half-time of a big game, whatever.”

miles o'sullivan

"awh," miles places his hand on top of hers, patting it lightly as he grins over at her, "she really does like me." though he's got to flip her off when she leans back on her lounger with clarification, a fuck you on his lips. "well, i am sorry about the toe. but i've heard you'll survive, so," he adds. if she's only got nine toes after this, at least she's on sebastien's football team on not miles'! so, there's really no losing. wrinkles his nose a bit at the formality of the word romantic partner, sounds so goofy and oversized for what they are, but he can tell she's thinking the same and he can't hold back his laugh, a half-snort as he tries. "okay, you're on. first to whack josh gets three free whack-offs," he spits in his hand to shake, you know, like in peter pan or just the lite version of a blood oath. seems only appropriate to christen an orgasm bet with spit anyways. he's going all in, because that half-time thing sounds mad sexy. he winds up, taking his best aim with a grape – looks like it might make it, too, until rhys walks by. beans him in the side of the head. "oh, fuck," miles says as he bursts out laughing, turning away as if it will make him look less suspicious.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

ice pack abandoned, she pushes up off her sun lounger and crosses to sit on the end of his, spitting on her own hand and meeting miles’ grip. “wow. sexy...” she comments, feeling the squidge of saliva between their palms, not even sure if she’s joking or not.  it’s not that gross since they’re swapping spit on the reg anyway. turning herself to sit between his legs, frankie wipes her hand against his thigh to dry it as she nestles back against his chest. “you’ve got really hairy legs,” she notes, still running her hand over his thigh, and plucks a grape from the bowl on the side table, tossing it into her mouth. “not in a bad way! i’m not trying to give you body dysmorphia or anything, just… i assumed footballers would shave everything below the neck. to be more streamline, y'know? aerodynamic.”  she can’t see the expression on miles’ face as he lines up his shot (her back is pressed to his chest) but she can see the flexing in his arm as he holds it out in front of them, could imagine it as her arm, almost like a first-person shooter game but with grapes. he's got good arms—she almost says it, but doesn't want to give him an excuse to accuse her of distracting him. her eyes go wide like a cartoon character when his grape hits rhys, a hand snapped across her mouth to stifle her laughter before she shouts out “sorry, my bad!” willing to take the blame on miles’ behalf if it saves him from making an enemy. “no, stop… rhys is cool. it’s fine, he won’t care.” what she means is he’s a doormat. frankie dunks a load of grapes into her lap, loads one up in the palm of her hand, front arm stretched out to aim as the other arches back. her eyes are narrowed, painting a target on josh’s head, wishing she could use her dead eye in regular life when she pulls her throwing arm forward, leads with the elbow and follows through to flick the wrist. she scores the fire pit, but not josh’s head. “jeez. you’d think it would be easier considering how massive his head is.”

miles o'sullivan

"really hairy?" miles frowns, "no way, they're like, normally hairy. you've just been hookin' up with girls until this point, so, you're all used to it being like a baby dolphin, but these are extremely normal, reasonably hairy appendages," he adds, not at all self-consciously, thanks. "and don't you even say it," miles adds quickly, chucking a grape at her before she can make a joke about another reasonably hairy appendage. "i do shave my legs though, yeah, when i'm playing. but i'm not exactly on the pitch lately. what d'ya think you'd be more into?" he asks. miles doesn't expect frankie to immediately take the blame, but it just makes him laugh harder, his hand wrapping around her waist to pull her up closer. "what the fuck did you do that for, you idiot?" he laughs, peppering kisses up her neckline and across her jaw, "trying to take credit for my shit throw? you think i couldn't take rhys in a fight?" he asks between kisses until he finally tilts her chin upward and presses his lips to hers completely in a pseudo-upside-down kiss because he just can't resist. frankie's like a fucking magnet, even when they're goofing around, he's always going to be drawn to her more. clearly he doesn't know rhys at all and that there's no fight to be had there. he eases back a bit to allow frankie to take her shot, also not interested in allowing her to accuse him of trying to cheat. "wow. you suck. they're gonna have to do surgery on that one," he comments, reaching for another grape. he adjusts his weight slightly before he leans forward in what he thinks is an incredibly precise throw – which whizzes right past josh's ear, bouncing off the seat. "shit. and so do i." 

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“i’ve hooked up with guys!” frankie interrupts, their speech blending together in an overlap of sound. often she feels like their conversations are a mishmash of chatter, both of them so excited to be talking together that sometimes they forget to wait their turn.  “did you think i’d never caught a dick before? this ain’t my first rodeo.” fingers are tugging at one of the hairs on his leg, seeing if she can pull it out, a little smirk on her lips as she tries to make him wince. her laughter’s the snorting kind, ugly but infectious as she ducks out of the way of his grape. it hits her anyway, rolling down her stomach and catching in the dip of her belly button.  “i wasn’t gonna say it!” she protests, plucking the grape from her stomach and tossing it into her mouth. the sure jan’s apparent in her grin. she was totally gonna say it. “i think i’d be into you either way. like, how hairy you are isn’t exactly a dealbreaker for me. i kinda just like you for… you.” she lifts her fingers to her mouth, mimes gagging, and lets out a shriek when he tugs her against him, kissing up her neck.

“no! you could totally take his scrawny ass.” her arm twists behind her to slide her hand into his hair, fingers scratching against his scalp as she draws his head in against her neck, arching against his mouth. “i just want him to like you. i want everyone to like you.” he pulls her chin back in a kiss, and she wants to turn around and straddle him but it’s harder now they’re here—she’s trying to be respectful of callie. “wow. we’re so mary jane and spider man.” hand sliding around his neck, she pulls him back in for another one, then loads up with a handful of grapes, one tossed in her mouth, one fed to miles, and the last one lined up for a shot at josh. it’s less considered this time, half distracted by miles’ and the places she can feel his skin against hers, his hand on her waist, his thighs against her hips. when she throws her grape, it makes a fluid arc up across the fire pit and clocks josh on the ear. her surprise is evident in the way she leaps up from her seat, grapes flying everywhere, jumping up and down with a shout of “GOAL!” — if she had a shirt, she’d be tugging it over her head and running around right now. instead, she pulls miles up from the lounge chair, giving him a second to steady himself before jumping into his arms, limbs wrapping around him like a koala. 

𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝 𝙫𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨.

it's only natural to get hit with something and look up first, quickly followed by a swipe of his hand to make sure no bird's shit on him. "what the--" thankfully there's very little room for confusion when he hears a whoop of frankie's giant mouth, even across the villa. turning just in time to see her jumping into miles' arms (and not in their usual disgusting way), he rolls his eyes and flips them off. "what the hell was that?" he yells over at them, in no effort to get up when they're being gross and couple-y.

miles o'sullivan

he doesn't expect her to get so sweet about it after he's been messing with her, a lopsided grin on his features as he catches frankie's gaze from the corner of his eye. "oh, my god," he laughs, poking at her sides, "you are such a simp. genuinely, never would've guessed that you'd be such a lil' softie." though he's grinning, a bit cocky as he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead. though if hairy legs were a dealbreaker for her, he'd absolutely have to call bullshit. he's seen this girl talk about eating boogers, after all. "don't even gag, i know you like me," he laughs against the hollow of her neck, breath reverberating against her skin as he holds her close to him. they're probably two seconds away from wrestling and crushing these grapes into homemade wine. "uh, everyone does like me, don't worry about it," he jokes against her lips. 

he's so distracted when she makes her throw that he barely notices that it's beaned josh in the ear until she's jumping out of his lap, shouting. this isn't exactly a bet he's pissed about her winning, but he's shocked. he wraps an arm around frankie's waist, holding her close to him. he's not about to grant her the same courtesy she did with him and rhys. "sorry, man!" he shouts over her shoulder, "frankie's had it out for you all morning!"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

"oh fuck off!" frankie groans in response, shoving her hands against his chest, because if that isn't the most pot-kettle shit she's ever heard. "say that one more time and i'll fuckin' walk." there's challenge in her eyes when they meet his—as if she means it—though all that fire seems to fizzle the moment he presses his lips to her forehead.  "i actually don't like you, i just hate the english that bad. i'm doing this for liam neeson and enya and sinéad o'connor." kissing her fingers, she lifts them in a hunger games salute. his breath against her neck has her wriggling in his grip. any more of that and she'll be losing her head, if it isn't already lost. 

"you're such a dick," comes her only rebuttal, eyes rolled as she twists out of his grip to face towards josh,  who clearly wants nothing to do with them, tugging his arms around her waist and slotting her feet on top of his, so they can walk around the way she used to do with leo when her legs got tired of walking. "yeah. probably because of the massive hard on i have for him." she twists her head back, smirk wicked, so that it's blantant she's only joking. "remember when i talked about that underwater dick sucking thing. and said i'd have to test it out with josh. and you got super jealous." she's cackling, hand reaching up to drag the edges of his mouth down into a frown with her finger and thumb.

miles o'sullivan

"shut up, don't even talk about that!" miles laughs with her, shaking his head in disbelief. "he's too good-looking for that to be funny, franks, it doesn't work. it's not a good joke if it's actually plausible," he points out, flicking the tip of her nose lightly with his finger before the way she's cackling gets the best of him, he can't take it, reaching out to turn her legs and scooping her up into his arms as he stands up. "y'know," he says, tilting her upward so that they're almost pressed forehead-to-forehead in his seriousness, "maybe you underwater isn't such a bad idea." he takes a few steps over toward the deep end of the pool, adjusting her weight in his arms so he's holding her over the side.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

it’s so easy to rile him. all she has to say is a few words and she’s got him wriggling like a worm under a magnifying glass, but he takes it just as well as he gives it back, only moments ago having accused her of being shit at throwing, a total simp for him, a softie. it's like their shared love language is bullying each other. “wow. still a sore topic, huh?” instinctively, she recoils at the flick against her nose, eyes squinting, before her own teeth are snapping to lightly graze the tip of his. “i’m gonna level with you. the only dick i wanna suck in this place is yours, okay? so don’t even sweat it. but it is kinda cute when you get jealous.” breath catches in her throat at the sudden yanking of her legs upwards, arms tangling behind his neck to keep her close, her heart a jackrabbit against her sternum. “miles…” she warns, as he takes a step closer to the pool edge, and another. she tightens her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to him. “if i go down, you’re coming with me.” she wonders how much strength it would take to over-balance him, send them both toppling into the water. “do it,” she whispers, low and authoritative as her mouth moves to the shell of his ear, teeth pulling down on the lobe of his ear, and catching his earring between them, and then adds in a toxic gamer bro voice, “fuckin' pussy.”

miles o'sullivan

he didn't really need her to clarify, miles has no actual fears that she's gonna suck josh's dick by land or sea, but it's nice to hear. definitely turns him on. "yeah?" he laughs, smile going crooked before he speaks, "how cute? should we find somewhere to go right now, then?" for all her bravado, frankie's pretty easy to mess with too, and she can probably feel the way his chest shakes with laughter at the warning in her voice. "that's not a threat. i'm more than happy to join you," he remarks, turning his head so that he can catch her lips as they pull at his earlobe. he takes her next breath along with her toxic gamer bro impression, though the kiss is a little messy, mid-laugh. and then he tosses her in the deep end, barely waiting a few moments before he jumps in the water after her.

[brandyllyn]

Corroboration

Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!Reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: Celebrating a new job and trying to keep your relationship a secret from Frankie. Maybe you two should have just stayed in - you always had more fun there.

Theoretically Part 2 of Validation but can be read as a standalone.

My Masterlist

Word count: 5600 (Again. Jesus Christ.) Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC17 (Explicit)

Warnings: language. alcohol. bondage. smut. PiV sex. Oral (m receiving). toys / masturbation.

Awesome gif credit to @nickblaine [please let me know if you’d rather I not use! I’m still learning gif etiquette.]

Santiago was not going to make it through tonight.

It was supposed to be a night to let loose. You had just gotten a job offer and your sister wanted to celebrate. Of course that meant that her husband was there which is how Santi found himself on the other end of Frankie’s assessing gaze on the outdoor patio of a local taqueria. Santi did not know how to properly convey 'I absolutely have not been fucking your sister-in-law' with his face, but he was pretty sure he was doing a piss poor job of it.

It also didn’t help that you kept rubbing your toes along his ankle.

You weren’t supposed to be teasing him. He’d been clear about that the night before. Clear about the promise (now broken) that he had made to Frankie to keep his hands off you. You had rolled your eyes at his confession, pointing out various things such as that you were a 'big girl who could take care of herself' and that Frankie 'wasn’t your dad and even if he was it was none of his business.'

The statements had eased Santi’s guilt a little bit. Your hands wandering into his pants had blown any remaining concerns out of his mind completely. But that was when he was at home, with you curled around him and the taste of you fresh in his mouth. Here, in public, with his friend’s eyes boring holes into his brain, it was different.

"A pitcher for the table?" Andrea, Frankie’s wife, asked. Santi nodded at her. "And tacos?"

"Steak and chicken?" You asked and Santi nodded at you too. Anything to avoid Frankie’s eyes.

"We’ll go put the order in," Andrea said, leaning over and kissing Frankie on the cheek, not seeming to notice her husband’s preoccupation. She grabbed your hand and you gave Santi a wink before following.

Santi watched you walk away, appreciating the sway of your ass in your jeans. He shifted in his seat when he remembered what you were wearing under them. How you had sashayed out into his living room - wearing nothing but stockings, heels, and a garter belt - and walked over to his refrigerator while he was trying to remember what order breathing went in.

"Come here," he ordered and frowned when you laughed, passing out of his reach as you went back towards your room with a sparkling water.

"We don’t have time."

"I won’t take long," Santi promised, already pushing away from the table.

But you laughed again, backing down the hall and away from him. "I just wanted you to see what I was going to be wearing tonight. So you can think about it and what we might want to do later."

"I want to do it now," he growled, sprinting down the hall and then pulling up short when you closed the door in his face. When you came out twenty minutes later he had been expecting a dress. Maybe a skirt. What he was not expecting was you in a nice button down and jeans.

"I thought you were going to wear the stockings?" He asked with a disappointed sigh.

You smiled and took his hand, pressing him to your thigh. His fingers ran over the slight bump for a moment before he realized what he was feeling. He looked down in amazement but they were invisible, his only indication what his hand was telling him.

There was something about it that just set his mind reeling. There was no purpose to it, you were wearing it because you liked lingerie. And suddenly he thought back to every time he had ever seen you in jeans, wondering if you’d been wearing lace and silk next to your thighs then. As you left with Andrea he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on where the straps down your ass would be. Tracing the lines with his eyes and licking his lips unconsciously.

"Hey, pendejo, what did I say?" Frankie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

"What?" Santi tried to keep his tone level, ripping his eyes from you and turning to Frankie with what he hoped was a befuddled look.

Frankie wasn’t buying it. "I said don’t fuck my sister. That includes eye-fucking."

"Oh come on," Santi groaned, rolling his eyes. "I was just watching them leave."

"You were doing more than that," Frankie pointed at him. "She’s new in town and I don’t want her nursing a broken heart first thing."

"What makes you think I’ll break her heart? If we fucked it doesn’t have to be anything complicated." Santi made a point to emphasize the 'if'.

"Ahh," Frankie choked out, "you will not have my sister in-law as your fuck buddy man."

"She’s a grown woman," Santi finally snapped. "If she wants to fuck around with someone I think that’s her decision isn’t it?"

There was a long pause.

"Cabrón… you already did it."

Santi held his hands up, "Now Frankie it’s not what you think…"

"I think you did exactly what I asked you not to and fucked her."

Santi paused, glancing to the side for a second. "Okay, it’s exactly what you think but the circumstances aren’t-" He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Frankie had shoved the table to the side and was coming at him. "Calm down it’s not-"

"I asked one thing of you, tu hijo de puta, and you couldn’t fucking keep it in your pants," Frankie growled and lashed out, catching Santi in the gut before he could duck away from the hit. Santi felt the breath leave him but he spun on the balls of his feet and caught Frankie in a bear hug.

"Hermano listen I-"

"Don’t fucking call me hermano, tarado," Frankie bit out, his elbow catching Santi and he was forced to let go.

"It’s not that big of a deal," Santi tried again. It was difficult to hold up his end of the fight when the thing he wanted most was to not be fighting.

"She’s too good for you," Frankie told him.

Santi’s hands dropped to his sides. "Well that’s a shitty thing to say."

Frankie raised an eyebrow, "You forget I was there when you were fucking your way through Syria with Blackwater."

"Oh fucking-a, man," Santi groaned. "I was twenty-eight and fresh out. You can’t hold that against me."

"I absolutely hold it against you," Frankie threw another punch, glancing off of Santi’s chin. Santi felt his head jerk to the side and he took a stumbling step back, catching himself on a nearby heating unit.

"What the fuck Frankie?"

Oh thank you sweet Mary, Santi thought, turning to see you and Andrea standing a few feet away holding a pitcher of beer and a set of glasses. He met your eyes and tried to let you know through telepathy that your little secret was out. He watched you rush over, setting the pitcher down and reaching up to tilt his face to the light.

"What the hell happened out here?" You asked, looking over at Frankie while you stroked your thumb along his cheek. Santi clocked Frankie’s expression and caught your hand in his, pulling it down. But Frankie saw it, and his eyes narrowed on Santi. The other man opened his mouth but his wife cut him off.

"Francisco Luis Morales," the glasses clanked as Andrea set them down, "do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

Frankie’s head whipped around to her, "What? No. Baby I-"

"Then what the fuck are you doing getting into a fight out here? And you," Andrea turned on Santi and he found himself standing up straighter. She pointed and Santi flinched, "Were you just going to let my husband beat the shit out of you?"

"Like he could," Santi snorted but when he caught Andrea’s expression he quickly schooled his features into seriousness. "No ma’am. I mean… yes ma’am?"

She glared at him before turning back to Frankie. "I’m waiting Francisco."

"Pope slept with your sister," Frankie blurted out, fingers spread wide as he held his hands out to her.

"I know," Andrea replied, arms crossed and ignoring his reach. "And?"

Frankie gaped at her, looking like a fish caught out of water and Santi had to hide a snicker. Your elbow jabbing into his side made him turn and glare at you but you didn’t look at him, just continued to stare at the couple in front of you.

"What do you mean 'and'?" Frankie spluttered.

"And… what’s your point?"

"Pope slept with your sister," he said it louder this time and Santi heard you groan and saw you cover your face with one hand.

"Tell me when this is over," you whispered to him.

"Wanna just sneak out?"

You jerked your head to his, "Can we do that?"

"No." Frankie and Andrea said the word at the same time, in wildly different tones. Both yours and Santi’s eyes snapped back to them.

"We are celebrating," Andrea said, poking her finger into Frankie’s chest. Turning, she put her hands on her hips, "Everyone sit down."

It was the same tone someone might use on a poorly behaved dog and Santi had to resist the urge to just sit directly on the ground. Instead he moved back to the table, nabbing the pitcher on the way. He noticed that you didn’t seem as phased by your little sister’s tone, giving her an eye roll before sliding onto the stool next to his.

"Here," Andrea passed out the glasses, taking the seat on the other side of Santi. "When Frankie gets his act together he can join us." She shouted the last part. Frankie was still standing a few feet away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides and his brow furrowed beneath the bill of his ball cap.

"What gave it away?" You whispered in a low voice.

"You playing footsie with me under the table," he whispered back.

You scoffed. "Did not."

"Mmhmm," he hummed with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrows. "Said you couldn’t keep your eyes off me either."

"Oh please," Andrea laughed, filling his glass with the pale lager. "You two were obvious from the moment you walked in. Even if she hadn’t told me I’d have known."

"You told her?" Santi asked accusingly and saw you shrug.

"Of course I did. She’s my sister."

"Am I the only one who didn’t know?" Frankie grumbled, settling into the seat next to his wife and grabbing the pitcher, pouring himself a full glass and then downing half in one swallow.

"Yes," you and your sister reply in the same beat and Santi snorted, not bothering to hide his grin when Frankie glared at him.

"So this is-"

"None of your business," your voice cut Frankie off and from the jerk of his body his wife kicked him under the table at the same time. Santi raised his eyebrow at his friend and couldn’t resist a smug smile.

The evening passed uneventfully after that. He limited himself to one beer, knowing he would need to drive you back home, and laughed along as you and your sister tried to one-up each other with stories of your childhood. He kept an eye on Frankie, thankful when he saw his friend begin to relax, joining in on the playful ribbing and offering a few stories of his own.

At the end of the night he tucked you into his truck, buckling you in and smiling to himself when you stole a few kisses while he leaned over you.

"There you go," he said, patting your thigh, "safe and sound."

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, not reacting when he closed the door. He shook his head with a soft laugh and turned to walk around the truck and grunted when he ran directly into Frankie.

"Oh fuck, not again man."

Frankie glared, raking a hand along the back of his neck. "Just don’t hurt her okay?"

Santi closed his eyes for a minute, shaking his head. "I would never do anything to intentionally hurt someone. Not like that."

"I know," Frankie mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I’m not worried about what you’ll do intentionally."

Santi nodded. "I get you. I do. But whatever is going on, it has nothing to do with you." Frankie sighed and Santi held his hand out. "I’ll see you soon?"

Frankie took his hand and pulled him into a hug. "See you soon, hermano."

Santi let out a sigh of relief and returned the hug, following Frankie around the truck and giving Andrea a wave goodbye before climbing in and starting it. Your hand reached across and slid into his immediately and he gave it a squeeze, smiling at the soft look on your face.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked as he backed out of the spot.

"How Frankie was kicking your ass."

Santi scoffed, carefully checking the road before pulling out into it, turning his hand in yours and reaching across so they rested on your thigh. "Not in a million years. I wasn’t engaging."

"Sure you weren’t," you giggled. "I saw what I saw."

Santi rolled his eyes. "Believe what you want."

"Pobrecito," you cooed, turning in the seat. "I still think you’re tough. All… manly."

"You better," he let go of your hand to squeeze your thigh hard, hearing you squeak. "I’m all man for you."

You laughed, giggling to yourself as he pulled into his driveway. He pulled you over to him when he threw the truck into park, pulling you across the console and pressing his lips to yours while your laughter bubbled around him.

"You’re giggly when you’re drunk," Santi said with a smile, squeezing your thigh with one hand before letting himself out of the truck. He could see your lopsided grin and how you struggled with the seatbelt as he walked around the hood.

When he opened the door you tumbled out and into his arms, your hands fisting into his shirt. "M’not drunk," you protested, nuzzling your cheek into his neck.

"Mmhmm," he responded evenly, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you inside the house. "Sober as a nun. That’s you."

"I wouldn’t say that," you mumbled, cursing softly when your shoulder hit the wall. He muttered a quick apology and maneuvered you into the house with more care. He leaned you against the kitchen island, holding you steady with one hand for a second.

"I’m going to get you some water," he told you and waited for you to gain some semblance of balance before getting down the glass and filling it. When he turned back he found you were staring at him, chin propped on your hands, eye blinking slowly.

"You’re beautiful," you sighed, eyebrows drawn together.

Santi grinned and handed you the glass, leaning over the other side of the island. "Takes one to know one."

"No," you shook your head, taking a gulp of water and then setting the glass to the side. Earnestly, you took his hands in yours. "You’re like…. Really fucking beautiful. Gorgeous."

Santi felt heat rise on his cheeks and hoped he wasn’t blushing. It wasn’t every day the sexiest woman alive told you that you were beautiful. Even if she was hovering somewhere around tipsy.

"Your eyes. Your hands. Your mouth…." You sighed dreamily. "You’re so fucking hot."

Oh, well, this was nice. He knew he was reasonably attractive, he had a mirror and fairly good luck at bars. But it was still very nice to hear it said out loud. He opened his mouth to ask you more, see how long he could drag out this lovely moment of you stroking his ego, but your next words cut him off.

"Fuck, the things I’d let you do to me…"

Santi short-circuited. That was the only real way of explaining it. His heart stopped and every drop of blood he had rushed to his cock. He could feel his breath ghosting over his parted lips, his hands clenching on the counter. As he watched, you reached out and ran your thumb along his lower lip and then you fucking moaned, your eyes fluttering shut and he had the sudden flash of understanding that you were imagining it. Imagining this hypothetical list of things.

"Like what?" His voice was lower, raspier than he intended and your own lips parted when you opened your eyes.

"What?"

You looked lost, confused. Gently, he reached up and took your wrist in his hand. His fingers were long enough to easily encircle the fragile bones while he held you still and placed a kiss on your palm. "What would you let me do?"

He could tell the question was too much the moment it left him. You bit your lower lip, brows drawing together as you swallowed. He quickly reframed it. "What do you want me to do?"

Oh that was it, you melted, leaning across the counter towards him and he met you partway, brushing his lips along yours but pulling back when you tried to deepen the kiss. With the hand not holding your wrist he reached out, cupping your jaw and running his thumb along the arch of your cheek.

It was your turn to hold his wrist in your hand, to turn your face into him and press a kiss to the center. But you also flicked your tongue out, lips moving along him and drawing his thumb inside your mouth and Jesus fucking Christ sucking on it.

"Everything."

The word was muffled, mumbled around his thumb. The syllables stuck in his mind for a moment, skittering across the edges of his reasoning before settling into the space his question had left. He groaned, pressing down on your tongue. "Querida, I don’t think that’s an offer you want to make me."

You watched him, teeth scraping along the fleshy pad of his thumb as you pulled away and raised an eyebrow. Slowly, you pulled your hand from his and unbuttoned the first button of your shirt.

"I know what everything means Santi." Another button. "And when I say I want to do everything with you," another button and he could see the edge of your bra, lace cupping your perfect tits, "I mean it."

Santi was around the counter in a flash, hands pulling your hips flush to his, mouth slanting across yours. You barely had time to press your hands to his shoulders before he consumed you. Tongue stroking into you, walking you backwards until your shoulders hit the far wall.

You met him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders with a low moan. He gripped the edges of your shirt and pulled, listening to the buttons skitter across the floor before shoving the cloth down your arms and twisting the fabric in his hands, trapping your arms behind you.

There was no hesitation, no questions, you just leaned your head back and offered your neck to him and he raked his teeth along the soft flesh. "Everything?" He mumbled into you.

"Everything," you gasped in return.

He grinned at that, nipping at your collarbone, pulling down on your arms so you arched further into him. His knee shoved between your legs, pressing up between your thighs and he felt the jolt that went through you. How you shifted your stance so he pressed exactly where you wanted him to.

In his mind’s eye he could see it, see how wet you were getting for him. The way your thighs would tremble. The… fuck he’d forgotten the stockings.

He moved abruptly from you, spinning you around and forcing you ahead of him down the hallway and to his bed, not stopping until your thighs hit it and he could push you down face first. He let go of your shirt to work on your pants - noting that you didn’t even try to extricate yourself from his makeshift bindings.

Your pants and underwear came off together and he stepped back to admire the sight of you. The straps of the garter belt ran over the curve of your ass, taut lines to the black stockings you were wearing. Tilting his head he smiled and then bent to the floor, carefully setting your feet back in the low heels you had been wearing.

Oh that was nice. The heels made your ass tilt up, and he only needed to kick your feet apart to have your pussy bared to him. With quick movements he undid his belt, pushing his pants down far enough that he could release his cock. His fingers pressed into your dripping cunt and he clenched his jaw when he heard you moan his name. With his free hand he jerked your arms free of your shirt, he didn’t need it to hold you captive, quickly gathering your wrists in his hand and pressing them to the small of your back.

Head tilted back, eye closed, he pressed the head of his cock inside of you. Thankful for earlier communications that meant that he knew he could be skin to skin with you and not need to worry. Thankful because it meant he could lose himself in how fucking wet you were for him. How your cunt wrapped around him like a glove as he sank inside you with a loud groan of your name.

You had said you wanted everything and he gave it to you, holding your hip in one hand and your wrists in the other as he lost himself inside of you. This one was for him and him alone - he had plans for the evening and knew that you would not be left wanting - but right now, right now he needed to fuck you and he needed to come and he wanted you full of him when he-

He hunched over you when his orgasm washed over him, mouth trailing across your spine, holding your wrists in what must have been a painful grip but you didn’t struggle. Just arched your back so he sank deeper inside of you and whispered his name like a prayer. He stayed like that for a minute, letting your muscles work on him, feeling how you squirmed slightly beneath him as your body absently chased its own release. Finally he lifted himself, pressing his hips harder to you even as he felt himself softening.

"Do not move," he warned and slipped free, pressing your wrists down. He waited, watching to see if you would disobey but you didn’t. He staggered slightly when he crossed the room, his legs feeling weak from the strength of his orgasm. But he caught himself with one hand while opening the nightstand with the other, finding what he was looking for quickly. Turning, he tossed the pile of laundry from the chair in the corner and sank into it, spreading his knees wide and looking his fill of you. You remained bent over his bed with your legs spread wide in those stockings and heels with his cum slowly dripping out of you and your wrists crossed behind your back.

Fuck he was the luckiest man in the world.

"Come here," he said in a low voice, watching you tense and then slowly push yourself up. Your hair was disheveled, it looked like you’d already been fucked once which… fair. He crooked a finger at you and pointed at the space in front of him, between his legs. You sank to your knees gracefully, leaning your head against his thigh and closing your eyes and it was such a tender gesture his heart stuttered for a moment. He reached out and softly pressed a wayward bit of hair back across your temple.

"I’m going to fuck you again," he murmured and his lips twitched when he saw the slow smile crawl across your lips. "But you’re going to have to get me ready."

You nodded, opening your eyes finally to look up at him from under long eyelashes. "Yes."

"Good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb to you and opening your mouth slightly. With his other hand he lifted his limp cock and rested it on your plush lips. You pulled him in immediately, tongue swirling around the head and he bit back a curse at the sensations on his still sensitized skin.

He reached for one of your hands, pressing the object he had pulled from the nightstand into it. He smiled when you glanced at it and raised an eyebrow at him. "I want you to come with my cock in your mouth."

You moaned and he grunted, shifting lower in the chair so you could work him easier. From the corner of his eye he watched your hand move to between your legs, heard the soft click and then the gentle hum of the vibrator. He knew the moment you touched yourself - you sucked so hard on him he saw stars.

"That’s it," he sank his hands into your hair, "that’s it. Oh fuck yes."

His body wasn’t ready for another round but it didn’t really matter. Your mouth caressing on him felt like heaven regardless, watching you move and squirm as you brought yourself closer and closer to an orgasm. You whimpered around his cock, easily taking all of his softened length into your mouth.

When you came the back of your throat flexed with your muffled cries and he felt his cock stir. He held your mouth on him while your body writhed and you drove yourself as high as you could. The sight of you, the sounds you made as he grew harder in your mouth and you struggled to continue to take him, fuck he should have asked if he could film you.

You had said everything.

He groaned and pulled you from him, lifting you up and leaning forward so he could kiss you. Your jaw was slack, your mouth lazy as you returned his attentions.

"Can you make it to the bed?" He asked and grinned when you slowly shook your head. "Come on," he stood, lifting you with him and wrapping an arm around your waist when you sagged against him. "I got you."

He laid you gently in the middle of his bed, slipping your heels off and placing a kiss to the soft stocking covering the arch of your foot. Once you were settled he stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head, quickly shucking all of his layers until he was naked. His semi-erect cock bobbing slightly and he wrapped his hand around it and stroked himself while he looked at you sprawled across his bed. You looked ready to sleep and he lightly slapped the inside of your thigh.

Your eyes flew open and you gave a wide smile when you saw him. "C’mere," you hummed, holding your arms out and he slipped into your embrace. He gathered you to him, fingers tangling into the straps of your garter belt as he covered your mouth with his. He heard you moan when he pressed his cock to your thigh, your hand reaching down but he caught it, quickly rolling you fully onto your back and pulling your arm over your head.

"Give me the other one," he murmured, lips trailing over your neck. He adjusted himself when you pulled your arm from between your bodies, raising it up next to the other. Wrists crossed and arms loose. "Can you keep them there or do I need to tie you up?"

He didn’t miss the jump of your heartbeat, the way your breathing stopped for a moment or the low moan you tried to bite back. "I can keep them there."

Grinning he pulled away, sitting back on his knees and shaking his head at you. "I don’t think I trust you."

You arched your back, closing your eyes and making a soft noise that made his blood boil. He was off the bed and back with his belt in the space from one heartbeat to the next, kneeling near your head and leaning forward to wrap it around your wrists. You could get out if you wanted, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to give you something to fight against. Something to strain and pull on while he…

Your lips closed around his cock again and his chin dropped, hands fisting into the sheets. Looking down he could see how you twisted to take him, the blissed out smile on your face while you sucked on the tip of him - all you could reach. Cradling your head he held you still for a moment while he slowly slid forward, pushing into the back of your throat and feeling you choke. He pulled back just as slowly, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that had gathered at the corner of your eye.

He shifted down the bed, using one hand to wrap around your throat and tilt your head away from him, dragging his teeth down your neck. His other hand palmed at your breast, pulling at your bra until the material was pushed down and there was nothing to stop him from moving down and drawing your nipple into his mouth. He bit softly, then harder, feeling how you writhed under him and finding the pressure that made you gasp. He pinched your other nipple at the same time, pulling sharply and listening to you yelp at the stinging pain.

Shifting his body further over yours, he pressed his knee between your thighs, felt your wetness smear across his skin. His mouth shifted to the other nipple, soothing the pinched flesh with his tongue before biting it as well.

"Santi!"

He chuckled, grinding his leg up into you. "We’re barely into everything, querida. Do you want me to stop?"

"Never," you sighed and his heart flipped over in his chest. He lifted himself so he could kiss you, running his hand down and snapping your garter against your thigh. When you yelped he grinned and slipped his hand beneath it, massaging your skin.

"I said I was going to fuck you," he growled in your ear, nipping softly at the lobe. "But it seems like maybe you don’t want me?"

"I want you," you said immediately, turning your head and pressing your lips to his. He returned the kiss, moving his hand so it rested between his thigh and your cunt. His fingers slipped into you with no resistance.

"Are you sure?" He teased, lightly playing with your clit. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Santi," he pulled back at the seriousness of your tone, eyes searching your face. Your arms lowered, bound hands coming to rest behind his neck and he could feel the edge of his belt on his skin. "Please."

"Beautiful lady," he whispered, nuzzling his nose to yours. "I’ll give you everything."

He shifted his body, sliding his cock inside of you slowly, his forehead pressed to yours. He swallowed as you stretched around him, biting his lip and moving his arms beneath you to hold you close. The lace at the top of your stockings scratched against his thighs when you wrapped your legs around him. He was as bound as you were, held tight by your legs on his waist and your wrists behind his head, sinking down into the warmth of your body.

A soft puff of air caressed his lips and then your mouth touched his in the lightest of kisses. Moaning to himself he rocked into your body, licking at the seam of your lips and tangling his tongue with yours.

He had said he was going to fuck you but you were proving him a liar. He was making love to you, his body worshiping at the altar of yours, laying down everything he had as an offering to you. He wanted to do more, touch caress and stroke your body - but he would have to move from your embrace to do so. Move from the warmth and softness of you and he just couldn’t make himself. Instead he changed the angle of his hips, dragging himself along your clit while he pressed into you in long strokes.

Your breath caught in a tiny gasp and he dropped a kiss to your throat. He whispered sweet nothings to you. Telling you how beautiful you looked, how well you were taking him, that he was in danger of falling desperately in love with you. He made his confessions in Spanish, the words falling onto your skin and settling there even as your muscles clenched and you held him tighter and cried out his name in a long broken sob while you shattered around him.

Your orgasm triggered his own and he groaned when he spilled inside of you, coming so hard he blacked out and sank his weight down onto you without thought. He barely felt you shift, changing the position of your arms so you could card your fingers into his hair. You pressed a light kiss to his temple.

"You would be a very easy man to fall madly in love with Santiago Garcia," you whispered into his ear and for the first time in a long time - the thought doesn’t frighten him.

[forever-rogue]

prompt request! “I’ve never been anyone’s anything.” “You’re everything to me.” - with Frankie 🥺

I hope you enjoy! I am so soft for Frankie!

Frankie x Fem!Reader

No Warnings

»»————-　♡　————-««

This was the hardest, no scratch that, worst time of the year.

It wasn't that you hated the holidays, no they weren't so bad themselves, it was just...everything else.

It was hard to constantly smile and be happy when you were single and alone during the holidays. Again. Year after painstaking year.

The whole single thing wasn't the worst part either, it was just...the fact that everything seemed to remind you of that seemingly the world was coupled up while you were by yourself. That and the fact that every family member in the world seemed to ask the same questions every year at your holiday gatherings.

Who are you seeing?

When are you settling down and getting married?

When are you going to have children?

The whole lot of it was enough to exhaust you, mentally, spiritually, and physically and often maybe you contemplate avoiding you any holiday gathering all together. Yet you still managed to drag yourself to them and get through it all, plastering on a fake smile as you politely answered their questions. Your answers were always short and to the point, but you still remained polite...despite the fact that you wished the ground would swallow you up whole.

Maybe this year you would just skip everything. But then you'd have to answer as to why you weren't with the family. Shit.

It was a catch-22.

But there was another idea that quickly crossed your mind. It wasn't the best, you probably should have just let it go, but something inside you was just nagging at you and telling you to do it.

Before you knew it, your phone was in hand and you had dialed Frankie's number. Sometimes you were beyond thankful for your best friend.

"Hey bee," he answered after a few rings, his voice immediately soft and gentle, causing your heart to settle and a sense of peace wash over you.

"Hi Frankie," immediately a sense of unease and nerves washed over you as you realized just exactly what you were asking of him. You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh and decided to just do it. It was now or never, "can I ask you for a favor? Kind of a big one..."

"Shoot," you could hear a note of concern in his voice as he came to the conclusion that something was up, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "I just...will you come with me to my family's holiday party next weekend?"

"Of course," he laughed lightly; it was a weird thing of you to ask him or completely out of the blue, he would often go with you to family things.

"Umm, there's a catch," you blurted, "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

"Oh. Oh?" a stunned silence met you on the other end.

"Yeah," you feigned a laugh, hoping he wouldn't suddenly back out, "its just that...I don't know if I can handle another year of everyone asking me why I'm single and whatnot. They already know you and love you so it would be easy."

"Okay," he answered after a few awkward, tense beats of pause, "yeah, we can...we can definitely do that."

"Thank you so much, Frankie," you let out a sigh of relief, "I owe you big time. I love you so much!"

"Yeah...just let text me all the details later," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "umm, I have to go now. I'll talk to you later."

"Sounds good," you already felt so much better, "talk to you soon!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

By the time your family Christmas party rolled around, you were feeling an odd mixture of emotions. Happy, because you wouldn't be alone and your best friend would be by your side. Relieved that you could dodge the annoying questions from your family. And yet, you were also feeling a sense of...nerves?

As you prepared to go, taking a long hot shower and indulging in some self care an odd sense washed over you. Slipping on the pretty dress you'd picked out, hoping Frankie would like it too, you suddenly found yourself nervous realizing that he was the cause of your nerves. Although only posing as your boyfriend for the night, part of you couldn't help but wonder would it be like if he really was your boyfriend. You wished he was; you wished you could call him yours. But no; he was just your handsome friend that you were hopelessly in love with.

Bummer.

As you finished doing your hair and make up to just how you liked it, a knock came at your door before Frankie opened it and announced himself.

"In here!" you called out to him as you listened to his heavy footfalls, taking a deep breath to steady and remind yourself that was just your best friend. Nothing more and nothing less.

But as you sat finished putting in your earrings, you heard the creak of the floor followed by a small, "wow."

"Hi Frankie," you turned and offered him a smile before almost losing whatever bit of cool you had at the sight of him. He was handsome as ever, dressed in a well fitting pair of pants and button up, his dark curls styled elegantly and not hidden under his signature hat for once. He was perfection.

"Wow yourself, Frankie," you beamed at him, "you look wonderful - handsome."

"This?" a tinge of pink flushed his cheeks as he tried to play off your compliment, "its nothing much...but thank you."

"I'll just be a minute and then we can go," you went to back to the mirror and studied yourself, making sure you looked exactly how you wanted. It was hard to keep your eyes off of Frankie; he looked so handsome and sweet it was almost hard to define the line between remembering he was a friend and wanting nothing more than to have him. Instead you tried to focus on your reflection, "thanks again for doing this Frankie. I owe you big time, maybe dinner and movie marathon this weekend? I'll even let you pick the movies."

"Yeah," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "that sounds good. Umm...can I ask you something?"

"Anything, you know that."

"Why me? Why do you even need a fake boyfriend to bring? You've gone alone or with me as friends..." his question made your heart stop as you looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. He looked just as confused as you felt.

"Firstly, why not you? You're my best friend, and we both know you're a total catch," you turned around and held out your hand as if to say obviously, "and I dunno. I just can't handle another year of being ambushed with questions about why I'm single and how I'll end up as a spinster. I'd just like it to be different for one year...to feel like I actually mean something to someone. Even if it just for a night."

"What do you mean?" an offended and upset look crossed his features as he put his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him. You said too much. Too damn much and now you felt like a fool that was just about to cry, "do you have any clue how much you mean to me? And so many others?"

"I know, obviously you're my best friend," you feigned a weak laugh as you tried to work your way around this conversation, "I lo- care about you too. Tremendously. But I mean...I've been never been anyone's anything. I've never had someone love and care for me, its always been a boyfriend or so here and there but nothing real. And I know its stupid to be so upset about it, but for just one night I want to feel like maybe I could be that for someone. Maybe one day I will...I dunno, Frankie. I probably sound like an idiot. Either way...I just...thank you."

Before you could move away or do anything, Frankie gently, ever so tenderly, reached up and wiped away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. You allowed your gaze to meet his and found yourself staring at wide, nervous eyes.

"I can't believe you think that about yourself little bee," he whispered quietly, "you are everything to me. Everything."

"Frankie-"

"Listen, please, just let me say what I have too or I'm afraid I never will," he slid his hands down your arms and let himself inhale and exhale deeply. There was a best of silence before he steadied himself, "I am so in love with you. I have been for a long time...I just never...I couldn't bring myself to say it. But I have never just thought of you a friend."

"You don't have to-"

"I mean it," he insisted as he took your hand and pulled you closed to him, "I wish I would have told you a long time ago. But I couldn't just listen to you say these things when they're not true."

"Frankie..." you paused as you looked at your entwined hands, contemplating your next action. You brought your other hand to his cheek, gently touching his skin. There was a moment of hesitation before you decided to dive right in and kiss him.

It was a slow, sweet thing as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled your frame against his. A hand was around your waist and the other cradled the back of your head as you carded a hand through his dark locks. It was like there was no learning curve, no trying, just like it was meant to be. When you pulled apart, both of you reluctantly, you couldn't help the megawatt grin that was on your face. The matching one on Frankie's face was enough to send butterflies fluttering in your belly.

"I umm...I love you, Frankie," you stated the obvious as the two of you laughed, "I guess that's kind of obvious, huh?"

"I like hearing it," he admitted as you felt a flush of warmth run over your face, "why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Nervous," you both admitted at the same time. You shook your head, wishing you hadn't been such a fool for so long. But before you could lament anything, Frankie quickly captured your lips for another kiss, this one almost shy, but still saccharine.

"You better stop because I could get used to that," you teased as he just grinned.

"I will kiss you every day then," he promised, "and then some."

"I'd like that," you agreed, "I'd like that a lot."

"You're not the only one," he reached for your jacket and helped you put it on, "but we better go before we're late. You know how your mom gets."

"Is it bad I don't want to go? Can we just stay here instead?"

"Don't you want to go and introduce everyone to your boyfriend?" he said with another gentle peck, "I'm sure they're dying to know who it is."

"Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?" you agreed as you helped straighten his shirt, "are you free after? Tonight?"

"For you? Always, mi vida," he promised as he kissed the top of your head, "now let's go and have fun. Everything else can wait for later."

"Hey Frankie?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," you whispered softly as he seemed to melt at your words.

"I love you too, bee. Always and forever."

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Pepsi Raspberry

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.

Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.

A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.

Words: 2,416

A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…

You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.

"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.

Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.

“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”

He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.

“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.

“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”

Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.

“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”

“Not gonna happen.”

You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.

“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”

You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.

“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”

You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.

“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.

“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.

As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.

When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.

“Babe?”

You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.

He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.

“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.

“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”

“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”

He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.

“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”

“Not my problem, Frankie.”

Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.

“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“Can you make some?”

“Make it yourself.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

“What's wrong, baby?”

You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.

“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”

Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.

“What's up with you?”

There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.

“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.

“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”

“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”

You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”

“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.

When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.

“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.

“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.

“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.

“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.

“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.

“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”

“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”

Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.

[+++]

Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.

You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.

You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.

And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.

Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You mean the hangover or this morning?”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”

You exhale in an amused little sniff.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”

“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.

“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!

“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”

“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”

You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”

You start crying.

[vitos-pink-shirt]

Title: This Life or That Life

Words: 2,795

Characters: Vito Scaletta, Joe Barbaro, and Henry Tomasino.

Content Warnings: None

Summary: After Vito teaches Eric a lesson, and Frankie tells Vito to stay away from him, Vito doesn't take it so well.

Notes: IDK what I'm doing, I just felt like there needed to be some time between the Frankie cutting Vito out of her life, and the house-fire incident, I also think he deserved to grieve for losing Frankie in a way. So this is set between the two incidents/maybe the house-fire doesn't happen? Either way, Vito gets drunk, he cries, but Joe and Henry love him and are great friends :) I don't write so this might be shit. Apologies. (also trying to get an AO3 account to put this there, but until then, here ya go.

They decided to go out drinking, just for fun, no real reason. They were all kind of surprised that Vito had suggested it though, typically he fought them to go to a baseball game or dinner or play poker, anything but go out drinking, especially not at the cathouse. As it was they were all just excited Vito was cutting a little loose, and they piled into Henry’s car, who begrudgingly let Vito drive, while he sat shotgun and Joe and Eddie were in the backseat, all on their way to a night at the cathouse.

They lost Eddie as soon as they got there, but that wasn’t new, he owned the place he was always disappearing in there. What was new was how much Vito was drinking.

Nobody had really been paying attention to how often Vito was going to the bar, or how adamantly he was avoiding talking to people. However, when Henry noticed Vito’s words slurring together as he tried telling Henry a story from the can, which he promptly bit off and walked away before he could finish it, Henry began slowing his own drinking down, but just kept an eye on Vito from a distance. Henry tried not to hover over Vito, but the more drinks he got mixed with that look on Vito’s face, that look that subtly flashed between so many emotions, most of which Henry couldn’t read fast enough; Henry was getting a little worried.

It wasn’t until Vito managed to piss off a couple guys at the bar, Henry figured he needed to step in on Vito’s night and he made his way over, as at the moment it looked like they were two more slurred insults outta Vito’s mouth away from beating the shit out of Vito, who never stopped angrily running his mouth.

Henry wasn’t worried, per say, but he hadn’t seen Joe in a while, but he must have heard Vito’s voice spitting insults, because he came flying out of one of the side rooms , and to his credit, Henry thought, Joe sobered up pretty fast and was over with Henry, wedging himself between Vito and one of the guys he pissed off, before Henry could even holler for him.

“Hey, back off man, you came to a bar, you’re gonna get spilt on.” Joe said.

“Yeah assholes, just go back to whatever the fuck you were doing.” Henry added.

The men hesitated before losing interest and throwing a muttered “it ain’t worth it” over their shoulders as they turned away from the trio.

“Shit, might be time to head home,” Henry said as he turned around to begin ushering Vito to the car, “where the hell did he go?”

Vito, who had been right behind them, had vanished.

“Ah shit…” Joe said as he began looking around. The two friends were looking for Vito and Eddie now, trying to get out the door before they got into any more trouble, as one of the girls approached Henry.

“I think your friend is in the bathroom, sounds like he might need… help?” She said with uncertainty before heading for a backroom. “Good luck!” She said over her shoulder.

Shit.

Did she mean Vito or Eddie? Henry wasn’t sure what type of help they would need, but he was suddenly hoping it wasn’t Eddie. He didn’t think he could clean up a drunk Eddie who managed to piss all over himself. Either way, Henry got Joe and together they went to the bathroom, where, to their relief, they found Vito, who was fully clothed. However, he was on the ground with his back against the wall, elbows on his knees, sunglasses pushed up on top of his head, which was in his hands, and he appeared to be quietly crying.

Shit.

Joe was by his side right away.

“Hey, hey, you alright Vito? You’re alright.” Joe was saying gently, sobering further, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Henry squatted next to Vito, carefully putting his hand on his other shoulder not really knowing what to say, “we oughta head home Joe.”

“‘M alright we- we don’t gotta leave.” Vito finally said, lifting his head as he quickly tried to clean up his face, hastily wiping at tears, leaving his face red. He was pretending like the other two hadn’t already seen the condition he was in.

“Nah pal, let's head home.” Joe insisted, shifting one of Vito’s arms over his shoulder. “Can you walk?”

“Mmm… yeah.”

Henry didn’t trust that as Vito seemed to forget how to get his feet under him, and guided his other arm over his shoulders before they stood with their friend and made their way out of the building, not before stopping to tell the bar keep that Eddie would be staying the night. The drunk bastard could call a cab in the morning.

Getting Vito to the car was easy enough, getting him in it was another story.

“Fuck Vito, could you at least try to get your self in there?” Joe complained as he tried shoving Vito in the back seat. Vito, on the other hand, was basically passed out, head rolled back and glasses moved back down over his half closed eyes, occasionally he’d mumble out something unintelligible. Henry wound up going to the other side of the car and pulling Vito in while Joe pushed. Once he was laid out across the backseat, Henry got behind the wheel and Joe got in shotgun. The drive back was quiet until Henry broke the silence.

“What the fuck is this about?” He asked, nodding back at Vito, who was laying down, passed out in the back.

“I honestly don’t have a clue. Sometimes he gets in a mood and acts like he’s gonna drink, but it’s usually all talk and he’s still pretty good by the end of the night.” Joe responded, glancing back at Vito.

“Well clearly something’s up-“

“No shit?” Joe bit back before sighing, “I don’t know Henry, you know as well as I do, that he don’t talk about whatever’s happening in his life unless it’s got to do with this life.”

“Yeah,” Henry hummed, “I’ve noticed.”

“Neither do you though, ya know.”

“Yeah, well you can worry about me later, right now let’s worry about getting his ass home.”

Joe let out a short huff of a laugh before the rest of the drive fell into an almost comfortable silence, comfortable if they weren’t so worried about their friend.

When they finally got to Vito’s house it was around 2:00 in the morning. Joe worked on getting Vito out of the car while Henry worked on picking the door’s lock. By the time he got it and was turning back to help Joe with Vito, Joe already had him in his arms heading up the steps to the front door.

Shaking off his surprise at Joe just casually carrying Vito, Henry opened the front door for Joe before following him inside and locking it behind them. Joe carried Vito to his bed where the two conscious men began taking off his shoes and dress shirt before helping him under the covers, setting his sunglasses on the night stand along with a glass of water.

When they had finished and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, Joe said, “we should probably stay.”

Henry closed his eyes as they stood in the hallway of Vito’s house, he was tired but… he knew Joe was right, he knew Vito would do the same for them…

“Fine, but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Jackass. That’s fine, I'll sleep in the armchair.”

As the two other men got themselves ready to sleep, they couldn’t help but be worried for Vito.

When morning came, Henry and Joe woke up around 9:00, not at all well rested, but began making a good, greasy breakfast (which took real skill given how little food Vito had in his kitchen). It was really just Joe cooking, Henry watched him work, rather impressed, as he handed Joe ingredients and smoked his cigarette. Personally, Henry couldn’t cook for shit and just assumed neither could Joe or Vito, but he was clearly wrong about one of them.

Not long after they woke up they were alerted to Vito’s consciousness by a loud, and pained, groan coming from the bedroom.

“Madonna… why’d I leave the fucking curtains open?”

“How’s your head feeling?” Joe hollered from the kitchen.

“Shit…” they heard followed by another groan and the mattress slowly shifting. Vito emerged from the bedroom glaring in the morning light between his two best friends, who were dressed similar to him, and the food in the skillet on the stove, “what the fuck happened last night? Why are you two here?”

“You got shit faced last night and we had to haul your ass home.” Henry said standing by the kitchen window, cigarette between his lips. “Joe carried you all the way to your bed. It was a lot nicer than the way he carried me outta that burning building, and you hadn’t even gotten shot.”

“He really ain’t that heavy.”

Vito felt his face heat up as he made his way into the kitchen, “yeah, yeah, shut up and give me a cigarette.”

Henry complied and lit it for him once he had it between his lips.

“How come you two seem so… not hungover?” Vito asked after a few seconds of enjoying the smell of breakfast and the taste of the cigarette. Henry smoked a different kind from Vito, but after getting out of the can he couldn’t find it in himself to be as picky about what he smoked.

“Well you started drinking like a fish, and I stopped to keep an eye on you.” Henry started.

“And then you tried starting a fight with two fellas twice your size and we had to keep them off of you, that’s when I stopped drinking.” Joe continued for Henry.

“God,” Vito complained as he sat down at the table, shoving the playboy magazine Joe had gifted him when he moved in from the spot it had sat since,“well what happened to Eddie?”

“The usual,” Joe said with a shrug, “we lost him as soon as we got there and told the bar keep that he’d be staying the night once we got you outta the bathroom.”

“The fuck was I doing in the bathroom?” Vito asked, looking between the two other men as Joe began serving the fried egg, potato, and bacon skillet.

Henry poured them each a cup of coffee, “well, after those guys tried kicking your ass, we lost track of you again until someone told us you were in the bathroom.” They all sat down and began eating as he continued, “when we got in there you were pretty out of it; sitting on the floor and crying.” Henry said it bluntly, but there was some concern in his voice.

“Ah shit…” Vito said as he put his face in his hands.

“You weren’t making sense pal, so we just helped you out to the car.” Joe said softly, “it really isn’t that big of a deal but, you know I’m here for you if you’re going through something.”

“So am I.” Henry quickly added, feeling a little offended that Joe didn’t include him in the statement, but the look Joe gave him showed how grateful he was that Henry offered his support to Vito as well.

They ate quietly for a few minutes while Vito tried willing away the embarrassment of last night. Finally he said, “It.. it’s Frankie. She came by the other day all upset and she didn’t know what to do, said that piece of shit husband of hers had been hitting her, cheating on her, and just being a dead beat.”

“That fucker is hitting Frankie?” Joe exclaimed, “why haven’t we dumped him in the river already, Vito?”

“Because I already went and beat the shit out of him!” Vito shouted back, “Frankie asked me not to but what was I supposed to do? Just let him drag her down with him and let him turn her black and blue on the way? I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit there and let that shit happen!” Vito closed his eyes and sighed after barking out his frustration, his head was still too sore to yell that much, and body still too tired to hold onto his anger that long.

To Henry it looked like Vito was deflating and shrinking right there in that kitchen chair, “so what’s the issue then, if you took care of him?” Henry asked carefully.

“When he managed to drag his ass home, he apologized to Frankie and even though he didn’t say it, she knew it was me. She called me on the phone,” Vito abandoned his cigarette in the ashtray and moved his hands to his lap under the table so the other men couldn’t see them start to shake, “I- I could hear how scared she was through the line, she was afraid of me for what I did to that fuck. She told me to stay away from her, so- so I will.”

He tried finishing the sentence with a definitive tone, but the confidence wasn’t there, leaving the statement feeling as hollow as he did when she had first hung up the phone after calling him. Both he and the sentence were left to be filled with emotion after the anger left.

However, crying while he was too drunk to remember was one thing, but to cry while half dressed, completely sober, in front of his friends, who just so happened to be two of the baddest wise guys he knew, was quite another, Vito thought while trying to swallow the lump in his throat. And then Joe just had to gently put his hand on Vito’s back and Vito knew it was a losing battle, it was always the soft things Joe did that tipped Vito over the edge.

“Vito, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Joe asked, pulling him in for a side hug.

“What difference would it have made Joe?” Vito shouted trying to trade his threatening tears for anger. “It’s fine, now I don’t gotta worry about someone hurting her to get to me. Nobody can use her or Mama to get to me.” He had almost stopped the tears threatening to spill.

Almost.

He was so focused on staring at his plate that he didn’t see the look Joe and Henry shared. He couldn’t prepare himself for Henry to get up from the other side of the table and come around as they both wrapped their arms around him in a full body hug. After that he didn’t see anything as his eyes grew blurry and the tears he had almost banished escaped him. A few seconds of quietly letting his tears fall passed before the rest of his body reacted. While he made no noise, his shoulders shook and his chest hitched. Henry and Joe continued to hold him and rub his back, just letting him grieve for the last people in his family. His last tie to his life before everything; before the war, before prison, before Clemente or Falcone. His last tie to a life that wasn’t this life.

He didn’t really know how long he cried, but neither of the other men rushed him, they just quietly held him until he was finished. At the end of it when he had finished and the other two had pulled away, Vito was trying to wipe his face clean as Joe kept rubbing his back and Henry grabbed him a glass of water.

“I’m sorry, I-“ Vito began.

“Don’t start on that apology shit,” Henry cut him off before adding, softly, “you don’t have to apologize Vito.”

“Yeah, we’re here for you pal.” Joe added nodding.

Vito looked between the two of them and sighed, closing his eyes before saying, “I really appreciate it guys…”

“We know,” Henry said, knocking his shoulder lightly and softly smiled at him when he opened his eyes, “that’s all you gotta say.”

Joe nodded in support of Henry and Vito sighed again but it was different, it was lighter, and he smiled. The men went back to eating the now cooling breakfast, and enjoyed the comfortable quiet of the late morning.

As they finished and began cleaning up, Henry started doing dishes as Joe turned the radio on low, and Vito cleaned up the table, Vito couldn’t help but smile. He thought to himself; God, was he grateful, because whether it was this life or that life, he was going to have Joe and Henry with him no matter what.

[tintinwrites]

i dream too much | Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader | Part One

A/N: Just wanted to say that this is going to be a mini series, probably around six parts!!

Rating: 18+

Warning: Fem!Reader. It says Frankie x Reader but it is also Santi x Reader as well (this is a pining fic, my hoes). No smut, but it gets close...a lime if you will goodbye I am Ancient. Naughty words. Frankie gets his heart broken. Everyone is just stupid.

Word count: 2,251, apparently!!

Summary: Frankie decides to tell you he loves you, but he finds you in bed with someone.

GIF credit: ^ Please let me know if you don’t want me using your GIF!!

Tags: Open!!

                                               --------------------

Frankie wondered if he should’ve dressed up a little more, but you’d never been one to insist on fancy dress.

How many times had you laid on his chest in nothing but a T-shirt and shorts when he was just in a shirt and jeans?

Regardless, he pulled off his V-neck and replaced it with a button down shirt, though it was short-sleeved and covered in a niche print.

It was fancier than his normal attire and showed that this was important to him, that this was an occasion that mattered and he wanted to show you that this meant a lot. That he wasn’t just looking for a good time because you were his friend and you had tits.

God, the way he zoned out in front of the mirror for a couple moments just thinking about your breasts wasn’t the point.

The point was that he’d been in love with you since practically the day he met you; your smile, your laugh, the way you touched his arm, all your jokes that nearly had him weeping from laughter...he never stood a chance, did he?

At first, he tried to convince himself that it was just a little crush because you were pretty and you were sweet to him, but it seemed like he just fell for you more and more each day. Even years into your friendship now, he still found little things about you that turned him into a fucking dope.

He was so terrified to ruin your friendship that he just kept it as a horrible, gnawing, yearning secret until he just couldn’t take it anymore. Not only was it eating away at him to pretend he wasn’t completely in love with you, but he didn’t think it was fair to you that he was having thoughts like this when you considered your friendship to be innocent.

When he went on another date with another person in his attempts to find someone as a way to get over his feelings for you, he realized it was definitely time that he told you for both your and his sake.

You would probably turn him down which would be okay even if it hurt like hell. He just didn’t want to keep harboring the secret like this even if you didn’t feel the same way.

That part made him a little nervous, but then he would remember one of the reasons why he was in love with you; you always called him ‘sweet Frankie’, even had it as his name in your phone with a couple heart emojis with it, and that made him think that maybe…

Well, it gave him the courage to admit to you what he felt whether you returned those feelings or not.

He decided to buy a bouquet of your favorite flowers and then panicked that it was a stupid, lame idea to buy you flowers, but he stuck with it so he wouldn’t have wasted the money. They were pretty, they smelled nice, they were a lot like you and he figured it would be good to lead with that.

I bought these for you because they reminded me of you and I love you.

That was stupid and didn’t even sound like something he would say. He hadn’t told someone he loved them since he was in his twenties and they broke up when he was thirty, and he hadn’t exactly had a long term relationship since then.

Every line or speech he planned just didn’t sound right, so he was just going to say whatever came to mind so it could be natural.

He hesitated when he stepped off the elevator and approached the door to your apartment, quickly forcing himself to knock before he could get scared enough to walk away.

You needed to know. He needed to tell you everything.

There was no answer and he thought that he tried to talk to you when you weren’t home, but he tried the doorknob and found that it wasn’t locked. Maybe you were just showering or something.

He stepped inside and shut the door, and he was just about to call out to you so he wouldn’t scare you with his presence when he heard the distinct sound of your laughter.

It was coming from the bedroom so he thought instead that you were just watching television, setting the bouquet down on your coffee table as he made his way down the little hallway that led to your room.

The door was open and he started to say your name, but paused when he stepped on something and looked down with his brow furrowed to find your bra on the floor. And your favorite shirt. There was a pair of lacy panties right outside the door and he had to force his gaze away from it as he moved closer.

He worried that maybe he was encroaching on some...alone time and he stared at the floor until he realized that you weren’t alone.

A man’s moan had him immediately jerking his head up to see that you were underneath someone; lips pressing, legs tangling, his hands wandering over your hips and your thighs and one of your hands moving in an obvious way within the man’s underwear.

Frankie’s heart would’ve dropped even if it was some complete stranger you’d picked up in a bar, but this wasn’t a stranger. Pope, his best fucking friend, was currently reaching between your legs to touch you.

He didn’t tell Santi or any of the other guys about his feelings for you, fearing ridicule or that they would tell you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t kill him to see his own best friend on top of the woman he loved.

It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see how enthusiastically you were enjoying him.

He’d been in love with you for years and Santi still beat him to you.

Not that it was a competition, not that you were a prize to be won, but...seeing the person he loved in the arms of someone he couldn’t even compare to was a bitter pill to take.

All he could do was stare in shock and disappointment, and there was a hollow ache that made it feel like someone was trying to push his chest right through his back.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Start telling you he loved you when Santi inevitably started fucking you? He couldn’t do that now, couldn’t tell you what he felt and humiliate and hurt you by awkwardly putting you on the spot when you were about to sleep with somebody else.

Once he was back in his right mind and realized he was impeding on a private moment and that his heart was sinking lower with each passing second, he knew he needed to leave. He would never tell you he’d been here and try to forget it himself.

That might have worked better if he didn’t step on your discarded underwear, slipping slightly since it was on the wood floor and stumbling into the wall. “Fuck!”

He heard a gasp and immediately looked to see that you had pushed Santi aside enough to see him, looking entirely mortified.

“Frankie?!” You hissed something to Santiago as you quickly shoved him off, grabbing the rumpled throw blanket from the foot of your bed to cover yourself.

Between your speed and Frankie’s respectfulness, he didn’t see more than a glimpse of you, but that didn’t stop him from blushing and sinking further against the wall in hopes that it would just swallow him and spit him out on another continent.

No such luck. He was still there, staring at the two of you. You were looking at him like a deer in headlights and Santi, though he covered the bulge in his underwear with a pillow, was grinning at him.

“You miss seeing my ass in the army showers or something, pendejo?” he teased since, yeah, Frankie would’ve gotten an eyeful of his ass if he’d just stood there silently.

“I was just...fuck, I was in the neighborhood and the door was unlocked…” He had a habit of taking off his hat and wringing it when he was anxious, but he only touched his hair when he reached up because he wanted to look good for you and hadn’t worn a hat.

“How much did you see?” Your question was practically squeaked out in embarrassment.

“Nothing.” Frankie was quick to reassure you, holding his hands up. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I should go.” His own embarrassment at his plans to tell you he loved you and at the two of you discovering he was there outweighed his pain for the moment, but he didn’t know how long it would. Both emotions made him want to run far, far away anyway.

“Oh, Frankie…” You started to get up and the way the blanket fell bared your hip to him and he—

“Don’t get up! I...I just stopped by because I was in the neighborhood, it’s not a big deal.” It was supposed to be a big deal. He supposed it still was, just not in the way he wanted.

He was supposed to tell you he loved you and he was supposed to be the one in your bed, but you’d chosen Santi before he could even get a chance.

He couldn’t help the jealousy that welled up in him; Santiago had always been handsome and charming where Frankie was average and too shy to go for half the things he wanted. He’d always looked up to him for that and now…

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked softly, looking guilty for the awkwardness of him witnessing such a moment.

With your offer was Santi’s hand rubbing your hip, trying to keep you in the mood despite the interruption, and you didn’t move away. Meaning you wanted to continue and Frankie was just a nuisance in that moment. “I’m good. I have, uh...a hip...appointment.”

He knew why he had hips on the brain, but his quick excuse just sounded silly to the two of you.

“You gettin’ old on me, ‘Fish?” Santi asked, eyebrows raised.

“Is everything okay?” The genuine concern in your voice made his chest squeeze, not any less in love with you than before even though he kind of hoped he would be.

“I mean...chiropractor appointment. I think I threw something out and I need, like...aligned and shit,” he mumbled, just wanting to leave as much as you two wanted to fuck.

“Oh, okay. Text me, let me know how it goes?” You smiled at him sweetly like you always seemed to do.

How could anyone be expected to not fall in love with you? He couldn’t even blame Santi for wanting you.

This was all probably just a hookup if he knew his friend, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you now. Or ever. Not knowing that you wanted Santi first, imagining the sympathy in your eyes when you would tell him you didn’t feel the same way.

What was a few more years of pretending he didn’t love you to a man who’d already spent this long doing so?

Maybe this was the push he needed to move on from his feelings for you and give his dates an actual chance before deciding he didn’t like them because they weren’t you.

“Please fucking go, man.” Santi’s tone was desperate and meaningful, nodding towards you subtly as if to tell Frankie he was about to fuck you and needed alone time like he didn’t know.

“See you.” He hated the way the other man was just acting like they were two buddies in a bar and you were just some pair of pants Santi managed to flirt his way into.

He quickly turned and made his way down the hall, kicking off the panties that were still wrapped around the toe of his boot. He didn’t even remember the bouquet of flowers, just walked to the door and left as quickly as he possibly could.

Frankie had been broken up with a couple times in his life; middle school, high school, his one long term relationship that ended when he was thirty. But none of those even compared to this.

Maybe it was because you didn’t know he loved you or maybe he felt a sense of betrayal despite never admitting to Santi how he felt. Maybe he loved you more than he’d ever love anyone in his life and this made his yearning permanent.

All he knew was that this hurt like hell and he couldn’t believe he ever thought a fucking love confession was a good idea.

You could have your pick of anyone and this just proved it. Why the fuck would you even look twice at him when there were guys like Santi around?

Being so close with you was more than enough and he was almost happy that he didn’t ruin it now, trying to convince himself that the whole situation had saved his ass.

It probably was just a crush he’d been harboring since he met you and he was just reading into it too much.

But as he climbed into his truck, and shut the door, and let his head thump back against the seat, he knew that he loved you and that now he would never be able to do a damn thing about it.

[x-reader-theater]

I'm not sure if your requests are open but here I go. Can I suggest a Spencer Reid x Reader that likes to gamble? Maybe they met on a case and the unsub was spotted in casinos and while interrogating, Spencer met the reader? I don't know, I'm just tired at this point

I'm making the game Texas hold-em, because that's literally the only kind of poker I know how to play. Edited by @mystic-writes as always. 💛

Gif by @reidgifs

"Alright, blinds shifting to the right!" the dealer says from the middle of the table. The game was not standard casino fare, with everyone knowing each other and talking the entire time. But, seeing as it's the only game in town you learned to play.

It doesn't bother you, the lack of professionalism. You don't play to win, you play to have fun. And maybe take some money from your neighbors.

You know everyone at the table. Your next door neighbor Chucky is sitting to your right, his blonde hair just as unkempt as usual. George is sitting to your left. He's across the way from you. Frankie lives down the street, he's next to Chucky, and Harry is dealing tonight.

The only person you don't know is a man sitting next to George. He has shoulder length brown hair and is far too skinny to be from anywhere around here. Your town values hard work, and stands up against corporations that try to take over their farms. Everyone works their own land, and that's how they like it. That also means everyone is stocky and strong. The man does not look like he's from around here.

"Alrighty then, new-guy. What'll you have?" Miss Mary Garland asks, her circular metal tray tucked underneath her arm.

"Uh, just water please," he says, and you raise your eyebrows at that.

"Alright, I'm callin' the ten," George says, throwing in his chips. It's not a high stakes game at all, and you're glad for it. You would hate to take any significant amount of money from these people. It's all for fun.

"I call," the unknown man says, throwing in his own ten.

The rest of the round goes by uneventfully, you fold, not having anything good and not wanting to lose more than ten chips a round if you didn't have to, and the new guy ends up winning the fifty dollar pot, on what you can only assume is a bluff. That or he's not very good at the game. But the way the man's eyes are looking at everyone around the table, with a discerning eye, trying to see what they have based on their expressions, he's definitely bluffing.

The next round starts, and you find you have pocket sevens. You call the ante, putting your ten in, and it moves off to the next round. Another seven shows up, as well as a jack and a ten. You school your expression, as you raise by ten. The three men you know fold, and it's just you and the stranger. He looks at you, and you hold his gaze, his hazel eyes narrowing at you, trying to ascertain what you have.

The flop is put down and none of it interests you. A king and a queen, as well as a two.

Your percentage is pretty good at this point, but you can't put everything you have into it. The man could have something better. Potentially.

The turn is put down and it's an ace. Not helpful to you, so you put in five, and the man does the same.

Finally, the river is placed. It's another seven. You fight down the grin you want to bring to your face so badly, but you fight it, pushing it down, your face little more than a blank slate. You put in half of your pile, which, admittedly, isn't much, but it is a good 25 dollars. The unknown man, whose face is as blank as yours, raises you another 25. Your entire pot.

You swallow, but push the rest of your chips in. You think he swallows as well. Your hand is the third best, and the only thing that can beat you is a straight flush or a royal flush, and looking at the odds, he most likely doesn't have that. If he does, you'll eat your hat.

"Alrighty then," the dealer says and it's at that moment you realize how tense it's become. No one's said anything since they folded, and you've been too focused on the man sitting across from you. "Show us what you got!"

The unknown man lays his hand down, and you suck in a breath as you see what he has. A pair of Jacks. Full house with sevens.

"Full house," he says, and you almost forget to put your own cards down when he speaks. His voice is smooth but young, and you have to wonder how old he is.

You put your cards down and grin at the man, saying, "Four of a kind."

You pull all of the chips to yourself at your place at the table, stacking them, before saying, "Sorry boys, but I'm gonna take my winnings and go."

You push the chips to the dealer who gives you 100 dollars in twenties and another 15 for the blinds. You collect your money as the rest of the table, besides the unknown man, boos you, but you just laugh as you walk out of the room, into the main dive bar, and order yourself a glass of water, putting away your money.

The unknown man takes a seat next to you, holding his own water you didn't realize he got, too focused on the game.

"So, you come in, and somehow get a seat at our private poker game. Do I at least get to know your name?" you ask, taking a sip of the water placed in front of you.

"Spencer. Reid. Uh, Spencer Reid, is my name," he says, awkwardly, and you raise an eyebrow. This man is different to how you saw him only minutes ago. He's not as confident, cocky.

"Spencer. I like it. Classic," you say, and the man in front of you actually blushes. You smirk. "So, Spencer, what are you doing in my little town?" you ask, leaning forward into Spencer's space.

He flushes an even deeper red, and stutters out, "I-we- I'm here investigating the murders that-that occurred recently."

You nod. "And you think it's someone in the poker group?"

Spencer nods. "Yes, but the unsub took someone and is holding them, torturing them right now and it seems like everyone was there…"

You shake your head sadly. "We have another member who usually sits in your place. He's right shit at the game so we never talk about him. We just take his money usually, and send him on his way. He's a real creepy bastard if I've ever seen one."

"What's his name?" Spencer asks, and you go to write it down, taking a pen from your shirt pocket and a napkin from the bar, and writing the name, and something else down.

"Buddy. Buddy Green," you say, handing over the napkin.

Spencer takes it, nodding, before frowning. "What's this? Is this Buddy's number?" Spencer asks.

"What?" you ask back, flippantly. "Nah, I don't know Buddy's number. That's my number."

You wink, and Spencer blushes a deep red, thanking you for your info before running off. You down the rest of your water as you lean back against the bar.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part V: Beast of Burden

Summary/Author's Note: Let's have some happy shall we? You flash back to one of your earliest memories with Frankie. You and Will have a heart to heart. (Thank you guys so much for your amazing compliments and feedback. It means the world.) ((also dear god I love this gif so much, the hair, the wind, the hand gestures, the way he says “--FUCKING ANDES, MAN”)) gif by @pascalplease 

**There is a Top Gun reference in here because y'all cannot sit there and tell me it's not Fransisco Catfish Morales's favorite movie--so, if you've never seen it, it might seem out of place or left field but I PROMISE it is fitting.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pope's Sister! Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ -- feelings, heavy petting, thigh riding, fingering, Frankie's giant hands, all the kisses, hurt/comfort, YEARNING AND PINING, long lost love, language, Frankie is made out of pure HUSBAND material, y’all, fucking tom

Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV

[MASTERLIST]

The two vehicles drove one behind the other for most of the morning. You watched the sun come up through the dense tree line, little slivers of golden flashes of light through the lush, green leaves that made you smile slightly in its beauty. Seeing the sun, knowing that the distance between you and Lorea's mansion was growing by the minute, made you finally be able to draw a deep breath without feeling like you were going to crack a rib in the process. The panic had subsided, but afterwards came the muscle fatigue and unadulterated exhaustion of being that tense for that long. Your eyes were heavy, but you couldn't sleep, not yet. 

Frankie eventually let go of your hand, needing both of them to turn the steering wheel on some of the switchback roads in the heart of the jungle, but as soon as the road turned straight again, his hand was a warm and gentle weight on your thigh. It was as if he thought the moment he stopped touching you, you would cease to be real. Maybe he was right--maybe his touch was the only thing keeping you centered in your own existence right now. 

"You should sleep," he said quietly, glancing away from the road to look at you then back. 

"I can't." 

He squeezed your thigh and nodded. "You look exhausted."

You chuckled softly and smiled halfheartedly. "I've been awake for the better part of three days, Frankie. If I didn't look exhausted, I would be worried."

He grinned in return, thankful that you at least we're starting to sound like your old self. You both still had a long way to go. He selfishly longed to see that spark back within you, the one he fell in love with--the one that gave him courage and the strength to do just about anything, including getting out of this fucking jungle. 

He pulled into a very old, rundown airstrip hangar and you sat up a little straighter, taking off your seat belt as he threw it in park. A small yellow beat up gremlin was parked off to the side where a pretty woman and a man leaned against the open hatchback.

"Who's that?" You asked.

"Pope's informant. We owe her big time."

You looked at her and suddenly was overwhelmed with the idea of not knowing what to say. She looked so normal, a civilian that should have been far away from all of this chaos and yet here she was, playing a huge part in the fact that you were still alive. 

Frankie got out of the van and walked around the front to open the door for you as he held out his hand. You nodded your thanks and gripped it, leaning on him more than you would have liked, but god dammit you were tired. 

"Your girlfriend is here," Frankie nodded towards the yellow car as Pope hopped out of the second SUV. 

"Girlfriend?" Now that made you smile as you raised an eyebrow at your brother who blushed.

"Shut up," he said flatly before walking over to them. Frankie chuckled and shook his head. 

He put his hand in the edge of your hair at your temple, gently running his thumb over the side of your forehead as he looked you over. "I gotta start weighing these bags. Go sit with Will. I'll be close by," he added before you could protest, with a wink and a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Okay,” you said softly and he hesitated for a moment before drawing you into the circle of his arms and sighing heavily. You clung to his shirt and breathed him in and he hugged you so tightly you felt compressed, but you weren’t about to tell him to stop. “Frankie--” you focused on the way he smelled, like humidity and sweat but underneath it all it was still him, solid and warm. “If you keep hugging me like this, I’m going to lose it and I can’t--I can’t right now.” Your voice faltered towards the end and you balled his shirt into your fists.

“Do you want me to stop?” he mumbled against your hair and the very idea brought tears to the front of your eyes. 

“God, no,” you let out an exasperated laugh and he squeezed you tighter. You pulled back slightly and wiped your eyes on the back of your hand, giving him a smile. With each touch he offered, your heart felt lighter, but then again that had always been one of Frankie’s powers over you. 

“Fuck!”

Both of you turned as Benny got out of the SUV and slammed the door shut, kicking the tire. Will and Tom followed suit but shut the doors normally, adjusting the strap of their rifles and packs. “What?” Tom snarled at Benny and the younger man threw his arms up in the air.

“What do you mean ‘what’? That was a shit job back there and you know it! We don’t leave messes like that!” Benny was seething. Frankie felt you tense and he let go of you slowly and turned to the other men. 

“Hey--Ben, Benny!” He raised his voice and the younger man looked at him. “Take a walk--relax.” He rubbed his hand down his face and glanced at you apologetically as Benny threw his pack down and laced his hands on top of his head, breathing deeply and walking into the grass. 

“If no one cares,” Will put a hand to his left side and winced. “I think I’m gonna sit.”

“Let me help,” you said, jogging over to the blond and he smiled slightly. 

Tom and Frankie started unloading the duffel bags of cash onto the giant rusty scale that sat under a dilapidated awning. Will sat down on a concrete ledge that connected to a retainer wall and he cursed quietly, when he moved his hand away from the wound his fingers had a few drops of fresh blood on them. “Shit,” he sighed.

“You got another bandage kit?” you asked, dropping down to one knee and starting to unzip his pack for him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, wincing again as he pulled his shirt up to examine the wound further. “You don’t have to--”

“Hush,” you said and he laughed, making you return it. Will had one of the most infectious smiles and laughs of any of your brother’s crew. 

“I missed you, ya know? We all did.” He watched as you lifted his shirt out of your way and removed the first round of gauze that was bloody and soaked through. 

“I missed you guys, too. It’s been a long time.” 

“Too bad we gotta get the gang back together for this--haven’t any of us heard of like a barbecue or something?” he joked. You laughed but didn’t respond, focusing on trying not to rip any of the new clotting off as you cleaned the area, ripping open more gauze with your teeth and spitting the packaging out onto the ground. “You know who missed you most though, right?” he asked, nodding towards the scale as Frankie and Tom continued to toss bags onto it. 

“Tom?” you asked and she threw his head back and laughed.

“Smart ass,” he shook his head. “He worried himself sick. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“I know.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as you could only imagine how Frankie felt the last few days. 

“All these years--” Will waited until you had placed the new bandage and sealed it off with medical tape and a wrap around his waist before he spoke again. “He never stopped loving you.”

“Will..”

“No, I’m serious. And if both of you are too stubborn to admit it and are going to make the rest of us point it out, then fine.” He dipped his head slightly, making you look him in the eyes. “That man is going to fucking love you until the day he dies, and I’m not telling you what you should do but,” he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you feel the same, I can’t think of a better time to say something than after almost dying in the fucking jungle.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, plopping down on the wall beside him and tossing the rest of the unused cloth into his pack. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”

“I know I am.” He said flatly and you punched his arm.

“Shut up, Miller.” 

--

Many Years Ago Somewhere Back in Dallas TX, USA

You had met Frankie Morales a handful of times, always in passing and always hanging back behind the others with a beer in his hand and his ball cap pulled just low enough to hide under--a move that he had perfected over many years. He was quiet, sweet, and incredibly handsome. For some reason, unknown to you, they called him ‘Fish’, must have been a military thing, because to you it was dumb.

You brother’s military friends were loud, boisterous, and could drink themselves under the table if they truly wanted to. You had asked Santiago about Frankie and he had just grinned and nudged you in the ribs until you blushed and told him to just forget it. That night however, you sat in the lawn chair, laughing with your family and stealing glances his way. And when you saw your brother pop him two beers and nod his head towards you, you wanted to crawl under the table. Despite the embarrassment of your brother playing both matchmaker and wingman, you squared your shoulders and smiled up at him as he offered you a beer. 

Conversation with Frankie was easy, once you got him talking. He was content to let you ramble on and watch you with a small smile and those kind, brown eyes. But once you found something he was interested in, well, he came alive. One beer turned to two, and then to three, and the next thing you knew the two of you had hopped up in the bed of his truck, feet dangling over the tailgate, watching the fireflies in the tall grasses of the field that belonged to the farmers down the street. Since then, fireflies and the smell of summer time honeysuckle always reminded you of the first time you kissed Frankie Morales. 

“And how long have you wanted to do that?” you smiled as he gently bumped his forehead against yours and stole another quick peck. 

“About the better part of a year,” he chuckled. “Can I do it again?” 

“I would be upset if you didn’t.” You grinned and slid your arms around his neck as his hand slid around the curve of your waist and he laid you back in the bed of the truck. 

His lips were soft, but his kiss was as hot as the summer air. He slid his tongue over your lip and you opened your mouth to receive him with a soft sigh of content. You wanted to bury your fingers in his dark hair, so you knocked his cap off and did just that. The action seemed to spur him on as his knee came up slowly between your thighs and started to push up the hem of your dress. 

“That okay?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, pulling him more firmly against the front of your body. 

His actions made you feel bold, feel brave in a way you had never felt before. He was a brave man who had seen a lot of the world, and you wanted him to show it to you. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again before he moved down to nose your neck. 

"Mhmm," you smiled and closed your eyes and you felt him suck a kiss against your pulse point. "That's nice."

"Yeah?" He mumbled against your jaw and pressed his knee further into the apex of your thighs. When you shamelessly started grinding against the front of his jeans he let out a groan that made you giggle. 

"Roll over," you said and he relented, moving onto his back and grabbing your hips to drag you to straddle his waist. You could feel how hard he was beneath the denim and you put your hands on his chest and rode him, letting the shape of his cock rub against your panties under your sun dress. 

"Fuck, sweetheart, come here," he sat up as you leaned down, crashing your lips together. His big hand cradling your face as his fingers threaded through the edge of your hair. His other hand disappeared under your dress and hesitated.

"Yes, Frankie, yes, go ahead. Please, touch me." You said breathlessly before he could even ask permission. At your words he dipped his hand down to cup your mound and he let his fingers part your folds.

"You're so wet. Is that because of me?" He grinned because he knew the answer to that.

"No, it's because of the other guy I was kissing in the bed of his truck." You tried to joke but gasped as he sunk one of his thick fingers inside of you.

"That so?"

"Shut up," you slapped his chest and he laughed, deep and genuine. Despite the fact that his hand was buried in your underwear, his laugh and boyish smile is what made you blush. Shit. You were in trouble.

You bucked your hips against his hand and moaned as he added a second finger and moved his thumb up to rub your clit. His hands were so fucking big, it made you wonder what was tucked carefully into those tight Levi's. You looked down at his handsome face, lit by the moonlight and the single street lamp at the end of the dirt road. It made you kiss him again, closing your eyes and really savoring the taste of his mouth. His fingers curved inside of you and sped up, pressing and rolling the pad of his thumb against your clit. 

"Right there, oh, fuck, Frankie don't stop." 

"I love it when you say my name." He nosed your cheek and the feeling of his beard against your soft skin gave you chills. 

"Frankie," you sighed again and it made him move back to devour your mouth as if he could eat the word from your lips. You bounced lightly in his lap against his hand, brushing his clothed cock with the inside of your thigh and it made him grunt. 

When you came it was a soft cry against his cheek as you clung to his shoulders and felt your pussy clench around his fingers. It was sweet, tender, and exactly what you needed. When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you and grinning. You started to speak but were cut off by another male voice.

"Hey, Fish!"

"Shit!" You whispered and Frankie wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back in the truck bed. You stifled a laugh as you landed against his chest and he pulled his hand from under your dress. 

"Shh, shh," he chuckled and put a finger to your lips. When you realized it was one of the fingers that had just been inside of you, you sucked it in your mouth down to the knuckle. He groaned, and whispered quietly, "You're killing me, princesa." 

"Fish! I can see your boots, man, I'm not a moron." Will called from the fence line that lined the field where his truck was parked. 

"Fuck," Frankie said, leaning his head back with a sigh. "What!" He barked and you gripped the front of his t-shirt, giggling again. 

"We're heading out and wanted to know if you were com--wait a second. That better not be Pope's sister in there! Just sayin'," he laughed and you felt your cheeks get hot.

You sat up from your spot on Frankie's lap and popped over the edge of the truck. "Fuck off, Will Miller!" Frankie yanked you back down and you fell into a fit of giggles as he rolled on top of you again.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He called and you were laughing so hard you let out a snort and Frankie looked at you in gleeful surprise that just made you laugh more. 

"I'm not getting involved in this," Will shook his head and chuckled. "Just wear a fuckin' condom, and maybe some kevlar when you tell Pope."

Your jaw dropped and you buried your face against Frankie's chest and he chuckled as well. "So much for being discreet." You both waited, silently daring each other to make a move as you listened to the sound of Will's retreating boots in the gravel road. 

He dipped back down and kissed you again, slow and deep, as you reached for his belt and started to undo the buckle. His hand covered both of yours as he stopped your movements. "Wait--"

"What?" You asked, suddenly worried that the looming idea of your older sibling finding out had ruined your chances with him. 

"Can I--uh. Can I take you to dinner?" 

You bit your lip as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks once again. "I was right."

"About what?"

"You are the sweetest man I have ever met," you smiled and leaned up to cup his face and kiss him again. 

"So, is that a yes?" He mumbled against your mouth and you nodded.

"Take off your pants, Frankie."

--

You thought about the night you first kissed Frankie and wished it could be that simple again. Both of you were just kids. Your world revolved around scraping by to pay the bills and fucking in the cab of his truck. God, you missed that truck. 

Will hopped off the divider wall as a small plane landed and the guy who he had paid to provide transport got out to shake his hand. Frankie eyed the puddle jumper with disdain and threw his hand out towards it. 

"The fuck are we gonna do with that thing?" He asked, looking at Tom in question as you came to stand behind him. The whirring of a chopper drew their eyes to the lush tree covered mountain as their real ride crested the landscape and Frankie gave a sigh of relief. "Now, we're talkin'."

The wind from the blades whipped the tall grasses and anything not secured blew freely. Your hair covered your face for a moment and you hastily dug a hair tie from your back pocket and secured the strands. Frankie and Tom set to getting the large, canvas drop net secured to the bottom of the aircraft but you knew by the tension in his shoulders there was already a problem.

"This won't all fit in the net!" Frankie yelled, stopping Tom from putting more bags in. "If you want more it needs to go in the body!" 

"It'll fit!" Tom said back and Frankie shook his head.

"If that scale is even close to being correct we have six thousand pounds here!" Frankie said as the rest of the men approached them both to find out what was going on. "That's 250 million dollars!"

"We stole 250 million dollars?!" Benny said with a giant smile on his face. "I'm definitely getting that fucking Ferrari!" He grabbed a bag and headed for the chopper. 

"That's not the point--fuck," Frankie looked at Pope, desperate for anyone who would listen. "If that scale is right, we're gonna have a weight issue!"

"What's the issue? This helo can carry 9,000 pounds!" Tom said, gesturing to the helicopter and you saw the vein jump in Frankie's neck. They weren't fucking listening.

"That's 9,000 pounds at 2,000 feet...we have to fly over the fucking Andes, man!" Frankie literally stomped in place and threw his arm out towards the mountains.

"Are we really going to leave 200 million dollars on the fucking runway?!" Tom asked and you couldn't take it anymore.

"That's better than being dead, Tom!" You said, taking a step forward.

"You don't get a vote," he snapped, pointing a finger at you and Frankie clenched his fist and moved you behind his body.

"Enough!" Will said, putting his hands out and looking between the two men. "We need to decide now. What are we gonna do?"

Frankie let out a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his hat and down to the back of his neck. You watched as his forearm flexed, the vein in his neck was back, popping out with his rising frustrations. He finally shook his head and held up his hands in defense. "Okay. Okay. She'll make it. Let's go!"

"Frankie," you touched his arm but before you could say anything Tom gestured to the two people leaning against the yellow car. 

"What about them?" He jerked his thumb back indicating Pope's informant and her brother. "We're already overweight as it is!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me-" you started but your brother was already a step ahead of you. 

"We promised them a ride over the border into Peru! She's the reason I got my sister back! Now, I'm going to help her get out of this fucking country with her brother--like I promised! No exceptions!" Pope waved his arm telling them to follow him into the helicopter. 

Frankie put his hand on your lower back and gave your hips a boost to get you inside the craft. He helped you sit down and pulled the straps of the harness connected to the wall over each of your shoulders as he crouched in front of you. His face was scrunched in thought but you knew it wasn't about the complexity of the safety belt, he could do that with his eyes closed. No, you knew what it was about.

"We're not going to make it are we?" You asked flatly and he looked up at you.

"We will. Because I said so." He snapped the buckle shut and jerked on the strap by your breast making sure it was secure.

"Frankie, you're the best pilot I've ever met. If you say it's too much weight, then it's too much weight." 

"Yeah, well, Tom's the one in charge."

"Tom can kiss my fucking ass," you snapped and his lips tilted up slightly in a grin. 

"There's my girl." He used his knuckle to give the underside of your chin a gentle kip. 

You put your hand on his chest and took hold of the fabrics of his button up and pulled him to you for a heated kiss. It was much more than the one at the mansion had been. You opened yourself to him and he took the hint and shoved his tongue in your mouth like you wanted. The slight twinge of pain you felt from your busted lip was worth the sound that came from the back of his throat. It was rough, it was wet, and it was two years overdue. When you pulled back you saw the spark of confidence back in his eyes that you had hoped to put there.

Kissing Frankie always made you feel small, but not in a bad way, like you were protected, like you were safe. With his arms boxing you in and his weight pressing gently against you, kissing Frankie felt like being home. And he was as close to home as you were going to get this deep in the jungle.

"Get us out of here, Mav," you said, and he chuckled at the nickname he had not heard in a very long time.

"You got it, Goose." 

He gave you one last kiss on the forehead before finally tearing himself away from you and heading up to the cockpit where he was needed. Since he had found you in Lorea's mansion, this was the most physical distance that had been between you and Frankie and you didn't like it at all. Pair that with the knowledge that despite his protests and being the only one in the group with his fucking pilot's license, they had ignored his concerns about the weight--yeah, your heart was starting to beat pretty hard. You took a deep breath and laid your head back against the metal wall. 

You looked up as Pope helped the informant sit next to you. He buckled her in the same way Frankie had done you and the action made you smile.

"You okay?" Pope called over the noise of the chopper and touched your arm.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you nodded, squeezing his hand and watching him go to the front to check on Frankie as the Miller brothers slammed the side doors shut and took their seats. You glanced to the woman at your left and suddenly was at a loss for words. How did you even begin to thank her for everything she had done? For the risks she had taken? She may have gotten something out of it but it still didn't change the fact that you were alive because of her.

"He's your brother?" She said, nodding to Pope's retreating form.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He is a good man. I need you to know that." She said, her voice cracking a bit and it made your chest tight. 

"I know." You put your hand over hers and gripped it, simply because it seemed like the right thing to do. "Thank you." The two of you leaned back as the helicopter started to lift in the air and rock back and forth gently.

What else was there to say?

--

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[keeper0fthestars]

Fear and Trust

francisco (frankie) morales x fem reader

2K words

warnings: two idiots in love, language, fluff, so much fluff, cheesy intimate moments, Frankie is husband material

summary: There is only one thing in this world that scares you and that thing is heights

a/n:  based on this trope 

I am so blown away by everyone who reblogs my erratic little scribblings and sends me comments, you fuel me more than you will ever know.  And as always i would love to know what you think. 

~~

In search of your shoes, you walk down the hall in your bare feet, hands occupied with the zipper of your sundress. Rounding the corner into the living room, you find Frankie on the couch tidying the mess books and papers on the coffee table. Focused the space in front of him, he pulls a pair of sandals from under the coffee table, letting them dangle on two fingers. 

“Looking for thes-,” 

And that’s when he sees you. 

He doesn't drop the shoes in your outstretched hand as you expect; instead, they fall onto the couch and he takes your hand, pulling you up to him, knees knocking with his. His gaze is glued to your dress, the way it matches your eyes and fits you in all the right places and flares just above your knees, leaving just enough bare skin for his eyes to latch onto. He doesn't even need to say anything, your skin is already tingling under the weight of his eyes and you forget why you walked into the living room in the first place. His eyes finally drag back up to yours, his throat bobs and- 

“Tell me something, babe,”  leaning back on the couch soaking up the sight of you. "How the fuck am I supposed to wanna go anywhere with you dressed like this?"

You let him tug you down on top of him, content knowing that the effect you have on him is equally disarming, “Hey, this was your idea, remember?” 

Sinking into the worn leather of the couch, you brace yourself on his shoulders, knees hugging him on either side, your dress bunching over your thighs.  His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down, blowing a hot breath out of his mouth when he catches a glimpse of the dark lace between your legs. He looks weak and starved all at once, running his hands up your thighs, curving around your ass, giving you an appreciative squeeze.

“Mmhm...” he hums, hooking an index finger under the one strap, sliding it off your shoulder, he sits up, his mouth focused on the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your bare skin. “I've got more ideas and all of them include this dress on the floor right now.”

“How am I supposed to resist that?” Sinking your fingers into his hair, you guide his mouth to yours.

His hands slide underneath your dress. “I hope you can’t.”

///

It’s taken all damn day and three caramel apples but he’s finally got you standing in line with him, sharing popcorn and more junk food, and every few minutes when the line advances, his hand finds the small of your back, tracing soothing circles, and you think maybe it’s the way he’s just licked cotton candy off your thumb, or maybe it’s the fact that he could not seem to keep his hands off you all day, but whatever he’s doing is working because the nervous flutter in your chest isn’t so bad anymore. 

From across the pier, it didn’t seem that big, but now that you’re standing directly under it, this is by far the worst ride in the entire park and you blame the sugar high for letting him talk you into this. He senses your jitters again and he tucks you into his side, pressing his lips softly to your temple. Your free hand slides into his back pocket and the brim of his ball cap skims the top of your head, he is warm and solid and more of your tension bleeds away. The next empty bucket that jerks to a halt is for you.

“You owe me for this, Morales.”

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer; he just laces his fingers with yours, that dimple in his cheek melting the rest of your resolve and fuck, it’s kinda hard to deny him anything when he smiles like that. He leads the way up the ramp and into the open metal carriage with the narrow bench big enough for two. 

Everything from your elbows down is hidden from sight inside the swaying bucket.  The sturdy bar positioned across your lap looks like it was painted blue at some point but had long since been overtaken by rust. You resist the urge to look up.

The ride operator steps up, reaches inside and jostles the restraint over your lap, testing its latch before shutting the half-door with a clink. Without warning your bucket is yanked backwards a few feet and your stomach lurches, knuckles turning white on the rusted bar. The bucket then jolts to a stop to let the next people in line a chance to get on. 

Yep. Worst idea ever. 

“Oh god,” Taking a shuddering breath, you would give anything to be as relaxed as he looks, knees splaying, back slouched, “I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

He pulls you into the circle of his arms, his calming, “Breathe, baby, I’ve got you,” is the only thing that makes the next few jolts bearable as you climb higher. He reaches across your lap and gently tugs your knees together pulling them snug to his side. 

Turning your face into his shoulder, you wait for him to tell you this is nonsense and that you have nothing to worry about. 

But he won’t because that’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that. 

“Hey,” he coaxes into your ear, “you’re okay, I’m not letting go of you.” 

Forcing yourself to breathe, you relax your grip on the bar in front of you just as another jerk propels you backwards again, then another, and another and now you’re halfway up the back of the massive wheel. Squeezing your eyes shut, your heart is beating inside your throat now and you’re fairly certain your stomach is lying somewhere on the ground below. Frankie has to pry your hand off his thigh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Watching me lose my shit over the damn Ferris Wheel.” 

“But you’re doing it,” with his nose, he nudges your face up, pressing his lips to yours, “even though you’re afraid.”

The truth was, you wouldn’t be doing it if he weren’t with you. And he knew that. 

When he’d learned there was only one thing you were scared of, he found it hard to believe at first and also adorable as hell, but he never bugged you about it; he knew what it was like to be teased about something you can’t control. The irony is not lost on you that your boyfriend happens to be a pilot. The only thing he'd said at the time was, only idiots are not afraid of anything.

Jerking to a halt again, you’re above the trees and now it’s the unobstructed view that captures your attention and steals your breath. It's spectacular, all glowing neon and twinkling lights. The sun is sinking, turning the sky into breathtaking orange and pink, matching the sprawling scene below.

“Oh," you breathe, "this is gorgeous.” 

"Yeah," he lets go of your shoulder to drag his thumb down your neck, placing his mouth just below your ear. “It is.”

Your shiver is accompanied by a familiar surge of warmth under the softness of his voice because he's not talking about the sunset.

Deep down, Frankie knows there would never come a day that his heart would not trip over itself and spill butterflies into his stomach whenever you’d enter a room. 

There used to be a time he'd thought he’d never be enough, but you’d put those deep-seated fears of his to rest a long time ago. You’d been the unshakable and constant stability in his life that left no room for any doubt. Not that he’d had any qualms or cold feet about spending the rest of his life with you; it was quite the opposite.  The purple velvet box at the bottom of his pocket induced enough butterflies to fill his truck bed if that was any indication of how strongly he felt about you. The rush he'd felt in his insides during his very first simulation at the academy was nothing compared to the glow he felt today and he had to keep hiding his smile against your shoulder to try and rein it in. 

The ride starts to glide smoothly and okay; all things considered, this wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought. Dusk is beginning to settle and Frankie’s arm rests warm and heavy across your shoulders. The wind on your face feels fantastic and you’re not quite sure when your nervous energy changes into something else but every time you feel the downward pull on your body, your face splits into a grin and if you weren't so damn happy, you'd be rolling your eyes right now wondering when your life turned into a fucking rom-com. 

When he faces you, the sun leaves dazzling flecks of deep gold in his eyes, making them shine like bronze. His crooked smile pulls softly at the corner of his eye, a smile that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking, a smile that makes your heart lose its balance. It’s the same look he’d had when you came out of the bedroom this afternoon; the same look you’d pretended not to notice all day, wandering the pier together. Your heart is suddenly fluttering again and it has nothing to do with being three hundred feet off the ground.

“Okay Frankie, what’s going on? This all part of some plan of yours?” 

He takes off his ball cap and then replaces it in the same spot on his head, clearing his throat. “What plan.” 

“Getting me on the biggest ride here, winning me over with… with enough sugar to last a year and all your sweet talk and... listen, it's gonna take a lot more than a few well-placed kisses to get me into your co-pilot seat.” 

You feel his chest beginning to shake with laughter, “Baby, my chopper is much safer than this fuckin rust bucket. The-,” 

Your mouth gapes.  “Oh fuck you.

Just when you were starting to relax.

He blocks your loose fist with a gentle grip before it hits his shoulder, uses it to pull you in, your affronted gasp cut off when his lazy grin bumps with your open mouth. You had a dozen comebacks for the way he just teased you, but they all melt before they have a chance to materialize. His eyes glitter with amusement and something else but he doesn't give you a chance to examine it. 

“Lemme kiss you properly and then you can think about fucking me, ok.”

It's a little hard to be irritated; it’s a little hard to think straight at all when his fingers start dancing up the inside of your knee. The rush in your stomach now has nothing to do with the way gravity is forcing you down into the seat. Damn this guy and his ability to silence every single thought in your head.  

The ride is nearing the end, and you find yourself disappointed remembering how nervous you’d felt about it at the start. It slows and eases to a stop, suspending the two of you at the highest point in the rotation. 

The sun half gone now, the clouds are washed with purple and dark orange, the leaves in the treetops kissing each other in the breeze. It’s peaceful up here, hanging above the world and you understand why Frankie loves it. And your heart just might shatter right now because for the first time you realize that’s why he wanted to share it with you. 

Your throat clogs up and you don't trust yourself to speak but you don't need to because he shifts slightly, angling you so he can slip his arms around your waist from behind, tucking his chin into your shoulder. He's the one steady hand in your life. You fall asleep at night and wake up knowing that he's never going to be anywhere but beside you.

“You're right,” you manage, "this was worth it."

The edges of his heart twinge at the lightness in your voice, he soaks it up, knowing he’s the one responsible for it, knowing all the things he wants to promise you, knowing he’s the one you lean on, the one you call in the middle of the day just to say hi, the one you trust, the one you’ve said countless times you want to grow old with so why the fuck was he so nervous. 

That’s the thing about fears. They’re irrational like that.

A fragment of a forgotten conversation echoes in his head, something he’d told you a long time ago: Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything. 

He ignores the trembling in his fingers and reaches into his pocket.

~~

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[guessimwritingficsagain]

To Be Seen, Part Seven

Warnings : depression

Author's note : I based my depiction of Frankie's wife on the movie Laggies that I mentioned before. It's not exactly the same thing but I liked the way the mom was depicted in the movie and how, in the end, everybody made mistakes. I'm still very sad Lynn Shelton left us. So I guess, in a way, this is dedicated to her.

Chapter One ; Chapter Two ; Chapter Three ; Chapter Four ; Chapter Five ; Chapter Six

------

Two weeks later, you broke down. You’d felt it coming, used as you were to that grey cloud slowly sneaking its way into your brain. You called in sick on a Saturday night and turned off your phone, not even feeling guilty about that.

Linda had had her meeting with her ex, and they’d both been tentatively hanging out, trying to fix something that was so broken you didn’t know if there was ever a chance it could be fixed. You’d stayed out of the way, of course. You hadn’t spoken to Linda except for the occasional text to check on her. That left a sinking feeling in your stomach, one that came with the realization that even though you considered Linda your friend, you were also her ex, first and foremost, and though she didn’t mind poking into your love life, she seemed reluctant for you to know about hers. Even though you couldn’t really blame her, that heaviness never went away. That was the first sign.

Jessie’s story was something else altogether. James and Will had set up a tight sleeping schedule at Jessie’s house - a tight schedule of following her to work and staying with her all day, too. Will had involved all the boys except Frankie. They were taking turn watching her, making sure she and her kid were safe. You’d managed to talk them out of going to the guy’s place and beating him up - barely. But you knew that couldn’t last. The way Will had vibrated when you explained the situation told you everything you needed to know about that. Talking to Jessie hadn’t been easy either, because she’d first shut you out completely and resented her brother for telling you, you for telling Will, and Will for telling everybody else. That was understandable too, but things were tense between the two of you, and since none of the men wanted to include you in what you called the Jessie Watch in your head, you were left to watch and worry from afar.

But the worst thing was the complete and utter silence from Frankie. He wouldn’t answer your texts or your calls. You kept replaying the only phone call he’d answered to just like you’d kept replaying the moment he’d offered you wine and chocolates for Christmas - God, you wished you could go back to that time.

You dial his phone number, hoping he picks up. He does, starting with :

‘Listen, now’s not a good time. I’m sorry but I got some things to deal with right now. I’ll call you back.’

Unnerved by the tone of his voice, unnerved by his answer, and thinking we don’t even see each other anymore and I thought you liked me and trusted me you bluntly answer :

‘Pope told me.’

The silence on the other end in unbearable, so you continue :

‘Frankie, talk to me. Don’t shut me out, please.’

You’re begging, and you don’t care that you are.

‘It’s fine.’ He eventually mumbles, his voice unconvincing. ‘I’ll sort this out. I just need some time.’

Some time was more than two weeks apparently, and two weeks was your breaking point.

You felt alone in a way you’d never felt before.

That led you here, right to this moment, you opening a bottle of wine, all by yourself. You sat on your couch, and drank a glass. Then, a second. By the third, you were turning on your phone and dialing your mother. When she picked up, you completely broke down. After the phone call, exhausted by all the crying, you left your phone on the couch and went to bed. The battery was empty when you woke up the next morning, feeling puffy and barely keeping it together. You didn’t bother to plug it in.

As agreed upon the night before, your father picked you up a bit before noon. Starbuck was in her bag, and you’d thrown some clothes in a luggage. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when you put it in your childhood’s bedroom, Starbuck already carefully sniffing around the house. You called your boss to ask to use all of the vacation days you had. You didn’t know what deity to thank for the fact that he agreed. You knew it was all wrong. You knew you should be here for Jessie, for everyone. You father covered that : he went to Anna and Phil, told them about the situation and made them promise not to say a word.

You had three weeks of vacation, and nothing to do but pretend you were a teenager again, living with your parents.

Your father kept in touch with Phil and Anna, if only to get news about what was going on with your friends. At the end of the first week, he came back with a letter. You felt yourself shaking until he added :

‘It’s from Anna.’

He heard your sigh of relief but didn’t say a word, turning around to leave you in peace. As he got to the door, though, he turned around and announced :

‘One of these days, I’m gonna have to have a talk with that boy of yours.’

He looked tired, and worried. Your voice wavered as you answered :

‘You won’t have to if he’s not my boy anymore, Dad.’

You felt like crying, but you didn’t. You turned your attention to the letter instead, and smiled at the first line. Anna had taken to give you your own nickname every time you compared her to Jane from Pride and Prejudice.

Dear Elizabeth,

How long and lonely are the days without you. Our dear cook is not quite himself, since you’ve been away, as he has to endure me without you to soothe the pain in his ass that I am. The counter has lost its light, and even the birds seem to sing in a more quiet manner, as if they were missing their dear friend too.

I hope your dear feline companion Starbuck is doing well in her new surroundings. I do not worry much, though: change can be difficult, but she is anything but faint-hearted.

I will keep writing to you, dear Elizabeth, if only to let you know if a respectable gentleman of good fortune ever comes in to charm me. You must promise, though, that you shall write back.

Your Jane.

The letter was so sweet and thoughtful , with Anna’s clumsy attempt at sounding Jane Austen-ish, you finally cried, only this time, the tears were not all bitter. You could call her, but this seemed more fun. You fumbled around to find a piece of paper and picked up a pen.

Dear Jane,

How sweet of you to write to me. I cannot express how much I miss you too. Do not worry about Phil, for he is softer for you than you know. I am sure you are quite exaggerating to hasten my return. Alas, I will remain where I am, for I find this retreat is beneficial to my health.

Starbuck has taken to her new life quite readily, and is currently enjoying a lovely nap in the sun.

Guard your feelings well, my dear. Experience has taught us much in this matter, recently.

I’m writing a return address on the back, so you can write to me through the post-office and avoid my poor father the task of being the delivery man.

Your Elizabeth.

You left the house for the first time this week to mail the letter.

Those three weeks went by like this.

You learnt that Linda and her ex had called it quits for good. You learnt that Will eventually drove to Jessie’s now-ex-boyfriend’s house and beat the shit out of him, and that everybody watched it happen with glee. You learnt that Frankie’s ex-wife was still in town. Staying on the couch.

You wanted to throw up all the time, these days.

You still didn’t turn on your phone. You used your parents’ line to get an appointment to the doctor. The woman only had to look at you to say :

‘Yeah, you’re not going back to work.’

You knew what she meant : you barely recognized yourself when you looked in the mirror. You didn’t sleep much, you didn’t eat much, and it all showed. When you came home, your father hesitantly said :

‘They’re starting to be worried. They’re asking a lot of questions to Anna.’

You found that you didn’t care, and a little voice at the back of your head warned you that this was worrying but you ignored it. It was so easy not to think. You enjoyed the feeling - maybe a little too much, said the voice again. You ignored it again. You were standing on that fine line : you were aware that you weren’t fine, but you weren’t doing anything about it. You knew it would only take a push to bring you to the other side : and then, you wouldn’t be aware anymore that you were not fine.

‘I got two weeks more.’ You answered instead.

———

You hadn’t seen Frankie in five weeks.

You’d been feeling better, lately, but still considered going back to work. And by that you meant going back to work at all, ever again. You weren’t good at facing your problems, you knew that, and that whole existential crisis about your future sounded a lot like running away but you didn’t have the strength to face anything right now. You wanted Frankie and your friends to make some king of grand gesture while knowing they didn’t have the means to reach you. You knew that was ridiculous and a little bit fucked up. You kept at it anyway.

Anna visited you more and more. The first time she’d shown up unannounced, she looked so hesitant it broke your heart. You’d hugged her so hard and she’d given it back the same way. She took to showing up in the morning, when your parents were on their daily stroll, though she happily stayed for lunch. Your parents, of course, adored her.

So, that morning, when someone rang at the door, you expected it to be her. You realized your mistake the second you opened it. You took a step back, speechless, and Will and Santi used your surprise to push past you and come in, very much uninvited.

On autopilot, your brain pretty much gone, you turned around and just stared at them. They stared right back, Pope with a hard look on his face. Will, though, looked like he wanted to hug you but didn’t dare. He seemed to struggle for a minute, before opening with :

‘Benny is very upset you missed his last fight. It was a big one.’

You found your tongue, even if it felt heavy in your mouth.

‘Well, I’ve been…’

‘You’ve been what ?’ Interrupted Santi, his arms crossed and his gaze unforgiving. ‘Ignoring us for five weeks ?’

‘My phone is dead.’

‘For five weeks ? Cut the crap.’

‘How did you find me ?’

You crossed your arms too. Whatever reunion you’d imagined, that wasn’t it. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in and you were trying to get angry, because if you got angry, then you wouldn’t break down. You could feel the tension building up your spine, knew exactly what it meant too : that conversation was not going to go well because whatever happened, whatever your reaction would be, the part of your brain labeled stupid and self-destructive was going to take over.

‘How did you find me ?’ You repeated, your fingers digging into the flesh of your arms to try and ground you.

Apparently, though, your brain wasn’t the only one with a part labeled stupid because instead of answering the question, Pope just decided to go with :

‘Do you realize how Jessie feels ? Do you realize how we all feel ? We had to take care of your friend, your friend because you just bailed on us while her fucking ex-boyfriend was beating the shit out of her.’

The silence that followed was heavy, as you could feel both the anger coming off of Santi and the panic that was shaking Will. Your voice was cold, emotionless, as you answered :

‘I was there. Except nobody wanted me there. I was completely useless.’

‘Bullshit. So what, you disappear ? Jesus, Frankie must have a thing for women who pull that kind of stunt because you’re the second one. The boy’s not very smart, apparently.’

‘Pope.’ Will’s voice rang loud in your ears, but you were frozen to the spot. You wanted to answer with some smartass remark, something petty along the line of well she’s back now, so who needs me anyway, just to get back at Santi because you knew in your heart Frankie wouldn’t just leave you like that. You knew there was more to the story but Frankie had completely shut you out before you went off the grid and now Santi was in front of you, scolding you as if you were a child, the whole thing feeling too much and not real at all, like you were having a really bad nightmare.

Pope ignored Will’s warning and went on :

‘You know the worst part ? He’s so worried he’s going crazy right now. We’re fucking back to square one, when I had to pick up the pieces when the other one left.’

‘Pope, stop.’ You heard Will say.

You opened your mouth, just a reflex, because your brain was empty. You couldn’t think anymore. But you opened your mouth anyway and realized too late you wouldn’t be able to contain the sob crawling up your throat. Breaking down it is, then, was your last thought before you started crying and shaking uncontrollably. So you ran to your room, leaning on the walls to avoid falling.

You were crying so hard you didn’t hear the door open, some time later. You felt the bed dip, though, when someone sat next to you.

‘Go away.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Will’s voice answered as a hand went to your hair. ‘Come on, deep breaths. Everything’s gonna be okay but I need you to breathe, okay ?’

Your hand shot up to grab his arm in a steely grip to steady yourself. You complied, though. After a while, you felt like you could breathe again. Will’s hand kept stroking your hair as he started talking :

‘Listen, Pope’s an asshole, we all know that. Anna briefed me a bit about everything. She wasn’t the one who gave us your address, by the way. I swear, the woman is unbreakable. Linda just figured you might be at your parents’ house and we looked it up. I’m a bit ashamed it took us that long to think about it, honestly.’

He chuckled, and went on :

‘Anyway, listen. Frankie’s been really overwhelmed by his ex coming back, and he didn’t react well, though I must say you answered in kind but I get it. He told me how he kept you out of the loop and I know how hard that must have been for you because I can see how much you care about him. It’s so obvious, the two of you. It was even before anything happened. I know Frankie is, you know, the quiet one, and he’s not all sharp angles and shit like the rest of us, but he turns into a puddle when you’re here. He’s unburdened when you’re around. We used to give him shit because he wouldn’t talk to the cute bartender.’

You smiled, still not looking at Will, but he was looking at you and he saw it.

‘Remember when he came to ask you, for Maria’s birthday ? We made him do it. Benny taunted him. He said that if he had to get up and ask you that, he’d also get your phone number and a date with you.’

‘I’d never go on a date with Benny.’ You replied, your voice hoarse.

‘Yeah, you’re smarter than that. Remember the Christmas presents ? Frankie was having a bloody existential crisis over this. He wanted to buy you a book. Linda gave him ideas but he was freaking out because he was scared he was going to buy you a book you wouldn’t like. I actually had to text Jessie about your favorite wine and get Frankie to go shopping with me so he would stop freaking out. Pretty sure I’ve never seen him stressed out like that and we served together.’

‘You already had Jessie’s number ?’ You asked, pretty sure Jessie would have told you right away about that.

His voice grew quiet, thoughtful.

‘Yeah. I had asked for her number one day. But I was really drunk so I never used it. Figured she’d given it to me because she felt obligated or something since I was a regular. I thought I was taking advantage. If I had made a move earlier …’

You turned your head towards Will, then, knowing you looked like a mess and not caring one bit.

‘What happened is not your fault, Will.’

And then, it hit you.

‘Wait, earlier ? That means you did it ?’

His smile was blinding. You squeezed his arm.

‘Good for you.’

You both fell silent for a moment but Will wasn’t done.

‘Listen, that thing with Frankie’s ex, it’s not what you think, even though he’s been an idiot for not telling you. Wendy came back because she’s lost. She thinks she made a mistake, leaving like that, and she’s still trying to figure out if she wants to be a mom. It’s not about Frankie and her, okay ? It’s about Maria. She wants to try, maybe. She still doesn’t know. Pope shouldn’t have talked to you like that but he’s right : Catfish is lost right now, because he misses you and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s too damn respectful to show up here unannounced, too. That’s why we came.’

He kept stroking your hair as your mind processed everything.

When you left the room, Santi was waiting in the garden. You went over to him and hugged him. He whispered apologies in your ear.

-------------------

Taglist :

@pedritobalmando @ubri8

[pettyprocrastination]

Panty & Bambi

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Roller Derby!Reader

Summary: Helena Morales celebrates her 12th birthday at the roller rink, where she plays cupid for her kind father who’s attention has been captured by a confident skater that danced about the rink. 

Warnings: profanity, uhhh mention of alcohol?? Frankie being a fucking BOTTOM about buff thick women lmao. 

Word Count:2.9k

Perm Taglist: @honestlystop​

authors note:Wrote this because I’m sad about not being able to do derby this season and i’ve been watching lots of bouts to comfort myself in it lmao. Big inspiration to @qveenbvtch​ who wrote a fucking MAGICAL javi rollerskating fic called Ring My Bell!! It’s so fucking good read it here !!!!!! Big thank you to my boo @captainsamwlsn​ for reading this for me ILY Thais so fkin much <3

“For her next birthday could your daughter pick something that isn’t fucking murder on my knees?”

Frankie stared at his friend and god father to his now twelve year old daughter under the flashing fluorescent lights of the roller rink before taking a sip of the cheap beer in his hand. “Don’t whine Santi.” Frankie laughed.  “We both know you’d do anything for her.”

Which was true. 

Helena had only been a baby when the group went to Columbia to take down Lorea. They had always been a close-knit group of friends, but what happened on that trip, that shit-show of a mission, made them appreciate having each other even more. They visited Tom’s family when they were able to, the first few months after his death his ex-wife wouldn’t even let them on the front lawn. She took to screaming and cursing at them for his death, they didn’t tell her about the teenage boy that took her ex-husband’s life to avenge his brother. 

Tess did in fact get into Harvard. She sent Pope letters from time to time. She didn’t blame him or the others for her father’s death like her mother did. The boys couldn’t say the same for themselves. 

But the family they did have, the sweet chunky cheeked little infant girl Frankie was proud to call his daughter? Oh they all worshiped her. Little Helena had them all wrapped around her finger from the moment they set eyes on her. 

The men had been there for every tea party, fairy tale, and birthday. They watched her go from mashing cake into her mouth at one years old to laughing at a skate rink with her friends at twelve. 

Frankie had been there for everything and his boys were there to help him. 

He couldn’t say the same for Liana. 

“Twelve years brother.” Pope remarked. Frankie groaned and let his head fall forward. 

“You don’t have to tell me man. Where did it all go?” He looked out on the rink with a smile, watching his daughter skate with ease on the polished wood floors while Ben wobbled along next to her, looking more like a baby taking its first steps than a grown man. 

“It feels like just yesterday I was changing her diapers, now she’s in eighth grade.” Frankie sighed, released the vice like grip he had on the neck of his bottle. “Fuck man, I’m not ready for her to go to high school, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”

“You’ll do what you’ve always done for her, ‘Fish.” Frankie looked up to see Will standing at his side, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be there for her. Which is more than I can say about half of the dead beat dads out there now.”

“Dad!” She called out, her pigtails swaying as she turned to him, hands held out with a big grin. “Come on!”

Frankie ignored the pop of his knees as he stood up with a groan. 

“I’ll pray for your back hermano!” Santi called out with a barking laugh as his friend slowly stepped onto the rink with shaking legs

Frankie couldn’t give his little girl the world no matter how much he wanted to, he was just one man. But damn if he wouldn’t skate with her at her birthday party. 

Helena took his hand in hers as they skated, which he knew was more for his safety than hers. But he still felt his heart clench at seeing just how small his daughter’s hand was compared to his.

“How are you so bad at this!” She giggled upon seeing his knees buckle for the third time in two minutes. While Helena had taken to roller skates with ease, the same could not be said for her father, who clutched onto her hand like a lifeline. 

“Mija, the last time I was on wheels like this was before I broke my ankle skateboarding.” A woman skated by them, the wheels on her skated lighting up a bright pink each time they made contact with the floor. You turned, skating backwards for a moment with a carefree smile before turning forward again. 

Frankie’s knees buckled when Helena’s hip bumped against his.

“God-” His daughter snorted. “Maybe if you stopped staring at that lady and focused more on skating you wouldn’t be wobbling like an old man on a walker!”

His head snapped to his daughter like a whip, for a moment uncaring how he nearly lost his balance. “I am not-I wasn’t-did you just call me an old man?”

His daughter simply stared up at him with that smug little grin that he swore Santi taught her. 

“She’s pretty.” His daughter noted, he spared another glance up, feet sliding across the floor as he did. 

You skated around another couple, hips swaying to the song playing over the speaker and hands raised high over your head. You brought one foot in front of the other in a sashay along the rink, gliding over the floor with grace that Frankie couldn’t even try to get as he gripped his daughter’s hand for dear life while they skated along the inner rim of the rink. 

His daughter tugged at his hand, which had gotten arguably more sweaty when he realized that you would be passing them once more. “You should say hi.”

Frankie shook his head and offered his daughter a smile. “It’s your birthday ‘lena.” He reminded her. “You should be having fun with your friends instead of worrying about your old man’s dating life.”

Helena tilted her head in thought before smiling and letting go of her father’s hand. “Okay!”

“Wait-wait!” Frankie shot his hands out to balance himself, without the help of his daughter he felt even more off-kilter and out of his element. “Where are you going!?”

His daughter laughed before joining her friends that had skated ahead of them. “You told me to have fun with my friends! So I’m going to!” She looked behind him and smiled so wide he felt his heart drop. “Have fun dad! You got this!”

“Helena Maria Morales if you don’t-” Frankie’s threat was cut off when his legs wobbled against, one foot shooting out to steady him, except he was on fucking roller skates, which only caused his foot to slide out from beneath him and send him tumbling onto the hard floor beneath him. 

Had it not been for his skating savior that is. 

You shot forward, one hand gripping the collar of his shirt meanwhile the other grabbed the waistband of his trousers to steady him. On instinct his hands gripped your hips like you were a life preserver and he was a man lost at sea. 

“You alright there buddy?” Frankie simply stared at you, throat tight and mouth wide open as his bright wracked for a single thought, a single word to say to you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Santi groaned from the other side of the rink. He and the other boys sat watching in equal parts awe and dismay at their friend being caught like damsel and then absolutely flounder in front of you. “Say something you idiot!”

“Oh this is painful.” Ben snorted. “I don’t want to look away!”

“I’m uh, yeah I’m good.” Frankie realized as you pulled him upright how fucking strong you were, and it made his knees knock together for a whole different reason. His hands tensed and he realized he was still holding onto your hips. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, really.” You held up a hand to silence him, his mouth snapped shut as if it were a trained command. “I know you aren’t some creep trying to cop a feel, I’ve been watching you skate for a while now.”

Frankie looked down at the floor. “Yeah well, the last time I was on wheels was when I was sixteen and tried to impress a girl at the mall by grinding on a rail with my skateboard.”

You slowly took his hand in yours and began to skate forward, slow smooth steps that he did his best to mimic. He was so focused on not falling he hadn’t realized that the pair of you were skating like a couple. “Did it work?”

“Fuck no!” He laughed. “I broke my ankle, lost a tooth, then she and her friends all laughed at me.”

You smiled at his story, noting the way the multi-colored lights bounced off his profile. “Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t break an ankle or lose any teeth tonight, alright Bambi?”

Frankie’s feet wobbled again and tightened his grip on your hands, marveled for a moment at how soft they felt against his. “Bambi?”

“Yeah.” You offered him a slight shrug, he still wasn’t sure how you could skate around others with such ease while also maintaining a conversation, but was thankful for it either way. “You both have brown hair, both have shit balance-”

“Gee thanks.”

You giggled and flicked the tip of his cap. “Let me finish.” You scolded. “You both have shit balance, and you're both pretty fuckin’ cute.”

Frankie felt his heart race and his lips curl into a shy smile. He watched the colors that danced over your form like a kaleidoscope. “Well my actual name is Frankie-” The tip of his skate dipped forward, catching on the floor and sending him careening right into your arms. You kept your feet together at an angle to keep from falling, hands grabbing onto him as he barreled forward, arms thrown around you and nose pressed against yours. “-but I guess Bambi is pretty fitting too.”

“Well Bambi-” Frankie felt a tingle down his spine every time you called him that. A nickname so sweet and innocent had no business making him feel so hot under the collar. “How about we take a break from trying to keep you from falling flat on your ass and go sit down for a bit? If your daughter doesn’t mind that is.”

He looked over your shoulder, where Helena stood with two of her friends, smiling wide and flashing her dad two thumbs up. 

“I don’t think she'll mind.”

```

“A pilot?” You whistled, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, you’ve got me beat. I’m just a high school English teacher!”

Frankie shook his head, toe tapping on the linoleum floor of the little snack corner of the rink that pair of you were sitting at. “Now I wouldn’t say all that. I mean, spending your entire day dealing with teenagers who definitely don’t want to be there? You must have the patience of a saint.”

You bumped your knee against his. “We’ll now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

Frankie held one hand up and the other over his heart, as if he were taking an oath. “All truth here, coming from a former AP English kid.” You gasped and held one hand over your chest and pretended to swoon. 

“An honor student of my subject? Be still my beating heart!” Frankie snorted into his drink, which caused you to in turn laugh loud enough for the people in front of them to turn and glare. 

He had always hated dating. It felt so forced, so uncomfortable. The icebreakers were only met with bland replies of women who clearly weren’t interested in him, and only became less interested when they learned he was a father. That or they would praise him for being so “brave” to raise his daughter on his own. What, as if he was supposed to walk out on her just like her mother did? It turned him off to the whole situation. 

But this? Sitting in the tiny snack corner at a roller rink, sipping overpriced sodas and laughing loud enough to annoy people while staring at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen? Oh it was better than any date at a four star restaurant he’s been on. 

“Trust me.” He told you. “You would’ve hated me as a student.”

“I could never!”

“Oh yes you could!” He laughed. “I fell asleep in class all the time, never answered questions and uh honestly?” He pulled his hat low over his face with a shy smile. “If I had you as a teacher? I’d never get anything done.”

His eyes flicked to the sleeve of your shirt, seeing your biceps strain against it as you leaned over for your drink. The shorts you wore hugged the thick muscle of your legs and he felt his throat tighten up at the thought. 

You smiled and pushed his cap up so you could see his brown doe eyes. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, Bambi.”

 Santi watched the pair of you, nearly nose to nose when you leaned in close to toy with his hat. He smiled and bumped Will’s shoulder. “Look at ‘em go. ‘Fish still has it.”

“That’s our boy.”

They had all gotten the call when Liana left, she had simply packed her bags in the middle of the night and vanished. Leaving Francisco and their six month old baby alone. They knew how much it hurt him to see her leave, how much he blamed himself and wracked his brain for how to fix it, how many times he called her and pleaded for her to come home. If not for him, for their daughter. Their little baby girl who wouldn’t stop crying because she was hungry and mommy was gone. 

But to see him now, blushing like a school boy while talking with a woman who his daughter practically pushed him into, they all felt a swell of pride. 

If any of them deserved a happy ending, it was Catfish. 

“If he doesn’t ask her out-” Ben sighed. “I’ll kill him. Just fucking murder him.”

Sadly, just as Frankie was about to ask that dreaded question, if he could get your number or hell, if you’d like to get a drink sometime, a woman with bright pink hair poked her head over your table. 

“Hey panty!” She called out and Frankie damn near got whiplash at that nickname. “Can you give me a ride home? My car is busted and my boyfriend can’t pick me up.”

Your shoulders deflated at her response and Frankie couldn’t help but feel a little prideful that you felt dejected to leave his side. “Yeah no problem Jammie.”

“Thanks!” The girl chirped. “I’ll meet you outside!”

When she left, Frankie turned to you with a slow smile, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Panty?”

“Ughh I know!” You groaned into your hands. “It’s not some weird nickname or anything it’s just my derby name I swear!”

Frank leaned back, eyes wide in admiration. “You play roller derby?”

You grinned, shoulders back and confidence oozing off of you at the mention of your sport. You tucked your hands behind your head and Frankie took that moment to marvel at the muscle that strained against your shirt. “Damn right I do. Not to brag but I’ve been the MVP for the last three seasons.”

It was absolutely a brag and he loved it. 

“You know-” Your eyes flicked to his, shy and skittish. “-we have a bout, a game, this Saturday if you want to come. It’ll be here, at eight. You don’t have to-”

“I’ll be there.” He promised. The thought of you in those spandex shorts on skates, being positively brutal to other women on the track with that confident grin? Christ, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. “I’ve never watched roller derby before but, it’s recently piqued my interest.”

You smiled, raising your foot to knock it against his. “Well I hope it keeps you interested Frankie, because you’ve piqued mine too.”

Frankie felt a swell of pride in his chest at your shy smile and sweet words. He felt like a kid back in high school, trying his best to woo the girl in his biology class with passing notes in hopes of getting a date. 

Only this time he had more experience and a lot less acne. 

“Panty!” The woman shouted. “Lets gooo! I work the morning shift tomorrow!”

Your face fell. “Looks like that’s my que to head out. I’ll see you Friday though?”

“Fuck yes.” Frankie breathed out, before regaining his composure. “I mean uh yeah, yeah I’ll uh, see if I can make it.” You laughed and stood up from the table, turning on your heel at the final moment to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll see you then, Bambi.” You purred, before walking out of the door and past His daughter and three grown ass men, who stood in a circle nearby like a bunch of gossiping old women.

Frankie didn’t even have a moment to realize you kissed him before his daughter bounded over to him asking eighty questions within two seconds.

“What's her name? Is she cool? She seems cool! Are you guys dating now? Did you ask her out? Did you get her number?”

He brought this daughter in for a hug, bringing his hand down on the crown of her head in a playful nuzzle. 

“Alright speedy gonzales.” She laughed into his side and tried to wriggle out of his bear hug. “No more matchmaking, you hear me?”

“But it worked! Didn’t it?” His stern facade melted away at the excited grin on Helena’s face.He sighed, letting his chin fall onto the top of her head. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see mija.”

His daughter whooped in victory, throwing her hands high in the air in celebration. 

“That means it worked!”

[thefloorisbalaclava]

pragma - part eight

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: I wanna thank @agentpike and @loki-098 for helping me out with my little dilemma in taking the story in this direction. It was tough because everything has been so soft and I was afraid to change it up but the words of encouragement from my buddies really helped!

I realized that I never specified if this story took place before or after that whole mission so...just keep that in mind as you read this! Also, this chapter starts in you POV and switches to Frankie’s. I marked it! As always, thanks for reading!

Summary: You face the first real test of the strength of your relationship with Frankie.

pragma masterlist

gif by @pascalplease​ 

“What happened to your hand?” you asked sitting up slightly. After dinner, you two had sat down on the couch to watch TV, but ended up just cuddling instead. He laid between your legs with his head on your shoulder—almost how you held him in the bath earlier.

“Ah, I was fixing something up at home. No big deal.” He shrugged and spread his fingers out.

“No big deal,” you scoffed bringing his hand to your lips to kiss each finger. “You should be more careful.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“I mean…you’re not as young as you used to be…”

“Oh, you’re going there now?” he asked and you giggled, scratching at his scalp.

“Don’t worry, I love you…grey hairs and all.” You laughed louder as he turned his body so he could tickle you. “No Frankie!”

“You think I forgot about how ticklish you are? Huh?” He tickled you until you were out of breath and tears fell from your eyes from laughing so hard.

“That…was…mean,” you breathed.

“Yeah? Talking about my grey hair is too. My next move is throwing you over my shoulder, carrying you to the lake, and throwing you in.” He helped you sit upright and wiped the tears from the corners of your eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.” He kissed your lips but pulled away before you could deepen it. “But then I’d jump in right after you.”

“And do what?” you asked, your mouths so close that your lips touched his as you spoke. He kissed you and sighed.

“Probably that.”

“We could drown, you know?” You scratched at his scruff.

“Can’t think of a better way to go then with your arms wrapped around me.”

“Drowning is painful,” you pointed out.

“Stop ruining my romantic moment, please. Or do I have to tickle you again?” He put his hands up and you moved away from him.

“Nope!”

“Fine. Come here.” He pulled you to him then grabbed your butt making you yelp.

“Francisco Morales!” You reached around and did the same to him.

“Yours is better than mine.”

“I know.” You eventually let each other go and went back to cuddling. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I was wondering if…there was someone…when I was gone?” You asked the question but dreaded the answer.

He sighed then nodded. “Yeah.” You nodded silently and smiled. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yup. I’m happy you weren’t lonely.” The first part was a lie and the second part was true.

“I was lonely though,” he admitted.

“But you said…”

“You can be with someone and still be lonely.” He sat up so he could look you in the eye. “I was with someone else but I wasn’t in love, you get it?”

“Yeah. I definitely get it.”

Frankie thought for a moment. “Did you love…him?”

“I thought I did. I gave him all of me and he gave me nothing but a ring and a bunch of bruises.” You felt Frankie tense at your words.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner. I could’ve helped. Santiago could’ve helped.”

“It wasn’t your problem to deal with.” You looked down at your hands.

“Problem? That piece of shit was beating you. That’s more than a fucking problem.” He was angry now. That’s not how you wanted this night to end.

“Look at me, Frankie.” You cupped his face. “It’s over now and I’m okay.” He turned his head so he could kiss your palm. “I’m okay.”

“I want you to be more than okay.” He pulled you onto his lap. “I never want you to be sad again. I just want to make you smile and laugh and…horny…,” he added and you laughed loudly.

“Oh…what am I gonna do with you, Francisco?” You locked your fingers at the nape of his neck and used your thumbs to play with the longer hairs there.

“Is that rhetorical? Because I actually have a lot of ideas for what you can do with me.” When you laughed again, he smiled brightly. “You know, that was one of the things I missed the most when you were gone…that laugh.”

“Nah, it’s obnoxious.”

“Is that what he told you ‘cause if so that just gives me another reason to make that fucker disappear.”

“I…I rarely laughed around him. I guess I just forgot what it sounds like." Your face fell but he was right there to make you smile again.

“I’ll just have to make you laugh everyday then, huh?”

“Hmm maybe.” You kissed him and pressed your body against his, writhing in his lap.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips.

“Me? You’re the one talking about making people disappear.”

“I meant like…magic, you know?” He wiggled his fingers. “Abracadabra.”

“So, you can do magic now? Is there anything you can’t do?” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much.

“Yeah, there’s something I can’t do,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I can’t get enough of you.” He smiled proudly and you rolled your eyes. “What?”

“That was so cheesy,” you teased and he pouted. “But I love it. I love cheesy! Come here.” He pulled back from you, still pouting but you kissed all over his face until he gave in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s promise each other something. We’ll never keep anything from each other even if we think it might hurt. I want us to be honest.” You thought you saw a quick flash of uneasiness on his face but he agreed.

“Okay. I promise.”

You smiled then kissed him.

FRANKIE’S POV

What she said echoed in Frankie’s mind as she stood and walked to the kitchen. We’ll never keep anything from each other even if we think it might hurt. He shook his head and pulled out his phone and, of course, there was a text from Pope.

Did u tell her yet?

“Want another beer?” she called from the kitchen.

“Yeah thanks.” His fingers hovered above the keyboard on the screen but before he could answer back, she walked back into the living room.

“Here you go. Talking to Pope?” she asked as she handed him a beer and sat back down.

“Yup, who else?” He laughed awkwardly before taking a sip.

“Everything okay?” She sipped her own beer.

“Everything’s great.”

“Are you staying tonight?” She laid down and put her legs over his lap.

“If you want me to.” He rubbed her legs with his free hand.

“You know I do.” They sat quietly for a moment and that must have made her uncomfortable. “Frankie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He smiled at her then winked. He couldn’t stand the tension either. “I love your legs.” There. Lighten the mood. Make her smile. He’d tell her in due time. He’d ask her in due time.

“They look better wrapped around you,” she said and he nearly choked on his beer.

“I can’t believe you just said that. What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

“You sure you want me to answer that?”

“You can always just show me…” His hand trailed up her leg but just before he could get to her, she grabbed his hand and kissed it.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Seriously?” He watched her walk upstairs then sat back on the couch and closed his eyes. When he heard her turn the shower on, he felt it was okay to call Pope. He answered almost immediately.

“You tell her?” Pope asked excitedly.

“No…it’s not the right time. We just had a really great moment. I can’t ruin it with that.” Frankie picked at the label on the bottle.

“The longer you wait to tell her, the harder it’ll be, hermano.”

“Weren’t you the one rooting for us to get back together and now you wanna take me away from her?” He finished his beer in a few swallows then grabbed hers.

“Look, at least you’ll have a reason to get your ass home now. I need you on this.”

“Yeah but she needs me too. I can’t just come out and say I’m going to South America with Pope for something that might not even work out. I--"

“You’re going to South America?” she asked and Frankie froze. He turned slowly to look at her and she was still fully dressed.

“I thought you were—”

“What’s in South America?”

“Pope, I gotta go.” He hung up and stood to walk over to her.

“I need you to answer me, Frankie. What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing, I just…Pope has this wild idea. The details aren’t important.” He put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I was gonna tell you…”

“When? How long have you two been planning this?”

“A few weeks.” He couldn’t lie to her. “I’m not even sure I wanna go yet especially now since…”

“Am I just a little fling you needed to have before you went on your little mission?”

“What? No. You know damn well you’re more than that.” He reached out to her but she moved away. “I fucking love you. Haven’t I proven that to you?”

“You sat right there on that couch and promised you wouldn’t keep things from me and you were.” Her voice cracked and she hugged herself. If she had only walked downstairs a few moments later. He was going to tell Pope that he needed to ask her first. She had as big a role in his decision as he did.

“I need you to listen…”

“I am listening.” She wiped a tear away angrily. He wished he could kiss them away. What happened to only making her smile and laugh? He already failed at that.

“Please don’t cry, hermosa."

“Don’t tell me not to cry, Frankie. I’m upset and rightfully so. You were hiding this from me for weeks. Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

“Yeah, because you gave me the same courtesy when you left me for years,” he snapped.

“That’s not fair.”

“I’d be gone for a few weeks at the most. I’m sure you’d be able to handle that.” He let the pain that he had tucked away come back to the surface. By the look on her face, his words had hit their mark.

“So, you decided already?” Her voice broke his heart into a million pieces. He could only imagine what her heart felt like. She put a hand over it and sat down on the stairs as if everything became too much. “Why would…how could he…” She was mumbling and when he tried touching her again, she snapped. “Please don’t fucking touch me!”

“I…I’m…”

“Sorry?” she finished for him. “Is Pope sorry too?”

“You didn’t hear the whole thing,” he pointed out. “I asked him why he would take me away from you when we…we just found each other again.”

“No…Frankie.” She shook her head. “You can say no. It us your decision.”

“I know…”

“But you can’t say no to him, can you?” She smiled at him even as tears fell from her eyes.

“You think this is easy for me? I’ve been going back and forth in my head about this for weeks.”

“Yes! For weeks! I was right here! You could’ve talked to me!” She pointed at herself then covered her face.

“Let me hold you. Please,” he begged. “I need to. I need it.”

“That’s a bad idea,” she cried. “If you hold me now, I’d never want you to let go…but you’ll have to, won’t you?”

He sat beside her without touching her. If he touched her, he would feel everything—her pain, her sadness, her anger—and he was already feeling enough. But she reached out for him instead. She touched him. His heart broke and put itself back together again all at once.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” She touched his cheek and he looked her in the eye. He had no voice. If only she knew what kind of power she had in her touch alone. He only put his hand over hers and closed his eyes as he leaned into her touch. Something to remember. A reason to come home.

Eventually she took her hand away and he was left feeling empty. It’s exactly how he felt when he woke up all those years ago only to find that she was gone and never coming back. But this time he was doing the leaving. Even without him saying a word, she knew.

“Will you come home to me?” she asked tearfully.

“I didn’t say I was going…” he started.

She knew.

“Just tell me you’ll come home.”

All at once, any semblance of control he had left was gone, and he cried. It wasn’t the first time he cried in front of her but this time it felt more real. All too real.

“He has nothing to lose,” he said, “But I do.” Could he handle losing her again? What if he came back and she wasn’t there?

“Is that what you two were meeting up in the bar about when I showed up?” she asked and he nodded slowly. “I came back at the wrong time.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you fucking dare. You came back right when I needed you to.” This time he wouldn’t let her stop him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her like he would never see her again. “Don’t leave me again.” He sounded like a frightened child.

“I’m not the one leaving this time, Frankie…”

“But…when I come back…you’ll be here?” He hated how long she took to respond.

“Where would I go?” she asked. That wasn’t the response he was looking for. He just wanted her to say that she would be there.

“I’m scared,” he confessed.

“Me too. I kinda don’t know how to live without you now.” She covered her face and sobbed as he held her. “No one should have this kind of power over me,” she cried.

“Especially someone like me.”

“Shut up, Frankie.” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “If you’re going then we better make the most of the time we have left together.”

“I…don’t have to go,” he said.

“Of course you do.”

“Tell me not to go to South America and I won’t.” He said it with such confidence but didn’t feel it at all.

She pulled away from him and held his face in her hands. “Frankie, baby, you’re already there.”

The kiss she gave him lingered on his lips long after she left him sitting on the stairs. She was probably sleeping now. He hoped that she would dream of a happier time.

He eventually made his way upstairs and to her bedroom. She slept peacefully, one hand on the pillow he slept on as if she was touching him. His heart broke all over again but he willed his tears away. That spot beside her would be empty at some point, but not right now.

After undressing, he got in bed trying his best not to wake her. He wouldn’t be able to handle looking into those sad eyes again tonight. Just as he settled in, she draped her arm over him and snuggled up against him. He stared at the ceiling before getting the courage to turn his head and look at her. When she slept there was no worry etched into her features. She was relaxed, content, but when she woke up again it would all come back and it was all his fault.

“I love you,” he whispered to her sleeping form. He watched her sleep and hoped tomorrow would be a little better. Right now, he just wanted to remember what she looked like when she slept beside him. He wanted to remember her. The good memories would be the ones he took with him but what was he leaving for her? If things did go wrong in South America, what would he be leaving behind for her to remember him by?

He moved carefully, reaching to the floor to find his pants to find the phone in his pocket. He looked through the pictures he took of her and the ones she sent him of them together. The smile on his face grew the more he looked at the pictures. He made the one of her kissing his cheek the background on his phone then he turned and looked at her again. The moonlight coming through the window bathed her in a beautiful, hazy blue. He took a picture.

Turning on his side, he traced the lines of her face gently then kissed her forehead. A small smile played on her lips and he kissed them. He wasn’t sure how he would live without kisses from her for however long he’d be away but he would remember. He would take every kiss he ever shared with her and tuck it away in his memories. Every smile, every laugh, her…those memories were all his to keep.

And since he had broken her heart tonight, his heart would be hers to keep as long as he was away…as long as she wanted it. He knew as long as she kept it safe, he would be as well.

[nine]

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