#frankie morales x chubby!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedroshotwifey · 8 months ago

Note

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

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

Beefro👌🥩💜

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

Good 'n' Deep

Pairing: Fat!Frankie x f!reader

Word Count: 2.6k (oops 😅)

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

Summary: Fat Frankie can't be sated.

*****

You get home late. And feeling awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to watch a movie, Frank?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frankie, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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beefrobeefcal · 1 year ago

Text

Dark!Frankie Saga: I

Chapter One: Signed and Sealed

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

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

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 4,353

Content Warning: Not smut yet (apologies), references to SA, drugs, violence, threats of violence, crime, food talk, weight talk

Author's Notes: An everlasting and beautiful thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for their never-ending THOTs, hot takes, and for beta'ing this. Your support is why I adore this platform - Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜 Y'all say thank you to Nevy for basically brainstorming this with me!

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry.

I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! 👌

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

The reality of the situation was hitting you hard. Your older brother, the one most would think of as a protector, had betrayed you in the worst way imaginable.

He had a drug problem for the majority of his adult life, but now it had become a full-blown catastrophe. Steven, your brother, owed money to some of the worst people in the state, maybe even the country. The Frontiersmen, a powerful syndicate, had allowed him to rack up a ridiculous debt that they knew he wouldn’t be able to pay, but you didn’t know what he’d put down as collateral – you.

You were now nothing more than a bargaining chip to prolong your brother’s coke problem and buy him more credit. You were now property being handed over to a terrifying group of men who made a profit off of people’s darkest needs.

“I know... I know I fucked up... I know I did.”, Steven sobbed into his hands in front of you. “I thought I’d be able to pay them back...”

You sat in your living room, numb to it all, watching Steven cry. You knew he was sorry now, but you doubted it was because of what he’d done to you. No, you were sure it had more to do with the fact that the Frontiersmen had cut him off until he paid his debt. Until you were turned over to pay that debt.

You weren't sure if it was minutes or hours that you sat and watched him sob in your living room, but it was interrupted by a knock at your door. Your head took a minute to process that your body was already moving and opening the door.

Standing in front of you was a tall, blond man and a shorter, dark haired man. Both their eyes were on you in cold stares. You just stared right back. You guessed who they were, or at least what they were doing here at your apartment. Wordlessly, you stepped aside and opened the door to allow them entrance.

The taller, blond man moved passed you and into the living room while the smaller, dark haired man waited for you to move so he could close the door and lock it.

You gave him a curt smile and nod, stepping back away from the door.

After closing the door, he turned around and looked you up and down, with a small, yet menacing smile. He huffed in a dry laugh before motioning you to the living room.

A sour feeling washed over you and your mouth salivated like you were going to be sick, but you looked down and walked into the living room where your brother was on his knees in front of the blond man.

“... so she had no idea you signed her life away?”, the blond man scowled then turned to look at you.

His icy stare caused you to shrink and wrap your arms around yourself. You stepped back, bumping into the shorter, dark haired man. His hands came to your arms gently and he held you in place.

“Benny...”, he warned in a low tone. “We came here for two things: payment and a reminder.”

Your body trembled in his hold, and he rubbed your arms gently. You knew better than to believe he actually gave a shit about you, and he was more than likely doing this to get you to go with them without making a scene. You weren't going to resist; their reputation was more than enough incentive to go quietly.

“He’s a shitbag, Pope... fucking sold out his sister!”, he barks, his eyes narrowing at you, then snapping to the other man while he motioned his hand at you. “She didn’t even know!”

“Payment, Benny!”, Pope spoke sharply. “Payment and a reminder. That’s it.”

You jumped when Pope’s volume increased but stayed in place, and Benny looked at you again, his eyes now reading more furious than cold.

You swallowed thickly, the lump in your throat growing, and looked down.

“I’ll fucking remind this sonofabitch...”, Benny muttered as pulled out a rag and wrapped it around his fist.

Your lip trembled and Pope’s hands stopped their gentle rubbing, and he held your arms a little firmer, pulling you back against him.

“You don’t need to see this, honey.”, he said softly in your ear, causing you to shudder at the warmth and tenor of his voice. “Unless you want to...”

You kept your gaze low, not noticing the look of remorse and sympathy Benny gave you as you shook your head.

“Come on then.”, Pope said softly, turning you around and tilting your face up to his with his finger and thumb on your chin. “Are you gonna behave or do I have to cuff you?”

Your eyes widened and your body’s trembling intensified; you shook your head and squeaked out, “I... I’ll behave.”

Pope smiled at you, eyes roving over your face, and he nodded. “Let’s get some things packed up for you and head to the car.”

He watched as your shaky hands packed a bag in your bedroom; clothing, toiletries and personal items. He confiscated your cell phone and laptop, saying that they had to be secured first and you might get them back. He picked up your packed back and led you to the door.

The last thing you heard as Pope led you out was the sickening sound of a fist hitting flesh and Steven scream.

*****

Frankie was a reluctant leader. He didn’t ask to be put in charge, but his strategic problem solving, and his restrained demeanor worked in his favour to put him at the top.

Since Tom was taken out, both Pope and Will had said that Frankie was the best choice to lead the Frontiersmen if he gave up his coke habit. Kicking that was easy; the hard part was filling the void that was left. But he found something with relative ease.

Will watched Frankie as he finished his large pizza; he was now used to watching Frankie eat in their meetings. He’d watched as Frankie had gone from being a lean and muscled soldier with an angular face to what the new leadership role had carved him into over the past few years – big. His thick and muscled arms stretched his sleeves, his face was fuller with a patchy beard, and big belly pulled every shirt he owned taut around the middle when he hadn’t eaten to capacity. Despite his weight gain, Will was glad his friend and boss was off the smack.

“Where’s Pope and Benny?”, Frankie asked between bites.

“Picking up payment from that skid, Steven. Not money.”, Will said, eyes down in his notes, avoiding Frankie’s questioning look.

“Not money?”

“The collateral he put his debt against.”, Will said in a blunt tone, hoping to move on before having to elaborate. “We have a few things we need to iron out when they get back...”

“Collateral but not money?”, Frankie asked again in a firmer tone. “Explain what the fuck that means.”

Will sighed. This ‘collateral’ was a holdover from when Tom was in charge, and despite him not liking it, he felt it necessary to hold Steven accountable and take what they were owed; he agreed to the decision with Pope to move forward, and they were both going to tell Frankie about it. But Pope wasn’t back yet, and it was left to Will.

“It’s not money.”, Will said, avoiding Frankie’s raised eyebrows.

“Yeah... I got that. So, what is it?”

“His sister.”

Frankie groaned and put his head in his hands. “Please, for the love of god, tell me Pope isn’t bringing back a person in lieu of payment.”

“He is.” Will kept his eyes low. He knew he and Santi were taking a risk doing this, especially given they were going above Frankie’s head. But they also knew that Frankie needed to put fear in the minds of anyone who had a debt to pay.

Frankie’s jaw tightened and he sat back and looked at Will.

“Will.”, he barked. “Look at me and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“It’s an old contract we had with this guy... it was done up under Tom.”, Will paused, then sat forward, hardening his tone. “Look, Pope made the call and I agreed. You need to scare the people that owe you money; you need to collect on your debts. People are starting to think you’re going soft, Fish.”

It wasn’t a lie. Frankie was more lenient than Tom was, allowing for extensions and lighter repercussions. There were more people willing to deal with late penalties than actually pay, and Will didn’t want this to get out of hand. He just wished Pope was here to tell Frankie himself.

“Fuck.”, Frankie snapped. “Maybe so, Will, but we’re not human traffickers! We don’t take people!”

“Steven has a big mouth. He’s not going to sit on this. He's going to run his mouth, looking for help to get her back. Words going to get out that you – YOU, Frankie – took his fucking sister. He’s not going to tell anyone that he put her down as collateral. He’s going to paint you as the asshole who took what he was owed. It’s good PR.”

Will sat back, hoping this would be enough to keep Frankie from losing his shit.

“So, we took some girl because this fucking skid couldn’t pay.”, Frankie spat out, clenching his fist. He raised his voice, yelling, “And my name gets dragged through the mud as the fucker who called for it?”

Will raised his hands, trying to calm him. “Your reputation as someone not willing to let debts go unpaid is solidified, Fish.”

Frankie sat back, aghast. His mind suddenly went to Steven’s sister.

“Did she know?”

Will looked down at his notebook, then up again. “I don’t think so. Pope messaged and said she was pretty shook up.”

Frankie let out a heavy sigh and put his head back in his hands. “What else did he say?”

Will hesitated with a smile on his face and waited for Frankie to look at him. “He said she’s hot.”

*****

You didn’t look out the window to see where you were headed. Sitting between the two men, you glanced over at Benny, seeing the small spatter of blood on his sleeves – your brother’s blood. A sick vindication warmed your cheeks, knowing he was at least bleeding for what he’d done, even if it wasn't specifically for what he’d done to you.

Benny noticed you looking at his hands, and he grinned.

“He pissed his pants.”, he chuckled. “Had the nerve to beg me not to hurt him.”

You nodded, eyes darting back to your own hands in your lap. While it gave you a moment of reprieve from the imminent doom creeping through your mind, it didn’t help the situation he put you in.

The car slowed to a stop and Pope opened the door, getting out.

“Benny, take her to the rec room. I’ll get Fish.”

Your blood ran cold. Fish, otherwise known as Big Fish, was the head of the Frontiersmen and it scared you shitless to know you were going to meet him.

Benny nudged you. “Come on, honey.”

You looked up at him, trembling, and nodded. Shakily taking his hand, he helped you out of the car. Grabbing your bag from the trunk, he put his hand on the small of your back and guided you inside the building.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, honey.”, he mused. “Just behave like a good girl and you got nothing to worry about.”

You nodded again, feeling your chin quiver. Behave like a good girl. What does that mean? Sudden realization washes over you in a cold sweat as to what payment they could want from you. Your breathing became ragged at the thought of what they would do to you, do to your body.

Benny opened a door to a rec room with some men playing darts, drinking, talking.

“Clear out, boys. Boss’s coming down.”, Benny boomed.

All eyes were on you now, and with a firm look from Benny, they began to leave, murmuring and hushed voices wondering who you were and what was going on.

“Didn’t ask for you to clear out slow, boys!”, he barked angrily, making you flinch. “Fuckin’ move!”

With that, the room was cleared almost instantly, and Benny led you to an armchair, guiding you to sit.

“You want anything, honey?”, he motioned to the fridge, walking towards it, looking at you with a warm smile.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes low.

“You sure? We got some soda, beer... “, he said, taking stock of what was in the fridge, then turning back to you. His face fell when he saw the thousand-yard stare in your eyes.

He tapped the fridge with his fingers, thinking. He didn’t like that you were being used like this. You were pretty and seemed sweet, and definitely didn’t deserve what your skid mark of a brother had done to you.

“Hey. Can you cook?”

You look over to him and nod slowly.

“What’s your specialty?”

“My… my what?”, you asked, shaking your head.

“What’s your go to recipe that you know you’re good at makin’, honey?”, he responded, closing the fridge and leaning against it, facing you.

“I… I make a pretty good lasagna.”

Benny’s grin was wide, and he nodded. “Perfect.”

*****

“What the fuck were you thinking?”, Frankie bellowed at Pope, slamming his fist down.

Both he and Will were seated at the table in the office while Frankie stood, reprimanding them.

“Fish… the guy’s a fucking junkie and he wasn’t going to be able to pay. Just took what we’re owed – what you’re owed!”, Pope tried to reason.

“I’m not owed a fucking person, Pope! You shoulda just let Benny break his legs or something.”

“Broken leg isn’t enough for his debt, Frank.”, Will said calmly, leaning back in his chair. “He owed way too much money. Broken leg, even legs, isn’t going to cut it. Needed to be bigger. Something to scare him and anyone else not paying shitless.”

Frankie held onto the back of his chair and shook his head angrily. “Why didn’t you ask? Why didn’t you fucking talk to me first?”

Before Will could try and reason with Frankie, Pope casually said with a smile, “Because I knew you would’ve balked at it. Would’ve said no.”

Will sighed and gave Pope a glare and Frankie looked at him, furious.

“So, you run this fucking show now?”, Frankie growled with his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the chair.

Pope’s smile fell and he raised his hands. “Not what I meant, Frankie. I just saw an opportunity for you to make a statement and – “

Frankie harshly threw the chair out of his way and stalked over to Pope, leaning over him and spoke in a terrifyingly low growl.

“You go around me one more fucking time, Santiago, I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”

He kept his face, full of contempt and fury, close to Pope’s, and Pope nodded at him, sweating under Frankie’s glare, knowing full well what he was capable of – cutting off limbs being one of those things.

“You, too.”, Frankie snarled as he stood up, pointing at Will. “Understood?”

They both nodded. Frankie’s loud voice and stature, wide shoulders and strong arms, already made him intimidating when he was mad, but with the added bulk he was carrying, he was downright terrifying.

“Yeah, un-understood.”, Pope stammered.

“What do you want us to do with her?”, Will asked quietly.

Frankie leaned back on the table; it groaned under his weight.

“You brought her here with no plan for her? What the fuck is wrong with – “

Will interjected quickly. “She could be useful… for you.”

“What?”, Frankie barked, standing up.

Pope knew where Will was going with and added with a dark grin. “She’s a fucking hottie, Fish. Could be useful.”

Frankie shook his head and looked at Will, ignoring Pope’s comment, and speaking in a harsh tone. What do you mean – useful for me?”

Will swallowed. “Maybe she’s got some skills, can be put to work. If Pope’s right and she’s cute, what’s the harm? Not like she could say no to you.”

Frankie thought for a moment. She could say no… and if he fucked her anyway, what did that say about him?

“Jesus, Will…”, he huffed, shaking his head. His eyes coldly looked up and met Will’s, and growled loudly, “The fuck is wrong with you? I expect that kind of shit from him, but not you.”

Frankie moved and stood right in front of Will, arms crossed and glaring down at him.

“That’s not what we do.”, he snarled lowly. “That’s what fucking Tom did.”

Will glanced at Pope before nodding at Frankie.

He held the glare with Will for a moment longer then looked between the two men.

“Where is she?”, he sighed.

“With Benny. In the rec room.”, Pope murmured.

Frankie rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, then motioned for Will get her.

*****

Benny had been trying his hardest to keep you calm and distracted with questions and musings for the last hour and a half. He was occasionally interrupted by one of the grunts – as he called them – wandering in to hang out, not having gotten the run down from any of the other guys that the rec room was closed, and Benny would chase them out.

“… so this guy’s got a wrench and I only got a plastic spoon, and he’s comin’ at me with it – “

Benny’s story is interrupted by the door opening. He turned to yell at whoever it was to get out but stopped when another tall, blond man walked into the room. He looked you over quickly and nodded his head to Benny.

Benny stood up and walked towards the man and speaking softly. As they spoke, you could only hear bits and pieces, but you were able to pick up was that this man’s name was probably Will and Benny told him you could cook.

Will held his hand up to shush Benny and walked towards you. He sat down in the armchair Benny previously occupied, while Benny stood to your other side, hands in his jean pockets.

Will let out a long sigh as he sat back, elbow on the armrest and chin on his fist. You could feel his eyes burning over you as you kept your own low and on his shoes.

“Benny says you can cook.”, his voice was cool and flat, with a slight lilt to it.

You nodded. “Yeah… yes. I can cook.” You tried to match at least his flat tone, but the fear Benny had spent the last while trying to quell had sunk its fang s back into you.

Will nodded and looked at Benny, nudging his head to let him know he could leave - he should leave.

Benny huffed a nervous breath and left the room. But he didn’t go far; you could see his shadow lingering under the door.

“Not gonna beat around the bush, honey. Boss doesn’t want you here, and frankly, neither do I.”, he said plainly with a hint of warmth.

While there was no malice in his voice, the smoldering anger in his eyes said otherwise. You nodded.

“But you’re here, and you say you can cook. Boss needs someone to cook for him since the last one was caught stealing and… went for a swim.”

“I can cook… wha-what does the boss like?”, you ignored his last statement and forced yourself to speak.

“Boss likes pretty girls.”, Will chuckled with a small smile, leaning forward and putting a hand on your knee. “Especially likes pretty girls that can be useful.”

You lowered your head and nodded, trying to hold back the full body shudder that was desperately trying to rip through you.

He watched you closely when he spoke, trying to get a reading on how easily you were intimidated. While he knew Frankie would more than likely act like you weren’t there, he couldn’t say the same for Pope or himself, let alone any of the other men, and until Frankie said you were off limits, you were fair game.

“Don’t be shy, honey. No one else here is gonna be.”, he said with a dark chuckle. “Look at me.”

You looked up at him and the menacing glare in his eyes glowed.

“Just behave like a good girl. You might make it out of here alive.”

*****

The Benny who had tried to console you was gone the moment you walked out of the rec room with Will. He was now cold and stoic, no emotion, and he was intimidating. Benny walked ahead of you and Will walked beside you, his arm around your waist and they led you down the hallway.

Benny turned and opened a door, walking in and standing to the side, remaining at the door as if to keep guard.

It was an office. At the far end was a floor-to-ceiling window that spanned the wall, looking out onto the pier, with a desk in front if it, facing you. Behind the desk was a large, high back swivel chair, and in front of it were four plush lounge chairs, arranged to face the desk. Along the sides of the office were shelves containing books, pictures, and other personal odds and ends. Everything was either wood or brass, unless it was upholstered; the room was dated and smelled like stale cigars, old wood, and another scent that took you a minute to place - pizza.

Will ushered you to sit in one of the centre chairs facing the desk and stood behind you with his hand on your shoulder, as if he thought you might try and escape – you’d given up on that idea back in your apartment.

There were a pair of footsteps approaching outside the door and your body stiffened; Will gave your shoulder a squeeze as the door opened. You kept your head low and forward, not daring to look at who came in, although you were sure you knew who it was.

Pope came and sat in the chair next to you and smiled. Will removed his hand and sat in the chair on your other side, and Benny stood behind you. Heavy footsteps moved between your and Will’s chairs, and then you saw him.

He was tall with broad shoulders, and was wearing fitted, faded jeans and a black and red bowling shirt. His crossed arms stretched the sleeves, and the desk creaked as he leaned back on it. You dared to look up at his face, and you were taken aback; instead of the steely blue stare you got from Benny or Will, or the dark, cold void that Pope had, you were met with big brown, warm eyes looking you over, and a soft face sporting patchy facial hair and mustache. His hair was dark brown and slicked back. Your eyes flicked down his large frame quickly and you noted how his buttons pulled across his ample stomach.

“Huh.”, he mused quietly as his eyes trailed over you more blatantly. His tongue flicked between his lips softly as if he were thinking.

“Pope was right. You’re cute.”, he huffed, putting a toothpick in his mouth. “I don’t have any fuckin’ use for cute.”

“She cooks.”, Will interjected.

Frankie’s eyes darted to Will and then back to you, and he looks you up and down again.

“Okay… so you cook.”, Frankie said with a hint of annoyance. “What else you got?”

Your eyes looked up to his face and you were met with his mouth pulled into a tight line and his eyes baring down on you; the intensity of his stare was almost too much. He raised a brow at you as if to say I asked you a question.

You looked back down at your hands, needing to break the connection your eye contact with him had made.

“I used to… used to work in an office. I can file, balance books… other administrative… things - ”

“Interesting… Tell me you’re thinking the same thing I am, Fish.”, Pope chuckled quietly. “A hot secretary.”

He turned his attention to you and his hand moved to your thigh, his fingers roving under your skirt and up closer to your crotch. His voice dropped into a honeyed tone, dripping in venom. “You ever fucked your boss, honey? You’ve got four now.”

You try to not make any movements, but the subtle way you shift screams your discomfort.

“Jesus, Pope. Stop.”, Benny huffed under his breath behind you.

Pope chuckled and gave your thigh a squeeze before removing his hand. Frankie’s stare didn’t leave you; he wanted to see how well you handled being the target of men’s overt advances and their groping. His narrowed eyes watched as you tried not to squirm or give a reaction to Santi’s hand or words, and he frowned.

The only sound in the room was the desk Frankie rested on creaking as he shifted his weight. He sighed deeply.

“Ben, get her a room set up in the barracks. Take her with you. I’m fuckin’ done looking at this.”, he grunted, motioning his hand aggressively in your direction.

“I can take her.”, Pope chimed in with a low and crooning voice. You could hear the grin in his voice and his eyes in you, and you wondered what changed from when he came to your apartment to now.

“Fuck off, Pope!”, Benny hissed.

“Hey!”, Frankie yelled angrily. “Pope, stay right the fuck where you are. Benny, get her out of here. Now!”

Benny’s hand quickly came around to your arm, tugging you out of the chair, and out of the room. The last glimpse of Frankie you got was watching him glare at you from his position against the desk.

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

TAGLIST:

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

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #pedro pascal tummy #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#dark!frankie au #dark!frankie still chubby though #beefro's bistro #beefro is sweating #🥩

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beefrobeefcal · 1 year ago

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this screams Frankie & Mouse.

#funny #lol #humor #haha #meme #memes #tweet #twitter #chubby!frankie #the catfish & the mouse one shot #the catfish & the mouse #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x you #francisco “catfish” morales #beefro is sweating #beefro is thinking #🥩

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thugbiscuits · 2 months ago

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august fic rec list ! 18+ only

please note: none of these fan fictions were written by me. when you read please make sure to like, comment, and reblog. IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE. (i am painfully aware that this is very late for august lol, spare me please this is my first time doing this)

happy reading. i plan on posting/updating each month with a new list :)

joel miller fics

safety first (joel miller x f!reader, smut) @strang3lov3

when i move you move (ballet dad!joel miller x ballet mom! reader, smut) @ghotifishreads

older!boyfriend joel (joel miller x reader, smut) @cavillscurls

older!bf joel miller headcanons (joel miller x reader, smut) @cavillscurls

silverfox! joel miller headcanons (joel miller x reader, smut) @visionsofcarnality

frankie morales fics

arizona | on call series (neighbor!frankie morales x f!reader, fluff and angst) @luxurychristmaspudding

the catfish & the mouse: all pent up & nowhere to go (chubby! frankie morales x pregnant fem!reader, angst and fluff) @beefrobeefcal

logan howlett fics

say yes to heaven (logan howlett x f!reader, fluff) @happy74827

sweetest pie (logan howlett x black fem!reader, smut) @yoditopascal

cupcake (teacher!logan howlett x fem!student! reader, smut) @sinsofsummers

busy signal (logan howlett x fem!reader, smut) @superhoeva

logan howlett headcanons @moeitsu

wrong hole (dark!dom!logan howlett x f!reader, smut) @darnell-la

9:30 pm (logan howlett x fem!reader, fluff) @slushycoookie

deadpool/wade wilson fics

wade wilson letting his guard down around you (wade wilson x reader, fluff) @mercwiththem0uth

deadpool forces you to swallow (deadpool x reader, smut) @ddejavvu

the face behind the mask (deadpool x reader, fluff) @moonxknightx

steve rogers fics

eye of the beholder (bodyguard! steve rogers x reader, fluff) @navybrat817

needy (steve rogers x fem!reader, smut) @bluemoon-fever

bucky barnes fics

red wings (beefy! bucky barnes x fem!reader, smut) @ramp-it-up

welp, that’s all folks! see you next month ;) MWAH -lovey

dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3

#august fic recs #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #wade wilson x reader

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year ago

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I'm working steadily on my aran sweater and I just see Frankie shyly asking Bonnie if she would make him one. She already made an Icelandic lopapeysa and Frankie knows how much work went into it: to him, the aran with its cables looks five hundred times more difficult. But he really likes the look of it, so he asks her. And Bonnie obviously goes YES, I'd love to! So they decide on a model together, go shopping for yarn together (he insists on paying), and she starts working on it with Frankie looking at her with adoring eyes.

"I can't believe you can do this," he marvels when she's knitted the first five inches or so, and you start to see the beehive and cable pattern.

"I can't believe you can take apart an engine, find out what's wrong with it, and put it back together," she shrugs without looking up from the cable work. Frankie has to agree that they have different strengths and skills.

When the sweater is finished, he can't wait for autumn to come so that he can start wearing it. And he'll tell anyone who asks that his girl made it for him.

#wait hold on i need a minute #frankie morales #frankie morales x bonnie #frankie morales x chubby!reader

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beefrobeefcal · 1 year ago

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Chubby!Frankie fic

Is it a one shot? Sure... for now. Nope. Totally not. send in your thoughts, ask box is always open!

The Catfish & The Mouse: Part 1

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Frankie and he begins to full-fill his destiny. AKA How chubby!Frankie came to be!

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 8,149 damn, I over shot that one

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain

Author's Notes: This is my first fic ever; always appreciate constructive critism, but pls be gentle. Thank you to the baddie who anonymously requested a foodie Frankie fics to different fic writers on here and inspired me to put the fingers to keys to create my own debauchery. And an even bigger thank you to @harryleatherfit - this one's for you, friendo!

_______________________________________________

You first met Frankie three and half years ago at a barbeque your cousins Will and Benny hosted. Both cousins had wanted to introduce you to their army friends, and Frankie was first.

“Fish, this is our cousin, Mouse.” Benny announced, slapping a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and face Frankie. You internally cringed at Benny using your childhood nickname.

Francisco “Catfish” Morales, or Frankie as you came to love him, was handsome, but also looked a little like an abandoned puppy who needed a good home and hot meal, with his big brown eyes and sharp features. From his broad shoulders, his frame was slight. He looked a little less secure about himself than some of the other guys in attendance, but this charmed you right away.

Then you were introduced to Santiago “Pope” Garcia. Santi had the handsome-and-he-knew-it personality down pat with his intense dark eyes roving up and down your body as he shook your hand, causing an intense heat to wash up and bloom as a blush over your cheeks. Had Frankie not been there and had you not met him first, Santi was convinced you might have fallen right into bed with him that night.

Instead, Frankie’s sweet demeanor and gentle brown eyes only wavering once, down to your lips while you chatted with him, had you seeing him and only him for the rest of the evening. Your chemistry was electric and by the end of the night, he’d asked you out to dinner, setting the date for the following weekend.

It was during your first date that Frankie’s ferocious appetite piqued your interest. He’d taken you to a mid-range family restaurant with a buffet, and he’d eaten close to two full plates of food by the time you’d only managed one without any encouragement or words from you about it. You spoke about your jobs – he a heavy duty mechanic and you an administrator at an accounting office – and histories, and eventually the topic of his military past came up. He’d only recently come home, discharged from the military. You had already deduced that being in said military, food insecurity through rations and high-intensity work outs had left him feeling famished, leading to his current slight state, and based on his lack of reluctance to not eat as much as he did, you took that he may not be aware of that yet.

“I’ve done a couple tours, some with your cousins, and it’s not something I would wish on anyone.” He said quietly, looking down at his fork while pushed some scraps on his plate around.

You knew how tough military service was from hearing Benny talk about it. Will was less open with you, trying to shield you from the horrors he had seen, but would begin to open up when he was drinking.

You reached your hand out and placed it on Frankie’s holding the fork, stopping his movements, and your gaze met his. You smiled warmly and nodded, no words needed to convey that you understood, and it wasn’t going to deter you from pursuing this between you. A broad grin broke out on Frankie’s face, and he broke the eye contact, dropped the fork, got up from his side of the booth and crawled in next to you. Now sitting next to you, he leaned in, cupping your face.

“Please tell me I’m not reading this wrong…” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed you. Eyes closed, you leaned into him in kind, reaching up your hands, one to his shoulder and the other on side, feeling his slight tummy from the dinner he ate.

You deepened the kiss, opening your mouth slightly, and Frankie took it as an invitation to push further. You let a small whimper out, and his hold on you tightened.

Before the kiss could escalate further, you both heard someone clear their throat. Breaking apart and looking up, you were greeted with a scowling, middle aged waitress bearing the name tag “Martha”.

“You two need the bill?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes, contrasting the frown on her mouth.

After an awkward exchange with Martha and paying the bill, Frankie held your hand as you walked through the parking lot to his truck. Once there, he went to unlock the passenger side door for you. Before he could turn the key in the door, you stepped in between him and truck, wrapping your arms around his neck. Gently pulling his face to yours, you murmured, “You’re not reading anything wrong.” before pulling him back into a kiss.

Frankie dropped his keys and wrapped his arms around you, no longer just a kiss, you reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair and the other hand clawed at the back of his shoulder as you made out. His hands traveled around your back, and one reached down, grabbed a handful of your ass, and pulled your leg up onto his hip, pushing you into his truck. From the angle he held you at and the way his hips had thrust you up against the vehicle door, you could feel his hardening cock press up against your lower stomach, and you sighed into his mouth.

That night, after prying yourselves off each other and making your way in the truck to your house, you invited him in, and he made you come on his mouth no less than 3 times before he fucked you.

You were not letting him go.

*****

After a few months of dating, your lease came up on your apartment and Frankie asked you to move in with him; you excitedly agreed. Benny was instantly supportive of your solidifying relationship, saying, “Fish finally caught a good one!” while Will took a little longer to warm up to the idea. Santiago was happy for his friend, albeit a little disappointed and jealous that you went for Frankie and not him.

Living together allowed you to create a home and you carved out your roles together. He handled the maintenance and outdoor upkeep, you both shared the household chores, and you handled the laundry and the cooking. You had learned how to cook from a family friend with a large family, and thus you only knew how to cook for a crowd. At first, there were always leftovers after each meal, but slowly, there seemed to be less and less of that happening. You noticed Frankie having larger servings, seconds or both. After a large dinner, he would haul himself to the couch and lay back, hand on his stuffed tummy, and say how he may have overdone it but, “damn, that was good.” You took it as a compliment and carried on.

You, on the other hand, started to use the gym membership offered by your job, taking advantage of the different classes, getting up early to go work out so your evenings with Frankie weren’t interrupted. Over time, both of your hard work started to show; you were in the best shape of your life and Frankie was filling out his frame. Frankie loved your lithe body, and you loved his fuller one.

Your sex life with Frankie was – in a word – amazing. He could be gentle during Sunday morning sex, rutting into you, murmuring sweet words of praise into your ears, bringing you to a beautiful, soulful orgasm while staring into each other’s eyes. He could also use his entire body’s weight to pin you to what ever surface he was fucking you on, using his strong arms to hold you in place and his military trained voice to bark orders and causing you to almost black out from coming so hard.

Then there were the evenings after he would eat a large dinner; like the last time you made lasagna – Frankie’s favourite. After he ate all he could handle, he cradled his poor, bloated tummy as he gently laid back on the recliner, popping the foot rest out with a grunt.

“Oof, Mouse, baby. That was amazing. Gets better every time!” he said, trying to tug his now too-tight t-shirt back over his engorged belly.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You said with a smile as you leaned down and kissed him.

You stood up, and as you turned to walk away, Frankie reached out and touched your leg to get your attention.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” He gave you the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

You laughed and rolled you eyes, then said while attempting to leave the room, “Yeah, yeah… I’ll get dessert.”

His hold on your pant leg did not let go. You turned and looked back at him. His wanton gaze roaming up and down your body.

“Oh no, baby… nuh uh… dessert is right here.” He said lowly, and tugged you back towards him, running a hand up to between your thighs and cupping your heat.

“Yeah… you take good care of me, baby…” he croons as he rubs your damp centre through your leggings while a quiet moan escaped out through your barely open mouth. “Tell me how I can take care of you.”

He was offering for you to take the lead; this was the dance you both would move through on evenings when he overindulged on your cooking. Standing over him with his hand between your legs, you run your fingers over his taut belly, lifting his tight shirt up and push down gently feeling his fullness, eliciting a grunt from his mouth and stopping his hand’s movement.

“You look like you’ve already had your fill for the night.” You coo, leaning down and rubbing a little firmer over his tummy. “Ready to pop.”

You push in a little harder with the final ‘P’ sound come from the word pop, and Frankie whimpers. You know it’s not from pain or discomfort because of the tenting that had grown in his sweatpants. You ran your hand to his waistband and pulled down, his hard cock popped out and hit up against his belly, tip angry and red, weeping precum.

Frankie shivered as you grabbed his aching member and ran your thumb over the slit. “… fuck… I’m… I wan-want to take care of you… baby… please… fuck.” He begged, each pant causing his belly to move up and down.

You stood back to your full height and removed your shirt and bra, then reached down to remove your leggings and underwear, stepping out of them and standing in front of Frankie naked, while he watched, mouth agape.

“I know, Frankie… shhhhh, I know. And you will. Can I ride you? You gonna let me do that?” you cooed again as you threw your leg over him and began to straddle his thighs. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Please baby… let’s me eat your pussy… want to eat y-your pussy… need to…. Fuck, please… ” he pleaded, as you palmed his tummy and grinded down on his thigh.

“Don’t think you could handle another meal in here.”, you interrupted him as you pushed down gently on his very full belly, right in the middle, not to elicit pain but to emphasize how full he really was. Frankie keened, eyes pleading for whatever it was you were wiling to give him. You eyes broke contact with his, and looked down where you were pressing into his middle, smiling devilishly.

Frankie shivered again and mewled, “A whole tray of your fucking delicious lasagna.”

He grabbed your waist as you moved forward on his lap. You brought your slick cunt over this throbbing cock, aligned your entrance to him, and gently sunk down, both moaning.

He held you in place, not allowing movement just yet, and said in an almost whimper, “Not too rough, baby. I-I’m pretty full.”

You smiled at him, and as you pushed to move your hips against his firm hold, you mock-whimpered to him, “You can’t handle me, big boy?”

Frankie’s eyes rolled back with a groan loudly escaping his mouth; any restraint he was trying to exercise to console his over-stuffed belly broke, and he planted his heels into the couch, thrusting up into you repeatedly. His hold on your hips was harsh, you knew it would leave bruises for you to discover tomorrow, and he alleviated any responsibility to your own movement on his cock.

Every downward movement you made had his belly crashing into your mound, sending shocks throughout your body, bringing you closer to your peak.

“Frankie! …oh fuck… baby…. Keep going….” You cried out with your head thrown back.

“You close? Yeah? …. I can feel it…. Baby… let go… baby – fuck – let go… come for me-m’you look for pretty when you come…” he called back to you in equal desperation.

A few more thrusts caused your orgasm to crash over you, sending waved throughout your body. Frankie soon followed with panting and groaning, and you collapsed on to him.

“Careful… careful… full… so full… “, he panted, smiling, one hand leaving your hip to place on the back of your neck, soothing you to quiet your movements over his aching, yet satisfied, middle.

This was not the first or last time this happened. These kinds of intimate moments remained unspoken between you. You had discussed sex, even kinks, before, but this was topic that hadn’t been discussed before or after each encounter. Although he figured you liked feeding him based on the look of awe you gave him when he ate more than his fair share of the food you prepared, purposely not allowing leftovers if he could manage. He liked to tease you by pretending he couldn’t eat another thing, then continue to finish what was ever left on the table while you praised him for being a “good boy”. He especially enjoyed when he caught you watching him while he would lay in the couch and his shirt would ride up his swollen stomach involuntarily when he really over did it, dramatically rubbing his belly. Anyone of those actions generally led to you needing him like you were in heat. He enjoyed eating to his heart’s content and was encouraged by the response he got from you; he was all too willing to go down this route, never feeling like you were making do anything he didn’t want.

He didn’t over do it or push himself every day, but it was beginning to happen more often, and he could see the effect him letting his inhibitions go had, feeling his clothing fitting different, especially around his midsection. He didn’t care, except for the nagging thoughts about what you thought of being with a big guy, one that he hadn’t been when you first started dating.

The guys at the mechanic shop teased him in good humor when he had to size up his coveralls, all making comments about how lucky he was to have a lady who cooked that well for him at home. He smiled and knew he was lucky, but still wondered if you felt the same about him.

*****

It was about 6 months later, you were at one of Benny’s fights, along with Frankie and Will.

“I’m going to get something to drink, and maybe eat. Want anything?” Frankie asked, pointing between you and Will. You both shook your heads, and Frankie nodded and smiled at Will for his approval of his next movement, then leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before heading to the concession.

Will watched him walk away chuckling, then turned back to you. He knew both you and Frankie were still nervous about being an item in front of him, but he thought it was sweet.

“So… everything is going well with you, Mouse?” Will asked as he turned to you.

“Yeah,” you said with an equally bright smile. “It’s good… great! He’s … we’re great!” you smiled, looking down at your hands. “Work is good and Frankie is great.”

Will smiles, softer this time, and puts his arm around your shoulder. “Glad to hear it. You look happy… happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

Will was like an older brother to you, the one you wish you had. Being an only child of a single mother, he offered additional stability when you needed it, whether you wanted it or not. He was your babysitter growing up and kept tabs on you during high school onward. Benny, on the other hand, fit the goofy brother mold to a T; you were the same age and we’re raised together. If Will was getting you out of trouble, it was usually because Benny got you into it.

“Yeah, I’m really happy. You know, I have a good routine down; work, gym, Frankie. It’s good!”

Will gives you a soft smile and nods. You both look back towards the ring, but you get the feeling that he has more to say. You knew Frankie’s bulkier frame was not lost on your cousin, but that didn’t seem to the button he wanted to push. After a pause, he cleared his throat.

“But, uh, Fish is treating you good?” he said, voice quiet, and his eyes not moving from the boxing ring.

You turned your head and looked at Will’s profile. “Yes, he’s treating me really well.” You paused a beat and put your hand on Will’s shoulder to get him to turn to you. “I’m really good. He’s … I love him, Will.”

Will turned to look at you, eyes scanning your face, then nodded and smiled. His eyes caught something behind you and you turned to see Frankie coming back, carrying a beer and two hot dogs – one he was already halfway through.

Will smiled as he saw his friend approach and said while chuckling quietly to you, “He looks really happy, too.”

*****

Santiago was back in town for the first time in a while, and the guys wanted to go out to their favourite bar. Both you and Hannah, Will’s wife, were invited along, as it had been over six months since you’d seen each other. Frankie had taken a shower and was now standing in the bathroom, jeans on but not done up and slung low on his waist with his stomach pushing over the waistband of his boxers, brushing his teeth.

You stood, leaning against the doorway, and watched him. His mechanic job kept his body strong; his shoulders were broad and lead into his strong, thick arms and large, beefy chest. He was still muscular, but it was all now covered in a layer of softness. His thick, meaty thighs carried what bore the brunt of his new eating habits; his waist had filled out, producing love handles, and then his stomach. It was no longer flat and toned; it was a good sized belly – round and soft with a firmness underneath. But through his changes, he had never lost his strength, and it was still easy for him to pick you up like you weighed next to nothing.

“Well, hello there.” Frankie crooned at you with a sly smile. “And what are we looking at, lovely lady?”

A blush rose on your cheeks, and you smiled back. Sauntering over, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around on top of his belly. “Just my sweet, sexy Frankie.” You planted a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he leaned back, his hand on yours.

A little while later, you and Frankie got out of the truck and walked hand-in-hand into the bar. Frankie scanned the tables and saw Will with Hannah, waving. Waving back, he pulled you by the hand towards them.

“Fish! How you doing, buddy?” Will asked while standing up, coming over to give a hug. You noticed that he looked Frankie up and down quickly, trying to take in his friend’s now larger figure.

Wait until he takes off his coat. You thought to yourself, knowing the tight grey t-shirt underneath would really highlight all the newly added Frankie there was.

Hellos and how-are-yous exchanged while you take your seats. Benny arrives and has a similar response to Frankie as Will, but neither saying anything. The conversation between the five of you flows naturally, and Frankie has his arm around the back of your chair.

Santi hasn’t arrived yet, and you’re somewhat relieved. You like Santiago enough, and he’s Frankie’s best friend, but he’s not the kindest or gentlest person. You we’re told by Benny that he had taken it a bit hard when you started to date Frankie, but hadn’t heard anything further about it. Frankie, on the other hand, got the ribbing and teasing from Santi, and although he said he was fine with it, you knew Frankie could be sensitive.

The guys started to catch up and you offered to get you and Frankie a drink.

“Just a beer, baby. Whatever is on tap.” He said, then turned back to Benny to hear his outrageous, and probably over embellished, story about grocery shopping.

You nodded and headed towards the bar. You waved down the bartender and placed your order. While waiting for your drinks, a familiar voice says your name. You turned and saw Santi.

“Hey!” and you smile as he pulled you into a hug.

He pulled back from you smiling, with his hands on your waist, “Wow… you look… insanely good!”

His eyes roaming up and down your figure. “You hitting the gym?”

You laugh and roll your eyes, still not used to compliments about your fitter form, and feeling more so that it was coming from him. “Yeah, yes… my job comes with a gym membership and I’m finally putting it to use.”

Santi nods. “Need a workout buddy? A spotter? I’ll be in town for a while and need something to do.” He said as he leaned his face closer to yours while making intense eye contact.

You try to not let your smile falter and you pulled back; Santi is smooth, but not that smooth. You’ve caught on to what he’s doing.

“I, uh, have a personal trainer.” You lied.

“And it’s a women’s only gym.” You lied again, nodding like you’re trying to not only convince him but yourself, too, so it seems credible.

Santi’s smile simmered down a bit and he pulled you back in for a tighter, more intimate feeling hug, lingering just a bit too long with his arms around your waist. You swore you heard him take in a deep breathe and smell your hair, but you couldn’t be sure.

“I missed you, Mouse.” He says in a hushed tone.

You broke the hug abruptly when the bartender called out that your drinks were ready and stated what the total you owed was. Santi tried to keep a hand on your waist and went to pay, but you were quicker and moved away, handing the bartender cash and telling him to keep the change. You hurriedly grabbed your and Frankie’s glasses and turned to Santi.

“Everyone else is here. Over there.” You motioned with one of the glasses to the other side of the room.

Santi followed you to the table and greeted everyone, and then gave Frankie a once-over.

“Fish! Man oh man! Are you enjoying the tethered life or what!” he exclaims, pulling Frankie into a hug and patting him on the back firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, Pope.” Frankie says with a headshake and a smile.

The conversation flowed again, and you started to relax into your chair. Frankie’s arm went from the back of your chair to around your shoulders, fingers drawing shapes on your arm, as he continued to chat with Santi.

After a bit, Benny wanted to get another round for everyone, and Frankie offered to help. As the two walked back to the bar, Will came and took Frankie’s seat.

Leaning in, he asks quietly, “How’s it going? Everything good?”

You look at him with confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. Why? Does it not look it?”

“Well,” Will paused then chuckled to himself, “Frankie looks like he’s really enjoying living with you. What are your feeding him?” he asked, laughing.

“Hmmm?” you responded, turning your head to Will, with a questioning look.

He laughed again. “Frankie. What are you feeding him?” he pauses, “I’ve known Fish for a long time, and I have never seen him this…” he gestures his hands like he’s trying to find a nice way to put something. “…well-fed.”

You shrugged and feigned innocence with a head shake. “He really likes my cooking. What can I say? Just let him be happy.”

Will’s hands went up in surrender, smile growing. “No, no, no… I mean, I’m glad he’s comfortable, and being taken care of… and happy. And that you’re happy, too.”

You gave him a stern look, leaned in, and hissed, “Don’t you dare say a thing to him about this.”

Will let out a hearty laugh, waving you off. “I won’t, Mouse. I won’t.”

Benny and Frankie came back to the table and, once the drinks were handed out, Frankie took his jacket off, hanging it over the back of his chair. His shirt pulled tight on his arms and shoulders, and emphasized his protruding belly.

“Whoa, Fish!” Santi, exclaimed with raised eyebrows and eyes scanning down his ample torso. He then reached out and poked Frankie’s belly with two of his fingers roughly. “You enjoying civie life that much?”

Frankie forced a fake laugh, shaking his head as he pushed Santi’s hand away. He looked up and stared right back at him, and snarled with a not-so-friendly grin, “With this girl by my side? Absolutely.”

He sat back down and put his arm around you again, although it was a little more of a firmer hold this time. You looked up at Frankie and then to Santi, giving him an awkward smile and shrugged.

Santi’s mouth was in a tight line, and he nodded, staring back at Frankie then sneered, “Mouse says she’s hitting the gym.” He looks at you, his eyes exaggeratingly moved from your chest back up to your face with a feral grin, then back to Frankie and spat, “Clearly, you’re just making it to the kitchen.”

Before any further nastiness erupted, Will leaned over the table, hands up with a palm facing each man. “Alright. Enough. Knock it off, both of you. Let’s just enjoy tonight you guys.”

Frankie’s smile was gone, replaced completely with a challenging scowl directed at Santi across the table and his hold on you tightened. You looked up at him again, and his gaze softened. He then nodded at Will then dropped his eyes to the beer in his hand.

Santi continued to stare at Frankie, watching him in the same way, then to you with a smirk. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to return his gaze with a furious glare. What you could only describe as regret washed over his face before he looked at Will and nodded.

The conversation began slowly again, awkward at first, then picked up. Benny had more to say about his upcoming boxing opponent, Santi shared stories from his travels, Will talked about his and Hannah’s vacation plans, and Frankie talked about the interesting people he encountered at the mechanic shop he worked at. You chimed in occasionally to share an anecdote here and there, too.

After a while, Benny said he was hungry, and wanted to go to a real place with real food. After deciphering that he meant a restaurant, you all, but Frankie, started throwing out ideas of where you could go. Frankie’s lack on contribution to this topic was not lost on you, and you watched as he kept his head down, fingers playing with the residual condensation on his glass. It was Santi’s voice that made you wince.

“Come on, Big Fish.”, curling his lip as he sneered. “You must know a good place to eat. I’m sure you’ve had your fill from every restaurant in town, buddy.”

You stared at Santi, completely gobsmacked and horrified by not just his words, but his nasty tone. And you were not alone. Benny’s mouth hung open with his brows furrowed in disgust, Hannah just closed her eyes and shook her head, and Will stared at him with a terrifying intensity.

Before you could answer, Frankie, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Nah, I think this is it for me tonight.”, he said quietly, trying to force a smile, while not making eye contact with anyone in particular. “You guys enjoy. I’ve, uh, I’ve got an early morning, and need to head home.”

You knew that was a lie. He’d purposely taken tomorrow off in case tonight went on into the early morning hours, but it was barely 7:30 pm.

You were enraged. You wanted to lunge across the table and throttle Santi. But before you could do anything, Frankie turned to you as he got up and said with the same quiet tone and sad eyes, “You go with them, get some food. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up.”

That look and those words broke your heart.

You shook your head and got your purse and jacket. You said your goodbyes to the group, except for Santi, purposely avoiding him. Santi only looked up at you once, but when to refused to meet his eyes, he sat back and lowered his head. Benny hugged you goodbye, giving an extra squeeze before letting you go. He then hugged Frankie next, saying quietly - but you managed to hear him- “Ignore Pope. He’s just jealous. She picked you, Fish.”

Frankie pulled back and nodded unconvincingly, and Benny patted him on the shoulder and Hannah pulled you both in for a hug.

Will waved both you and Frankie off with his anger at Santi barely being contained, not moving from his seat until he deemed that you both were out of earshot. Before you walked out the door, you took one last look at the table and watched as Will stood over Santi, berating him. You couldn’t hear what was being said but knowing Will and seeing Santi just sit with his head hung low, you knew he felt like every word like a dagger.

The ride home was quiet. Any topic you tried to bring up, Frankie either responded with in one-word answers or not at all. As soon as the truck was parked, you undid your seat belt and shuffled across the bench seat towards Frankie.

“Honey? Frankie? Talk to me, baby.” You said reaching up and cupping his cheek.

He turned his head, but his eyes stayed low. He sighed and shook your hand off his cheek, then got out of the truck. You felt crushed.

You followed him up to the front door, then into your home. You both removed your coats, hanging them up. As he was kicking off his shoes, you pushed yourself in front of him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Frankie, please. Talk to me.” You said into his chest.

He sighed again. You could feel his body tense up under your hold and his hands came up to your shoulders. It felt like he was going to push you away, but instead, he moved his hands around your shoulders and buried his face into your hair.

“I love you, you know.” You said to finally break the silence.

“I love you, too.” He responded in a sad sigh.

“And you know I love everything about you.” You pulled back, hands on the side of his waist, staring up into his eyes. “Everything.”

Frankie hesitated. He looked away from you and stated, “I saw Santi and you at the bar. I saw him hug you - his hands on you.”

He looked back up to your face, eyes wide with worry. You ran a hand up through his hair, resting it on his cheek.

“What did you talk about?” he asks, quietly, shifting away from eye contact.

“He asked me if I needed a workout buddy…”

Before you could end you sentence, you could see the hurt that crept up into his eyes. “…but I lied. I told him I had a personal trainer. And that it’s a women’s only gym.”

The hurt, while not completely gone, was now mixed with you recognized as amusement and pride as he knew for a fact those statements were both lies.

“Santi’s an ass.” You state bluntly, cocking your head and softly looking up at him.

“A skinny ass.” Frankie retorted; his brows furrowed again.

There it was. It wasn’t that Santi having interest in you that upset him or how he may have been jealous of you being with Frankie - it was the nagging worry of you wanting to pursue a leaner body than he now offered.

Scratching your fingers gently through his beard, you look up at him through your eyelashes, and coo, “Good thing I don’t have a thing for skinny guys anymore.”

Your hands moved down to his waist then under his shirt, gently caressing his middle. You feel the goose bumps on his skin and see his eyes flicker.

“Good thing I want a big boy who likes to eat and can pin me to the mattress when he fucks me.” You said softly as your hands moved further down so you could hold his belly and lift gently, feeling it’s weight.

Frankie’s breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed harshly. His now darkened eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes, his confidence growing hearing your confirmation out loud.

Normally, when anything to do with Frankie’s expanding waistline came into play, you held the control - seizing it – and he was more than happy to oblige, not being fully sure what you were getting out of it. But hearing you confirm that you wanted this - him in his newer, fuller state - and seeing the arousal screaming in your eyes, it was his turn to dominate.

“Yeah?” Frankie asks in a breathy voice, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lips before he begins to gently push you backwards towards the back of the closed front door.

“That why you feed me good? Huh, baby?” his voice almost in mocking tone when he asks you. “Stuff me and keep me happy?”

Your back hit the door and Frankie pushed his belly up against you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “I’m asking you a question, baby.” His voice dark and teasing. The unspoken thing was now in the wide open, and there was no putting back into what ever box you both had kept it in. The heat pooling in your lower belly was beginning to become more and more intense, and you could feel your cunt fluttering and clenching on nothing.

“Uh huh.”, you nodded dumbly, your eyes wide and your arousal saturating your underwear and into your leggings.

“Yeah, I bet. That’s why you cook too much food, huh? Keep me big and round?” he asks again, is a voice dripping with taunt and need.

You whimper. Frankie smiles menacingly and puts his hands on either side of your head and cages you in.

“Baby,” he licks his lips and runs his eyes down to your heaving chest, encased tits moving up and down with every strangled breath you take. “I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

He leaned in and ghosted a kiss over your wanting mouth. He pulled back enough so you’re unable to reach him with your lips and he smiles darkly. “I’m starved.”

“Wh-what do you want me to make for you?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth, trembling. Your eyes were heavy lidded with arousal and begging. Between Frankie’s whole domineering demeanor and being pinned between the door and his belly, you were like a rocket, ready to launch the second NASA gave the go ahead.

Frankie chuckled. “I want you to make yourself comfortable on our bed, baby. I’m going to devour that sweet cunt of yours, over and over and over and over….”

He trailed off as he began to nip and suck your neck, turning you into a panting, gasping, moaning mess.

“Fra… Frankie!” you keened as one of his knees jutted up between your legs, pushing into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh Mouse… baby... I can feel how wet and hot you are through your leggings and my jeans.” He cooed mockingly at you, one hand coming up and stroking your cheek. “What’s got you all worked up? Huh?”

You moaned and whimpered as he pushed his knee with more force into your aching apex - any friction at this point sending electricity directly through body from your throbbing cunt.

“Words, baby. Use your words.” He huffed.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out were pathetic whimpers and gasps.

“You gonna come from my knee, baby? Just my knee?” he snarled as his knee pulled back and you whined. “Nuh uh, baby girl. You’re coming on my tongue, on my mouth. I’m ready to eat.”

He grabbed you by the waist and flung you over his shoulder. You squealed as he carried you to your bedroom.

Frankie tossed you on the bed and grabbed the waist of your leggings, pulling them down along with your underwear in one smooth movement.

“Frankie… b-baby… pl-please!” you cried, not really sure what you were asking for.

As soon as he had your bare, glistening cunt in the open, his eyes went dark and feral. He crawled up, laid himself down on his side next to you and forcefully kissed you. One hand snaked down your body and pushed in between your legs, gently moving his middle finger through your slit.

He pulled away from the kiss and nudged you with his nose. “Fuck… you’re so wet for me… you have no idea what you do to me.” He paused to insert a finger into you sopping cunt, thumb circling around your clit. He watched your face with a smile and continued, “So fucking good to me… keeping me happy… keeping me fed… fuck baby… keeping me full…”

He could feel your cunt squeezing his one finger, starting you towards your orgasm, and he then added another, pumping into you with a little more effort. You cried out and gripped the wrist of the hand he had buried in you, while the other pushed up into your headboard.

“Baby… fuck… you look so good falling a part around my fingers… you’re so close… I can feel it.” an evil smile crosses his face. “But I’m hungry, baby…” he hisses as he pulls out his fingers.

Your eyes shot open, and you growled, trying to continue your hold on his wrist. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Francisco!”

He pulled back and grinned at you, breaking out of your hold, while sitting back on his knees. He sucked his fingers clean and moaned in contentment, “So fucking tasty, baby.”

Before you could use your own hands to get relief from the unsatisfied edge in your heat, he moved between your legs, laying down on his belly and pulled you by your thighs toward his face. Your legs were draped over his broad shoulders as he wrapped his arms under your hips to anchor you to him , then pushed his face into your cunt and licked harshly.

Your eyes went wide, and you shrieked and writhed, shooting both hands down into his curls and yanking. Frankie hummed, holding you in place with his strong arms, and began to fuck you with his tongue while his nose rubbed into your clit. You could feel the tight coil in your lower belly begin to reach a breaking point, and then you saw stars.

You came hard and loud and Frankie moaned into your pussy, lapping up everything you had like he had promised - like he was starving.

You rode out your orgasm on his face, gripping his hair and crying out. As you started to come down, Frankie moved and sucked your clit between his lips harshly, while thrusting a finger in and out your cunt.

You cried out and dug your heals into his shoulders.

“Frankie! I-I can’t! T-too much!” you wailed, as tears began in your eyes and you tried to close your legs.

Frankie wedged his shoulders further between your thighs to hold you open to him. He pulled his mouth off your clit and added another finger to his pounding of your pussy.

If you hadn’t been in a fucked-out state, you would have been unnerved by the gentle, saccharine sweet tone of his voice, crooning, “You can do it, baby girl… shhhhhh… yeah you can.”

Then he dropped his voice low and snarled, “Be a good girl and FEED ME.”

He dove his mouth back onto your swollen clit. Your grip on his hair only egged him on while he pushed another finger in and made you come again.

He didn’t relent. Before this one ended, you could feel another building up but far more intense. You knew the feeling well, being Frankie was the only man who had ever made you come that hard.

“F-FRANKIE-EEEEEE! Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…” you chanted as you came again, arching your back right off the bed and feeling a gush from your abused pussy right into his waiting mouth.

“Yeah baby! Give it to me! Fuck baby!” Frankie moaned while you squirted and came all over his face and in his mouth, causing a damp spot to widen under you on the bed.

As you came down, he placed gentle kisses and licks on your pussy, nuzzling you with his nose through the aftershocks. He pulled his face back and laid his head on your thigh, looking up at you with adoration.

“Good girl.” “You did so good for me.” “Yeah, baby, you’re such a good girl” he praised while rubbing your hip with the hand that had been holding you down.

You raised your head and looked down at Frankie. He smiled, moustache and beard scruff wet. You smiled back, still trying to catch your breath.

You flopped your head back onto the pillow and closed your eyes as Frankie crawled up your body. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he smiled and chucked.

“Hey.” He said gently, while cupping your cheek.

You gave him a goofy grin, eyes still closed. “Hey.”

You reached up and put your arms around his neck. He kissed you deeply, pulled back and said, “You ready to get fucked into the mattress by a big boy with a big cock?”

Your eyes opened wide and you nodded eagerly. He sat up on his knees and helped you removed your top and bra. He kissed you as you laid bare before him and grabbed one of your bare tits in his hands while worrying your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

You broke the kiss and reached out and started to remove his clothing, not wanting to wait any longer. Frankie stood up to the side of the bed and took off his shirt while you started on his jeans. The waistband of his jeans was straining under his ample belly, enough so that the button keeping his jeans closed was so pulled tight that you couldn’t undo it without his assistance.

Frankie chuckled, his belly moving along with his laugh. “I have to suck in to get them open now. Might need new jeans.” He said, playfully, a blush of embarrassment flushed his cheeks.

Your cheeks flushed back, knowing that his belly was not currently full - not even close - and you wondered how much trouble it would give his jeans if he’d just finished a big meal.

You couldn’t help it and leaned forward to caress and kiss his belly, while he sucked it in and open his jeans, and you marveled at his stomach’s weight and size pushing the zipper down on its own.

You pushed his boxers down with his jeans, his cock popped out pushing against his plush middle, and he kicked them off entirely. You grabbed his cock and began to eagerly pump it. Frankie grunted and bucked his hips with a whine, trying to stop you.

“No… no, baby. If you do that, I’m going to come, and I want to come in that sweet, tight pussy.” He murmured as he grabbed your wrist and pushed you down on your back, crawling over you and holding you in place with his weight.

“Oh Frankie… please… fuck me… please… ” You panted into his ear.

He grunted again, and l leaned up on his elbows, maneuvering one arm between you to line him up with your entrance.

He then braced himself, elbows on either side of your head, and pushed in.

Your mouth opened and your eyes closed. The feeling of him opening you up never got old, each time splitting you into euphoria.

His eyes never left your face, looking for any indication that you wanted or needed him to stop. He bottomed out and you whimpered, pleading with him.

“Baby… pl-please, Frankie!” you moaned. You tried to move your hips to get him to move, but his weight pinning you to the mattress had you stuck.

“Oh fuck you’re tight… just… so tight and warm… fuck, baby….” He panted, enjoying you squirming underneath him.

His hips began to move, slowly, giving him time to acclimate so we wouldn’t blow his load too soon. He continued on this pace, you walls getting slicker as his cock rammed deep.

“Please… Frankie… baby…. Harder… Harder!” you cried, wrapping your legs around his waist to get more leverage.

He picked up the pace, adjusting his position over you to piston you on his cock, harder and faster, bruising into your cervix. You could tell he was getting close with his movements beginning to fall out of rhythm.

“Baby girl…” he panted and began to beg, “Come with me… I’m close. Touch yourself… pl-play with your clit…”

You reached down and circled your middle finger around your tender clit and felt yourself moving fast to your next orgasm.

“I’m close… fuck… Frank-kie… I’m close..” you moaned.

“I know…I know… Look at me when you come. Fucking look at me.” He growled through clenched teeth.

You felt your orgasm begin to wash over you, and you looked up to his face.

“Good girl… fuuu-uck!” he grunted as your pussy clench him, and he began to paint the inside of your pussy.

With one final thrust, Frankie threw his head back and cried out, “fuck!”

He was breathing heavily when he dropped your shaking legs from his hips, while you laid fucked out and panting on your bed.

Evenutally, Frankie pulled out and you let out a whine.

“I know, baby… I know.” He flops over beside you and pulls your back up against his chest, making you the little spoon to his big one, both breathing heavily.

There’s a comfortable quiet as you both lay in the bed you destroyed together.

Frankie breaks the silence with a sigh. “So… you… like me like this?” he asks into your hair.

You smile and nod, eyes still closed. “Yeah. I like, well, I love that you like to eat, and..” you pause then let out a sigh. “…and your belly. And you’re strong and make me feel safe.”

You can feel Frankie breath a laugh, his stomach pushing against you with each breath, and feel the light kisses he’s adorning the back of your head with.

As you said that, you heard a low rumble. You turned your head and Frankie smiled sheepishly at you.

“I’m hungry… like actually hungry.” He laughed. “You make me work up an appetite!”

You rolled over in his arms, facing him, and you grinned like idiots at one another. You placed a hand on the side of his tummy, drawing circles with your fingers. “Poor baby… can’t let you go hungry.”

Frankie giggled and laid his hand on yours, then kissed you and leaned his forehead against yours.

You released yourself from his embrace and got up off the bed with a slight wobble in your legs. You wandered into the bathroom to get yourself cleaned up.

When you came back out, Frankie was standing, having just pulled his boxers back on. You walked towards him and patted his grumbling belly.

“Let’s get you fed, big boy.”

You managed to get a slice from the large frozen pizza you made, while Frankie happily enjoyed the rest. When he finished that and half of a McCain’s frozen deep-dish cake for dessert, he leaned back as his stuffed tummy pushed out against the table, and sighed, rubbing it gently.

“Thank god you like to feed me because I fucking love to eat.” He laughed.

-----

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kedsandtubesocks · 8 months ago

Text

seasons of you (year 1 - winter)

Blacksmith!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

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

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a farmer & has a family but no physical description, shy & sweet!Frankie, major pining & yearning, friends to something more, Frankie being previously married/a bit secretive about his life, gift exchange as love language, use of nickname (Frankie calls reader “little farmer” affectionately but it’s no reflection on reader’s size), blooming romance

word count: 5.6k

a/n: we’ve arrived to Frankie’s first piece in our Stardew AU series! We’re starting ‘in the middle of things’ & it’s meant to show how slow/shy our relationship with Frankie unfolds that romance just starts rolling now, plus I needed Frankie’s story to begin this way so something else can maybe unfold in year two but that’s all I’m gonna saying lol, again couldn’t have done this without @lowlights @swiftispunk @perotovar & @burntheedges you babes are my guiding stars always and I’m eternally grateful. And to you, if you’re reading this, thank you too lovely

Snow crunches under your boots and the chilly air seeping through your coat feels different. This would be your first serious winter storm and you already sense it approaching.

Yanking open the blacksmith’s door, a wave of heat washes over and you sigh.

Thankfully Frankie’s shop is still open and you almost cry relieved.

“Sorry!” You apologize walking further towards the counter. “I know there’s five minutes left before closing, but I just wanted to swing by!”

You wanted to pick up your newly forged ax before the storm hit and of course…

You wanted to see him.

Autumn kept you so busy with the farm and the fall festival. Now you hope to see more of your favorite blacksmith.

Waiting for him, your eyes wander.

The shop, with its eternal flame flickering, holds so much personality in its walls. A military pilot flag hangs by the front. The low radio plays a soft rock ballad. A bulletin board by the side of the counter is covered in various flyers and photos. Your favorite snapshots are one of a smiling little baby girl with sweet chubby cheeks you still haven’t gotten to ask Frankie who she is. There’s another photo of a group of men in military uniform.

It’s all so familiar and welcoming now.

With all the time in the mines, you wonder if maybe your pickaxe needs work too. Sliding your backpack off, you examine your trusty tool. Worn, but not weathered, the steel speaks of the craftsmanship and skill of the blacksmith who first forged it for you.

“You waiting for that tool to do something or should I leave you two alone?”

Frankie.

You fight back a smile when his warm deep teasing voice floats in.

Frankie wasn’t this easy going with you at first. He kept his distance, was polite but rather reserved.

“He’s just shy. He was like that when I first moved in too,” Leah, your closest friend here in the valley, reassured you one night at the saloon.

Now those beautiful gem eyes of Francisco Morales blaze straight at you as he walks towards the counter. Wearing his trademark baseball cap you playfully glare at him.

“I’m just checking to see if I need to complain to my blacksmith about my pickaxe needing work.” You quip back to him.

“Oh well shit, thank god that isn’t me.” Frankie smirks and you snort at his comment.

Frankie reminds you of the flames and steel he works with. Hard working and gently intense, yet a warmth gleams beneath him and fills an entire room just like the heat from his kilns.

“You just had to come in five minutes before I closed huh?” Frankie sighs dramatically.

You think he’s teasing but guilt still strikes you quick. Rambling out apologies, you scramble to explain how it’s mainly for precaution with the storm coming.

“I can always come back later!” You urge panicking.

He chuckles, cozily deep, and you sputter to a stop.

“I kid little farmer, I kid.”

That nickname he so casually gave to you just this month sparks an electric warmth through your entire body. You weakly laugh back, not able to fully process a reply.

Frankie’s gorgeous features, his striking nose, and his warm eyes disarm you in a way that makes your knees want to fold.

He moves around the tables and workbenches to pull out your ax.

“There it is!” You happily cheer.

Frankie even playfully shows off the sleek new tool like he’s a hostess in a daytime game show and you clap appreciatively while you laugh. It surprises you how silly sometimes Frankie can be.

Moving back to the counter he places your ax onto it. Then he leans towards you and begins explaining what upgrades he did.

You should be listening, but you can’t. Not with him leaning so close to you.

You’ve had an embarrassing crush on Frankie since the first moment Mayor Lewis introduced you to him. But with how busy you’ve been settling into the valley, along with how shy and reserved Frankie is, your feelings simply have stayed crystallizing inside you.

Frankie’s diligent eyes are so focused on his work and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. How dedicated he is to his craft, how quietly passionate he is, you yearn to fall into him more.

Suddenly Frankie’s eyes flicker up and catch you staring at him. In a panic your gaze snaps down to your tool.

“Yup! Looks like it can still cut a tree! Good job, Morales.” You lamely reply and Frankie snorts.

You do sincerely thank him and even offer to get him coffee for making him stay this late.

Frankie waves you off casually. “Maybe next time, besides you gotta get home before the storm hits.”

He’s right. There's still so much you need to do before the night comes. The clatter of Frankie slowly shutting everything down for the night draws you out of your thoughts.

“Do you need any help?” You offer.

“Nah, I’m good. Plus I don’t need your pretty hands getting burned.” Frankie replies back.

Although he’s not looking at you, his sly compliment sends a spark through your body.

Scrambling to put your ax in its guard and then shoving it into your backpack, you thank Frankie again and plan to quietly leave.

“Wait!” Frankie suddenly calls out and you freeze.

“Wait, don’t head out yet. Let me walk you home.”

The chill from outside settles into the shop now that the fires are extinguished. Yet, Frankie’s words ignite a dizzying heat.

“Oh no it’s okay!” You quickly stammer out as a nervous energy spikes in you.

You know he lives besides the forge. It wouldn’t make sense for him to walk you home then have to head the way back here.

The lights from the back area turn off and Frankie already walks out towards you with his coat on.

Your eyes go wide.

“Come on.” He gently nudges you with his kind eyes and your body moves on autopilot.

Once outside the cold galvanizes you. The sky above stretches out a misty blue while the edges of evening’s midnight coloring slowly creeps in.

The entire walk back to your farm Frankie stays in step with you. The conversation is light, easy, simple talk of how his and your day went. Your heart hammers in your chest. Yet, it’s comforting to have someone beside you. He’s warm and stays close.

Now your farm stretches before you a soft welcome home. Frankie, like the gentleman he is, walks you to the door.

Appreciative, you warmly thank him and wish him a safe trip back home.

“Thanks and stay warm, little farmer.” He grins softly, kind.

After a sweet wave goodbye to him, you walk off the porch to do all the final errands before you call it a night.

“Wait, what’re you doing?” Frankie suddenly calls out and curiosity colors his voice.

You glance back and see he hasn’t moved an inch.

With an eased sleepy smile you tell him you have a few last minute things you need to do. Like check on your winter seeds, double check the coop and then make sure the pipes are covered.

“You need help?” He warmly asks concerned and sincere.

“Oh no, I’m good I promise!” You reply. If you were braver you’d joke about not wanting to hurt his pretty hands.

“Besides, you need to get home.” You firmly tell him.

It’s getting darker, not completely night out, but you feel guilty for Frankie walking out here.

So with one final sigh you give him a warm goodbye.

“Stay warm tonight, Morales.”

Frankie quietly grins back and you hope he makes it home safe. Now your focus turns to the small field and you kneel before it.

Your winter seeds aren’t ready just yet. A dread fills you wondering if they will last against the storm.

“What are you growing?”

Frankie.

You didn’t even hear his footsteps in the snow. Whipping your head up you watch Frankie lean down to squat beside you.

“You should be walking home!” You cry out surprised.

Frankie shrugs sleepily. “It’s still early, I’ll be fine.”

You make an indignant squeak that makes him chuckle. Frankie’s eyes return to the little saplings still making their way through the snow, stubbornly growing against the harsh winter.

“They’re just winter seeds.” You sigh explaining how you’ve been growing them mainly for the experience and money.

“You think they’re gonna make it?” He asks gently.

You hope so.

You’re about to get up when Frankie quickly stands above with his hand outstretched to you. Even though your hands are gloved and so are his, a flutter runs through your chest when you place your hand in his. Frankie lifts you up effortlessly and you thank him, trying to steady yourself.

“Alright, what’s next?” Frankie asks light.

“For you to go home, Morales!” You laugh.

“Well you’re walking towards the barn so…kinda doesn’t seem like you’re finished yet.” Frankie comments almost shyly as he stays walking beside you.

“I’m not, but I don’t need your help. Go home!” You urge with a weak laugh. Frankie simply shrugs.

Sliding open the coop door, warmth begs you to come inside. You’re thankful for investing in those barn heaters.

“Your chickens are so big.” Frankie admires quietly in awe at the sleeping birds.

You smile while double checking the coop. Everything seems secure and safe for whatever might come this way tonight.

Stepping back outside the cold air seems still, quiet.

“You need to head home.” You tell him sternly, more worried than ever about his walk back to town.

“What’s next?” He asks with steeled resolve in his voice with no sign of leaving.

“Go home Francisco.” You firmly urge saying his full name.

But then you catch the sight of your pipes and sigh. So you almost did forget to wrap them.

“You didn't wrap your pipes?” He sounds a bit worried.

“I thought I did earlier…” Now you’re extra grateful for double checking.

When the first snow came at the start of winter, everyone reassured you the pipes would be fine. It was during harder snow storms, blizzards, that you needed to be careful. And now one approaches fast.

Frankie follows you inside the house to grab the necessary materials.

You can’t even process him being in your home for the first time. Simply on a mission you and him work together swiftly grabbing duck tape, a ratty old towel and head to the pipes.

It’s a swift team effort. In minutes, the pipes are securely wrapped safely and snug. You and him even share a triumphant high five.

“I wish I could invite you in for a thank you hot chocolate but you need to head home now.” You press.

Frankie, with his hands in his coat pockets, shrugs easily.

“I can stay for some thank you hot coco.” He offers.

“You gotta get home before the storm hits!” You shriek.

He waves you off casually. “It’s not coming till later tonight I’ll be fine. Now come on, don’t you wanna impress me with your hot chocolate skills?”

The smirk he gives you is so boyishly charming, almost like he’s daring you to invite him in.

This side of him is rare. You’ve only seen him get this smug and cocky at the saloon during a game of darts. Now your heart flutters fast in your chest.

“Come on,” He pouts. “Think of this as a way to help keep me warm on the walk back.”

He makes a point. The panic of wanting him to make it home safe before the storm, becomes smaller against the thought of spending more time with this man.

To have this man in your home.

So with a sigh of defeat you crack. Nudging your chin towards the door, you let Frankie in.

He’s in your home now. You need to stay composed.

You do have budding feelings for him, something that’s evolved out of the simple crush you had. And having him here in your home feels like dipping your toe into the deep end of a pool before jumping in. But you shake those thoughts away.

“Your place is nice.” Frankie admires and you thank him.

It’s still small, cozy now that you’re slowly allowing yourself to fully settle into the old bones of your grandpa’s home.

You want to say more until Frankie’s stomach suddenly growls.

Looking at him with surprised eyes, he stares back with beautiful eyes the size of the full moons.

“Shit.”

You laugh at his panicked response.

“You okay with maybe staying and having a quick dinner or should I really kick you out so you can head home?” You leave the option up to him, place the ball in his court.

Frankie with the most bashful smile slides off his coat.

“Dinner sounds great, little farmer.”

Your heart floats up and gets tangled in your throat, but it’s incredible.

You have the leftover lasagna Evelyn gave you as a thank you. But you also think of the soup recipe you've been dying to make for this weather.

So you leave it up to your guest for the night.

“Soup or leftover lasagna?” You offer light.

Frankie’s eyebrows scrunched together adorable, thinking hard at the two options, and you keep back a giggle.

“Will the soup take you a while to make?” He sounds sweetly concerned.

You swear it will take less than twenty minutes.

“Soup it is.” Frankie grins and it touches his eyes.

You begin grabbing the various ingredients and hate how hyper aware you feel even in your own house.

“So what can I help with?” Frankie now slides beside you and you almost squeak in surprise.

For someone who makes so much noise when he works, you find he’s rather quiet, swift.

“You’re my guest, so don’t worry. Plus you’ve helped enough!” You shoo him away and don’t miss the way he playfully glares at you.

Conversation again unfolds effortlessly with him. Frankie talks about how Mayor Lewis was in the shop earlier bragging about you hitting a full year in the valley.

“And here I thought everyone had stopped gossiping about me.” You snort lightly and start grabbing the bowls.

It will be a full year since you moved to your grandpa’s family farm. However, you wonder when the newness of you living here will subside.

“There’s… still some gossip of course. Small town after all.” Frankie admits shyly, like a school boy admitting a secret.

“But don’t worry, I don’t let any of ‘em talk bad about you in my shop.” Frankie, endearingly sweet, adds. His words knock you breathless and you almost drop the bowls.

“I knew I could count on you, Morales.” You manage to say with a grin.

Thankfully quick, the soup turns out comforting and delicious. Frankie even gushes about how incredible it is and your ego inflates wild.

“Thanks so much for dinner.” Frankie beams with the brightness of a sun.

“Please, I’m the one who’s thankful for all your help.” You earnestly tell him.

“Plus, it’s nice to have good company for dinner.” You add.

“I understand,” Frankie nods. “Gets a bit quiet around my place too. S’nice to change it up.”

A dual sided emotion settles in you. You ache understanding but also yearn to uncover more about this beautiful and sturdy man.

Before you can dive more into this discussion, Frankie’s phone rings wild and loud. Hastily scrambling to grab it, once he discovers who’s calling his face drops for a flicker of a moment.

“Sorry little farmer, but gotta excuse myself real quick is that alright?” His voice wavers.

Of course you earnestly reassure him and even direct him to the bathroom so he can talk in private. Frankie thanks you graciously then rushes out.

The house is quiet and he didn’t fully close the bathroom door fully. So his conversation leaks out enough for you to catch it.

“Wait, so you wannna just spring this on me now?” His voice slices out sharp. You’ve never heard Frankie sound this upset.

“Yes of course I’m gonna take her. But do you know how fucking shitty this is, Diana? Did you even think about my schedule before you fucking planned this trip?” He snaps.

You’ve also never heard him curse and it snaps your snipe straight. He sighs incredibly frustrated and angered, allowing whoever is on the phone to talk.

“Oh yeah, yeah, real fucking nice. Always make me the bad guy, right?”

Then Frankie starts speaking fast and low in Spanish you can’t catch what he’s saying. His tone however feels barbed and venomous.

So many questions bubble up. You believe you heard the name ‘Diana’ but this could be a conversation about anything.

Now thinking about it, even though you’ve been here almost a full year… you don’t know much about Frankie personally and that truth sinks your heart.

Silence now settles into your home until Frankie’s footsteps echo returning down the hall.

“I’m so sorry.” Frankie’s voice jolts the air but with a deep sadness. “I think I’m gonna have to save that cup of hot chocolate for another day.”

You kind of figured. Besides, you didn’t want him to get caught in the storm.

Outside the air has chilled, but thankfully the snow hasn’t begun.

“Had a great time tonight, thanks again for having me for.” An earnest grace radiates from his words.

You’re the one who’s truly thankful for him and you repeatedly tell him that.

Unfortunately a dread hits you. You want to make sure he makes it home. Your worry must be evident on your face because Frankie’s eyes cloud with caution.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

When you tell him, a beautiful relief melts on Frankie’s face that you almost wish you could capture.

“Oh come on, that’s easy to fix, little farmer.”

He pulls out his phone and hands it to you.

He’s asking for your number.

Your heart beats so rapidly in your ears when you type your digits in.

“I’ll message you when I get home. Promise.” His warm voice is gilded with truth.

“Stay safe okay Frankie?” You tell him and his gorgeous eyes soften.

“Yeah, will do. And you stay safe too okay, little farmer? Stay warm and if you need anything.”

He holds his phone up and playfully wiggles it, a signal to say you should call him. You smile unbearably big and stay on the porch watching him leave until he vanishes from your sight.

You keep busy so you’re not simply staring at your phone waiting for his message. You clean up the remnants of dinner and feel comforted seeing two bowls in your sink.

Then your phone chimes and you scramble.

An message from an unknown number:

[Made it home safe!]

Another message flickers in.

[Also this is Frankie btw :)]

[Hi! 🪓]

The little ax emoji he adds makes you giggle giddy over how adorable this man can be.

You add his name and contact info into your phone. It warms you better than any sip of hot chocolate could.

- ❆ -

“Why do we even gotta celebrate ice?” One of the kids, you think Vincent, shouts that as you reach the edge of the forest and you snicker.

When you heard about the festival of ice, it simply sounded like a way for the town to break up the winter days. But it also reminded you how earnest and endearing the town can be.

Your heart jumps fast spotting Frankie bundled in his cozy jacket. He stands close to Willy and the two of them talk low, completely engaged with each other.

Whatever they’re discussing seems serious, evident in Frankie’s hard frown and Willy’s unusual somber expression. You decide not to interrupt them.

The fishing game is the highlight of the festival and to no shock the town’s head fisherman wins.

“It’s rigged.” You tease Willy and his hearty laugh is contagious.

“Don’t worry, next year you’ll be puttin’ me to shame.” Willy proudly declares.

When the event concludes for the day, Frankie already walks off without saying a word to you.

You try not to think about it too much.

When you’re about to head to bed, you find a message alert on your phone.

Frankie:

[Good try with the fishing tournament today! Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you today… have a lot of stuff going on. Also Willy wins every year. Think Lewis even adds fish into his crate to make sure it happens lol you’re the real winner in my book ]

You laugh as warmth balloons rapidly in your chest.

This message feels like a true victory for the day and it carries you for the rest of the week. Especially with how hard and brisk this final season of the year is.

Everyone warned you winter would be tough, and with your greenhouse still unfixed you’re realizing how true the warning is.

The days drag and bleed together. You throw yourself into the mines trying to gather more resources but that drains you fast. So you start doing a few errands around town to break up the days.

When Frankie requests a certain amount of wood you scramble quickly to complete the errand.

Inside the blacksmith shop, the familiar warmth greets you. However when Frankie walks out, a weariness looms over him. Heavy bangs hang around his eyes even as he smiles thin.

“Hey.” His voice is weary.

“Hey.” You reply back hesitantly. “I uh…have the wood you asked for.”

“Oh shit really?” He perks up. “Thanks, little farmer.”

You beam proud knowing you managed to at least brighten his day a little.

“Wait here, let me get your payment.”

You almost want to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Frankie scrambles for his wallet.

“So, how ya been?” He asks.

“Good.” You partially lie. “How have you been?”

“Good.” He answers quickly, however you sense a lie buried.

You weakly smile. Exhausted, Frankie barely grins back and a pang pierces through you.

“Hey… Frankie.” You begin weakly. Frankie, midway pulling out your payment, freezes and blinks towards you.

“Yeah, little farmer what’s up?”

You know this might not mean much but you want to at least tell him.

“I just…” the words get stuck in your throat but with a deep inhale you unclog them.

“You just seem tired. I appreciate how hard you work but I just hope you get some rest when you can.” You tell him earnestly. “And… if there’s anything bothering you, I just wanted you to know you can always talk to me.”

You finish and hope you didn’t overstep.

Frankie’s gemstone eyes flicker stunned and then he sighs.

For the first time, Frankie slips his very notable baseball cap off and runs a hand over his hair.

His soft hat hair, the way you get this new glimpse of Frankie, lights something within your chest. You’ve never seen him without his cap. When he slips the baseball hat back on, his eyes seem cloudy and downcast.

“Thanks little farmer, appreciate it.” He mutters with another sigh. “It’s just stupid shit with my ex wife that’s taking longer than I expected to work out.”

Frankie’s words catapult you straight out of the atmosphere and your blood runs cold.

Ex wife.

Frankie was married before.

“I shouldn’t let it bother me and I don’t wanna be that type of ex husband, but holy shit she can be so damn difficult.” He shakes his head.

This feels like you’re meeting him again for the first time. But you’re grateful he’s sharing this with you.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this and with her being difficult.” You reply with a soft comfort.

“You’re a good guy Frankie. I hope she doesn’t make you forget that.” You add, meaning those words.

You and him might have just recently become closer, but this entire year you’ve been living in Pelican Town Frankie’s been so sincerely kind. Always being patient with you and how awful you sometimes are to your poor tools. Even just seeing his soft shy smile when you run into him has brightened your day many times.

Frankie’s eyes finally flicker to you. They search your face like he’s waiting for you to react.

His mouth opens slightly.

Then he says your name, breathes it out, and it kickstarts a wild flutter in your heart.

But the door suddenly yanks open wildly behind you, cutting him off rapidly.

Robin, the town’s ever handy carpenter, arrives with a warm welcome drawing all the attention to her. The moment flutters away with her entrance. With a fast goodbye to Frankie and a swift warm greeting to Robin, you scramble fast to leave.

“Wait I didn’t-”

You don’t even wait to hear what Frankie has to say before you’re out of the door and back into the cold winter air. With so many thoughts buzzing in your head like angry hornets you simply head to the mines.

You stay there until the dead of night and drag your body back to farm. Even with how tired you are, your mind still thinks of a certain blacksmith.

The next morning there are two letters waiting for you. One is from Lewis reminding you of the upcoming Winter Star festival. The other is from Frankie.

Your heart jumps fast.

Little farmer,

Thanks for thinking of me and wanting to look out for me. Appreciate it a lot. Also you forgot your payment yesterday, silly! Don’t work yourself too hard either. So you get some rest too, alright?

Hope you swing by again and maybe soon we’ll have time for that hot chocolate :)

He not only sent you the payment for the errand but also a sweet pack of maple bars.

An overwhelming sweetness consumes you and you wish it never leaves.

The next day you plan to make Frankie a hot chocolate to bring him in the morning. But you realize you used the last remaining bits a few nights ago when you snuggled in for a cozy reading night. You mentally kick yourself but decide a green tea will hopefully be the best second option.

The minute Frankie’s shop opens you’re there the first one inside.

“You’re here early.” Frankie greets you with crinkled smiling eyes.

“Thought I’d stop by before I head to the mines.” You reply back brightly.

“It’s not hot cocoa, but I hope it’s a nice treat.” You offer lightly while you hand him the cozy to go drink.

“You got this for me? Thanks so much.” Your heart flutters hearing how warm his voice gets.

He takes a sip and his eye brows shoot up under the cover of his hat. Oh no. Does he not like it?

“Is this green tea?” His voice jumps so excited. “I love green tea!”

His brilliant smile creates a sun bursting light in your chest and you’re a bit grateful now you ran out of hot chocolate.

- ❆ -

Gus is a full five minutes into his handmade candy cane discussion and while you adore the endearing saloon owner, you can only take so much.

The feast of the evening star still warms and eases you though. The twinkling decorations, the absolute grand festive tree, the delicious food - it’s all a cozy blanket to soak into.

So you allow dear Gus to ramble about his candy canes while you sip on your warm drink.

“So who’s your secret gift recipient?”

Frankie’s soft but playful voice catches you off guard and you almost sputter out your drink.

You caught sight of him earlier but he was busy laughing with Pierre and Caroline. Then you got caught up in greeting everyone. Now you’re thankful to finally talk to him.

“You know that’s a secret.” You playfully glare at him.

The blacksmith simply shrugs but the amusement tugging his lips makes you smile.

A beautiful flush crawls over Frankie’s face. A kaleidoscopic joy sparkles in his deep eyes. He seems better and joy fills you.

“So does that mean you’re not gonna tell me what your winter star wish is?” He asks light.

You roll your eyes, but giddiness consumes you fast.

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” You surprisingly coyly reply.

Frankie snorts and his face crinkles up adorable.

“If I told ya, you probably wouldn’t even believe me.” He says casually then takes a sip of his drink.

“Wait,” you reply back. “Now you gotta tell me.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment.

In the stillness of this moment, you notice how close he is. He’s leaning right beside you that you can smell the faint smoke of his work, and a crisp cologne you’ve never noticed before.

Then, you see it. His stunning amber gemstone eyes flicker to your lips.

It’s fast, happens in a breath of a moment. Your throat dries. You blame the warm food and festive atmosphere, but you ache to lean closer.

Before you can react or even wait for Frankie’s next move, Mayor Lewis claps loudly, breaking the spell.

“Time to exchange gifts everybody!” He declares.

Your body feels electric and immediately you try settling yourself down. You needed to give your gift.

Jodi, the sweet mother she is, deserves a nice sweet treat and you surprise her with a fully cooked chocolate cake. Her warm excited reaction is a treat itself.

Evelyn, ever the kind grandmother, gives you a pack of her delicious and warm cookies. You hug her tight thanking her.

The festival concludes with a gentle end and fizzles out softly. The clean up is eased, relaxed, and by the time it’s finished an unfortunately long yawn takes over you.

“Can I walk ya home, little farmer? You seem tired.”

Frankie again, so stealthy, suddenly appears out of thin air.

You squeak out a quick yes and his face melts soft.

“So a full year down huh? Hope we haven’t scared you off too badly.” Frankie offers hopeful.

It has been a year, feels like so much yet so little has been composed into your new life here in Pelican Town. You think of the dilapidated community center you’ve been keeping an eye on and working on.

You’ve taken this new journey slowly, at your own pace. You can almost hear your grandpa’s voice cheering you on saying just take it one step at a time.

“No way.” You laugh answering Frankie’s question. If anything, you’ve grown more attached to the valley than you ever imagined. You even tell Frankie this and his face lights up so beautifully it rivals the festival tree standing in the town plaza.

“Everything work out with your ex?” You ask gently and then sputter out an apology if you’ve overstepped.

Frankie chuckles. “Nah, I’m glad we can talk about it.”

That comforts you.

“And yeah, thankfully everything worked out.” Frankie grins sleepily. “I’m still really sorry you had to hear that.”

“No worries! And like what you just said, I’m glad I can be here for you. That’s what friends are for, remember?” You reassure him.

“Yeah, friends.” The way his voice hangs on the word friends gets tangled in your chest.

A quietness clouds the walk.

“So Gus tell you about homemade candy canes?” Until Frankie’s light voice breaks the silence and you laugh.

It might have been a slow start becoming friends with Frankie. But you’re glad, grateful, to finally arrive here.

Arriving at your farm you thank Frankie again.

“If it wasn’t so late I really would invite you in for that hot chocolate I’ve been promising you.” You sigh. You even begged Gus for a new pack just to be stocked up.

“Don’t worry about it. There will be another night, promise.” His words are gilded in a promise you want to treasure.

He suddenly says your name and now under the light of your porch, Frankie seems bashful as his eyes flicker around.

“I, uh, kind of have something for you.”

That takes you by surprise.

“Couldn’t give it to you earlier cause I know Mayor Lewis would’ve had my ass.” Frankie dryly snorts and then pulls out something concealed in the classic brown paper wrapping he uses at his shop.

“Happy feast of the winter star, little farmer.” He delicately hands it to you and your eyes feel as if they’re going to pop out any moment.

You cry in protest that he didn’t need to get you anything and guilt rushes in. You didn’t get him anything.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “No pasa nada.”

You’ve only caught small bits of him speaking Spanish before and now hearing him speak so casual sounds beautiful.

Unwrapping the surprise gift, you discover he got you an iridium bar and you inhale sharply.

You haven’t even been able to forge one yet. The most precious, coveted, type of metal bar and he just casually gave one to you right now.

“Francisco Morales, this is too much!” You shriek.

He laughs buoyantly and loud at your reaction.

“Trust me, it’s not. Besides, seen how hard you work. How much you do for me and the town. You deserve it.”

You don’t want to get emotional, but the tears clogging your throat say otherwise. Those tears and the bubbling emotions, gratitude and all other shades of thankfulness, overtake you. Before you can stop yourself you rush to Frankie and collide into him.

You hug him best as you can but realize what you’ve just done. You don’t even know if he’s okay with close contact like this.

Immediately Frankie wraps you in his arms and squeezes you back. He’s all encompassing, beautifully so.

Your mind, your thoughts, everything melt as you embrace him back.

“Thank you.” You earnestly tell him.

“Anytime.” Frankie whispers back.

You would never tell Frankie this… but your winter star wish came true because you couldn’t have wished for a better way to bid such a sweet farewell to this season here in the valley.

#oh I needed this today #here’s to more Stardew sweetness and magic!! if you read thank you so much blacksmith Frankie and I are giving you a stardrop #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #blacksmith!frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #seasons of you fic series #Frankie 🤎#pedrostories

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noxturnalnymph · 11 months ago

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My 2023 Fanfic-Wrapped

I only really started reading Pedro fanfic in April or May, I got started on some of the well-known fics on AO3 that were recommended on tiktok. However, one of them brought me to tumblr (because I wanted to see more from this author, I wanted to see their moodboards and their sneak peeks). And I haven’t left since.

I even decided to try my hand at writing as well. It’s been a LOT of fun. (My masterlist is here if you want to see all the weird shit I wrote so far). Thank you to everyone who has supported me in all my efforts and to all the friends I've made.

I wanted to create this list to highlight some of my faves this year. If you haven’t read these, they all come highly recommended by me.

I'll be reblogging everything on this list throughout the day. If you’d like to reblog this post and add some of your own favorites from this year - PLEASE DO!!! I would absolutely love to get new recs!! Let’s share the love!!

In no particular Order - Here are some of my favorites from the year!

Fave Writers (I’ll read anything they write)

@toxicanonymity (joel miller masterlist) Personal Faves: NightWalks!Joel, Vamp!Joel (both Ongoing)

@theywhowriteandknowthings (masterlist) Personal Faves: Creep - Joel, Princess and the Duke - Dave York (Ongoing)

@chloeangelic (masterlist) Personal Faves: Love Me Back - Joel, Seeking What is Desirable - Joel (Ongoing)

@goodwithcheese (masterlist) Personal Faves: The Layover - Frankie, Paranoid Heart - Javi P (Ongoing)

@beskarandblasters (masterlist) Personal Faves: Me and My Husband - Din Djarin, New York or Nowhere - Bodega!Joel (Ongoing)

@absurdthirst (masterlist) Personal Faves: Kinktober 2023 Oct 15th - LactationKink!Dieter, A Marriage of Convenience - Regency!PeroTovar, (they have SO many good ones)

Fave Ongoing Series

Mall Rats (Jackson-era!Joel) by @strang3lov3

Oh! Honey (Monster!Joel x Mortician!Reader) by @lincolndjarin

Hard to be Soft, Tough to be Tender (Pimp!Joel) by @iamasaddie

On the Waterfront (Chubby!Mafia!Frankie) by @beefrobeefcal

The King’s Queen (Royalty/ArrangedMarriageAU!Javi G) by @wardenparker

From Eden (PlantShopOwner!Joel x Married!F!Reader) by @5oh5

A Lover’s Pinch (Professor!Joel x Student!Reader) by @hier--soir

Into the Beat of the Night (Bi!Frankie x afab!gn!OC) by @perotovar

Fave Finished Series

A Stranger’s Heart Without a Home (Jackson-era Joel) by @morning-star-joy (This is the one that brought me to tumblr. Doni created this beautiful story and it has a very special place in my heart.)

Late Night Texts (Post-Colombia Javier Peña) by @undercoverpena

Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband (Married!No-Outbreak!Joel) by @netherfeildren

Something New (SexWorker!Frankie) by @prolix-yuy

Something Wretched About This (DrugDealer!Joel) by @covetyou

Pioneer Frankie (A series of stories about Pioneer!AU!Frankie) by @frannyzooey

Trial & Error (No-Outbreak!Joel helps Tommy & reader get pregnant) by @thetriumphantpanda

Pleased to Meet You (Meeting Francisco Morales - twice) by @intheorangebedroom

Fave Characters

Husband's Best Friend Joel Miller (with Married! Reader) (HBF!Joel) by @gracieispunk

Jackson-Era Vampire! Joel Miller (A Secret Worth Keeping) by @multiversed-daydreamer

Soccer-dad No-Outbreak Joel Miller gets a racy text from an unknown number (The Right Wrong Number) by @proxima-writes

Demon! Ezra (with Witch! Reader) (In Every Lifetime) by @xdaddysprincessxx

Protective Jackson-Era Joel Miller (A Safe Haven) by @joelsgreys

THROUPLE Frankie x Joel x F!Reader (Catalyst Masterlist) by @ezrasbirdie

Sleezy Gas Station Joel *MC* Miller (Meet Me in the Back) by @atticrissfinch

Porn Star Joel Miller (with Porn Star Reader) (I Know it When I See it) by @bageldaddy

Fave Dark/DDDNE Fics (These fics aren’t being put in the corner but they do come with some very special warnings so I wanted to separate them)

Trick or Treat? (DDDNE Dark!Frankie Morales x Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!Dave York x F!Reader) by @morallyinept

Bullet For You, Darlin’ (DDDNE Dark!Raider!Joel Miller) by @kewwrites

Online Friends (Cherry Bomb) (Dom!Joel, online/phone sex) by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Blessed Be the Fruit (Dark!DubCon! Joel Miller - Handmaid’s Tale AU) by @romana-after-dark

Red Light (Dark!Obsessive!DubCon! Landlord Joel Miller) by @kiwisbell

The Burglary (DDDNE burglar!Joel Miller x f!reader x burglar!Tommy Miller) by @milla-frenchy and @aurorawritestoescape

I don't know man.... I just know I like it

Menuet (It’s an animal/shapeshifter/monster fucking thing (Pero Tovar) that fundamentally changed who I am as a person) by @psychedelic-ink

Liquid Gold (Joel - and Tommy? - help Pregnant!Reader out when an issue arises) by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Get a Grip (Watch Model!Joel Miller x Manicurist!Reader Hand/GloveKink!) by @bonezone44

Mother Who Provides (Mommy!Kink Joel gets breastfed) by @pedge-page

Goodbye 2023, See you all next year!!!!

#fanfic wrapped #noxturnalpascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

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beefrobeefcal · 1 year ago

Photo

new prompt idea incoming....

Imagine Chubby!Frankie grabbing you by the throat with these mits.

To satisfy @pew-dro kink on Pedro Pascal’s hands.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal tummy #chubby!frankie eu #chubby!frankie

2K notes · View notes

whatsnewalycat · 1 year ago

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 8

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Invitation

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 10.3k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food, AA meeting mention, jealousy, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, internal conflict, suggestion of sexual assault, trauma response, verbal argument, we're gonna pretend i know what i'm talking about w the criminal justice system but lets be real i don't

Notes: HEY HI! First of all big thanks to @frannyzooey for beta reading for me, I appreciate you with all my heart. Ok so up until a few days ago, this chapter was going to be this plus the birthday party. But I made an executive decision I think it will be better. So here's this and just know I already have a pretty solid head start on the next chapter lol. ANYWAY let me know what you think, ok love u bye.

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“…Happy birthday, dear Sarah, happy birthday to you!”

Sarah’s pudgy little feet patter in place on the seat of the dining room chair. Frankie rubs her back and says, “Blow out the candles!”

“Wait sweetie, let me just,” Angie scoops Sarah’s long chestnut curls into a bundle, “Ok go ahead.”

She leans over the small, two-tiered cake and blows them out one at a time.

“One… Two… Fwee… Four!”

All three of them cheer as the ribbons of black smoke dissipate into the air. Sarah claps her hands and squeals, looking up at her parents with big, sparkling eyes. Frankie can’t wipe the smile from his face. His heart aches with adoration.

While Ang plucks the spent candles from the cake and cuts it into sixteenths, Frankie takes a seat next to his daughter and asks, “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,” Sarah nods, watching her mom slip a chef’s knife under the biggest slice of cake and plop it onto a plate. Angie slides the plate in front of her and gives her a fork.

“What was your favorite part?” he asks.

“Ummm,” Sarah stabs the chocolate sponge cake with her fork and manages to tear off a wobbly chunk, “The penguins.”

“The penguins! I never woulda guessed,” Frankie chuckles, glancing up at Angie when she hands him a plate, “Thanks, hun.”

Sarah carves a line into the air with her nose, a smile digging out dimples in her chubby cheeks.

“Got to stay at the aquarium for a long time today, huh? What kind of penguins did we see?”

“Mmm,” she pauses her attack on the cake to scrunch her face up and think about this, then resumes as she tells him, “King penguin… rockhopper penguin… emperor penguin… little penguin…”

“So many penguins!” he grins.

She giggles, “Yes.”

“And then we got pizza, and opened presents, and now we’re having cake.”

She wriggles around in her seat and giggles some more, “Yes.”

“That’s a good birthday, huh?”

Sarah nods and plunges a finger into the pink strawberry frosting.

“Use your fork, sweetie,” Angie reminds her, taking a seat adjacent to Frankie.

Sarah sticks her finger in her mouth to clean off the frosting, then obediently picks up the fork.

“What should we do after cake?” he asks Sarah before taking a bite.

The little girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one confectionary-coated finger to her chin, “We can… watch Happy Feet?”

Her big, dark eyes sparkle, a mirror of his own, and Frankie grins from her to Angie, “What do you think, Mama, should we watch Happy Feet after cake?”

She checks the smartwatch on her wrist and shrugs, “Sure, we can watch it for a bit before dropping Daddy off.”

A pleased smile spreads across Sarah’s face as she digs her fork into the cake. Frankie turns his attention to his own plate, and a content silence falls over the table as the three of them eat.

The silence is broken when Sarah asks, “Daddy, why don’t you sleep here anymore?”

He stops chewing and looks over at Angie, who just tilts her head at him like she, too, would like to know the answer to this question.

“Well,” he swallows a mouthful of cake and clears his throat, “Daddy, uhh… Daddy did something bad and got in trouble with the police.”

She frowns at her cake, seeming to consider this, then looks up at him, “Like when you and Mommy were fighting?”

The response zaps him. Stuns him. His lips part to respond, but he finds himself speechless.

What the fuck is she talking about?

He combs through his memory and hits a snag.

They just got back from some kind of a trip. Ang was giving him the cold shoulder. He recalls drinking in the garage, fuming by himself, trying to work up the courage to confront her. Yelling. Not just him, though, Angie too. Both of them just fucking screaming at each other. Blue and red lights outside. Doorbell. Cops.

The scraps of his memory bind together and he remembers… it wasn’t a trip they all went on together. It was just Angie and Sarah. Not a fun vacation, either. More of a spur-of-the-moment trip to her parents’ house in Texas, inspired by his recently uncovered infidelity.

Wasn’t Sarah sleeping? How the fuck does she remember that?

Frankie shifts in his seat, glancing at Angie, whose face is inscrutable, then back to Sarah, “No. Well, kind of, I guess. Except worse. They took me to jail.”

Her dark eyes go wide, “But bad guys go to jail.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Leaning forward onto the table, he presses his fingertips to his lips and watches her sponge-like brain absorb this information. He’s getting into the weeds. Keep it simple.

“They let me go, but now I have to have a babysitter like you do. That’s why I don’t sleep here,” he reaches over and tucks a loose ringlet behind her ear, “Does that make sense?”

Her brow furrows, “Is Chacha your babysitter?”

Jesus fucking Christ, this kid. Asking all the right questions to make him squirm.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, she’s pretty much my babysitter now—”

Angie scoffs.

He shoots her a sharp glance, “Until we know how much trouble I’m in, at least.”

“I saw Chacha at the park,” Sarah informs him, as if he wasn’t there.

The nickname makes him chuckle. She hasn’t used it in forever, now twice in one night?

When he thinks about how your face will light up when he shares this news with you, warmth sparks in his guts.

“You did see Chacha at the park,” he gives Sarah’s arm a playful pinch, “She told me she was happy to see you, and that she misses you.”

At this, Sarah giggles, dimples and all.

And, at this, Angie shoves her chair out behind her and stomps out of the kitchen. Like a fucking child.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The thought strikes him square between the eyes. Brief, but distinct. He sweeps it under the rug of his mind to deal with later.

“Mommy don’t like her,” Sarah tells him in a loud whisper when the bedroom door slams closed.

He has to stifle laughter.

“Don’t worry about that, princesa,” he waves off the petulant outburst, leaning in to ask, “Would you like it if Chacha came to your birthday party?”

Sarah studies him for a moment. When the question registers, she smiles wide and nods, “Yes.”

“I’ll talk to Mommy about it later, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Whaddaya think, should we finish our cake in the living room? Put on Happy Feet?”

She giggles, hopping off the chair to spin in circles and clap her hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he snorts.

Once the birthday girl is sufficiently distracted, Frankie follows his wife’s warpath to their bedroom. He pauses at the closed door, hand hovering over the shiny knob, grimacing at what will follow.

Did Sarah hear their whole argument that night?

What else does she remember?

Does she remember the days he’d call off work to take the two of you to the butterfly house? Or how he would sneak up behind you when you were cooking and kiss your neck? Does she remember you scrambling out of the house, half-naked, gasping for air, while Frankie held Angie back?

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

He takes a deep breath and twists the knob, pushing the door open.

Inside, Angie is sitting at the foot of the bed, texting furiously. Frankie enters the room, closing the door behind him. He approaches cautiously and sits down beside her. Brings his hand to the small of her back.

She doesn’t acknowledge his presence.

“Amor,” he murmurs, sliding his palm up and down her rigid spine, “You can’t get pissed at me every time she comes up in conversation. It’s not—”

He cuts himself off with a thick gulp.

This catches her attention. She tosses her phone aside and blinks, “It’s not what? Not fair? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Ang,” he shakes his head, leg bouncing, “It puts me in a weird spot. Whether you like it or not, she’s a part of my life—”

“Oh, for fucks sake—”

“And—and Sarah, she picks up on that, you know? That you don’t like her—”

“I don’t give a shit if she knows I hate that bitch, Francisco,” Angie spits, “Why shouldn’t I, huh? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.”

Answers deadlock his throat.

Because I care about her, and Sarah cares about her, and she cares about us. Because she has helped me more than any other human has, more times than I deserve. Because she saved my life, and you should be fucking grateful.

The thought makes him shiver as it replays.

You should be fucking grateful.

He tries to bypass the question, clearing his throat before taking Angie’s soft hand and meeting her eyes, “I know this arrangement has been hard for you.”

Her features sharpen. She pulls away and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Unease rings out his stomach.

But a sense of familiarity dawns on him, too.

It reminds him of conversations he’s had with you the past two months. Those “State of the Union” discussions that loom, dark and terrifying, but end up making him feel ten pounds lighter when they’re all said and done with.

And, fuck, he wants this to feel better. Wants to be in the same room as his wife and not feel like he’s walking on the razor’s edge.

“Hey,” he takes back her hand, “Stick with me, ok? We can talk about this.”

Angie glares at him, but waits.

“We are friends. That is it. Just like Santi and Benny and Will—”

“Remind me, did you fuck any of them?”

I don’t want to do this anymore.

He stares back into her piercing gaze, with pleading eyes, “Ang.”

Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head, but doesn’t storm off or start screaming at him, so he continues.

“I know I fucked up by having sex with her. It was—It was a mistake.”

Angie’s features soften. Relief floods his veins, warm and buzzing and sedative. Like the first drink at the end of a stressful day.

And, much like when he would finish his first drink, he aches for more.

“It was impulsive. I was so fucking numb, I needed to feel something, and she was around. I’m not, you know, into her, or attracted to her—”

Angie scoffs.

“I know it sounds like bullshit. I know,” he squeezes her hand, “But if I could go back in time and do anything over, it would be that day.”

She studies him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

“It didn’t mean anything, amor. I love you. I mean, fuck, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”

Her shoulders slump. She swallows hard and looks down at the floor. Her nails twitch against his palm and the rush it gives him flips his stomach upside down.

“I’m sorry, Ang.”

“You’re sorry you got caught.”

“I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I was so fucked in the head I found comfort in someone else. I took you for granted, and I’m so sorry.”

Angie lets out a little sob. He should feel remorse. At the very least, he should feel something other than sick satisfaction at her finally breaking. Just a little bit more. Almost there.

“But that day is behind us now, and what I have with her is entirely platonic. She has Rory, and I have you, and we are friends. She’s helping me out right now by giving me a place to live, and driving me places while my license is suspended, and just being… a really, really good friend to me. I know that’s hard for you, and I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but I promise that’s all it is.”

“I hate it.”

“I know,” he nods, pulling her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I know, baby. I just need you to trust that I’m doing this for you and Sarah. The two of you are everything to me. I love you.”

Angie sniffles and straightens her spine, then looks over at Frankie, “Can you promise me something?”

Her warm gaze is glossy and full of emotion. He leans into it, answering, “Anything.”

“When the trial is over, and you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.”

It sobers him instantly.

He pulls back, shaking his head, “Ang, I can’t—”

A fire comes to life in her eyes.

“If you give a single fuck about our family, you can and you will. You told me your friendship with her is a means to an end. Is that still true, or no?”

Slowly, he nods, but it feels wrong. The dull blade of guilt rips his belly open.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

“Then you cut ties with her when this is done. Do that for me and I will put my feelings about her aside.”

That’s what Angie tells him, but what he understands is this is a reprieve. A stopgap. It buys him some time to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do because—

I don’t want to do this anymore.

He swallows the thought down with a thick gulp and says, “Alright.”

Angie blesses him with a peacemaking smile.

Despite his churning stomach, he returns the smile and squeezes her hand, “Can… Can you do me a favor, though?”

“What?”

“Let me invite her and Rory to Sarah’s party.”

She stares at him like she doesn’t understand, then scoffs, “No.”

“Why not?”

Jumping to her feet, she shouts, “Because she fucked you in our bed, Frankie, do I really have to explain that?”

He stands too, “You just said you’re putting those feelings aside, and she’ll be with her boyfriend, I don’t understand what the big deal—”

“Why does she even want to go?” Angie crosses her arms and scowls.

“She misses Sarah. And Sarah obviously misses her, too. I mean, you heard her at the table earlier.” Frankie approaches her, placing his hands on her waist, searching her face, “I’m with you, amor. I promise. This would just mean a lot to both of them. Especially if they won’t be able to see each other again.”

She softens a little. Her jaw ticks to the side, then she sighs, “Fine.”

He represses the smile from his lips and murmurs, “Thank you,” before pressing a kiss into her forehead.

She hooks her hands behind his neck and drops her eyes to his mouth. His pulse jumps as she captures his lips in hers, alive and wanting. The sugary sweetness of strawberry frosting makes his taste buds perk up and want more.

Her long, red nails work into the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching that deep, aching itch for her favor. That’s the thing about Angie. She gives her affection sparingly, and when he earns it, it feels so fucking good.

He can’t remember the last time she touched him like this, with enthusiasm and hunger.

It was before he quit drinking. Before the failed attempts at marriage counseling. Before Angie came home from work early and caught her husband fucking the nanny.

It’s strange how something as trivial as early dismissal can alter the trajectory of so many lives. His own path seems to be an infinite freefall, always bracing for impact but never meeting the ground.

Drinking more. Fighting more. Pushing you away again and again and again while trying to transplant these feelings into the right relationship.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Especially now, when Angie kisses him, and all he can think about is your lips, your tongue, soft and slick and writhing on his. The heel of your hand kneading against his stiffening cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, eyelids fluttering open to meet her gaze, not yours.

He wishes it was you.

But he closes his eyes and lets her guide him back to their bed, settling for the next best thing.

Frankie hears the buzz of an incoming text message from his pants pocket. He kisses Angie’s sweaty forehead and departs from her body, snatching the discarded jeans off the floor.

> MARIPOSA: > Rory is over here fyi, let me know when you’re on your way

A nagging, confusing spring of jealousy bubbles up in his chest. Something else, too. Like guilt, but deeper. An infection festering away inside him.

“I should get going before the birthday girl falls asleep. I don’t wanna have to wake her.”

“Can’t you stay?” Angie asks, stroking his arm, “I mean, really, Francisco. Your PO won’t ship you off to jail for spending the night with your wife, will he?”

Her gentle touch is a branding iron on his skin. Searing. Territorial. He has to stop himself from lurching away.

He slides his pants back on and shrugs, “I don’t really wanna find out.”

“So fucked up.”

“I know, baby,” Frankie fishes his shirt off the foot of the bed, tugging it over his head, “I have to, I’m sorry.”

She releases a sigh and pulls her shirt back on, “Oh, don’t forget, on Thursday my parents will be here.”

Nodding, he stretches his arms above his head. How could he forget?

“Try to get along with my dad.”

He rolls his eyes before turning to face her, “Tell him the same, yeah?”

She snorts and fastens her jean shorts, raising an eyebrow, “I will, but you know how he is. Don’t take his bait.”

Frankie grunts in response while buckling his belt. Fully dressed, they meet at the door. Angie looks him over, giving him a rare warm smile before telling him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She kisses him, and he places that rotten feeling: shame.

Frankie walks up the cement path, craning his head up towards the cloudless sapphire evening sky, admiring the way it contrasts the tangerine siding of your post stamp of a house. The sun hangs just at the horizon, and its absence lends relief from the stagnant July heat.

It’s a nice night, but he’s still a little surprised to find you and Rory are sitting out on the front porch swing, his arm draped around your shoulder with you all tucked into his side. Sure, it may be better than coming home to your closed bedroom door, with just the indistinguishable murmur of your voices to drive him crazy, but still… not ideal.

The sight causes something deep within Frankie’s chest to clench and pulse, growling, “MINE.”

Fuck, he couldn’t be more a hypocrite.

“Whatta we have here, a couple of swingers?” he jokes while climbing the front steps.

It’s a bad joke, and in poor taste given the circumstances, but the sneer on Rory’s lips gives him a rush of satisfaction.

Conversely, you light up when you see him. Your smile is fucking luminous. A goddamn heat lamp. He feels himself melting into the floorboards.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You sit up and put a little space between Rory’s body and yours, “Hey! How’d it go?”

“Good,” he crosses his arms, leaning against the banister with a shrug, “Went to see the penguins, had pizza, presents, cake, all that.”

“Did she like her gift?”

“She loved it. She said she’s going to sleep with it tonight—Oh, that reminds me—Ang gave the green light for you two to come to her party on Saturday if you still want to.”

“Holy shit, really?” you ask, eyes widening, then chuckle and shake your head, “Sorry, I’m just surprised. She really said that’s ok?”

“Yeah,” he smiles despite the guilt condensing in his stomach, and asks Rory, “Know if you can make it?”

Rory’s head jerks back a little, and he frowns, “Well, this is the first time I’m hearing about it. But, yeah. I have nothing else going on,” he looks at you, “If that’s ok.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Your words come out airy and unconvincing. Rory studies your face.

Frankie calls your attention back to him, “Guess what she called you earlier.”

You avert your gaze from Rory’s, tucking your hair behind your ear before you chuckle, “Oh god, did she learn it from her mother?”

He laughs at this, shaking his head, “No, she called you Chacha.”

“Shut the fuck up, did she really?” you gasp.

Frankie nods, “Hand to god.”

You sit with this for a few gleeful seconds before your smile falters, and you say, “I miss her.”

“She misses you, too,” he tells you, “She’ll be happy to see you this weekend.”

You nod, then look to Rory, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line. He stares at you a beat too long for comfort. The air around the porch swing seems tense.

Frankie glances between you and Rory, then clears his throat and says, “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.”

You mumble a brief, distracted, “Oh, ok,” before he walks into the house.

As he closes the door and leans back against it to untie his work boots, he hears you ask, “What?”

Both the sharpness in your voice and its volume make Frankie halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the curtains rustle from a light breeze. Quietly, he pulls his boots off and sets them on the shoe tray. Morbid curiosity keeps him rooted in place, barely breathing as he listens in on your conversation.

“You didn’t tell me we were invited to his kid’s birthday party.”

“He said he would ask, but I wasn’t going to invite you until I knew for sure whether or not we could go.”

More silence, then your voice again, “Oh my god, what is your problem?”

“I don’t like how you are with him.”

“How I ‘am’ with him? What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, could you explain it to me?”

Rory pauses for a beat, then says, “You’re flirting, both of you, right in front of me. I don’t like it. And—and I want it to stop.”

“What am I doing that you think is flirting?”

“It’s not just you—”

“What he does is irrelevant, he is his own person—”

“It’s fucking disrespectful.”

The silence that follows writhes under his skin.

This is private. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But he can’t bring himself to move. Some fucked up part of him wants to hear what you say to Rory about him. How do you defend yourself? Do you throw him under the bus, too?

Are you just as bad as me?

Your voice comes through the window again, metered and firm, but shaky.

“What am I doing that you consider flirting?”

Rory scoffs, then says, “It’s the way you look at him and talk to him. Always smiling at him, and joking with him, and asking him how his day went—”

“Wow, how dare I ask my roommate—my friend—how his day was.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s—it’s—I know it when I see it, ok? There’s obviously something going on between you two.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, “Because I smile and joke with him, and ask him how he’s doing, we are so obviously fucking. You’re totally right, Rory. You caught me.”

“He’s a fucking loser, you know that, right?”

Another long pause.

“I want you to leave.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, get the fuck off my porch.”

“I don’t have my—”

“I’ll get your shit.”

Frankie hears the porch swing creak and his heart jumps. He launches himself forward and manages to collapse on the couch as you swing the door open.

You freeze when you see him. Your eyes flick from him, to the open window, then back to him before you scoff and stomp off to your bedroom.

Rory steps into the doorway, standing at attention with his hands shoved in his pockets. Frankie stares at him. Something protective and instinctual, almost paternal, wells up inside him and fine tunes his nerve endings.

From the back hallway, you holler, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to get the fuck off my porch.”

Frankie can’t stop himself from laughing.

Rory glares at him, “Fuck you.”

You steamroll into the room wielding a backpack and shove it into Rory’s chest, “LEAVE.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“I sure am. Get the fuck off my property.”

Rory holds your gaze for an intense moment before turning to go. You slam the door behind him and deadbolt it, then go to the front windows and do the same with them.

“I’m—”

You hold up a hand to Frankie and exit the room. A few seconds later he hears your bedroom door click shut.

After scrubbing his skin raw in the shower and changing into pajamas more comfortable than he deserves, Frankie tries to go to sleep early, but finds himself restless.

He stares at the ceiling, at his phone, at the walls. When he hears running water in the bathroom, he wonders if you’re getting ready to go to bed. Wonders if you’re ok, and if you would accept his company.

He thinks about his wife. Her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her hot breath on his cheek. The electric squeeze of her cunt as he came inside her.

What would you do if you knew?

Would it tear you apart, or could you care less?

Fuck, why does he feel so guilty?

For the sex just as much as the tentative agreement he made.

You know he intends to stay with her, and there’s nothing going on between the two of you. Not really. Nothing certain, at least. Right?

Sure, there was the slip up the week after he moved in. And the panties. And, yeah, some flirting. Not intentional when Rory is around, despite what he may think. And maybe you got off next to each other once. Then there’s the cuddling, and the hand holding, and this deep, aching, maddening desire to spend every ounce of his free time with you. To know all of your favorite things, and your life story, and your ticks. To make you feel happy and appreciated and safe and loved.

And loved.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

His muscles and tendons vibrate with anxious energy.

It brings him to his feet and compels him to wander through the dark, silent house, into the living room, confirming its vacancy. He starts off towards your bedroom. The light from your open door slices through the dark back hallway like a beacon. Floorboards creak under his step as he makes his way towards it, and when he arrives, he leans against the door frame.

You’re stretched out horizontal across your bed, belly-side down, facing away from him, hovering over a thick book. He studies the curvature of your body, lingering on the generously exposed swathes of soft skin that lead to the hem of your shorts.

“Are you just gonna hang out in the doorway like a weirdo?” you glance over your shoulder, then back at your book.

“Sorry, I, um... I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting.”

“You’re not,” you sit up and crawl to the head of your bed, tapping the empty pillow beside you, his pillow, his spot. “Come on in.”

While he walks over to the furthest side, you plump the pillows on your side of the bed and stuff them behind your back, then resume reading.

“What’s that?” he asks as he stretches out across your bedspread.

You lift the cover to show him and sigh, “Still chipping away at Doctor Sleep.”

“It any good?”

“Terrible, that’s why I’m reading it.”

Frankie snorts and shakes his head while digging his phone from his pajama pants, “Are you doing ok?”

“Wow, you’re full of great questions tonight, huh?”

“Maybe you’re just full of sass tonight, ever think of that?”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

He raises his eyebrows and murmurs, “No comment.”

“That’s, like, actually a comment though, in itself—”

“Weren’t you reading?”

“Weren’t you—I don’t know, reading the news or whatever dads do on their phone?”

“Looking for car parts,” he corrects.

“Same thing.”

Frankie drops his phone on his chest and looks at you, “Not even close.”

You peek around the corner of your book, “It’s like, equal levels of dad-ness, though, so basically, yeah.”

“Levels of dad-ness,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head, “You’d know something about that, huh?”

“About what, how daddy you are?” you laugh.

He shrugs, meeting your eyes. You hold his gaze, mouth cracked open in a mischievous smile, then shake your head and look back at your book, “No comment.”

Grinning like idiots, you both go back to reading and browsing, respectively, although Frankie can’t concentrate for shit with you next to him. His skin aches with the heat of your body so close.

He listens to every breath you take, every wet swallow, every microscopic wiggle bringing you closer. Minutes go by, but he doesn’t hear your page turn once.

Eventually, you let out a powerful yawn, and it spreads to him.

You grab the bookmark off your nightstand and tuck it between the open pages before closing it, “I should go to bed soon—” another yawn interrupts you, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” he sits up, stretching his arms over his head, then looks back at you, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your features melt and soften, lips parting as you meet his eyes. This invisible force keeps him anchored there, tugging at his chest, urging him to move closer to you. He glances at your mouth, at the pink flash of your tongue wetting your lips.

He doesn’t want to go.

He wants to stay and kiss you breathless, to fall asleep with the warmth of your body lining his, to wake up in your bed and never fucking leave.

He wants to take back everything he said to his wife earlier today, to defend your honor like he should have, like you would do for him, like you did for him.

Fuck, he doesn’t deserve you. The hole he dug for himself is a just punishment. He needs to let you go and allow you to find peace with someone else who won’t hurt you like he has. Like he will inevitably do again.

You reach out and place your hand on his arm, thumb grazing his tingling, heated skin, “Do you want to stay?”

The contact floods him with feel-good chemicals that his hungry synapses gobble up.

“I, umm—”

His throat swallows around his thudding pulse. It fucking hurts how bad he wants you right now. He finds himself leaning back on his elbow, gravitating closer to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist as you roll on your side to face him.

“Is that a good idea?” he asks.

“Probably not,” you search his face, your gaze catching on his mouth.

His heart skitters and he doesn’t really notice that his fingertips dig into your side until your whole body shivers in reaction. Doesn’t really notice he’s been inching closer to you until your breath grazes his lips.

The sound of your ringtone cuts through the thick air between your bodies.

You sit up and shake your head, trance broken, then reach for the source of the noise with shaky hands, “It’s Rachel. She’s full bridezilla mode, this might take a while.”

“Ok,” he nods, “I’ll go.”

You look over at him, apologies written all over your face. An impulse yanks hard on his body and urges him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he slips a hand behind your head and pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips are soft and warm, fucking perfect, just how he remembers. They barely have time to respond before he draws back and tells you, “Goodnight.”

You watch him crawl out of your bed, stunned silent for a moment, then answer the phone, “Hey, Rach—what’s wrong?”

Frankie glances up at you as he closes the door behind him, and sees you tracing the dumbfounded smile on your lips.

When he turns out the lights in his room and crawls under the covers, even though he knows damn well he won’t find sleep for hours, he does the same.

Frankie is at work, elbows deep in the engine compartment of a Bell 407, when the call from his attorney comes.

“Your case is on the docket,” the voicemail tells him when he returns to his small, shared office space, “Trial is scheduled for Wednesday, September 6th. We might still be able to find a favorable plea deal, so I’ll get working on that, but either way, I’d like to set up a call with you early next week to discuss your options moving forward. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.”

He takes a seat at his desk and stares at his phone for a minute, then replays the message to make sure he heard correctly. He did.

The earth tilts.

Everything seems to crumble as reality dawns on him. All he can see are cold steel prison cell bars and stiff orange jumpsuits. Angie’s words from the other night echo in his head:

“When the trial is over, when you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.”

A vast, unshakable hollowness overtakes him.

Or… or maybe it’s the opposite.

Maybe he’s so heavy and full he’s just sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, endless pit of his mistakes, down, down, down…

He unlocks his phone to return his lawyer’s call, but pauses when he tastes the salt of his own tears. Confused, he wipes his eyes and stares down at his damp hand.

Frankie just sits there for a moment, watching tears splatter onto his palms, stunned. When did he start crying? Why did he start crying?

He knew it was just a matter of time before the consequences of his actions became real. Now it’s happening and he’s blubbering like a baby.

I need to get my shit together.

He stands and shoves his phone in his pocket, shaking out his hands.

A string tugs at his chest, leading him to Michael’s desk. He watches the closed door as he carefully pulls open a drawer. Inside, he finds a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The string pulls taut, urging him to do it.

He thinks about Angie. How her sour attitude always poisons his mind. How this thing between them feels so distant, so vacuous, he doesn’t know how he will ever restore it.

He thinks about Sarah. How much he’s failed her as a father. He thinks about his own father and wonders if it’s pointless for him to keep resisting fate. Was it always going to be like this for him? Does it matter if he tries to be better, or is this all futile?

He thinks about you. His chest aches and he feels tears burn behind his eyes again. He wishes you were here. You’d know what to say or do to make him feel better.

Frankie takes the cell phone from his pocket and dials your number. He glances up at the door again as the line rings.

“Hey,” you answer, sounding slightly confused, “What’s up?”

Kids squeal in the background as he tries to find his voice. Words catch in his throat, the only thing that comes out is a rasp. A sob. He’s fully crying now. Staring at the whiskey.

“Frankie, what’s wrong? Are you ok?”

Your concern is audible. It reaches through the phone and coaxes him to speak.

“I, um,” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“I just got my court date,” he sniffles, clears his throat, then says, “I feel… hopeless.”

“Where are you?”

On your end of the world, Frankie hears a door click shut and the chaotic background noise becomes muted.

“In my office.”

“What’re you doing?”

He pauses, so you repeat the question.

“I’m staring at a bottle of whiskey,” he admits quietly. Just a whisper.

“Ok,” you breathe, and he can hear your mind start to whiz into action, “Ok. Did you drink any of it?”

“Not yet.”

“Thank fuck,” a sigh of relief crackles in his ear, “Ok, that’s good. Good job. Can I come get you? I—I mean, do you want me to come get you now? Because I can—”

“No, sweetheart,” his eyes flick to the ceiling, trance broken, and he pushes the drawer closed, “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I will—”

He turns towards his desk, “No, really, it’s ok—“

“Oh my fucking god,” you huff, “Look, I am responsible for you. Not only that, but I—I care about you, Frankie. I need to know that you’re safe. And dry.”

Warmth sprouts up beneath his sternum and branches out under his rib cage.

“And—and it’s ok if the answer is no, because I can just come get you and bring you h-home,” you stumble a little on the last word, but you recover quickly, “Are you safe?”

“Yeah. I just needed to, um,” he turns and leans back against the desk, pressing his fingertips to his mouth, then drops them and says, “Thanks for picking up.”

“You promise you’re not falling off the wagon?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” you say, your sweet, soft voice tinged with a smile, “If you’re lying to me, though, I’m gonna break your thumbs.”

“Break my thumbs?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, you know how many bottles you can lift with broken thumbs? None.”

He snorts and shakes his head, “Alright, alright. Don’t get out your vice grips just yet, buster.”

You laugh and Frankie feels his heart swell with adoration. There’s a bit of an awkward pause when your laughter fades out, then you murmur, “Thank you for calling me. Instead of… you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Still need me to pick you up from your meeting later?”

“If that still works for you.”

“Of course it does,” you coo, and he can hear the smile in your voice again when you say, “So, about my movie pick for tonight...”

He grins, “Uh-huh. You got a good one?”

“Well, the thing is, I was going to pick The Shawshank Redemption, but that seems a bit too topical now—”

Laughter bubbles up Frankie’s throat, and he shakes his head, “Hey, maybe it’ll give me some pointers for tunneling my way out of a prison.”

“That is so true. In that case, maybe I’ll keep it. We’ll see,” you chuckle, “Ok, well… I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“I’ll be there.”

When Frankie sees your car pull up to the strip mall coffee shop that holds his Friday night meeting, a few thoughts populate his head almost instantaneously.

At the very forefront is the reminder that he kissed you.

It was a peck, really, just a quick kiss goodnight. But for three days, the first thought on his mind when he sees you or thinks about you or breathes or does anything really is that he fucking kissed you.

After being notified of his court date, Frankie should only be thinking up ways to see minimal jail time. But every time he finds a still moment, before anything else, he pictures you sitting on your bed, rubbing your lips and smiling as he leaves your room.

The thought that follows this one, on par for the past three days, is that he fucked Angie.

Has anyone ever felt this fucking terrible about having sex with his wife?

Then, on top of that, he said shitty things about you and let Angie do the same. He knows he didn’t just betray you, but he betrayed himself, too. It wasn’t just wrong, it was disingenuous. That knowledge fills him with a heaviness so profound, at times he thinks it might break him.

Which brings up the last thought that shotguns through his head following the kiss, then Angie:

I don’t want to do this anymore.

What “this” is, he hasn’t quite figured out yet. His marriage? His obsession with you? Sobriety? Life itself?

Fuck, all of the above?

All he knows is he means it, and that “this” is not sustainable.

He built a timebomb with no countdown. If he concentrates hard enough he can hear it ticking in his bones, whispering in his ear:

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Frankie opens the passenger door to your car and sits down, closing it behind him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you throw the car into reverse, craning your neck around to check for oncoming traffic, “How was your meeting?”

“It was… good, actually,” he stretches out in the seat and shrugs, “Yeah. I, uhh, I think I needed that today.”

“Yeah?” you glance over at him, “So your opinion that it’s, and I quote, ‘total bullshit’ has shifted a bit?”

He chuckles, “I guess so.”

“Wow, look at you. A changed man,” you smirk, “You’re almost two months sober, you know that?”

“Feels like centuries,” he taps his lips, then tells you, “But also days, sometimes. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Is it getting easier?”

Not at all.

The thought surfaces from the hungry part of his brain. The beast that just wants and wants and wants, regardless of the cost. But that’s not necessarily accurate, even though it’s the loudest part of him.

“Sometimes,” he admits, “Sometimes I can’t imagine being that person again. And—and sometimes all I want to do is drink until I don’t care about anything anymore.”

“But the meetings help?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“What step are you on?”

“Well… I haven’t actually started the steps. So, zero.” Before you can ask, he adds, “I don’t know why. I should. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.”

You nod in acknowledgement, then a few seconds pass before you tell him, “Last time I talked to Ralph, he suggested I check out an Al-Anon meeting.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing it,” you glance between him and the road, “Would that be weird?”

“I don’t think it would be weird at all,” he answers, tapping his fingers against his knee.

“Really?”

“It might be helpful, talking to other people in similar… situations, I guess.”

“Ok. Well, yeah, maybe I’ll check it out.”

“You should,” he gives your arm a playful pinch.

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Your hand moves towards his, then the fingers curl back and you mutter, “Sorry,” before returning it to the steering wheel.

Frankie studies your face, watching your jaw gnash around like you’re chewing on your goddamn tongue again. He lays out his hand, palm facing up on the center console.

You look at it, then release your white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to place your hand in his.

Once you do, he interlaces your fingers and pulls your clasped hands to rest on his leg. His thumb absentmindedly works against your skin as he looks out the window at storefronts and restaurants rolling past. And, for the first time all day, he feels sated and calm, like he knows everything will turn out ok.

As the end credits to Moulin Rouge! run, Frankie looks down at you sleeping peacefully with your head on his lap. He rubs your arm, murmuring, “Sweetheart.”

You wake with a start, jolting upright, and clamber to the other end of the couch. Your wide, frightened eyes glow with the ambient light of the TV. Every muscle in your body is rigid and guarded. You look like a cornered animal.

“Hey,” he holds up a hand, “It’s just me.”

It takes a moment for you to recognize him and your surroundings, but when you do, you slacken, burying your face in your hands, and release a sob.

He stares at you, afraid to move, not wanting to rattle you further. A minute goes by like this, while you cry and he sits there frozen and uncertain.

“Sorry,” you sit up and wipe your eyes, shaking your head, “That was fucking weird I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s ok.”

“Ok,” you stand on shaky legs, “Well, goodnight.”

When you walk past him, he calls out, “Hey, wait,” and grabs your hand, “Are you ok?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t pull away, either. For a moment he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. When your breath returns, it’s a sob that racks your body. You shake your head and choke out, “No.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

You nod, so he stands and follows you to your room. The lights stay off as he crawls into bed beside you, ushering you into his arms. You feel so warm there, fit so perfectly, even with your stuffed panda bear cuddled into your chest.

When he thinks about your nightmares, your panic attacks, the times like this when you seem stuck somewhere far away, he desperately wants to know who did this to you.

He can connect the dots. He doesn’t need you to tell him the gory details. If he could put a name and a face to the scars in your psyche, though…

He cuts his thoughts short, not wanting to see all the methods of vengeance his volatile brain can come up with. Not with you right here, safe in his embrace, drifting to sleep.

The long, slow breaths expanding and contracting your rib cage lull him into a hypnotic state, and sleep comes to him easily, the way it only does when he’s with you.

Frankie wakes in your bed at dawn.

Eyes still closed, he frowns when a breeze slices through the thick, stagnant air and cools his skin.

He mutters to himself, “You stole the goddamn blanket again, didn’t you?”

One eye peaks open and confirms his suspicion. At some point overnight, you managed to twist yourself up into a cocoon on the opposite side of the bed.

“Hmm?”

The noise is muffled and groggy. He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

The heap jiggles a little. Your hand pokes out from underneath it and grabs around for him. He scoots closer, peeling back a poofy duvet layer to reveal your serene, still mostly sleeping face. You wince at the dull light of day, but a smile ticks across your lips when you make contact with him, smoothing your palm against the heat of his chest before worming your way into his arms. He pulls the blanket with you, draping it over himself, even though the air is hot and soupy, just to feel your warmth because it’s yours.

You mumble something into his shirt. The words all stick together when they dribble from your comatose lips and he can’t make out a single one.

He smirks, “What’s that?”

This time, you tilt your head to the ceiling, notching the crown of your head between his collar and jaw, smacking your mouth a few times before repeating yourself.

This time, he understands.

“IIiii love you.”

His heart skitters electric through his fingertips.

He tries to keep his countenance calm when he peaks down at you. Your eyes are closed, breath passing through your slack lips in long, halting strokes. One foot in the door of consciousness, if that.

Fuck it.

“I love you, too.”

Every synapse in his brain shoots off like the grand finale of a fireworks display when he says it. A sweet, sleepy hum sounds from your throat as you feel around blindly for him, patting up his arm like you’re searching for a light switch in the dark.

When you reach his face, your wobbly fingertips twitch a little. They graze his stubbled cheek, then follow the curve of his smile. Your eyelids flutter open, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they do, you don’t go to move or push him away like he was half-expecting.

No, instead, your gaze slides to where you trace his lips, your own parting with a sharp breath.

If he says anything, he’ll fuck this up, he’s sure of it. And he wants to squeeze every last drop from this moment. So he just watches you and tries to subdue the wildfire scorching his bones to dust.

“I had a dream about you,” you tell him in a hoarse whisper, as if someone might overhear.

His pulse surges. He feels his limbs wiggle a little closer to you as he asks, “A good dream?”

You nod.

“What happened?”

The answer tucks into the corners of your mouth and spreads across your face in a big party banner smile, “I dreamed that you, um…”

You lick your lips and shrug, raking your nails along his jaw, reeling him in closer. He doesn’t want to be the fool that makes the first move. Not unless you want him to be.

“That I what?”

The question leaves his throat in a rumble. Permission, he needs your permission, baby, please—

Then you kiss him. Delicate and hesitant, like a question: “Do you want this?”

“I do,” every cell in his body cries, aching with restrained force when his lips move in response, pressing hard against yours like a declaration, “I don’t just want this, I need this. I need you.”

A moan bows your vocal cords, vibrating onto his tongue as you yank on his shirt and roll onto your back, pulling him on top of you. It’s like second nature, how his hips arch into yours, the dull edge of your pubic bone grinding against his already stiff, throbbing length.

He keeps expecting you to come to your senses and shove him away, but you don’t. You keep kissing him, pulling him closer, tongue rolling soft and wet against his—morning breath be damned, thank fucking god. If you tried to shoo him now, he might die, too much inertia from this pulsing, maddening energy rippling beneath his skin, it would tear him to shreds.

Your lips part from his and you peer up at him through your lashes, studying his face as you tug at his cock over his shorts. His whole body shudders, a groan spilling from his chest, and you smirk, “Take them off.”

“Are you sure?”

You glance at his lips, then meet his eyes, “No, but do it anyway.”

Frankie sits up and strips off his clothes, watching you do the same. You pull him with you as you lay back on your elbows, lips meeting again and again in frantic, desperate kisses. His cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you whine, “Please—”

He pushes forward, swallowed up by your tight, wet heat, catching the whine of “Fuck yes,” that escapes your mouth. A thick wave of pleasure rushes up his spine, and your hips work against his, taking him faster, the shared movements quickly escalating.

“So fucking good,” he pants, nipping at the column of your throat as your head falls loosely back, “Sweet girl, you take me so well, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open slack, eyes pinched shut, “Oh my god, yes, Frankie—”

“That’s it, baby, say my name,” he growls, this insane gush of hot, writhing ecstasy flooding his body, “Look at me.”

Your head snaps up and you meet his eyes. He slips a hand behind your head and cradles your skull, holding you here, fucking you in deep, long strokes, asking you, “Whose pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, Frankie,” you gasp, nodding, “It’s yours, it’s always yours, fuck—”

“Fuck yes it is,” his voice sounds far away, babbling all on its own as he grapples with the fire growing inside him, “Does your little boyfriend fuck you like this?”

You let out a pathetic whimper and shake your head, “No.”

“Do you think about me when you fuck him?”

A nod, continuing frantically when he asks, “Think about how you wish it was me to make yourself come?”

“Fuck, holy shit, Frankie—oh my fucking god—”

You’re so fucking close. His muscles start to clench at the overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it baby, come on, let it go, it’s ok, be a good girl let me feel you come on this dick—”

Your moans grow louder, matching his fervid thrusts, and he feels you suck him in, the spasming squeeze of your plush, hot walls yanking him violently over the edge. Liquid static condenses, then pulses through him, and he lets out a guttural noise as he fucks his load into you.

The rhythm of his hips slow, then come to a stop.

He looks down at you, panting, and brushes his thumb against your cheek, searching your face for signs of regret, and notices you’re studying him in the same manner.

You smooth your hands over his shoulders, then pull him into a sweet, lingering kiss. When your lips depart his, you release a heavy sigh, dragging your nails through his damp bed head as you ask, “What time do you have to go?”

An old, familiar ache returns. Reality setting in. He realizes what the day holds in store for him. Sarah’s birthday party. Spending the day with family and friends, playing pretend.

When he thinks about being around you and Angie simultaneously, how he will have to act neutral or even cold towards you, his stomach twists and a sour taste rises in his throat. He’s been here a million times and it always leaves him nauseous with shame. It doesn’t feel right. It never felt right.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Everything seems to click into place. He understands what he has to do.

“Pablo is picking me up around 9.”

Your throat bobs and a crease forms between your brows as you avert your gaze, fingers still working through his hair, “Today’s gonna be a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss into your forehead, right on the little worry lines, mumbling against your skin, “It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “We just fucked, now we’re gonna spend the day with your wife and daughter, what could go wrong?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he chuckles, but you don’t find it funny.

You flinch and look down, hands curling to your chest. Frankie tilts your chin up. When he meets your eyes, they’re bloodshot and watery. He opens his mouth to say something, frantically searching his brain for some kind of band-aid, but the box is empty. He’s not sure what to say to comfort you. All that comes out of his stupid fucking mouth is, “I—fuck, sorry.”

“No, it’s ok,” you wipe your eyes and sit up, so he draws back, watching you scramble to put your shorts back on, “I, um… I’ll go make some coffee.”

He wants to assure you it will be ok, that he’s going to fix this, make things right. Something he should have done years ago. But the words lodge in his chest. What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s another promise he can’t keep?

So he just sits there and lets you walk away for the millionth time.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Frankie pours a cup of coffee and walks into the living room, where you’re scribbling in your notebook, limbs twisted up into a tight knot. Uncertainty paralyzes him in the archway between rooms. He takes a step back, pauses, then steps forward.

You smack the notebook and blink at him, “Oh my god Frankie, just sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

He nods and strides over to the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion beside you with a groan. Meanwhile, you return your attention to the notebook, furrowing your brow as you write.

Curiosity flips his stomach. Is it about him? About what just happened?

Desperately, he wants you to share your feelings on the matter with him like you would your journal. The unfiltered truth.

Do you want this like I do?

He takes a big, burning sip of coffee, then asks, “What’re you writing about?”

Your eyebrow arches and you continue to scribble as you narrate, “Dear diary, he’s gonna be super fucking weird about this now, isn’t he?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head while you spear your pencil down the notebook’s wired spine and smirk at him. He tugs at one of your ankles, and you welcome the invitation, stretching your legs out across his lap and he scoots closer.

“Am I being weird about it?” he asks, glancing down into his steaming mug.

You exchange the notebook for your coffee and raise it to your lips before shrugging, “A little. But I think I am, too, so…” You take a loud sip, then lower your mug and ask, “Do you regret it yet?”

He doesn’t even think about it. The answer barrels from his heart to his mouth.

“No.”

A timid sort of smile curves your lips. It reminds him of the way a neglected animal would react to an outstretched hand. Cautious. Not sure if he’ll slap or pet you, but hopeful.

“Really?”

He nods, searching your face, “What about you?”

“No. But—” your smile falters, eyes dropping to your coffee cup, “But I’m scared.”

Guilt pools icy cold in his guts. His throat bobs on its own accord. He takes your hand, weaving his fingers with yours.

Your face twists into a pained expression and you croak, “What are we even doing here?”

“I don’t know yet,” he shakes his head, “But give me some time—”

“I can’t be your mistress again,” you whisper, shaking your head as tears pool in your eyes, voice escalating, tinged with panic, “Please don’t ask me to do that again, it would kill me, Frankie, I fucking can’t—”

“Hey—no,” he sits up to place his mug on the table, takes yours and does the same, then scoops you up onto his lap.

You bury your face in his neck. Sobs work through your body with violent force—a horrible, tortured sound that pulverizes his heart. All he can do is squeeze you tight and do his best to restrain his own tears. It barely works. Self-loathing bubbles under his skin.

His voice cracks as he tells you, “I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?”

He clenches his eyes shut, cradling you as a few more strangled noises burst from your chest, each one driving the thought deeper: I don’t want to do this anymore.

“Give me some time,” he rasps into your hair, “I promise I’ll fix it—”

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying,” you choke out in an accusatory fashion, then take a big, wet, gasping breath.

“No, I’m not—hey, look at me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes, but you shake your head in protest, covering your face, “I don’t want to, I’m ugly crying.”

“Ugly crying?” Frankie snorts, “I don’t know about that, let me see.”

Your shoulders bounce with a soggy, muffled chuckle, “Shut up.”

He smirks at the spunky response as you sniffle and drop your hands, shooting him a glare he knows you don’t mean. Feigning seriousness, he pinches your chin to inspect your damp, puffy face.

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue and sighs, “Just as I thought. Too goddamn pretty for your own good.”

To this, you roll your eyes and chuckle, “You’re a liar.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, thumb sliding across the plush of your bottom lip, “But not about this.”

Your gaze softens as you search his face, “Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Really?”

Frankie nods.

You study him, brow furrowed, eyes welling up. Everything is so silent and still, he wonders if the world stopped turning. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you croak out, “You better not be fucking with me, Francisco.”

“I’m not—”

“Because, I swear to god, if you’re lying—”

He cups your cheeks and holds your gaze steady on his, “I promise, ok? I’ll tell Ang later this week. But today…” He trails off, shaking his head, “I don’t know.”

A few tears break loose, so he wipes them away.

The column of your throat bobs and you ask, “Do you still want me to go?”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, “Do you still want to go?”

“You first.”

“I’d like it if you did. And it would mean a lot to Sarah,” he slips his arms around your waist and leans back onto the couch. You follow, laying your head on his shoulder, melting into him as he pets your hair and says, “But it’s up to you. It might be hard.”

“Because you’re still… with her, right? Like this?”

His chest aches. You flatten your palm against his heart and he tells you, “Yeah. Well, kind of. It’s different, but yeah.”

“Different how?”

I don’t love her. Not like this.

“I, um… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just a different person. Our relationship isn’t like this. It’s kind of like it was, but, you know… worse.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “Do you still fuck her?”

“No.”

The lie slips out automatically. Immediately, his stomach drops to the ground. He wishes he could take it back, and for a second, he considers it. But, at the same time, you don’t need to know about a one-time fuck up.

He shifts a little, looking down at you, “But we’re still… affectionate sometimes. Which could be hard to see. So, it’s up to you.”

You smooth your hand up his chest, to his neck, and sit up to meet his eyes, “I’ll go.”

Frankie nods, searching your face.

“We can behave, right?” your eyebrow quirks, and you glance down at his mouth.

“Uh huh,” he leans closer, inhaling your breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

But when his lips meet yours, and sparks ignite under his skin, he knows it’s just another lie.

#designated person #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

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pimosworld · 9 months ago

Text

Pairing-Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary-Frankie comforts you during that time of the month.

CW-Tooth rotting fluff,mentions of sex but no smut, Frankie being the best partner anyone could ask for. Reader is not described but has a period every month, pet names, mentions of blood (of course).

WK-898

A/N- inspired by @beefrobeefcal he’s not quite chubby but he’s Frankie nonetheless. It’s so hard for me to write while I’m on my period because the cramps make me lose focus but this definitely helped in some placebo effect way. @triplefrontier-anniversary

Not beta read

At your service

Frankie rolls over to find your side of the bed uncharacteristically cool for a Saturday morning. Sleeping in and cuddling until you had to pry yourselves out of bed was one of your favorite rituals on the weekend. It’s too early and the only light illuminating the room is leaking out from the bottom of the bathroom door.

He can hear some sniffles and a groan and he’s throwing back the covers in a panic as he leaps out of bed. He tries the door and it’s locked causing him to panic even further.

“Hermosa, you okay in there?” His voice laced with concern echoing through the wall.

“Don’t come in Frankie…it’s a murder scene in here.” You groan to yourself again as you hear him try the door handle again.

He quickly realizes what predicament you’re in. He should’ve known your period was coming. You’re like clockwork each month, and instead of subjecting him to your dreaded pms you tend to shut yourself off the days leading up to it. Trying to stay busy at work or telling him to hang out with the guys so you can rage in peace. It’s still something you’re working on after all these years with him. Not understanding that he’s going to take the good with the bad and not be like your shitty ex who would make snide comments about your time of the month.

“Honey, I’ve seen much more blood than whatever you’ve got going on right now.”

“I beg to differ.” You whine and he tries not to laugh, that would most certainly not make the situation any better.

You finally open the door and he’s met with the most pathetic site as you stand there with fresh tears in your eyes and one of his large tee shirts draped over your body. He’s only seen deeper frown lines on Santiago.

He pulls you into his chest as you try to wrap your arms around his larger frame, your body goes willingly limp as he rubs your head and rocks you back and forth. He’s so warm and smells like fresh laundry and you swear your hormones play evil tricks on you each month because you’ve never wanted him more than when you’re on your period. Despite his endless hours of showing you how much he appreciated your body and your mind and whatever else came with your emotions, you still weren’t comfortable having sex during these few days.

You had once or twice before with Frankie but he never pushed you if you weren’t feeling up to it.

“Vamos hermosa, let’s get you back to bed.” He kisses your forehead and waddles you to the bed, tucking you safely under the covers. “I’ll grab your heating pad and some water.” He kisses you again and you go tight lipped trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks as more tears spill and he pulls back from you visibly confused at your reaction. “We were supposed to go to the beach for Benny’s birthday.”

He tuts and pulls you back into him mumbling into your neck. “I don’t want to go to the stupid beach and get sand in my ass anyway.” Your wet laugh rumbles against him and he can breathe a small sigh of relief.

****

You can hear him in the hallway on the phone as he returns from downstairs.

“You owe me anyways pendejo, I covered for you last week, remember?”

You can hear him rest his head on the bedroom door as he huffs out.

“Ben, it's been way too long, you need to learn some Spanish…I gotta go, promise I’ll make it up to you soon.”

He opens the door with an arm full of way more than two items. He sets down the water bottle with fresh ice and dumps the rest of the contents on the bed. You giggle at the sheer amount of items but cover your mouth when he sends you a warning look.

He sets up your heating pad and explains everything down to a tee just like the military man that he is. It didn’t take long for you to realize how much he enjoyed taking care of you so those arguments stopped early on.

“I’ve got your sleep mask you left on the couch, you should get some more rest.” He hands you some pain medication and your water and you take it obediently. “I’ve also got a snack for when you wake up.” He sets the granola bar on the side table along with your phone charger, before turning off the bathroom light and rejoining you in the bed.

You can hear him warming up his calloused hands as he rubs them together under the covers before draping them across your belly. The only time of the month you’d allow him to rub your belly. Something he’d allow you to do to him everyday.

You’re perfectly content again as you resume your Saturday morning cuddles with the love of your life.

“Frankie?” You ask sleepily as he hums behind you. “What did you cover up for Benny last week?”

“Go to sleep hermosa, sweet dreams.” He kisses your neck as he pretends to start snoring and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up inside you.

“Fine, you keep your secrets. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Te amo tambíen.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x f!reader

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egcdeath · 1 year ago

Note

okay but imagine frankie stressing out about taking his little girl to the father daughter dance and the reader has to calm him down and assure him he’s gonna do great.

pairing: frankie morales x reader

summary: frankie has some concerns before his first father-daughter dance.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: insecurities about parenting, very light angst, mostly fluff, hurt/comfort, lightly edited

author's note: frankie my beloved!!! i can't believe i didn’t write for him sooner. i'm also taking drabble requests for all pedro characters right now! just drop it in my inbox and i'll try to crank something out :-)

“Say cheese!” you directed, grinning as your daughter flashed her newly grown-in teeth and clung onto her father’s black dress slacks. Frankie looked just as pleased as he squatted down next to your ecstatic daughter, her excited energy clearly infectiously spreading to her parents.

“You guys are just precious,” you gushed before lowering your camera, pleased with the boatload of pictures you’d taken of your two favorite people in the world. “You ready to go, conejita?” you asked, approaching your daughter and lowering yourself to her level.

“Yes!” she squealed, her little chubby cheeks rising as she beamed once more. “We’re gonna have so much fun, right, daddy?”

“Of course we are,” he agreed, his soft voice fully equipped as he seemed to fall under the spell of his adorable daughter.

“I’ll race you to the car?” she asked, although she was already taking off out the door with zero regard for her dress, or anything for that matter.

Frankie looked at you and raised his brows as if to ask if he should’ve been chasing her, and you gave him a noncommittal shrug. “It’s her new thing,” you explained, walking at a far more casual pace as the two of you headed outside. “And she prefers to win.”

“Good to know,” he chuckled softly. “You know, I do want to be home more often to do this kind of thing. I want to know what her new interests and little quirks are,” Frankie’s face seemed to fall the slightest bit as you turned to look at him, a small frown now on his face.

“I know you do,” you said understandingly, despite the fact that more often than not, you didn’t understand. His missions were often very hush-hush–even for you–but what you did know was that there was often a lot of money involved. Enough money to allow your husband to become a stay-at-home father, and to send your daughter to college several times over. Yet, despite his growing joint pain and his desire to be with his family, he was often sent on many months-long excursions that ended with him being mentally absent for days, and waking you up in the middle of the night from squeezing you so hard that you thought you might burst. “But this mission is your last one, right?”

“It should be,” he shrugged, stepping out into the garage with you. While you tried to have hope, you could think of multiple occasions where Frankie was told that a mission would be his last, but that ended up not being the case.

“Then you’ll be back with us soon permanently,” you assured him, “More father-daughter dances, more playdates at the park, hugs and kisses from us whenever you need them… Just try to look forward to that. I know I am.”

You were doing your best to reassure him, but in the process you were also attempting to reassure yourself. It obviously was not your preference to have your partner and the father of your child gone so frequently, but it also wasn’t up to you. That much was clear.

“I will,” he said, his frown dissipating once he laid eyes on his daughter once more, who was standing outside of the car door with a very self-satisfied grin on her face.

“I won!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air in celebration. “You’re too slow, daddy,” she giggled.

Frankie wasted no time walking over to her and scooping her into his arms, pressing a big kiss onto her cheek with all the love in the world. As you watched, your heart melted, particularly as your daughter happily scrunched her face up at the affection. You yearned for more of this, to be able to wake up every day and be able to bask in the love that came from the two people across from you.

“I’m too old now. I’m such a slowpoke,” he said dramatically, making your daughter laugh as he moved to get her settled in the back seat of the car. “We’ll have to do a do-over race at some point.”

“I’ll still win,” she said confidently, causing you to laugh where you were standing by the door. After strapping in your daughter and closing the back door, you were sure that the conversation between you and Frankie was over. He was off to have a fun, well deserved night with your kid, and you had a bottle of pinot noir and a trashy romcom calling your name.

Yet, before you turned to go back inside, Frankie reached out and grabbed your arm.

“Everything okay?” you asked, concern written all over you. His previous behavior around his daughter compared to the look he was giving you right then were night and day–his shoulders tense and his worry lines making an appearance as he gulped.

“Yeah, I’m just… I want to make sure that she has the best night possible. We just see each other so little now that I want to be sure that the memories she does have of me are good ones,” he confessed.

“It will be a good one,” you assured him.

“I-” he seemed to stop himself before he said something else. “I’m a terrible dancer.”

For some reason, you were getting the feeling that his worries weren’t just related to his dancing skills. Frankie had shared his insecurities with you over his parenting a number of times before–his concerns that he was going to end up not knowing anything at all about his own child, his fears that she would grow up resenting him for his absence, and his biggest fear that she one day might even forget that he was her father in the first place. It made sense that something like a father-daughter dance would bring out some of that insecurity in him.

You pulled Frankie into a hug, knowing that he was never all that great with sharing his feelings, but a bit of physical contact always seemed to help him a bit. You swore you could feel his shoulders relax as you embraced him, swaying him ever so slightly.

“Baby, you are not a bad dancer. And even if you were the most awful, terrible dancer in this world, all she’s gonna remember is how fun of a night she had with her daddy,” you attempted to comfort Frankie with your sincerity. “You should hear how she talks about you when you’re gone. The amount of times she’s retold me the story of your trip to the conservatory, or about the time you two went to the aquarium together? I promise, all the little details don’t matter. What matters is that she loves you, and she loves getting to spend any time with you.”

The assurance from you that your daughter didn’t think of him in the same way that he seemed to think about himself seemingly did the trick, giving Frankie all that he needed to gently pull away from you.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, pecking your lips before looking at you with an almost watery expression.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you,” you replied with just as much sincerity. “Now, you should probably get going before she starts complaining about you being a slug and taking so long.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Frankie agreed, fully pulling himself away from you and turning himself towards the door once more.

“Love you guys,” you called as you began to walk towards the house door. “Make some fun memories tonight, okay?”

The grins and waves you received as the two began to back out of the garage told you more than any verbal answer ever could’ve.

They absolutely would.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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nerdieforpedro · 10 months ago

Text

The Brave, the Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 5

All fanfics on this list are for readers age 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they're there so you know what's in them. Read at your own risk.

Room 1918 by @megamindsecretlair (Nomad Steve Rogers x Black female plus size reader)

Sweet Treat - Part Two by @mrsmando (Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x plus size female reader) Follow up to 'Sweet Treat - part one.'

La Petit Mort @boliv-jenta (Joel Miller x reader and Dave York x reader) Dark Fic

Misfire @qveerthe0ry (Dieter Bravo x GN reader)

Fluffer by @proxima-writes (Dieter Bravo x PA female writer)

Hey Good Lookin’ - part one and Hey Good Lookin’ - part two by @gwendibleywrites (Chubby shy Frankie Morales x plus size reader)

Lemonade Sparkles by @frenchiereading (Frankie Morales x female reader)

Watta Man - A Marcus Pike Story by @atinylittlepain (Marcus Pike x female reader)

O’ Christmas Tree by @covetyou (Dieter Bravo x GN reader)

Lingerie by @604to647 (Din Djarin - modern AU x female reader)

Once in a Blue Moon by @whatsnewalycat (Dieter Bravo x female reader)

Hold Harder by @sin-djarin (Tim Rockford x female reader)

Christmas Indulgence by @movievillainess721 (Jack Daniels x plus size female reader)

Cowboy Hat Joel x Reader (an ask) by @theywhowriteandknowthings (Joel Miller x female reader)

Oh, The Wildflowers by @adora-but-ginger (Joel Miller x GN reader)

A Nanny for Christmas by @absurdthirst (Dave York x plus size female reader)

Baker Wonderland by @integra1127grimmreaper (Javier Guterrez x plus size female reader)

Consummating the Riduurok @beskarandblasters (Din Djarin x female reader)

Consent by @fuckyeahdindjarin (Dieter Bravo x female reader)

White Christmas by @absurdthirst (Joel Miller x female reader)

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj (Joel Miller x Jersey - OFC)

What the Heart Wants by @artemiseamoon (Pero Tovar x female reader)

Javier Peña & His Sweetheart (Chubby Peña) by @beefrobeefcal (Chubby Javier Peña x female reader)

Please check out everyone's listed fics and master lists! Don't forget to reblog and comment, writers love interactions. 🥰

#Nerdie's fic recommendations #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #din djarin #frankie morales #dieter bravo #the mandalorian #pero tovar #Dave york #Marcus pike #Tim rockford #Steve Rogers

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alwaysbethewest · 7 months ago

Text

Triple Frontier/Narcos fic: Crossing the Streams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what was it that Santiago saw?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Francisco exchanges a glance with Javier.

“Is it?”

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

He looks skeptical.

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

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

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

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

She sets down her pen.

“If you don’t mind.”

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

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

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

“What’s the situation here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and Frankie.”

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

“There’s no situation,” he says.

“You’re roommates?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny is avoiding your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#narcos fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales #benny miller #javier peña #fishben #pedro pascal #my fic

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