#dark!frankie still chubby though

[beefrobeefcal]

Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. But how did Frankie 'Catfish' Morales, the coke-addicted, lanky mess of a man become its leader? And where did the moniker 'BigFish' come from?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,283 | 3+/- years before OTWF begins

Content Warning: threats of violence, crime, violence, betrayal, Big Fish is a bad man in the making, character death, allusions to drug use, swearing, choking, punching, eating, comments on body, weight gain, friendship but at what cost?, Tom is a bag of smashed assholes

Author's Notes: this is a prequel showing us the how, what, why, and where roughly three years before Honey comes into the picture in Chapter One: Signed and Sealed. The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for brainstorming this with me and to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for their love and eyes. Pour one out for @xdaddysprincessxx - she will need all the hydration she can get.

On the Waterfront Masterlist

“If it were anyone else…”, Tom warned. 

“Yeah, we know. But it’s not. It’s Fish. He’s one of us.”

Pope sat back and watched Will do something none of them thought they’d have to do – convince Tom to give a shit.

“He’s a fuckin’ coke head! Snortin’ our own shit and lyin’ about it!”, Tom boomed, standing over Will. “You ran the fuckin’ numbers, you can see how much money we lost up his fuckin’ nose! And now you wanna spend more money tryin’ to get that fucker clean again?”

Will didn’t bend. He didn’t shrink and he didn’t back down. “It’s Frankie. Catfish. Our Catfish. And he needs help.”

Tom huffed harshly enough in Will’s face that his hair moved, then turned his ire to Pope. 

“You think Fish’s worth it? Already cost us a shit load of money and Will wants to blow more on that fuckhead.”

Pope slipped into his smooth and nonchalant voice and crossed his arms. He’d hoped this would give Tom the impression that he was just as unnerved and steadfast as Will.

“You know he’d do the same thing for any of us.”

“Fuckin’ altruistic bullshit!”, Tom barked, slamming his fist on the table. 

Pope felt his blood heating up and his jaw tightening. Will looked over at him quickly, his blue eyes ice cold and angry, and then back to Tom. 

“I disagree. He’s just as much my brother as Benny is. Or you, or Santi. He’s family and I’ll get’m help as many times as possible. And you know what you’re sayin’s bullshit-“

“Fuck you and your fuckin’ family values dog shit! You and I both know that he’s gonna get clean, last a week or two, then shit’s gonna start goin’ missing again and he’s gonna be right back to bein’ the fuckin’ crypt keeper he looks like now! He’s not gonna change. We need to cut him loose and let him kill himself. He made his choice, Will! Admit it - Fish ain’t worth it!”

Will stood up and moved close to Tom, almost nose to nose. Yeah, Tom was bigger, stronger even, but Will was precise and skilled in a way that seeing him square up like that scared Pope. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward. 

“Hey! Hold up! We’re not gonna do th-“

“You’re supposed to be our leader – our fuckin’ captain.”, Will seethed lowly. “I’m not gonna take orders from some mother fucker who decides to ‘cut loose’ one of our own. Fish needs our help and fuck you for turnin’ your back on’ im.”

Tom glared at Will. “Fine.”, he spat, then dug his index finger in Will’s chest. “But when he he fuckin’ OD’s, it’s on you!”

*****

It felt like more than 90 days when Pope rolled up in front of the rehab centre to pick up Frankie, and when he saw him standing outside, waiting for him, he frowned. Not because he wasn’t glad to see him looking better and fuller, but because this was the third time he had picked Frankie up from a stint in rehab. 

Frankie pulled open the passenger door and slid in, not daring to look up. 

“Fish…”, Pope broke the silence as he put the car in drive. “You look good - ”

“How mad is he this time?”, Frankie interjected.

Pope sighed, knowing exactly how mad Tom was that the Frontiersmen funded another one of Frankie’s stays in an expensive treatment centre. The fact that Tom could be mad at Frankie for this used to baffle him, but by this time - the third time – he could at least see where Tom was coming from. It didn’t sway his growing dislike of their leader though. 

“You keep clean, and he won’t have a reason to be pissed.”

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

“Just shut the fuck up and keep clean, Frank.” Pope snapped, cutting Frankie off in turn. “Besides, I have something in mind to keep you motivated.”

All Frankie could do was nod, despite not knowing what Pope could offer as motivation. He never wanted to relapse, but the call was too sweet, too enticing, for him to stay away too long. He’d said this the day before while he was going through the exit procedure and the facilitator just shrugged and said, “Find something else to get high on then.” 

*****

Less than two months after Frankie came back to the compound, Tom was dead. 

Pope had walked down the hallway to the office where Will waited, and he pushed open the door. Will had looked up, expecting to see Tom, and when he saw Pope instead, blood on his hands and splattered on his body and face, and wide eyed, he stood up, confusion etched on his face.

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

Will dropped the file folder he held precariously and moved quickly to Pope’s side as he sat heavily in one of the armchairs. He wiped his hand over his face, smudging the semi-dried blood, and he sighed.

“Who’s dea- “

“Tom… Tom’s dead. He’s fuckin’ dead, Will.”

“Santi.”, Will said in a low, controlled voice that just barely masked the panic writhing below. “What happened?”

“I… I was… I didn’t…”, Pope paused, trying to find a way to confess. Instead, his conscience was silenced by his ego, and he found himself lying without even really thinking. “He was… taken out by… by the Gutierrez gang… those fuckers… they ambushed him, Will.”

Pope looked up at Will, daring to see if what he said even sounded feasible. To Will, Pope’s wide, frightened eyes convinced him to ignore the itch at the back of his brain, needling him to probe further.

“I was… I was with him when he… I found him before he died. He was fuckin’ babbling some shit… who was supposed to take over…”

Will’s eyes narrowed subtly, but enough for Pope to register. He knew he couldn’t say he was the one Tom wanted; it would be too suspicious. And he couldn’t say Will because that would give him full control - something Pope truly believed would be his own downfall. 

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

Frankie was a half a year sober – actually, really, fully, no-word-of-a-lie sober – and had been the head of the Frontiersmen for just shy of four months. He’d spent the last six months trying to find a new vice that wouldn’t render him a liability and bankrupt the organization. He was just barely making an impact as the new leader; no one took him seriously. He was skinny and quiet. Only his inner circle knew how violent and dangerous he could be, but even then, they knew he really had to be provoked to get him to that point.

Pope decided he had to do something. His plan to put Frankie in the captain’s chair was failing miserably, and he knew if he couldn’t land this, he would be sussed out. 

“Fish… come on… we’re going out for dinner.”, he said, slapping Frankie’s back.

He looked up at Pope, tired and miserable. “Why?”

“Because you need to eat. You’re skin and bones and no one wants to be led by a corpse.”

Frankie’s expression turned from confused to hurt as his shoulders dropped, feeling the weight of everyone’s expectations gnaw at his sobriety. He carried this somber aura all the way to the restaurant. 

*****

The dingy little Italian restaurant had a name – Marcello’s - and it became Frankie’s haven. It was nowhere near as festive or amazing as Benny had indicated. The way he raved about the place, Pope thought he was taking Frankie to a pasta titty bar paradise, and instead he found them in a mid-century dive with carpet and wood paneling on the walls. 

It wasn’t until the hostess came out from the bar to greet them that Pope understood exactly why Benny loved this place, and he understood it even more when they had their food served.  It had started out as once a week, then turned into almost every night. The effects of pasta, heavy cream sauces, and garlic bread we’re beginning to show on Frankie. Gone were the feeling of his ribs when Pope patted him on his back and gone were his sunken cheeks. Frankie had filled out and he was glad to see his friend looking better. 

That was, until he noticed something. Yeah, Frankie was clean from coke, but he seemed to have turned that same veracity that he’d once carried for the narcotic on to food. It used to be that Frankie could barely finish a frozen TV dinner, being able to stretch one over two meals. As Pope sat across from him at Marcello’s one Tuesday evening, he watched his friend plow through two whole plates of pasta in one sitting. Pope noticed that while Frankie ate, he seemed almost tranquil, serene.

He’d found something else to get high on.

There was a notable change in Frankie as he gained weight. The soft spoken, always amenable Frankie was slowly being enveloped by a bigger, meaner, and more vicious version of him. 

When he was thinner, Frankie could get lucky with women if he tried, but he wasn’t the most confident and rarely put himself out there. But as he grew, so did his self-esteem. He no longer sat back and accepted things as they were said to him – he questioned and even demanded answers, using his newfound size to intimidate if need be. If he saw something he liked, be it clothing, electronics, cars, he took it and gave no one a chance to say otherwise.

The legacy Tom left behind began to fade within the Frontiersmen as Frankie’s violence took centre stage. His quick temper and fists built a reputation; he was still quiet, but the silence he offered was no longer one of contemplation, it was one of simmering rage, liable to explode into violence at any moment. But this was within their group alone. No one outside of their crew took him seriously enough to even warrant giving him a foot in the door.

All of that changed one evening and Pope got a front seat to watch his plan to hide behind Frankie finally bear fruit. Catfish’s temper finally exploded on the right person to get the message out. 

Chuck, the leader of another group called the Golden Kings, had sat across from Frankie at a roundtable, hosted by one of the other gangs to broker agreements and territories. Chuck had taken every opportunity to remind everyone that Frankie was a junkie who used to pilfer his group’s own product to get high. When he stopped getting the reaction he wanted, Chuck moved onto Frankie’s weight, which had pretty well doubled since Tom’s death. 

Will, seated on the other side of Frankie, quietly said, “Let it go, Catfish.”

“Catfish?”, Chuck laughed cruelly. “Fuckin’ Catfish? Really? Fatfish is more like it. What happened, Morales? You eat your feelings ‘cause you can’t get high no more?”

Pope caught a glance at Frankie’s face which only could be described as dark and malevolent as a thunderclap. It unnerved him to see Frankie looking so dangerous around other people. It was one thing for him to beat one of their own for being a dipshit, but this was someone who wasn't below Frankie – he was ranks above him. Frankie sat, glaring across the table at Chuck, his elbows on the armrests and his hands tensely tenting his fingers.

It seemed that the rest of the men at the table could sense the electric tension between Frankie and Chuck. Dan Connor, leader of the Dead Rabbits and host for the evening, motioned to Frankie with a head nod. 

“Get it out, Morales. Can’t move on with you having a bitchfit at some name callin’.”

Pope knew none of these men took his friend seriously and it was either going to be Frankie using his keen negotiation tactics or Frankie showing off his newfound rage. 

The latter won. Frankie sat in silence as Chuck beat his mouth off at him, trying to get Frankie to react, to no avail. He didn’t speak; he just watched, letting Chuck keep talking, letting him fuel his violent rage even more, until it reached a tipping point. 

“You may be a big fish now, you fuckin’ goof, but you’re still a rat-faced junkie.”

It happened quickly. Frankie stood up and grabbed Chuck from across the table by his suit jacket lapel and pulled him to his side as his fist began beating into the man’s face over and over.

Chuck’s men stood up, but Dan Connor’s hand came out, motioning for them to sit. His own men waited for their cue to remove Frankie from Chuck, but Dan just watched in reverence.

The punching stopped and Chuck gurgled in pain, and Frankie wrapped his huge hands around Chuck’s throat and squeezed. 

“I am Big Fish, you fuckin’ cunt.”, he growled in a calm and low tone, then he spat on Chuck’s face.

Will looked at Frankie horrified, and Pope couldn’t help the grin that forced its way to his face. Dan finally motioned for his men to intervene, and it took all four to pry Frankie’s hands off the bloody, gasping mess that was Chuck. 

Chuck’s men moved to get their boss away from Frankie as he sat back in his chair, and nodded at Dan, signaling for him to continue. The room remained silent, save for the pathetic whining of Chuck in the hallway. Dan looked at Frankie, eyes narrowed, then finally he started laughing – hard.

“Fuckin’ BigFish Morales! Welcome to the table, asshole.”

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[pedroshotwifey]

Ahoy Hottie! 💜🥩💜 you know I gotta do it to ‘em…

#9 & chubby!Frankie x f!reader 🥩 or just a plain ol’ fat frankie… I’m not picky.

Beefro👌🥩💜

Hey, Beefro! I can't tell you how excited I was to see this request! Hopefully I did fat Frankie justice 😘

Good 'n' Deep

Pairing: Fat!Frankie x f!reader

Word Count: 2.6k (oops 😅)

Tags/warnings: finger fucking, oral, multiple orgasms, piv sex, slight overstimulation, soft dom frankie, mentions of weigh gain, dirty talk, smut, fluff, idiots in love, manhandling, frankie being a fucking unit

Summary: Fat Frankie can't be sated.

*****

You get home late. And feeling awful. 

It was supposed to be date night with your husband, but the boss kept you in for overtime. You know Frankie doesn’t mind, and reassured you about forty times that it’s not your fault, but you still hate to skip it. But as he says, you always go out on Fridays, and the two of you have plenty of Fridays to make up for this one. 

It’s not much, but you did pick up dinner at Frankie’s favorite fast food place on your way home. He doesn’t know yet, and you’re excited to at least surprise him with that. It’s a bit on the expensive side, but definitely worth it—both in the sense that it’s fucking delicious, but also that you’ll be able to see Frankie excited. 

“Babe,” you call into the dark house as you toe your shoes off. You smile when you hear Frankie’s quick footfall coming right for you. He wraps you in a hug as soon as he gets to you, engulfing you in his warmth and immediately relieving some of your stress. 

He leans down and kisses you gently, but only for a second because he’s suddenly very distracted by a certain smell. 

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans, hands already reaching for the paper bag in your hand. “You’re the fuckin’ best.” 

He plants a kiss on your head as you giggle. “You’re welcome, baby.”  

You both walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table, pulling your food out of the bags. Frankie looks excited, just as you’d hoped he would be. He looks so good right now, wearing his gray sweatpants, his standard oil cap (which you swear he has separation anxiety with), and an old, white tank. There’s a ketchup stain on the front from about a year ago that just never came out in the wash. You also notice that it’s gotten a good bit tighter since then—definitely one of those shirts that Frankie keeps trying to convince himself that fits. 

You won’t burst his bubble or anything, but he’ll need to try a bit harder, because there’s no way he’s fooling anyone. A sliver of his pudgy tummy peeks out from the bottom of the tank that used to cover him completely. The fabric hugs him tightly, probably just on the side of not being painful even though it’s being stretched to its limit. It used to hang loosely on him, but he’s gained a good bit of weight since the two of you have been together. You smile to yourself at that, glad to see him looking so happy and taken care of. 

He groans as he takes the first bite of his burger. 

“Fuck, thank you again, baby,” he says through a mouthful of food. You nod at him, mouth full as well. 

The two of you talk about your days as you devour your food, you finishing quicker than Frankie but staying at the table while he finishes his other burger and large fry. He tells you that his day went pretty good. All the guys showed up at work and there wasn’t an issue to keep them on the job for longer than necessary. 

You wait until he finishes his last fry before you start to pick up the trash. You take his cap off of his head as you walk by him so you can brush his hair back and place a gentle kiss on top of his head. He smiles warmly at you when you put his cap back on and move to throw the trash away. You glance at the clock, biting your lip as you decide there’s probably a bit of time to do something before you go to sleep. 

“You want to watch a movie, Frank?” 

He hms thoughtfully as you walk back toward him. “Maybe, " he says. 

You move to pass where he’s still sitting at the table, but you’re quickly stopped and pulled into his lap, both of your legs draped over his thighs. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck for stability. 

“Think I’d rather have a snack though,” he says through a grin as he rubs the side of his face against yours. He then rotates your body so that you’re leaning against his back.  

“Frankie, honey,” you giggle despite catching his meaning. “You just ate!” 

You turn and poke his full stomach to prove your point, but he only grunts and holds you tighter.

“I’m feeling greedy,” he rasps into your ear as he grinds his hardening length into your ass. “Need my dessert.” 

You shiver, lust staring to cloud your head. Leave it to this man to want to fuck you after a huge meal. He doesn’t wait for you to respond as he lifts your shirt up and you raise your arms for him to tug it off. Your bra is next, discarded on the floor next to you within seconds. 

You give in—which isn’t very hard—and let yourself relax into him. You moan and he leans down to lick up the side of your neck, his beefy hand traveling even lower to worm itself beneath the band of your panties. He finds your clit quickly and immediately starts to rub circles just the way you like. Your hips buck a bit as you crane your neck to devour his plush lips with yours. 

“Mm-Frankie,” you whimper against him as your thighs begin to tremble. You feel him smirk against you in return but say nothing. All you can focus on is the building of your orgasm, that addicting feeling tugging deep inside of you with a promise for more. 

He lets his fingers slip down to your hole and gather the slick there before bringing it back up to create a smooth movement atop your bud, his hand moving faster and faster until the coil snaps and you’re crying out and convulsing on top of him. His other hand wraps around you to stop your thighs from closing, forcing you to prolong your pleasure as he keeps up his slowing movements.

You’re panting when you come down to your high, practically drooling with the back of your head planted on Frankie’s shoulder. You’re not sure when that happened, you leaning back and clutching his forearms so tightly that there’ll be nail marks when you let him go. 

He chuckles darkly as you release him from your clawing grip, trying to calm your breathing. You’re only slightly aware of him helping you off of his lap to stand. He takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. You must only be in there for a half-second before he’s pushing you down on your back and dragging you until your ass is basically hanging off the edge of the bed. 

“Frankie!” You screech his name at all the movement, the way he’s man-handling you. He only smiles cheekily through the grunt he lets out as he gets down on his knees in front of your cunt to kiss the inside of your thigh. 

“Sorry, hermosa,” he coos. Though he’s very obviously not that sorry because he goes right to practically ripping your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t even bother yelping or reprimanding him this time. You know that he’s determined now, and Frankie Morales doesn’t relent until he gets what he wants.

He’s back at your cunt—in your cunt—before you can blink. You scream as he burrows the entire lower half of his face into your soaked folds and grasps your legs over his shoulders. Your hands fly to his hair, knocking his cap off in the process of getting to his thick, soft curls between your fingers. He moans sharply as you tug, unintentionally forcing him closer to you. You don’t worry too much, you know he loves it. He once told you that he would die a happy man if you ever got tired of him and chose to suffocate him in your sweet pussy. 

He licks and sucks at a furious pace, completely skipping a buildup and going right to the action. It’s unbelievable to you how quickly he manages to make you come sometimes. You yell his name as he eats you out like he’s mad at you. It’s so fucking good, this blinding pleasure making your entire body shake and your blood run firey hot. And you know he loves it just as much as you do.

You start to fall limp again, sweat covering your entire body as he keeps drinking you up. You hiss, your body bucking as you pull on his hair again to try to get him off of you. You’re about to tell him you need a break, but then he suddenly has a finger gliding into your hole, and then two, and you don’t get the chance as your second orgasm melds into your third. He finger-fucks you at an inhuman pace, almost hurting your poor pussy with how hard he shoves them into you as he sucks harshly on your clit. The sounds are obscene even through the blood you hear pumping in your ears. 

He starts to slow after you ride out your third high, though you’re not sure if it’s because he’s taking pity on you or if he genuinely just can’t handle not being inside you for another second. You assume it’s the latter as you listen to the sound of his clothes being tugged off, one arm thrown over your eyes as you try to collect yourself. 

“God, you look fucking gorgeous, baby,” Frankie groans as he admires your limp, sweat-slicked body. 

You lift your arm to find him between your messy thighs again, this time standing over you. Despite the three fucking orgasms he just gifted you, you feel your cunt clench at the sight of him standing so imposingly in front of you. He’s so fucking big and intimidating. He’s stripped all the way, as naked as you now, letting you see every inch of his gorgeous damn body. 

He watches you with a gaze that tells you he’s in the mood to pound you through the damn mattress. You find yourself excited, despite already being sore, as he takes a step forward and lines up his blunt tip with your slippery hole. You whimper and grip the sheets as he starts to make shallow thrusts to push in, stretching you despite your excessive preparation and the amount of times he’s had you before. 

He moans right along with you, gripping your hips and pulling you onto him. Your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open once he’s fully seated and breathing heavily above you. 

“Fucking christ, baby. You’re so fucking tight,” he accentuates the last word by pulling out slightly and thrusting hard back into you, making your back arch when he slams into that spot deep inside of you. 

He starts at a slow but forceful pace, making you see stars every time he pushes himself in. You watch him with hooded eyes, admiring how gorgeous he looks when his own eyes close and his lips part. His pelvis comes flush with your ass each time and he uses the opportunity to grind into you, rubbing your walls in a way that makes you want to cry. Actually, you think you are. It’s only now that you feel tears start to leak down your ruddy cheeks.

Frankie must have opened his eyes at some point while you were lost in your head, because he’s suddenly letting out a breathy laugh and using one hand to thumb away the tears. Your toes curl at the gentle touch compared with the brutal treatment of your cunt.

“I know, sweetheart,” he coos. “I know it’s a lot.” 

God, he feels so good leaning over you. You want him closer—need him closer. 

“F-Frankie,” you manage to get out. “N-Need you closer.” 

He smirks at you and thrusts a bit faster, pushing you up the bed and leaning over you to kiss you deeply. One hand stays on your hip as the other cradles your face, keeping you where he wants as he devours your lips in a messy kiss. You wrap your arms and legs around his broad body, smiling a bit when they don’t wrap around him all the way. You love when he overwhelms you like this, completely trapping you under him as he pummels into you. He’s barely even pulling out now, just slapping his hips to yours as fast as he can as he whines and moans into your mouth. The grip he has on your hip is crushing, but it feels good because it’s him. 

The coil is tightening once again within you, making everything go hazy as you focus solely on how he edges you closer and closer with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix. 

He’s getting frantic, too. You can tell by the way he loses control of the kiss and his thrusts get even shorter. 

“F-Frankie,” you mumble into his lips. “M-More.” 

He picks up the pace yet again, making you scream when he hits a spot that you didn’t even know existed. You jolt against him, startled but the burst of pleasure that sparks through you. 

“M-More,” you beg him again, panting so hard you think you might pass out. You need more. More of him inside you, on top of you. You need everything to be filled with him until there’s no room for anything else. 

“‘M so close, baby,” he whines to you. 

“Frankie, please!” 

He growls against you and tugs back, slipping out of you with a lewd squelch. You don’t have time to cry out from the loss though, because he’s back in an instant to grab you and flip you over on your stomach. Then he’s over you again, slamming back into you with a single thrust. You’re forced to stay flat, your hands scrambling for purchase in front of you until he drapes himself completely over you, threading your fingers through his so he can use them as leverage to fuck deep into you. 

“Better?” He grunts out, almost angrily. He’s so heavy above you, using all of the force he has to nail you into the bed in furious ruts, the entire thing moving with each pound into you. You can’t respond though, finding your voice trapped in your throat as you convulse around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, even with him. It’s what you wished for—to be so overwhelmed that everything else is purely pushed from you. It’s all static right now, your brain, your body. You think you may scream his name, but it might have been a bunch of gibberish.

“This what you need?” he asks as he fucks furiously down into you. To be fucked good—hmng—good an’ deep?” 

You use what’s left of your fried brain to nod beneath him, practically drooling onto the bed sheets. 

“F’kn deep,” you slur, half-delirious. 

You let him continue to pound into you until grunts loudly beside your ear and you feel his cum spurting into you. It makes you moan again, the way he keeps fucking it deeper and deeper into you. You quiver and he groans as he starts to come down himself, joining you once again in the real world. Your ears are still ringing and your entire body feels like you got tossed off of a mountain and possibly into a bit of lava, but you find yourself laughing once Frankie untagles your fingers and rolls to the side, taking you with him. 

He starts to laugh with you, neither of you saying a word but knowing exactly what the other is thinking. Which is something along the lines of ‘holy shit’. Despite your sweaty bodies, you sink back into him and let him hold you close, both of you stuck in giggling fits and sharing little kisses until you fall asleep a minute later.

*****

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[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier/Narcos fic: Crossing the Streams

This week is @fleetwoodmactshirt's birthday and I knew I wanted to write her something if I could—it was just a question of what. Frankie Morales making ravioli from scratch? An intimate morning spent with Ezra? Or: this? A deeply self-indulgent (and Fleetwood-indulgent) AU of an AU crossed over with another AU from an entirely different piece of media. It made sense in my head.

This concept is something we've jokingly(?) discussed for years but it always felt too outrageous to actually put to words. Until now. Happy birthday, beloved! I hope this makes you smile.

Title: Crossing the Streams Characters/Pairings: Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Javier Peña, OFC, Baby Morales, ghost!Reader. Nascent Fishben implied; Javi/OFC implied. Rating: Teen (but maybe Gen) Word count: 1.8k Content/warnings: Crossover of my ghost 'verse and @fleetwoodmactshirt's Javier Peña X-Files AU 🙃 Not really exactly officially a part of the ghost 'verse, but could be considered a spin-off chapter of it maybe. I don't think any particular warnings apply. Reader is a ghost. The OFC listed above is the reader from Fleetwood's AU, and I tried to leave her a blank slate. Javi holds the baby a lot. I fudged the timelines so Javi is older but not as much older as he would be. Unbetaed, so let me know if you spot any mistakes.

You can see the family resemblance immediately. The man standing in the foyer isn’t an exact carbon copy of Francisco, but they could easily be mistaken for brothers. Benny had been the one to answer the door and the visitor is sizing him up, friendly but with a hint of narrow-eyed assessment peeking through. Benny senses it and stands a little straighter, calling over his shoulder, “Fish, they’re here!”

The slap-slap-slap sound of the baby’s hands on the hardwood floor announces her arrival even before she rounds the corner into the hallway, crawling rapidly towards the front door while Francisco ambles behind her. Ben scoops her up before she can reach the threshold, easily hefting her up to his shoulder, while the other men greet each other with a hug.

“Ah, mi sobrino!” Francisco’s uncle gives him an affectionate pat on the cheek. “Te ves bien, Francisco.”

“Hola, tío Javi,” he says with a grin. “Come on in. You met Benny?”

Now that they’re standing side by side you’re able to see the similarities and differences between them. Javier is older by fifteen years or so, his dark hair greying at the temples, slim body still fit but gone a little soft around the middle. He’s cleanshaven but for an attractive, full mustache, and his warm brown eyes are shielded by a pair of glasses with dark, slightly rounded plastic frames.

Javier nods. “I haven’t met this one yet, though,” he says, reaching for Francisco’s daughter. She goes to him without hesitation and he has to catch her chubby hands in his before she can drag his glasses down his nose. He pulls a face at her and she giggles.

“And is your…” Francisco pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Partner outside?”

Javi glances out the open door. “She’s getting some equipment out of the trunk. Listen,” he says, lowering his voice a little, “she takes this stuff seriously and she can be a little—excitable, about it. Take it easy on her, okay?”

This stuff, as it turns out, is investigating the world of the paranormal.

After Francisco’s mom had heard about Santiago’s suspicion that the house was haunted, she’d been the one to suggest he invite tío Javier and his… partner, for a visit. (You understand the hesitation before “partner” as soon as you see her; the energy flowing between them is lit up with something far brighter than a pair of regular, platonic co-workers would ever have. And even someone without your vision might notice the way it takes her a moment to recover from the sight of him with the baby in his arms, or how his hand hovers over the small of her back as they make their way down the hall.)

Francisco leads them into the kitchen, where he sets a pot of coffee brewing.

“You can set her down if you want,” he tells Javi, nodding to the baby’s high chair.

“That’s alright,” he says, taking a seat and easily shifting her into the crook of his arm. He crosses his legs so she’s half in his lap and bounces his thigh, just lightly, offering up his free hand for her to pull and pinch and bite at as she likes to keep her entertained.

His partner is watching from the doorway and you observe with interest how her breathing goes almost imperceptibly unsteady before she gathers herself again.

“So which of you saw the ghost?” she asks Francisco and Benny.

Ben’s eyes shift to the corner where you’re perched on the kitchen counter, but Francisco is already answering for the both of them. “Neither of us,” he tells her. “Our friend Santiago is the one who thinks he saw something.”

She’s taking notes in a pocket-sized notebook.

“And what was it that Santiago saw?”

“Socks,” he says, in a tone that indicates he thinks this is just as silly as it sounds.

“Socks,” she echoes, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Floating in the air.” He makes a vague, floaty gesture with one hand while pouring the coffee with the other.

Tío Javi’s partner finally takes a seat at the table, so she’s not stuck juggling her coffee cup and the notebook. The baby leans towards her, curious, and she gives her a polite smile. “Hello.” Then, struck by a thought, she looks to Francisco again.

“Has the baby seen the ghost?” she asks.

Benny’s eyes widen. Francisco just chuckles. “Not that she’s mentioned,” he says dryly. “Look, I don’t want to be wasting your time. You should know that—I’m not suggesting Santi’s making it up or anything but—the guy’s had more than one concussion before. You know what I’m saying?”

“That’s interesting,” she remarks, jotting it down.

Francisco exchanges a glance with Javier.

“Is it?”

“Well, brain injuries, trauma, near-death experiences—they can open a person’s senses to things that others can’t see,” she explains.

He looks skeptical.

“We’ve all had near-death experiences,” he says, gesturing around the room. He says it so matter-of-factly that she looks startled, and maybe a little concerned. “Ben and I were Special Forces. Tío, I’ve heard your stories from Colombia. We’ve all dealt with some dark shit.”

Javi flattens his mouth in a grim line. Ben is rubbing his knuckles over his lips and you can see the anxiety building in him. The room falls silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” she says. Under the table, Javi shifts his leg to bump his foot with hers reassuringly.

“No.” Francisco frowns. “I’m sorry. You’re just doing your job. You—I know you brought some gear with you. You’re welcome to check the house, or… do whatever you need. I’ll show you where Santi saw the socks in the air.”

She sets down her pen.

“If you don’t mind.”

Francisco leads her upstairs to the nursery. You’re not sure you want to get anywhere near her ghost-hunting equipment, whatever it may be, so you stick to the kitchen and keep Ben company while he attempts to make conversation with Francisco’s uncle.

“So you worked in Colombia,” he tries. Javi gives a quiet grunt to the affirmative. He doesn’t want to talk about that—you can tell, and Benny figures it out pretty quickly, too.

“Do you—” he starts, but Javi’s already speaking.

“What’s the situation here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and Frankie.”

You can almost feel the heat radiating off him as the air shimmering around Benny turns a deep, blushing pink.

“There’s no situation,” he says.

“You’re roommates?”

“Yeah—I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time. My lease ended a few months ago and he said I could stay here. He has a guest room,” he adds, a touch defensively.

Javi smiles and nods like he hadn’t meant anything by it.

“What about you?” Benny asks. He nods to the ceiling, where Javi’s partner is upstairs. “You guys seem close. Are you dating her?”

Javi’s placid smile doesn’t falter for a moment, but his eyes narrow a little.

“No,” he says. “She has a guest room, too.”

Ben’s mouth opens, then snaps closed, and the men sit in silence for a moment.

“I think she wants to get down,” he says, gesturing to the baby in Javi’s arms, who’s squirming and lunging forward as if to jump to the floor. He sets her down carefully on all fours and she takes off at speed, leaving Ben to scramble behind her. Javier looks around the empty room, eyes skipping right over you, drains his coffee, and follows suit.

You trail behind him to the living room, where Benny has deposited the baby in the middle of the conversation pit with a basket of toys. Javi stops short, taken aback by the sunken couches.

“Holy shit,” he says. “This place hasn’t been remodeled in a while, huh?”

Benny glances at you, knowing this subject is a sore spot. You’d taken great pride in this house, back when it had belonged just to you, and you’re not sure why everybody keeps wishing to change it now.

“We like it,” he tells him. “It’s got character. Plus, this is like a built-in play pen. She’s too little to climb out.”

Javier sits himself down, spreading his legs comfortably wide in a confident-man sprawl.

“It’s a good house,” he admits. “Quiet neighborhood.”

They watch the baby playing on the floor. You join her there, rolling plastic balls back to her too subtly for Javier to realize they haven’t simply bounced.

“Can I ask you something?” Benny says. Javi raises an eyebrow in assent. “Say there is a ghost—” he starts.

“There isn’t.” Javi narrows his eyes a little, like he’s trying to decide if Benny really believes in something so unfathomable.

Benny is avoiding your gaze.

“But theoretically,” he says. “If there was. What would—I mean—What do you do? Like if the EMF meter or whatever registered something.”

“Well,” Javi replies slowly. “Theoretically, if there was a ghost hanging around I think my partner would tell you there’s something unresolved that they still need. A sense of peace, or…”

He pauses, scratching his chin. Eyes still on the child.

“It’s the same as what anybody wants, right? A sense of fulfillment. So you can move on.”

It makes something feel hollow and fluttery inside your chest, achy like you haven’t felt in a while. Now you’re the one avoiding Ben’s eyes, when he looks at you. You retreat to the corner, wanting to be alone but unwilling to give up eavesdropping on such a rare visit.

Their conversation is cut short by the others’ return. Francisco still looks skeptical and she looks thoughtful. Javi tilts his head back and raises an eyebrow.

“Inconclusive,” she announces. “There were some very interesting readings but nothing concrete. There are some other tests we could—”

“I think this is enough,” Francisco cuts her off gently. “It’s not like any of us have been possessed. If blood starts dripping down the walls, we’ll call you back.”

“Well, for a simple specter I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” she assures him. “Blood drips can be indicative of—”

“It was a joke,” he says, and she smiles but she also shrugs like, well, we’ll see.

“Mijo,” Javier says, changing the subject for everyone’s sake. “Pick a restaurant, we’ll go out to dinner, my treat. Your roommate can come too.”

The emphasis he puts on roommate isn’t strong enough for Francisco to pick up on, but Benny does and he shoots Javi a narrow look. Javi gives him an innocent grin and turns back to the baby, who’s been pulling herself up on his pant legs, trying to climb up to her dad since he’d walked in the room. He swings her into his arms and hands her over to Francisco, and after a ten-minute debate over a pizzeria versus a steakhouse, and a five-minute diaper change, the group heads outside.

Alone in the quiet house, you float up to your attic window seat, where you settle in to contemplate tío Javi’s words about things unresolved.

(tiny tag list: @pedrostories, @littlemisspascal, @loversandantiheroes, @by-ilmater, @pettyprocrastination, @littleferal, @pennyserenade)

[fourmula1]

Daniel popping out chunky blonde baby after chunky blonde baby and it’s the last one that’s finally got the dark curly hair and dark eyes… Max finally getting his mini-Daniel after Daniel got all his mini-Maxs.

sfw. 615 words.

-

Daniel can hardly believe that he’s looking at his daughter right now. Tiny, smooth, perfect little cheeks. Itty bitty button nose. Thick, dark, curly mop of hair.

He shifts in the hospital bed a little, careful not to jostle her in his arms too much as she sleeps. It’d been a pretty easy birth – he’d done it twice before now – and there were no complications. Just his sweet little girl joining them earthside to complete their perfect little family.

Daniel carefully traces his fingertip over her little features, down her nose, across her cheeks. He smiles as she stirs from the tickle, but settles in easily again. Being born is hard work.

He looks up when he hears the soft knock on the door, hears Max’s quiet voice instructing to be very quiet and go slowly to Daddy. When his three boys push into the room – Max, Arie, and Frankie – Daniel smiles big for them as the littles stumble over.

“Hello, my big boys,” Daniel coos to them, laughing a little as Arie pulls himself up to sit on the edge of Daniel’s bed, Frankie reaching up to Max with uppy-arms until Max picks him up to set him on the bed, too. “Be gentle, okay? This is your baby sister,” Daniel tells his little boys.

Arie is four, wide-eyed and curious. He’s got the big brother thing down and he’s a good boy and Daniel isn’t worried about him at all. Frankie, two, has been their sweet baby and Daniel worries about his transition to middle child. He smiles at Max, glances back at the boys. His three beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed boys. Arie and Frankie are so cute, their round ruddy cheeks, chunky biteable bellies. He loves them so much.

“What’s her name?” Arie asks as he leans forward to get a better look at the baby in his daddy’s arms.

“Papa and I haven’t decided yet,” Daniel tells him as he shifts to adjust the baby girl in his arms so that her brothers can see her little sleeping face. He gently tugs off the tiny knitted baby cap so they can get a good look at her, and his heart melts a bit as Frankie’s tiny chubby little hand reaches out.

“Gentle, Frankie,” Max says from where he’s sat next to the bed. “Be very soft.”

Daniel watches as Frankie’s fingers touch the dark, thick curls on their baby girl’s head, then as he looks up at Daniel, seemingly piecing it all together.

“Dada hair,”  he says and Daniel laughs, utterly smitten with his sweet little family.

“That’s right, she has hair like me,” Daniel agrees. He wishes he had enough arms to pull all his babies in for a cuddle. His heart could burst.

Max’s genes said copy + paste with the boys. Not a trace of Daniel in them as far as the eye could tell. Blonde, blue eyed, stocky, rolly polly little chunky babies they were. Still are. Daniel hopes they stay this cute forever.

She’s all Daniel, though. Dark, thick, curly hair. Olive skin. He’s willing to bet she’ll have dark eyes like him, too.

His babies are all perfect.

“We have to let Daddy and the baby rest,” Max says from beside them and Daniel smiles at him a bit.

“A few more minutes,” He says, reaches to pass their little girl off to the safety of her papa’s arms. “I need my cuddles first,” Daniel says as he opens his arms to his little boys, heart full and warm when they giggle and squirm up to tuck into his sides. He squeezes them close to him, presses kisses to their blonde heads, and closes his eyes.

[waywardimpalawriter]

I don’t know how my ask got changed to anon lol but ‘‘twas me asking about William Miller!

I’d love to see a Will/Plus Size reader snippet! Maybe they’re friends with Catfish and his and that’s how she gets introduced?

I just think Will would be such a softie for his girl💛

One touch

Pairing: William ‘Ironhead’ Miller x Plus Size Female Reader 

Characters:  William ‘Ironhead’ Miller, Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, Benjamin ‘Benny’ Miller, Frankie’s girl (Reader so referred by she/her) 

Setting: Two years after the event’s Triple Frontier, following weekend after the events of ‘Book Boyfriend’ 

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: fluff, kissing, self image issues (female), 

Summary: One simple touch just two hands meeting in greeting, little shocks of electricity dance across palms. Causing gasps to exist as eyes lock. Never intending to meet the man of your dreams because of your best friend. 

Word count: 4,254

Notes: Now part of the ‘Piece’s of life’ Series, chronologically second *for now* in reading order. Requested by the lovely @geminimoonbeamx. I had a good time writing then editing this little (coughs) okay not so little story.  

“Why did I let you talk me into this hmm?” Fingers twisting the hem of your ivory babydoll blouse worries filtering through your veins that the surplice neckline is cut too low. Showing too much of your generous bust to eyes that would sneer and poke jabs your way. “You know I’m not good in crowds.”

“Just a group of friends Y/N that your a part of no crowds,” Bouncing Isabella on her hip giving you a glare. In the back of her mind the idea she come up with stirring to life. Wanting happiest for her adopted family and hoping the matchmaking skills still proved useful. “Sweetheart how many times have I told you, tried to beat it into your head how beautiful you are?” 

“Given me headaches because of you woman,” eyes rolling you turn from watching your best friend. Heart aching to have the happiness she does. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna listen.” 

“And why not querido? She’s right, course I’m saying that from a brotherly stand point,” smiling while passing by. Frankie moves to stand beside his fiancée and daughter, placing a kiss to her forehead and the crown of Isabella’s. 

Head shaking still tugging at the offending garment, as uncomfortable feelings course through your body. “I’m more comfortable in scrubs than this frilly shit you both know that.” Leaning against the counter arms crossed slight glare to your features. 

“Shit,” little voice exclaims clapping of her hands, twin groans leaving both parents. 

“Now look what you started,” though a soft chuckle leaves her lips while still bouncing Isabella. 

Hard knock echoes through the small foray make all four of you jump and Frankie shake his head. “Ironhead,” breathing the name with a fond smile crawling across his lips. 

“Where’s my princess at,” deep voice boomed through the house followed by a small chorus of ‘Hey’. Accompanied by the sound of a hard slap to someones body part.   

Peels of laughter emanate from Isabella as she wiggles free from her mom’s arms recognizing the voice she runs on chubby little legs towards the mountain of a man standing in the doorway. Soft gasp barely held in your throat as your eyes start from his much loved hiking boots, traversing up long denim covered legs and thick thighs. Pausing for a moment to sweep your bottom lip between your teeth for a nibble taking in the expanse of trim waist and broad shoulders. Fitted dark blue t-shirt covering what you’d bet a weeks wages hides sculpted muscular chest your hands itch to touch. Trying not to groan when your eyes finally land on his face. If you thought his body a work of art sculpted by Michelangelo himself, his handsome face only added to the drool surely pouring from your mouth. Light blond beard your fingers twitch to run through, full bottom lip begging to be nibbled, short cropped dirty blond hair matching his chin. When your eyes finally stop ogling this adonis come to life and lock with the sweetest pair of stormy blue eyes stealing your breath. Quickly averting your stare to avoid seeing disappointment. 

Missing the confusion flash over his features, while bending to scoop Isabella up into his arms and playfully planting kisses over her chubby cheeks. Squeals mixed with giggles bring smiles to everyones faces. Will’s eyes however take that moment to drink in your appearance and finding himself at a lost for words. Trying to keep the smirk off his twitching lips watching the two of you. Frankie rubs at his mustache to hide till it turns into a smile. Catching the way Will looks you over with barely concealed desire. 

Walking over to slap Will’s back affectionately, “Glad you three Stooges could make it. Got a little worried for a moment.”  

“With Will’s driving it’s a wonder we made it at all,” slightly shaggy brown head shakes offsetting the remarks with a fond smile and teasing tone. 

“Walk next time Ben,” sharp quip leaving his lips a smile tugs them up a little. 

“Bring your asses in here, got someone I want y’all to meet but now I’m thinking better of it,” rubbing his patchy bearded chin gleam of mischief sparking through those chocolate browns. 

Head shaking she smacks Frankie’s tummy lightly getting a ‘oaf’ sound from his lips. “Language Morales or it’s the couch for you,” voice teasing but still holds a bit of warning. 

“I call your bluff amor,” rubbing the abused spot, sending her a wink and focusing on you. “Remember I’ve been tell y’all about Y/N,” grin returns as your head snaps up to shoot daggers at the man you consider a brother. “They work together at the clinic,” smirking at the look you’re giving him, “cool the ire querido.” Looking between the two of you, slapping Will on the back, “Y/N meet Will…” 

“I remember Frankie you don’t have to go into an oral history,” extending your hand watching him with curious eyes. The care with which he holds Isabella to his chest makes your heart melt for this man you barely know except from the stories heard over a late night poker game or conversations about your lives between the three of you. “Pleasure meeting you Will.” 

Carefully enveloping your smaller hand within the gun callused grip of his own, he swallows taking in the beauty before him. Speechless till Isabella pats his cheek, “Trust me honey the pleasure is all mine.” 

Breath caught as a shiver rolls down your spine at the contact of his warm hand. Insnared by those beautiful eyes you slowly lick dry lips cursing your inability to form the right words to utter at this moment. The look he’s giving you only further ties your tongue as heat spreads pleasantly along your spine and warms your body like no other. Though that little insecure voice in that back of your mind sounding like all those jeering girls from the past telling you this beautiful man wouldn’t give you a second look.   

“Anty,” holding her little arms out towards you breaking the spell Will seemed to cast over you. Immediately taking her into your arms, small body resting on your generous hips, eyes leaving his to brush a kiss over her soft brown head. 

Throat clears behind him, “Mind moving your as…” seeing the finger up in warning at Ben with fire dancing in her eyes. “Butt outta the way brother dear,” gravely voice finished the amended words before she could smack him up side the head. 

Slimmer in build, face clean shaving with a black ball cap turn backwards, smiling blue eyes take you in. Feeling a little self conscious that evaporates when he comes forward to tickle Isabella making her squeal in happiness. Taking your out stretched hand bringing the two of your into a short one sided hug. 

“Ben Miller ma’am and yes Fish told us a great deal about you leaving out the part about your beauty though.” Playful twinkle in those sweet sky blue eyes putting you at ease in a different way than his brother. 

Brow lifting short scoff existing your throat, you can see the family resemblance between him and Will. “Thank you but flattery will get you no where darlin.” Sweet smile spreading over your lips slowly. 

Letting your hand go to step aside Benny glances over at her sending a teasing wink that makes her playfully roll her eyes. 

“I like her already hermano doesn’t take Benny’s shit and gives it right back,” chuckling then ‘oafs’ when she smacked him on the back of his curly dark brown head. “You said it first a long time ago hermosa. I’m an old man you’re gonna…” 

“Knock the few brains you have left out of your skull? Not possible Pope you only think with what’s between your legs,” snicking at the playful sullen look he gives her. “Don’t mind him Y/N. He’s more of a rocky road than smooth peanut butter.” Trying to hide the approval skipping through her eyes at the way Santi looks at you. 

“Woman must you give all my secrets away,” grinning he takes your hand to kiss your knuckles salt and pepper beard tickling your skin. “Santiago Garcia but these knuckle heads call me Pope you can call me whatever you like preciosa,” giving you a smirk. (Gorgeous)

Smooth, of course Santi would pull out all the stops to flirt with you. Those thoughts twisted his gut though there’s no reason they should. You’re free to choose who ever you wanted but that little nudge in the back of his mind questioned why not him? When your eyes connect Will quickly looks away plastering a smile over his features to not give away the uncertainty currently filtering through his mind.   

Catching Will’s stare till you blink and he’s turned his head making you feel foolish for thinking he’s actually looking at you. “Just don’t call you late for dinner huh?” Returning your gaze to Santiago’s deep chocolate eyes. Giving him a soft smirk low chuckle leaving him lips tipped up with his own smile spreading across his mouth. 

“Know me already,” grinning Santi steps closer to brush a kiss over Isabella’s curls. “Pleasure meeting you Y/N,” keeping his eyes locked for a moment longer with yours than stepping away.  

Heat blooms over your body, not nearly what you felt when Will shook your hand but still warm as you switch a bouncing Isabella to your other hip. 

Shaking his head, “All right now that everyone’s met out of the kitchen,” waving his arms to shoo them out the backdoor. “Pope give me a hand with the cooler?” Frankie asks motioning towards the long Igloo cooler by the backdoor. 

“Why you gotta pick on the old man Fish there’s two strapping young men right there that can carry the chest?” Grinning as both Miller boys roll their eyes. 

Scoffing, “You ain’t any old then I am Pope stop acting like your ancient man,” popping his shoulder nodding a thanks to Will and Ben. Frankie grabs the plater full of steaks, heading out the door behind them with Santi snatching up the vegetables for grilling. 

Once the door securely closes, “You like him don’t you?” Coming towards you to take a bouncing Isabella from your hip. 

Eyes widen glancing towards her, head shaking in the negative. You move from one bare foot to the next wiggling your toes against the cool tile floor. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Will,” the only thing she answers with going to place Isabella in her highchair while getting the rest of dinner finished. Having seen the way you looked at the eldest Miller and how he you. 

Gapping at her, “What about him?” Though you couldn’t deny the pleasurable tingles dancing across your skin at his touch. Soulful blue eyes flash when you close your. Splashed with a haunted look that a part of you wants to help. “Don’t try to set us up woman it wouldn’t work.” 

“Why not?” Frown turning down the corners of her lips, banishing a wooden spoon towards you. “Stop thinking every man is Brock. Trust me neither of them could treat you like he did. Will’s a good man you should give him a chance.” Thought secretly pulling for Santiago having a feeling you’d help sooth some of those demons she’s seen in his eyes at times. 

Eyes rolling so hard you’re sure there stuck somewhere in the back of your head. “An adonis like him would never give me a second look.” Glancing out the window to the back patio, pausing on the very man your discussing. Watching him laugh at something corners of his eyes crinkle and the smile tugging at his very kissable mouth has a small breathy sigh leaving your body. Unable to deny the thoughts rolling like film through your mind. Wondering exactly what those lips would feel like. If there soft? How they’d feel… shaking those ideas from your head to focus back on the woman chuckling.  

“Told you,” smirking her own gaze landing on Frankie who’s soft loving eyes focus on her before Benny smacks the back of his head. Making all the guys except Frankie bust out laughing again. 

Swallowing, you glance away right as Will’s stare lands on your plush form. Foreign feelings building in his chest every time he looks at you. Hoping it’s not written all over his face or the guys would rib him as they do Frankie. But in that moment when your eyes lock, glass and a short distant the only thing between Will doesn’t care about teasing. Interested solely in getting to know you, to find out if your soft body will mold to his hard angles the way he hopes. To taste those kissably plush looking lips and dragging all manner of noises from the back of your throat. 

Beer bottle waves into his field of vision breaking the connection with you and reaching for the cold long neck to take a health drink. 

“She’s single,” taking he seat next to him, voice low to not include Ben or Santi. “Be careful with her though,” locking browns with blues for a moment letting Will know wordlessly what he means. 

Shaking his head, “Benny or Pope…” looking back towards the house watching you move around the kitchen like a seasoned pro. Never one to not go after what or in this case who he wants, Will swallows harshly even before taking another drink. Gut twisting at the thought of you with another man. Shock widens his eyes given the fact you just met. But how often did one feel those pleasurable tingles that warm the bones and dance across their veins like tiny lighting bolts. Just from one single touch. 

“Trust me when I say she’s too much for Benny and Pope’s not home longer enough sadly,” smiling before tossing back the rest of his beer. “She’s shy at first but like my love will open up to you if treated right,” giving a fond smack to his shoulder. “Think about it and don’t let the past how you back,” getting up with that parting advice to check on the steaks. 

Giving Will some much needed time to think while Benny talks about his next fight and Santi adds news concerning the job he’s been vetting. Not really paying attention till both women come from the kitchen loaded arms bringing potato salad, bacon wrapped asparagus, macaroni salad, and dessert, Isabella held snuggled in her mother’s arms. All four shoot up to help, Will offers to take one of the bowels from you. To which you smile handing him the asparagus. Heart thumping wildly offering you one of his own in return. Fingers brush shooting those tingles back through both your bodies. 

Quickly turning, to keep from embarrassing yourself. “Hope you remembered to make my steak medium Frankie I don’t want no burnt meat.” Hands planted on your ample hips giving him a playful glare. 

Will takes the moment to take in your form, hands itching to grasp your thick waist and bring you back into his chest face burying into the sweet spot between neck and shoulder. Wondering if your ticklish, if you’d enjoy the burn his beard would leave. Thoughts interrupted by Frankie’s voice.

“Yes, ma’am I left yours and Will’s for last since you both seem to like your meat mooing,” chocolate eyes rolling getting a giggle from Isabella and a soft chuckle from the woman beside him. 

Looking towards her, mouthing a quick thank you. Nodding in return, “Go make your drink I know how much you loath beer sweetheart.” 

“Shit tastes like piss to me,” muttering the words just loud enough to have everyone bust out laughing when Isabella repeats what you said. Giving her a sheepish look before bolting towards the kitchen door in anticipation of something thrown at you. 

Watching you go, a deep chuckle leaves his lips and curiosity gets the better of him so Will follows. Pausing to lean against the archway into the kitchen. Noticing for the first time your barefooted, in a pair of fitted carpi’s accentuating the curve of your ass and thick thighs. Visions of those thighs wrapped around his waist floating through his mind till a huff of annoyance sounds. Breaking him from those salacious thoughts to see you stretching, blouse riding up to bare a small patch of skin, reaching for a bottle of Jack. 

Before thinking things through fully Will’s feet carefully, quietly walk him towards you. Pressing his chest against your soft back, getting a squeak of surprise from your lips. One hand pressed into the counter beside your thick waist the other reaching above you wrapping those thick nibble fingers around the half full bottle of amber liquid. Lowering yourself from tip toes your to brush against the person behind you. Mouth dry as soft musk cologne, an under current of pine added to tickle your nose as warmth dances over your cloth covered back. 

“Thank you,” head turning to look into the vivid blues of Will. Who’s yet to move from crowding you into the counter. Breath stolen by the way he’s looking at you, almost hungry and not for the food that’s cooked. 

Clearing his throat, voice gruff, and deep sending shivers down your back. “You’re welcome happy to help a damsel in distress.” Stepping back so you could move, eyes darting towards your lips. That you lick slowly, tucking the bottom between your teeth making a low groan ramble from within his chest. Clearing throat to speak, “What’s the Jack for?” 

Blinking trying to focus on what he’s asked and not how good it felt to have him pressed against you. “Uh… it’s,” ‘God why does he have to smell so good,’ thinking to yourself while trying to answer but find yourself unable to form the most basic coherent thoughts. 

“For?” Stepping forward, placing the bottle on the counter so his hand is free to brace himself and crowd you back into the spot recently vacated. 

Fascinated by the bob of his Adams apple eyes glued to that particularly interesting patch of skin. You don’t hear the question till two fingers pinch your chin. Raising your eyes to meet with lust blown stormy blues. “Straight or in Coke?” The pad of his thumb grazing over your bottom lip pulled the wet skin free from being trapped by your teeth. “You gotta stop biting that bottom lip honey it’s distracting.” 

“Wha… what?” Struck dumb for a moment you swallow trying to get moisture to the Sahara desert formally known as your throat. Head shaking the lustful cobwebs out, “In Coke,” finally gaining enough brain power to answer. Unsure just what he’s playing at while trying to remember what she said about Will. The fact he’s nothing like Brock but that little horrible voice tries to keep reminding you of faults. Hang ups Brock had about your body and job you loved. 

“Woman after my own heart,” smirk pulling at the corners of his lips and catching your eyes. Unconsciously pulling your bottom lip back between your teeth in a bid to keep from whimpering at how delicious he feels pushing into your soft body. “Fuck,” low growl leaves his chest caging you in. The hand bracing himself wraps around your plush waist. Tugging you against him tighter as the other cups your cheek. “Tell me to stop and I will.” Wanting you comfortable with his actions hoping his touch dissipates the uncertainty in your eyes. 

Finding your voice after swallowing again, “If your not serious then stop. I’m not looking for a one night stand.” Shocked by your own forwardness, maybe she’s rubbing off on you after all. Whatever the reason you don’t care you just want to taste those lips and feel them pressed against your own. Recklessness in the face of better judgement sliding through your thoughts. 

“Tomorrow night 1900hrs dinner?” Waiting, nerves making him just a little jumpy. Itching to finally taste your mouth but he waits for you answer. 

Nodding, arms coming up to wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers tugging the soft hairs at the back of his head. “7pm dinner nothing fancy I’m not that kinda girl soldier boy.” 

“It’s Captain actually,” smirk sliding over his kissable lips. 

Brow tipping upward, “You gonna kiss me Captain or wait till tomorrow night?” 

“Permission to make you whimper ma’am?” Cocky twist to his glaze that reminds you of Benny but it’s different and you know damn well he’s going to be trouble. 

“You can try Captain,” innocently wetting your lips, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Sunk and he knows it. That simple look sets his body aflame and desperate to have you. But he reigns those thoughts in, while lowering his head to touch yours. Lips brushing softly barely there kiss sending tingles dancing across his body. Eyes close to savor the strawberry chapstick glossed over your pouty lips. Arm tightening around your plush waist, Will slides his mouth over yours twice before slanting an angle against your lips. Keeping the kiss chaste till you timidly tug at his hair making him groan at the slight sting. Taking the signal as go ahead to plunder the warm depths of your wet mouth. Nipping the already abused bottom lip, sucking the soft skin between his own teeth to nibble and caress with the tip of his tongue. Soft whimper vibrated through your chest making him smirk but doesn’t stop the assault on your mouth. 

Using the hand from your cheek to slide back and cup your neck holding you in place as he thrusts his masterful tongue into the wet cavern of your mouth. Playfully mating with yours, tangling and retreating repeatedly wanting to hear those whimpers. Capturing and bringing yours into his own wet depths making a moan race from the deep reaches of his chest and his arm to tighten deliciously so wanting to meld the two of you together. Finding your curves fit his angles perfectly. Only the need for air breaks you apart, foreheads resting as you share gasping breaths. 

Stunned by the amount of passionate want flowing through his veins. Not even sharing that kind of depth with his ex-fiancee. Those very thoughts shock and shaking him to the very core. Only breaking from the trans by Santi’s teasing voice. 

“Might want to save some of that sexual tension for your date tomorrow you two. No fun to play all your cards in one night,” Pope’s laughter filled voice floating through the desire coated haze your both wrapped up in. 

Head falling to his sternum to hide yourself from the prying eyes of your new and old friends. “Fuck off Pope,” voice rambles under your cheek, catching the teasing tone. 

Pinching his side playfully at the language used receiving a low growl into your ear from the man wrapped around you. Burying your face in his chest to cover the squeak when his large hand cups a generous butt cheek to squeeze. 

“Making out like randy teenagers in our kitchen for shame I thought you both knew better?” Frankie groans into her shoulder his head finding home with shake of laughter and playful disgust color his voice. 

Head snapping up glare leveled at Frankie, “Randy teenagers huh? Says the man who fucked my best friend on every surface in this house. Some I choose not to sit in because of the things I know.” Reluctantly stepping away from Will’s warmth to make your drink, smirk sliding over your lips when they both gasp. 

Santi and Benny gagging, wiping at themselves to clean off imaginary dirt. All four retreating back outside after the show you put on for their amusement ending. 

Grabbing the bottle of Jack, a can of coke and your favorite Reduce stainless steal cup. Plopping all the ingredients on the island you glance up to notice everyone else left except Will. “So where you taking me tomorrow night?” 

“I know this nice little place, quiet, excellent management and the food,” eyes close with a blissed express over his features. Almost as if he’s tasting the food right now. 

Watching him while dragging your bottom lip back between indenting teeth, “You’re place huh?” Teasingly quipped till stormy blue eyes open and lock with yours. “I’m kidding of course,” swallowing harshly, hand shaking just a touch while pouring the Jack then coke over ice. Attention diverted towards the task, missing the spike of arousal flare to life and deepening his blue orbs.  

Heat surrounded your back as Will comes up behind you, hands gripping the island on either side of your thick waist to cage you in. Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, “An option true one I’ll save for later sweetheart after we get to know each other better.” 

Heat flicker’s to life low in your belly, his minty breath ghosting over your skin. Making it hard to suppress the shiver of desire rolling down your back. Especially when Will pressed himself against you. Swiping your Jack and Coke to take a health drink. “Hey soldier boy that my drink. Make your own.” 

“Hmm wanna taste?” Wiggling his brow, Will lowers his mouth back to yours for another kiss. This time hints of Jack and Coke assault your taste buds but there’s more. A flavor you’ll come to associate with Will, one you’ll never get enough of.    

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Winging It

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray

Warnings: A bit of language and lots of cute baby stuff. Parental insecurities. Mostly just fluff with no plot. Dad!Frankie and Mom!Lady.

Summary: Lady doesn't like mommy and me class very much.

Words: 1,535

A/N: I don't know, I just wanted to have a moment with my favourite lovebirds and their spawn. Frankie x Lady masterlist.

”Uh! Gah!”

Jay laughs a little at the sight of Alma, six months old, doing frustrated push-ups on her play blanket while trying to reach for the red ball which, of course, gets pushed further away from her.

”Damn that fucker, right? Here you go, baby.” Jay rolls to ball back to the baby, who grabs it and proceeds to trying to stuff it into her tiny mouth. That doesn’t work, either, so she drops it, and it rolls away again. Not really having figured out how to crawl just yet, Alma reaches for the ball, almost gets it, but pushes it away even further, then watches in disbelief and disappointment while trying to move after it. Jay expects the baby to start crawling any day now but so far, Alma’s only wagging her lower body from side to side, unable to figure out that she actually needs to move her legs to get anywhere.

”Ah!!” Alma’s exclamation is filled with frustration.

”Come on, honey, you can do it,” Jay tries to encourage her dark-haired daughter. Alma pumps her upper body up and down, stares angrily at the ball, and yells, before slumping down onto her stomach, face in wrinkles.

”You get that from your dad,” Jay sighs. She gives the ball back the Alma, who happily examines it, quiet for a moment. Jay leans against the couch, keeping an eye on the kid but also taking the opportunity to enjoy not having to entertain her, even if only for a minute. God knows that’s all she’s done for months until she picked up her studies and working part-time two months ago.

She wasn’t sure what she thought motherhood would be like: would it come to her naturally or would she struggle with it, loath to be so chained to her gender and the role that came with it? She’s never been good at being a woman and what that entails, never wanted the epithet that so often seemed to follow her around in the army.

She’s lucky to have Frankie. He understands this part of her and lets her be who she is. Being together with him has definitely made her accept her womanhood in a whole new way, and she knows that she would never have had kids with anyone else but him. Frankie adores the baby and is just as hands-on with her as Jay expected. Being a mother is hard, she moves from one extreme to the other: immense pride at how well she is handling being a mother, and constant anxiety about not being a good enough mother. Frankie definitely makes the experience easier and it helps to know that he’s just as worried about his capabilities as a father.

The front door opens and closes and shortly after, Frankie shows up in the living-room. Alma drops the ball at the sight of him and gives a happy little shriek.

”Hey, chiquita!” Frankie crouches by the girl and lifts her up, hoisting her in front of his face, giving her a big kiss. Alma giggles in delight, arms flailing.

”How’s mamacita?” Frankie turns to Jay and gives her a kiss as well. She tastes a little sweat on his upper lip; it’s a warm, sunny day.

”So-so. We went to mommy and me group.”

”How was that? Are they still boring as shit?”

Jay’s had a hard time connecting with the other mothers, or at least some of them: they do not share values or opinions about child rearing, and boy, do those women have opinions.

”The Stepford wives are, well, the same Stepford wives,” Jay shrugs. “I suspect they think I’m a lesbian.”

“Excuse me, what?” Frankie stares at her. “Haven’t you told them about me?”

“Well, not as such. They keep bitchin’ about their husbands – seriously, why do people get married and have kids when it’s so obvious they shouldn’t even be together because all they do is nag? – and how they never help out. I said I’ve never had that problem with my partner, we do everything together.”

“Yeah, I wonder where they got the idea from.” Frankie rolls his eyes.

“I’m not calling you my boyfriend.”

“I’ve told you there’s an easy fix to that, we’ll just get hitched,” he shrugs, bouncing Alma on his thigh.

“And I’ve told you no,” Jay tells him patiently, not having this discussion again. She smiles at Alma, so happy in Frankie’s arms, and then glances up at Frankie again.

“Should I grow out my hair?”

“So you wouldn’t look like a lesbian?” he asks pointedly. “Nope. If you want to do it to try how you’d like longer hair, then yes, why not?”

“Would you like it if I had longer hair?”

“Jay, what’s all this? You never cared what I thought about your hair.” Frankie scoots closer, cradling Alma on one arm and sliding the other around Jay’s shoulders.

“I guess I only today realized that it’s just not about me,” she confesses, leaning a little against Frankie. “Everything I do affects Alma. Every snooty mom who looks down on me because I’m not like her is capable of denying Alma a friend to play with.”

“True,” Frankie agrees, “but do you really want our girl to play with kids whose parents are absolute idiots?”

“It’s not like we can conduct interviews with the parents every time she wants to play with someone in the park,” Jay points out with a weak smile. Frankie grins back.

“She’s six months old, baby. Just relax. We’ll figure it out along the way, okay?”

“So we’re winging it, just like we’re winging everything else with this kid?” Jay jokes lightly, thinking of the stacks of books on parenting and developmental psychology she’s read to prepare herself for this life-long commitment.

“I’m a pilot, I’m used to winging it.”

“Oh my God, you’re so funny!” Jay sighs deeply and makes a gun with her hand, putting it to her own temple and pretending to pull the trigger. Frankie shakes his head and looks down on Alma.

“My comedic genius is wasted here, chiquita. I can’t wait for you to be big enough to appreciate it.”

“You’re going to be the king of dad jokes.”

“Obviously.”

Frankie tickles Alma’s tummy, drawing a laugh from her, then looks back at Jay.

“Don’t grow out your hair,” he tells her softly, “unless you want to, of course. I like your hair. It’s so you.”

Jay smiles and passes her hand over her short-cropped hair. Had it been naturally curly, like Frankie’s, it would coil at her ears and the nape of her neck by now. But it’s straight and she’s overdue for a trim.

“Thanks, baby,” she tells him quietly, happy and grateful for his never-ending support. He nods, then frowns a little, as if a thought just occurred to him.

“Maybe I need to go to the next mommy and me group. Set those women straight.”

”They’d lose their shitif a dad showed up there, especially a hot dad like you,” Jay winks at him. ”Tell them I’m at the gym, they’ll love that. But don’t freak out: those of them who talk the most about how cute their babies are, have the most ugly-ass kids I’ve ever seen.”

She makes a face and then looks down at Alma, who’s making little sounds now, restless on Frankie’s arm.

”I’m so happy we managed to make a baby that’s actually cute.”

”With a mom like you, she has to be cute,” Frankie replies, leaning towards Jay for a kiss. She smiles and meets him halfway, lips separates so she can suck his lower lip, the little patch of facial hair right underneath the lip tickling her skin.

The kiss is interrupted by an angry shout from Alma, who is done with cuddles with dad. Frankie puts her down on her back and she proceeds to immediately turning onto her tummy and once again doing a pushup, clearly aiming for the red ball again. Her tiny brows furrow in frustration as she voices her unhappiness.

”Still struggling?” Frankie asks with a tender smile as he watches his daughter try to figure out crawling.

Jay nods. ”And that goddamn ball isn’t taking any orders.”

”She’s close, though.” Alma's almost getting up on her knees, but does not seem to be aware of it: she’s so focused on reaching her chubby arms forward she’s not realizing that she could use a boost from behind.

”It’s a good thing she’s cute, because she’s not that bright,” Jay scoffs, just as Alma emits a loud shriek and jump-starts in an unexpected engagement of her legs, and bounces forward just a couple of inches. It’s not enough to reach the ball but she seems to understand that she did get closer, because she’s flailing her arms in excitement. Frankie and Jay stare at her, both perplexed.

”Well... she shut me up,” Jay finally admits. Frankie rolls the ball towards Alma, who grabs it and then, quite neatly, spits up on it. She looks surprised, and raises her gaze to her parents.

”Wah-wah!”

Jay hands Frankie the burp cloth and stands up.

“Entertain the spawn, Morales. I'm gonna get dinner started.”

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Your Power Over Me: One - Beginning

Summary: this movie was not that great.....it had so much potential. But I’m going through some sort of weird JGL phase and I really like his character in this. Another cop but at least he’s not a bastard. His character has zero backstory besides loving and living in nola so I’m giving him a FAMILY BITCH. This’ll prolly take place right before the events of the movie. 

Pairing: Frank Shaver x OFC (Michelle Shaver)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mega fluffy so wooooo

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Frank pulled up to the house and parked the car on the side of the street. It was late. Later then he said he would be. He definitely missed bedtime by now. Again. Third time this week. At least this time he’d remembered to shoot her a text. He sighed, pulling his hands over his face. He was so tired. He killed the engine but continued to sit there for a moment. 

What he saw tonight was indescribable. Unfathomable. That suspect…What he could do was beyond any normal human. Almost like he had….

Frank shook his head. No. If he thought about it too much it would make that next word a reality. Something that was plausible, tangible, something that wasn’t just on the movie screen or in the pages of a comic book. 

He got out of the car. 

The path that led up to the front porch was lined with purple flowers, freshly planted for the new, colder season. She had told him when she was working in the yard that day what they were. Something that started with an F — he couldn’t remember. His mind had probably been too distracted that day thinking about a case. He’d look it up later. The white paint of the porch was chipped, but the matching siding was pristine. Newly painted over after she finally convinced him that the periwinkle purple that the house was before was rather hideous. She wanted the front door untouched though, a bright turquoise blue. 

The house was dark and quiet when he came in. He kicked off his boots at the door, adding them to the pile of tiny sparkly slip-ons, pink Crocs, and flip-flops with the little elastic strap on the back to keep them on tiny feet better. The living room was speckled here and there by toys. She had probably given up on forcing the issue of cleaning when they were just going to get pulled out the next day anyway. He smiled. He hoped they had a good day — he wished he could’ve asked her about it. 

He stopped in Claudia’s room first. The bedroom had a pink haze, the little machine on her bedside table projecting hearts and unicorns on the ceiling to help her sleep. Claudia had moved into a big-girl bed just a few weeks ago. He thought she still looked so small in it. Wasn’t it just yesterday he could fit her entire body in one arm? Now she was old enough to sleep in a bed with no rails? The crib she had been using before was pushed into the corner of the room, waiting for the newest Shaver to arrive. 

God, he hoped it was another girl. He didn’t know if they could afford to buy all new clothes for a boy. 

Claudia was asleep in the center of the bed. Frank chuckled quietly to himself. Just like her mom. Pillow still at the head of the bed, curled in on her side with the blankets barely covering her legs. Her dark hair just like his in messy double french braids. He sat down quietly at the edge of the bed. He looked at her for a moment. 

When she was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. She came into the world bright blue and not breathing. The first time he saw her he had been so scared. Scared for her life, scared of failing her. And for a long time after, even when the doctors got her breathing and free of the umbilical cord, he only looked at her with fear in his heart. A whole life — his responsibility. But now he only looked at her with love. A love so strong he was sure it would make the wind change directions. Everything he did, he did for her. His little Claudia. 

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her warm cheek. God, she got so sweaty at night. 

“I love you, Cloudy,” he whispered, “Sweet dreams.” 

He left her with one final kiss and the door cracked open how he knew she liked it. From the dark hallway, he could see that their bedroom light was on. He sighed. She shouldn’t have waited up for him. But he also knew that he was powerless to stop her. 

Michelle was sitting up on her respectful side of the bed under the covers. Her bright, copper hair was thrown up into a bun at the top of her head. She held a book, about halfway finished, in her hands. An empty mug that once was filled with tea if Frank had to guess sat on her nightstand. She smiled at him when he gingerly opened the door, a soft, tired thing that made him feel even more exhausted than he did before. 

“Hey, baby,” he sighed as he shut the door behind himself. 

“Hi,” Michelle whispered back. She closed her book and set it down beside her empty mug. 

Frank let out a long breath. He might have been in his house for nearing on five minutes, but he didn’t feel like he was home until he saw her. Then the more he looked at her, the more he thought about the things he saw that night; and the more he thought about that the more tired he became. He felt surprising tears prick the backs of his eyes. And she seemed to notice them, those unwanted tears that hadn’t even fallen yet, her face buckling in concern. 

“Frankie?” 

She moved to get up but he held up a hand. He groaned as he pulled at his nose, rubbed at his eyes. Trying to force the tears back and keep his head on his shoulders. He pulled off his badge and gun first, setting them on top of the dresser by the door. Then he stripped himself down to his underwear, leaving his clothes where they lay. He’d pick them up tomorrow. He slid in beside her on top of the covers, laying his head on her chest and placing a hand on her swollen belly. Michelle instantly wrapped him up in her arms, one hand running through his short hair. 

“Rough night?” she asked quietly, giving the top of his head a quick kiss. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not yet.” He pulled her a little closer. “Just talk to me for a little while? At least until the baby cries.” 

Michelle chuckled. “She’s not a baby anymore, Frankie.” 

“She’ll always be my baby girl.” He moved down and pressed a kiss to her stomach. “At least until this one gets here.” 

They had never discussed having a second kid. Both of them were perfectly content with the one — especially for financial reasons. But then Michelle’s period never came, she took a test, and sure enough, she was pregnant again. About five months along now. They were happy, Claudia was ecstatic to be a big sister. But they also had to live with the reality that Frank was an underpaid detective, Michelle worked part-time as a florist, and they lived in only 700 square feet of house. Things were going to be tight until Michelle could go back to work full time and Frank finally got that raise he had been promised. They had made it through worse. They could make it through this. 

“I don’t know — I just have a feeling this one’s a boy.” 

Frank looked up at her with a smirk. “A feeling? A feeling where?” 

“In my…Motherly instinct.” She hit him gently when he laughed. “You cops follow your gut — we mom’s gotta follow our instinct. Millions of years of evolution was not for nothing.” 

“Okay, fine.” He chuckled a few more times before he moved so his head was back on her chest. “How was your day?” 

“It was good. Worked today. Donna says hi by the way. First arrangement of the day was an apology. The client specifically asked for Star of Bethlehem and Ivy. Donna and I are sure he cheated. Then I did an anniversary piece with Eucalyptus, Scabiosa — they’re a dark dark purple flower, I think you’d like them — Sweet Peas, Spirea — “ 

“The guy picked up the car and threw it at us,” Frank suddenly spoke, eyes lost somewhere between the present and the past. 

He was sure that Michelle heard him, but she still asked, “What?” 

“Suspect robbed a pawn shop — we had him cornered in an alley. Then he picked up an abandoned car and threw it at us.” 

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked. 

“No — well, just the suspect. Next minute he was rolling around on the ground screaming his head off. Medical said that nearly every muscle in his body had detached from the bone.” He felt her shudder beneath him. 

“That sounds awful,” she whispered, “Must be some kind of new drug or?” 

“Nobody knows,” he sighed, “Captain didn’t even wanna talk about it when we got back to the station. We’ve been getting…A lot of weird calls lately.” 

Michelle adjusted herself so that she and Frank were laying side by side. Curled on her side and nose to nose with the man she loved. “Just stay safe…That’s all I ask.” 

“You know I do, baby.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Anything to come back to you.” 

“You’ve got a power over me, Franklin Shaver.” She smiled, her light brown eyes crinkling at the edges, and he could feel his heart lift in his chest. A weight lifting off of him. “You gonna hold it over me?” 

This, right here, was warmth and light and home. As long as she was there waiting for him, with open arms and a smile, nothing could get him down. No case could be too dark, too dangerous, too bleak. She was his source of power, his energy, his everything. What more could he possibly need than his family? 

“For the rest of our lives, baby.” 

The door creaked open. Frank instantly shot up in bed, that gut feeling taking over him as he shielded Michelle with one arm. But then he saw little Claudia standing in the doorway. Messy braids hanging limp on her shoulders, favorite blanket cradled in her arms, and chubby cheeks red with sleep. Her eyes were barely cracked open as she walked into her parent’s bedroom. 

“Cloudy, baby, what’s wrong?” Michelle asked as Frank visibly relaxed beside her. 

The toddler walked further into the room, to Frank’s side of the bed. She shook her head. “Daddy.” 

“You just want Daddy?” 

Claudia nodded her head and Frank scooped her into his arms. God, she was sweaty. “All right, let’s go back to bed, okay?” 

He moved to get up from the bed but Claudia began to fuss. Whining and kicking at him with her little feet. Frank held her legs down. “Nah-ah. Use your words.” 

“Stay ‘ere with…Daddy.” 

Frank looked over to Michelle. She had her head cocked to one side and a smile on her face. “I think someone missed you today.” 

“I missed you too, baby-girl.” Frank kissed the top of her head and tucked her into bed between him and Michelle. “Let’s go to bed and you can snuggle me all night long.” 

Frank got under the covers and Michelle turned off the light. Claudia burrowed herself into his chest, her favorite blanket tucked between them. Frank looked at Michelle one last time in the darkness. She had let her hair down for the night. Copper tresses hanging well past her shoulders and fanned out across her pillow. 

He had been so tired before. So drained of all energy. But now, laying there with his little girl against his chest and the love of his life beside him, he could feel all that energy coming back. The power he needed to get up in the morning and face another day of crime, cruelty, and corruption in New Orleans.

[breanime]

Decisions

Here’s my first bingo attempt for @banditthewriter! Thanks for this event! I love you!

*gif not mine*

Very rarely did Billy Russo feel like he was out of his depth. He had always been confident; from the time he was a smartass kid mouthing off to the biggest kid on the playground to his time in the Marines all the way to his role as CEO. He always knew what to say or do, and how to handle tough situations. It was a virtue he prided himself on: knowing what to do and doing it.

But now he wasn’t so sure. He was doubting himself, questioning his decision and wondering if it was too late to take it back.

“Are you still brooding?” You asked, walking into Billy’s home office with a dirty towel on your shoulder. “It’s been an hour.”

“I’m not brooding,” he said broodily as he brooded by the window, hands behind his back as he stared off into the backyard. His tense stance relaxed a bit when he felt your arms wrap around him from behind, giving him a soft hug. He sighed. “Do you think I was too harsh?”

You clicked your tongue from behind him. “We’ve talked about this, Billy…”

“I know,” he turned and took your hand in his, dark eyes staring into yours, “But I feel… I don’t…”

“You did the right thing,” you assured him, “The punishment fit the crime.”

“Did it though?” He asked, dropping your hands and walking over to his desk. He looked at his favorite picture, proudly displayed amongst the files and papers: a photo of him with his arm around you, and your two kids smiling as they held hands. Your son was so happy. He’d just hit the winning ball in his little league game, and he was still wearing his uniform. Your daughter was almost as proud of her brother as you and Billy were of your son; she’d nearly screamed herself hoarse cheering for her brother. Billy picked the picture up and sighed again. “Maybe I should go in there again…”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” you reminded him—as if he needed to be reminded. Billy made a face, and you sighed. “She’s just upset, she’ll be fine…”

He nodded, but he still felt shitty. He’d just caught your daughter coloring on the kitchen walls; she was five, and she knew better. So he’d made her clean it up and then grounded her, sending her to her room and telling her she couldn’t watch any TV for the rest of the week…It was Friday, so the rest of the week was just the weekend, but still… His little princess had been so hurt when he’d grounded her. Billy had used his stern Anvil voice—he never yelled at his kids, or you, but the Anvil voice was pretty serious. She’d made that face, the downturned corners of her lips quivering as her wide eyes—Billy’s eyes—watered with tears, and her little hands balled into fists at her sides as she tried not to cry. When he had said “now go to your room”, she’d run so quickly, as if she didn’t even want to be in the same room as her Dad. She slammed her bedroom door when she’d gotten to her room, and when Billy went in there to scold her, he found her face down on her bed, crying her little eyes out on her pillow. His heart had broken. He’d tried to soothe her, sitting at the edge of her bed and reaching for her tiny foot, but she recoiled from him—and Billy, 134 confirmed kills Marine Scout Sniper, CEO of his own private security firm, nearly broke down in tears. His baby girl, his sweet little princess, had cried out: “Leave me alone, Daddy!” and shuffled closer to the wall and further away from him.

And now he wasn’t sure he was doing this whole fatherhood thing right.

Sensing his unhappiness, you walked over to him once more, engulfing him in another hug. “She’s five,” you went on, “She’s just acting out, she’ll be fine.”

“You didn’t see her face,” he wrapped his arms around you, glad to have you with him, “She was so sad. I shouldn’t have been so rough on her.”

“You weren’t,” you assured him, “She did something wrong, she knew better, and she got in trouble. She’s upset now, but she’ll get over it. I promise.”

“When?” He asked, trying not to whine.

“Hm… Probably about around the time this one comes out,” you said with a grin, taking Billy’s hand and placing it over your round belly.

That drew a smile out of him. This last pregnancy had been a welcomed surprise, and the kids were so excited to have a new baby in the family. He leaned down and kissed you, soft and slow, and he grinned when he heard you moan into his lips. Pregnant you was perpetually horny. “Don’t think I can wait that long… I’m gonna give it another try,” he said, kissing your forehead when you pouted as he left your embrace.

“Well, at least consult the expert first,” you suggested.

He nodded. That was a good call. Billy knew just where to find the person your daughter trusted most.

Your son was underneath the kitchen table with his stuffed dog Mr. Mean Face, a G.I Joe, three Barbies named Auntie Karen, Mrs. Curtis’ girlfriend, and Samanthica, and your black cat named Pitbull having a tea party. He was wearing his new tutu, a fluffy yellow one Frank bought him, and had a pair of toy nunchucks draped around his shoulders. He didn’t look up from pouring his tea (air) into Auntie Karen’s cup as Billy crawled under the table to join him.

“Hi, Daddy. Would you like some tea?” He asked.

Billy smiled at his sweet boy. “Sure, bud. Thank you.” He accepted the tiny cup from his son and pretended to drink, to which his son nodded; pleased.

“Is Sissy still grounded?” He asked casually.

Billy swallowed. “Um… Yeah?”

His son turned to him, dark eyes the exact same as Billy’s—exactly as deep and disconcerting. It always scared and fascinated Billy that his children had his eyes; it was insane seeing his own eyes in their little faces, insane to be on the other end of that deep gaze. “Mommy says you have to stand by your call,” he said, voice still effortlessly casual, “If you say Sissy is grounded, she has to be grounded.”

“Oh, is that what Mommy said?” Billy deadpanned. He could feel your presence somewhere in the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping.

“Sissy is very very sad,” he went on, dabbing Mr. Mean Face’s face with the corner of his tutu, cleaning a pretend spill, “You used your Mad Voice on her.”

Billy cringed. “Yeah… I know…”

“But she did a bad thing,” he reasoned, shrugging one shoulder, “But she’s not a bad kid, is she, Daddy?”

“No, of course not.”

“Uncle Frankie says sometimes good people do bad things. He said he did bad things,” your son glanced over at Billy again, and his eyes looked so much older than his young age, “He said you did some bad things, too. But you’re good. Mommy wouldn’t marry a bad guy. She wouldn’t let a bad guy be our Daddy.”

“No,” Billy swallowed, feeling the emotions well up in him, “no, she wouldn’t.”

“And when you did bad things, you got in trouble, didn’t you Daddy?” He picked up Mr. Mean Face and put him in his lap, still staring over at his dad.

Billy nodded, thinking of dark interrogation rooms and broken bones. “Yeah,” he answered, “I did.”

“And when I do bad things—even if it was on accident, I get in trouble,” your son patted Mr. Mean Face on the head, “’Member when I wouldn’t share at school and I had to go to the Sit And Think Corner?” Billy nodded. “That was mean of me. Nice kids share. And after that, I didn’t not share anymore, did I, Daddy?”

“No, you’ve been a great sharer since then,” Billy smiled, “You’re such a good example for Sissy.”

“And the baby,” your son grinned proudly, “I’m gonna be the bestest big brother in the whole wild world.”

Billy laughed. He’d thought he’d gotten ridiculously lucky when he met you, but now he knew he was extremely lucky not only to have you as his wife, but these amazing, wonderful angels as his kids. His baby Russos. “Yeah you are, bud,” he agreed easily.

“Sissy isn’t mad at you,” he said, cutting to the core of the issue easily, “She’s sad.”

Billy’s smile fell off of his face. “Why is she sad?”

“She’s sad cause she made you dis…disappointed,” he said, tripping over the word a bit, “Now she thinks you’re not gonna love her anymore, and you’re gonna love the new baby more.” He took a sip of his pretend tea. “She told me she thinks the stork is gonna bring a girl, and then you and Mommy won’t need her anymore.” He rolled his eyes, popping his pinkie out as he pressed his cup to his lips. “Sometimes Sissy can be such a baby…”

“Sounds like maybe Daddy should have a talk with Sissy,” you chimed in, bending down to smile at your two boys, “Let her know that we would never try to replace her.”

Billy clicked his tongue and scrambled to his feet, helping you stand up straight and admonishing you gently. “Be careful, baby,” he said softly, kissing the side of your face as you rolled your eyes. He bent down and smiled at his son. “Thanks for the advice, son.”

“I don’t know what that means, but you’re welcome, Daddy!” He said back cheerfully.

Billy laughed, standing up again and kissing your cheek as he walked past you towards your daughter’s room. The door was closed, but he couldn’t hear her crying anymore, so he assumed that was a good thing. He knocked on the door before opening it, and he saw her on the floor in front of her bed, chubby cheeks still wet with tears as she hugged the pink teddy bear Billy had won her at a carnival last year.

“Can I sit down?” He asked, gesturing to the empty space in front of her.

She shrugged, burying her face into the bear’s fur.

Billy sat down, crossing his legs in front of him. He felt the familiar sense of surety within him, that patented Billy Russo confidence that let him know he was making the right choice as he looked at his baby girl. “You know your mother and I love you, don’t you, princess?”

Another shrug.

“C’mon… You know that, right? Mommy and I love you so much, we love you more than air.”

She peeked out at him, face still hidden behind the bear.

Billy smiled. “We love you more than water. We love you more than food.”

“All food?” She asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper.

“All food,” he agreed, “Even spaghetti and pizza.”

She smiled—and Billy’s heart nearly floated out of his chest. “And ice cream?”

“Even ice cream,” he leaned in a little, “and you know how much Mommy loves ice cream.”

She giggled, trying to hide her adorable little smile behind her teddy bear. “You love me more than ice cream?” She asked again, astonished.

“Uh huh,” he answered, nodding, “We love you more than everything else in the world. We love you, and your brother, and the baby so, so much. And you know,” he lowered his voice, and she leaned in to hear him better, “That ain’t never gonna change. No matter what happens, no matter what mistakes you make—like drawing on the wall…” he watched her duck her head guiltily. “…Mommy and I will always love you, baby girl, just like we love your brother. And you know what else?”

“What?” She asked, eyes wide.

“The new baby is gonna love you, too. And no one could ever replace you, you know that right?”

She held the bear harder. “Even if the baby is another little girl? You won’t love her more than me?”

“No,” he said, “I won’t. I’ll love you the same, just like I love you and your brother the same.” He smiled. “It won’t matter if we have a boy, or a girl, or if we have 100 new babies…” She laughed, and Billy’s smile widened. “…We will always love you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Billy held his breath as his daughter regarded him for a moment. Carefully, she put her teddy bear down and crawled over to Billy. He opened his arms, and she crawled into his lap, putting her little face on his chest. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you, too Daddy,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, “I’m sorry I was bad.”

“It’s okay, baby, we all make mistakes.” He kissed her cheeks, making her giggle. “And you know what I just thought of?”

“What?”

“When the new baby comes, you’re gonna have to teach it everything.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “You’re gonna be a big sister! You’ll have to teach and care for and protect the baby, just like your brother does for you!”

Her eyes widened, too, and her mouth dropped. “I’m gonna be a big sister!” She said, shocked. Clearly, she hadn’t come to terms with her new role in the family. “The baby is gonna need me!”

“Mm hmm,” Billy agreed, nodding, “The baby is going to need a great big sister… Do you think you can be a good big sister?”

“I’m gonna be the best big sister!” She said seriously, nodding her head wildly. “I’m gonna show the baby how to make snow angels and teach it all the colors and numbers and letters I know…” She gasped, and Billy had to hold in a laugh at her theatrics. “If the baby is a girl, I can teach her how to ask Mommy to do her hair all pretty like she does for me!” She clapped her hands together. “Ooh, I hope it’s a girl! Can we ask the stark—”

“—stork,” Billy corrected with a laugh.

“—to bring us a girl?!” She finished excitedly.

“How about we write the stork a letter?” He suggested, propping his daughter on his knee. “With crayons and markers and glitter—”

“—On paper, like we’re a’sposed to!” She added, glad to have learned a lesson from this whole ordeal.

“Great idea, princess,” he kissed the top of her precious head, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek in return. “Do you want to see if your brother wants to help us?”

“Yes!” She jumped out of Billy’s lap and raced down the hall, calling her brother’s name.

Billy could feel an argument coming up—he was sure his son wanted a baby brother—but he knew it would all be in great fun. He stood up, picking up the teddy bear and placing it on his daughter’s bed. You were a few weeks away from learning if it’d be a boy or girl, but Billy would be happy with either. Hell, the fact that he would be getting another perfect child brought into this world was reason enough to celebrate.

“A hundred babies?” You said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest.

Billy laughed. “You’re weirdly stealthy when you’re knocked up, you know that?” He said, coming over and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not having 100 babies,” you said, laughing as he kissed you.

“Nah?” He asked, dropping his head down to your neck and kissing you there. He grinned against your skin when he felt you shiver. “You sure?”

“I’m not…” You closed your eyes when Billy lightly bit down on your shoulder. “…We’re not…” He licked the bite, making you sigh contently. “…Maybe 99 babies…”

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked, straightening up and kissing you softly.

“Daddy! How do you spell ‘stork’, and ‘baby’, and ‘girl’, and ‘please’ and--?” Your daughter’s voice cut through the sexual tension in the air, and you both laughed at her questions.

“Duty calls,” Billy sighed, placing one hand in yours and the other on your belly.

“Fine.” You pretended to roll your eyes. “I know you went through an emotional roller coaster and whatever today, but I’m gonna need you to finish what you started here tonight, Mr. Russo.”

Billy grinned, leaning down and kissing you one more time before leading you down the hall. “Happy to, Mrs. Russo…”

For the rest of the evening, the four of you sat at the kitchen table, writing letters to the stork (who your daughter kept calling Mr. Stark, to which your son replied: “his name is Iron Man!”) while the radio played in the background. Neither of the kids even asked to turn on the TV, and Billy got warm hugs and kisses from them both when the two of you tucked them into bed.

(He got an even warmer show of affection from you that night…)

As he laid in bed with you in his arms, both hands on your tummy as you slept soundly, Billy knew he had made the right decision when he started his family with you. He was learning, still, how to be a good husband and father, but everyday he was growing more and more secure in his role, and more importantly, he was incredibly dedicated to being the best he could be for his family.

It was a decision that was easy to make.

*******************************************************************************************

I flippin’ LOVE father!Billy! Ugh... Let me know what you guys think! I never had a nuclear family, so I hope this tracks lol! Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity@fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu@luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso@teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @starkrobb @marauderskeeper @charlylama @thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @ms-delos @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml 

Billy Taglist: @honeyydippaa  @thebabblingbookworm @khuangpu13 @ladyblablabla​ @woodlandreads

[beefrobeefcal]

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Series Warnings: violence, threats of violence, abduction, major character death(s), sex (p in the v), oral (m & f receiving), bowling, broken bones, beating, punching, choking, emotional abuse, allusions to drug use, harsh language, crime, weight gain, weight talk, eating, talk of eating, cruelty, keeping someone against their will/prisoner, stabbing, blood

Chapter One: Signed and Sealed Chapter Two: Nobody But Me Chapter Three: Sweet Dreams Chapter Four: Going Out in Style Chapter Five: Skin and Bones Chapter Six: Bangarang Chapter Seven: Bring It Home Chapter Eight: Linger

Add-ons:

Pre-Honey One Shot: Catfish to BigFish

Thank you @noxturnalpascal for the BigFish moodboard!

[amzyspinkarch]

At Last Tamagon x Reader

Smoke fills the air. The unpleasant smell of burning meat hits the nostrils of individuals nearby.

''Oi Tamagon! Nani shiteru no?!'' Kiev chastised.

''Tamagon!''

Kiev makes his way over to the said man and grabs the tongue utensil out of his hand. Being ripped from the clutches of memory lane, Tamagon is brought back to his reality where he's confronted by his brother. He blinks once, twice, thrice, before giving Kiev his attention. 

''Huh?'' Kiev jumps and slaps him across the head. 

''You're burning the food!'' He seethed while the rest of the crew chastise him as well. Some laugh at the male shaking their heads.

''Oh'' Tamagon pauses. ''Gomen ne''

Kiev sighs and tends to meats. Tamagon follows suit letting out a sigh knowing he's messed up. He just couldn't get out of his head. Not when horrid memories took over his mind. His eyes train up towards the blue sky masked with stark white clouds. He always finds solace when his eyes are fixed there. Something about the sky and shapes of the clouds is peaceful. A pass-time of his when he isn't busy with the company. Such sessions are even shared at times with a certain young woman. 

'I wonder if A-' 

''Oi, Tamagon!'' a voice belonging to his other brother Zanbai interrupts his thought. ''Your lady friend is here'' The men snicker at him.

Tamagon fights to keep down a slight blush trying to evolve and paint his face identical to a tomato.

''Thank you Zanbai. Let me know when you want a shot at announcement gigs. I'll set you up'' you pat his arm and turn smiling at Tamagon. The look in your eyes never fail at making him shy. As always though, he adverts his head after a hello to you.

He strides over to the steps and takes a seat. You shake your head, but your determination does not falter. You make your way over to the male and sit beside him. You remind yourself to put distance between you. A mental note you made from your last encounter.

''How are you Tamagon?''

''I am fine. And you?'' 

''I'm well.'' you chirp.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you flashing him a wide smile that he swears lights up his insides. Yet, he remains facing forward as if you don't affect him in the least. Another usual was silence. Though, frankly speaking, it was something pleasantly surprising that you'd become accustomed to.

''Tamagon'' he picks up on the tone of your voice. A shift from your usual playful. Concerned, he turns to you while you gather your thoughts to make your statement in the best way possible. Hopefully not messing up. You clear your throat.

''Are you okay?'' he'd like to know

''Qui. Je le suis merci.'' He nods. You let out a breath. ''Tamagon, I like you. Tu me rends heureux. You make me happy.'' Your hand covers one of his with yours as you look into his eyes.

''I know you're wondering how that can be. Well. It's the little things about you. I have made no secret of my crush on you, nor my attraction. I am not ashamed of it. However, I must let you hear it from me verbally.'' You pause taking a breath

''I love how even when not saying much or anything at all, I still learn so much from you. I love how expressive you can be with your family, yet, you're also reserved. I would love to be with you. I don't care what you or anyone says. You may second guess this and think I that have motives, but I'll do everything to prove to you that my affection and adoration. Mes sentiments, my feelings. '' Your hand squeezes his. ''Are real. I see the kind of person and man that you are, and I'm so attracted to him. You once caused mischief, but you, along with these rest of this crew, have turned your lives around. You're now an honest, hard-working man.'' Your eyes trail down to his mouth and smile seductively.

''I love your lips and how plump and soft they look. I love how when you're around, I instantly feel warm. And safe. I could go on and on Tamagon. And I will when, not if, but when you accept to be my man.'' You were so focused on the man facing you, that you hadn't realised you'd gained the attention of your family. Everyone's munching on their lunch both entertained and awed by the words coming out of your mouth.

And Tamagon's facial expression.

A certain pink-haired cutie suddenly interrupts.

''Love'' Himari, relaxing on her mother's lap, comments. Parting her hands and arms gesturing to you and the chubby-cheeked male. It was then you noticed the audience gathered and partly wished to be buried into the Earth.

Turning to Tamagon you see a mixture of emotions swirling around in his eyes and contorting his face. His unnerving silence causes you to panic. You turn to walk away abruptly deciding it's best to regroup and approach later. Plus, the more you felt examined, the more agitated you got, and no one wanted to see you snap.

Everyone ate and socialised before getting back to work. Tamagon secluded himself on a comfy seat in the backyard trying to process your words from earlier. His mind indeed sent off warning bells to tell him you just messing with him. He couldn't imagine someone taking him on and not at face value and appearance.

''You shouldn't overthink it.''

''Franky aniki'' Franky rests a palm on the male's shoulder. 

''Tamagon, when someone loves you for you, don't take it for granted. She's been showing you for how long now she's interested. And you still won't budge. Baka. You like her and she's let you know how much she likes you. Stop letting your fears get in the way and kiss the girl. Honestly, you're so hard-headed'' Franky boxes the male on the head and leaves, going back to work.

Evening had approached by the time last-minute checks on the stability of the booths, the lightings, sounds and decorations occurred. The ideas for this game night Coby and Ame were going to host were superb. You were proud of the woman for finally having the balls to connect more to her other family. Whether she wanted to accept and embrace them or not. From what Coby's described, the Newgate's were a great family.

Taking a few steps backs, you observed the sight before you. The large backyard was now transformed into a mini carnival. Though the best part, is the gorgeous, fairy lights lit tents created for an outdoor theatre. You released a sigh.

''It's beautiful," Ame said from beside you. Her eyes captivated by the sight before her and who could blame her?

''Qui. Il fait beau. You're a genius"

"I wouldn't know about that"

"Yes, you are. A game night that ends with an outdoor movie in dreamy tents with seating that has the comfort of a bed? Dang woman. By the way, I hope you know it's about to turn into a baby-making fest tomorrow night." The gorgeous, dark-skinned woman swats your arm

"Your mind's always in the damn gutter."

"No more than yours" you snicker at her, but she just gives you an amused look

"Oh? I beg to differ sis. I see the way you look at Tamagon."

"So, does everyone." You shrug "I make it no secret my interest in him"

"Yeah. We know from your declaration earlier" She smirks at you teasingly. Your cheeks, being devoid of melanin, flushed a deep pink

"Shut up. I didn't know everyone was around. I got lost in the moment.'' You release a sigh. '' But I wouldn't change a thing. He's so sweet. And a hunk" She nods while staring forward.

"I know what you mean," she says with a distant smile on her face. Movement catches the corner of your eye and you peer over to the person.

"Ooo. Speaking of sweet and a hunk. Your husband is home.'' You notify'' Mind if I go entertain him with the idea of a ménage a trios?" You teasingly raise an eyebrow. Ame laughs light-heartedly.

She smirks and closes the gap between you two. Taking a hold of your hands, she gives you her best puppy dog eyes filled with fake desperation.

"More than anything" Her body is yanked backwards. Rope binding her torso and arms. 

"Oi Ame! Nani shiteru-no" 

"Mmm Paulie, I like where you're going with this." You grin mischievously at the male. His face blushes a deep pink.

"Urusai! Ame! You're married for shit's sake. Stop going after other men's ladies"

"Shut the fuck up and release me, Paulie! This is so tight" 

"I bet that's what Coby's says about your-" your sentence is cut short by the ranting male.

"And you. Stop starting things and entertaining her!" You chuckle and give the older male a fake look of conviction.

"Je regrette Paulie. You know we're only playing" you wink at Ame and she winks back.

"Uso-tsuki!!" The man yells at both of you 

"Can't have these two in the same vicinity" Franky chimes in playfully

"Honestly. They're both something else" Kop replies

Paulie took Ame over to her husband. They verbally went back and forth with each other as everyone laughs. You simply waved at her before laying on the grass, gazing at the evening sky. You blew out a breath. You wondered how to go about things between you and the certain male when you felt a presence nearby. Tamagon. He gifts you with a slice of cake but does not speak. Neither of you say a word. Both too afraid of the unknown.

''I... I like your native tongue. Both your accent and your language. I find it sexy and adorable when you switch between French and English. Especially when flustered.'' He takes moment to gather his words carefully ''I-I'' he takes a breath ''I like how opposite you are of me yet we.. blend.. perfectly. Like makeup.'' He blushes recalling a time watching you apply products to your face and the lessons you taught him while at it. ''I love your hair'' he says with a warm smile ''It's so fluffy and full. A small, lovely afro crown adorning your head.'' Your smirk turns into a slightly sad smile

''But you can't run your fingers through it.''

''I'd happily get tangled up.'' He replies smiling. His fingers brush against your hand.

''I love your skin very much. You may have a skin disease to others, but to me, you're so beautiful. You're a work of art, a masterpiece and you should never feel any other way about yourself.''

Tamagon shifts closer to your body. Your body stills, not believing what's happening. You let out a breath and relax when his hand now takes hold of yours, squeezing it. You turn on your side to face him. ''I-I like you y/n,'' he says. He turns on his side to face you as well.

You smile lovingly as your hand goes to his cheek. You caress his face rendering the man weak as he leans into your touch.

''Tamagon?'' you softly call. He hums. ''J'ai tres envie de faire l'amour avec toi ce soir. I really want to make love to you tonight''

His eyes widen with shock and his face lights up like a Christmas tree as he rolls onto his side. His back faces you as he tries hiding his reddened face. Your laugh resounds throughout the yard, and Tamagon works on calming his heart rate. Another stretch of comfortable silence passes. You take that time trying to calm your own beating heart and fight your blush fest. You decide to use food as well as a counter and take a bite of your dessert. You relishing the sweet taste before abruptly choking, taken by complete surprise by his response to your confession.

''Y-yes. You can make love to me tonight''

(A/N: I know this one is longer that rest but I'm especially attached you will, to this one-shot. I really felt it necessary and it took me a long time to finish it. However, I'm happy that I am and I hope that you enjoy it. Happy reading people! Translations are down below) 

Japanese:

Nani shiteru no- What are you doing?

Gomen ne- I'm sorry, sorry

Aniki- Big Brother, brother

Baka- Idiot

Urusai- Shut up.

Uso-Tsuki- Liar.

French:

Qui. Je le suis merci- Yes. I am thank you.

Tu me rends heureux- You make me happy.

Mes sentiments- My feelings

Qui. Il fait beau- Yes. It is beautiful.

Ménage a trios- Three-way

Je regrette- I'm sorry. I am sorry

J'ai tres envie de faire l'amour avec toi ce soir- I really want to make love to you tonight

[lifejustgotawkward]

365 Day Movie Challenge (2018) - #82: Fatso (1980) - dir. Anne Bancroft (52 Films by Women 2018: #23)

Man, do I love Anne Bancroft. For her first (and unfortunately last) effort as a writer-director, she hired a bunch of other awesome women to work with her behind the camera: most notably, trailblazer Brianne Murphy was hired as the cinematographer, making her the first ever female DP of an American major studio film (as well as the first woman to join the American Society of Cinematographers), but Patricia Norris also served as costume designer, Linda DeScenna was the set decorator, Vivian McAteer was in charge of hair styling and several more women were employed as production assistants. Despite Bancroft’s credentials as an Academy Award-winning actress with a nearly thirty-year-long career at that point, the cards were probably stacked against her to succeed as a filmmaker; reading Roger Ebert’s one-star review made me wonder how many critics unfairly compared her debut with the handful of successful comedies made by her husband, Mel Brooks. Fatso is not a perfect film, but it displays enough creative energy and quirky charm to mourn the lack of a directorial follow-up from Bancroft.

The film tells the story of Dominick DiNapoli (Dom DeLuise), a Manhattanite who runs a gift card shop with his excitable sister, Antoinette (Bancroft). They live in the same house with many other members of their extended Italian family, including their brother, Frankie (Ron Carey), who is Dom’s closest confidante. Dom has spent his entire life struggling with his weight, a situation initiated by his mother, who derived joy from feeding him every possible pizza, cake and midnight snack. The death of Dom’s beloved (and obese) cousin Salvatore is a depressing wake-up call, though, so Dom decides to try and shed some pounds to make himself healthier and happier.

With help from one of his regular customers, Mrs. Goodman (Estelle Reiner), Dom joins a Chubby Checkers group and, after beginning to lose some weight, he becomes confident enough to ask a pretty store clerk from the neighborhood, Lydia (Candice Azzara), out on a date. This aspect of the plot is much less interesting than the parts that concern the DiNapoli family, which is owed mainly to the fact that Anne Bancroft and Ron Carey are more dynamic performers than Candice Azzara, whose blonde, half-Italian/half-Polish love interest is barely has a discernible personality. (What I wouldn’t have given for more scenes with Bancroft’s Antoinette alternating between manic yelling and weeping, all sights to behold from a wonderful actress who clearly knew how to write and direct to her own strengths. And given the essential background of the story and characters, I assume that Bancroft drew on her own upbringing as an Italian-American New Yorker.) Dom DeLuise does a nice, occasionally subtle job of playing a sweet, likeable fellow who constantly battles his impulses towards sugar and carbs, and Fatso’s ultimate message about accepting different body types without judgment or shame is a good one, although in general the film’s third act meanders before reaching its resolution in the last few minutes.

I recently wrote a review of another writer-director debut by a veteran actress, Heather Graham’s Half Magic, and I suggested that Graham’s directorial abilities (who is currently close to the same age Anne Bancroft was when she made Fatso) might improve with more experience. In Graham’s case, Half Magic was a good but often flawed run out of the starting gate, but Bancroft’s film shows real cinematic flair. Tonally, the dark comedy reminded me a bit of Elaine May’s The Heartbreak Kid (1972), although Fatso has issues with pacing and therefore would have benefited from tighter editing. Still, there is something inspired about the first ten minutes of Bancroft’s dramedy, which take place at a funeral filled with screams and cries that stretch tragedy into amusingly surreal humor.

[lezliefaithwade]

The F-word!

I was 19 years-old the first time I ever said the F-word. I remember it distinctly. I was sitting on the bleachers at the ball park not far from my home thinking about a boy who had kissed me, on that very spot a week earlier. I was writing in my journal when two guys, a bit younger than I, started harassing me. “Nice tits,” the slighty chubby one yelled. “Yeah,” his side-kick mimicked, “Nice tits.” I was and remain to this day a very modest person. I don’t enjoy being somewhat well endowed. I wanted to be flat chested my entire life drawing absolutely no attention to any part of my body whatsoever. My dream was always that people would like me for my sizable brain and witty banter. My breasts were the last thing I cared about. In fact, they betrayed me. Women with breasts were naturally thought of as stupid, whereas flat chested women were smart. But I had just graduated from high school with a 92% average. It had to be because I hid my breasts constantly behind sweaters, jumpers, blazers.

“Come suck my dick,” one boy yelled at me. I tried to ignore them, but they kept at it obviously enjoying their efforts to denigrate me.

“What’s the matter? Your tits too big for your brain?” one of them asked while the other one snickered. And that was when the f-word came out of my mouth. It came out without thought and without apology. It sounded like artillery in my mouth and it did the trick. They F-d off and I was once again left alone, stewing. The moment for writing was lost. My reverie had been completely destroyed. I was livid. Never in a million years would I or any of my girlfriends have tried to humiliate a boy the way I had just been humiliated. It simply wouldn’t happen. And the more I thought about it, the more I hated the way I looked, and the way they had made me feel.

A month later I was living in New York, attending theatre school in midtown Manhattan and enjoying my first taste of independence. I had a modest amount of money inherited from my mother’s insurance after her death four years earlier, and I parceled it out carefully for my studies. New Yorkers, I soon discovered, had no problem using the f-word as a noun, an adjective, a verb and an adverb. In a month’s time I heard it used often and to great effect. Cab drivers, cyclists, even men at food carts. In acting class, there was hardly an improv that didn’t end with a good F-you! By the time I returned home for Thanksgiving it was part of my regular vocabulary.  While happily enjoying the dinner, my father had lovingly prepared, I nonchalantly said, “Pass the f-ing turkey, please and thank you.” Thus, assuring my father that all his fears of my going to New York were completely founded. That was the first and last time I ever swore in front of my him, with the exception of possibly blurting out something when I’d hit my thumb accidentally with a hammer or burned myself while cooking.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that most men don’t like women who swear. In particular, older men feel as though a curse word coming from the mouth of a woman is demeaning. But even younger men, I’ve noticed, can get pretty pissy when women level the playing field by swearing. I recently re-read Terrence McNally’s play, Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune. When Frankie tells Johnny he’s full of shit after he professes his love during a one-night stand, he responds: “Hey, come on, don’t. One of the things I like about you, Frankie, is that you talk nice.”

She responds by using the F-word six times. I might have used it seven.

When I think of the times I’m most likely to swear, it’s usually around men. I feel like a junk yard dog warning anyone who crosses the line that I mean business. It’s not something I resort to naturally. It’s usually reserved for the guy on the subway whose legs are so wide he’s taking up two seats and rubbing his thigh up against me. The man on the bus who won’t take his eyes off my breasts. The one who says, “Smile. You look so much better when you smile.” I hate when I get driven to the point of expletive no return. I was raised to be polite. My parents grew up with the reasonable expectation that people would be mutually respectful of one and other. Sometimes when men cross the line they cover it up by saying things like, “Lighten up. I’m just joking,” or worse, accuse me of taking things too seriously. I once told an actor to F-off when he wouldn’t stop poking me in rehearsal. I asked politely. I asked again. And then I just didn’t care. No way was I going to perform that one scene for two months on the road with him poking me every F-ing day.

There have been times when I didn’t use the word and I wished I had. Once in New York on a lunch break I went to a park to learn lines and a wealthy older man sat down by me and thought it was perfectly okay to regale me on the virtues of wearing high heels instead of running shoes (which at the time was kind of my signature look.) He was creepy and his comments were intrusive. No one asked him. Men who think it’s perfectly okay to give unsolicited fashion advice to women deserve to be told off.

According to scientists, swearing appears to be a feature of language that an articulate speaker can use in order to communicate with maximum effectiveness. A collection of studies concluded that there is more to swearing than simply causing offence, or a lack of verbal hygiene. Language is a sophisticated toolkit, and swearing is a part of it. Once, it may well have saved my life.

I was still in New York enjoying my first real relationship with a guy who was a playwright at the Julliard School when, for some reason, a conversation about a play we had seen turned sour and the next thing I knew I was storming out of the apartment. On this particular occasion, I thought a walk along the beach at Coney Island would be just the thing to clear my head. I’d been there a few times to see the beloved Beluga’s and I always came back the better for having come in contact with nature. I boarded the F train at Washington Square and took it all the way to the 8th Street New York City Aquarium stop. It was late afternoon, and just beginning to get dark. I reasoned that I had at least an hour’s worth of light to walk around in before I’d need to return home. It didn’t faze me that I was the only person on the subway at that point.  And it didn’t bother me that I was alone as I passed through the turnstile and out onto walkway towards the beach. As I took in a deep breath of salty air I began to feel better. I was smiling to myself, thinking about the argument with my boyfriend and realizing how ridiculous I had been when I suddenly became aware of a man walking behind me. I was irritated. Here was a whole bridge for the two of us to share, and this jerk was crowding me. “Why doesn’t he pass,” I thought, “and leave me alone?”  I kept walking. He kept walking. I moved to the other side of the bridge. He moved to the other side of the bridge. Completely unaware of his intentions I muttered under my breath something about spatial awareness when I suddenly realized that he was getting closer. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. “That’s it,” I said to myself, “Enough is enough!”  I turned around to confront him and saw to my shock that he had his pants down.  Somewhere in the back of my mind two things became crystal clear. One was that I was probably seconds from being raped, and the other was that while his pants were around his ankles he wouldn’t be able to run. A voice somewhere in my head told me not to let him see that I was afraid and so, as he stood there about to move towards me I said, “F-off!” I said it like I belonged. I said it with as much power as I could muster. I said it with attitude and gumption. It was a bullet and it hit my target squarely between the eyes because for a moment, he stopped, stepped half an inch back and fell. It was just enough time for me to walk past him and return to the subway. Just enough time to get about a 20 ft. head start while he pulled his pants up and started in pursuit. I began to run. He began to run. I could see the subway entrance up ahead. I knew there was an attendant inside the toll booth. Just a few feet more. He was gaining on me and then, suddenly out of nowhere, a policeman showed up and the man turned around and ran away. I’m sure the officer meant well but the first thing he did was yell at me.  “What are you doing here?” He shouted. “You shouldn’t be here alone. What are you thinking? You’re lucky to be alive.” I felt ashamed, and relieved, and terrified all at the same time. He ushered me back to the station where he waited with me on the platform until the train arrived and I was safely shoved on board.

I sat on the subway car going over what had just happened and then I started to laugh hysterically for nearly ten minutes.  To this day I have no recollection of what the man on the bridge looked like except that he had long black hair, and was wearing blue jeans with gray underwear. I’ve never have been able to identify a single thing about him, except that.

For nearly a month afterwards I found myself completely at a loss whenever any man was within two inches of me. On subways I cowered in corners and was afraid to be alone in public. If a man startled me coming around a corner, my pulse raced, my breath quickened and I wanted to run. I never told anyone what had happened. The police officer had made me feel so ashamed at myself for being so stupid that I thought people would think less of me if I told them how careless I had been. I don’t know exactly when I stopped feeling fully responsible for the predicament I had found myself in, but somewhere in my late 30’s I started to shift my thinking. It’s true, there are places that aren’t safe for women to be at alone, and in hindsight, Coney Island at dusk was one of them, but at the same time a woman should be able to go for a walk a night without fear of being attacked. A woman should be able to walk home alone from a movie, a play, a concert. She shouldn’t be afraid in a parking lot, or worry about being followed from the subway station. People are always telling me to be safe as if I have any control over the matter. I don’t want men to be the hero or the villain of my story.  I want to be able to go out alone, travel by myself, stay up late and not have to spend money on a cab to get home. Freedom of movement is a right for all people, and being afraid that you will be attacked at night jogging or walking to your house from a library because you’re female is…well…fucked.

[jamesjohneye]

Prompts request #7

Prompt; Lateo; Mamma Bear Maggie

Thank you for the prompt!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11706720/chapters/26700378

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Maggie asks as she hands Daryl his pack. There are dark circles under his eyes and he’s wearing his cap the right way around for once. It makes it impossible for anyone to look him in the eye. He’s been wearing it like this more and more the last couple of weeks and Maggie hates it. ‘I’m fine, thanks, I got it,’ he grabs the pack and hoists it onto his shoulders. His voice is flat. ‘I’m taking Khamsin, okay? I’ll be back soon.’ ‘Yeah, okay. Be careful,’ she walks him to the door of their room. ‘Hey, if you want another job, we can arrange that. You can go hunting or help the blacksmith, or –‘ ‘I like being a messenger.’ She reaches out to touch his shoulder and make him turn around. With a sigh, she plucks the cap off his dark hair to turn it around. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The blue eyes are dull. ‘You don’t look like you like doing it.’ ‘I’m just tired,’ he mutters. ‘With Hershey and everything…’ ‘We can get you another room.’ ‘I don’t want another room,’ Daryl bites out. It came out harsher than he intended because he adds as soft ‘sorry,’ immediately after. ‘I just – It’s fine. It’s nothing. I’ll see you when I get back.’ He hugs her briefly before walking away.

Dante comes by to collect the laundry a couple of hours later. It’s become a routine by now and Maggie likes his little visits. Now that she’s still so busy with Hershel, he keeps her up-to-date with all the intrigues of Hilltop Colony. She’d once called it their daily gossip session but Dante keeps insisting that he hates gossip even though he came running the moment he’d heard that someone had caught Felix making out with Geraldine in a watchtower. It’s news, he’d say. And Maggie lets him believe it. ‘So,’ Dante says as he grabs the dirty clothes out of the hamper, ‘I don’t know whether… look, it’s not really my place or anything, I know that, but… Have you talked to Daryl lately?’ ‘This morning, why?’ ‘Oh. And – ‘ he frowns, ‘you’re okay with all of this?’ Maggie shrugs, ‘he wants to be a messenger. He’s good at what he does.’ ‘I know!’ Dante says quickly, ‘he’s really good, got us that deal with Oceanside, so… but - I just thought he wouldn’t… never mind.’ ‘Finish your sentence. You thought he wouldn’t what?’ ‘I just thought he wouldn’t have to go to the Sanctuary. That’s all.’ Dante fidgets a bit with the laundry in his hands, ‘but if you think it’s fine, then obviously it is, but…’ Maggie gapes at him. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘I know he’s yours,’ Dante says, ‘but he just… he isn’t sleeping and they keep sending him to that place and it just… breaks my heart, seeing him like that.’ ‘They’re sending him to the Sanctuary for trade deals?’ ‘I thought you knew,’ Dante says with a frown. ‘I didn’t.’ The words are clipped when she scoops Hershel out of his crib. ‘He told me he has been visiting the Kingdom.’ Dante looks a little guilty. ‘He hasn’t been there in months. I’m sorry, Maggie, I should have said something sooner –‘ ‘No,’ she takes a deep breath and cradles her son close. ‘Thank you for telling me. I need to talk to Felix.’

Felix is two years younger than her and currently in charge of the trading missions since Paul accompanied Beth to The Kingdom. Her sister is training with one of the doctors there while Paul is helping Alexandria to set up a new trading system. It’s easier to travel to Washington from Ezekiel’s realm. It’s no wonder that Daryl has managed to hide his destination for so long. Merle is at Alexandria too to help with the final stage of the rebuilding, and everyone must have assumed that the teenager either had permission or didn’t care that he had to go back to that evil place. Dwight is slowly turning it around with Eugene’s help, but nobody from Alexandria accepts the changes or the group. They usually send outsiders, people who hadn’t known the men, haven’t been betrayed by them during the war. It makes it easier. ‘Maggie!’ Felix jumps up when he spots their leader entering the large room. He’d been slouching in the chair that’s usually hers, at the head of the table. Daryl has painted a map of the entire area on the wood so they can pin flags in it without ruining paper maps. Washington is still a vague gray area on the border, but he’s steadily filling it in with routes and access points provided by Taiwo’s community. ‘Felix, good morning,’ Maggie nods before she walks over to Berthie and hands Hershel to the woman. ‘Give me an update. When will Paul be back?’ ‘We’re expecting him back in two weeks,’ Felix says immediately. ‘And Merle?’ ‘Also two weeks, ma’am.’ She nods. ‘Is that why?’ she asks. ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘Is that why you thought you could send my son to the Sanctuary, because both Paul and Merle are away? Did you think I would never find out? Or are you so blind and stupid to think that I would not care?’ Everyone in the room shifts nervously in their seats. Felix swallows with some difficulty. ‘He knows the community,’ he says. ‘It made sense to-‘ ‘He knows the community because he was held captive and tortured there by the man who’d killed his friends and family. And you send him back there.’ ‘He didn’t say he minded.’ ‘He shouldn’t have to!’ Maggie snaps. ‘He’s… I can’t believe you.’ She looks at the map. ‘Who is closest? Is anyone of us near the sanctuary?’ ‘No.’ Maggie’s eyes flash as she holds out her hand for the long-range walkie-talkie. ‘Get me Alexandria. Right now.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Frankie says as she chews on her nails. Her jeans are dirty from working in the factory all day. ‘We should move to another room, you don’t have to be here – we can go outside and wait for-‘ ‘It’s fine,’ Daryl snaps. He’s sitting in Negan’s old room and tries desperately to avoid looking at any of the familiar pieces of furniture. The bar he used to sit on, the couch where Negan would tackle him into when he was feeling playful enough, the long table at which they used to share their meals. Dwight is drafting up a new trading deal in the room that used to be Negan’s bedroom. Daryl doesn’t understand how he can stand being in this place. He wants to throw up. ‘We can play cards?’ Frankie offers but chaos outside the room causes her to fall silent and then jump up. She grabs her knife and grabs at Daryl’s shoulder, pushing the teenager behind her. The door slams open. Merle waltzes in. He stops when he spots the woman shielding his baby brother. His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Now I don’t want you to take this personally, sweetheart,’ he says, ‘but I’m gonna need you to take a step back and take that hand off my brother. That’s better. Where the weasel? Yo,’ He stalks over to the other door and kicks it open. ‘New Dixon in town, asshole!’ ‘What the hell?’ Dwight asks as he stands up. ‘You’re dealin’ with me now,’ Merle grins as he falls into a chair. ‘Maggie sends her regards.’

‘I’m just really sorry,’ Felix says. Daryl frowns and slinks past him, ‘yeah, okay, whatever.’ ‘Just – just tell Maggie I apologized, okay?’ Felix shouts after him, a little desperate.

‘What the hell did you do?’ Daryl asks Maggie as he leans against the doorframe. ‘Hello, Dare,’ Maggie hums while waving her son’s hand at him. Hershel whimpers. ‘Say hi to your brother first.’ Daryl sighs and drags himself into the room, holding out his hands for the little boy. ‘Hey, Hersey Kiss,’ he murmurs when Maggie transfers the boy to his embrace. ‘You been lookin’ after your momma for me?’ ‘Is that what you think you’ve been doing, too? Looking after me?’ ‘You sayin’ I haven’t been?’ Daryl scoffs as he sits on the bed, cradling his little brother. ‘You been runnin’ me ragged gettin’ ya shit.’ Maggie sits down next to him on the bed. ‘That’s not what I mean. You’ve been a great help with Hershel. I meant with the Sanctuary runs.’ Daryl shrugs. ‘Nah, just… ya know? You got a lot goin’ on, and.. weren’t nothing,’ he kisses Hershel’s chubby cheek, ‘huh, bud? Weren’t nothing but ghosts anyway. Thought it was a joke at first,’ he says as he looks at Maggie, ‘when Felix said I had to go, thought he were jokin’ but they were all talkin’ shit about how I already had a room there and stuff.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ The teenager shrugs again. ‘Merle weren’t here. Beth and Paul were gone. Promised Glenn I’d look after you, help you out, not dump my own shit on top of yours.’ He strokes Hershel’s hair, ‘don’t matter anyway. Got the job done, right? ‘s all that matters.’ ‘That’s not all that matters,’ Maggie corrects him. ‘You matter, always. No matter what is going on, no matter how busy I am. You matter to me. And I can help.’ Daryl scoffs. ‘So, what? Dudes are being mean to me so I should go run and cry to my mom about it, yeah that –‘ he stares at Hershel for a second. ‘I mean – I didn’t, I-‘ ‘That’s exactly what you should do,’ Maggie cuts in. She gets up. ‘He waited until Merle and Paul were gone, thinking he could get away with it.’ Daryl gives her a small smile. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry when Merle gets back. He was real angry.’ She gives him a look. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry right now. First priority was getting you back here. Now I’ll go deal with the real problem. Watch Hershel for me?’ ‘Yeah.’ The door closes and Maggie’s footsteps fade down the hall. Daryl looks at Hershel. ‘Uh-oh,’ he whispers. ‘Asshole’s gonna get it good.’

[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: VII

Chapter Seven: Bring It Home

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 3,740

Content Warning: angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, Major Character Death, stabbing, violence, betrayal, kissing

Author's Notes:

Y'all, I know you had big dreams for this chapter... and I thank you for your patience. Please don't hate me 🥺

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @rebel-held @gracieispunk

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

--------<3---------

From the time Frankie pulled you onto his lap at the bowling alley to when he stood with you at your bedroom door, you felt like you were in a dream. A beautiful, hazy dream that you were pretty sure was going to end with him fucking you in your bed.

“You did good tonight, Honey.”, Frankie said sweetly, cupping your jaw and cheek in his big hand.

You couldn’t help but stare back, falling further for him through his deep, brown eyes. He but the softness in his gaze hardened as he sucked in a breath and released your face, stepping back. He broke the connection with you and looked away. He cleared his throat and nodded towards your door, leaving you feeling cold and confused. What did you do wrong?

“Night, baby girl...”, he mumbled as he turned, heading towards the lounge.

You opened your mouth to say something to him, but all you could do was feel your body react to the lack of his touch and your cheeks burn from the rogue tears that fell. You were alone in the hallway, and you didn’t know why.

*****

Pope had been outside in the shadows, trying to remain inconspicuous while on his phone, when the blacked-out SUV pulled up at the front doors.

“Yes, I know!... fuck you... I’ll call you back...”, he hissed quietly into his phone before ending the call and focused on the two of you returning.

He watched as Frankie got out of the SUV, holding his hand out to you, and saw the stupid look on Frankie’s face as he helped you down from the vehicle. Pope shook his head and rolled his eyes, watching Frankie pull you in for a disgustingly sweet kiss before he tugged you into the building.

He scoffed as he brought his phone back up to call his contact back, a message popped up on the screen.

Steven is done. Now what?

Pope grinned as his deviously sadistic mind’s wheels turned; he pocketed his phone and walked into the building.

*****

Frankie’s heart was beating fast as he walked away from you, and his palms were sweating as he clenched his fists. He didn’t stop until he was standing in his office, shakily sucking in his breaths, and he allowed himself to think about what had just happened. It was one thing for him to go down on you in the bowling alley and hold you as your body came back down – he was still in control. But looking in your eyes as you looked back at him, seeing the same thing he felt staring right back told him he was no longer holding the reigns in this, and it terrified him to his core. He felt like you could see who he really was under his harsh and mean exterior; under it all he was just the former drug addict who battled his demons daily to keep himself upright; just the man who made himself bigger so he could be respected, because no one was going to respect a scrawny junkie. And if you did see it, why did you still want him at all? Did you see weakness? Did you know that just asking him for a kiss would make him weak in the knees? Why did he allow you to get under his skin?

He was finally broken from his trance when the door to the office opened behind him. Frankie whirled around and found himself facing Pope.

“Fish... you got a sec?”, Pope asked, cautiously approaching him, with a judgmental eyebrow raised. When Frankie nodded, trying to shake the weakness of you from his mind, Pope nodded back in kind.

“What d’you need?”, Frankie said coolly as he made his way around his desk and sat down heavily on his chair.

Pope walked up to the desk and leaned heavily on, deciding not to tell Frankie that he saw him come back with you, and how he saw the look on his face and knew what it meant. He instead decided to set in motion what he hoped would be the last thing he needed to.

“I got a message... from one of the grunts under Will... he was making the rounds and checking in on people that owe us...”, he said quietly, trying to sound nervous about what he was going to say. “and, he - uh…”,

“Fuckin’ spit it out, Pope.”, Frankie groaned after a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“He went to Steven’s...”

“Who the fuck is that and why do I care?”, he growled, not looking up at him. “Get to the fuckin’ point!”

“It’s your girl’s brother...”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Frankie looked up at Pope, feeling his blood run cold.

*****

After being left on your own, you sat in your room, feeling the buzz from the beer slipping away and letting your thoughts drift towards more nefarious avenues. It hurt to know that no matter what happened, you would end up alone; your brother sold you out for more drugs, Benny hated and abandoned you, Will threw you into the lion’s den, and Frankie didn’t want you beyond getting what he could from you. And Pope... you knew what Pope wanted and it made your skin crawl.

The tears that you’d cried had mixed with your make up had dried on your face, leaving your skin feeling itchy and tacky. You needed to clean yourself up and give yourself some comfort, even if it was small. You stepped into the shower and tried to wash away your sadness.

After drying off and getting into your pajamas, you once again sat in your room alone. The weight of solitude was heavy on you, so much so, you could barely stand it. All you could do was pick up your Kindle and try to distract yourself until you fell asleep.

*****

Benny sat back and watched the other guys play a round of foosball. They’d invited him to join but he’d waved them off. He’d wanted to sulk and be angry with no interference; he couldn’t get your face out of his head from the last time he’d seen you the night before, and Frankie’s words to him sounded off like a fire alarm in his skull: She’s not here for you. Stick your dick in literally anything else, but that is mine.

He’d replayed your last interaction with him over and over in his mind over the past 24 hours, building up more rage and fury over how stupid you were being. He didn’t want you for himself; he wanted something better for you. There’s no way Frankie could offer you what you deserve. Fuck, no one in this fucking building could. He sneered as he shook his head, anger rising further each time Frankie’s words bleated in his brain and deafened the rest of his thoughts. Frankie told him to fuck anything like you weren’t even a person. You were just part of the wide scope of anything, like an object he could own and devour like he did everything else he wanted.

Will watched Benny silently from across the room. He saw his brother furiously twisting his hands and clenching his jaw; saw the vein in his forehead pop out as his face turned red with rage. Will knew he was at fault for this; he knew Benny had a soft spot for vulnerable people, especially women. He knew Frankie was wrong about how Benny felt, but he wasn’t willing to correct him and confirm that Benny wanted to fuck her as much as Frankie wanted to diet. But the powder keg that was hitting a critical point across the room in his brother was far more worrisome than he’d accounted for, given even a day going by hadn’t managed to dampen his rage. Benny could be a dangerous man, given the right mindset, and he wasn't afraid of violence or being violent. It was the reason he was so valuable to the Frontiersmen - he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty for the right cause, and Will worried that you were becoming the right reason for Benny to unleash that terrible dog in him at Frankie.

As Will decided it was in everyone’s best interest to try and quell the fire, Pope walked in with a smug grin aimed directly at his brother, and Will felt like he was about to watch a train derail.

“What’s with the long face, fucker?”, Pope crooned sadistically as he sauntered towards Benny.

“Fuck off, Pope.”, he growled in response, his eyes glaring up at the smiling man.

 Will saw the determined, toothy smile breakout over Pope’s face as he squatted down in front of Benny.

“What’s the matter, baby Benny?”, Pope mockingly cooed, amusement bleeding from his tone. “You mad that Fish is cockblocking you from that sweet little puss – “

Benny’s hand jutting out and gripping Pope’s throat stopped him from finishing his sentence. He stood up, pulling Pope into a standing position as he stared wide eyed and clawed at Benny’s arm and wrist, gasping and choking.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”, Benny snarled, pulling Pope’s face close to his.

Will ran up beside Benny and gripped his shoulder, shaking him. “Benny! Drop’im!”

He yanked Benny’s arm back and Pope collapsed on the floor, gasping and coughing.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!”, Benny roared as Will’s arms wrapped around him form behind and pulled him back.

“Fuck you, Pope! Fuck you 'n fuck your fuckin’ smug mouth!”, Benny screamed at him as Will continued to restrain him. ‘FUCK, WILL! LET ME THE FUCK GO! I’ll FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!”

Will knew Benny didn’t mean it. Sure, he’d probably take a swing and hit him – he’d done it before. But beyond that, he knew it was Benny’s rage talking.

Pope shakily looked up at Benny and offered him a cruel smile. Benny saw red; that fucker fueled his blinding rage, and he threw Will off him, storming out of the rec room.

“Don’t move, Pope!”, Will yelled, pointing his finger at him as he turned and ran out after Benny.

Pope smiled, watching him leave after his brother, seeing a brand-new opportunity. Fortune favours the brave…

*****

Benny was on a rampage. Like a rabid bear, he stalked the hallways, making a beeline to the barracks. He’d walked right past Frankie’s office, not even considering stopping there first to tear into him over what he was doing. Will quickly caught up to him, yelling for him to stop.

Frankie sat in his office chair. He heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door and he looked up, but they moved past.  He thought nothing of it until he heard Will.

“Ben! Stop!... Stop 'n take a fuckin’ breather, man!”

“FUCK YOU AND FUCK POPE AND FUCK FISH AND FUCK THAT STUPID BITCH!”

“You’re not thinkin’ this through! You don’t wanna hurt her, Ben! BENNY!”

Will’s panicked voice caught Frankie’s attention and he stood up, listening to the sounds move further down the hallway. He knew not to get in Benny’s way when he was mad, but he was heading towards you and the idea of Benny being in this foul of a mood and even Will wasn’t able to placate him didn’t sit well with him.

Benny threw the doors to the Barracks open and screamed your name. Even being in a separate area, the volume at which he called you made you jump. You dropped your Kindle on the bed and moved cautiously to your door. You clicked the flimsy lock on the doorknob, and you jumped heard the door to the hallway slam against the wall from how hard it was flung open.

Your heart was beating deafeningly loud in your ears, and you backed away from the door as the thumping footsteps got closer and your doorknob jiggled.

Just as soon as you were mentally thanking what every deity was listening for that lock, the door was kicked open and there was Benny. Breathing hard, his face twisted in a snarl and his fists clenched.

You looked up at him, not sure what he was going to do. “Benny... wha - “

“You're so fuckin’ dumb!”, he yelled, stomping towards you and cutting you off. “You’re fuckin’ smarter than this!”

He stood over you, his hot furious breaths fanning over your face. You tried to back away, but he grabbed at your arm.

“Don’t fuckin’ move!”, he yelled in your face, his hold on you tightening.

You yelped and tried to pull away from his grip. He shoved you back, sending you to the floor. Shock gave way to fear and anger as he stalked towards you, and you scrambled back into a standing position.

“Just fuckin’ stay down, you- “

“What do you want from me?!”, you cut him off, yelling in a cracked voice as tears welled up in your eyes.

His eyes narrowed at you and his scowl set further in his face. “I want you to smarten the fuck up! I want you to stop bein’ a dumb bitch!”

You angrily wiped at the tear that fell down your cheek, and, for a brief moment, Benny’s eyes looked at you almost horrified at what was happening. Your face contorted with a frown, and you pushed him with all your strength, making him take a small step back to keep his balance.

Neither of you knew that Will was in the hallway watching this unfold, not sure how to intervene, and his focus was torn away from you both as Frankie walked into the hallway and stood next to Will, ready to jump in.

“What is your problem?!”, you screamed at him.

His menacing glare returned, and he stepped up to you, challenging you.

“My fuckin’ problem is you’re not thinkin’ with your goddamned brain!”, he bellowed. “My problem is you’re thinkin’ with your pussy like a fuckin’ whore- “

Before you could register your actions, your hand harshly made contact with his face; you slapped him hard.

The room fell silent, and Benny’s head snapped back to you, all fury gone. What was left was the look of hurt and disappointment, and you weren’t sure who it was directed at – you or himself. Will rushed in and grabbed Benny, hauling him back. Benny’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Will had dragged him out of the room, cursing at him for his temper.

And once again, you were alone. Your chin quivered and your body trembled as the rage dissipated from your system, replaced with shame and remorse. What did you do?

Before you could collapse under the weight of your actions, Frankie stepped into the doorway.

You raised your eyes to him and held back a sob as you shook your head, silently saying please – I can’t handle any more.

“Baby girl...”, he spoke softly as he walked slowly towards you and pulled you into his arms. You tried pushing him back, but he gently used his strength against you, holding you in his embrace. His gentleness after the harsh intensity of what you’d just experienced with Benny broke you, and you let out a heavy sob that wracked your body. His large hand held your head against his chest and he murmured softly, trying to soothe you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl... come on, Honey... calm down... he’s gone... I know, baby... I know... he’s gone now... I’m sorry... he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, baby... he doesn’t know what he's talkin’ about...”

“Stop... just stop!”, you squirmed out of his hold and stood back from him. You furiously wiped your face again and shook your head. “He’s right! He’s right about everyth - “

“No, baby girl... no, he’s not!”, Frankie pleaded, holding his hand out to you, beckoning you to come to him.

It made you angrier, his actions seemingly still trying to train you to be his good little bitch, coming when he calls. You shook your head, rage taking over. “I’m not a fucking dog! You don’t order me around like one!”

His voice was so soft. “Baby... Honey, please...”

“No! Mr. fucking Morales! He’s right - I’m just another one of your dumb whores that you can throw away! I’m no better than that bitch you had on your lap at the bowling alley! You just keep me like a pet and bring me out when you need a fuckin’ fix! You don’t want me - no one does!”

You didn’t realize you were screaming at him and walking towards him.  Frankie’s hands were held up, trying to calm you. His eyes were wide and pleading, his mouth was open and frowning, as he shook his head.

“Baby girl… shhhhh… no… no, Honey…”, he shook his head, and cooed, moving towards you again. “No, Honey… you got it all wrong…”

“Don’t…”, you warned as you stepped back, glaring up at him. To Frankie, you must have looked like a cornered, feral cat, fueled by rage and fear.

You didn’t intimidate him. He reached out and cupped your cheek, as he’d done countless times before, but this time you pulled out of his grasp.

You didn’t scare him. But he needed your softness back; this harsh and jaded version of you hurt him in ways he didn’t know he could be wounded. His heart ached as his other arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him again. He smoothed his hand over your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your lips. You tried, albeit half-heartedly, to get away, but he saw the softness slipping back into your eyes.

You didn’t deter him. “Don’t push me away, baby girl…”, he said softly, bringing his face close. He ghosted his lips over yours. “I want you here… with me.”

He pressed his lips gently against yours. Your resolve to fight dissolved and you wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping for more contact with him. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, he followed suit, slipping his tongue against yours. You were both desperate. Yes, you’d fooled around in a bowling alley, but this was something that wasn’t scratching an itch or a power play; this was the two of you finally, without words, admitting that you needed one another on a baser, more human level.

Frankie pulled back first, breathing heavily and his eyes scanned yours, asking silently for more. You nodded, and with that, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your room and into his.

*****

After his run in with Benny and making sure his windpipe wasn’t crushed, Pope was back outside around the building in an alleyway. Hidden in the shadows, the only sign of his presence was his phone screen lighting up his face.

As he searched through images confirming Steven’s demise, a call came through. He answered it quietly, keeping his voice low but harsh.

“I need more time - … no, you don’t understand, he - ... I know that was the deal, but you gotta hear me out- … I can’t just… I know it has to look like an accide-… I tried! The fuckin’ little brother… Yeah… fuck, no… No… I know, but I ca-… fuck. Okay… I understand… Yes! Fuck! I got it!”

Will watched from the far end of the building. Pope’s voice, although quiet, carried, and Will’s mind raced, putting piece by piece together, not quite being able to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He didn’t know what he was up to, but he knew he didn’t like it.

He watched as Pope hung up and stopped himself from throwing his phone against the wall, and he clenched his fists and teeth. Will moved on his feet, causing the gravel to shift and crunch under him.

“What do you want, Will?”

He stopped, feeling his body tense at Pope’s recognizing his presence, even in the dark.

“Who you talkin’ to, man?”, he asked. Will tried to keep no discernable emotion or feeling in his tone, trying to keep Pope off his anxious scent.

“No one… one of the grunts fucked up… just tryin’ to set them straight.”

Will hmm’d in acknowledgement; he knew it was a lie and he knew Pope wouldn’t be convinced that he believed him, but he knew saying anything more would probably drive more suspicion.

“I’ll ask again, Will… what do you want?”

Will moved closer to Pope, trying to keep his voice down when he spoke.

“You gotta stop rilin’ Benny up. I know you think it’s funny, but he’s gonna really fuck someone up and we don’t need that.”

“Fuck you, Will… what are you, his keeper? His fuckin’ nanny?”

“I’m the last thing keepin’ him from killin’ someone… If wasn’t there tonight, you think you would’a made it?”

“So, what you’re saying its you’re the one keeping a leash on him?”

Even in the dark, Will knew Pope was facing him. He could feel the breath on his face. He was close – too close.

“If you weren’t around, no one could stop him?”

“Jesus, man… You know he’s got a fuckin’ temper... he needs someone to hold him back.”

“Yeah, he does have a temper.”

“Then stop pushin’ him! Stop antagonizin’ him!”, Will pleaded. He heard Pope huff a laugh.

“You’re in his fucking way, Will.”

Will heard the smile in Pope’s voice, and his blood ran cold.

“The fuck is that supposed’ta mean?”

Pope got close to Will and grabbed the back of his neck and held his face to his.

“You’re in my fucking way.”

Will felt a sharp sting in his stomach, and then warmth. Wet, hot warmth on the skin of his abdomen. The sharp sting erupted into searing pain, and he sucked in a ragged breath as his head spun.

“Santi… wha- don’t….”

“Fuck you, Will.”, Pope huskily whispered, ripping the knife out of Will’s gut. “This is on you. You wouldn’t let him just...”

“San-Santi? Pope? … why?” Will gasped, stepping back and clutching his middle. He stared up at Pope, wide eyed and trembling as he fell against the wall behind him and slid down to the ground. A tear slipped down his face as he watched his friend – his murderer – turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the alley to slip away into the inky darkness.

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TAGLIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @toxicanonymity @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @gwendibleywrites @romanarose

[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: VIII

Chapter Eight: Linger

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 4,438

Content Warning: smutty smutty smut smut, angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, violence, betrayal, kissing, abduction, brutal beating, blood, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in the v (unwrapped), cream pie, Big Fish is a bad man

Author's Notes: I know the wait is finally over! Please send any and all complaints to the THOT TANK for further discussion I hope you'll forgive what a deceitful beef I have been. But I'm just getting started...

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @umnitsa @softpascalito @noxturnalpascal

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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Your back hit Frankie’s mattress, leaving your legs dangling off the end, his thighs between them and pushing yours open. Leaning down, he slid his hands down your legs and under your sweatshirt, gripping your leggings and pulling them off, along with your underwear. His eyes didn’t leave yours until your core was open and exposed for him. 

“Mr. Morales...”, you breathed, needy and desperate. 

“Babygirl... “, he crooned, crawling up you and pulling your core roughly against his denim-clad hard on. “Can't call me that when I - ” 

You let out a whining moan as he rutted against you, feeling the fabric get hot and damp from your arousal smearing across his crotch.  

“You call me Frankie when I’m fuckin’ you.” 

***** 

Benny knew you were done with him now. His outburst had solidified that. As he sat and let the horrible incident replay over and over in his head, he became sullen and devastated. He couldn’t let it go. After Will stuck him in Frankie’s office to cool down and left him to find Pope, Benny's temper had finally died down, leaving him alone with the image of your heartbroken face in his mind. And then Frankie... 

Fuck Fish. Fuck him and his fuckin’ fucked up, cruel prerogative. 

He knew what would happen next. Frankie would get to walk in and pick up your pieces and make you believe you were loved. He knew Frankie could be gentle, he’d seen it before, and even he was fooled into thinking the Big Fish had a heart. But he knew the price that was paid each time he let that side out, and it made Benny sick to think how carefully he would handle each one of your shards as he put you back together with the promise of him being a good man. A fucking lie. All of it. Frankie was no better than any of them, and in some ways, he was worse. He, just like Will and Pope, could pass in the real world as normal, adjusted, and good people, and that made all three of them dangerous, but Frankie was worse.  Will could come off as cold, and Pope would always have something off about him, and Benny was okay until his temper took over, but Frankie... he knew how to gain people’s trust better. With his big brown eyes and his quiet nature, he could charm anyone with little effort, and you’d be in the throes of being consumed by him before you realized just how fucked up he really was.  

Benny realized he had unintentionally laid the perfect path for you to fall right into Frankie's arms and drown in him. Like so many girls before you. 

***** 

You keened and arched your back as Frankie opened you up with his fingers, and his mouth tongued and sucked on your over sensitive bud. One hand firmly gripping his hair and the other, having pushed up your shirt, twisting your nipple, you cried out and came hard. He growled, pulling more from you, and not letting up, and your cries became high-pitched whines. When he finally released you, giving you a reprieve, your body let go of all its tension and went limp, leaving you panting. He stood up, smiling, and removed his clothing.  

“Shirt off. Wanna feel all of you, gorgeous.”, he said quietly. Despite the soft tone and gentle look in his eyes in the dimly lit room, you knew it was a demand - an order - and you obeyed. 

His eyes wandered over your body as his hulking frame approached the bed, and his thick, heavy hard cock bobbed and wept with every movement.  

“So fuckin’ pretty...”, he huffed as he crawled between your legs, his stomach pushing you into the mattress as you felt the full weight of his body precariously brushing against yours. 

“So big...”, you mewled in a whisper in response.  

“Big, huh, baby? You like me big?”, he grunted in response and his plump tip pushed against your aching, worked-over hole. 

“Please... plea - ugh!” 

Your pleas were cut short as he pushed into you. He gave you no time to adjust to his thick intrusion, and he hushed you as you gasped and dug your nails into his shoulders. 

“Good girl... you can take it... relax... good girl... oh, fuck, take it... take it... jesus... fuck!” 

He stopped about halfway, pulling back, before he thrusted all the way in with his hands on either side of your head, propping him up. He kept eye contact, watching your face and every twitch and twist it made as he seated himself deeply in you, 

“Fuck... got me out of breath... so fuckin’ pretty...”, he panted.  

He was struggling to regain his composure as you fluttered and spasmed around him; it felt like the air was being forced out of your lungs. 

“I-I need, you... need you to move... please, move!” 

“Tell me, baby girl...” He licked his lips and looked down at you heavy lidded with his mouth pulled up on one side in a smile. “Tell me your mine.” 

A choked whine came out as you nodded your head to him. 

“Say it... say you’re mine, baby... say... say I’m yours...” 

“You’re m-mine...” 

“My name, Honey...” 

“Frankie...Frankie... my Big Fish...” 

You felt your toes curl as one knee hitched up on his hip when he began to rock into you. He slowly brought himself down to his elbows and you were fully pinned down by his bodyweight. He dug his face into your neck and breathed you in and your hands held onto his shoulder and hair. Frankie kept his pace, hitting a sweet spot over and over. 

“First time – the first time I saw you... fuckin’ knew... gotta relax, Honey...fuck... fuck... make those sweet noises for me, baby... fuckin’ knew I was yours... god, so pretty... then you fuckin’ made that shephard’s-jesus, yeah... oh fuck, yes... that’s it... so good, baby girl...” 

He brought his face up and nudged his nose to yours. “You’re too fuckin’ good, Honey.”, he whispered against your mouth as he kissed you. 

***** 

He’d been alone in the office for longer than he realized, mulling over everything, when Benny looked up to the dated clock on the wall. He had no idea why Will was taking so long to find that little smug shit, Pope. Fucking Pope. 

Benny was lost in his thoughts again when he heard frantic footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards him. The door burst open, and Pope had a panicked look on his face. He ran towards Benny and grabbed his arms. 

“Benny! Ben? Will... Will- where is he??” 

“He went to find you-why? What happened?” 

“No... I didn’t see him... but outside... outside... in the alley... I... no... Will!” 

Benny’s eyes went wide, and he pushed Pope off him. “What’s in the alley?!?” 

“I went to... to find him and there’s blood... there’s blood and his phone...” 

Benny’s whole body was pumbled by a wave of cold dread. His mouth went dry, and he had to fight to speak.  

“Wh-what...Pope... Santi... no... no... show me.” 

***** 

“Give me another... come on, babygirl... gimme another... lemme feel it...I’m close... fuck... come on... come on...” 

You threw your head back as he pounded into you, digging your nails into his sweaty back and shoulders. Every time his hips ground flush with yours, you felt like you were being split apart in deliciously harsh ecstasy, and you could feel another orgasm slipping along your spine to your core. You felt your body start to shake and tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Fish... Frankie... I need... please...” 

Frankie’s mind reeled. He’d opened himself up and, instead of just claiming you like he had planned, he’d allowed you to call him yours. His fractured self-worth wouldn't let him surrender that easily, and the cold, hard walls that he’d let you slip past refortified, forcing you back out. He knew he could only let you in long enough to get you where he wanted you and what he needed from you – your surrender. 

His hand moved and wiped an errant tear from your temple and your hand went to his face. Your soft eyes bore into his and Frankie knew in that very moment he was going to hurt you; it was inevitable. You’d gotten under his skin, and he had to get you out because you were too good.  

Before your fingers could commit each prickle of his stubble to memory, he grabbed your hand roughly and pinned it above your head, then grabbed the other. He shifted the angle of his hips, and his eyes went dark – cold and hard – like a switch had been flipped, like he saw you as nothing but a hole to fuck and take as his. He snapped his hips sharply, knocking the wind out of you. It was harsh and felt less like the lovemaking he had been giving you and more like he was getting what he wanted out of this.  

It was almost too much, but the feeling of his cock bruising you inside, his heavy sweating body smashing into you on the outside, and his intimately intense stare made that hot coil spring free, and you came crying out his name.  

“Give it to me... good... fuckin’... girl... that’s it... yeah... give it to me... jesus... so fuckin’ wet... oh fuck... baby girl... fuck... gonna come in you... you’re mine... mine... fuckin’ mine... mine... mine, mine, mine!” 

You felt his pace falter then slow as he pushed deep into you. He groaned loudly and you felt him throb as he unloaded into you. He stilled, breathing hard, and, despite your best efforts, avoided eye contact.  

“Frankie?”, you murmured, unsure of what had happened or if you had done something wrong. Your stomach twisted as dread began to fill your senses. Your hand shakily found his cheek, and, thankfully, he leaned into your touch. 

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand, then finally looked you in the eye. His own were back to his brown softness again, and relief washed over you as you felt your heart beat in your throat. You smiled softly at him, and he returned one in kind, but it felt hollow.  

You pushed those feelings aside while you tried to bask in the afterglow. 

***** 

Benny screamed out, dropping to his knees in the parking lot outside the Frontiersmen’s building. They’d searched everywhere and all they found was Will’s smashed cell phone, tire treads, and bloody drag marks that started in the alley with a deep scarlet pool of blood. The security cameras only showed an unmarked van pull into the lot then out of it. Beyond this, they had nothing else. 

“Ben... dude... we’ll find him.” 

Pope squatted beside him and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He felt the younger man’s shoulders shake as small, quiet sobs wracked his body. 

“Where is he?? Who did this???”, Benny screamed out, agony tearing at his throat.  

“We gotta... we gott tell Fish... get Fish.” 

***** 

You opened your eyes and saw that Frankie had his back to you, facing the wall, and you felt cold. Despite him being right beside you, and not having a wall between you, he felt farther away than ever, and that hollowness, that dread that you’d managed to suppress was washing over you in waves. Just as you reached out to touch his wide, freckled back, you heard an anguished scream from outside.  

Frankie shot up right, and in his haste to get out of bed, shoved you out of his way harshly and quickly started putting his pants on. 

“Get dressed.”, he snapped, not looking at you. 

You sat frozen on the bed, the blanket pulled up to your chin, not sure what to make of his dismissive and cold attitude in combination with the activity outside. When he noticed your lack of movement, he snapped his fingers at you. 

“Hey! I told you to get dressed! Fuckin’ listen!” 

You jumped at his aggressive tone and made quick work getting your clothing back on. As you pulled your sweatshirt over your head, he motioned to the door.  

“Go to your room. If I need you, I’ll get you.” 

Cold. His voice, his glare, his words, his stance... he was cold to you. And it stung. You nodded and left his room, keeping your head low so that he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. 

You closed your door, noting that the latch for the knob was no longer working. Sliding down the back of the door, you sobbed into your knees. 

Frankie left his room and as he lingered outside of yours, he heard you; your quiet hitched breaths and soft whimpers punctured him, and it hurt more than he thought he could. But he couldn’t let his guard down again; he couldn’t be gentle or soft or anything else you would need. He couldn’t give you what he refused to acknowledge but he knew was true – himself to you completely. He couldn’t love you. But his warped thinking and broken psyche told him he didn’t need to offer any explanation. He was Frankie ‘Big Fish’ Morales, head of the Frontiersmen, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone, including you. Frankie made up his mind and convinced himself you knew this was what it had to be, and you were going to be fine with it. He pulled himself away from your door, wiping his eyes quickly as he exited the hallway into the common room. 

***** 

Loud noises and yelling interrupted your crying, and you pressed your ear to the door while wiping your eyes. You could hear Benny, shrieking and panicking, as well as muffled yelling from both Frankie and Pope. You could only make out the odd word like ‘Will’ and ‘Gone’ from Benny. 

Challenging your own fears of Frankie’s retribution, you left your room and pushed open the door, and saw Pope holding Benny back as he screamed at Fish. 

“YOU FUCKER! YOU FUCKIN’ TRAITOR! YOU GO OUT AND YOU FIND HIM!” 

“Ben - if he’s gone, he’s gone. Make your fuckin’ peace!” 

“YOU STUPID FAT FUCK! I FUCKIN’ HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!!” 

Pope saw you first, turning his head causing Frankie to look and he scowled at you. 

“I fuckin’ told you to stay in your fuckin’ room!”, he boomed, pointing towards the doorway you’d come through.  

You clenched your fists and stood your ground, but Benny ripping himself from Pope’s grip shifting his focus once again. 

“Honey, tell him! Tell Fish he has to find Will! Please! Make him!”, Benny pleaded, grabbing your arms.  

His blue irises seemed to shine brighter in contrast with the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his cheeks were red and tearstained. You were so confused but your heart broke for him none the less. 

Before you could answer, Frankie grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and ripped him away from you.  

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her! She’s not yours to fuckin’ even look at!”, Frankie bellowed as Benny fell back onto the floor. Benny watched in horror as Frankie snapped his fingers at you and aggressively motioned for you to stand next to him. But what really twisted the knife was watching you obediently take your place at his side and look up at him. He could never know the terror and heartache you felt, knowingly being used to show everyone that you were nothing more than a thing Frankie owned and controlled. You felt shame as Frankie’s big hand gripped your shoulder, ferociously pulling you against him.  

“You fuckin’ slut! You’re nothin’ but another one of his fuckin’ whores!” 

“Benny... Benny, stop! You don’t underst - “ 

You looked at Benny, shaking your head. You felt Frankie’s grip on you tighten painfully and looking up at him, you saw his jaw clenched tight. Benny stood up, baring his teeth at you like a rabid dog. Turning your gaze back to him, his eyes burned into yours as he stepped closer to you.  

“You think you’re he’s special ‘baby girl’? You think you're the first? You’re just the latest in a fuckin’ convoy of stupid bitches who fell for his bullshit! Do you know what he did to the last one? She fucked Pope!” 

Frankie’s grip on your shoulder loosened up, but you could feel his breathing pick up. 

“Pope is still here! Do you know where she is? Do you know what he does to people?” 

“Benny...”, Frankie warned in a low growl. 

Benny’s face contorted in grief and rage, yelling, “No! No, Fish! You can’t do this to her! Did you tell her about her brother?! Or were you gonna wait until after you fucked her??” 

You looked at Frankie, but his eyes were trained on Benny. You looked back at Benny, but Pope’s disconcerting grin as he watched the two men caught your attention. You watched as he brought his phone up, sent a text, then winked at you. 

“Does she know what happens to people you don’t need anymore?” 

“BENNY! SHUT YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH!”, Frankie snarled, pointing at Benny. 

It was like watching two bull dogs circle each other, waiting for the other to make a move. 

A four or five other men came into the room, seemingly at Pope’s message, all of whom you recognized from your time in the compound; they stood with Pope, observing the scene before them, not daring to get involved. You looked back at Benny and Frankie, and let out a sob. 

“What... what happened to Steven?” 

Your small, timid, tear-cracked voice paused the tension, and while Benny looked at you, Frankie continued to stare down at Benny. 

“He’s dead.”, Benny spat out at you. “And it won’t be long before you join him because - “, Benny pointed at Frankie, “he’s a fuckin’ monster!” 

It hit you like a kick in the chest. Yes, he was a drug addict. Yes, he made your family go broke. Yes, he was a selfish asshole. Yes, he pawned you for his next fix. But he was your brother, and he was dead. The weight of Benny’s words hung heavy around your neck, feeling like you were being pulled to the floor. Sorrow, despair, grief and fear pulled at you, tearing into your chest, and you felt like you couldn’t take a breath deep enough to stay afloat. 

You were so lost in your own pain you didn’t realize Frankie was lunging at Benny, knocking him to the ground again. What brought you back were the sickening sounds of flesh being pulverized by fists and Benny screaming. 

Frankie’s large body was straddling Benny’s, and he landed blow after blow, yelling and berating him.  

"THINK YOU’RE SO FUCKIN’ TOUGH? YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ DOG. S’ONLY REASON I KEEP YOU AROUND!” 

Benny screamed out in pain as Frankie’s fist made contact with his cheek and a sickening crack sounded out. 

“BREAK THAT PRETTY LITTLE FACE!” 

Pope nodded and the men standing around him moved towards Frankie, attempting to pull him off Benny. 

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!” 

He ripped his arms away from the men and tried to land another blow on Benny, but he was held back again by three men, while the other two got Benny up and carried him out of the room. You saw Benny’s bloody face, almost unrecognizable and you saw Frankie’s hands stained and dripping crimson. 

Pope smirked at your horrified expression as he walked in front of Frankie, facing him. Frankie struggled against the men’s hold as much as they did holding him back. He was stil breathing hard in his blind rage. 

“You still got a mean temper, buddy. Even worse now that you’re Big  Fish, huh? I almost forgot how brutal you can be. But Fish… you scared your girl.”, he said quietly with a small grin, but loud enough for you to hear. “Calm down and I’m sure she’ll still suck your dick.” 

Frankie turned and looked at you, and you trembled. His whole face softened as he watched you step back and run back through the door to the bedrooms.  

“No! No Honey!”, he yelled out, throwing the men off him and running after you. 

You ran into your room and propped the chair under the doorknob. Frankie banged on the door.  

“No, baby, please! I’m sorry!” 

He pushed the door open, making the shitty carpet crease under the chair’s legs, and you saw his whole front was speckled in Benny’s blood. You couldn’t breathe; your whole body tensed hard enough that you felt like you were suffocating. 

He reached out, gently trying to coax you to him. Your eyes trained on his blood-stained hands, your mind racing with the violence they were proven to be capable of. You jumped back from him, hitting the wall behind you. 

“No! NO!”, you shrieked, panicking with your back against the wall while he cautiously moved towards you.  

Frankie felt his heart sink. “No… no no no no no! No, It’s me, baby girl… it’s your Frankie… I’m yours! I’m not going to hurt you… please baby!” 

Letting out a shaky whine as he approached you, Frankie tried to offer you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes; they were anything but happy. The lingering threads of fury mixed with grief and panic painted them deep mahogany, and there wasn’t an ounce of that colour you could trust. But you had to know the truth. 

“Did you know? D-did you know Steven was… was d-dead??” 

He paused and silently pleaded with you to skip this whole thing and let him take you to bed, to comfort and hold you, and to make you forget – if even for a minute – what a horrible person he was. And let him forget, too. 

“Honey… I… baby, lemme make you feel good… you know I can…” 

But your face didn’t change. It didn’t crack or twinge or show any signs that he was winning, Frankie sighed. “I knew… but you were so upset… I didn’t want to hurt you more…I thought I-” 

He stopped himself when he saw your body tense and your eyes narrow. You saw red. Yes, you were scared, but your anger took over. 

“You piece of shit!”, you screamed as you shoved him back. “You don’t give a shit about hurting me! You fucked me and then made me feel like I was nothing to you! You’re a monster! I don’t want you!” 

“You don’t mean that, baby… I know you don’t… I know you’re scared!”, he pleaded, trying to pull you to him. “I’m sorry! Please… lemma make it better, baby!” 

You slapped your hands on his body, crying, trying anything to get him away from you. He grabbed your wrists, and the smell of blood was overwhelming. You let out a scream, and Frankie grabbed you, forcing you into his hold. 

“Come on… it’s me… don’t fight me, baby girl… please… it’s me, your Frankie…” 

You thrashed against him, struggling to escape his grasp. Frankie was desperate to calm you, but his patience was running out. You kicked out one of your legs, and your heel came into contact with his kneecap. He let you go, and you gasped into your hands. 

“Mother fucker!”, he yelled, letting you go and bending over to hold his knee. 

“Frankie! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t- “ 

“You fuckin’ little BITCH!”, he spat at you, eyes snapping up to your face.  

Your blood ran cold as Frankie stood to his full height and towered over you. You were convinced his next action would be the last you would ever witness. 

“I gave you a fuckin’ chance! You wanna play stupid fuckin’ games? Huh?” Frankie got his face uncomfortably close to yours and once again, you could smell the sick metallic scent of blood on him as his hand gripped your neck. “Listen to me carefully. I own you. I own your life. And do you know what that makes you? A fuckin’ dead junkie’s whore sister.” 

“Frankie… I’m sorry – “ 

“Shut you fuckin’ mouth when I’m talking.” 

The low register of his tone reverberated in your body, and he stood back, releasing your neck. He needed to hurt you like you hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit you, not now. Not with that look on your face and your chin quivering. But he needed to hurt you like your rejection hurt him. His eyes caught the Kindle sitting on your bedside table, and he felt like he was winning again. He looked back at you.  

“Whores don’t read.”, he snarled, then snatched up the Kindle. 

“Frankie, no! No!”, you shrieked again, reaching up for your only escape. 

He held the Kindle out of your reach and gripped it in both hands, bending it until you heard plastic and metal snap and break. Frankie watched as you screamed out with your eyes fixed on the destruction of your only respite, your only comfort.  

What he didn’t anticipate was the immense guilt that crashed over him as you looked him in the eye with absolute horror on your face. He also wasn’t expecting you to turn and run out of the room, bolting as fast as you could to get away from him. 

You had no idea where you were going, but you let your feet take you through the common room, through the hallway… You were coming up to Frankie’s office when Pope walked out from around the corner and grabbed you, holding your back flush to his front. 

You went to scream, but Pope covered your mouth with a chemical smelling cloth as he cooed softly in your ear, and everything began to fade around you. 

“Don’t worry, baby girl…  I got you.” 

***** 

The sounds that surrounded him fogged his brain. When he opened his heavy eyelids, he saw nothing but dark and light faded shapes, his eyes wouldn’t focus and the ache that throbbed behind them in his skull was only exceeded by the sharp pain in his abdomen with each breath he took.  

Where the hell was he? He tried thinking back to what he could remember, to try and get his bearings, but the last thing he could see was Santi walking away after...  

No...  

No Santi... he didn’t... 

“Well, Mr. Miller...”, a deep, unfamiliar voice boomed, breaking him from his waking nightmare. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” 

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TAGLIST: @theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @nerdieforpedro  @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @vabeachazn @clawdee @iamasaddie @tightjeansjavi @rubyfruitjungle

[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: VI

Chapter Six: Bangarang

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 5,022

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, v-fingering, oral (f receiving), Frankie is a cunning linguist, bowling etiquette

Author's Notes:

who knew bowling could be sexy... also, shout out to @maryrhodalouandted for installing #LemmeSeeFrankie'sTiddies in my brain. And thank you to @thehalflifeofloveisforever for checking my grammar - you rock!

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! 👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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Your conversation with Will sat heavy in your mind as you walked back to the barracks. In the hallway leading up to it, you heard footsteps approach you from behind and before you could react, Pope sided up next to you, bumping his shoulder into yours.

“Hey Honey...”, he purred with a wry grin. “Where you off to?”

You looked away from him and sucked in an irritated breath. “I’m looking for Mr. Morales.”

“Mr. Morales, huh?”, he chuckled. “Last I saw, he was stuffin’ his face with those cookies you made for Benny.... real sweet of you to do that for him though.”

He winked at you and opened the door to the lounge, and low and behold, there was Frankie sitting on the couch, munching away at what looked like the last of the cookies.

“Fish - found your girl wanderin’ around unescorted.”, Pope told him in a firm voice.

Frankie looked at Pope then back at you, his eyebrow raised.

“Really...”, he shook his head slightly and wiped the crumbs from his face. “What were you doing, baby girl?”

Before you could answer, Pope spoke out, stepping in front of you. “Probably looking for Benny to tell him she made his favourite cookies...”

Pope turned and gave you a grin that made your skin crawl. You looked from him to Frankie as he stood up and motioned you to move closer to him. You stepped forward, feeling like a reprimanded dog as he looked down at you.

“That true? You make those cookies for Benny?”, he asked in a low voice. You weren't fooled by his tone, knowing how quickly he could turn.

“I made them for everyone... not just for him.”, your voice quiet and pleading, and you knew you couldn’t lie. “But I did make this kind because I knew they were his favourite... I just... I didn’t want him to be made at me anymore. I’m sorry.”

Pope scoffed a laugh, and you looked down, but Frankie’s eyes didn’t leave you. He sighed and nodded, his hand coming out and gently cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking across your chin, then he squeezed your face, pressing the flesh inside your mouth against your teeth, and forced you to look up at him.

“Benny’s favourite, huh?”, he snarled through gritted teeth. “Benny’s fuckin’ pissed that it was my dick you choked on and not his, so smarten up!”

He roughly shoved you back, nearly knocking you off your feet. As you steadied yourself, you gently rubbed where his fingers had dug into your cheeks and your eyes were wide.

His thick finger pointed down at you aggressively as he stepped closer. “Don’t forget your place, baby girl... you cook for me. You bake for me. You’re here for me. You understand?”, he barked angrily.

You nodded, and he stepped closer to you, and you backed up, your palms hitting the wall behind you before his protruding stomach pushed your body against the wall. Feeling the weight of him pressed against you made your mouth dry and your core throb.

“I need to hear you say it, Honey…”, he growled lowly. “Yes, Mr. Morales.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Morales.”, you croaked. How in the hell was this turning you on? Your skin felt like it was on fire under his stern gaze.

“New ground rules…”, he held up his fist up to your face, and lifted a finger for each point he made. “You don’t leave the barracks without an escort. You’re in your room or in the kitchen. No rec room, no office without an escort.”, he growled again, leaning forward, keeping intense eye contact. “And another thing: you’re not allowed to be alone with Benny. You don’t go to him for anything. You come to me. If I’m not around, you talk to Will or Pope… I find out you go to Benny, you’re gonna be is some fuckin’ deep hot water. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Morales.”, your voice was quiet and felt like it was needing to be forced past your lips.

“Repeat it. I wanna make sure you fuckin’ understand.”

“I’m here for you. I don’t leave the barracks without an escort. Bedroom or kitchen. And… I won’t… I won’t talk to Benny…”

You voice tapered to a whisper at the end, fighting past the lump that formed in your throat, and any arousal you felt seemed to dull and snuff out. It hurt to vocalize your agreement to no longer freely interact with Benny. He was the only one here who seemed to genuinely care about you. Everyone else wanted something from you - you were just a thing they could use and take from.

Frankie watched you as you spoke and saw the hurt wash over your face and settle in your eyes as you continued to not break eye contact. Your eyes were so wide he could see his reflection in them, and he hated what he saw. But Pope was there, watching the whole thing and he knew if he didn’t put you in your place in front of him, Pope woukd take it as a sign of weakness on Frankie’s part and swoop in. He had to make sure you understood who was boss just as much as Pope did. He knew he was hurting you by letting his ego and emotions get the better of him, but his pride won out.

He stepped back looking away and said in a less intense voice, “Go to your room. I’ll come get you later.”

You kept your head down as you moved quickly to the door to the bedroom wing. After slipping through the door and closing it behind you, your eyes watered and the tears began to fall. In a cruel twist of fate, Benny opened his door as soon as you entered the corridor, and he looked up. The cold, harsh stare he gave you initially melted in one of care and concern, and he stepped towards you. Before he could say anything or get close, you pushed past him. But he was quicker and grabbed your arm.

“Don’t touch me!”, you yelled, pulling yourself away from him and shaking your head.

Benny’s mouth hung open and his arms were held up as he stepped back from you. The door ripped open, and Frankie stalked in, his eyes finding you with your lip quivering and tears on your face and Benny looking stunned.

He sucked in a breath and saw Pope emerge beside him from is peripherals, and lifted his hand, pointed at you and hollered, “I told you to go to your fuckin’ room!”

You quickly got out of the corridor and into your room, closing the door behind you, and you threw yourself on the bed. You heard Frankie yelling at Benny to get into the office, heavy footsteps and slamming doors – then silence.

You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling, reviewing and repeating what led to this point, and the more you did, the angrier you got at Benny. Who the fuck did he think he was? He wasn’t trapped here. He didn’t have to play a role carved out for him to survive. He wasn’t picked to be the boss’s thing. Fuck him. Fuck him and his sad, sympathetic face that only came out when he saw you crying. He didn’t deserve your tears, your care, your cookies, your friendship.

He didn’t fucking deserve you. Let Benny seethe.

*****

You’d cleaned yourself up and changed into a long sleeve short dress and continued reading on your bed as you waited.

It was dark out when there was a knock at your door. Before you could answer, Frankie opened the door and walked in. He gave you a quick glance then sat on your desk chair across from you. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he looked you over. You could feel his eyes burning as they grazed over your exposed skin, and he nodded in approval at your attire.

“Lookin’ nice for me, Honey...”, he said softly, his gaze stalling on your chest before coming to meet yours. “I promised you a surprise tonight, and I’m gonna make good on that. We’re gonna go out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morales.”, you responded quietly.

You sat in your room, watching each other for a moment, then Frankie breathed out and stood up.

“Cookies were good... you’ll make’em again? For me?”, he eyed you as he spoke, offering you his hand.

This was as good of an apology or peace offering as you assumed you would ever get from Frankie, and he must have known you would never be able to resist his big brown eyes, wide and pleading.

You took his hand and gave him a small smile. “Anything you need, Mr. Morales.”

*****

Bangarang Lanes was one of the many different businesses the Frontiersmen used to launder their money, but it was the only one that Frankie really loved. He’d bowled almost his whole life, starting with his grandfather, and when the bowling alley came up for sale, he all but begged Tom to buy it, promising him that he would manage it and make it work. It was a labor of love, and he worked hard to get it off the ground, making it one of the more profitable businesses under their belts. He spent about three nights a week there, making it his hangout, and sometimes the other guys would join him, but mostly, he would bowl with the regulars and hangout behind the canteen counter, snagging random orders of chili fries and hot dogs. He loved that place and he decided that since it was one of his regular nights to be there, he’d take you with him.

You, on the other hand, were not well versed in bowling. The odd birthday party at an alley in your childhood didn’t give you the skills or knowledge of the etiquette this place required.

As the blacked-out, chauffeured vehicle pulled up outside of the bowling alley, you looked at the gaudy neon sign in lights and raised your eyebrows. This was not at all what you were expecting Frankie to take you, and it took everything in your power to not turn, look him square in the eyes and ask, ‘Really?’.

Even though you avoided making that mistake, you made an apparently very crucial one upon entering the building – your shoes. You walked right in and off the carpet and down to the heavily waxed wood flooring. Frankie reached for your arm and yanked you back.

“Jesus Christ... shoes!”, he snapped, pulling you towards a counter staffed by a sweaty, gangly-looking teenage boy with a name tag that read “Dan”.

Frankie plunked you on a stool in front of the counter, then walked around behind it into the room behind to find you shoes. Dan just nodded as Frankie walked by then looked at you and gave you a disconcerting grin. You gave him a half-hearted one in return and looked away.

“Try these.”, Frankie said with grin, tossing you a pair of god-awful brown and red monstrosities with neon green laces.

Your eyes widened looking down at the shoes in your hands. You put them on, disliking the look they gave your feet, but Frankie was watching you closely, so you forced smiled back at him. He stood close to you, hooking his index finger under your chin.

“Good girl. I’ll be at lane 6. You go order me some food and beer. Tell’em you want two of the owner’s special. If they try to charge you, you tell them who brought you here, okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, Mr. Morales.”, and walked towards the canteen counter. You knew Frankie was watching your ass and hips sway as you moved away from him, but the men at the other lanes also had their eyes on you. While all of them looked a little shocked at you being there, most of them ogled you as you walked by. You kept your head forward, not returning the looks, knowing that if he caught you...

Behind the counter at the register was a younger woman in a short bowling shirt-turned-mini dress. She was picking at her nails. She looked up as you approached the counter and gave you a once over and rolled her eyes.

“Whatd’ya want?”, she asked not even trying to sound like she wanted to be here.

“Two of the owner’s special.”, you stated, trying to match her unimpressed tone.

She cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked.

“Can’t give you that... you’re not the owner.”, she sneered.

“I’m here with Mr. Morales. He asked me to order that for him. He’s at lane 6.”, you stated a little more forcefully. “So...?”

She scoffed and nodded, writing down the order. Without looking up, she dismissed you in a curt voice.

“Your order will be brought to you.”

You tapped the counter and nodded, then walked back towards lane 6, making sure you made no eye contact with any of the men. As you approached where Frankie was, you could see he had one of the girls in the short mini-dress versions of bowling shirts sitting on his thigh. He was smiling at her as he spoke and the hand that wasn’t planted on her waist, firmly holding her against him, was gripping her thigh and moving slowly up her leg. She giggled and played with some of the curls at the nape of his neck. You swallowed hard and felt a pang in your chest but tried to push it down. He felt nothing for you beyond what he probably felt for a flesh light, just a hole with no person behind it that he could discard at any time, and you just needed to make your peace with it.

Frankie saw you coming, and he saw the brief flash of hurt and disappointment on your face, but he ignored the urge to shove Molly – at least that’s what he thought her name was – off his lap and beckon you to take her place. He let his need to feel like the king of this dank linoleum castle take charge and continued his intimate conversation with whatever-her-name-is with a grin plastered on his face.

He watched as you sat at the opposite end of the bench seating, averting your gaze, and waited for his next instructions. His attention went back to the girl on his lap and her non-sensical story about a hamster. He smiled and nodded along. His eyes slowly shifted back to you and could see you weren’t smiling as you hugged yourself as you sat forward; you looked uncomfortable, like you wanted to disappear. Sure, he felt like a big man, sitting back with this waif of a girl on his lap, but the nagging feeling, chewing away the back of his mind and making his teeth itch, kept coming back every time he looked at you.

“Okay, Molly, I gotta -”

“It’s Tiffany.”, she corrected him with an awkward smile.

“Sure thing, sweetheart... I gotta get to it. My bowling partner is here, and I don’t wanna keep her waiting...”, he crooned to her, patting her thigh and releasing her.

She turned and looked at you, scowling. You returned the look for a moment then looked away again rolling your eyes.

Tiffany scoffed, looking back at Frankie, still seated on his thigh. “Her? That’syour partner?”

“Yeah, that is. You got a problem with that?”, he frowned, his face turning dark as a thunder cloud. He moved to stand up and Tiffany stumbled to her feet and backed up.

She shook her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “I thought maybe... we could go to your office and have some fun...”

He chuckled lowly and frowned at her, growling. “I don’t fuck scraps. Get lost.”

She stomped away, throwing daggers at you before disappearing behind the canteen counter. Frankie watched her leave and then he looked at you.

“Tell me what you know about bowling.”

His voice was commanding, giving you no option but to answer him.

“Um... you don’t put the ball in the... the... ditches?” You looked at him with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah... you keep the ball out of the gutter... what else, baby girl?”, he said, as he opened his bag and pulled out his custom bowling ball.

“You stay behind the line when you roll the ball... and when you get all the pins down, it’s called a strike?”

“Not bad, Honey...’

One of the workers stopped by with two jugs of beer, a basket of nachos, a basket of chili fries, and two hot dogs.

Frankie sat down beside you and grabbed a nacho and ate it, wiping his fingers on his jeans, then stood up, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s see what you can do, baby girl.”

*****

Over an hour into your game and down a plate of nachos and both beers, Frankie had gotten a strike or a split on each one of his turns, while you’d been lucky if you’d hit any of the pins. He would nod and mark down with a grin each time you ended up in the gutter, trying not to show you how amused he was with you. But he could tell you were getting frustrated, and he finally decided to help.

“Okay... come here, baby.”, he smiled, the beer softening his edges, and he beckoned you with a head nod. He took your hand and stood you in position, facing the lane. He placed his hands on your shoulders and rubbed gently.

“Relax, Honey...”, he soothed in your ear with a grin. “Now take the ball... fingers in... just do the motions with me... that’s right. It's all in the wrist, Honey.”

His body enveloped yours as he moved you into a lowered position and made your arm follow his motion to practice your swing. You could smell the beer on his breath, along with the nachos, but you could also smell the cologne and body wash on his skin, and the smell that was just him. You felt an ache that you’d become accustomed to when you had his attention, but the beer intensified it to an almost intoxicating level. You inadvertently nudged the side of your head into his and took a deep breath, and Frankie’s breathing pitched for a moment before he smiled.

“You take down any of those pins on this shot, baby girl...”, he purred into your ear. “...and I’ll give you a prize.”

You smiled, feeling your core quake with his low timbered voice reverberating in your ear. He let you go and sat back at the table and ate your hot dog, given he'd already eaten his.

You rolled the ball, just as he’d instructed, and surprisingly, it didn’t roll into the gutter. In fact, it rolled in a perfect curve, landing right at the centre of the pins, taking them all but one down. The final pin waivered and finally tipped over and you shrieked, jumping up and down.

Frankie hooted from his seat, hands clapping above his head, laughing.

“Holy shit! Good girl!”, he roared with a huge smile, putting his pencil to the score card, making note of your success.

You walked up to him, emboldened with the beer and the strike, standing on the other side of the score table.

“I think I get a prize.”, you coquettishly with a sweet smile.

He sat back with a grin, hands folded over his belly. “You sure do, baby girl... Because you got a strike, you get to name your prize. Anything you want. You can think on it while we - “

“I know what I want.”, you interjected, moving around the table. He turned to face you and you stood between his legs.

His voice was lower, quieter as he watched you look him over with hooded eyes. “What’s that, Honey?”

“I want a kiss.”

His eyebrows raised and he tilted his head, speaking in that beautiful, low timber tone that made your knees weak. “That’s what you want?”

You nodded and responded in a quiet, breathy voice, “Yeah... yeah, it is.”

He rose from his seat and stood over you. His large hand came up and cupped your jaw, and his big, brown eyes begged you to make sure this is what you really wanted from him. He was a man that could make anything happen for you. He assumed you’d ask to go home or for money – anything! But you asked for a kiss from him. His head felt light, and he was desperately trying to quell the kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t want to admit that from the moment he saw you sitting in his office the first day you arrived, he was smitten. He needed to make sure this is really what you wanted, because he knew the moment he kissed you, he was a goner. And that terrified him.

You were done waiting and you took a chance; you placed a hand on his belly, closed your eyes, stood on your tip toes and pressed your lips gently to his. He sucked in a breath, then closed his eyes, pushing himself into the kiss, moving his hand to cup the back of your neck.

You pulled back first, needing to breathe, and you looked up at him. His eyes were blown out and he breathed heavily through his mouth. A flip switched in him, and he sat down in the chair and tugged you down to straddle one of his thighs, pulling you into a heated kiss. You gripped his shoulders and the back of his neck, needing to be closer to him as one of his hands locked onto your hip, pulling you closer to him and the other gripped your hair.

Your mouths molded to one another, and Frankie was the first to open his, slipping his tongue into yours. At that, it quickly escalated into a make out session neither you ever wanted to pull away from. His tongue explored your mouth, and he shifted the leg you were straddling, causing a change in friction and pressure to your throbbing cunt. You let out a moan into his mouth and pulled back, panting.

His mouth moved to your neck, nipped and sucking, while the hand on your hip pushed and pulled you on his thigh, forcing small, whiny pants out of your mouth. He kept up the movements and sat back, watching your face while your chin quivered, and your brows tented.

“Look so pretty right now... so fuckin’ pretty...”, he purred as he looked at you in awe with a grin. “Oh... fuck... you’re gonna make a mess of my jeans, baby...”

He stopped and grabbed your knee that sat between his thighs, opening you up, and his hand went between your legs, feeling how wet and warm you were through your underwear, and you whimpered, biting your lip to keep your voice down.

“Jesus... fuckin’ hell… so wet.”, he groaned, closing his eyes. “Need to take care of this right fuckin’ now.”

As soon as he spoke, he removed his hand, got you off his lap and stood up. He looked down at you with a grin then hoisted you over his shoulder. As he did so, he turned to the last few bowlers and staff in the room.

“EVERYONE OUT. NOW.”, he bellowed across the bowling alley. “I FUCKIN’ MEAN IT. OUT!”

The sight before them must have looked ridiculous. There was Big Fish, red faced, wet mark on his thigh, and a girl flung over his shoulder. But no one batted an eye.

As the room cleared out, Frankie aggressively swept him arm across the score table, knocking the food and what was left of the beer on the floor before plunking you down on it. 

“Need to taste this pussy so fuckin’ bad...”, he grunted as he pushed your skirt up around your hips and ripped your underwear off and dragged his thick fingers through your folds.

“Please... Mr. Morales... oh fuck!”, you cried, throwing your head back as your hands gripped the sides of the table, trying to hold yourself in place as he circled his finger around your clit. For how desperate he seemed a moment ago, he was acting under restraint now that he had the control again.

“Watch your mouth, baby girl... come on... you ask nicely...”

“I’m sorry... Mr. Morales, I’m sorry... need you to please... please - ”

“So fuckin’ pretty... pretty little pussy’s just beggin’ for me, ain’t she baby?... begging for Big Fish’s big fingers to fuck her... fuckin’ pretty noises you make...”, he circled his finger around your entrance as he growled lowly. This is how he wanted you – pliant, needy, desperate, and all for him and not a thought of any other man in your head. “Oh, baby girl... your pussy’s quiverin’... tightest pussy in Boston...”

“Please... please, Mr. Morales... please...”, you begged over and over, needing him to do something other than tease you.

“So pretty when you beg... pussy’s too tight for your own good...”, he growled again, pushing two of his thick, meaty fingers into your core.

Your eyes shot open, and you gasped, feeling the sting of him aggressively opening you up, but unlike last time, you didn’t try to get away.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, the lewd, wet noise of your cunt mixed with your pathetic mewling, echoed through the empty halls.

“That’s in... come on, baby... gonna let you come this time... let Big Fish take care of you, Honey... did so good tonight... you deserve it... come on my fingers... need to feel you come, baby... let that tight little pussy come on my fingers, Honey.”

You were close, but him pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing it gently sent you crying to your climax.

“Oh god... Mr.... Morales... right there... like that... yes... yesyesyesyeysyes!”

“There you go, baby girl... that’s it... good girl...”, he kept his pace, with his fingers and thumb, as you rode out your orgasm.

He pulled his fingers out and grabbed a chair, sitting down heavily on it.

“Makin’ me work hard, baby.”, he grinned, sitting back.

You took his seated position as your cue to once again get on your knees, and you sat up and started to scoot off the table.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, baby girl?”, Frankie cooed with a grin. He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your thighs and holding your hips.

“I... I was going to...”, you squeaked meekly, looking at him in anticipation of his next move.

“No, Honey. See all that food on the floor?”, he nodded his head to the discarded hotdogs and fries without breaking eye contact. “Can’t eat it... but I’m still hungry, baby...”

He gripped your hips harshly, leaned forward and pulled your core to his face; his mouth opened, and he licked up your cunt slowly and repeatedly. You whined, threw your head back, and gripped his greased-up hair, ruining the slicked back look he wore.

He pulled back and looked at you, massaging your hips and whistled at you like a dog he was trying to train.

“Hey... you keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.”, he ordered.

You obeyed and removed one hand from his hair to keep yourself propped up on and watched him,

He kept eye contact while he devoured you; humming, groaning, and grunting into your cunt. Your legs involuntarily tried to close my on his head, but his hands moved and pushed them open as he moved his mouth to your clit, sucking it between his lips then flicking and licking it with his tongue. 

He could tell by the way your thighs started to shake and the noises you were making that you were close, so he backed off, tonguing your hole and nudging your engorged clit with his beautiful nose. You gasped and panted; while grinding on his face, your grip on his hair getting painful, but he didn’t care. His cock was rock hard as you rode his face, mewling and crying out, trying so hard to keep eye contact like a good little bitch, and he could feel your walls fluttering around his tongue.

Your body was shaking, and your core felt like it was going to burst. He moved his lips back to your clit and pushed three fingers into your cunt, curling them perfectly each time he dove deep into you. Frankie loved watching you fall apart; your tented brows, your whimpers and mewls, your shaking thighs, and the way your eyes watched him. He felt like a king, your blown out eyes confirming his reign. He growled and sucked hard on your throbbing bud, his teeth nudging the hood up.

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and let out a high-pitched whine as your body tensed up, arching your back off the table. The dam burst and you came hard, squirting all over his face and hand.

You came back to reality, feeling his scruffy beard press soft kisses on your inner thigh and his hands soothing over your calves gently. You looked down at him as you breathed heavily and saw how wet he was. Your eyes shot open, and you sat up; you were mortified.

“Mr. M-Morales! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t - “

“Shhhh...”, he hushed you as he pulled you onto his lap, straddling his wide waist, pulling your body against his.

He kissed you. It was a slow, sensual kiss, so much softer than you thought he would ever give you. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and he hummed in contentment.  He pulled back and nudged your nose with his, ghosting his mouth over yours as he spoke softly with a smile and hooded eyes.

“Don’t ever apologize for that... fuckin’ hottest shit right there... makin’ you squirt with my mouth? Fuckin’ rights, baby girl.”

--------<3---------

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