#former firefighter!frankie

[wannab-urs]

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[dear-indies]

hey; I really hope you can help me out, cause I feel like I can't find the right fc that I would vibe with to use & fits with what I wanna do right now & it's driving me nuts.

I'm searching for a female fc; her age range would be 27-35, and should pass off as a former soccer player (in her childhood & youth). I'm still unsure what her occupation is going to be ; either follow in her father's legacy/footsteps & become a firefighter, or crave her on path in becoming - for example - a veterinarian, a 9-1-1 dispatcher or a teacher/professor. thank you in advance!

Aiysha Hart (1988) Saudi Arabian and English - has spoken up for Palestine!

Nathalie Emmanuel (1989) Saint Lucian, Dominican, English.

Monica Barbaro (1989) 1/4 Mexican.

Úrsula Corberó (1989)

Lisseth Chavez (1989) Salvadoran.

Lorenza Izzo (1989) Chilean.

DeWanda Wise (1989) African-American.

Katy O'Brian (1989) African-American and White - is queer.

Hannah John-Kamen (1989) Nigerian / White.

Taylour Paige (1990) African-American.

Rosaline Elbay (1990) Egyptian - has spoken up for Palestine!

Stefanie Martini (1990) - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Harshita Gaur (1990) Indian.

Adelaide Kane (1990) - is bisexual.

Tanaya Beatty (1991) Da’naxda’xw, Himalayan.

Melisa Aslı Pamuk (1991) Turkish - has spoken up for Palestine!

Sofia Black-D'Elia (1991) Ashkenazi Jewish / Italian.

Sarah Kameela Impey (1991) Indo-Guyanese / White - has spoken up for Palestine!

Seychelle Gabriel (1991) Mexican and European - has spoken up for Palestine and Sudan!

Cassandra Naud (1992)

Charlie Craggs (1992) - is a trans woman - has spoken up for Palestine!

Jodie Comer (1993)

Adèle Exarchopoulos (1993)

Luciane Buchanan (1993) Tongan and Scottish.

Maia Mitchell (1993) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Devery Jacobs (1993) Mohawk - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Naomi Scott (1993) Gujarati / White.

Olivia D’Lima (1993) Goan and English - has spoken up for Palestine!

Natasha Liu Bordizzo (1994) Chinese / White.

Frankie Adams (1994) Samoan.

Jasmin Savoy Brown (1994) African-American / White - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Liana Liberato (1995)

Jessica Darrow (1995) Cuban - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Lulu Antariksa (1995) Indonesian / White.

Rachel Sennott (1995)

Geraldine Viswanathan (1995) Tamil / White.

Emma Mackey (1996)

Josefine Frida Pettersen (1996) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Tati Gabrielle (1996) African-American / Korean.

Hanako Greensmith (1996) Japanese / White.

Myha'la (1996) Afro Jamaican / White - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Amber Midthunder (1997) Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux, Hudeshabina Nakoda Sioux, Sissiton-Wahpeton Oyate Dakota Sioux, Norwegian / Chinese, English.

Maya Hawke (1998)

Ella Hunt (1998) - is queer.

Hey! This was a broad ask but I think all these work for that type of character!

[wcnderfulthings]

Was that [ANGIE HARMON]? No, that was just [JANE RIZZOLI]. They are a [CANON CHARACTER] that was pulled out of [RIZZOLI & ISLES]. How weird is that? At this time, they are [THIRTY SIX] years old, and use [SHE/HER]. Hopefully they learn to love it here on Naporia!

What point of canon were they brought here from? Season 7, Episode 13; Jane is offered and later takes a new job as an instructor at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, and works her final case with the Boston PD. Her best friend, Maura, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts' Chief Medical Examiner, created a virtual memory book to remember all the good work they did together solving murders. Her former partner, Korsak, was also retiring and Maura planned to take a sabbatical to go to Paris. After solving the last case as a team, Jane has a teary-eyed goodbye and goes over to Maura's home. She proceeds to tell her that she was taking a month off to go with her to Paris. Maura got excited about having just a tad more time with her best friend. In my head, the two were hanging out in France when she suddenly woke up here.

How long has it been since they arrived? Jane arrived three months ago. (May 3rd, 2024)

Will they be working at any of the island’s establishments? She works as the Investigative Services Division Commander at the Naporia Police Station.

Anything else that you think is useful: After training at Boston PD Academy, Jane worked her way up from being a beat patrolman to a detective, then becoming the youngest officer ever to be promoted to the rank of detective in the BPD. She first worked as a detective in the vice unit, then later became the first female officer to work in the drug control unit, working undercover in the DCU. A few years later, Jane moved to the homicide unit. During her investigation of the serial killer, Charles Hoyt, then more popularly known as "The Surgeon", she had a lead that could lead them directly to Hoyt. She tried to get Korsak, then her partner, to go with her, but he refused, so she went alone. She just happened to stumble upon where he was holding one of his victims. While trying to rescue the woman before it was too late, she was taken by surprise from behind and almost became a victim herself. Hoyt stabbed her palms with scalpels and pinned her to the ground, leaving permanent scars on her hands. As Hoyt started making an incision on her face, Korsak stormed in and was able to intervene and save her life. Jane survived the brutal, near-death attack by Hoyt and had him put behind bars, although she was still constantly haunted by him for a while. Jane later asked to be reassigned to a new partner, ashamed that Korsak had now seen her so vulnerable. She works for eight more years in the BPD's Homicide Unit until she is offered and later takes a new job as an instructor at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. From an Italian American family, Jane, the eldest Rizzoli sibling, is brash, brilliant, and often prickly but also a confident and independent woman. She is the tomboy daughter of an overprotective mother who forced Jane to take 4 years of ballet when she was growing up. She is extremely competitive, especially with her little brother, Frankie, who is often caught in her shadow. Jane can tackle a perp like a linebacker. She rarely lets her guard down with anyone, except her best friend, Dr. Maura Isles. She is left-handed, a Catholic, doesn't understand why firefighters risk their lives running into burning buildings although she chases murderers for a living and isn't afraid of much but is afraid of witches.

[sadmmann]

Life lost in the club Pulse

Today and every day we remember 49 innocent victims lost 3 years ago in Orlando, June 12, 2016. part 1

Edward Sotomayor Jr, 34

Edward was a caring, energetic man known for wearing a silly top hat on cruises, Edward worked for a company that held gay cruises and often travelled to promote the company’s events.

Stanley Almodovar III, 23

Stanley worked as a technician in a pharmacy, he was described as “good, but impudent” and a person who is not indifferent to his own sexual identity. "He was so proud of who he was."

Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20

Luis described himself as a dancer on his Facebook account. Following the terrorist attack at the Bataclan theatre in Paris last year, he showed solidarity with the victims by adding a tricolour filter to his profile photo. A former teacher described him as a ‘ray of sunshine’. 

Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22

Guerrero worked as a telemarketer, and was in school at the University of Central Florida. He was attending Pulse with his boyfriend, Christopher Andrew “Drew” Leinonen, who also died in the attack. “Juan and Drew were soul mates, and they were great together,”

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36

After moving to Florida from Puerto Rico for the chance of a better life, Eric , a merchandise manager, was said to have ‘sacrificed himself a lot for his family’, the Orlando Sentinel reported. ‘Eric was always willing to help everybody. He loved his brother, and he was always being generous.’

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22

Peter worked for logistics company UPS in Orlando after graduating from Colonia High School. Originally from South Africa.

Luis S. Vielma, 22 

Luis worked on the Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios, according to author JK Rowling, who said she could not ‘stop crying’ after hearing the news. Friends told the Orlando Sentinel that Mr Vielma was a ‘true friend’, and he had hoped to become an emergency medical technician. One, Olga Glomba, described him as ‘a funny, sweet, nerdy guy without a mean side. He just wanted to make people smile.’

Kimberly Morris, 37

Morris, a bouncer at the nightclub, was a former basketball player at Post University in Connecticut. “She was tough and played hard on the basketball court but off the court she was all smiles.” “She always had a smile on her face,”

Franky Velazquez, 50

DeJesus was a professional dancer who had danced in Puerto Rico and had traveled the world. “Jimmy was lovable, outgoing,” his sister, Sarah Lopez, tells. “He was one of those guys that you wanted to be friends with, you know? One of those people who brightened a room when he walked in.

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35

Rosado was the father of a 5-year-old child and also a professional dancer, specializing in salsa. Close friend tells that he used to dance for Disney and Universal Studios. “He was a great, great father,” she says. “He was just the most fun, happiest guy you could ever know.”

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40

Jorge-Reyes had a passion for life, according to friend. Ortiz met Jorge-Reyes, who was originally from Puerto Rico, through her practice, and says, “He was so funny and so alive and savvy.” “He had an extreme talent for the arts and was very creative with makeup,” she shares.

Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33

Tomlinson was a lead singer in Frequency Band, a local cover band that performed top 40 songs, according to longtime friend Jai Saint. “He has a great voice, he is so popular around here. Honestly it’s hard not to enjoy his voice,” Saint tells of his best friend of 10 years. “He’s extremely positive, he’s all about life and living it to the fullest. He had amazing energy, which is hard to come by these days.” Tomlinson graduated from East Carolina University in 2003 with a Bachelor of Science degree in Communication with a minor in Business Administration.

Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30

Justice worked as an accountant and lived in downtown Orlando. He loved accessorizing with flashy jewelry and loved making others laugh. Justice’s mother Mina received texts from her son throughout the shooting as he hid in the bathroom. At one point he wrote, “He’s coming. I’m gonna die.”

Darryl Roman Burt II, 29

Burt was a member of the Jacksonville Jaycees, a young professional’s group in Florida. “He was personable, social and easy going,”. “Both socially and professionally he was always interested in making positive impact on people’s lives and in the community.” A hard worker, Burt had recently been recommended for a position on the Jaycee’s Board of Directors.

Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32

Drayton, had been through rough times, a friend tells, but was pulling herself together and was happy living in Orlando.

Anthony Luis Laureano Disla, 25

Disla was a talented dancer, who excelled in a variety of styles including salsa, mambo, tango or ballroom was in Orlando to pursue a career as both a dancer and choreographer. His mother, Olga M. Disla, tells: “He was lovely, kind and respectful of others all the time. He liked to help anyone who needed help.”

Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35

Perez, born in Puerto Rico, was obsessed with fitness and loved testing out new fragrances, Agudelo said. He met his longtime partner Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon at the store. Wilson-Leon was also a victim of the shooting. Friend Marisa tells, “Nicest guy you’d ever meet. Both of them, actually. They were magnetic. They’d walk into the room and everyone would turn to look, because they were just so handsome.”

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37

Wilson-Leon was the manager of a shoe store and longtime love of fellow victim Perez. “They faced the odds, Luis came from Puerto Rico and being gay isn’t totally accepted, obviously here, but it’s not totally accepted there as well,” his cousin Luis Wilson tells. “He is an inspiration. He grew up conflicted but found peace with himself and those around him and he finally had found acceptance and love. Finally found it. And now look.”

Amanda Alvear, 25

Alvear was attending school to be a nurse, and has recently been promoted to the lead pharmacy technician at the pharmacy where she worked, Shannon Marie Baxley, her sister-in-law, tells. “She loved the gay community, the LGBT community. She was straight herself but those were her people, those were her family. She was a magnetic person,” Baxley shares. “She was the loveliest girl, just the sweetest girl.”

Martin Benitez Torres, 33

Longtime friend of Torres, tells that he just had moved to Florida at the end of the last year to continue working for Hertz. He was also studying marketing at Sistema Universitario Ana G Mndez. “He was one of a kind,” she shares. “He was always a person that you could talk to. He was our confidant. He was always surrounded by all of us. We were all women where we used to work, so we used to laugh with him, we used to cry with him. He was a good friend.”

Jerald Arthur Wright, 31

Wright worked in the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World. Another person who worked with him added that he was “hard-working” and “loved his job.” “He was one of the first to say hi and make us smile and laugh,”

Cory James Connell, 21

Connell enjoyed playing football and basketball and had dreams of becoming a firefighter. While still in pursuit of that dream, Connell studied at Valencia Community College in Orlando and worked stocking shelves at the Publix in Orlando’s Edgewater neighborhood.

Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49

McCool, was battling leukemia when her life was cut short, her niece, Neila Rodriguez, tells. At Pulse with her son Isaiah, McCool was shot in the back and told him to “just run, go.” “She was a cool mom. She was really down-to-earth and open-minded.”

[laresearchette]

Wednesday, January 15, 2020 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: THE GOLDBERGS (CTV) 7:30pm NANCY DREW (W Network) 9:00pm (Party of Five airs at 10:00pm) S.W.A.T. (Global) 10:00pm THE MAGICIANS (Showcase) 10:00pm 68 WHISKEY (Paramount Canada) 10:00pm IN PURSUIT WITH JOHN WALSH (ID Canada) 10:00pm LISTING IMPOSSIBLE (CNBC Canada) 10:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT EXPEDITION WITH STEVE BACKSHALL (PBS Feed) THE CW DOG HONORS (CW Feed) GOOD TROUBLE (Premiering on January 22 on ABC Spark at 9:00pm) NEW TO AMAZON PRIME/CRAVE/NETFLIX CANADA/CBC GEM:

NETFLIX CANADA EYE FOR AN EYE (QUIEN A HIERRO MATA) GRACE AND FRANKIE (Season 6) KILLER INSIDE: THE MIND OF AARON HERNANDEZ

NCAA HOCKEY (TSN3) 7:00pm: Maine vs. Connecticut

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 7:30pm: Chicago at Habs

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN/TSN4/TSN5) 8:00pm: Raptors at Thunder

BURDEN OF TRUTH (CBC) 8:00pm: Reeling from the sudden apprehension of Kodie's children by Millwood Family Services, Joanna sets out to win back custody, but in order to win in court, she must conduct a thorough and potentially revealing investigation into her old friend's life.

HAUNTED HOSPITALS (T&E) 8:00pm: A teenage girl confronts a malicious entity in the basement of an asylum; a ghostly nurse comforts a man after a terrifying encounter; a psychiatric technician is cornered by a patient who is more animal than human.

ART OF CRAFT (Makeful) 8:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Paper: Celebrating four incredible crafts and craftsmen that use ordinary paper to produce extraordinary works of craft.

FORTUNATE SON (CBC) 9:00pm: The committee works to free the jailed peace protesters as Ralph and his new girlfriend, Destiny, take matters into their own hands.

HELP! MY HOUSE IS HAUNTED (T&E) 9:00pm: Friends of the homeowners have reported ghostly children, a ghostly monk lurking by the ornamental lake and the presence of the former lady of the house; the team looks into the Manor's illustrious past to find evidence of these uninvited guests.

CHECK IT (Out TV) 9:00pm: Gay and trans teens in Washington, D.C., form a gang to protect each other.

OUTBACK VET (Cottage Life) 9:00pm:  Dr. Rick's daughter Dr. Lu encounters a midnight emergency with french bulldog Rainbow, rushed in with a dangerous and possibly fatal snake bite.

DESTINATION FEAR (DTour) 10:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Dakota meets the team in Tennessee to investigate the dark corridors of Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary; Chelsea has a confrontation with an entity inside James Earl Ray's cell; Tanner is threatened; Dakota's fear experiment takes a turn.

PARANORMAL 911 (T&E) 10:00pm: Campus police officers find a male student whose head has been smashed into his steering wheel and a female cowering nearby; a firefighter arrives on the scene of a car crash, only to realize that the car passed him a few minutes earlier.

CBC MUSIC: THE MIX (CBC) 11:30pm

[theagencyrp]

SAMPLE APP -- ADMIN LISS

Below is a completed sample application for Admin Liss. Please note, your app does not need to look exactly like this but we hope it’ll clear up any questions you have about the application. 

  OOC:

Name: Liss

Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: EST

Age: Over 18

How did you find us?: It’s my rp!

IC:

What skeleton are you applying for?: Agent Franklin; Frankie for short

Character Real Name: Carmen Alan Davidson

First Choice FC: Janel Parrish

Second Choice FC: Erendira Ibarra

Character Gender and Pronouns: cis female, she/her

Character Age: 30

Please list at least two reasons why the Agency looked to recruit your character:

1) The Davidson name dates back to second generation of the Agency. Franklin’s father was in the agency until he retired a few years before Frankie was recruited.

2) Franklin received a lifesaving award her second year as a firefighter after saving two people. She was later that year awarded firefighter of the year which was reported in the news.

Character Backstory: 

Agent Franklin grew up the only child to Alan and Helen Davidson. Her middle name wasn’t always after her father, but around the time Franklin turned four years old and her parents realized her mother couldn’t have any more children. Her father won the argument to have it legally changed. Her mother always seemed to shake her head when her father told the story as the only time he ever won an argument against her mother.

Even before the name change, Frankie was her father’s little girl. As she grew up, she thought he was in the Army, overseas for most of her childhood. Her fondest memories were the days he returned home; they would spent all their time together, catching up with new memories. Franklin spent weekends camping, fishing, hunting, and just about anything outdoors. She grew up never being scared to get covered in dirt or climb the next obstacle with her father always there to catch her if she fell.

It was a shock to Franklin’s friends and family that she didn’t enlist when she graduated high school. Instead, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the firefighters she met at her senior year job fair. Franklin was already physically fit and her family supported her decision to apply to her local fire station. She passed through the academy with ease and studied on becoming a paramedic while she worked. Franklin was a full time employee as well as a full time student during her late teens, working her hardest to achieve her goals.

Frankie never finished school. At twenty-one, she was approached by the former Agent Adams, who has since retired, and her father with an interesting offer. Frankie was mad at her father for a total for twelve seconds for lying to her for most of her life before the excitement of becoming an agent took over. She accepted right away and knew the perfect excuse to tell her mother and friends.

It was only natural that Frankie copied her father’s cover. Claiming to want to see the world and save more of it outside of her little home town, no one was shocked to see her followe in her father’s footsteps. Frankie left for Agency training and no one was the wiser. She was incredibly upset her father couldn’t be her mentor, but bonded quickly with the old agent Adams.

Frankie almost didn’t make it into the field. Acting without thinking was second nature to her, and her firefighter instincts led her down the wrong path before she learned to correct them. Running back into burning buildings, despite the risk, transferred over to the agency. That training almost got her placed in tech after she failed the critical decision making final test. After a bit more training and a watchful eye from Adams, Frankie was promoted to a veteran agent after six years in the agency.

With her promotion came the bittersweet parting from her mentor. Although he never admitted it, Adams stayed at the Agency long enough to see her out on her own. He retired just two months after her official promotion, leaving behind his legacy and high expectations. Franklin really hit her stride as a veteran agent. When the position for Franklin opened up after the sudden death during a classified mission, Frankie was one of the top candidates. Through a competitive process, she emerged on top of one of the most qualified candidate pools in the history of the promotion process. 

Character Personality: [[At least one full paragraph, please.]]

Frankie has never been one to hold back. She is full throttle, all of the time, and will leave anyone in her dust if they can’t keep up. If anyone were to spontaneously break into song and dance for no reason or yell ‘challenge accepted’ at something that shouldn’t be considered a challenge, it is her. Franklin needs to have a challenge in her life. When Franklin doesn’t have something to do, she tends to fidget until she stirs up her own trouble.

Franklin is incredibly outgoing. She loves to be in the middle of a crowd as much as possible, and may as well be called the ‘unofficial bunker welcoming committee’. She’s outgoing and observant, and does a great job making new agents feel at home in their new home. Most people wouldn’t be able to guess that Franklin was an only child with how easy-going and willing to share she is.

Her loud personality and optimistic personality can be grating on some nerves and she has been known to get under peoples’ skin. Franklin is spontaneous and impulsive; this can be good or bad depending on the mission and her disposition for the day. Franklin’s original firefighter training is still at the core of her values, and she can act before she thinks.

OTHER:

Anything else:

Headcanons!

Franklin always carries a Rubik cube with them. She uses it to fidget with and to show off how fast they can solve it

Her MTBI type is ESFP.

If Frankie was going to be sorted at Hogwarts, she’d fall in the middle at Slytherdor.

Her favorite color is orange.

Always tries to get the agency Jeep whenever they have to drive out on a mission.

Has recently become a mentor to someone for the first time.

Is considering starting to teach some training classes but hasn’t yet.

Frankie has only been an founding father for 6 months, making her the newest founder.

Frankie likes having a roommate in the bunker. While she spent her whole life growing up as an old child with her own room she spent a lot of time with friends spending the night and looks like it as a forever slumber party. 

[thesportssoundoff]

“Main card a dime, prelims are fine”The UFC On FOX Preview

Joey

December 10th

Fights: 12

Debuts: 2 (Pietro Menga, Julian Marquez)

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 6 (Justin Scoggins OUT, Pietro Menga IN vs Tim Elliott/Antonio Rogerio Noguiera OUT, Jan Blachowicz IN vs Jared Cannonier/Sultian Aliev vs Nordine Taleb cancelled due to Aliev injury/Danny Roberts vs Sheldon Wescott cancelled due to Westcott injury; Roberts vs Taleb put together in its place, Vitor Miranda OUT, Darren Stewart IN vs Julian Marquez)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC):  10 (Robbie Lawler, Rafael Dos Anjos, Mike Perry, Glover Teixeira, Misha Cirkunov, Ricardo Lamas, Santiago Ponzinibbio,Jan Blachowicz, Tim Elliott, Erick Silva)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC:  3 (Jordan Mein, Oluwale Bamgbose, Darren Stewart)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC:  5 (Rafael Dos Anjos, Santiago Ponzinibbio, Ricardo Lamas, Mike Perry, Chad Laprise)

Stat Monitor for 2017:

Debuting Fighters (Current number: 44-38)- Pietro Menga, Julian Marquez

Short Notice Fighters (Current number: 24-36-1)- Pietro Menga, Darren Stewart, Jan Blachowicz, Josh Emmett

Second Fight (Current number: 32-39)- Galore Bofando

Cage Corrosion (18-15-1)- John Makdessi

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- #1 contender fights are basically suggestions. When I was studying to be a paralegal, they had an entire course (or what felt like it) on the term "reasonable expectations." #1 contender fights bend, twist and split the concept of a reasonable expectation. In boxing or kickboxing or MMA, the concept of the #1 contender is flexible since there's nothing binding to them. You can win an interim title and then never fight the champion OR you could win a #1 contender fight, become the mandatory challenger and then never get the fight. Or you could win the title fight and then move on with your life, we're talking about a reasonable expectation. Should the winner of this fight between RDA and Lawler have a reasonable expectation of a title show? Well.....

We can begin by setting the stage a bit. Who IS here and who ISN'T here as it pertains to the champion. Scratch our GSP and Nate Diaz, neither guy is getting this fight. Tyron Woodley is out for the foreseeable future with a shoulder injury. Before that point, Woodley bleeted about money fights and not thinking either fight did anything for him or so on so forth until death do us part. For one half of the equation, I can see the argument. Woodley beat Lawler and left no doubt----so hey! It might be fair to say "Look I beat Lawler and since then he's beaten two blown up 155ers (even if RDA is legit at 170 lbs), what else can I do?" It's not a knock to say that. It may be rude and unfair---but it's also kinda factual, am I right? Woodley doesn't GET anything from that fight. What's more, it could be genuinely argued that from a business standpoint, that fight is a hard sell unless Lawler KOs RDA in a fashion by which nobody expects.

For RDA though, it's a different situation. Dos Anjos is a fresh face at 170 lbs. He is a former champion at a different weight class. A win over Lawler establishes him as a genuine force at 170 lbs and RDA fights frequently (June to September to December) so it's not like Woodley would be in for a long wait. Dos Anjos would be beyond credible as a challenger and he'd be new to the picture. Also it's not RDA's fault that Woodley isn't a draw. One of the things that the UFC/MMA has stolen from its TRUE business model; the art of pro wrestling is that the heat is always on the B Side for not upping the numbers. When a Hogan feud didn't work or draw, the onus turned to whoever he was facing. When Mr. Perfect vs Hulk Hogan did poorly, they didn't blame Hogan (and why would they I suppose?) and it fell on Perfect. The Miz was punished for Rock/Cena vs Miz/R-Truth not doing big numbers. It's easiest to blame the #2 guy because why not? It's not RDA's problem that Woodley can't draw but if he wins, he's earned it. Why wouldn't he be the #1 contender? Woodley denying RDA would be foolish and incomprehensibly bad when he should be trying to get some positive publicity.

Then there are the three outsiders who could steal the title shot. Kamaru Usman is one, Colby Covington is another and Darren Till is the last. Usman PROBABLY is far off from a title fight for various reasons; some his fault and some not his fault. Darren Till would be an interesting story but one win over Cerrone probably isn't enough. Colby Covington, unfortunately, is the winner of this fights biggest threat. He has the big name win over Maia and he built an angle for himself, as tawdry as it may be. Covington's attitude attracts attention and while it's primarily the wrong kind, this is the fight business and not the "Do the right thing" business. Even so it feels like Usman vs Covington is in the works so why would Covington jump the line at this point? Wonderboy vs Woodley III needs to be a total non-starter.

So what, pray tell, is our reasonable expectation here as it pertains to a title fight for the winner? I'm not betting on it. Woodley is far, far, far away from being healthy and I can totally see him throwing a stink at whoever the winner is. As much as people might not wanna hear this, it's almost as likely that the UFC strikes while the iron is hot and rolls with Covington as it is that the winner of this fight gets a title shot. What's more, given that the UFC needs to fill up February soon-ish, why would they rush to conclusions anyways when you could probably get Lawler or RDA to fight again soon anyways?

2- Keep a VERY close eye on Lawler in rounds 2-5. Robbie's reputation in five round fights can be summed up as such; when it's going well, he's engaged for twenty five minutes with the occasional pauses in action. When he's just not firing, rounds 2, 3 and 4 are rounds where he seems incapable of turning up the jets and going.

Against Hendricks 1 and Rory-- He was always in the fight, laughing during exchanges and being a generally all around wild human being.

Against Condit, Hendricks 2 and Matt Brown-  He came out fast and firing early----and then slowed. Now he did score a big knockdown in the second round vs Condit so in that fight it was more about him just being mentally asleep for the middle portion of the fight. Now 5th round Lawler is a thing because he takes those rounds off BUT rallying vs a tremendously durable guy in RDA might be a tough ask.

3- I hope RDA understands that Lawler is hard to take down and even harder to keep down so his usual technical leg kicks into the clinch aren't going to work this time.

4- Dana White talked about Frankie Edgar as the #1 contender and he left the door open that Holloway COULD fight before Edgar is ready to fight again. That combined with Ricardo Lamas staying n the co-main spot despite a more attractive fight in Ponz-Perry, leads me to believe that there's a slight chance Lamas could sneak his way into a title fight with Holloway soon.

5- Does the fact that Ricardo Lamas' last three wins all lost their next fight make it harder to buy into him as a top 5 featherweight?*

So @theanticool corrected me and pointed out that Diego Sanchez beat Jim Miller (which I forgot about) and Oliveira beat Will Brooks. I’ll leave this here because I like laughing at my dumbness but will instead rephrase point five: Does the fact that Lamas’ top wins recently have all basically flamed out make it harder to make the argument that he’s a top 5 featherweight?

6- So much of what makes Mike Perry work is his aggressive approach backed by his one hitter quitter-esque power and sterling chin. Perry lives to create 50/50 exchanges where he believes his one will trump your two or three. He isn't entirely out of his element on the ground but it's clear what his gameplan is. His secret weapon are knees, be it in the clinch or out of the plum set up. Mike Perry is not the walking gimmick some people believe he is---but Santiago Ponzinibbio is one of those fighters who is always different in his approach going into each fight. Against Gunnar Nelson, he had a good idea how to attack Nelson even if it meant eating fire on the way in. Against guys Nordine Taleb and Zack Cummings, Ponz just outworked them with pressure, volume, versatility and power. Ponzinibbio can still be hurt by strikes and he isn't always the most intelligent survivor (the two times I remember him being most hurt, he just seemed to throw caution to the wind and fire back despite having no base of support on the feet) BUT he's one of those guys who doesn't need much to get going on offense. His footwork, movement and ability to turn the pressure on and off at a moment's notice makes him a serious threat for Perry who has struggled with those kinds of guys in the past. If this gets into a firefight in the pocket though, I think we'll ALL be winners.

7- So what do we make of Misha Cirkunov? Cirkunov is 4-1 in the UFC and he just turned 30 in a division devoid of youth. He is a prized commodity for sure and his last fight went by so quickly that it's hard to even know what went wrong. It seems everyone not named OSP falls victim to the Volkan Oezdemir dim mak. At the same time, Misha Cirkunov has one win over someone still in the UFC and he's so rigid and stiff on the feet that it's fair to wonder just how high is upside really is. He and Glover Teix is a great match up that'll test what Glover has left and whether Misha can beat a top 10 LHW. This division really needs Misha Cirkunov to be everything people think he can be.

8- Speaking of LHWs, Jared Cannonier gets a chance (again) to join the big boy lunch table when he draws Jan Blachowicz as the prelim fight headliner. Cannonier since dropping to 205 lbs has gone a tidy 2-1 with  the loss being a fight where Glover Teixeira simply had too much for him in the grappling department despite Cannonier occasionally landing hard shots on the feet. Cannonier was expected to get a big name in Antonio Rogerio Noguiera but instead draws a tougher test in Jan Blachowicz. Jan's coming off his first UFC win in about 9 years and 28 fights but he showcased a lot of the stuff that made him such a highly regarded LHW to begin with. It's worth pointing out that Blachowicz has only lost to ranked opposition (Gus, Manuwa and Cummins) so if Cannonier wants to take a step up, this is the right opponent to try it against.

9- The Dana White Tuesday Night Contender Series has delivered onto us some dandy fighters, would you not agree? Thus far, fighters who have competed on DWTCS in the UFC are 4-3 thus far BUT there are some caveats inside those numbers. Two of those fighters were short notice additions who were NOT offered contracts during the show (Mike Santiago and Azunna Anwanyu) and another one was Allen Crowder who was signed by virtue of just being big. On the other hand, Benito Lopez, Alex Perez, Karl Roberson and Sean O'Malley have all had exciting fights and wins in the organization. Julian Marquez will be the latest DWTCS guy to take to the cage and I'm....torn. I discovered Marquez while watching him fight in Combates Americas vs Matt Hammil. At the time a typo had me thinking he was older than he really was, like 10 years older. At just 27 years old, Marquez is already an interesting name and I think he can be something although he was very adamant that cutting to 185 lbs was really hard for him on the Contender Series so I can't imagine that being a cut he'll want to take more often. He takes on short notice Brit Darren Stewart at 185 lbs.

10- Is it a lock that Darren Till winds up facing the winner of Ponz vs Perry?

11- Danny Roberts has a 3-1 UFC record but it hasn't been easy outside of his debut vs Nathan Coy. Roberts is one of those guys who is winning until he loses and losing until he wins. Vs Mike Perry, Roberts won a ton of exchanges---except for three. The one that dropped him in the first round, dropped him in the 2nd round and then finished him in the third. He was getting lit up by Bobby Nash before he iced and finished Nash in the third. Roberts has that sort of talent where he's always in a fight no matter what the odds or the scorecards say.

12- Aye leggo Pietro Menga! New flyweight on the block!

Must Wins

1- Glover Teixeira

Once upon a time, Glover was in the position of needing a must win to really save his spot in the division. He rallied from that with three straight finishes over OSP, Patrick Cummins and Rashad Evans. NOW he's back in the same spot after a 1-2 run since that Evans finish. He was blasted by Rumble, beat Cannonier while looking shaky on the feet and then got beat up and battered by Gus. Glover is an old man in an old division which means that so long as you don't lose it all overnight, you've got a chance to be relevant. Still at this point you're left wondering just how relevant Glover can be. He's lost to the elite of the elites (Jones, Davis, the aforementioned Rumble and Gus) but a loss to Misha Cirkunov would officially close the door on him. This is a must win for both dudes if ya think about it.

2- Santiago Ponzinibbio

Ponz is one of those fighters who deserves a ton of credit for wall walking his way up the rankings. After losing to Lorenz Larkin, he's racked up five wins and three of those by finish. He's not just eating up on jabronis either with wins over the likes of Gunnar Nelson, Nordine Taleb and Court McGee. He's a damn good fighter who is improving every single performance he has. The problem is that Ponz is not the most marketable WW even if he's action packed and capable of speaking multiple languages. Ponz is the guy who should be a bigger force but alas alack. He's gotta beat Mike Perry to really secure his spot in the 5-10.

3- Ricardo Lamas

In the world of "all things are connected", Ricardo Lamas is competing vs not just Josh Emmett but also the likes of Brian Ortega, Frankie Edgar and etc etc down the line. Lamas has done a lot of good recently---but look at his wins at 145 lbs. We just saw Moggly Benitez eat up Jason Knight over three rounds, we've seen what's happened to Diego Sanchez recently and Charles Oliveira, while very credible, is not the sort of win that gets you talking title shot. He's got a short notice opponent he's being expected to run right through but Josh Emmett is no joke with how hard he hits.

Top 5 Must See Fights

1- Robbie Lawler vs Rafael Dos Anjos

2- Santiago Ponzinibbio vs Mike Perry

3- Jared Cannonier vs Jan Blachowicz

4-Chad Laprise vs Galore Bofando

5- Darren Stewart vs Julian Marquez

[indielightuk]

Game Review: Hot Tin Roof – The Cat That Wore a Fedora

Hot Tin Roof: The Cat That Wore a Fedora is an adventure platformer which was released on the 20th February 2015 by indie developer and publisher Glass Bottom Games. I was actually lucky enough to get an interview with the designer Megan Fox and you can check that out here.

So before I move onto my thoughts on the game I’ll very quickly sum it up, you play as Emma Jones and Franky. Emma is a former firefighter who is now a private detective and Franky is her partner and also a cat. They work together navigating the city in an attempt to solve a murder. If that doesn’t sound worth checking out then maybe the rest of the review will convince you, but serious noir private detective kitty cat and his human partner solving crimes…doesn’t that sound amazing!

As I suggested above, I am in love with the theme and aesthetic of this game, noir is my jam and this has fun with that familiar style. It’s fun and charming in a way that more games need to be and even though it can be silly, its gripping nonetheless.

click here to read more

[wannab-urs]

gonna have to make a sacrifice to our lord Cthulhu to get a new fic out. he must be mad at me because i haven't been able to move past a very vague idea in days.

These are all the ideas on my fic sheet rn.

[writingsofaderangedfox]

Old Dogs, New Tricks. (WIP, Chapter 1)

Chapter One: Chance Encounter.

Friday evening in a downtown tavern called “The Bastion”, about nine-thirty or so, most of the patrons that remained in the small pub that resided in the basement were either passed out drunk or debating renting a room from the makeshift inn upstairs.  On the edge of the bar furthest from the door sat a slightly older looking Kitsune dressed in a beat up leather jacket, worn out jeans and a simple black eye patch over his left eye, who was sipping on a glass of whiskey and chain smoking a pack of cheap cigarettes.  To the average patron the old vulpine appeared engrossed in his glass, but the bartender, a mildly curvy red-head, knew better. She had seen him in here a million times before (she had also lost her nerve to approach him each and every time), she knew he was former military and when she caught him observing her from the bar she heard him chuckle before he spoke.

“I’m not meanin’ to stare sweetheart, just like to make sure I know my environment and everyone in it, five years in the Marines will do that to ya.” he said with a chuckle before introducing himself to her. “the names Dean Keysr, and don’t worry I don’t bite.”

She stood there in shock, how had he known she had seen him watching her? (could she really be this lucky?)

“M..my name is Frankie, Frankie Alexandre.” she manged to stutter before another bout of laughter, this time a bit hardier, came from Dean.

“I’m sorry, I really am, but you have the most adorable look on your face right now I couldn’t help but laugh.  You look so surprised that I just spoke so suddenly and your probably wondering how I knew you saw me watching you, am I right?” he said with a grin.

“Y..yes actually, I am curious about that..” she said quietly.

Dean grinned a little wider “It’s my nose, I can smell a wide verity of things most others cant, I can smell peoples scent, I can smell certain poisons, I can name several brands of whiskey by smell and I can smell fear and excitement, as well as other things.” he tapped his muzzle as he finished his sentence as if to further prove his point.  

Frankie blushed slightly at his statement. “That’s a very interesting talent Mr. Keysr.” she replied.

“Please call me Dean, Mr. Keysr was my father.” he said with a smile on his muzzle.

The two started talking, mostly small talk at first, but they soon got onto deeper topics as Dean talked about when he joined the Marines at eighteen and his five years he spent as a Marine and how he had lost his left eye in a firefight with a unit of guerrillas or how he watched his best friend die in his arms while he kept screaming for a medic “all he needed was something to slow the bleeding and to ease the pain so he wouldn't go into shock, that was it….” he had said.  

The more Dean spoke the more enthralled Frankie became with the vet, this poor creature who has seen and experienced so much pain and suffering, her heart felt heavy as she heard his stories. “It will get better Mr. Key….. Dean, it will get better Dean.” she said with a sad look in her eyes.

“I know it will besides I cant give up yet, I still got people to piss off!” he said with a chuckle. “but thanks for your kind words Frankie, means a lot to this old war dog that someone still gives two shits about me.” he said as he looked directly at her for the first time all evening, the deep amber color of his eye stirring feelings that Frankie didn't even known she could feel.  (I’m gonna make my move, I’m doing this tonight) she though to herself.

“I’m afraid its last call Dean.” Frankie said as she looked at the clock, which was showing midnight. “but if you don't have plans for the rest of this evening, would you mind indulging a nosy bartender such as myself? I know I’m not the youngest thing around, but your stories have sparked my interest.” she asked quietly, praying she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

“Not the youngest thing around?” Dean asked with an eyebrow raised. “No offense sweetheart but I think I’m old enough to claim you as my kitt.” Dean said with a smirk.

“Well Dean, I wont doubt that fact but I’m not as young as I look.” Frankie replied with a grin of her own.

“and just HOW old do you think I am?” Dean asked amused.

“oh… I don't know, maybe sixty-four or sixty-five...” came Frankie’s reply.

Dean gripped his chest in a mocking fashion and put on a look of feigned pain “you wound me Frankie, you wound me deeply.  Sixty-Five???? maybe I should start using fur-dye…...”

“come on Dean, how old are you?” Frankie asked, amused at Deans reaction.

“forty-one...” he said dryly.

“Really?!?!” Frankie asked, a little to surprised for Deans liking.

“yes really, I’m beaten and war-torn, unfortunately that will prematurely age your looks and certain aspects of your body.” Dean said slightly irritated at the question.

“I am so sorry!” was all Frankie could say in response as her blush ran deeper and she felt the urge to just turn and run from the awkward situation she had created.

“its fine.” Dean said softly. “so what can this old vet indulge you in?”

“well to be completely honest your stories intrigue me, I may not look it but I’m a bit of a history fanatic, more specifically history of wars and battles.” Frankie replied with a slight twinkle in her eyes.

“huh..” was all Dean could say in response to Frankie’s statement.  

They walked in silence to Dean’s car before Frankie spoke up. “um Dean, no offense but I don’t think you should be driving after almost a fifth of whiskey.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head slightly. “yea.. I guess your right.” Dean tossed the keys to Frankie. “hope you can drive a stick, otherwise we are gonna have to take the bus.”

Frankie just smiled as she started the car and put it into gear. “Don’t worry about your pretty little hotrod Dean, I’ve driven plenty of muscle cars in my time.”

the two sat in silence for the better half of the ride (the two decided to go to Deans house so the intoxicated vulpine could get comfortable while they talked) as they approached the outskirts of the town Dean caught himself staring at Frankie and wondered if it was the alcohol, the fact that she actually wanted to hear his stories or both that was causing the feelings inside his chest to stir.  

As they neared the last fifteen minutes of the trip Dean tore his gaze from Frankie and reached over to turn on the radio just in time to catch the back-half of “Take The Money and Run” by The Steve Miller Band, he quietly chuckled to himself as he saw Frankie mouthing the words to one of his favorite songs.

“fan of The Steve Miller Band, huh?” he asked.

“um.. y.. yea I am, I know I’m a bit young to know their music but my parents used to listen to them all the time so it kinda stuck.” she said trying to hide the blush in her cheeks.  

They spent that last ten minutes of the trip making small talk, listening to music and laughing when, at around one forty-five in the morning, they came to a decent sized house surrounded by well kept trees with a small pond in the middle of the front lawn.

“you live HERE???” Frankie exclaimed.

“yea, why do ya ask?” Dean asked with a small grin.

“well no offense Dean, but I figured someone who would chose to drink somewhere like The Bastion would be living in a run down apartment owned by slumlords.” she said almost awestruck.  

“yep the beat up rusty Firebird, the worn out cloths and choice of watering-hole usually makes people think I’m pretty bad off.” he chuckled then lit a cigarette. “truth is, I made sure half of my income was put into savings while I was deployed and had the other half put into stocks. So now I wont have to work another day in my life.” he grinned as he finished his little speech, taking a long drag on his cigarette before returning his attention back to Frankie. “so, wanna see inside?” he asked, a wide smile plastered on his muzzle.

The inside was incredibly inviting, the parlor had a hardwood floor with a warm tan color on the walls and a small area for people to sit and watch some television and maybe share a meal. Just past the parlor Frankie could see what looked like a kitchen and a set of stairs leading up, followed by a small hallway just next to the stairs. The whole place just had this smell about it, Frankie could quite place it, but it just made you feel welcome and at home.  “not what you where expecting, huh?” Dean asked as he walked past Frankie and began climbing the stairs. “I’m just gonna change out of these rags and grab a quick shower so I don’t smell like a bottle while we talk, feel free to make yourself at home. I got plenty of food in the kitchen and pretty much every T.V. channel know to man.” he finished his sentence as he disappeared upstairs leaving an awestruck Frankie in the parlor trying to figure out just what exactly she should do.

Frankie decided to take Dean up on his offer and headed into the kitchen, she had forgotten to eat lunch today so she was starving, once inside she had found everything necessary to make a roast-beef sandwich and even splurged herself and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge.  She sat in the parlor enjoying her sandwich and watching an old detective movie Dean had left in the player, after what felt like hours a freshly groomed Dean walked back down the stairs in a pair of plaid lounge pants. (wait, where hell is his shirt???) Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the tone muscles of the vet’s body, feeling as though her face was on fire. Dean seemed oblivious to the pair of eyes that had glued themselves to him as he walked straight into the kitchen and began brewing some coffee. “would you like some coffee, Frankie?” he asked from the kitchen.

“N.. no thanks Dean, I have a Pepsi already...” she stuttered.

“suit yourself but fair warning, I can be long winded with my stories so you may need a little pick-me-up latter on.” Dean replied with a chuckle.

A few minutes passed and Dean walked back into the parlor with a steaming mug and sat down across from Frankie. “So” Dean began as he took a sip from his mug before setting it on the coffee table in front of him. “where do you want the stories to start, when I first got to basic-training or when my boots first hit the soil in enemy territory?” he asked with a slight smirk.

Frankie thought hard for a moment. “well could we start before you signed up?” she asked.

“W.. what?” was all Dean could stutter. “you want to know why I joined?”

Frankie smiled. “yes Dean, I want to know your full story.”

Dean just looked at his coffee mug for a moment before he reached up with his thumb to wipe away the moisture that had built up in his eye and spoke softly. “those who love you the most will risk their lives so you don’t have to…  that’s what my father said before he left for work everyday, and it stuck with me that day he went to work thirty-seven years ago.” Dean took a second to collect his thoughts and wipe his eye again. “my dad.. he was a cop at prescient sixteen on the west side of Weston...” Dean trailed off again.

“wait.” Frankie said. “prescient sixteen, wasn’t that where that terrorist atta….. oh Dean… no...” Dean didn’t even bother wiping his eye this time, he just looked up at Frankie and shook his head. “oh Dean… I’m so sorry… you don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to...”

Dean just shook his head again. “no Frankie, I said I would tell my stories and I will.”

Frankie nodded in understanding. “OK Dean, go ahead.” she said softly.

“well I’m sure your figured out what happened with my father so if you don’t mind I’m gonna skip that part, anyways after my dad died I had sworn I would do whatever I could to make sure no one would feel what me and my mom felt that day… and that's when I made my choice. I was not gonna sit and wait for the enemy to knock at the gate, I was gonna go knocking at theirs. So on my eighteenth birthday I went to the Marines recruiter and singed up.” Dean sipped his coffee. “after they did the medical and psychological testing they shipped me out to boot camp and began molding me into the vulpine you see today.”

Dean stretched his arms and took a long sip of his coffee before he stood up. “I gotta take a leak, I’ll be right back.” he turned and walked off.

A few moments later Dean walked back down the stairs and grabbed his mug before heading towards the kitchen. “I still got plenty of coffee if you would like any.” he called out from the kitchen.

“actually I think I’ll take you up on the offer this time.” Frankie said as she looked at the clock on the wall, three twenty-seven in the morning.

“well I hope you enjoy.” Dean said as he walked back in with two mugs in on hand and a small tray with cream and sugar dispensers in the other. “I drink mine black but I like to keep the extras around in case I happen to have someone over who isn’t as bland as I am.” he said setting one of the mugs and the tray in front of Frankie.

“thanks Dean, that’s really kind of you.” she said with a smile.

“don’t mention it.” he said as he sat down across from her. “now I know I said that I would share my stories, but I would like to hear yours before I continue.” Dean said in a tone that was quiet, soothing and for some reason strangely alluring to Frankie.

“M.. m.. my story?” she stuttered as she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks again. “I doubt it would be anything that would interest you Dean.” she said meekly.

“now Frankie that’s not how this works, you cant hear my story and not tell me yours.  So far I’ve shared up until I was twenty-one that’s nearly half my life surely you can at least share something with me, cant you?” he asked with genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I suppose I owe you that much dean.” she said with a small sigh.

Frankie added some cream and an obscene amount of sugar to her coffee before she took a long sip before she spoke. “alright, well for starters my full name is Franklynn Susanna Alexandrea, I am thirty years old.” she paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “although I’m fairly sure you want more than this trivial information, right?” she stated, more than she asked Dean. “well as far back as I can remember would be around four or five years old, would you like me to start there?” she asked.

“sounds like a plan.” Dean said with a slight chuckle.

“fair enough Dean, fair enough.” she said with a small sigh.

“I lived a fairly decent life, my family struggled but we always had what we needed.” Frankie began. “my mom worked part time as a waitress at the old truck stop ‘Hensions Fix N Fuel’ I think it was called, not important I guess. Anyways, my mom worked there and my dad worked for the local lumber yard ‘Williamson’s Lumber’ so I didn’t see him much during the spring and summer.”

She paused as she sipped her coffee. “anyways life wasn’t terrible, but it also wasn’t smooth sailing.  I always had a thing for history and battles and my dad always found it a bit strange when he would ask his seven year old daughter what she wanted to study and I would ask to read history books but I digress.  I spent most of my free time at the library reading and researching any and all history books I could get my hands on, I wasn’t very socially active as a kid, I didn’t have many friends and most of the other kids always mocked me for my obsession with history. anyways I graduated high school two years early and I received a full scholarship to Vicksburge University in their historian program.  I loved my time in college and wouldn't trade it for the world, I just wish I could have gotten a job in my field of study instead of bar-tending at a hole in the wall place like ‘The Bastion’ but again I digress.  I finished my schooling and went out into the real world and soon discovered that a degree is just a piece of paper and that it wouldn’t help much in the financial area of my life so I started looking for work and I ended living with my parents for a few years before I started working at the ‘The Bastion’ and I have been there about five years now, it pays enough where I can live comfortably and my boss is pretty cool, and I’m still trying to get into a work field of my study so that’s a plus.  Its your basic job not to say I don’t enjoy my job, its jut not my end goal.”

Frankie took a long sip of her coffee before she continued.

“so I was working at ‘The Bastion’ for about a year and a half and that’s when you first showed up.”

She said with a slight blush rising in her cheeks.

“I noticed how you would come in and order the same thing each night around the same time and sit in the same seat and you would always pay your tab of about twenty or thirty dollars with a hundred, and you would always tell me to keep the change. you intrigued me.

‘who was this Kitsune who would come and drink and smoke until last call and give me between a seventy and eighty dollar tip?’

So I started to look for clues and the only thing I turned up was that you where former military...”

she trailed off in thought for a moment. “and very handsome...” she barely whispered the last part of her sentence as blush filled her face.

She looked at Dean not knowing what his reaction might be, but he just grinned slightly with a half lidded look on his face. “Dean? You OK?” Frankie asked.

“hmm? oh.. yea I’m fine.”

he paused taking in a long, slow breath through his nose.

“just fine Frankie...”

He said grinning, with a strange undertone in his voice Frankie found mesmerizing.  

“well Frankie, I can get back to my stories now if you would like.” Dean said, his eye taking on a more somber tone and his voice carrying a barely noticeable growl to it that sent chills down Frankie’s spine.  

“I would like that very much, Dean” she replied.  

“alright, I believe we left off at me leaving for basic training.” Dean said with the same somber look in his eye and the low growl in his voice becoming a little more noticeable as he spoke.

Dean took a long sip from his coffee, keeping eye contact with Frankie the whole time. “Basic Training.. a summer camp from hell…  you know how they say they’ll break you down to build you back up but better?  Well its true, they shatter your basic idea of discipline and teamwork and replace it with the true meanings of them as well as adding respect and a brotherhood that can not be broken.”

he paused and finished the last sip of his coffee before lightly smacking his lips together and continuing his story.

“my unit, the ‘Hell Hounds’, was a mix between infantry and scouts composed entirely of Kitsune with the exception of a Drow named Sean.” Dean stated proudly. “Sean was one quiet son of a bitch….”

Dean grinned slightly as he trailed off in thought before continuing.

“there where even times he was able to sneak up on me, and I could hear a heartbeat in the middle of the jungle, but I digress, Sean was an amazing scout and one of the most loyal bastards to grace this planet with his presence..”

Dean rubbed a decently large scar on his side as he spoke about Sean.

“he saved my life more times than I can count, or care to remember for that matter.” Dean said with a quiet chuckle and a pained look in his eye.

“Dean…. Was it Sean who died in your arms?” Frankie asked quietly.  

“yea… he was…” Dean said, letting the tears flow freely this time. “he had….. pushed me….. he… he fucking pushed me out of the way.. that damn sniper had me dead to rights and he pushed me... out of the god... damn... way…..”

Dean closed his eye as he shook slightly at the memory.  

“before he died.. he… he told me that I had so much to live for.. that he had nothing to come back to after the fighting had ended… he said that.. that he was just doing his job...”

Frankie almost jumped over the table to wrap Dean in a tight embrace. “it’s OK Dean… lets just.. lets just finish the stories tomorrow, alright?” she asked, tears of her own streaming down her cheeks and her voice barely a whisper.

“Frankie… could.. could you stay here tonight?   I just… I don’t think I can be alone right now...”

Frankie hugged him a little tighter.  

“yes Dean, I can.” the two sat silent in each others embrace as Dean drifted off to sleep and Frankie soon followed.

Gun shots, explosions, the smell of smoke and napalm… they stuck with Dean, but he get used to them playing in the background of his mind but the scent of blood, the cries of the wounded, the prayers of the terified…. And the silence of the dead, those he could never get used to.  He pretended that he could ignore them but he couldn’t, the booze didn’t help and he could never get up the nerve to feed himself a bullet so he just pushed on, refusing to give up, refusing to let Sean die in vain….

The scene was gruesome, several men lay bleeding on the ground moaning as the medic made his rounds and treated their wounds.  The initial fight was over, the first few waves of guerrilla fighters fended off successfully and with minimal loss to the unit.  

Clean up and kill conformation where in progress when the first shot rang out.  Sniper fire… a young kitt of a private fell as the side of his head exploded into a red mist. It was then that Sean tackled Dean, taking the round through his left lung and diverting its route so it passed through Deans right side. As the chaos unfolded and the wounded where moved to cover Dean sat holding Sean in his arms.

“MEDIC!!!!  MEDIC DAMN IT!!! COME ON! HES BLEEDING OUT!!!!  MEDIC!!!!!”

Dean screamed repeatedly as he held his friend close to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

“Stay with me Sean! Keep your damn eyes open, c’mon look at me!!!”

Dean pleaded, more so to Sean than to any deity that would be listening.

“D.. D.. Dean…  Listen… I don't have anything...”

Sean paused, coughing violently.  

“I don’t have anything to go back to… I was made for war and I’ve served my purpose…. You… you can do so much more than me… so I had to make sure you lived…. Just let… let me do my job… please Dean..”

Dean pulled his friend even closer. “no god damn it! Your gonna make it outta here!”

Dean stared at his friend as his body went limp. “Sean…. don’t do this…. Sean look at me…. Look at me damn it! Sean…. Please… don’t do this...” Dean cried out as he rocked back and forth cradling his friends bloodied corpse until the black void of unconsciousness took him.

“Dean! Dean wake up! Dean please! Its OK, I’m right here!” a familiar voice called out to him as he slowly regained consciousness.

“W… Where am I?” Dean asked as he shook his head trying to clear the fog from his head.

“Dean! Are you OK??? you where screaming in your sleep! God I was so worried!”

Dean remembered he had company, and the details of last night suddenly flooded back. “y.. yea Frankie I’m fine, just a nightmare...” he said as he rubbed his temples.

“Dean… I.. I didn’t cause this did I?” Frankie asked with worry in her voice.

“oh, no Frankie, you didn't cause anything… what I saw, what I’ve been through god what I’ve done… that's what caused the nightmare, not you.” Dean realized he was still clinging to Frankie for dear life as he laid in the chair, in an all to familiar position.

“if anything you helped stop me from going deeper into a panic attack… Frankie… I didn't hurt you did I?”

she shook her head. “no Dean, you just wrapped me in your arms and held me close to your chest.  It was like what a parent would do for their child.” she said softly. (she didn’t tell him that he cried Sean’s name as he held her.)

“Thank you Frankie. For everything.” Dean said with a low sigh.

A few moments passed as the pair split from their embrace and sat in silence.

“I won’t leave, unless you want me to Dean.” Frankie said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“huh?” was all Dean could manage to say in response.

“I am not leaving unless you want me to.” Frankie repeated in a soft voice.

“A.. alright.” Dean said as he slowly stood up. “ca.. can I make you some breakfast?”

Frankie smiled widely. “that sounds wonderful Dean.”

Dean nodded and walked to the kitchen. “anything specific you want, or shall we do chef special?”

Frankie chuckled at the statement. “I think I’ll take my chances with the chef special.” she said still sitting in the parlor.

“alright, two chef specials coming up.” Dean said with a small chuckle while he was wondering what the hell he was doing.

[cutesyscreenname]

Have I told you lately that I love you, Gin. Because I do 😭😭😭

What a fucking respectful king, dude. Just immediately - yup, shirt on, no questions. And still FUCKS.

And their chemistry is already so intimate I have so much hope for them 😭😭😭

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[keeshya6]

That... is some goooood spice right there. Yup.

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[avastrasposts]

Damn! 🥵🥵 And happy Frankie Friday!

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder