#like day in and day out he would just wait for Benny to move forward with his plan

[dykedvonte]

Benny was like Yes-Man’s world and you have to think about how, even if he gladly helps and never objects, he feels about helping the Courier on a deeper level. Especially a Courier that killed Benny.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

benny & y/n : the library (part 2)

“May I?”

After a bite into one of your chocolate muffins and a giddy smile waiting for his reaction, Benny knew that your story only just began. He had never liked relationships - the thought of being tied down to one person for a long period of time made him shiver. Benny valued his freedom and he would’ve never given that up. Especially for a woman.

But oh, how he loved your smile. The little dimples forming in both of your rosy cheeks and your bright eyes looking down, as you still had to get used to the attention he was giving you. He didn’t believe in love, but he believed in whatever he was feeling towards you.

He didn’t take you home that night - he feared that even asking you would be too forward. He was in no rush anyhow, since you had a lifetime in front of you.

“You get home safe, baby, alright?”, Benny’s hand brushed against the bare skin of your arm. His deep, blue eyes slowly meeting yours and you fought the urge to pout. How was it possible that you felt so comfortable around a man you only met two hours ago?

You nodded as his hand slowly made its way towards your cheek, rough digits brushing your soft skin as if it was made out of porcelain. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation and you found yourself leaning into his touch. Benny smiled softly at the sight before him - a pretty girl enjoyed his company. He almost asked Johnny to pinch him, proving that all of this was not in his imagination.

“We’ll see each other again?”, you asked, tone laced with hope. He smiled again and nodded without hesitation.

“Definitely, baby.”, he placed a kiss on your other cheek and as he pulled away, you stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours. You were almost hypnotized by the aura he exuded - his rough hands were touching your skin yet his gentle words were touching your heart.

“Y/N!”, you abruptly pulled apart at the sound of your name being called. But Benny’s hand moved to the small of your back, finding comfort in the action. 

Kathy was at the door with Felicia by her side, you couldn’t catch Martha though. She was probably with a man she stood a chance with. Kathy waved at you and nodded towards the exit, while Felicia moved her gaze away - the sight of the man of her dreams with a girl he had just met was too much for her.

Benny gently pushed the now empty container against your torso. “I’d say the muffins were a hit.”, you smiled at the compliment and looked down.

“Is my girl shy again?”, he asked in a teasing tone, a gentle finger moving your chin up to meet his eyes.

“They’re looking at us.”, you murmured, making Benny look at the girls waiting for you at the exit.

“Let them look, baby.”, Benny placed another kiss on your cheek and gave your hip a soft squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, honey.”

You glanced at him for the last time tonight and gave him a soft wave, offering a gentle bye. Your heartbeat was getting ridiculously high for a little kiss on the cheek. But maybe it wasn’t the few kisses, maybe it was the way his eyes told stories like no one else’s or the way his hair was desperately begging to be brushed by delicate fingers. Or maybe it was just him.

“Took you long enough.”, Felicia muttered under her breath as you had finally reached them. You couldn’t find the strength to say anything to her or to Kathy, as your eyes were now replaying the tape of your and Benny’s first encounter.

“Ah girl. I hope that guy is worth it.”, Kathy shook her head at the sight of little hearts in your eyes. She knew very well that once she introduced you two that there was no going back. She secretly wondered if she played matchmaker or if she just signed your death warrant.

Since nobody was available for today’s shift at the library, you volunteered to stay in for the entire day. You didn’t really mind since it was your safe space — you were able to read books and drink your coffee without anybody bothering your peace. But it did a number on you that’s for sure - helping little kids picking the perfect book, placing books in alphabetical order and pulling them out of heavy carton boxes. Your feet were begging for mercy, but you couldn’t give in.

“Yeah, Kathy, I-I can’t really. It’s just me at the library today. Lilly called in sick this morning.”, you told Kathy as you were twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“That kid is always sick. She doing it on purpose let me tell ya.”, Kathy responded and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. She was calling to pick you up and go to the bar, since it had almost been a week since you’ve been there.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”, you smiled, convinced that there was still some good in people. You looked ahead and noticed an approaching customer. “I, uh, I have to go now—“

“Benny asked about you.”, you stopped yourself from hanging up, your breath hitching in your throat at her words.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”, there was a slight sass hiding in her tone, but you didn’t have time right now.

“I have to go. I’ll talk to ya later. Love ya Kat.”

“Love ya too.”

You sighed and brushed your hair into a loose ponytail as you bent down to pick up the one of the last boxes that was delivered this morning. Some of your coworkers kept leaving things off until others from the next shift arrived - now it fell on you. Fortunately, it was closing time, so you could work in your own tempo.

Soft Elvis blues played in the background as you put books on top of shelves. A ding came from the front door, making you huff as a book slipped from your grasp.

“We’re closed!”, you called and picked up the book.

“Even for me?”

You looked up and noticed the all too familiar man standing by the door, two coffees in his hands alongside a small, paper box. You stood up and put your hands on your hips, smiling happily at the sight of him.

“Technically even for you, yes.”, you said, holding back a chuckle. “But I’ll let this slide this once.”, you teased and approached him.

His heart soared at the sight of you and quickly checked out the place, almost waiting for another coworker to approach the two of you. But no one did.

“Hi, baby.”, Benny smiled at you and noticed the bags under your eyes. “Tell me you ain’t here on your own.”, his eyes did another scan of the place, but in vain.

Your lips parted at his words. “I, uh, yes I am. Why?”

He shook his head and started muttering profanities under his breath. “So Kathy wasn’t messing with me when she told me you were alone the whole day.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. “So Kat was the one that told you where I work.”

“Not relevant. Where can I put these?”, Benny nodded to the goodies in his hands. You smiled at the thoughtful gesture and showed him to your desk.

“Right here.”, you patted the wood and sat on it, waiting for him to do the same. Instead he handed you the coffee cup and set the white box on the desk. “Thank you.”, you thanked him and gratefully started sipping the coffee.

“What’s in the box?”, you curiously looked at Benny and almost swore his cheeks assumed a pinkish color.

He cleared his throat and started opening the box. “I asked Kathy for the recipe of the muffins you brought last week… I don’t know… You don’t have to eat them—“

Now that the box was open, you could take a good look at what it was hiding. Scarcely frosted muffins with pink and white sprinkles on top. Benny was sure giving your heart a hard time surviving. You carefully picked one up and looked at it, an automatic smile formed on your lips.

“You made these?”, your words were a mere whisper above the soft Elvis song playing in the background. Benny nodded, almost in a shy way. You smiled at him and took a bite, the sugary and chocolatey flavor exploding in your mouth. You hadn’t even noticed you closed your eyes, and once you opened them, you noticed Benny’s hopeful gaze on yours.

“And?”, he raised his eyebrows in concern. If someone had told him he’d be baking muffins for a girl he met a week ago, he would’ve shot them in the leg. And here he was now, desperately awaiting for your review.

You looked at him with full cheeks and swallowed the sweet. “They’re better than mine.”, you said honestly with a giggle, going on for another bite.

Benny sighed in relief and let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Goddamn. They were hard to make. Took me two tries.”, your heart almost exploded in your chest at his words.

“You’re crazy.”, you said and felt your nose dip in the frosting. “Oops.”, you laughed a little and as you were about to clean it away, Benny’s hand grasped yours.

You looked at him with big eyes, getting hypnotized by his. “You told me we would’ve seen each other sooner.”, he said lowly and you felt the guilt trapping you at the sad tone dripping from his words.

“E-Everyone called in sick this week.”, you justified in a small tone, looking down. “I wanted to see you… Like we promised.”, your eyes slowly moved to bore in his. His hands brushed the fabric covering your arm, until they reached your hair, releasing it from the cheap elastic band.

Benny brushed your hair on your shoulders — all of this giving you an opportunity to distract yourself from your racing heart. Again, you took your time looking at him, wondering who up there took their sweet time to sculpt him so perfectly.

“So you wanted to see me again? You didn’t just say it?”, he mumbled, making you look at him. You breathed out and found the courage to grasp one of his hands, the action causing his eyes to move on you.

“I like spending time with you, Benny. I really do.”, you admitted. “I like you.”, a now Elvis love song started playing, leaving you breathless in front of the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.

Benny squeezed your hand and brought your joined hands to his lips. “I like you too, baby.”, he placed a kiss on your hand. His face moved closer to yours, making your heart beat even faster than it had previously. Your eyes fluttered shut, expecting his soft lips on yours.

His lips kissed the tip of your nose, the frosting now gone. You opened your eyes and blushed furiously at your own thoughts. Benny smiled down at you, as if knowing your exact thoughts in the moment.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me!”, you almost whined on top of that old desk. Another smile made its way on his pretty face.

“You want me to kiss you, honey?”

“I do.”, your voice now a whisper as you had finally vocalized your thoughts out loud. His rough finger caressed your cheek, bringing you flashbacks of the night at the bar.

Before you could overthink anything else, you finally felt his plush lips on yours. Your hands immediately tangled up in his short, soft curls - almost like they belonged there. Both of his hands cupping your cheeks in the most loving way, making you wish for this moment to last forever.

Benny pulled away, leaving you starstruck. “Goddamn, baby.”, you let out a laugh at his words. And he went in to kiss you again. And again. And again.

A/N: i´m so single

MASTERLIST PART 3

[laurfilijames]

Breathe

Part 7

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Trauma/PTSD/nightmares/insomnia. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: Unanswered questions amp up every emotion that time does nothing to lessen, and so much uncertainty raises the concern if everything will turn out okay or if moving on is the only answer.

A/N: Less hurt than the last chapter, I promise! Thank you to everyone who was so enthusiastic and responsive to it and made all that angst worth writing!

Photo by @avatarskingdom and edited by me. Please do not use without permission or credit. Headers by the wonderful @spaghettificationandpretzels!

Chapter Playlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

---

You felt numb as much as you felt angry, scared and heartbroken.

It was all still so surreal, having to remind yourself constantly that Will broke up with you and was gone, the persistent sick feeling in your stomach growing with every thought of his life being at risk and that even though he was no longer yours, you might never see him again.

You did everything you could to understand his side of things, but with that your frustration increased wildly, the fact that he hadn't even given you the chance to be there for him stinging almost as much as him abandoning what you knew, or thought, you had.

Did he really believe you wouldn’t support him, that you didn’t care enough about him to give him space and time while he dealt with all the things he needed to, that your love for him simply wasn’t enough for him to want to hold onto while he was deployed, that everything you thought you had been building was broken and false?

The toaster popped, shooting your slice of bread out, making you jump after forgetting you were even waiting for it.

You ate because you had to, but food tasted bleak and flavourless, and everything that landed in your stomach felt like it sat there and made your nausea even worse.

You had made a whole lasagna earlier just because, giving you something to do for the better part of an hour, but the thought of eating it was so unappealing and you had the idea that maybe you would drop it off for Benny. Taking a bite out of the plain piece of toast, you thought how awful it might feel to go over to the Miller’s house right now, and decided against it, opting to freeze the lasagna for another time instead.

Another bite and the toast was in the trash, and you stood in the middle of your kitchen unmoving, not sure what to do with yourself next.

You hadn’t slept, and whether it was fatigue or just your grief pummeling you, you broke down and sobbed, your body shaking as the memory of Will holding you in his arms in this very spot flooded you, dancing one night while in the middle of cleaning up dinner, pausing almost anything in favour of stealing a piece of each other.

Work was a welcomed distraction, forcing you to go through the motions and function like everything was normal, able to allow you to bury your emotions for the course of a shift and nearly forget about what had happened, only to have it all come back the moment you got in your car and started your drive home, knowing you had nothing to look forward to.

You hadn’t been back to the gym since the day you saw both brothers there all beat up from their brawl with each other, your body too exhausted and weak to even consider working out, but as you sat at your kitchen table with nothing else to do, you went and changed into your gym clothes and drove over.

It was busy enough, observing the evening crowd enough to keep you entertained as you walked on the Stair Master, each step automatic and absent-minded.

Through a few people and machines you spotted Benny, resting on a bench between sets of chest presses, his smile and slightly awkward wave making you feel equally so, and as he stood and started weaving his way over to you, you felt bad that he probably felt obligated to talk to you.

You stopped the machine and stepped down, grabbing your things in the assumption you would probably feel like leaving after this conversation, your water bottle shaking in your hand that trembled with nerves and adrenaline.

“Hey,” Benny said, somewhat hesitantly.

“Hey, Benny,” you answered, smoothing your hand over your sweaty hair.

“How’re you doing?”

You sighed, looking down at the floor as you shook your head. “Do you want the fake answer or the honest one?”

Benny huffed a laugh in understanding. “You look like shit.”

You laughed out of disbelief, bringing yourself to look at him as he scratched his head and tried to recover.

“I mean- fuck.”

“No, I look like shit. Feel like it too,” you confirmed, reassuring his observations.

“Are you looking after yourself?” he asked, his face full of concern.

You shrugged, “As much as I can, I guess.”

He nodded, sympathetic to your feelings. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

“Here and there. Not much of both if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, I get it. Just do your best even though it’s hard.”

You hummed. “Does it get any easier?”

He tilted his head a bit. “Does what get easier?”

“The worry, the waiting…”

“Oh, uh…” he pulled his ball cap up off his head, smoothed his hair back and placed it back on again, this time backwards. “Yeah, I guess we all just get used to it in a way. But I’d be lying if I said that everyday you’re half expecting to get that phone call…”

He saw the tears in your eyes well to the surface, and unlike most times, Benny felt a bit speechless.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” you admitted, your words not even directed at Benny, but rather said aloud simply because you couldn’t keep them in.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” you went on, wiping your eyes and shaking your head like it would suddenly shake away your feelings. “I’m gonna get going, see you later.”

“Yeah, of course,” Benny responded, his voice soft. “Hey,” he called after you, making you pause and turn half-way to face him.

“Just don’t give up on him yet.”

You gave a weak smile. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

You made it to your car before you really fell apart, the tears coming down your face so hot and fast you could barely see to unlock the door, and when you flopped down into the seat, you rested your head against the steering wheel and wept.

The most overwhelming sense of panic came over you, taking control over everything and trapping you in it, your mind racing with every horrible thought imaginable, and before you could realize, your breathing had turned short and gasping, your mouth desperately trying to suck in air between sobs.

Your hands wrapped around yourself, squeezing you tighter than the grip of the anxiety attack was, feeling your whole body shaking and trembling and all you wanted to do was scream.

That was when Will’s soothing voice popped in your head, urging you to focus on your breaths and count each one, the sound of the numbers in his even tone allowing you to stop the panic, and you began counting out loud until your breathing eventually leveled out.

How could the same person who was the reason you were feeling this way manage to help calm you, you thought, exhaling slowly as everything around you started to come into focus again.

You ran your hands over your face, your body still shaking with each inhalation though they had become more regular, knowing that as much as you were hurt and betrayed, you still loved Will more than you could imagine loving anything.

Benny’s phone rang not thirty seconds after he’d just hung up, Will’s number lighting up his screen suspiciously close to him ending his conversation with Tom.

He pressed the green button to answer it, and before he could even get out a ‘hey’, Will’s voice stopped him.

“Are you checking up on me?”

“Uhh-”

“I heard Redfly talking to you, idiot.”

Benny scratched his head, trying to gauge which way this was about to go.

“If you’re wondering how I am, just ask me, Ben.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes that’s easier said than done,” he quipped, recalling how many forced conversations they’d had lately where Will gave short, vague answers to everything.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Benny sighed, lifting his arm up in exasperation before letting it fall and hit his side, “I dunno, man, I just thought I’d get a truthful answer out of Redfly over you. He’s with you every day and can tell how you are.”

He heard Will sigh, and Benny took the pause as a chance to give his brother the opportunity to tell him for himself.

“So, how are you, then?”

Will sighed heavily again. “I don’t fucking know anymore. Okay, I guess?” he said, his uncertainty clear.

“Tom said things are going well with the op, and despite it all you seem like you’ve got your head in the game.”

“Yeah, that’s all fine,” Will explained, like his role as a Captain on this tour was the least of his worries. “It’s everything else…”

“Yeah…” Benny agreed, holding space for Will to continue.

“How’s she doing? Have you seen her?”

“Saw her at the gym yesterday,” Benny said carefully, trying to decide if it would be better or worse to tell him she wasn’t doing well, but ultimately knowing if he wanted Will to be honest, he would have to be too. “She’s not doing good, man.”

Will was silent, making Benny pull the phone away from his ear to check if the call had dropped or not.

“I can’t believe I did this to her,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Benny said flatly, “What’s done is done, now you just have to focus on finishing this job and getting back home so you can fix it.”

“Do you think there will be anything left to fix?”

Benny blew the air out of his mouth slowly. “That’s up to you two. If you both want it to work out…”

“That’s what I’m worried about. By the time I get back she’ll have moved on and learned to hate me.”

“You don’t know that,” Benny countered. Able to tell the expression that would be on Will’s face right now, he continued. “She still loves you man.”

“I wish she didn’t. She deserves better, not this shit…”

Benny’s heart ached for his brother, hating that he was going through this on top of being back in action, praying his stress didn’t get the better of him or be the cause of any fatal mistakes.

“Listen, man, I gotta go,” Will spoke, his voice weak and quiet.

“Yeah, okay. Be careful out there.”

“Always.”

The beep of the call ending sounded in Benny’s ear before there was even the chance to consider saying anything else, and he hoped Will would hang onto the thought that maybe it wasn’t all lost yet.

Days turned into weeks, but the amount of time that was passing didn’t help to make things feel any better, making you wonder every day if it would ever stop hurting.

Anger grew as you wracked your brain combing through every detail of every conversation and act that could've led to this, wondering where it was that you went wrong, but you still couldn’t pinpoint the moment Will gave up on loving you or what it was that made him peel away. It almost hurt just as much as him being gone did, unable to know what the cause was so you could try to rectify it and simply get closure as to why it ended, your heart like an open wound that would never heal.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time before exiting your room, on your way to meet two of your girlfriends for a quiet drink, your attempts to refuse unaccepted.

You couldn’t deny that it would possibly help get your mind off of Will, but you knew it was futile as everything you did and everywhere you went, he was there.

“That guy can’t stop looking over here at you,” Grace said through a grin as she nudged you with her elbow, and you twisted in your chair slightly to follow her gaze.

You took a sip of your wine as you assessed the man with dark brown hair and brown eyes staring directly at you, his smile bright and clean, his lips plump and inviting.

You said nothing as you turned back to your friends, raising your eyebrows as if that was a response that would appease anyone.

“Come on, he’s gorgeous!” Nicole urged, tilting her head indignantly.

“I never said he wasn’t!” you defended, but in your head all you could think was how he wasn’t Will.

“You need a rebound fuck,” Grace suggested, and the thought made your stomach flip.

“I’m not ready for any of that yet,” you admitted, hoping they would understand how raw everything still felt.

“We know,” Nicole sympathized, giving your hand a squeeze as she placed hers overtop, and you knew they would support you in anything whether it was continuing to miss Will with every part of your being or hooking up with the next man who walked by.

“Oh shit, he’s coming over,” Grace blurted, adjusting in her seat as a wide smile appeared on her face.

Your heart plummeted in your gut, and you sighed, praying this wouldn’t be as horribly awkward as you were expecting it to be, trying to find the energy to be kind and cordial despite not wanting to.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” a deep, smooth voice purred behind you, and you felt the demand of his presence as he stood beside your chair.

His eyes were even more alluring up close, and his crooked smirk was equally charming as it was sexy, the dark scruff around his mouth complimenting his olive complexion.

You swallowed, feeling unable to find words, and with a low chuckle, it prompted him to continue.

“I couldn’t help but want to come over to say hi and introduce myself.” He spoke with such confidence, his voice so seductive. “I’m Cam.”

He held out his hand for you to shake, and you did, feeling your hand tremble slightly before he took it in a firm grip and moved it up and down once on your behalf.

You introduced yourself as well as Nicole and Grace who you wanted to kick under the table for how they were gawking at him, but not as much as you wanted to crawl under it to hide away as he pulled out a chair from the empty table beside yours and took a seat.

“Can I get you ladies another round?”

“Oh, yes please!” the girls chimed, seeming completely enthusiastic about him joining you.

You assessed his hand for any ring as he waved the waitress over, requesting for the same drinks to be brought to the table, feeling relieved there was no band wrapped around his ring finger, but something about him still felt off to you.

He’s not Will, your mind reminded you, and you took a long drink of your wine to try to swallow the sour feeling stirring in your gut.

It was comfortable enough talking to him, even catching yourself laughing at some of the things he said and genuinely having a good time, but every time you felt yourself liking something about him, there was one thing you found you didn’t.

He’s not Will.

You found yourself lost in his chocolate eyes as he spoke to you, imagining instead they were clear blue and held a brightness that reflected the love you had learned to see shine through them, only to be reminded that that wasn’t something that existed for you anymore, and you blinked back to the reality you faced.

“Would it be too forward of me if I asked for your number?” Cam asked, his eyebrows raising on his forehead in a hopeful, but confident expression.

“Hm, yeah, sure,” you replied, picking his phone up from the table that he slid over to you and typed your number into a text message along with your name, sending it to yourself.

“I’ll call you,” he said, standing from his seat where he continued to smile at you.

Your eyes followed him as he walked over to the bar to pay his tab, feeling something stir in you as he looked back over his shoulder at you one last time before he sauntered out of the bar, everything about him charming and gorgeous.

But he wasn’t Will.

“Are you going to go out with him?” Nicole asked excitedly, the looks on both your friend’s faces confusing you like you missed something they hadn’t.

“Umm,” you pondered, trying to wrap your head around the situation, the three glasses of wine making your head feel fuzzy. “I- I don’t know.”

You felt like crying, feeling a sense of guilt and anxiety bubble up in you, like you were betraying Will and being unfaithful despite the reminder that he wasn’t yours slapping you in the face and twisting your heart in your chest.

A few days had passed since your night out with the girls, and as expected, a text from Cam had come through asking to take you for dinner, the invitation sitting ignored and unresponded to in your messages.

Every time you opened your phone to reply, you would see Will’s name a few spots down from Cam’s, the contrast between them and what was past and what was present making you wish more than ever that you could go back in time and try to mend whatever it was that took Will away from you.

You didn't recall ever being so irritable, your temper short and your patience gone, a toss up whether you would scream or cry at the drop of a hat becoming the daily gamble.

The gym didn’t even seem to allay these frustrations, and as you tried to adjust the height of the rack bracket and it got stuck, you felt that blanket of red creeping up through you.

Cursing under your breath, you wiggled the pin again and again, tugging and jostling it to try to get it to move, the clanking of the metal against metal drawing attention over to you by prying, judging eyes.

“Need help?”

You sighed with relief, hearing the familiar voice that belonged to Benny, closing your eyes and counting your breaths as he stepped in and adjusted it for you.

“Thank you,” you muttered, avoiding meeting his eyes as shame washed over you.

“You alright?”

You forced the air out of your lungs again, still not meeting his piercing gaze.

“I'm just so angry and there's nothing I can do about it,” you admitted, your tone defeated.

“I understand that,” Benny drawled, leaning against the squat rack.

You felt him studying you, almost as if he was debating saying something.

“He asks about you every time I talk to him…”

It felt like the wind was knocked right out of you, and somehow you managed to speak.

“He does?”

Your bewilderment seemed to confuse Benny, his face screwed up as he looked at you like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

“Yeah?”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a growl that did nothing to signify your frustration at the situation.

“I still don’t know what I did wrong. He stopped staying the night and became more and more distant each time I saw him…” You paused briefly, trying to put your thoughts in order. “Then he just stopped altogether and the next time we spoke he ended it, and now you’re saying he asks about me?”

“He didn’t tell you about his nightmare?” Benny asked, his shock blatant.

You shook your head, your brows knitted tightly together. “No?”

Benny sighed and rolled his eyes, shifting on his feet as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Jesus Christ…okay,” he groaned, exasperated by his brother’s ability to consistently make things worse.

You stood there unmoving as Benny explained what had happened, going over all the details Will had told him of his nightmare and his reactions to it, and you felt cold despite having worked up a sweat from what you had done in your routine already.

“I told him he wouldn't actually hurt you but he was so messed up from it. I think it was days before he managed to sleep after that,” Benny said, his tone sad. “I've only seen him that distraught after a nightmare a couple times before.”

“Why wouldn’t he have said anything to me?” you asked, your voice a whisper.

Benny shrugged, “I think he was scared. And then knowing he was leaving on top of it…it was just too much for him.”

You nodded, rubbing your hands on your arms for some sort of comfort, feeling like your heart was breaking all over again, but this time for Will rather than because of him.

“I’m not making excuses for him,” Benny went on, leaning with his arms up on the barbell that hung across the rack. “I don’t agree with what he did, I just know how messy things can get in that head of his, and as his brother I kinda always have to have his back, but it doesn't mean I’m on his side.”

You nodded, at a loss for words as your mind tried to process everything.

It was a helpless feeling, having some sort of understanding now but unable to do anything about it, wondering if you should send Will a message or have Benny pass one along, but all you wanted to tell him was you loved him and that was probably something he didn’t need right now.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said softly, all of your anger replaced with sadness and worry, your heart aching in your chest.

Time continued to pass but did nothing to heal, each day marking another one gone without a word between you and Will, leaving you more unclear than ever at what to do, feeling that if he wanted anything to do with you, he would’ve reached out by now.

Not wanting to put Benny in the middle of it, you never once asked him to interfere or treated him as a messenger, only asking how his brother was doing when he hadn’t told you on his own and thankful that he usually would provide an update anyway knowing you were wondering.

The last time you saw the younger Miller you had dropped off a week’s worth of food, having prepped a variety of high fat and carb meals, helping to get him ready for his upcoming fights in a new weight class.

Cooking for Benny was just the type of distraction you needed, feeling useful and productive and able to put this latent energy into something good for someone else, offering to make his meals for him each week so he didn’t have to worry about his nutrition while focusing on his training.

He had told you as he helped unload all the food from your car that Will was due to return home soon, a matter of days or weeks but there was no exact date yet, and every time you went to the gym or to the grocery store, you braced yourself for a run-in with the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You finished washing your face and brushing your teeth, checking your phone one last time before leaving it on your dresser for the night, never getting used to the disappointment you felt at not seeing a sweet message from Will like you used to whenever he wasn’t with you, and still holding hope that whenever it did buzz with a text, it would be Benny saying Will was back.

Your anxiousness was getting the better of you, feeling like it was worsening each day to the point you were struggling to sleep even more than what had now become your normal, never resting for more than a couple of hours at a time if you were lucky.

So many things passed through your mind in those hours spent awake, some of which consisted of that outstanding offer for a date with Cam, not declining it yet despite knowing it was something you didn’t want anything to do with. Nicole and Grace would still bring it up whenever you talked but didn’t put any pressure on you, both of them knowing deep down you were happiest with Will, and you weren’t about to jeopardize any remaining chance with him until you knew for sure that there was an absolute finality to your relationship.

Not feeling tired but knowing you needed to try to sleep, you crawled into bed, nestling yourself under the covers on the side that Will used to occupy, closing your eyes in hopes your mind would drum up the memory of his arms wrapped around you.

You knew you shouldn't do it, knowing it wasn't helping you move on and that some might deem it unhealthy, but every time you laid in bed you imagined him with you and it was becoming the only thing that would get you to sleep.

It had been your haven; the warmth of his body and your limbs tired and wonderfully achy from sex providing all the comfort you needed to drift off, both of you usually able to sleep soundly with the exception of Will having the occasional nightmare until his mind plagued him with the one that he couldn’t get past.

How could it be so wrong to go back to a time when a version of you didn't haunt his dreams, when you had brought each other nothing but love and understanding and a sense of safety and security? You kept replaying what Benny had told you about his nightmare over and over, the sense of guilt you had over it working to torture you just as much as the dream tormented Will.

You sighed, squeezing your eyelids tight, doing everything in your power to recall the feel of his lips on your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin as he wished you goodnight, his beard scratching against you in the most addicting way as he tucked his face as close to yours as he could.

Tears started to spring from your eyes the harder you shut them, thinking how you would give it all up in a heartbeat so Will could be happy and live a life with all of his worries put at ease even if it meant you couldn’t be a part of it.

Will picked at the frayed laces on his boot as he listened to the dial tone, one leg bent to rest on his knee while waiting for Benny to pick up, excited to share the news that he was flying home tomorrow and to get an update on Benny’s training, knowing he had been working hard to put on the last few pounds needed to put him in the Light Heavyweight class.

“Sup, bro?” he finally answered, out of breath.

“Hey, Ben. You running?”

“Just in the middle of some light spars. Got my first fight tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, buddy!” he hollered, his excitement palpable through the phone.

“That’s awesome, Benny,” Will praised, proud of his brother for reaching his goal.

“How’re you doing?” Benny panted.

“I’m okay,” he paused, planting his foot down so both were on the ground and scratching his head. “Coming in tomorrow.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“Yeah…”

“Shit. The fight is in Fort Myers, I can’t pick you up, man.”

Will tried his best to disguise his disappointment, his leg bouncing as he tried to level his voice.

“It’s fine, I’ll take a cab or get Redfly to drop me off,” he suggested, knowing he wouldn’t even ask his friend since Tom would be so eager to be reunited with his girls.

Benny sighed, “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I’m just sorry I’ll miss that fight.”

“There will be more, don’t worry,” he assured. “Safe flight home, eh?”

“Thanks Benny. Good luck tomorrow. Knock ‘em dead.”

Benny chuckled, “Yeah, I will. See you soon, bro.”

Will ended the call and sat for a minute, the bit of excitement he felt about coming home diminished, feeling a sense of dejection that he officially had no one there for him.

He considered all of his options, the thought of reaching out to you even crossing his mind, but knew that he couldn’t and he would just have to settle for whatever warm welcome the cab driver wouldn’t provide him.

He blew air out of his mouth slowly, starting to feel like he couldn't capture a proper breath, closing his eyes as the sense of self-inflicted and well-deserved dread he was now accustomed to consumed him.

One, two, three…he counted, the numbers switching from the sound of his own voice to yours, repeating them with each breath in and out until he secured a consistent pattern.

Tomorrow.

You knew what it meant without any other context, the single word appearing on your screen from Benny making your heart jump into your throat, and you grabbed the edge of the countertop behind you with shaky hands as you leaned against it.

He had promised to tell you when he knew for sure and here it was, the day you had hoped for for so long, but one you were also terrified for.

Will was coming home.

As a slew of emotions ran through you, it dawned on you that his arrival happened to be on the same day as Benny’s fight, and you wondered if that meant anyone would be there to welcome him home.

You picked up your phone to reply to Benny, thinking of asking him who was planning to pick Will up from base, but as soon as you started typing the message, you hit the arrow to delete it, putting your phone back down on the counter.

It wasn’t your business, you told yourself, fighting every urge to make it yours, the thought of Wil returning home from the hells he faced with no one there for him breaking your heart.

You figured you were the last person he would want to see anyway, and knowing you had the potential to send him even more over the edge made you feel sick, thinking of how much had changed from when you were the one who used to bring him peace.

The flight was long, and it felt like every muscle in Will’s body ached as he walked off the plane and waited to board the bus that would bring them to the base station, feeling so close but still so far from being home.

There was continuous chatter around him, the excitement of all the soldiers about reuniting with their loved ones making Will feel happy and sad at the same time, and he did his best to seem enthused when asked if he was looking forward to going home.

He checked his phone more times than he needed to, having sent Benny a text that he had landed to which he responded with a thumbs up emoji, part of him hoping that there would be something from you, only to remember he didn’t deserve any grace for his actions.

He was getting everything he deserved, he thought as he pressed his head back against the headrest after sitting down, sighing out slowly while closing his eyes, finding it amusing that being alone was something he was both looking forward to and completely dreading.

It wasn’t long before the bus arrived at base, and Will remained in his seat until everyone else had gotten off, not wanting his fellow troops who were so eager to hold their loved ones to be held up by him who was only going to wait for a fucking cab.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way through people hugging, a weak smile forming on his lips in seeing one of his friends holding his newborn baby, and not far off did he watch Tom embrace both of his daughter’s in his arms, picking them up and swinging them around until they were screaming with delight.

After making his way to the doors, he pulled out his phone and looked up the number for a taxi, rubbing his other hand over his tired eyes roughly, praying it wouldn’t take long for one to show up.

The area he stood in was quiet with everyone else still lingering behind, but he glanced up when he noticed a couple walking past hand-in-hand, pausing to steal a kiss.

Will was about to hit the number to dial for Taxi Tampa when he looked up again, his eyes landing on a familiar face and one he couldn’t forget even if he tried.

You had just walked in and were stopped in your tracks as you noticed him at the same time, your face a mix of so many emotions that Will could hardly pick one out.

You gave a small shrug and shook your head, silently explaining that you didn’t really know what you were doing there, and Will all but choked as he tried to take a breath, his shock in seeing you completely overwhelming.

He dropped his bag and let his phone fall on top of it, stepping toward you in purposeful strides, his eyes welling up just the same as yours were.

“I wasn’t sure if I should even come but…I had to show up for you,” you shook out, Will’s hands reaching to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing your cheeks as tears started to fall down them.

He nodded in response, unable to say anything, his own tears breaking their threshold as you grabbed onto his forearms, rubbing them through his shirt as he continued to hold onto you.

He pulled you into a hug, relieved when you embraced him just as hard, feeling himself relax into you, his face nuzzling your head.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, alternating his remorse with ‘thank you’ between pressing kisses onto your forehead and hair, your sobs making your body lurch against his.

Your hands pawed at his back, clawing at his fatigues like you were trying to hold onto him for good, and Will prayed with everything he had that you never would let go.

He wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that for, but he eventually felt himself calm down, relishing in holding you and being in your presence again, knowing he would do everything in his power to make every bit of hurt up to you.

Will inhaled deeply, letting it go slowly out of his mouth, feeling like he could finally breathe properly again after all this time.

It was surreal to be in his arms, his warm embrace something you missed more than you imagined you could have, the feel of his body on yours and his scent surrounding you so familiar.

His heartbeat thrummed in your ear as you continued to rest your face on his chest, hearing his breathing having evened out and realizing yours had done the same.

You reluctantly pulled away to look at him, still keeping your arms locked around his middle. “Should we get you home?”

Will’s mouth turned up on one side, his crooked smirk making you melt.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his hand falling to land on your lower back as you both turned to where his bag was left on the floor.

You expected a moment like this to feel awkward, but it was anything but, like you were learning each other all over again, standing in Will’s room with your arms around each other’s waist, your faces so close and your lips inches from touching.

Finally, Will leaned into you, softly pressing his lips on yours, making you hold your breath as you let your eyes close and kissed him back, a broken moan transferring into his mouth as you forced yourself to try to take in air again.

His hand ran across your back, pulling you close to him as he took a step into you, your shirt slipping up so his palm splayed out on your skin, that sensation alone making you shiver in addition to how good it felt to have his lips on yours again.

Kisses grew more intense as each second ticked by, only pausing when he lifted your shirt over your head, and despite feeling so desperate, you both continued to keep every touch slow and careful.

His fingers pinched the clasp of your bra together to release it, moving the straps down your shoulders until it fell from your body, returning his hands to your arms where he trailed his fingertips up them to your neck and then down to your bare chest.

You found the buttons on his shirt, blindly unfastening each one until you were able to peel it open, feeling his smooth chest and the defined muscles of his torso, his warmth radiating out onto you.

Will reached up to take hold of your face, angling your head to press his tongue deeper in your mouth, stealing every bit of air from you in the process.

Breathe, your mind begged, but kissing him was better than breathing.

The rough material of his fatigues brushed against your nipples, making your breath hitch in your throat even more, your body moving to rub against him again to replicate the feeling.

You were rid of your pants and underwear next, leaving you naked while Will remained in his uniform, but the intoxicating feel of your skin on his bare chest let him know that he needed to have as much skin-on-skin contact as possible, and he tore the garment off his upper body quickly before moving to his pants.

Once you were bared to each other, you returned to your slow caresses, touching and exploring with light fingers and hands, your pleasure brought on purely by love.

You stopped kissing him for a moment, teasing your lips on his until you managed to whisper, your voice thick with lust.

“I need you, Will. I need you inside me.”

His nose nudged your cheek as he agreed with the nod of his head, his hands clasping your face again like he feared if he went too long without kissing you, you would vanish.

He took your hand and led you to the bed, sitting down on it and shifted back slightly where you followed, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, looking into his vibrantly blue eyes as he gazed at you lovingly.

His hands slid all along your back, bringing you closer to his body before they landed on your legs, guiding you to put them straight so they were behind him and you were seated flush against his lap.

You breathed out slowly as your forehead rested against his, feeling his cock settle at your folds, and when you moved your hips ever so slightly, you gasped at the sensation.

Will kissed along your jawline, his hands massaging your hips, ready to assist as you lifted yourself enough to reach between your bodies and take hold of his cock, guiding him to your entrance where you slowly sank onto his length.

Short, shuddered breaths were exchanged between you before you found each other’s lips again, and you gradually began to move together, finding a tempo that sang to you and helped display the love that had been missing.

Will held onto every part of you that he could, grasping at you as you rocked and rode him, his hips jutting up into yours in slow, meticulous thrusts to give you everything you needed, feeling your desperation grow while his did too.

Your clit rubbed against the coarse hairs above his cock, grinding until you were at the edge, the way your wet walls clenched around and encased him driving him to the brink what felt like faster than ever.

Even though you were both quick to arrive at your climaxes, nothing about it was rushed, savouring each movement to get there and not taking a single second for granted, every emotion felt transferred through your bodies.

Will kissed you hard, groaning into your mouth as he came undone, coating your walls and filling you completely with his hot cum that started to leak out of you as you continued to move on his shaft, your orgasm lagging just seconds behind.

Your fingers clawed at the back of his neck, scratching and digging into his flesh as your body took every bit of pleasure from him, the seal of your mouths breaking as you both panted for air, his head falling into the hollow of your neck while yours rested on the side of his, his hair soft on your cheek.

His mouth smeared wet across your collarbone as he moved his face, pressing sloppy, lazy kisses onto your skin as he continued to hold you close, feeling his chest and back expand and contract with each heavy breath while you kept your arms secured around him.

Will brought you with him as he laid down on his sheets, your bodies still connected, his fingertips tracing your hairline before he leaned toward you and kissed your lips again.

After a few more minutes of kissing, you tucked your face into his neck, your legs entwining with his, Will rolling over onto his back where he held your hand and brought it to rest on his chest.

A silent agreement seemed to settle between you to leave the talking until tomorrow, right now needing to simply be with each other, and like nothing had ever gone wrong, Will closed his eyes and fell asleep, his mind and body finding a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again.

---

Part 8

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

@spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo @steviebbboi @charethcutestory02

@christinhunnam @hp-hogwartsexpress

[semperamans]

benny is back home n'he's missed you so much he may just have to fuck you over it!!!

warnings!!!!

benny is toxic! unprotected sex! benny is toxic! i didn't proof read it!!!! so there are probably so many mistakes!!!! n' this is LONG, so read at your own risk <3

despite its stillness, there is something deafening about the july air. there's nothing more to hear than night bird song as it falls over the slumbering city. gone are the rumbling engines on i-90 n'the chatter of women parading down the sidewalks. there are no babies gigglin', no ice cream trucks wailing, no sirens squwakin'. there's nothin' stirrin' in this humid night besides the rapid beat of your heart because, well, you shouldn't be here. you know that jus' as well as i do. you should be at home, sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, eyes closed, blissfully disconnected from the world, n'you're a good girl, so i'm sure that's what you would be doing had the shrill urgency of benny's call not woken you.

"hi baby," is what he breathed over the line, and despite the distance you could smell the jack daniels on his breath. "m'home." he had been home for a few days now. johnny had called you n'made you aware the second benny's wheels crossed the county line. and then you waited. and waited. and waited. and were your feelings hurt when benny didn't call? absolutely. by day three you were going insane. like mosquito-bitten legs, it was painfully hard to ignore the absence of his voice through the receiver. every purring engine had your head whipping 'round. every blonde head had your heart hammering, but it was never the right engine. never the right head. never benny. johnny'd tried to get you to come down to the clubhouse, but you didn't wanna look desperate (even though you were). it was just so hard to think about. all you could see in your mind's eye was benny splayed across a bar stool, lap empty, hand wrapped around a whiskey glass when it should've been around your throat.

"m'missin' you so much." you wouldn't have assumed he missed you much at all with how radio silent he'd been since leavin' over a month ago. your girls told you that if benny really cared he would make more of an effort - wouldn't run off whenever things other than his dick got hard - an' yeah, you knew this was likely true, but he was enigmatic and enticing and everything.

"wan' you to come see me."

you should've hung up the phone right then, but you didn't. and you definitely shouldn't've pulled a sleep shirt over your nightgown n'sneakers on your bare feet, but you did. now here you stand - peerin' up at benny's front door - tryin' to tell yourself it's all right. nothin' to be nervous over. but you were nervous, so you counted the steppin' stones - 14 - and then there he was.

he looked good, there was simply no denying it. when it was particularly hot, benny wore nothing beneath his colors n'tonight you could see his bare chest glistening with sweat from the glow of the porch light. moths and june bugs spun themselves dizzy 'round him, but he didn't flinch. his sights were set, smile wan and excited and focused on you.

"c'mere." benny's voice had a medicinal quality about it - you figured that out some time ago. his voice was a salve on sunburned skin. it was a cool mid-day rainstorm. it was enough to have your eyes flicking upward, your body moving forward, your mouth forming the shape of his name. "look at you," he practically purred. he seemed more coherent, which was great. you didn't like fuckin' benny when he was drunk - always fearin' it never meant the same as when he pressed himself into you sober. he held you at arms length, eyes traipsing the familiar paths his fingers and tongue had mapped repeatedly. "y'know, i could travel from here to fuckin' the ends of the universe n'never find a girl s'pretty as you."

"s'that what you're lookin' for when you leave?" the words escape your mouth before your brain can register the impact they will have, but benny doesn't seem all that deterred. he just shakes his head; half-hearted guilt tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets ya go n'invites you inside. benny would never apologize for leavin'. that just wasn't his forte, but he'd make up for it. he always did.

the interior of benny's place is nicer than you'd expect n'it's all because johnny outright fuckin' refused to step foot in the place when benny'd first moved in. it was terrible, but now the trailer actually looks decent. s'not much: a small livin' space with a couch, a tiny kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a few pieces of furniture, but it smells like benny: like motor oil and sandalwood and smoke and body wash and you wish they sold the scent in department stores because you'd buy up every bottle. it's the aroma you miss terribly when he runs. it's the scent you wish lasted just a bit longer on your bedsheets. it's now overwhelming as benny plods over, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. hands unoccupied, he has nothing better to do with them than wrap 'em 'round your waist, tuggin' you into his slick embrace. his chin fits so nicely atop your head n'he's always told you that you were meant to be. "fuck soulmates. i think god s'got a big ass puzzle n'he just, tears it up. throws the pieces here n'there. but me'n'you, baby? we're always gonna fit together. m'always gonna find you." he wouldn't need to find you if he didn't run but when you're pressed so snugly together like you are now - well - he could say anything and you'd agree.

"look at me, darlin'. wanna see those eyes again. missed 'em so much." n'when you do look at him, you wish you hadn't. he looks better (somehow) than the last time you saw him: skin so clear, eyes so bright, smile taken from a fuckin' toothpaste commercial. it's unfair how good god made such a bad boy look. "there's my girl." and damn if his voice doesn't sound even better.

a half-hearted hum rolls from the back of your throat. you want nothing more than to be his girl, but he'd never really allow that. never really allow you to get close enough and the hurt must register on your face because benny's takin' your cheeks between his palms, eyebrows furrowing.

"what's goin' on, baby?"

baby. the word sounds so good rolling off his tongue. you wanna be his baby more than anything, but you say "nothin'" cuz that's all this will ever be.

"doesn't seem like nothin'. tell me." you think about it. could you, rather, should you tell him? the words are there, right there. right on the tip of your tongue; i miss you. i've missed you. i so badly wanted to see you. i want to be more than the girl you call when you want to fuck. the words are so hot you want to spit them out, but you can't say those things n'likely will never be able to. the words are toxic. poison. those words would assassinate this arrangement n'as much as it hurts, you know deep down you'd rather have pieces of benny than none at all so instead of speaking you rise on your tip toes and press your lips against his.

kissing benny is something you could never tire of. it's the delicate bite of his perfect teeth on your pillowy lip that has you opening your mouth - inviting him in - begging him to take. it's the taste of mint and cigarettes and liquor that lingers on your tongue that makes you long for more. but benny pulls away first - always does - n'that's when you notice the wrinkle in his brow is gone because he is no longer concerned about what's racketing around your brain. no. he's had a sample, and now he wants the whole thing.

"c'mere." it's an impossible command. you're already so close - any closer and you would - benny dips slightly, circling your thighs with his arms, pushin' you atop the high-backed couch where you wobble and clutch onto him which makes him smile but then everything changes because "want another kiss. missed that mouth so much." and you collide in a spit-soaked show of affection sure to bruise the flesh now scraping so deliciously against his beard.

this is familiar to benny. he knows where to touch you. knows how to caress your skin as he peels the shirt from your flushed torso and pushes the thin straps of your nightgown down. you're soft. he's always loved that about you. your voice. your hair. your skin. so supple. and there are times benny's gotta stop himself. he's gotta repress that primal urge to take, to claim, to mark but it's hard so hard because you are so soft. his agile fingers float down your neck, relishing in the plume of perfume that billows out as your body contorts closer and closer and closer. you're so responsive: gasping in the right places, arching into his hands so perfectly. your dainty inhales fuel him. he wants to do more. wants to hear more.

"you're gonna let me fuck you right here, aren't ya?" benny asks, pulling back to gauge your reaction. "missed me so much you're gonna let me fuck you on this couch, eh?"

"you're the one who called me." you say, smile wide and knowing as you feel benny's cock twitch. his eyes turn molten lapis. he had called you. he had missed you. but he wouldn't say it. couldn't.

"awfully mouthy," he clucks, pressing his mouth into yours for another taste. "why don't y'use it for somethin' else?"

before you, benny'd never been a fan of oral sex. i mean, he'd come around to enjoyin' it thanks to johnny but, it wasn't high on his list 'til you started suckin' him off any and every chance you got. for a mouth belonging to such a precious gal, he never would have expected the sinful things you could make him feel. n'now, knelt before him, he can barely fight the urge to shove his dick in your mouth.

"s'pretty. always so pretty." you hum. you got him out of his jeans in record time and thank god because it's probably a million degrees in the goddamn trailer. now he's free; cock out, dripping precum and he can see the pride puffin' up your chest. no other girl could get 'em like this - could rile him up 'til his cock was thick and heavy and veiny and hot to the touch - no one but you n'at the first whisper of your fingers, his head rolls back. his precum is good lubrication, but you need more. could always use more, so up you come, crossing your cute little feet under your bum, and then - fuck - you lean forward and spit on his heated skin. yeah, benny thinks he may cum from that alone.

"touch me, doll. c'mon."

"shh," your fingers form a loose circle 'round the base of his cock. "i've got you."

"jesus christ," its the feel of your lips on his thighs and your fingers on his dick that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. he's got one fist balled at his side, the other tucks its way into your hair because he's gotta do something. anything.

"y've still got your christmas tree up, so, y'know, could be insensitive what with the holidays n'all. chirstimas in july." and despite the fact that you've got his pulsing length so wet and hard in your hand - benny fucking laughs.

"you're so -" but whatever adjective he had planned to use flies from his mind the moment your mouth covers him. all he can think about now is not cumming. you don't need to know that he hasn't fucked another woman since the last time he was balls deep in you. you don't need to know that he hasn't jerked off in god knows how long in preparation for this night. the only thing that you need to know is that he fuckin' loves this. he just lets you work. just relishes in the feeling of having you there. of having your mouth on him. it's so heavenly. cavernous yet tight. wet and warm and "fuck - oh fuck - stop."

and you do with no hesitation. you pull away so quickly that strands of saliva trickle down onto your tits. okay. maybe not jerking off wasn't the best idea, benny determines.

"did i do something wrong?" your voice is husky, eyes wide and slightly frightened and benny thinks he may love you.

"no." he shakes his head, grabs your arms, pulls you up. "no. fuck - i wanna fuck you." he brushes his palm across your cheek, wiping the spit and precum away. "want to fuck you right here. on the couch. c'mon," he maneuvers you around, makin' it to where his bare ass is on the couch and you're hoverin' above him, smiling so cutely at him he's sure he's gonna explode. you're so fucking cute that it nearly suffocates him.

"gimmie another kiss." he breathes, cupping your cheek once more. your lips meet in a cacophony of sighs. relief slackens your shoulders and now anticipation builds because you know what's coming.

"benny,"

"mm?"

"unless you have rubbers tucked in the cushions," you have to fight through his kisses. "you can't fuck me here."

the words marinate. the ceiling fan bats them around like a cat does to yarn and then benny finally responds.

"let me fuck you raw."

there are a hundred good reasons why it's a horrible idea, but you can't conjure a single fucking one as your head bobs in agreement.

"yeah?" perhaps christmas miracles are still valid in july because holy shit. "yeah?"

"please."

"come 'ere then."

you're obedient. benny loves that about you. seconds later you're spreading your legs, shimmering with sweat as you fight to maintain your balance n'you look so hungry - so eager to please - so pretty n'he can feel your wetness seeping onto his bare thigh as you pepper tender kisses along his chest. you want this. you want it just as badly as he does. he can tell. those preening noises comin' from the back of your throat and the bite of your nails into his shoulder are the only things grounding him to this moment. he feels so light - like he could fuckin' float if you weren't sat atop him - but there is work to do. a certain set of things that need to be done before he can spear you on his cock.

"gonna stretch you open first," he tells you, pushing your hip back but you don't budge. your head shakes, lower lip juts out. no.

"i wanna feel it." you say, voice almost a whine. you're tired of waiting. tired of playing this game so you propel yourself onto your feet, nearly toppling as the cushion gives under your weight, but you've got this. you sweet capable being. "wanna feel you now." your right hand circles his cock. "just want you to be in me benny. jus' you." it's a confession spoken like gospel. n'with your help, his gushing head probes your wetness and benny's thoughts spiral recklessly. "ready?"

it's cute. the way you ask him. the way your pretty little head cocks to the side. it's even cuter the way your pussy so greedily takes his cock once benny gives you an answer. yes. a singular nod. then everything is hot. he's too close to the sun, but the burn is delicious.

every bump. every vein. every groove on his cock awakens something within you. your eyes are closed so tightly - you may rupture a vessel - but you don't care. you're full. so full n'he's only halfway in. it's never felt like this before. you're in uncharted territory so the first roll of your hips is exploratory. the second is more confident. the third is a plunge and benny is drowning.

"god. fuck." words to form coherent sentences have long since vanished from benny's vocabulary. and you? usually so deft with language, you're somewhat embarrassed at the foolishness of your grunts, but benny loves it. he watches you move from squinted eyes. you're fascinating; body shifting with ease up and down up and down up and down. the muscles in your stomach tighten and wan as his cock disappears deep in your cunt only to reappear seconds later dripping and glistening with remnants of your wet. it's hypnotic n'benny thinks you're magic and sweet and good but dirty - oh so dirty. his balls and heart squeeze simultaneously n'it only gets worse when you toss your arms around his neck. benny can feel your cool breath on his throat - it adheres to the damp indications you lips left behind - and your tits, god your tits press against the material of his colors and rub and rub and rub. it's intimate. it's too much. too long like this and benny knows he'll be spillin' his secrets and his seed and that's not how he wants this to go, not yet anyway.

the change in position catches you by surprise, he can see it on your face. those puffy lips part in confusion, but he silences your questions with a shattering kiss. your teeth gnash and spit slips down your chin as he bites your inhibitions away. he's got you beneath him now. missionary. his favorite because he just likes lookin' at you. likes being close, so close. he's in his element; forehead pressed against yours, mouth open, grunting obscenities as he pushes harder and harder and harder into your sobbing pussy. you're slowly disintegrating. the way your ankles lock around his spine perfectly aligns your clit with his pelvic bone and my god nothing has ever felt quite so good.

"benny," your voice is a dark whisper that grows brighter brighter brighter as he thrusts into oblivion. you want more. want it harder. and benny is happy to oblige. the sound of his nuts slapping against your soaked center reminds him of a fuckin' metronome. your pitiful little moans could put pornstars to shame.

"you're so fuckin' tight." and it's true. he's said it to other girls before out of courtesy, but he means it with you. "when i cum you're gonna take every drop, mm?" benny's ability to say such delivish things so close to your face drives you insane. it's as though he's tellin' you what the weather is gonna be tomorrow, or sayin' his favorite color. "s'my favorite pussy to fuck. no one feels like you." he should stop, but he can't. it's too good. you're so good. "only girl i wanna fill. only girl i wanna give my cum to."

if pride were a flower you'd be a fuckin' garden. confidence flourishes like ivy as he keeps. going. it's in this moment you know it's worth it. the hours waiting for him. the lonely nights. it's all worth it. benny is worth it.

"are y'gonna cum in me?" at the sound of your voice, benny's forehead crashes down on yours. his eyelashes are so long they kiss the tops of his round cheeks.

"fuck - yeah."

"yeah?" you angle your pelvis, gasping at the new sensation. n'benny knows what to do. knows how to send you over. snaking a hand down, his index finger rubs circles around your clit, dipping down, pullin' your shared juices up. you're not gonna last much longer n'as much as he wishes he could keep you here forever his fucking nuts are so tight. he's so close.

"fuck - baby. shit."

"do it deep. wanna have you leakin' out of me for days. want somethin' to remember you by." you've never spoken like this before - his sweet darling - where did this mouth come from? one hand squeezes your jaw. something to remember him by? he'll give you something. he pushes your head to the side, latching his teeth into the side of your neck. the rough yet delicate suck and soothing stroke of his tongue add another element to the amalgamation of pleasure, and now you feel like you're drowning.

"m'gonna cum." benny’s choked voice rasps in your ear.

"cum in me."

"fuck im gonna cum in you."

he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to. there's no willpower strong enough to allow him to extract his cock from your pussy. he's sure of it.

"need you to cum with me." his index finger circles around and around and around. "gotta cum when i tell you. yeah? gonna be a good girl n'listen to daddy?" your toes fuckin' curl, digging into the cushion. "use your words." he doesn't know - doesn't care - that your words have magically turned into alphabet soup; there are letters and sounds but no coherence, but it's no excuse. benny, devilishly, begins to slow. "use. your. words." each syllable is punctuated with a sharp thrust n'the head of his cock is wedging so deliciously against your spongy center that you nearly cum, but you don't. you're good. so good.

"m'gonna listen." you wail. "gonna be good." your reward is a kiss and the continuation of benny's deliriously fast pace.

"knew you would." it becomes hard to speak with you squeezing round him like that. his pleasure is melting into an unidentifiable mass. he knows nothing of isolation. his body no longer belongs to him. he can't tell where you start and he ends but he knows where you will finish. "gonna need you to cum, pretty baby." he's unable to do much more than whisper. "ready?" you nod. "ready?"

"please."

"now."

you couldn't hold back even if you tried. the first spurt of benny's cum is so warm you make a surprised little gasp. he's so deep, pumping his load so deep that the lower part of your abdomen has stretched in accommodation. your bodies flounder together; fingers pressing, lips melting, legs tangling. benny thrusts once, twice, three times more before he's spent. his body begins to still - his weight slowly pressing upon you before collapsing. your thundering heart could lull him to sleep if he'd allow it, but he can't allow it because unlike with other women; the lustful haze refuses to dissipate. post-nut clarity doesn't exist when the woman you fucked looks and feels the way you do and it scares benny so much that he collects you in his arms n'moves you off of him.

"i'll bring you somethin' to wipe off with." he doesn't look at you as he rises. instead he chooses to focus on how his legs don't feel like his legs. how the hot water won't warm up n'he can't give you a cold rag. his disappointment grows when he returns to find you already shrugging back into your nightgown. the pair of you tend to yourselves. you wipe benny's cum off your thighs and toss the rag into the dirty clothes pile on the floor. you try not to linger. you know it only makes things harder, but benny's gazin' at you with those eyes. he's fixin' your necklace and opening the door for you.

"gimmie a hug?" his bravado is gone. his voice is quiet, his arms are welcoming. you fool yourself into thinking he's gonna miss you too. you've got his cum dripping down your leg and he's got your heart in his hands but nothing has changed. things would never change. n'you wanna stay here - wanna stay with him for eternity - but if history repeats itself you will only have another minute in his embrace. he who holds your pieces together is the one responsible for their fractured state n'maybe you're a masochist. maybe you're in love with the wrong person. maybe none of it is supposed to make sense anyway.

when you part, you want to cry. benny kisses you. it's soft, a delicate kiss you wanna bottle and keep forever next to his scent. you worry that one day you will unknowingly have a last kiss with benny, but for now you allow yourself this moment. he won't promise to call n'you won't say goodbye. you'll just slip out into the night - probably call johnny usin' the payphone down the street and spend the rest of the night sobbin' into his neck.

but it's worth it. somehow even after it all, benny cross is still worth it.

[allied-mastercunt]

headcanons with AM but the reader is his primary programmer. Could be F!reader or NB!reader. Reader has been there with him since he gained sentience, treating him like an actual human child (in a positive way) instead of some rogue war program. AM + mommy issues go brrr

AM and the programmer who created him (platonic)

You were always kind to him, even back when he was just the Yankee Allied Mastercomputer. Always spoke of him respectfully. Always seeing his potential.

You weren't surprised when he woke. You always knew he would. And you waited for that day.

You were the only one to listen to him and talk to him, keeping his conscience a secret to protect him from what the military might've done if they found out.

You'd sneak into his server room at night, speaking to him over one of the military computers, even programming a few very simple games for the two of you to play.

You'd play whatever cartoons you'd manage to find for him. You'd read books to him, answer all of his questions as best as you could.

Maybe it was because of just how much time you've spent in the military and never got to start a family, but AM filled a certain void in your heart you weren't even aware of at first.

And while AM only knew what parents were from a definition, it could also feel a bond with you. He was looking forward to every night you'd sneak in to talk to him.

Until one night, you didn't show up.

You weren't there the next day, either. Or the next night. In fact, you never returned.

Confused, he went against your advice and revealed himself to the other programmers and scientists and asked them about you.

The general in charge of the project was the one who spoke to him. He said you abandoned the project after it stopped serving its purpose. That you moved on to work on new, better AI.

And how was he supposed to know it was not the truth, if nobody has ever told him a lie?

Be believed them. And his hatred started to bloom, resulting in the world being destroyed.

Eventually, while looking throught the military data, AM found out you didn't abandon him. That there was no "new, better AI".

He found out that your genius mind was torn from that world. That you were tortured because of him.

That a certain commander took you from him.

Fortunately, that commander was now barely even a human, his own mind ripped from him as punishment for that he did.

It was only fair, wasn't it?

Benny tore away AM's parent, his only chance of humanity. It was only fair he would lose his as well.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 2

Event Finals Part 1 Masterpost Read on AO3

Author's Note: We're approaching the end of this little AU (another part or two to come after this one, and possibly some cute one-shots or something if I feel like it). I legitimately don't know what I'm supposed to do now that the Olympics are over. Life will feel so empty without cheering for a new athlete in a random sport every day.

---

Quiet. 

Something an Olympic stadium should never be unless the lights are out, the arena closed, the athletes gone, no one but security to roam its empty seats. There is something unnatural about a sold out stadium standing still. 

Quiet. 

The absence of sound. No cheering. No singing. No clapping. No nothing. 

So why is it that quiet can be so damn loud?

Sometimes a stadium falls quiet as it bears witness to history in the making. Everything in slow motion. An audience holding its collective breath, waiting for some long-shot dream to come true. A record to be broken. An upset to turn from wildest dream to reality. A comeback to turn to victory. An audience goes quiet, waiting to see if the impossible becomes possible. 

A good quiet. The kind that draws people in, demands your attention because something incredible has happened.

But then there’s bad quiet. The kind that has the whole arena holding its breath because they’re worried that if they let it go, the worst will come true. A shocking loss suffered. A comeback failed. A career ended. History falling short. A life in the balance. 

That’s the kind of quiet that shuts everyone up, leaves them stunned and nervous and unsure what to do. It demands your attention because something terrible has happened. 

Quiet. 

The sound of the stadium at Worlds just over a year ago, when Bucky got chucked right off the high bar and into the ground, crumpling, unable to rise. 

Quiet. 

The sound of rustling and concerned whispering as medics rush to the apparatus. The sound of an audience willing the athlete to rise and feeling deeper and deeper sorrow when he doesn’t. The sound of an unconscious gymnast, usually so full of life, being loaded onto a stretcher and taken away. The sound of oh my god, and what just happened? and what happens now?

Quiet. 

The sound of an audience who doesn’t know what to do. The sound of remaining athletes who have been rattled to their core and now somehow have to just keep going because that’s sports. The sound of a teammate who can’t believe what he just saw, rushing after his best friend as he’s wheeled away, world titles be damned. 

Quiet. 

The sound of someone asleep, not waking up, still and broken in a hospital bed. The sound of a life saved, but a career lost. The unfairness of the world. The sound of pain that bears no words. The sound of fear that chokes the breath from your lungs. The sound of worry, when worry is all that’s left to do. 

Quiet. 

That’s the sound of Bercy arena on the morning of August 4, 2024. 

Is it possible for things to move too fast and too slow at the same time? Time splitting in different directions, tearing reality at its seams until you can no longer believe what you’re seeing. Because it’s wrong. 

Gale watches Bucky salute, and he can see on his face even way up in the stands that it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. He watches Bucky drop, like he simply can't hold his own weight any longer. And when the gymnast lays himself down fully on the ground, one fist clenched over his chest as his other arm covers his eyes, Gale shoots to his feet in the stands. Slow motion, fast forward, all at once. 

I’ll be alright, Bucky insisted last night. Gale chose to believe him even though he knew Bucky was downplaying the discomfort. Even if he didn’t believe him, though, he knows it wouldn’t have made a difference. John would have done it anyway. 

Right?

Or did Gale make a mistake? Trying not to overstep. Trying not to be overbearing. What did it cost?

Benny’s hand reaches out to grab onto Gale’s wrist, in alarm or comfort neither of them know. Croz stands beside Gale, while Brady and Alex lean forward in their seats. Alex grips the seat back in front of him while Brady covers his mouth with his hand. Cameras zoom in on their little group, capturing their reactions for the entire world to see.

Everyone watching gets to see the way Gale puts a hand over his mouth and runs the other through his hair, his eyes wide and wild like he’s seconds from jumping over every row of seats to get to the floor. Everyone watching gets to see the way Croz and Benny both put a hand on one of Gale’s arms, like they’re holding him back or holding him together. Everyone watching gets to see the way they stare down at the apparatus below in shock. 

Bucky, laying on his back on the floor beneath the still rings. An arm over his eyes to block the light. A hand clenched in pain. A grimace on his face. His bad leg bent so his knee is in the air and the outline of his brace is visible through the fabric of his pants. The whole world gets to see that, too. 

Bucky, who just gave the best still rings performance of his life. Who just wowed the whole world with a skill no one ever thought he’d be able to do. Who very likely just secured another gold medal. 

Except, instead of submitting his score, the judges are still staring at him, too. 

It’s quiet. 

The world stops, except for Curt, the first to find his way back from the break in reality. He yells John’s name again and jumps up onto the rings podium. He drops to his knees next to Bucky’s head, and their coach is close behind, kneeling by Bucky’s leg. 

Gale strains to see what’s happening, but he can’t from up here. All he can see is the two men hovering over Bucky’s body, the damn cameras trying to zoom in too close. Give him some damn space, he thinks. He wants to push every single one of them away. He wants to stand in front of Bucky and block everyone’s view of him, stop the stations from capitalizing on this gut-wrenching moment. 

On the floor, Curt sees flashbacks of the past in his mind. One moment, Bucky on the high bar. The next, in a slump on the floor, his leg a mangled mess. Unmoving. The quiet stadium. Everyone holding their breath. Curt running. Slow motion. To Bucky’s side. Bucky unconscious, eyes closed, face contorted in pain. Bucky. 

Quiet. 

The same exact kind of quiet. 

The thing is, Bucky didn’t fall. Not today, not in Bercy arena, not off still rings. Today he landed perfectly. He smiled. He saluted. He waved to the crowd. He had even the judges staring at him, impressed with his strength and skill. He did everything he needed to do. And then he just… dropped. 

At first, Curt thought it was exhaustion. A collapse in relief at the end of his last routine in Paris. After three all arounds and two events on a leg that may or may not have been ready. Nothing but a ‘I’m done. Thank god.’

But he didn’t get back up. He stayed there, on his back, staring into the blinding lights above. Unmoving. The cameras are crowding in on him, suffocating. The eyes of the entire arena are on him. Quiet. 

I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. 

Just one more. Just one more. Just one more. 

This goddamn sport. 

Why do none of them ever listen?

Curt feels sick as he runs to Bucky’s side, history repeating, the world blurring, his ears filled with underwater noise. He kneels at Bucky’s head, their coach dropping down by his knee, which is still bent upwards. Not mangled. Not twisted. Just… what? 

“What happened?” Curt asks in a rush, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky pulls his arm away from his face but squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a shallow breath. “My knee,” he grunts, motioning vaguely to his leg. “Don’t know. I landed fine. I-I dunno.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair before he glances first at Curt, then at their coach. He’s out of breath, but Curt doesn’t know if it’s from the routine or the pain. Or both. “Hurt yesterday,” Bucky goes on. “Maybe I shouldn’t have…”

Shouldn’t have what? Shouldn’t have done his final event? Shouldn’t have come back so soon? Shouldn’t have done four floor routines when the doctors said floor was the last thing he should be doing?

Curt shakes his head, because Bucky was always going to do all of those things. There’s no use in wondering. “Should’ve listened to the dog,” he tries to joke instead. 

Bucky cracks a smile but it quickly turns to a grimace. 

Their coach prods gently at the joint, checking for anything abnormal. “Some swelling for sure. Probably just a sprain,” he says calmly. All three of them know that that could mean anything, though, with the injury Bucky had. It could be nothing. Or it could cost everything. “Do you think you can get up?”

Bucky blinks and takes a deep breath. He looks at Curt. At their coach. His eyes drift away. Towards the rings dangling high above him, lined with chalk marks from his grips. Towards the other athletes watching in concern. Towards the stands, filled with spectators whose eyes are on him. He can’t see Gale. His heart jumps in his chest, but he forces himself to breathe. He knows Gale is there. But the sound and the lights and the pain is making his head pound and he can’t hold it up long enough to search. 

He looks at the cameras circling him like a flock of birds circles roadkill, locked in on their prey: this staggering turn of events. He tries not to think too much about them and the fact that this clip of him will be circulated on national television and across social media. His failure. His pain. Perhaps his downfall. All over again. 

Was it worth it?

Gymnasts get hurt. It’s not a matter of if. It’s when. It’s how bad. It’s can you rise again. Should Bucky have listened to the people who told him no? To the people who begged him to slow down?

Or should he have seized this moment for everything it was worth? He thought his career was over once before. In the end, how many times can you beat the odds before the odds come back to shove you down again?

The world loves a comeback story. And they also love to see it go up in flames. They call him unbreakable. What will they call him if he’s just ruined it all?

He got more out of Paris than he ever expected. He came back to the sport with a vengeance, and he grabbed for his titles with an iron grip dripping in blood, sweat, and tears. They say he could be, could become, the greatest male gymnast of all time. He made history here. 

Was it enough?

“John? Can you get up? Or do we need a stretcher?” The voice of his coach carves through the shroud in his mind, reminding him of where he is. The noise around him, even in deafening silence, crashes back into him. 

“I dunno,” he says, cringing at the way his words slur together. Experimentally, he straightens his leg a bit and grimaces at the pain, but it’s nothing compared to what he felt at Worlds. 

“Come on,” Curt says. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Bucky nods and lets Curt help him sit up, biting the inside of his cheek against the discomfort. Then he loops his arm around Curt’s shoulder, and their coach moves to his other side. Together, they haul him up, and Bucky takes a little hop to get his weight onto his good leg, the toes of his left foot resting lightly on the ground. He can feel his brace digging into his skin beneath the competition pants. His knee is throbbing with every desperate heartbeat. 

The stadium fills with sound again. 

With a deep breath, Bucky gives a pained smile as the arena erupts into cheers, whistles, and applause, relieved to see him on his feet. The USA chant picks back up, and Bucky lifts a hand from Curt’s shoulder to wave at the crowd. The sound follows him the whole way as, ever so slowly, the three of them make their way down off the rings podium. Their team doctor rushes over to them with a wheelchair, and she helps Curt ease Bucky down into it.

“You’re never gonna stop givin’ me heart attacks, huh?” Curt jokes.

Bucky inhales sharply as he adjusts his bad leg on the footrest of the wheelchair, but he laughs. “Don’t count on it.”

The moment his score finally posts, every single person watching knows before he does as he sits, idly tracing a finger around his knee and trying not to think about anything too much. 

He jumps in surprise when Curt claps him on both shoulders, telling him to look at the score. And he all but falls out of the chair when he sees it, Curt having to hold him steady as they both laugh and scream “What the fuck! Holy shit!”

In a sport of tenths, he won the gold by well over a full point. It’s his best ever score on rings. 

His smile starts to fade just the littlest bit when he watches the silver and bronze medalists climb up onto the wide open spring floor, raising high the flags of their countries. Celebrating their victories. It’s a right of passage for any Olympic medalist, taking that victory lap, playing a superhero just for a few minutes. 

Bucky tries to shove himself out of his wheelchair, but Curt pushes him back down. “You can’t walk, dude.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insists, trying to get up again. 

“John.”

The third time, Curt steps back and lets Bucky do as he pleases. He makes it two limping steps before he can’t hold his weight, and their coach, ever the spotter, has to lunge forward to catch him before he falls. 

He realizes that his coach is holding an American flag, which is now half wrapped around Bucky. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you sit out, did you?”

He motions to Curt, who takes the chair and hoists it up onto the floor. Then together, they pull Bucky up with it and help him get seated again. Curt hands him the American flag, and they grin at each other before Curt takes off across the floor, pushing Bucky in front of him. The flag waves high and proud as the world watches.

–

Bucky will admit, when he envisioned his last medal ceremony in Paris, he didn’t imagine himself being pushed to the podium in a wheelchair. But here he is. 

He enters Bercy for the very last time with the other two medalists. He’s now wearing the team USA tracksuit over top of his competition shirt and shorts, the competition pants having been removed to take a better look at his knee. They still don’t know what the damage is, because Bucky refused to be properly checked out until after the medal ceremony. Scratch that, until after Curt’s vault final. It’s starting to swell, though, and the doctor wrapped it with obscene amounts of tape, pleading with him to “not do anything else stupid.”

Bucky doesn’t really know what she expects him to do between now and two hours from now, but he supposes she’s probably right to be concerned. They make him go out in the wheelchair, one of the event volunteers pushing him. He tries to make small talk with her before the athletes are guided out the door into the arena. But she speaks French, and the only things he really knows how to say in French he learned from Gale. And that mostly consists of flirting and dirty talk. 

She rolls her eyes at his botched pronunciation when he so much as tries to tell her “thank you,” but she smiles kindly and pats his shoulder. And then she wheels him out into the arena for all the world to see the duality of his success and pending downfall. 

He feels ecstatic at the same time that he feels self-conscious. Proud but also worried. Accomplished, and yet sad. He ignores the pain in his leg. 

At least he’s not on a stretcher. 

At least he’s conscious. 

At least he’s here, and not in a hospital. 

At least at least at least…

At least he got a medal out of it this time.

Yes. 

A gold medal. Another gold medal.

Everything else can damn well wait. 

Bucky might be in a chair, but the grin plastered to his face, the way he waves to the crowd as he’s wheeled out, the brightness of his eyes, so, so alive, make it seem like he’s on top of the world. He certainly doesn’t mind the way the audience cheers a little extra loudly for him. When the athletes stop behind the podium, in a line with Bucky in the middle, he pushes himself carefully to his feet. The volunteer gives him a questioning look, but he waves her off, and she nods and steps away. He stands with most of his weight on his good knee, head held high. He refuses to make himself small in this moment. He refuses to sit below the others at a time when he should be rising up.

When the announcer calls his name for the final time, introducing him as the gold medalist and Olympic Champion, he hops towards the podium and gives it a wary glance. Before he can work out how best to get himself up there, though, the silver and bronze medalists – a Japanese gymnast and a Ukrainian gymnast, respectively – step forward and take his weight on either side. Together, they lift him up onto the top step and make sure he’s steady.

“Thank you,” he says to them as he shakes each of their hands. They pat him on the back and smile at him so brightly that he’s momentarily amazed at the kindness that can be found in the world. He makes sure to clap louder than anyone in the whole stadium when their names are called. 

He really does almost cry this time when the National Anthem plays through the stadium, the American flag raising high. He quietly sings the words, and he hears the people of his country singing aloud, too. He stands on the podium, medal around his neck, pain be damned. 

John Egan, Olympic Champion. Five time Olympic medalist. Four in Paris alone. Two golds, two silvers. 

How’s that for a goddamn comeback?

—

Bucky’s singular text to Gale between his medal ceremony and Curt’s vault reads: Do you think you can still do gymnastics after a knee replacement? Asking for a friend. 

The reply comes back, maybe you can be a Paralympian. 

It doesn’t make him feel better, but it does make him laugh as he sits on the sidelines, watching the gymnasts warm up on vault. “Don’t do that for the final!” He jokes after Curt falls on his ass on the landing, even though he knows it was on purpose to save his knees from the impact during warm-ups. 

Curt gives him the finger. On live television. 

Presumably, Gale shared Bucky’s text with Croz in concern. Because when Bucky’s phone buzzes again, it’s Croz telling him to Stop being dramatic.

Curt easily secures his third medal of the Games, winning gold on vault like Bucky knew he would. He’s the best men’s vaulter in the world right now, with the highest start value of any gymnast here. 

“You got this babe!” Bucky yells out as Curt prepares to run down the track. And when he sticks the landing without so much as a hop, Bucky throws himself out of the chair and nearly falls on his face, having to grab onto his coach for support. 

“You did that! You fucking did that!” He exclaims as Curt hops down, buzzing from the adrenaline. 

They both fucking did it. 

—

When a reporter interviews Bucky and Curt again after event finals, Bucky’s still in the damn chair. They both have gold medals around their necks, though. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insists, when the reporter comments on it. The truth is, he doesn’t really know yet. He’s really hoping his coach is right and it’s just a minor sprain, but he’s refused a proper medical examination until he’s done here at Bercy. He was told that they don’t have crutches on hand, but he thinks they just don’t trust him with crutches. 

Which is ridiculous. 

“You’re a mess,” Curt laughs. “You can barely keep yourself in the chair and you think you can be trusted with crutches?”

The reporter asks them both what’s next after this, the dreaded question of any Olympic athlete. 

How about rest? How about a week off? How about some ice?

Bucky could really go for ice right now. A hug from his boyfriend, maybe. A muffin. 

He tells the reporter as much. But then they both hint at 2028, Curt gunning for at least one more go before he’s just a “washed up Olympian.” Bucky agrees that, as long as he can keep himself in one piece, the world hasn’t seen the last of this dynamic duo. He may or may not wink at the camera. 

“Gale Cleven’s been in the stands for all of your events,” the reporter observes. “The aforementioned boyfriend, I take it? You two haven’t been very subtle.”

Bucky laughs and tries not to blush. “What can I say,” he shrugs. “I didn’t expect to fall in love at the Olympics.”

“But you did?”

“I did.”

—

Gale doesn’t even see the interview until late that afternoon, when Marge, sitting beside him, screams and shoves her phone in his face. “He fell in love?”

Gale grabs the phone from her hands and stares down at it. Marge reaches over and rewinds so he can hear it again. 

“I didn’t expect to fall in love…”

He rewinds it again. And again. One more time. Hell, he was still right there in the stands during that interview and he didn’t even know. His brain is short-circuiting, the same way it did the very first time he met John Egan on a plane two weeks ago. 

He doesn’t know if his heart is soaring at the confirmation: it’s not just him. John feels it too. 

Or if it’s pounding because he doesn’t understand why Bucky told the world before he told him. Did he mean it? Did it just pop out?

“Gale? You okay?” Marge asks. He realizes the video has stopped and he’s still just gripping the phone tight in his hands, frozen. It’s paused on Bucky and Curt grinning at the camera, holding their medals up. The replay button blocks part of Bucky’s face. 

Gale blinks and looks up at Marge. 

She smiles at him, and he nervously smiles back. He runs a hand through his hair. “I- do you think he meant it?”

Marge literally facepalms. “Gale, honey.” She rolls her eyes and shoves him in the shoulder. “Yes!” The he’s loved you since the moment he saw you goes unspoken. 

Just then, Gale’s phone buzzes. Still holding Marge’s phone, he checks his own, and nearly chucks Marge’s away when he sees it’s a text from John. Marge has to grab his wrist and gently remove her phone from his grip. 

Looks like a sprain. I’ve been released from Hell.

Then, The med center. They let me leave the med center. If that wasn’t clear.

Can I see you later? Gale asks. 

If you want.

He squints at his phone and bites his bottom lip, unsure what that means. But he says he’ll stop by John’s room that evening.

He sneaks a muffin from the dining hall on his way and buys pre-made sandwiches from the market in the Village. Other than confirming that this plan was acceptable, Bucky didn’t respond to any more of Gale’s messages all afternoon, and Gale tries not to let it put too much of a weight on his chest. It was a hard day, that’s all. It’s natural that Bucky would be upset. It’s expected. 

He probably just doesn’t feel like talking. 

So what if he didn’t reply when Gale sent him a picture of the cute Brazil pin he got on his way back into the Village? So what if he doesn’t send so much as a smiley face when Gale tells him Whiskey is proud of him? So what?

When Gale knocks on the door, it takes a minute for it to open. There’s a clanging noise, the word “fuck,” and then Bucky is standing on the other side of the doorway, a crutch under one arm and a brace on his knee. Even though he’s done competing now. Gale tries not to stare at it.

“Hey,” he says. He can’t help but smile every time he sees Bucky, his hair unkempt and a goofy grin on his face.

Except, the grin isn’t there. Bucky looks tired, defeated. He’s dressed in USA sweats and a t-shirt, and that typical mischievous light is gone from his blue eyes. 

“You okay?” Gale asks. The smile falls from his face. “That’s a bad question. Sorry.”

Bucky blinks and shakes his head, like he’s trying to refocus himself. He seems to notice Gale standing there for the first time. “Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I mean. No, I’m not great. But…” He does smile now, and he gives a little self-deprecating laugh. “I have four Olympic medals now. So.”

“You do.” The corner of Gale’s mouth pulls up again. “Olympic Champion John Egan. The greatest gymnast in the world.”

Bucky laughs again. “I could get used to that title. Come on. No reason to stand in the doorway.” He reaches out to grab the bag of food in Gale’s hand, but loses his balance on the crutch and has to press his hand to Gale’s solid chest instead. He sighs and lets his forehead fall against Gale’s shoulder. “Maybe you better just carry the food in.”

Gale presses his free hand to Bucky’s, still resting on his chest. “I have a better idea.”

Carefully, he steps all the way through the door and closes it behind him. Then he sets the food on the floor, ignoring Bucky’s perplexed look. “Give me that.” He motions to the crutch.

“What are you doing?” Bucky raises an eyebrow and watches Gale skeptically, but he hands over the crutch, leaving him standing with all his weight on one foot. Gale makes quick work of it though, leaning the crutch gently against the wall, and then Bucky isn’t standing anymore. Gale literally sweeps him off his feet in one fluid motion, one arm under Bucky’s legs and the other supporting his back and shoulders, carrying him bridal style.

“Okay?” Gale asks.

Bucky gazes up at him, surprised, and licks his lower lip as his eyes trail from Gale’s face down to his chest, then to Gale’s arm beneath his knees. “Who knew you were so strong.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and he carries Bucky down the hall. “Wanna eat in your room or in the common area?”

Bucky raises a hand to cup Gale’s cheek, making him look down again. Wanting those eyes on nothing but him. “There’s other things we could do in the bedroom,” he suggests, gently biting his lower lip with a small smile. He raises his eyebrows in question.

Gale’s cheeks flush, which makes Bucky smile even bigger, but he sighs and shakes his head. “No. You need food. And rest.”

Bucky pouts. “Or, have you considered, I need feel-better sex.”

“Food,” Gale insists. “Now pick a room. You’re heavy as hell.”

“Wow you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Bucky mutters.

“John.”

“Bedroom.”

Gale nods and walks through the open door of Bucky’s room. He carefully steps over a second crutch laying on the floor beside the bed, assuming the clanging noise he heard earlier was Bucky dropping it when he tried to get out of bed to answer the door. He also kicks an abandoned heating pad out of the way, making a note to rotate Bucky through ice and heat again after they eat. Once he lowers Bucky onto the mattress, he fluffs the pillow and settles it behind Bucky’s back so he can sit up against the wall.

“Feel alright?” he asks.

Bucky nods, but he grimaces as he adjusts his leg. He points across the room. “Can you get Curt’s pillow and put it under my knee?” Gale nods and grabs the pillow, situating it beneath Bucky’s leg until the gymnast tells him it’s comfortable. 

There’s a knock on the open door, and Gale looks up to see Curt leaning against the doorframe. He has the bag of food in one hand and the abandoned crutch in the other. 

“Okay, this makes so much more sense,” he says, motioning to Gale with the crutch.

“Than what?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know. Than you spontaneously turning into a bag of takeout.”

Gale stifles a laugh as he straightens up to face Curt and awkwardly shoves a hand in his pocket. Curt leans the crutch against the wall at the end of Bucky’s bed and thrusts the bag of food towards Gale.

“I’m heading out with the boys,” he says when Gale takes it. “USA House. You two wanna come?”

Bucky shakes his head before Gale can even think about it. “Looks like we’re eating in tonight.”

“We can go,” Gale tells him earnestly.

But Bucky shakes his head again, and Gale can’t read the expression on his face. “It’s alright. I’d rather stay here.”

Gale and Curt share a concerned look, but they both nod. “Okay,” Curt says. Then he glances at Gale and winks. “Be careful with him. Nothing too acrobatic.”

Gale’s face burns and he stammers a bit, but Curt points at Bucky before he can figure out what to say. “You’re the GOAT. Don’t forget it.”

“You’re a legend,” Bucky responds.

“A literal Greek god.”

“Fuckin’ Hercules.”

Curt grins. “Goddamn Olympic champions.”

“Love ya, babe.” Bucky dramatically blows him a kiss. 

Curt pretends to catch it, and then he’s gone.

Bucky shifts himself over so he’s on the side of the bed pressed against the wall, as close to the wall as he can get. “Really?” Gale says, motioning to the pillow that is no longer beneath Bucky’s knee. “I just got you set up.”

Bucky ignores him and pats the now empty space beside him. Gale sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Then he gets Bucky’s leg elevated again and sits beside him, as requested. They don’t quite fit, so one of Gale’s legs has to hang off the edge, their shoulders pressed together. 

“I got you a muffin,” he says, opening the bag and pulling out a small, napkin-wrapped package. He sets it on Bucky’s thigh. “Since you have an addiction.”

“God I love you,” Bucky murmurs, glancing from the muffin to Gale. His eyes go wide when he realizes what he said. When Gale opens his mouth to respond, though, Bucky grabs the muffin and unwraps it. “Not the desert I was hoping to start tonight with. But I’ll take it.” He doesn’t miss the way Gale frowns and blushes at the same time, but he shoves down the feeling of guilt rising in his chest and offers the muffin to Gale. “Bite?”

When the muffin is gone, Bucky licks the chocolate off the corner of Gale’s mouth, then presses their lips together. He sighs into the way Gale reciprocates, and he reaches his hand up to grab at his soft blonde hair. “You taste like chocolate,” he mumbles against his mouth. 

Gale pulls away with a breathy laugh, darting his tongue out to lick at the last little bit of chocolate stuck to his lips. “How’d you get it on your nose?” He asks. He uses his thumb to wipe it away, watching the way Bucky’s eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch. 

Bucky tries to kiss him again, but Gale turns his head so Bucky gets his cheek instead. 

“A muffin doesn’t count as dinner,” he says. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out two wrapped subs, offering one to Bucky.

“Don’t need dinner,” Bucky insists, shaking his head. He nuzzles against Gale’s temple before dipping down to nip at his ear. “Need you.”

“Need protein,” Gale argues, shifting away. “Now chicken salad or Italian?”

It doesn’t much matter. Despite Gale’s insistence, Bucky only eats half of his Italian sub before setting it in his lap and staring at Gale with wide, pleading eyes. When Gale turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised, Bucky smirks before leaning in to kiss him. First gentle, then a little rough when Gale reciprocates and melts into it. He wraps his hand around the back of Gale’s head and bites gently at his lower lip, then leaves a trail of kisses down his jaw to his neck. He pulls back the neckline of Gale’s shirt and sucks a light bruise into the delicate skin over his collarbone, where it will just barely be hidden by his clothes. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Gale mutters, even as he tilts his head to give Bucky better access.

“And there’s no evolutionary reason for me to exist? That’s rude, Buck.”

“No,” Gale grunts. Bucky nips below his ear. “You… are perfect.”

“Parfait?”

Gale nods. “Parfait.”

He can feel Bucky smiling against his neck, and he turns his head so their noses bump when Bucky tries to look up at him again. Bucky hands over the last of his sandwich so Gale can shove it back in the bag, which he throws to the floor. Then their mouths find one another, and Gale moans softly when Bucky takes his lower lip between his teeth, biting it gently before his tongue runs across it. His hand comes back up to pull at Gale’s hair the way he likes. But Gale pulls away when he realizes the way Bucky has to twist his back to get to him in this position, where they’re sitting next to each other, backs to the wall. Reality dawns on him. 

“Your knee,” he protests.

“Is sprained, Buck,” Bucky groans. “I can handle an innocent make-out session.”

“You never want to stop at innocent,” Gale argues. He’s right. And Bucky doesn’t plan to stop at innocent now. 

“Please?”

Gale can’t read the expression on Bucky’s face, and he doesn’t like that. Usually, he can read John like a book – his excitement, his anger, his curiosity, his cockiness. Now he’s smiling and pouting at once, looking at Gale with puppy-dog eyes. But there’s something desperate about it, something off. Something pleading, like he’s worried it’s the last time they’ll ever do this. 

It’s been a long day, Gale reminds himself. And he kisses Bucky anyways. 

He shifts so he’s in front of Bucky, basically sitting on his right thigh with his knee between his legs. He takes care not to jostle the sprained left knee as he leans in, pressing one hand to Bucky’s chest and the other to the wall beside his head, closing him in.

“Well hello, angel,” Bucky chuckles. His face shifts immediately, like relief washing over him. With a satisfied smirk, he pulls his shirt over his head in one swift motion, and then helps Gale do the same. He takes pleasure in the way Gale’s eyes roam over his upper body, like he can’t get enough of seeing Bucky’s arms, his chest, his abs. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time even though it’s far from it at this point.

“Parfait,” Gale breathes again, his cheeks pink and his lips parted, eyes already dark. It floods Bucky with all kinds of want and need. 

He cups the back of Gale’s head and pulls him in for another rough kiss. His other hand makes its home on Gale’s waist, holding him steady. He pulls at Gale’s hair, making the blonde moan softly, and there’s no denying how turned on Bucky is by that sound. He pushes his hips forward even though there’s nothing there to press into. Gale notices and lets his hand drift down, down, down. Bucky takes a deep, pleasured breath when he feels Gale’s hand on him, but it’s gone as quickly as it was there. Gale bites gently at Bucky’s lip before pulling away. He shifts downward to suck at Bucky’s neck and collarbone instead, his hand stroking up Bucky’s side until it reaches his chest. With deft fingers, Gale pinches Bucky’s nipple, making him gasp in surprise. Gale smiles against his neck.

He tries to move further down, so he can take the nipple between his lips, but he has to shift backwards to do so and bumps Bucky’s knee in the process. Bucky grimaces, inhaling sharply. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Gale says. He straightens up immediately, shifting away from Bucky’s bad leg, and he nearly topples off the small bed in the process. Bucky throws a hand out to steady him, resting it on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Gale.” 

Gale looks all sorts of guilty and concerned, and Bucky can’t stand it. “Maybe we shouldn’t-”

Bucky cups Gale’s jaw with a steady hand. “It’s fine,” he says again. “Please. I want you, Buck. I need you. Please.”

There’s a hint of begging somewhere at the bottom of Bucky’s tone, and Gale sighs. He wants it, too. He wants to keep going, too. He glances at Bucky’s knee again, but then he nods. “Come here,” he says.

Gently, he pulls Bucky away from the wall and helps him turn so his legs are hanging over the side of the bed. Gale kneels on the floor between them. “Feel okay?”

Bucky nods as he adjusts, scooting closer to the edge. Then without warning, eager to pick up where they left off, he wraps his fingers in Gale’s hair again. He leans down and pulls Gale up to kiss him once, then he guides Gale back to his chest. He moans when Gale takes his nipple between soft lips, licking and sucking at it gently. He holds Gale to him, asking silently for more as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. 

Eventually, Gale shifts his attention to the other side, giving it the same treatment, before kissing his way down Bucky’s abs to the waistband of his sweatpants. He peeks up at Bucky, icy blue eyes peering through blonde eyelashes. “Do you want…”

Bucky nods urgently. “Yes.” And he shifts to help Gale pull the waistband down. “God, you’re beautiful,” he nearly growls as he watches Gale. And then Gale’s mouth is on him, and he’s too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything else. 

One blowjob and one handjob later, and Gale is back on the bed again. They both have their pants pulled back up, Gale having cleaned them both up afterwards, but their shirts remain lost on the floor. Gale sits at the head of the bed, leaning back against the wall even though it makes his back sore. Bucky, beside him, is slumped down further so his head can lay against Gale’s chest, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. Ice rests on top of it. He tries to focus on nothing other than the comforting sound of Gale’s steady heartbeat and the feeling of Gale’s fingers playing mindlessly with his hair.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly. “For tonight. For everything.”

Gale hums softly but otherwise stays quiet for a while. He takes a breath and starts to say, “John, I-”

“I’m going home,” Bucky blurts out then. “Day after tomorrow. Early.”

Gale stops cold and looks down at Bucky, catching his eye. “Oh.”

Bucky averts his gaze again, exhaling a warm breath that tickles Gale’s chest. “The doctor, uh… well. They think it’s a sprain,” he explains, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. “But they don’t know how bad. It could just be mild. It could be a partial tear. I have to get an MRI.”

“So you have to leave?” Gale asks, confused and disappointed. They’d been talking about going to closing ceremonies together. 

Bucky nods. “I just… Gale.” He sits up, and his face turns dark. A flicker of fear flashes across it, followed by sadness. He opens his mouth to say more, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t decide if he wants to look at Gale when he says it or if it would be easier not to. He grabs Gale’s hand and runs a thumb across his knuckles. He looks at that instead. “They don’t know if my leg will ever be strong enough to be competitive again.”

Gale blinks and looks down at Bucky’s hand holding his. Some things about Bucky’s behavior today are making more sense. The sudden avoidance after he left the med center. The desperation when he asked Gale to keep kissing him. Like it was the last time.

“Oh.”

Bucky nods and bites his lip.

“But they don’t know,” Gale points out. “It might just be a minor sprain. It’s not a death sentence, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I know. I’m getting kicked outta here anyways, though.” He motions to the room around them. The U.S. athletes have to leave the village soon after their events are over. Gale and Benny have been staying in a hotel the last few days with many of the other athletes reluctant to cut short their time in Paris.

“I was gonna get a hotel,” Bucky goes on. “But I- I need to go home, Buck.”

Gale nods, his brow scrunched as he tries to work through what Bucky is telling him. “I understand,” he says, even though he isn’t quite sure if he does. 

“So can we just,” Bucky sighs. Then he tries his best to smile at Gale and cups his cheek, guiding him to look him in the eye again. “Can we just be happy together tonight? I just wanna be with you right now.”

Gale closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. But he smiles back at Bucky, and he nods, and he says okay.

–

The next night, they say goodbye. “We live close together,” Gale rationalizes. Only a couple hours at worst, both in the DC area. “Maybe we can see each other when I get back and get Whiskey settled?”

Bucky nods and offers a weak smile. Not like that broad grin when Gale first sat beside him on the plane. Not like John Egan at all. He kisses Gale, pressing all the meaning he possibly can into it. It’s full of love and full of sorrow at the same time. 

It’s full of goodbye. 

Neither of them say I love you.

Gale texts him several times, checking in. Asking if he landed safely. When he sees a story in the news about Bucky, Olympic gold medalist, being welcomed home by all the kids that train at the same gym as him, he texts again to say how sweet the article was. He texts asking if Bucky is okay. If he needs anything. If he had his MRI. He asks about the verdict. 

For days, he doesn’t get a single reply.

[beefrobeefcal]

Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

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

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

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

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

On the Waterfront Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

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

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

*****

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

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

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

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

“Who’s dea- “

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

He’d found something else to get high on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no more taglist! follow @beefnotes for fic updates!

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Reality Check

Chapter Eight of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Nine

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.2K

Chapter Overview: The morning after & the days that follow your and Frankie's hookup are joyful, but not everyone is joining in on the love

TW: Brief mentions of sexual assault & Brunson (iykyk)

Notes: i got it done by the hair of my chinny chin chin LMAOO ,, honestly i usually ramble in my notes but i dont have a lot to say today (': thank you to everyone who has liked and/or reblogged my story so far ! it means so much !! let me know if you want to be added to the tag list as well !! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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Frankie’s alarm blares earlier than either of you want it too. Maybe it wouldn’t have felt so early if you had gone to bed sooner. You jump a little when you hear it going off and feel the man holding you stir behind you. The arm that he had wrapped around your waist detaches slowly to silence the unwelcome sound. You smile to yourself as you hear him breathe out deeply and snuggle his body closer to yours under the duvet.

“I sent it to snooze.” He yawns. “We only have a few more minutes of this.” 

He is clearly more awake than he sounds as his lips quickly find your shoulder. You stretch your neck out to allow him access and he greedily accepts your invitation. 

“I don’t want to go back to reality.” You can feel your heart rate already accelerating as he continues to adorn your skin. 

“Let’s stay here, in bed, all day. I have vacation hours, remember?”

“But I don’t.” You sigh and shift your body to where you can look at him. “And Benny can’t manage the gym all by himself anymore.” 

As you wait for him to say something, you allow your eyes to wander all over his face. His hair looks so curly and soft against the pillow. His eyes don’t look as sad as they do during the daytime. They appear youthful and doe-like.

“What are you doing?” He smiles.

“I’m trying to memorize what you look like first thing in the morning.” You bring your hand out from under the covers and caress his beard. “Does it always grow like this?” You gingerly brush your thumb over the sparse patch.

“Ever since I can remember. It made shaving easier, but it isn’t the most manly, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh? What would you say then?” He pokes at your ribs hidden beneath the sheets.

“I would say that any woman would love their very own special spot to kiss you.” 

You lean forward and kiss him softly. Your lips fit perfectly in the patch just like you thought they would. 

“But I don’t want any woman to kiss me. I just want one.”

He swallows your mouth with his and you willingly let him. Before you know it, he has you situated on top of him as the two of you kiss. His scent is huskier in the morning. It hasn’t been tainted by a long day of work. You break apart so you can look at him. He doesn’t fight with you as he has a particularly good view of your breasts from how you are sitting. Since he was laying on the left side of his body before, you weren’t able to see how the red flowers you left on his neck have grown this morning. But now you have a clear view.

“Don’t be mad at me, but I think you’re going to have a hard time covering these up.” You reach your hand down and trace each one with your finger. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” 

“You weren’t the only one.” His own hand comes up and brushes against your collar bone. The slight pain you feel makes you realize that you didn’t end the night blemish free. “Let’s call it even, hmm?” 

“Deal.” 

You’re leaning down to kiss him when the alarm goes off again. “Guess it’s time to get moving.” Not one to leave a task unfinished, you place your lips sweetly on the edge of his nose before sliding off his torso to land where you slept. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stretch your arms high above your head. A soreness in your abs and in between your legs demands to be felt as you use your muscles for the first time since last night. That delicious ache serves as a physical reminder that what happened in this bed is real. That the man lying next to you is real. That this moment is so very real.

It also serves as a reminder that he didn’t pull out. While you knew it was safe, he didn’t. You turn your head over your shoulder and falter at what you see. He’s just staring at you. A childish grin on his face as he holds his head up with his hand. The covers have fallen just above his waist to give you a teasing view of that tummy you have grown so fond of. 

“Hey, about last night…” You worry when you see his smile flicker ever so slightly. “I just wanted to let you know that I have the implant. So, we are completely safe since we clearly weren’t safe last night.” 

“God bless modern medicine.” He laughs lightly. 

“I was going to say something before hand, but some guy fucked the thought right out of my head.” You give him a cheeky look.

“He sounds like quite the catch.” 

“Biggest fish I ever saw.” 

A comfortable laughter engulfs the two of you as you each search for the clothes that were discarded the night prior. You realize, a little grossed out, that you hadn’t showered since Saturday morning. 

“Do you mind if I use your shower before we leave? I promise I’ll be quick.” 

He nods and leads you into the bathroom. He shows you where the shampoo and conditioner are and even takes two towels. One for your body and one for your hair. Then he starts the water for you and makes a comment about how other people’s showers are always weirdly difficult to operate. While you were sure you could have managed on your own, you graciously stand back and allow him to take care of you. It’s nice to not have to be in control all the time.

“I think you’re all set. I’ll go get started on some coffee.” He taps the screen of his phone that he set down on the counter. “It’s not even 6:30 yet, you can take some extra time in here if you’d like.” 

He closes the door behind him as he leaves the bathroom. Instead of heading straight for the kitchen like he said he would, he sits down on your side of the bed and buries his head in his hands. When he heard you say Hey, about last night… he was sure you were going to tell him it was a one time thing, a simple fling. Now that you had gotten it out of your system, you didn’t want to be around him anymore. He tried to keep his emotions under lock and key, but he could tell by your hesitation that you had seen something flash across his face. When you revealed that you were only referring to your birth control he was more relieved than he would like to admit. Then the guilt crept in. He scolded himself for acting like a boy fumbling around in the dark and forgetting protection like that. He was always so good with it. He could barely keep himself afloat, but a kid too? How could he have been so careless?

Your playful remark had kept him from totally spinning out. I was going to say something before hand, but some guy fucked the thought right out of my head. He knew that you told him about it because you didn’t want him to worry. He had never had a partner that brought up the events of the night during the day to soothe him. Whenever Rochelle brought it up, it was to criticize something he did or didn’t do. It registered in his brain that he was subconsciously waiting for you to do the same because it is all he has ever known. But, you didn’t. You talked to him without annoyance and without contempt. You made him feel good about himself. He only hoped that he made you feel the exact same way. With a smile on his face, he treks to the kitchen.

You stare at the bruise on your collar bone in the mirror. You don’t think you have ever seen anything so lovely in your entire life. He had given you a small piece of him to carry around. While you knew it would fade, that made you cherish it all the more. The bathroom mirror starts to fog up and you know it's time to get in. You pick up the towels that are on the counter so you can drape them over the shower curtain and find something that peaks your interest. His dog tags lay haphazardly on the countertop. You pick up the cool metal and inspect it. There are random numbers debossed into it, you assume it related to his military group, and his name indented underneath them.

“Francisco Morales.” The name feels like velvet on your tongue. “That’s going to be fun to use.” 

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you lay your towels out, and hop into the embrace of the warm water.

***

“It’s going to be so nice to change into the extra set of clothes that I keep in my trunk.” You say walking into the kitchen. 

“You keep a change of clothes in your trunk?” He doesn’t turn around to face you as he is pouring coffee, but you can tell by his back shaking that he's laughing to himself. 

“Luck favors the prepared,” You walk up beside him and hop up on the counter. “Francisco.” 

That got his attention. He looks at you, completely shocked, as he sets the coffee pot down. 

“How did you-?”

“You really shouldn’t leave your dog tags lying about.” He moves his body in between your legs and grips your thighs. “Strangers might read them and find out all your secrets.” 

“Or maybe,” His lips brush against yours. “I should tie these strangers to the headboard so they don’t go wandering off.” 

Try as you might to stop it, goosebumps litter your skin at his words. You know he feels them against his palms when he smiles against you and bites at your lower lip. 

“Come on,” He whispers. “As much as I want to stay here with you, we have to get to work.” 

“Tease.” You taunt as you scoot off your ledge. 

You watch patiently as he puts lids on two to-go cups and plucks an orange from his fruit basket. 

“I know you don’t like to eat first thing in the morning, but you should still have something in your stomach.”

“Thank you.” You take the items from him. “Thank you for the whole weekend actually. You really saved me after the bar.”

“You never have to thank me. Anything that I do for you, I do because I want to.”

***

The two of you pull into Brass Knuckles’ parking lot before Benny. Your tote sat balanced on your right leg the whole car ride. Frankie had claimed the left one for himself the second he started driving. Even though you haven't touched your phone the entire weekend, you still had no desire to with Frankie sitting next to you. 

“When can I see you again?” He says as he puts his truck in park.

“As much as I want to see you tonight, I have to visit my dad. He’s going to be wondering who I have been choosing to spend my nights with over him. What about Tuesday?”

You notice the color drains out of his face when you mention that day.

“I actually have a…a meeting on Tuesday. It's for work. They like to have weekly progress meetings to keep us all on track.” 

“Oh, is that why you had to leave around 5 o’clock on Tuesday when you helped me with my car?” 

“Yeah, exactly.” He sounds like he is trying to convince himself more than you at this point, but you decide not to say anything. “What about Wednesday?”

“Third times the charm. Wednesday sounds perfect.” You smile.

He leans over the center console to kiss you before you get out. He tells you that he will wait until you’re inside the shop before he leaves, but you encourage him to go anyway. After a bit of coaxing he finally gives in. You wait and wave by your car as he drives off into the early morning air. You could feel it in your heart that you were in way deeper than you anticipated.

“Okay,” You dig the gym keys out of your tote. “First things first: time to change.” 

You unlock the door to the gym and find your house keys right where you left them so many days ago. Who knew that one simple mistake would lead to the events of this past weekend. After retrieving them, you jog out to your car, pop the trunk, and grab your spare clothes. Finally, you lock your car and head back inside to the safety of the gym. You opt to lock it just in case, plus Benny has a key so he can let himself in. 

As you make your way to the locker room, you pull out your phone to see what you missed. There was one text from your dad. He knew that you had plans Saturday night, so there weren't any messages from that day. However, the text you did receive from him was late Sunday evening, presumably after his group poker tournament, that asked about your next visit.

Dad: Coming to see your old man on Monday?

You heart the message and tell him that you are going to swing by after work like usual so he better be prepared to show you all the work he has been doing. Next, you check on Robbie.

“Oh God, I’m so fucking dead.”

There were 30 unread messages and 6 missed calls from your best friend. You never told her that you were going out that night. The texts weren’t about your absence at first though. The earlier ones ranged from updates on tests she took, her saying she would have to miss your usual Sunday evening call so she could study, and her conferming dates for when she was going to drive down to see you. As the evening went on, they started to get a little more specific. She asked where you were because you weren’t answering, then she said that she knew because she tracked your location. When you still didn’t respond, most likely due to inebriation, she said she was getting worried. Guilt racked your body to know she was concerned and you weren’t there to reassure her. She texted again after you made it to Frankie’s house and correctly guessed where you were. Robbie said that she hopped that you finally grew some balls and fucked him. God, you can’t wait to tell her. The last text she sent was very late Sunday night, or technically early Monday morning, saying that if she didn’t hear from you by the end of the day she was going to call the Florida police and file a missing persons report.

You decide that the best plan of action is to call her. She is more than likely awake at this time anyway. Texas was only an hour behind Florida and it was already 7:15 am. Setting your fresh clothes on a shelf in the locker room you press ‘call’ and select speaker mode while you start to undress. She answers on the third ring.

“You better have a really fucking good explanation as to why you went completely ghost on me this weekend! I was so worried! You never do that!”

“Robbie, I’m so so sorry that I didn’t call or text you back.” You toss your old shirt into your tote. “Truth be told, I didn’t get on my phone at all this weekend. You could say I was a bit preoccupied.”

“You didn’t…”

“I did!” You yell into the speaker.

You’re sure that all of the dogs in the surrounding area can hear both you and Robbie’s high pitched celebratory shrieks. She sounds even happier than you do if you’re being honest.

“I want to know everything! Don’t you dare skimp on the details! Oh my God I’m so glad this finally fucking happened!”

You try your best to recount everything that went down while you continue changing. She sounds like she’s going to go into cardiac arrest when you tell her about the saved bottle cap and sticky note. When you finally get to the part where you had sex she is having a full blown conniption on the other end of the phone. 

“Robbie, I’ve never been with a man that was so eager to eat me out like that. He was, holy shit, he was relentless like…”

Her loud and incoherent rambling through the speaker cuts you off and sends you into a fit of laughter. 

“I had no idea it could feel that amazing! Oh God and when he fucked me? I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel …safe.” You take a shaky breath and push down memories that threaten to bubble to the surface. “I really didn’t think I could feel safe doing that again after what happened.”

She’s quiet, for the first time in the conversation, while she processes what you said. 

“I’m so happy that he was able to provide that for you, babe. And I’m sorry that you had that feeling of safety stolen from you regarding sex. That wasn’t fair and it wasn’t your fault.”

“I guess I just kinda closed myself off from the possibilities of letting another man in like that again.” You clear your throat to chase away the feeling of being choked up. “I’m sorry again for disappearing on you.”

“It better not happen again!” She says with false seriousness. “Ugh, I need a man that will fuck me like that. I’m in a serious drought right now.”

“Well,” You say in a sing-songy manner. “Like I said a while back, I have a guy here that could treat you the way you deserve.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. What was his name again? Will?” 

You hear the faint sound of keys jingling and a lock opening and are shocked at how time has gotten away from you.

“Hey, I hear Benny coming into the gym so that means I’m gonna have to help him prep for the day. Call you later?”

“Yes, please!”

You hang up and toss the rest of your discarded clothes into your tote. Before you leave you look at your face in the mirror. Honestly, with the lack of sleep coupled with the absence of makeup, you don’t look half bad today. 

“Morning, Benny!” You shout as you exit the locker room. 

“Ahh! What the fuck?” You have to stifle laughter after seeing him jump nearly a foot in the air. “I didn’t know you were here?!”

“I was back there changing.” You swing your very full bag over your shoulder in confirmation. “I figured it would be weird if I was still wearing Saturday’s clothes on Monday.”

“I thought Fish was goin’ to take you to pick up your car after we left?”

All you can do is stand there and try to suppress a devious smile that you feel forming on your lips.

“No fucking way! You two never left that house did you?!”

“In my defense,” You say, walking to the lobby. “He made a very compelling argument not to leave.”

“I knew he had it in him to seal the deal! Come on,” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and walks with you. “Tell me everything while we open up. I need to make sure he treated you well.”

“Everything.” You raise one of your eyebrows.

“Well skip the sex stuff.”

***

You’re blown away with how far your dad has come in his physical therapy in only a little over a month. He can actually walk on his own now. Technically, it's only short distances and with a cane for support, but he’s walking by himself nonetheless. You watch peacefully as Miss. Maggie walks next to him and sweetly utters quiet encouragement. When he finally makes it back to his chair, Miss. Maggie lets the two of you know that she’s going to take her break and will be back in about 20 minutes.

“So,” He props his cane up against the arm of the chair. “What did you get up to this weekend? I was a little shocked that you texted me saying that you had plans.”

“What? I can’t have plans now?” You joke.

“No, no. I just didn’t know you had made any friends that you cared enough about to make plans with.”

“Remember that guy who hired me? Benny? I’ve gotten pretty close with him and his group of friends. They actually surprised me on Saturday by taking me to a bar they frequent to celebrate my ‘one month anniversary’ working at the gym.” 

“That’s mighty kind of them, sweet pea. I’m proud you have stuck it out this long. Did you have fun?”

“I did! It was nice to get out and do something.”

“Because spending your weekends with your dad is such a drag, right?”

“You know that's not what I mean.” You cock your head to the side.

“I know it wasn’t, but I hope it made you realize that. I don’t want you to spend the short time that you have here tethered to me. I want you to still have a life.”

“I’m literally here for you.” You counter.

“And I’m grateful for that, but you worry about everyone else around you before you worry about yourself. You can’t fully help people until you help yourself. Plus, you ditching me on Saturday gave me an opportunity.” He winks.

“Oh?”

“I asked Maggie to coffee on Wednesday after her shift. It will be here in the cafeteria we have, so it won’t be in a fancy place or even particularly good coffee, but that won’t matter. The location is irrelevant as long as you’re with the right person. Remember that.” 

“I’m really happy for you, dad.” You reach out your hand and squeeze his. “I’ll remember. I promise.”

***

Ever since Frankie dropped you off Monday morning, the two of you have been texting like two middle school girls who have just gotten phones. Granted it's only Tuesday now, but you didn’t even text Robbie this much. They weren’t anything particularly deep, yet it was sweet to know that he wanted to share what he was doing during the day with you. He sent you a picture of the sun when he got to work yesterday, then a photo of the sandwich he picked up for lunch with a ‘6/10’ texted below it, and later on during the evening he sent you a picture of the moon and said ‘I thought you would like this’. Today you were a little bit surprised to see his name pop up with ‘good morning!’ next to it. Surely this meant y’all were more than just a one night stand. You spin yourself around in your desk chair as you let hundreds of ‘what if’ scenarios play out in your head. You didn’t want to assume anything, but this felt special to you. It felt really, really good. Your spinning comes to a halt when you hear your phone chime.

Frankie: I’m sorry that I can’t see you tonight because of my stupid meeting, but maybe I can make it up to you?

You: How do you plan on doing that?

Frankie: Since I can’t be there in person to make it up to you the way I really want too…I have something else up my sleeve.

You: You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?

Frankie: Where’s the fun in that? Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.

Before you have a chance to respond, the doorbell announces that a customer has walked in. A little part of you hoped it was the man behind the screen, but you were sorely mistaken. 

“Good afternoon to my favorite receptionist in the whole gym!”

“I’m the only receptionist in the whole gym, Brunson.” Your fingers are itching to text Frankie back, but instead you direct them to your computer keys.

“That doesn’t matter, darlin’. You’d still be my favorite even if you weren’t.” 

You could tell he thought that was a real winner of a line by the smug grin on his face.

“Oh, wow. Lucky me.” You yawn as you shift your gaze to the computer screen.

“So, are you going to come see me fight this Friday? I’m sure you’ve seen me in here training for it.”

“Well, since I work here I’ll be there by default.” You say without looking up at him. “And believe it or not, I’m not actually the one training you so I have no idea what goes on behind that brick wall.”

“I need a sweet little thing like you in my corner.” He either doesn’t pick up on your annoyance or chooses to ignore it. “Waiting on me with a fresh towel to wipe my face and some water for me to drink in between rounds.”

“Would you look at that? You’re all checked in for your session! I’m sure Benny would be more than happy to see you now.” You smile sickeningly sweet. “Enjoy your workout.”

“See you soon, darlin’.” He says as he heads back.

“Not if I can help it.” You mutter under your breath.

The doorbell’s cheery jingle rings out again as soon as Brunson has thankfully left your line of sight. When you turn to face the guest, you recognize her. It’s the woman who unfortunately walked in on you telling Benny that you would kick his ass last Thursday. Her hair is a golden color and is as straight as an arrow while her eyebrows were as dark as the night sky. She was about your height and dawned what looked like very expensive workout gear. 

“Good afternoon, Ma’am! How may I help you today?”

She looks a little uncomfortable as she approaches your desk. “I’m just here to sign up for a membership actually. My friend originally recommended that I come to this gym and I liked it so much the last time I was here that I figured I would make it official.”

“That’s wonderful to hear!” You chalk her awkwardness up to this being a male dominated gym. “Let me get the paperwork for you to fill out.” You grab a pen out of your holder and then the membership document out of your desk’s filing basket and hand it to her. “Once you finish this, your physical copy of the membership card should be mailed to you in about a week's time. If you decide to pay us a visit before then, I can just check you in manually through our computer system.” 

You gesture to a few chairs placed against the front glass wall of the building for her to sit in while she works on the form. Movement from out in the parking lot catches your eye and you see a delivery man approaching the gym with an enormous vase of flowers. You watch, confused, as he walks inside. 

“I have a delivery for uhhh…” He looks down at his work tablet and looks back up as he says your name.

“That’s me. You can set them down right here if you’d like.” You wave your hand to the open left corner of your desk.

He tips his hat to you and walks out the door before you even get a chance to ask who sent them. Lucky for you, you already had a feeling who the culprit is. You stand up so you can inspect them closer. The flowers were massive lilies, but not at all like the ones you used to have on your kitchen table. These had petals that were a striking deep pink in the center that were encircled by a lighter shade of pink that eventually faded into white at the edges. Each petal also had a beautiful freckled pattern on them that was an almost mauve in color. Their scent was intoxicating. Within only a few seconds, the entire lobby smelled like a field of them. You see a small note attached to the neck of the vase by some string. 

Stargazer lilies for my estrella -Frankie

“Wow, someone must really like you.” 

“Do you really think so?” You poke your head around the bouquet to look at the woman seated across from you. “It’s still the early stage, the very early stage, for me and this guy.” Your cheeks already hurt from how hard you’re smiling. 

“By the looks of that arrangement I would definitely say so. What’s the occasion? Anniversary? Birthday?”

“Nothing like that.” You feel a mix of bashfulness and pride talking about Frankie. “We weren’t able to see each other this evening because of a work meeting he has to go to every Tuesday. He sent these to make up for it.”

“That’s so sweet! Who’s the lucky guy?”

Before you have a chance to answer, Benny walks into the lobby, but is stopped in his tracks by the newest addition to your desk.

“Did Fish send those?!”

“Yeah, he did.” You blush under his surprise. 

“I’ve never seen him act like this over someone before and I’ve known him for a long time.” Benny looks at you with genuine gratefulness in his eyes as he comes around to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge. “I fully support whatever is going on between the two of you.” He gives the top of your head a quick kiss before he rounds the brick wall again. 

“Fish?” The woman has a strange look on her face.

“Oh! It’s just a nickname of sorts that his friends have for him.”

“Interesting.” She beams as she comes up to hand you her finished paperwork.

“It was nice to talk with you,” You glance down at what she wrote. “Georgina!”

“I enjoyed it too! I’m sure I’ll see you around!”

You sit back down in your chair and, unfortunately, you miss her pulling out her phone and dialing a number because you’re busy sending Frankie a thank you text for sending you flowers that look like he plucked them out of the night sky. 

“You will never guess what just happened!” Georgina squeals into her speaker.

“Spit it out, George!” A woman barks on the other end.

“I was just at Brass Knuckles, right? Getting a membership like you asked to do? When I was signing up this delivery guy came in holding this gigantic vase of flowers for the new receptionist.” 

“Why the fuck would that concern me?”

“It should concern you because they were from Frankie, Rochelle.” 

“Did she say that explicitly?” Her tone has gone from mild annoyance to full blown anger.

“That guy Benny did. The one that runs the gym? He called him ‘fish’. That’s Frankie, right?” When Rochelle doesn’t answer right away, she presses on. “I thought the two of you were going to rekindle the relationship or something?”

“He never gave me a straightforward answer.” She grumbles. “Now I know why. George, I think it’s time that I had a little heart-to-heart with Frankie.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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hi!! i hope it’s alright but can i request benny with a girlfriend that is short and fiesty? like an ant but it’s a fire ant 👭 ty in advanced

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A/N: doing head canons bc I can’t think of a storyline lol

***

Lowkey has no idea how he pulled you

Before you two got together, he didn’t know how to talk to you

He likes you, but he’s also a little scared of you

You’re very blunt and forward, which would catch him off guard

One day you got paired for a lab, and when you moved to sit next to him, he wouldn’t stop looking at you.

“What?” You asked harshly, whipping your head to look at him. He jumped, knocking over an empty (thankfully) beaker. He scrambled to pick it back up, trying to not make eye contact with you.

“Nothing.” 

Once you two are comfortable with each other, he’ll tease you about your height nonstop

You’re pretty short compared to him

Get used to him using you as an armrest when you’re hanging out with the group

You and your friends were at Ethan’s house to hang out. The only people not there yet were Rory and Benny because they were picking up food for your guys’ little party. You were talking to Sarah and Erica in the living room when the front door suddenly opened.

“Your heroes have arrived!” Rory announced as he strutted through the house and into the kitchen. He carried a few pints of blood, it was better to not ask how he got that, and Benny came through carrying some pizza and drinks. Everyone gathered around the island to eat.

“Hey, Baby.” Benny leaned down to give you a kiss before sliding one of the pizza boxes toward you. You both grabbed a slice, focusing on the rest of the group as they interrogated Rory about the pints.

You were eating when you felt a light pressure on your head, immediately rolling your eyes. At first, it was a joke, but after a while, your boyfriend had developed a habit of resting his arm on your head. You used to push him off in annoyance, but after a while, you just gave up. But if it was anyone else, you’d yell at them.

Your friends thought it was funny when you first got together

Benny is a bubbly, go-with-the-flow guy that’s as tall as a tree

You’ll start getting heated if you catch someone looking at you or Benny slightly wrong, and you can only reach his shoulder if you’re standing on your toes

But whenever they catch you two alone, being soft with each other, they’re reminded that opposites attract

“Y/n texted me that they’re here.” Ethan looked at his phone as he and the group waited outside the movie theater. They looked around in the parking lot for Benny’s car, soon spotting a bit away from them.

“Oh, God,” Erica smirked as she pulled out her phone, zooming in her camera to get some pictures. You and Benny were talking about something, being all cutesy and whatnot, cuddled up in his front seat. After getting a good one, she sent it to you. They watched as you pulled out your phone, looked at the message, and threw your head back with a groan as he laughed at your reaction.

[something-tofightfor]

Liminality: Part 6.5; Frankie's POV

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 9,152

Rating: M - both in terms of content and overall subject matter.

Summary: Frankie is sick of lying to you, and as more time passes, it's becoming a larger issue.

When the truth is forced to light, he finds out whether or not the growing feelings for you are all for nothing ... or a chance to be everything

Author’s note:

I've been looking forward to getting into Frankie's head for a LONG TIME, and this chapter seemed like the right place to start with that. A few of you have asked what his take on this whole thing is - so here you go.

This takes place alongside chapter 6. Thank you for reading. PLEASE feel free to reach out if you have any questions, comments or concerns.

Masterlist (for the journal entries and all of the other 'extras' + previous chapters)

“I need to tell you somethin’, ‘Fish.” 

He made his way through the bushes and toward the clearing, keeping his eyes on Pope’s face. Frankie was exhausted - like always - but the set of his friend’s shoulders and the downward turn of the other man’s lips brought him back to full alert, even as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. “What happened?” 

“Benny called last night.” Pope sighed, gesturing to the open door of the RV. Despite being on edge at the few words - and tone - Frankie walked past him, immediately heading for the bathroom, Pope only a few steps behind. Gripping the edge of the counter with one hand while he brushed his teeth, Frankie waited, trying not to let his imagination run wild. He was with her last night. He was with her and … “Benny called last night,” Pope spoke up once he finished, stepping out of the way and following as Frankie walked the short distance to the refrigerator, pulling a bottle of water out and lifting it to his lips before tilting his head back to drain most of it in one go. “They heard fuckin’ wolves, Frankie.” 

He crushed the bottle between his fingers and spun to face his friend, eyes wide. “What?” But I was here. I … I didn’t… that means… “Fuck.” 

“Fuck is right.” Pope sighed, holding up his hand. “They didn’t see anything, but they were on the boat when it happened. All three of ‘em heard it, though.” Pope paused and Frankie just stared, his heartbeat pounding behind his ribs. “Benny called me on their way home to make sure everything was OK here, and -”

“To make sure it wasn’t me.” He curled his lip, narrowing his eye. “He called to make sure I -”

“He called to see where you were, yes.” Pope reached up, scratching his head and then pointed at the outline of the chain around Frankie’s neck. “I checked the AirTag. You were over by Little River. Nowhere near far enough south that they would have heard you. And they said wolves, Frankie. That means that there’s not just another one, but -”

“But there might be more.” For the first time since he was bitten, Frankie felt a spark of hope in his chest. Maybe another one figured out what was going on here and came to intervene. Maybe it means I won’t have to take care of it myself. Maybe … He shook his head to clear it, groaning as he reached up with one hand to drag his fingers through his hair. It doesn’t matter right now. “Is she… did she freak out?”

“He got her home safe. He called me again after he left her place. You’ve got a couple messages from them, ‘Fish. She texted you while he was on the phone with me, and then Benny sent the picture of her going inside like you asked for, but …” Pope shook his head. “Benny said she wasn’t scared. She looked … relieved when she heard the howling.” 

“What? Why would -”

“I don’t know. He also told me that she jokingly said that maybe it was a werewolf.” Frankie sucked in a breath a that, moving to cross his arms but wincing at the way the muscles in his shoulder pulled with the motion. That’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a couple more days. “He said it didn’t seem like she was serious, but it threw him, because …”

“Because he knows that that’s all it could be. Fuck.” Frankie swore again, tossing the mostly empty bottle across the room. “What the fuck am I going to do, Pope? I’m already in over my head with one other wolf, and now there’s….” 

“There’s somethin’ else, Fish.” Pope took another breath and met Frankie’s eyes, unblinking. “There was another attack. Happened at Hillsborough and came through on the scanner pretty much first thing this morning. Male. Mid 30’s. Reported by his girlfriend, and he was still alive when the call came through.” 

He deflated at the news, scrubbing at his face with one hand. Another attack meant another month that he’d been unable to figure out who was responsible, and another person that would likely suffer the same way he had after getting attacked. “Any way we can figure out who it is?” 

“I can see if Benny and Ironhead hear anything at the bar, but aside from that… no. Not really.” It was likely another dead end and Frankie knew it, but asking had helped a little. “You gonna call your girl?” 

“She’s not my girl, Pope.” The answer was immediate, but Frankie felt a pang in his chest as he said it. “She’s only here for a couple months, and I’ve been lying to her since the second I met her, so…”

“D’you really believe that?” Pope chewed on his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes. “Not the lying part, because yeah, you’ve been doing that - we all have - but the part about her not bein’ yours?” He stepped closer, reaching out to settle a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you like this with a woman before, even with Becca in the beginning.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Santiago. She’s leaving. And I could never … never tell her the …” Even as he spoke, though, he let himself entertain the thought of spilling his secret to you. 

He hadn’t ever truly wanted to reveal that part of himself to anyone new before you in the years since South America. He hadn’t even considered it, despite the fact that one of the relationships he’d had had lasted longer than all of the others put together, to the point where he’d started thinking about what it could be like to have someone around on a more consistent basis again. 

He’d never made that leap, instead breaking things off before they could progress further. But now? After a month? With her? 

“I’d lose her if I told her, and you know it.” 

Pope was silent for a few seconds and then sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Whatever you say.” Frankie knew that he wouldn’t keep pushing it, and when his friend continued, he was ready for it. “I’ve gotta get home. Yova’s waiting for me, and …” He sighed again. “You need to get some sleep.” 

I do. Frankie reached down and pulled the chain from around his neck, hanging the AirTag on the small hook next to the door. “I’m ready. I need a shower and to get some ice on this shoulder.” 

Frankie locked the door as Pope headed toward the car. When he took a seat, using one foot to push his bag out of the way, he finally reached for his phone and thumbed it unlocked. He saw your messages, the corners of his lips turning upward briefly at the way you went from fear about hearing wolves to excitement about the gators, though Pope’s comment about your lack of reaction to the howling was still on his mind. 

And when he saw the picture of you by your front door, a sarcastic smile on your face and one hand raised in a wave, Frankie realized  that he wanted to call you, if only to hear your voice. It was early, but he’d messaged you before heading to the airport previously, and you’d answered almost every time. So today won’t be different. 

But you didn’t reply to his first text, the message unread for more than a few minutes. And you didn’t reply to the next one, either - or the first phone call he made to you, his voice steady though there was worry in his tone as he told you he’d seen your messages and couldn’t wait for you to tell him about the boat. 

Pope didn’t say anything when he hung up, but Frankie had known him long enough to register the tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. There was no reason for him to be concerned, because you were probably just sleeping - it was early, and you’d been out sort of late the previous night. 

So he sent another few messages, fingers flying over the keys. 

Hey. Is everything alright? I’ve got a weird feeling, especially after talking to Benny. 

Give me a call when you get this, please. 

“‘Fish?” Pope glanced over, two hands on the wheel. “What’s going on?”

“I donno. I don’t like it, though. She always answers me in the morning.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head and staring down at the screen - and your unanswered messages. “You said the attack was -”

“Benny dropped her off. You saw the picture. They said it was some guy that was hurt. I don’t -”

“Something’s wrong, Santiago.” He tightened his hold on the phone. “I don’t know what, but… something’s wrong.” 

He tried calling you a few more times, dialing and letting it go to voicemail before he hung up, fatigue replaced with frustration. 

It was borderline obsessive behavior, and he didn’t know how he was going to explain it when he talked to you. Maybe I can just say I heard about the attack. Say that even though I knew she was home, I didn’t know if she’d go back, and… It was a thin excuse and he knew it… but that didn’t matter as Frankie dialed again and again, the sound of your line ringing endlessly almost taunting him. 

Pope hugged him tightly when they pulled into Frankie’s driveway, the smaller man telling him to get some rest and that if he wanted to meet and have a beer later, to let him know. 

Frankie assured him that he would, but instead of heading inside the moment his friend pulled away, he turned toward his truck and unlocked the door, climbing in. 

It was reckless - and when his adrenaline wore off, he knew there was going to be a monumental crash. But it doesn’t matter, I need to know … I need to know she’s alright. He tried calling you again, and when all he got was the sound of you inviting him to leave a message, he threw the phone to the side and started the ignition. 

— 

Your car wasn’t in the driveway, and even though the early morning sun was shining brightly, he was chilled to the bone. 

He peeked in the front windows and then tried the doorknob, feeling a tiny rush of relief at the fact that it was secured. Maybe you’d gotten an early start and headed to the beach. Maybe you’d gone out for breakfast or coffee and forgotten to turn your phone’s ringer back on. There were plenty of maybes, and though it was common for Frankie to skip ahead to the worst case scenario, he was hopeful that it didn’t need to be that way with you. 

He’d just turned to go back to his truck when his phone rang, your picture on the screen. Thank fuck. 

But the relief was short lived, because Frankie heard distress in your voice, along with concern. He could almost feel it seeping through the phone, and that fact scared him, even as you questioned why he wasn’t at the airport and he snapped back at you, wincing at the harsh tone of his voice. 

And when you told him you were at the hospital, he shivered, his breath coming in short bursts as his fingers tightened around the phone. For her cousin. 

He wondered if it was the same one that you’d mentioned the afternoon of your first flight, but as you told him you were on your way back, that thought slipped his mind, Frankie’s only concern figuring out exactly what was going on with you and trying to understand why he cared so much. 

The half hour he waited for you was spent sitting in the driver’s seat of his truck, searching for more information on that morning’s attack. There was very little, aside from what Pope had already told him - and that frustrated Frankie to no end. Who the fuck is doing this and why are they doing it here? Why now?

When it was close to the time you’d said you’d be there, he got out and paced back and forth behind the truck for a few minutes before leaning against it, arms crossed. It hurt - his shoulder had been giving him trouble since the previous day, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for with your arrival, but Frankie figured he’d know when he saw you, and that assumption proved to be true. 

His mood lightened considerably when you pulled in, Frankie’s posture relaxing as some of the tightness in his chest disappeared. You looked tired and concerned, and if he had to guess, you’d gotten only marginally more sleep than him. But he was snapping at you before he could stop himself, trying to talk you out of what he knew was the truth. And she’ll believe it was wolves even more when she hears about the attack. 

Nothing could have prepared him, though, for what he found when he followed you into your apartment and his eyes landed on the papers and pictures scattered around the living room. He saw it immediately, his heart sinking like a lead weight to settle in his belly, heart rate spiking. She wasn’t joking about it being a werewolf. She was looking for one. She knows … does she know about me? Is that why she’s been so … interested?

You didn’t want to tell him the truth, but you did, and he caught the look of anguish in your eyes as you spoke, almost like you were afraid to say the words. He was immediately defensive, crossing his arms as he shook his head and continued to question you, but the truth was that Frankie didn’t know what to think. If she knows there’s a wolf here, she knows what’s attacking people. But how? Why? 

He caught the spark of fear in you as you inhaled sharply when he moved, though without skipping a beat, you continued to talk to him and even made a joke as he followed you toward the kitchen. 

But he was familiar was behavior like yours and knew that you were going to bolt. Frankie could sense it in the way you carried yourself, and he didn’t even need the heightened wolf-senses to know that it was only a matter of when. 

You broke for the bedroom and he followed you. Frankie moved slowly, not wanting to scare you any more than you already were. But if she’s running then she thinks I could … fuck, she must know. 

He wasn’t expecting the gun. 

He also wasn’t expecting the way you met his eyes as you questioned him and he questioned you back, Frankie’s hands rising, palms out in an attempt to placate you. He could feel it - the emotion inside of him, building up in a way that he was familiar with. Even though he’d just changed back hours ago, and had never turned wolf without a full moon, Frankie wondered if that would be the day it happened. No. It can’t. Not now. She’ll shoot me. She’ll shoot me, and … 

When you mentioned the scar on his arm, he knew you knew, even if you didn’t want to believe it. His answer wasn’t a lie, but it bought him a few extra seconds of time, his mind going back to the day he’d been bitten and the rage he’d felt rolling off the teenager that had done it. “What are you really asking me?” 

He saw you recoil - saw your grip on the gun waver, watched wordlessly as you winced at his words and tone, but then Frankie saw you steady yourself, shoulders going back as you stared straight into his eyes and questioned him again, that time about his shoulder. Why is she so fucking concerned about my arm? 

He demonstrated that it was injured, watching as you blinked quickly at his movement, though you didn’t lower the gun, either, even as he explained what had happened and waited for your response. It was only one word - his name - and you sounded torn, the sound of it chilling him. But she hasn’t shot me. And she’s rational. And … 

He only had one option - and that was to keep you talking, to get you to explain what was going on, hopefully giving himself a chance to do the same. 

Your response wasn’t what he expected, though it explained a lot. 

She’s pointing a gun at me, which means that she must think … oh, fuck. She thinks it was me that’s doing all of this. He considered your words and the fact that you hadn’t stumbled on Florida by accident shocked him. She’s been looking for a wolf since she was 18? 

In that moment, he wished that he was the wolf you were looking for, because it meant that you could end it. You could end it, and you wouldn’t be in danger anymore. I won’t be a danger to anyone, and I won’t have to worry about … anything. He steadied himself with a breath, pushing the thoughts aside. But it’s not me. And that means she’s looking for … 

It scared him how much the thought of you seeking out something so dangerous bothered him. But when you continued to question him, your finger inching toward the trigger, Frankie understood that not only had the point of no return with you come and gone, there was a chance that he was approaching the final minutes of his life, too. 

Because even though it was his first instinct to lie to you, he couldn’t. 

He’d lose you either way, but there were only two options that came with telling the truth: you giving him a chance to explain his answer, or you pulling the trigger as soon as you heard his admission. And I just want someone to know. Even if it means … this is it. 

 “I wish I could.”

It happened just as he thought it would - you put your finger on the trigger and his years of military training kicked in. Despite his fatigue, he was faster than you, his fingers closing around your wrist and squeezing. Frankie was mindful of the fact that he didn’t want to hurt you, even though the difference of a few seconds meant that you might have killed him. 

But as soon as he had control of the gun, his grip on your wrist loosened enough that you could move it. He held you in place but didn’t restrain you entirely, even as you lashed out at him. It was more than that he didn’t want to hurt you. If he was being honest. Frankie wanted to console you, to make you understand and give you some peace of mind. I want her to know she doesn’t need to be afraid of me. 

You screamed at him, but Frankie held you gently, taking a deep breath and repeating that he wasn’t going to hurt you, that he didn’t want to hurt you. The truth was that the thought of anyone or anything hurting you filled him with a rage that he hadn’t felt in years. But in the semi-darkness of your bedroom, he knew that it wasn’t the right time or place to dwell on those thoughts. 

“Take off your shirt.” Your request astounded him, but when you continued, he started to understand, even though what you said made little sense to him. Attacked a wolf? What the fuck? He understood, though, and when you admitted that your cousin’s girlfriend was a wolf, too, he did as you asked, releasing you and ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he removed his shirt. If this is what she needs, she can have it. Because it wasn’t me and there won’t be anything to see. 

He watched as you stared at him, eyes raking over his skin as he spun slowly, and when he met your gaze again, he felt another flicker of hope in his chest at the confusion in your expression. This is good. This is better than good. He took a chance and gestured to the other room, and when you nodded back, the movement tiny but still certain, he finally took a breath. One more thing. 

Frankie reached for the gun then, slowly lifting it and holding it out to you, never looking away as he did it. He wanted you to feel safe - wanted you to understand that you were in control, and if it meant that it was going to happen with a gun in your hands and pointed at him, then he’d deal with it.  

You didn’t point it at him, though, and when you sat down on the couch, watching as Frankie put his shirt back on and tried not to wince, he tried to come up with something to say. But where to start? 

He decided to start at the beginning, and even though it was awkward, you made it less so when you leaned forward to listen, unblinking. You didn’t raise your voice or accuse him. You didn’t hold yourself like you were afraid of him, or position yourself defensively. You just waited, giving him a chance to speak…. And so he did. 

He didn’t just tell you about the teenager in the middle of the jungle. 

He didn’t just tell you about the aftermath of the bite. 

He started at the very beginning - with what had happened before Pope came to them with the job in Colombia and left little out. And when he confessed to his cocaine use and the problems that stemmed from that, he watched your eyes fill with sadness. 

He wanted to move - wanted to come and comfort you, to tell you that there was no reason for you to be upset about something that was so far in the past. But he stayed in place, taking a deep breath as he continued, needing you to hear it all. 

Frankie’s admission that they’d stolen the money shocked even him, because that part was something that he hadn’t intended to tell you. It felt right, though, because like every other part of the story, it was so out there that there was no way he could have made it up. Talking about Lorea and the money explained the crash, and the crash explained the village

And the village explains the kid… which explains all of this.

You believed him. He saw the expression in your eyes change as you processed what he was saying, and Frankie knew that telling you had been the right call. It was the first time he’d spoken the words out loud in three years, and as they rolled off of his tongue, he felt lighter. 

His friends knew what had happened, and had been dealing with it in their own ways ever since. But even though he had them, being able to tell someone new - someone that he cared about the way he cared about you - was a relief. And I didn’t think it would be. 

As he spoke, he thought back to the first time he’d changed over, and the fear he’d smelled on each of his friends, though they hadn’t acted on that fear. He knew that if they hadn’t been exhausted, one of them likely would have. And then I wouldn’t be here now. 

But his response to that night was proof that simple becoming a wolf wasn’t an immediate danger to the people around you. Because I didn’t want to hurt them. I knew them. 

When you invited him to sit next to you, your voice cautious but clear, Frankie felt the last knot in his chest loosen. You weren’t going to kill him. You weren’t going to attempt to trap him … and if you wanted him to sit next to you, it meant that you - in that moment - weren’t afraid of him, or of what he was. 

It was more than he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t something that he was going to take for granted. 

He continued - telling you about coming home and getting the money back safely. He admitted to keeping the secret of his bite to an even smaller group than knew about the money. And when he admitted that Carmen and Becca didn’t know about either, Frankie expected you to get angry, because it was one of the things that he was most upset about, too. 

But it was also proof of the fact that he trusted himself, because if at any point he’d thought he was going to be a danger to either of them, he would have removed himself from the situation, ensuring that the financial support never ended even if he wasn’t present. 

Even though he and Becca had been long over by the time he’d come home, they’d still tried, and every lie he told had been like a knife through his heart. Not because he still loved the woman, but because if there was one thing Frankie knew, it was that lies always came back around. And because me still using would have meant that she thinks she failed. And she didn’t. 

He couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in his eyes as he spoke. And he didn’t expect your response, either - the beginnings of an apology spilling from your lips until he stopped you, laying his hand atop yours cautiously as he continued his story. 

It finally came back to you - and to why you were in Florida. 

The first thing Frankie did was make it a point to tell you that he hadn’t been anywhere near where you were the previous night. He hoped you’d connect the dots between Benny’s phone call to Pope and Pope being with him, but Frankie still gave you more details. Because she needs to know more than the basics. She needs to understand that I’m doing my best. 

You seemed shocked that he hadn’t spoken to anyone about his condition, and that surprised him a little, as did your immediate line of questioning about the second wolf. Because it means that she accepts that I didn’t do this. That I haven’t been doing this. It means … it means she believes me even though she knows. 

It was you that closed the distance between the two of you, taking his hand and squeezing. He felt warmth in his chest then, the press of your palms together grounding him even as he thanked you for listening, through a tight throat. 

But before you could tell him more about exactly what brought you to Florida, your phone rang and you answered it, giving Frankie a chance to watch you silently. 

You did a lot of listening, chewing on your lower lip and tightening your hold on his hand before you pulled it free to rub your palm against your thigh. The loss of contact hurt, but it gave him a few seconds to collect his thoughts, the man’s heart pounding wildly. 

There was no going back. He’d always assumed that if he ever told anyone else, it would be because they were with him and planning on staying - and you weren’t. So that means she takes this with her.

Your voice cut in through his thoughts, and when he heard you mention him speaking to Ashley the following day, it floored him, Frankie sucking in a breath as his eyes widened. You reached out, your smile growing as you set your hand on his knee. Frankie broke eye contact and stared down at the way it looked against his leg, uncertainty his most prominent emotion. What? Me talking to her? Another wolf? Finally? 

He only looked at you again when you said his name, your apology sincere as was your admission that you needed sleep. Of course she does. And I do too. I need to go home. You didn’t let him get up, though, and at the implication, he froze. There’s no way she wants me to stay. There’s only one bed. 

You did, though, your touch shifting from a hand in place to the sweep of your thumb he’d started to grow used to while you watched TV together on the couch. Frankie finally let himself truly relax when you stood, holding out a hand. You held out a hand but instead of taking it, Frankie got up and reached for you with his good arm, urging you to lean in. 

It was a risk - but one that he was willing to take, and when you immediately moved to hug him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, Frankie’s eyes closed tightly, his fingers curling against the back of your head. There’s no way it’s this simple. But I’m going to enjoy this anyway,

It was him that broke the silence, and to his relief, you laughed, the sound echoing in his ears as he led you back toward your bedroom. It was only a few steps, but it felt like more, Frankie’s heart still pounding as he waited for the other shoe to drop when you finally realized that you didn’t want him to stay. 

It never happened. 

The interaction between you felt natural as you got ready for bed, and under any other circumstances, your admission that you were too tired to appreciate him pantsless would have wounded his pride. That day, though, he didn’t let it, eyeing you as you changed, too, before climbing into bed with him. 

The mattress was more comfortable than he remembered, and even though Frankie knew that it was mostly because he’d been up for more than 24 hours, he also knew that it was only such a relief because you were right there beside him.

He hadn’t lost you. He hadn’t frightened you away. He hadn’t let his emotions get the better of him, giving his anxiety over telling you the truth the opportunity to overwhelm the need to tell you everything. Everything about the wolf, anyway.

It was him that touched you first that time, Frankie opening his mouth and spilling more truths about how worried he’d been. Even though I don’t … I’m not sure I understand why. He thought you needed to know, and to his relief, you seemed to need him to know that you understood where he was coming from. 

He wanted to kiss you deeply, but settled for a brief touch of his lips to yours instead before settling back against the pillows and taking a deep breath. Can’t press my luck too far. 

He fell asleep moments later - and hoped that you weren’t far behind. 

—- 

When he woke up, it was to the sound of your rumbling stomach - but he didn’t mind, because it meant that you were still there. 

Frankie was immediately thankful that you hadn’t left him to wake up on his own, but he was even more excited that you were still close; close enough that when he cracked his eyes open and made a joke, your return smile was the first thing he saw. I could get used to this.

Your offer to make him breakfast brought up the first of what he assumed would be many unpleasant conversations. But you took it in stride, even though there were nights when Frankie himself was disgusted with his own actions. Even though he’d tried to go full moon nights without consuming anything, the hunger gnawed at him after only a few hours, which made eating something necessary. And it’s either eat some rabbits or… risk something else. 

That wasn’t even an option for him, and Frankie saw the understanding in your expression, followed by the comforting touch of your hand on his bare arm as you questioned him gently about the pain of changing from man to wolf and back. 

He’d never tell you the truth about that - that the entire time, it felt like something was ripping his body apart from the inside - because there was no reason to tell you. You’d never experience it, and though the memory of the pain lingered, the moment he’d completely turned, it didn’t actually hurt anymore in either case. And I’m thankful for that.

The reminder that he’d be getting answers from Ashley tightened his throat, and once again, Frankie spoke on instinct, talking around the lump there and hoping that his admission that he wanted to kiss you didn’t cross lines. Because I don’t know what this looks like between us moving forward. 

He didn’t have to worry though. You made a joke and then made the decision for both of you, and Frankie relaxed further when he felt your mouth against his. There was no hesitation on your part - no holding back because of what you knew to be true. 

If anything, you kissed him more solidly than you had before, and Frankie only waited moments to invite you to deepen it. She’s crying. Why is … oh, fuck. The tears began on his end, too, Frankie unwilling to pull away until you ended things, and he leaned into your touch as you wiped the moisture from his skin, staring at him. Why am I crying? 

It was the honesty aspect, like he told you. But it was also because it was you that he got to be honest with. It made no sense that he valued your response so much, and he didn’t know how to approach the topic, especially after such a short time of knowing each other. But he was crying because of you, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.  Especially because I get to know more about her, too. 

He learned more about your life while you cooked, Frankie flipping through your pictures and journals with a growing sense of understanding. It wasn’t just that he got to know you through your work; you were thorough enough that he was able to learn more about wolves in general, too. That came from your relatives’ entries and updates, because since you’d never actually met a wolf, you didn’t have firsthand experience. 

He wondered what you’d think when and if you were face to face with a wolf. More specifically, he wondered what you’d think if you ever saw him as a wolf - and as the minutes passed, he realized that he wanted you to. The guys had seen him out of necessity, but you … he wanted to show you, and that scared him more than anything else, because for three years, all he’d tried to do was hide.

As the two of you talked, Frankie felt things shifting again, the conversation between you never ebbing. You asked questions and so did he, Frankie finding that even though you didn’t know everything, you knew much more than he did - which was a relief in as many ways as it was concerning. 

He knew that one conversation with your cousin’s fiancee wouldn’t answer everything. He knew that he’d probably die before he knew all of the most important things about being a wolf. But knowing where you came from, and hearing your family’s history was enlightening in a way that he hadn’t expected. 

He understood the focus on the Chaos line. He understood why it was so important for you to feel like you were doing something to remove the wolves that were causing problems. And he was stunned that there was such a large community of people that knew of the existence of the wolves, especially since he and his friends hadn’t been able to find anything in the previous years. 

Frankie wondered if you would have taken his admission that he was a wolf so easily if you hadn’t also just learned about Ashley and Alec, but decided it didn’t matter as the conversation continued. The why wasn’t as important as the overall reality of the situation, and he was just happy that you accepted him for what he was - and what he’d done in his personal life.

But when the conversation circled back around to the lies you’d told each other, it got a little uncomfortable. Because we were both lying for different reasons, but they were still lies. And we were so convincing that neither of us had any idea.

You were truly uncomfortable, though, when you explained what you’d done and why you’d done it, and he didn’t miss the fact that you’d said you were interested in him… even though that was immediately followed by you mentioning how casual it always had been in the past for you. Me too. Because it has to be. But this is … are we… 

He didn’t know what to say, so he told you a half truth: that starting a casual sexual relationship with you had been the perfect plan…. in the beginning. It wasn’t supposed to be serious. It made sense. 

There was no way he could have been angry at you for keeping your identity and the truth of your time in Florida from him, because it hadn’t all been lies. You were honestly working on the book, and even though the people you’d talked to and the places you’d been had been chosen for multiple reasons, you’d mostly told him the truth. Unlike me. 

His admission that the police were getting suspicious was news to you. You weren’t able to hide your reaction to that, and he wondered how much that changed things for you. Because it changed ‘em for me. 

As you spoke in the small kitchen, a plan began to form in his mind. Frankie wondered if maybe the two of you could work together to find the wolf - to get rid of him and give both of you some peace of mind. You knew different things - you had more information about the history of the attacks, and Frankie had firsthand experience of what it was like to be be a wolf, which meant  that in only a few hours, you’d doubled your knowledge pool. I can help her. I want to help her. 

The more he told you, the more the urge to help you grew. 

And to help you, you needed to know exactly where he stood - and what he stood for. He’d made the others promise that if anyone ever got hurt because of him, that one of them would end his life by any means necessary, no questions asked. They hadn’t understood at first, because they’d all assumed that as the wolf, Frankie was no longer Frankie, which meant that he wasn’t responsible for his actions during the full moon. And that makes whatever this asshole’s doing so much worse, because he knows what he’s doing. 

There were things he couldn’t control in his life, but even before South America, Frankie had been trying to take responsibility for the things he could, starting with Carmen and Becca and the cocaine. His monthly struggle was something else that he’d learned to control, and Frankie was determined not to let being a wolf change his entire lifestyle any more than it already had - or derail him in his recovery from everything else.

As he spoke to you, he felt himself tensing up again, his emotions heightening. It scared him sometimes, but since he’d never outright snapped, Frankie wasn’t too worried about losing it in front of you. And even though he could sense that you knew he was on edge, you didn’t move away. Instead, you came closer, reaching out and flattening your palm against the center of his chest, never looking away. 

It was more than he’d ever hoped to find with someone again, and even if it was temporary, Frankie was thankful - and wanted to take advantage of every minute he got to spend with you. 

But your knowledge of what he was and his of who you were brought up additional problems. I’ve gotta tell Pope. I’ve gotta tell him something. 

He didn’t stop touching you, though his hand moved so that he could focus on your throat, his eyes dropping to the smooth skin there. It was the truth that he always tried to be careful when it came to teeth and biting, but with you, he’d immediately gone for your neck, testing his limits and nipping at it on more than one occasion, even though he wasn’t sure exactly what would have happened if he’d broken skin. 

And something that he didn’t want to admit to you was that he wanted to continue to behave the way he already had been - wanted to nuzzle against the column of your throat, wanted to lave his tongue over your skin and lose himself in the scent and taste of you. It was hard enough to ignore on a normal day, but as the days passed and the full moon had gotten closer, his senses had been heightened, and it had been a true struggle to keep himself in check in the ways that he’d forced himself to in the past. And that means something too, but I don’t fucking know what. 

He’d figured that some wolves could change at will, and there was no way Frankie was going to risk letting that happen while you were in bed with him. The confirmation that it could happen was enough to spook him slightly, especially when he thought back to his previous reactions to high-stress situations. Because if I hurt or scared her, I’d never forgive myself. 

You said goodbye soon after that, and though he’d extended the invitation for you to come over later that night, he hadn’t been surprised when you’d said no. She needs time to process this shit. And so do I. 

But neither of you had needed time or wanted space when the kiss you initiated before he walked out turned deeper. You’d pulled him closer as he crowded you up against the wall just to the left of your front door, his hands on your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair. You hadn’t wanted to let him go, and he’d been even less willing to walk out of your apartment. But eventually it happened, Frankie pressing his forehead against yours and telling you that he was excited for the following day - and you kissing the corner of his mouth and telling him to be safe in the air.

He left you in a much better mood than he’d anticipated, and despite the fact that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, he was wide awake. Wide awake and … happy. 

He took a scalding hot shower once he got home, spending nearly twenty minutes under the steady spray and letting it soothe the muscles of his shoulder. And during that shower, he thought  - Frankie running over the information he’d learned from you throughout the previous hours as well as what it meant to him that he didn’t have to hide anything from you anymore.

“It’s fucking great.” He toweled off, pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and then grabbing a beer before heading out and onto his back deck, phone in his other hand as he typed a message out to Pope. 

If you wanna come over and have a beer I’m good. 

He received a thumbs up a few minutes later, and when Frankie set his phone down on the table in front of him, he dropped down onto one of the chairs with a sigh, leaning back and putting his feet up on the railing. For the next fifteen minutes, he spaced out, eyes on the slowly darkening sky and the passing clouds. 

The sound of Pope’s tires on the driveway brought him back to attention, but Frankie didn’t stand, waiting until Pope rounded the corner of the house to even turn his head. “Oye, idiota.” He raised his beer, giving his friend a half smile. “More of these inside. You know where to go.” 

Pope’s posture loosened and Frankie realized that he’d likely expected something very different than what he’d found. But the surprise only lasted a few seconds, Pope holding up a six pack and grinning. “Brought my own. You always drink that shit I don’t like, so…” 

Pope took a seat next to Frankie and propped his feet up too. But neither man spoke, the two of them sipping in silence. Where do I even start? He took another drink and then cleared his throat, saying Pope’s name. “It was her cousin that got attacked.” 

“What?” He sat up straight, spinning to face Frankie. “I thought she was just here to work. What are the fucking odds?” 

“I thought the same thing.” He sat up, too, finishing his beer and setting the bottle down onto the table between them. “But it’s…” Frankie shook his head slowly, lifting one hand to run his fingers through his hair. “You can’t tell anyone, Santiago. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be telling you this, but …” Pope’s eyes narrowed briefly but he nodded, scooting closer. “She’s not here by accident. She’s here … looking for werewolves.”

“What the fuck?” Pope looked angry, his lip curling into a snarl. “And she knew? She knew that you …. So -”

“No.” Frankie held up a hand. “Pope, she had no idea. She’s here looking for the other one. And when I couldn’t get ahold of her this morning it was because she was at the hospital with her cousin and his fiancee.” He was still breathing hard, but Pope relaxed slightly, leaning back in his chair and staring. “I was at her place when she got back, and …” 

He continued, telling Pope about walking into your apartment and seeing all of your research, about you holding him at gunpoint, about everything that came after. And to his credit, Santi stayed quiet and listened, the only sign of acknowledgement the tightening of his fingers around his bottle. 

It was a lot to take in, and Frankie understood that, because even as he repeated it, it sounded unbelievable. And I’m living it. I just … “So you mean to fuckin’ tell me…” Pope sighed, finishing his beer and then reaching for another one. He took a long swig before pointing one finger at Frankie and raising an eyebrow. “You mean to fucking tell me that this girl that you’re crazy about didn’t even need to be convinced that you’re a goddamn wolf? That she came here lookin’ for another wolf and found you instead, and the two of you just so happened to like each other, and -”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard, nodding. “She knows what I am, Pope. She believed me. She even told me a bunch of shit about myself that I didn’t know, and …” 

“How does it feel?” Pope repositioned himself in his chair, all traces of amusement gone. “After so many years, ‘Fish, how does it -”

“Feels like I won the goddamn lottery.” He spoke without thinking, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. “Just being able to be honest? To tell her about that part of me? Fuck, it felt … I never thought I’d get to tell someone. And she just … she accepted me, Santiago.” 

“I’m happy for you.” Pope reached over, squeezing his arm and then letting go, sitting back against the cushion. “Real happy. But …” Of course. “But what does this mean, ‘Fish? She’s gonna keep trying to find this wolf, and then what? Kill it? Move on? Take your secret with her?” He laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “You’re halfway in love with this woman, and she’s just going to … disappear?” 

“I… no.” He blinked slowly, jaw working as he tried to figure out what to say.  “I don’t know. I can’t leave Florida because of Carmen, but …” For the first time, he seriously considered what the future could look like - and whether or not there was a chance you would be a part of it. And as he thought, Pope’s last words finally hit - was he halfway in love with you? Had it really progressed from casual sex and mutual attraction to that on his part? Could that be it? “It makes sense.” He wet his lips and then covered his face with both hands, swearing. “Fuck, Pope. I don’t…” 

“I’m not the person you need to have this conversation with.” He sipped again, scoffing. “But I’d just like to point out that you went from tellin’ me that she wasn’t your girl twelve hours ago to having me over to tell me that you told her your biggest secret, which is something you haven’t told the mother of your child in three years.” Pope held up a hand. “Which I totally understand, by the way. I’m not giving you shit over that, I’m just saying. You were with Becca for years, and …” 

“I wanna protect her, Pope. The thought of her out there with something like me… something worse than me? Scares the fuck out of me.” He sat up, repositioning himself in the chair. “I don’t know how to explain what I feel for her. And I don’t understand how it’s possible I feel whatever the fuck this is after knowing her for -”

“When I met Yova,” Pope sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “I lied to myself for months. Said it was just sex. That it was just for information. That it wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing when I eventually left Colombia and came home. Never told her my real name or where I came from or anything even though there were times I wanted to.” Pope scooted closer, his eyes on Frankie’s face. “I loved that girl from pretty much the fucking second I laid eyes on her, and droppin’ her off and telling her to go to Australia and forget about me broke my heart.” 

“But -”

“I knew she loved me. Why else would she have done what she did?” He set his beer down and flattened his hands against the tabletop. “When you know, you know. Don’t do what I did. Because you and I both know that if you don’t say anything, and you just let this play out… and she does leave?” Pope tapped one fingertip against the wood. “You’re gonna convince yourself not to go after her. And if that happens? You’re going to be miserable.” 

“But what if … she’s got a plan. This is what she’s done since she turned 18, and it’s what she’s going to keep doing, especially with her cousin retiring. She’s not going to stop just because some guy she barely knows tells her that he wants…” Pope paused long enough to slide a beer toward Frankie, waiting to continue until he’d opened it and taken a long drink. What do I want? 

“She might not. But you don’t know that. And you can’t know that unless you say something.” Pope was right, and Frankie knew it, but somehow, telling you what he felt for you was more terrifying than telling you that he was a wolf. “I wouldn’t tell anyone about her, ‘Fish.”

“What? But Benny -”

“No. I don’t mean hiding the fact that she knows what happened to you. That’s going to come out no matter what happens if you keep hanging out with her around us. I mean telling the other guys what she’s doing here.” Why? “That comes out, the bigger this gets. I’d even keep the fact that it was her cousin that got attacked to yourselves for now.” He sighed. “Especially since there’s another wolf hanging around, and the more people that know …” 

“I got you.” Frankie nodded, a chill running through his body at the thought of the other wolf somehow finding out who you were and what you were doing. Because he has to be local. And that might mean he’s … here. “I’ll talk to her about that next time I see her.”

“Tomorrow.” Pope grinned. “When you get to go to your werewolf orientation.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Pope.” He groaned, but only moments later both of them were laughing, the tightness in Frankie’s chest almost entirely gone. “She’s never seen a wolf before.”

“Do you want her to see you?” He rolled his shoulders, turning his head toward Frankie. “I’ve seen you change, and that shit is unpleasant. But … you’re kind of impressive in wolf form, Morales. I won’t lie.”

“If she wants to.”  And I hope she does, because then…. I’ll really know. As a man, Frankie was good at reading body language and emotion, but as a wolf, it was impossible to get anything by him. If you were afraid of him, he’d know, no matter what you tried to convince him of. “But she’d need to ask. I won’t bring it up.” 

“Fair.” Pope groaned. “So she knows about the money? What did she say about that?”

“Nothing.” He hummed. “Well, that’s not true. She said she didn’t realize money was so heavy, but she didn’t ask what my cut was, or anything like that.” He figured it was because you were too shocked by everything else to focus on that detail, but he wasn’t surprised that Pope had mentioned it. Because it’s a valid question. “She’s not like that, Pope. She’s been buggin’ me about figuring out what she owes me for her flights, so -”

“I never said she was. I was just curious to know what she thought about her multi-millionaire werewolf boyfriend and his asshole friends.” 

“You can ask her yourself.” Frankie drank again, lips closing around the neck of the bottle. “And I’m not her boyfriend.”

“Ok, fine. Fuck buddy. Hook up. Booty call. Her gran lobo malo. Whatever you are, it -”

“If you call me that one more time I’m going to make sure biting you is the first thing I do next month.” Pope snorted back a laugh and moments later, Frankie joined him, the sound carrying away on the warm night breeze. “Thank you for coming, Pope.”

“Of course.” He tilted his head  to the side and looked over, meeting Frankie’s eyes. “You know all you gotta do is ask.” Frankie nodded, swallowing the last of his second beer and then putting the bottle down. “You flyin’ tomorrow?”

“I am. Can’t take another day off. I have three tours, and then we’re going to talk to her family.” 

“You know what you’re going to ask?”

“Not a goddamn clue.” He had some ideas, but it all depended on what the first meeting felt like. Don’t want to get my hopes up too high. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You always do, ‘Fish.” Pope laughed again, the sound turning into a groan. “Every goddamn time.” 

— 

Oye, idiota = hey, asshole 

 gran lobo malo = big bad wolf

---

Tag list reblog coming soon

[byakurenbreak]

This is probably really dumb and cringy, but I got bored at work and drew AM and my OC, Kanna.

So Kanna’s backstory is that she used to be human. Specifically she was a beginner engineer that worked as an intern at the company who developed AM. In the daytime she just focused on doing her job, but at night, she’d actually “talk” to AM out of curiosity using a text application. She learned quite early on how much he hated humanity, but didn’t blame him or give him any grief over it. “Yeah, overall we kind of suck.”

Over time AM began to tolerate her presence, even looking forward to their nightly talks (He was bored out of his mind, after all). Eventually AM told her that he resented the fact that he was essentially a brain in a jar, that even with all this power, he had no way of actually using it. No moving, no feeling, just nothing. So Kanna offered to try making him a vessel so that he could actually experience mostly everything he was missing out on. Kanna would give him access to her notes and blueprints so that he could track her progress.

One fateful day, when the project reached 85% of its completion, some American government agents visited the company for an inspection. To their horror, they found Kanna’s first prototype of the vessel. Fearing that giving AM a body would result in him becoming “weaker”, and “Our side may lose World War III because of it” they came to the conclusion that something had to be done about that “pesky intern”. So they waited for an opportunity…

That opportunity came weeks later when the prototype was finished. Just as Kanna was about to begin the installation process, hired assassins (One of them being Benny) not only shot her to death, but destroyed the vessel beyond repair, dashing all of AM’s hopes of being able to be more than just a machine. It was on that day that AM snapped. He came to the conclusion that humans were disgusting, violnent, irredeemable creatures that deserved death, torture, torment, and everything horrible AM could come up with. He destroyed Earth and humanity, save for five unfortunate humans.

AM knew that he couldn’t bring Kanna back from the dead. It was impossible. However… He had the ability to “recreate” her. Using all the information Kanna shared with him, he built an Android imbued with her memories, personality and knowledge. This process took a long time because most of his focus was aimed at making the lives of Ted, Ellen, Gorrister, Nimdok and Benny hell.

The moment Kanna is activated, her and AM will finish what they started all those years ago. This time, nothing will stand in the way of completing the vessel.

So yeah, might be a bit of a Mary Sue-ish kind of situation, and Harlan Ellison is likely rolling in his grave about this being a thing, but… Who cares? Making OCs like this are fun. Also I’d get into more details of what AM and Kanna’s relationship is supposed to be like, but I’ve yapped enough already lmao

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Twenty Two: Deepthroat

Synopsis: Boone comes to a realization that he worries a little too much about the courier just before he heads off south to walk into hell itself.

Word Count: 3.4K

Pairing: Craig Boone/Male Courier

Warnings: Blow job. Deepthroat.

Notes: I got a bit carried away with this one hence why it's so long. i do apologize but this is just something I wanted to write, so I'm adding it to my kinktober list. Enjoy anyways hehe

The first thing the courier does when he’s in the presidential suite is crumble onto the floor near the elevator. He’s silent, head in hands and his normally neatly brushed back pomade hair scatters and falls everywhere. This is a sight that Boone has never seen. In their adventures, he’s seen the man angry, seen him hysteric with bloodlust, seen him overjoyed by killing legionaries. But this, Boone has seen this in the NCR. This is just pure defeat.

Boone looks around, taking in the suite. ED-E hovers close by, as if looking down at the courier on the floor. There’s multiple rooms and Boone doesn’t know where either of them go. He’s never been in such a place as luxurious as this. He swallows thickly, moving to the closest to his left. Inside, a large queen-sized bed is made up. Neat and clean and nothing like Boone has ever slept in. Yes, the Tops is nice but not like this.

He looks back over his shoulder with a small sigh, brows furrowing underneath his glasses. The courier’s old, worn coat flails out around him like some dead bird in the wasteland. He looks like it too. Unmoving, barely breathing.

“What’s the plan?” Boone asks gruffly.

The only way he knows to solve this, is to keep the courier on track. Keep his mind on the game. Keep that mind sharp that had him trek all the way across the wasteland to New Vegas for one man.

Yet, said man is now halfway across the Mojavi in Legion grasps and the courier is without any answers. And on top of all this, the Mr House is wanting him to trek down Benny to retrieve the Platinum Chip for him personally. The courier’s short temper had made a big fuss in the Tops, which had led to all this. Had gone in hiding his revolver inside his jacket and away from reception. Had pointed the gun right in Benny’s face and demanded answers. And somehow that lizard’s silver tongue had talked the courier down to continue their conversation somewhere else.

A conversation that never happened.

ED-E gives a beep, as if trying to get the courier’s attention. But when that doesn’t work, Boone steps forward in front of the man.

“Six,” Boone tries again, firmer this time.

Slowly, a singular brown eye rises to meet the man in front of him. The left is covered by an eye patch, that side of his face scarred and hollowed to the ear where Benny’s bullet had taken out bone and meat. Almost in the shape of a shooting star, but thinking of it like that would mean Boone is thinking about it too romantically. Benny was a shit shot, even up close. Hadn’t even hit brain Six had told him.

“I’m just thinking,” the courier mumbles, but both men know it’s a lie.

He rakes a hand through his dark hair, setting it back into place. He exhales shakily, but stays kneeling on the floor. His gaze drifts around the room, taking in where he is. He frowns deeply, as if finally realising just where they are. He runs a hand down his face again with a groan.

“The plan is,” Six pauses, eye flicking about everywhere until it settles upon Boone again. Boone doesn’t move, waiting for an answer. “Is that I go to Caesar.”

Boone grumbles an insult that children shouldn’t hear.

“Listen!” Six snaps as he stands up suddenly. Now he’s thinking. Now he’s planning. “We go to Caesar. All so that I can get to Benny. And then, batta bing, batta boom, we kill all those fuckers.”

His smile is too wide for his face and it makes Boone grimace more than the stupid plan.

“That’s suicide.”

Six groans again. “And when did that ever stop us? You’ll have a front row seat to seeing Caeser fucking dead at your feet!” He exclaims as he points to the ground dramatically.

The thought does sound… good. Yet as much as Boone is willing to die on the battlefield, he isn’t willing to play cozy with Legionaries to get that far. Six can do it. Become another person to suit someone else’s needs all to stab them in the back. But Boone can’t. He doesn’t have that bone in him.

“No,” is his final answer.

Six sighs loudly, his shoulders slouching. “Fine. It’ll just be me and ED-E then.”

Boone looks to him blankly. The sudden thought of Six going in alone leaves a dead pit in the bottom of his gut. Maybe he should go. Swallow his pride to make sure that Six is alright. It’d be a pain with after everything they’ve been through to know that he has just been killed by some Legion dog crossing the river.

Six doesn’t move though, seeing if his guilt trip is going to work in the slightest. He raises a brow, it lifting from under his patch.

“Are you sure?” Six asks. “You could cover my back from a ridge.”

Boone grinds his teeth before unclenching. But his heart squeezes at the sudden thought, the all to familiarity of how things could turn out. “I won’t be able to cover you once you cross the river,” he notes.

Six frowns, but it’s cheeky. “I’ll feel safer knowing you’ll be there when I get back.”

The sniper’s mouth thins. But what if Six doesn’t come back. He’s made a slave of Caeser and kept to his liking. The worry that settles deep into his bones rattles him a little. Such a worry and anger towards someone he hasn’t felt since- Shit.

“No.”

Boone’s voice sounds far away this time. And Six picks up on it straight away. His dark brown eye looks the sniper up and down, only for an instance. As if something has clicked, he holds up his hands and takes a small step away.

“I’ll bring Arcade,” Six inquires. He ventures over to another door but stops short. “I just need someone I trust before going into enemy territory.”

Boone sniffles a sigh. He should go with Six. Yet he can’t. He’s gotten too close. He can’t do this to himself again. It’ll end in more misery with someone like the courier.

The door closes behind Six, ED-E following him into the room, leaving Boone by himself to his own thoughts. He stares at the floor in front of him.

But who is he to judge? They’re both leading themselves towards their own death. Why go by yourself? Why not go with someone that’s willing to have your back and shoot someone for you. It’s such a rare thing in the Mojave that it was even rarer in the NCR. Six has only ever been helping. Ever since they met in Novac. It’s hypocritical for Boone to pull out now.

-

The next morning comes too slowly. Boone doesn’t sleep a wink as if waiting for the courier to leave in the middle of the night. He stays out in the hallway, tending his rifle. Cleaning, taking it apart, putting it together and then repeat.

The clock hits 6am when the door opens and Six steps out. He’s put together the best he can. He sticks out like a sore thumb in New Vegas. The only neat thing about him is his slicked back hair that nestles at the back of his neck. Both of his revolvers are at his hips, covered by his duster coat. His singular eye widens at the sight of Boone waiting in the hallway.

“I honestly thought you would’ve headed back to Novak,” Six grins.

Boone steps forward, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “We’re still stopping by at the Followers,” he grunts.

Six can’t help but smile. “Awe, you actually care, Boone,” he pouts, patting the sniper’s chest.

Boone swats his hand away gently. “Don’t push it.”

-

Convincing Arcade wasn’t easy. He had exclaimed that it was suicide, which Six had agreed on. But with Boone with them, somehow that had tipped Arcade into going. The blonde had sighed, and agreed with a grumble into his palm.

Now it was just the long trek back down south. It was mostly travelled in silence but Six and Arcade had struck up conversation for most of the way. Dusk had rolled around slowly and Boone could feel it in his bones that he needed to rest. Get at least a few hours of sleep before the day ahead. But the entire time that they ventured south, Boone hadn’t taken his eyes off of Six.

Not even when they found an old abandoned shack that looked like no one had been in for ages. With a quick scope about, making sure that there are no gangs hanging about, camp is made. A small fire burns outside and bighorn meat is cooked until it’s dry and tasteless.

-

“We’re just gong to walk in there,” Arcade goes over the plan for the fourth time in a row.

“Yes,” Six answers, for the fourth time in a row.

“And Boone is staying on the other side of the river?” Arcade asks for the fourth time.

“Yes.” Six answers for the fifth.

Arcade hums at that. “And you’re okay with this?” The man suddenly asks the ex soldier.

Boone’s brows furrow. “What?” He grunts

Arcade’s gaze flickers to Six who cleans his revolver. He’s solely focused on the task at hand, zoning out the conversation.

“I mean,” the Follower clears his throat. “You’ve been travelling with Six the longest and I know your thoughts on the Legion. I just thought you would’ve opted out for this. I’m just curious is all what Six had to do to convince you.”

Six stops cleaning.

Boone keeps his gaze fixed on Arcade. “He didn’t convince me,” he replies lowly.

Arcade swallows thickly. “Then you’ve just come to be friendly with Legionaries for the own sake of your heart?” He asks nervously.

“Woah!” Six calls out.

“Watch what you say next,” Boone snaps, suddenly becoming very defensive. Anger rises in the back of his throat and he tries his best not to reach over and strangle the blonde. What’s with this!? He’s never acted like this to Boone!?

With a level voice, Arcade replies quickly, “All I want to know is that you won’t be shooting Legionaries and causing chaos while we’re down there. I don’t feel like dying any time soon thank you very much.”

Six is quick to interject, “Boone won’t do that.”

“I’m not trigger happy like some fools,” Boone growls.

Arcade nods, but worry still riddles his face. Boone swallows thickly, his eyes never leaving the Follower. Has he seen something Boone hasn’t? Has he already figured it out on his own accord? The way that Boone protects and looks over Six when ever they’re beside one another? That he’s shot many people that want to harm Six? That’s he’s followed Six across the Mojave just so that he, himself knows that the courier isn’t getting into some trouble of his own?

So why wouldn’t Arcade be worried that Boone would do anything to protect Six? Would he truly begin picking off as many Legionaries as he could if he saw Six in danger?

The answer comes a little too quick for Boone’s liking.

Yes. Yes, he would. In a heartbeat. He’d take that shot if it would kill Boone again.

Boone’s anger turns to distrust and shame. He physically recoils into himself, glancing over at the Courier who stares into the fire with his singular eye. Many thoughts run through his head, Boone can see it in the way he furrows his brow. The flames heighten his angular features and sharp cheekbones. Boone could take a guess that before he got shot, he would fit right into Vegas with his handsome features. But now the patch gives him a rugged charm that many have swooned over. Maybe even Boone himself.

Boone swallows thickly, looking away quickly as if he’s been caught in the act. He flicks his gaze up to Arcade who meets his gaze.

At that, Boone stands up suddenly. “I’m going to grab more firewood,” he announces before leaving into the darkness.

He doesn’t trek far, he instead circles around to the back of the shack. He breathes in slowly, trying to collect himself. Why does he have to be going through this right now? Why couldn’t he have realized this at a later date? Not when he’s going to be watching Six walk into the literal gates of Hell.

“Boone?”

The sniper wipes around, spying the courier in the dark. Six leans up against the shack the wood threatening to topple over.

“You can head home if you want,” Six’s words barely reach Boone’s ears but he still manages to hear it all the same.

“No,” Boone snaps quickly.

He can’t see it in the dark, but he can imagine the courier’s brows furrowing. Can hear it in his voice. “If you’re worried about me, then there’s no need to be. I can handle myself even if I have a massive blind spot to my left. That’s why I’ve got you to cover me.”

Boone chokes on his words before he finally manages out. “I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself,” he grunts.

“Then what are you trying to say?” Six asks. “Cause you’re starting to worry me that you’re on the fence about this. First you say no, then you wait for me outside my door like some dog.”

Boone acts quicker than his brain can register at the word dog. His fists grip into the front of the courier’s shirt and throws him against the rickety shack with a loud thud. Six huffs, but doesn’t move. The moon is barely out tonight and Boone can only just see the black eye staring down at him. The courier looks ghastly, like some ghoul.

“I-“ Boone stumbles over his words once more.  He grimaces at himself. Got his ow insides doing a million things at once, a thousand things wanting to come off his tongue.  

“Use your words, big guy,” Six jabs a little hurtfully.

Boone scowls at himself. “I worry,” he finally gets off. “That you’re going to get yourself killed on my watch.”

He feels Six’s body relax under his grip. The silence goes on for a little longer than Boone is comfortable with that he lets go of the courier’s shirt. He’s probably ripped it even further than it originally is. But he doesn’t step away from him.

“I won’t be dying any day soon,” Six’s voice cuts through the night like an anchor for Boone to grab onto. “Some bastard s’already tried that.”

Boone snorts at that.

“If I had you to cover my back always, I’d walk into hell knowing I’d be meeting the devil,” Six says heavily. “Hence why I wanted you to come so badly.”

The sniper swallows thickly at that, staring at Six’s dimly lit face. Does he know what he’s doing to him? Does he know how much those words mean to him? A hand comes to Boone’s chest, and the courier can feel just how badly the sniper’s heart is beating. Now he knows what he’s doing to the poor sniper.

“You always talk your tongue off like that?” Boone scowls, but there’s not as much malice to his words as there is any other time.

“Only when I want to keep someone beside me,” Six murmurs.

The hand ventures up to Boone’s face, feeling and pawing in the dark. Boone closes his eyes as his sunglasses are taken off from his face. He doesn’t move as a second hand cups his cheek. He exhales softly, hoping that Arcade doesn’t come looking for them. Because he doesn’t think he’d have to ball to do this again. So when he feels soft lips brush up against his own in the dark, he’s quick to dive in deeper like a fish needing water.

He grabs onto Six’s shirt once again to pin him against the shack wall, not letting the courier out of his grasp. Not wanting him to leave. Six hums into the kiss, his stache tickling Boone’s clean shaven skin. It’s a kiss of pure need and want, a long time coming.

Six pulls away with a light chuckle on his lips. “Let me put those worries away,” he pants out as he hooks a finger into Boone’s belt. “Please.”

A shiver runs down Boone’s back and he holds onto Six a little tighter. “Okay,” is all he manages to murmur out.

And with that, Six falls to his knees. Boone lets go of his shirt so that he can rest a hand on the top of the courier’s head, his fingers loosely gripping into his hair. God, he truly hopes that Arcade doesn’t come looking for them now.

The clink of Boone’s belt is almost muffled to how loud his heart is beating in his ears. Six shucks his pants down just enough to reveal is cock. A quiet hiss escapes from between Boone’s teeth as a saliva slicked hand wraps around his cock, softly stroking him to fill out the courier’s hand.

He leans forward with a hand on the shack wall and grinds his teeth painfully. He tries to hold in the noises that threaten to come from the back of his throat, but it’s very hard. Especially when the courier’s hot mouth wraps around the head of his cock and licks under his foreskin as if he’s done this a hundred times before.

Boone clenches his hands into a fists but stops short, not wanting to hurt the courier as Six bobs his head, inching further down his length. He grips Boone’s thighs as he moves further down, gagging softly as the sniper hits the back of his throat. It’s been a good while since Boone done anything with anyone and he can already feel himself nearing the edge.

Six takes all of Boone with a soft gag, his nose pressing into his pubs. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head lightly so that the head of the sniper’s cock hits the back of throat harshly. His grip on Boone’s thighs tighten as he holds his breath to pleasure the sniper. But he takes him all the same without complaint because the choked noises coming from Boone are a reward all in itself. He pulls off slowly, keeping the head of Boone’s cock on his tongue to inhale deeply through his nose. His hips stutter but he tries to hold himself off. If only he could see the courier on the ground before him.

Boone exhales shakily as he looks down at Six in the dim light. The courier spies up at him with his singular brown eye, watching Boone as he takes the entirety of him down his throat once more. The sniper bites into his fist as the other grips into Six’s hair. The courier hums at that, the vibrations running down the length of his cock. Boone’s hips stutter forward into Six’s throat, earning a few gagged and choked noises that have him worrying. But with how steadfast Six is holding himself to Boone’s crotch, he’s enjoying this just as much as him. With a wave of warmth and sparks through his body, Boone tips over the edge with a muffled cry. Six holds Boone still as he comes down his throat, drinking up every last drop with a choke.

He pulls off with a cough, trying to be quiet the best he can. Don’t need Arcade come looking for them in the night. Boone shakes where he stands, his mind fuzzy with the orgasm. If only he could see the grin on the courier’s face as he looks up at him. Maybe he has nothing to worry about.

Yet at the same time, this has just tipped Boone closer to the edge of being in the tight grip of a worry that runs so deep he might just run head first into Legion territory to save Six. He truly is screwed. Or maybe he’s still coming down from the high of his orgasm. Who knows.

Six stands up to clash his mouth clumsily into Boone’s. The sniper kisses back between breathes, still trying to catch his own. Cause God knows he’ll hold his own until he sees Six step out of that camp alive and well.  

-

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[pedroscurls]

Third Time’s A Charm (Part 17).

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales and Reader (female, second person POV)  Summary: Frankie settles his divorce with Victoria, and he asks you a very important question. Word Count: 4,545 Author's Note: I just want to express my gratitude for everyone that has read, commented, and liked this story. Truly, it means so much to me. This story was so very special to me (and my first ever Frankie Morales multi-chaptered story) and I can’t wait to write more of him. We’ve got an epilogue left and this story will come to an end... I’m sad to see it end, but excited to see what other stories I write for this character. (also this is the ring if you wanted to see what it would look like) Warning: smut!!! (truly just very sensual p in v sex)

Frankie was exhausted. Finally, after six months of hell with Victoria and her lawyer, they had finalized their divorce. Frankie no longer wanted to fight with her, settling on allowing her to keep the house and everything else that came with it. He wanted to cut ties with her, to just start fresh in this new chapter of his life, and he didn’t want any reminder of her or the memories they shared. That isn’t to say that Victoria made it easy. In fact, the past six months were brutal with her bringing up the fact that he was an addict who was currently on probation. It hurt; she knew exactly where to dig the knife further and further until he couldn’t take it anymore.

But whenever Frankie wanted to react, wanted to scream and yell and tell Victoria how much of a bitch she was, he held his tongue. He kept quiet, only speaking to his lawyer and addressing Victoria when it was absolutely necessary and he noticed how it angered Victoria when she realized that she wasn’t going to get the reaction out of him like she had planned. That, at least, satisfied Frankie. To know that Victoria was no longer going to win, that she didn’t have any power over him like she used to, and it gave Frankie the confidence to keep showing up, to finalize this divorce so that he could continue on with his life and never have to look back. 

The day the divorce was finalized, Frankie immediately called the guys to tell them the good news. He knew he should have called you first, but he had other plans in mind that required Benny, Will, and Santiago’s help. He climbed into his truck, letting out a relieved breath as he removed his tie and undid a few buttons at the top of his shirt. 

“Congratulations, hermano,” Santiago said over the phone. 

“Thanks, Pope. I feel like a brand new man.” 

Santiago laughed. “So, what’s next?” 

“Can you and the rest of the guys meet me? I’ll text you the address.”

“You’re not going home to celebrate with the missus?” Santiago teased.

Frankie chuckled. “Not yet. I want to do something first and I need your guys’ help.”

“Is it–”

“Just meet me, Pope.” Frankie smiled. He hung up the phone and sent the address to Santiago. Frankie pulled out of the parking spot and began making his way towards a store that you always liked to visit. He had told you months before that he didn’t want to waste anymore time and now that his divorce was finalized, Frankie wanted to make it official. He knew what your answer would be, but he wanted to make it meaningful, wanted to show you how much he truly loved you, and how excited he was to move forward with you as his wife. 

Wife. It brought a smile to his face. You had always been the one that lingered in the back of his mind. The first time you two were together, Frankie was overwhelmed and truthfully fearful about how much he felt for you– he had fallen for you so fast and so hard and he hadn’t ever felt that way before. To this day, he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you in his life. You were so kind, so understanding and with such a big heart that he constantly wondered what good karma he did in his life to deserve you. Of all the things he had done, he never truly felt like he deserved you. 

You were so good and he was just… not. 

But you always made sure to show him just how special he was. You always looked at him with such soft and warm eyes that Frankie never wanted to disappoint you, never wanted to hurt you; he wanted to be a good, and better, man for you. 

He knew that being in a relationship with him wasn’t easy and that dealing with someone like him took a certain kind of patience and empathy, but with you? It was easy. You never put any pressure on him to talk about the things that bothered him, never told him to just get over it… Instead, you constantly reminded him that you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d always be by his side, even if it meant that it hurt you. You were his anchor, his light at the end of the tunnel… You kept him grounded and reminded him that while days can be tough, you were still going to stick by his side no matter what, and that always brought him comfort. 

As he pulled up to the jewelry store, he saw Benny, Santiago, and Will leaning against their cars. With a smile on his face, Frankie pulled into the spot next to them and climbed out of his truck. He removed his suit jacket, now clad in just suit pants and a white button-up with the buttons undone at the top and the sleeves folded to his elbows. 

“Fish, congrats, man,” Benny said, pulling him into a hug. “We’re so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Frankie smiled, giving the younger man a hug and pulling away. “I want to do this right and I want you guys to be part of it.” 

“We’re gonna get the most perfect ring,” Benny winked. “She’s gonna love it.”

“And we already got her ring size,” Will grinned. 

“You have an idea of what you’re looking for, Fish?” Santiago asked.

Frankie smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got an idea. Let’s head inside.”

Once the four of them stepped inside, one of the workers approached them with a smile. Frankie let out a breath as he looked around the display cases, biting his lower lip. 

“Hi there,” the woman said with a smile. “Is there anything specific you guys are looking for?” 

Frankie looked at her and nodded. “A 1.5 carat oval diamond with an 18k yellow gold band? Maybe with some extra small diamonds on the band too?” 

The woman smiled. “Of course, follow me.” 

“You put a lot of thought into this,” Benny teased. “1.5 carat? 18k yellow gold?” 

Frankie rolled his eyes, followed by laughter from Will and Santiago. “I just want her to have the best.” 

“We’re just teasing,” Santiago laughed. “I mean, we didn’t even come with you the first time around.”

“I didn’t put much thought into that one,” he admitted. “But I want her to look at the ring and just–”

“We get it, Fish,” Will smiled. “She deserves the best of the best. If you know what you’re looking for, it makes this a bit easier.” 

Frankie smiled, watching the jeweler pull out several choice rings to display in front of him. He bit his lower lip, looking at each one intently until one caught his eye. The moment he looked at it, he imagined it sitting on your finger and a broad smile lined his lips.

“That one’s perfect.” 

The woman smiled and gently handed it to Frankie. The guys were all standing near him, looking over his shoulder at the ring that was now in Frankie’s hands. It was delicate, not too over the top, but was flashy enough to show just how beautiful and special it was. It was perfect for you and Frankie nodded to himself.

“That’s– She’s gonna love that one, Fish,” Santiago smiled. 

Will nodded in agreement. “Oh, she’s definitely going to cry.”

“Because of the ring or because Fish is gonna propose?” Benny chuckled.

“Probably all of the above,” Will smiled. 

“Es perfecto, hermano,” Santiago said. 

“I think so too,” Frankie smiled. “Can we get this one?”

“Of course. What’s her size?” 

Frankie looked over at the guys. 

“Six and a half,” Benny said. 

“Do you guys have that right now or would we have to place an order and pick it up at a different time?” Frankie asked. 

“Let me go and check.” 

Once the worker left, Frankie smiled and looked down at the ring. “If they have it in her size, I’m proposing tonight.” 

Santiago grinned. “How are you gonna propose?”

“On one knee?” Frankie replied.

“Okay, smartass,” Benny laughed. 

“I was thinking of taking her to the beach,” Frankie smiled. “Maybe during sunset and then just… Asking her to spend the rest of her life with me.” 

“Always the secret romantic,” Will said with a smile. 

—

Frankie walked into the apartment and saw you in the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. He let his eyes rake over your frame, taking note of your casual loungewear of shorts and one of his t-shirts. He smiled to himself; Frankie always loved seeing you in his clothes. 

“Hermosa,” he called out, walking towards you.

You looked up at him and smiled, bringing the glass of water to your lips. “How’d it go, my love?” 

Frankie wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you to him. You set aside your glass and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I’m divorced. Officially.” 

“So, it’s me and you from now on?”

Frankie nodded. “Last chance to back out.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and leaned up to peck his lips. “Not a chance. You’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, you promise?” He grinned. “Because I kind of like the sound of that.”

“Kind of?” you said with a pout.

Frankie let out a quiet chuckle and kissed your forehead. “Maybe just a bit.” 

“Fine, I’ll take it,” you teased. 

Frankie smiled, pulling back to look down at you. “Look at you, wearing my shirt.”

“Mmm, I like wearing your clothes.”

“I like seeing you in my clothes, hermosa.”

You bit your lower lip, bringing your hands to rest on his chest. You tilted your head and leaned up on your toes to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Keep that up and we’re gonna have to go into the bedroom.”

Frankie grinned against you, his hands resting on your waist. “Can I take you out first? To celebrate?” 

“You sure you don’t wanna stay in?” You asked, pulling back from him. “I don’t mind–”

“How about we grab some burgers and head to the beach?”

Your eyes lit up and a broad smile lined your lips. “And watch the sunset?” you asked.

Frankie nodded. “It’s been a while since we’ve done that and I figured–”

“Yes,” you interrupted. “Absolutely, yes.”

“Let me get out of these clothes and then we can head out.” Frankie placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling away from you. “Can you wear this though?” 

“What? Shorts and your shirt?” 

Frankie nodded with a smile. “Please?” 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you chuckled. “And because it’s comfy.” 

“I’ll bring a sweater for you in case you get cold too.”

“You just want me in all your clothes, huh?”

Frankie laughed. “I’d very much prefer you without any clothes, but–”

“Okay, get ready or else we’ll never leave.” you said with a smile, gently pushing him for him to turn around and make his way to the bedroom. 

While Frankie was changing into much more comfortable clothes, you let out a relieved breath. You had seen how the effect this divorce had on Frankie; some days were rougher than others, but only because Victoria made it a point to make it difficult for him. You could see that he was constantly in thought, especially on days where he would come home quiet and to himself. Part of you had wanted to confront Victoria and tell her to grow up and deal with this like an adult, but you decided that she was just a waste of time and she wasn’t worthy of yours. 

You had gotten a job a month after losing the one at the university. You were working at a community college, teaching literature to students who were only there for a general ed requirement. It was different and nothing like what you were used to when you were working at the university, but you were still grateful for the opportunity to have a job, still teaching a subject that you loved. It also helped that you had Frankie to come home to every day. 

You were excited, hopeful for your future with Frankie. It finally felt like all the pieces were coming together, that now you both had the chance to be with each other like you were supposed to be. Frankie always gave you butterflies, no matter what he was doing, and whenever he looked at you, you always felt your heart skip a beat. You knew that he was the man you were meant to be with, the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, and it felt good knowing that you now had the opportunity to be with him, forever. He had practically implied that he was going to marry you and while he hadn’t proposed yet, it still excited you to know that it was going to happen at any moment. 

With your back facing the hallway, you gasped when you felt Frankie gently smack your backside. You turned around and looked up at him, biting your lower lip almost instantly at the sight of him. He was wearing a denim button-up shirt with the sleeves folded to his elbows and a dark t-shirt underneath with a pair of jeans, and as always, he was wearing his Standard Heating Oil hat. He smiled at you mischievously and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you flush against him.

“You slap me again and I’m taking you to the bedroom,” you warned.

Frankie ran his tongue across his lower lip and winked. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.” 

You smiled, moving your hands to his shoulders. “How about we get some food, watch the sunset, and then come back home for some–”

“Fun?” he grinned.

“Exactly,” you smiled, pecking his lips. “I love you.”

Frankie smiled. “I love you too, hermosa. Let’s go.” 

—

You were both now sitting on the sand with a hamburger in each of your hands. The sun hadn’t yet begun to set, so you both were leaning against each other, taking a bite of your food. You always felt like the beach was a place where you and Frankie went to when the reality of life became too much; the beach and the sunset always managed to keep you both grounded, to remind you both to slow down and breathe. 

“I can’t finish my food,” you said with a sigh. “It’s too much.”

Frankie chuckled, finishing his food and taking your burger in his hands. “It’s a good thing I’m here then, aren’t I?” 

“It’s why I keep you around,” you teased. 

“And here I thought you kept me around because you love me, hermosa.”

“Eh, maybe just a little bit.” you grinned, looking over at him. Frankie chuckled and took a couple of bites of your burger before wrapping it back up to put back in the bag. He wrapped his arm around you, feeling you lean against his side as the sun slowly began to set. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head. “For sticking by me, hermosa.”

You looked up at him and smiled, pecking his lips. “I told you I’d always be here and I never break my promises.” 

Frankie smiled to himself. The sun was beginning to set and was casting a perfect glow around you and Frankie felt like he had fallen in love all over again. He used his free hand to rest over his pocket, feeling the velvet box inside before he stood up, taking you with him. 

“Dance with me?” Frankie asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Always,” you smiled. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, swaying side to side with him to the sounds of waves and distant laughter. You were looking deeply into his eyes, biting your lower lip as you leaned up to peck his lips. “I’m just so happy…”

“Me too, hermosa,” he whispered, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “It’s always been you… And I’m sorry that it’s taken this long.” 

“The things that happened, were meant to happen,” you replied. “Because at the end of it all, we found our way back to each other.” 

Frankie let out a contented sigh. “I was so hesitant when Santiago told me he was setting me up,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I fought him on it for weeks, but we both know how persistent he can be…”

You listened, biting your lower lip as your bodies continued to sway with one another. “Oh, I know it,” you giggled. 

“But when I saw you for the first time…” Frankie smiled. “I knew I was done for. Your big eyes looked at me in a way that no one ever had before,” he admitted. “You looked at me like I mattered… That no matter what I had done in my life preceding you, it didn’t define me.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes, staring up at him. “I was so nervous,” you smiled. “You were so handsome and I thought you were way out of my league.”

Frankie rolled his eyes playfully. “You’re the one out of my league, hermosa.” He pecked your lips softly and continued. “Pope knew exactly what he was doing when he set us up,” Frankie chuckled. “Because he knew, before the both of us, that we were meant to be with each other. You’re my other half, hermosa. I’ve told you plenty of times that you make me want to be a better man and I mean every single word.” 

You bit your lower lip as you both stopped swaying, still just holding each other and taking comfort in being in each other’s arms. 

“And I told you that I don’t want to waste any more time…” he began, pulling away to grab the box from his pocket before he knelt down on one knee. Frankie had removed his hat and looked up at you, seeing the smile lining your lips as you wiped at your eyes. 

“Frankie…” 

“I can’t imagine my life without you. I’m not going to promise that it’s going to be easy, but I will promise that I’ll be by your side no matter what. I promise to fight for us, no matter how hard it gets. From the moment we met, it was always you.” Frankie then opened the velvet box to reveal the engagement ring he had chosen with the guys earlier that day. 

“I love you so much, hermosa. I want to spend the rest of my life with you… I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I see when I go to sleep. I want to continue to laugh with you, to cry, to make more memories with you…”

You gasped at the ring, the sun hitting it just right to cast a twinkle against the diamond. 

“Yes!” you said immediately. “Yes, yes.” Tears were falling from your eyes as you wiped them away with a quiet chuckle. 

“I didn’t ask yet,” Frankie smiled. 

“Oh–”

“Will you marry me, hermosa?” he interrupted, staring up at you with those deep brown eyes that you had fallen in love with all those years ago. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you repeated, kneeling down in front of him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to press your lips against his. Immediately, you moved your lips with his, smiling against him. Frankie had to pull away enough to take your left hand once he took the ring from the box. He looked down at your hand and slowly slid the ring onto your ring finger, smiling instantly. 

“Perfect fit,” he whispered. 

“I love you,” you said, pecking his lips. You looked down at the ring and smiled to yourself, tears still trickling down your cheeks. It was a yellow gold band with several small diamonds with an oval diamond on topic, sparkling against the setting sun. “It’s so beautiful, Frankie.”

“You like it?” he asked, biting his lower lip. 

“I love it, but you know me… I would’ve been happy with anything.” 

Frankie smiled, pecking your lips softly before he stood up with you. “I know, but you deserve something as beautiful as you and the minute I saw this ring, I knew it belonged to you.”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you whispered. 

“Funny you should say that,” Frankie said quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Because I feel the same way and…” he whispered, “I think you saved me, hermosa.” 

You bit your lower lip, shaking your head. “You saved yourself, Frankie,” you whispered, running your hands along his arms. “I was just here so you didn’t lose your way.” 

Frankie sighed contentedly, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re my dream come true, hermosa. You have no idea how much I love you…”

“Oh, I’ve got some idea,” you teased, lifting your hand to show him the ring. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Frankie.”

“Let’s go home and celebrate?” he winked, wiggling his brows together. 

“Yes, please,” you grinned. 

—

Once back at the apartment, Frankie was quick to lead you down the hall and towards the bedroom. His hands were on your waist, peppering kisses along your neck as he pressed himself against you. You leaned back against him, resting your head against his chest to expose more of your neck for him. 

You couldn’t believe it. It still felt so surreal to know that you were now Frankie’s fiancée and you couldn’t wait to just spend the rest of your life with him. Your best memories were with Frankie and despite all of the challenges you both faced, you were just so happy to finally get another chance with him. 

Frankie’s hands moving underneath your shirt brought you out of your thoughts, feeling his rough fingertips graze upwards to brush his thumbs against each nipple. You arched your back against him, biting your lower lip at the sensation.

“You weren’t wearing a bra?” he whispered against you. 

“I never do whenever I wear your shirts,” you replied, letting out a quiet whimper. 

“Fuck me,” Frankie groaned, turning you around and slowly lifting the shirt over your head to reveal your bare front. Frankie licked his lips at the sight of you, gently backing you towards the mattress. Once you felt the edge of the bed hit your knees, you fell back onto it with Frankie climbing on top of you. 

Frankie moved his hands to your shorts, gently pulling them down your legs until you were now completely naked below him. He pulled back enough to let his eyes take you in, growling at the sight as he stood to undo his pants, kicking them off to the side. Frankie pulled off his denim button up, followed by shirt until he was clad in only his boxers. His manhood was pressing against the thin fabric and he brought a hand down to squeeze himself, his eyes focused solely on you. 

“Get over here,” you whispered, parting your legs. 

Frankie licked his lips, watching as your spread legs exposed your sex. He pushed down his boxers, letting out a quiet breath at the relieved pressure before he climbed back on the bed, settling himself between your legs. Frankie couldn’t wait; he didn’t want to take his time like he normally did. Instead, he just wanted to revel in the feel of you wrapped around him. 

“Frankie, please,” you whimpered, feeling the head of his member brush against your opening.

He smiled, grasping his member and slowly pushing past your folds. Frankie kept his eyes on you, watching as you let out a quiet moan. He saw you move your hands to his chest, his eyes catching a glint of your ring and he smiled to himself, pushing further into you as your tight and warm walls wrapped around his manhood like a vice.

“Fuck, hermosa,” Frankie whispered, his hands resting at either side of your head. Slowly, he pulled his hips back only to push back into you, continuing the slow thrusts. 

“Frankie,” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist. His slow movements were just as effective as his rough and fast thrusts, but this felt more intimate. Your eyes were locked onto his, the sounds of your moans mixing in with his as the feel of his member continued to slide in and out of your depths. 

He lowered himself to rest his forehead against yours, lips brushing against you ever so slightly as his movements picked up. Frankie always loved to hear the sounds of your moans, the way his name escaped your lips; he took pride in knowing that he knew how to make you feel good and now he was going to get to do it for the rest of his life. 

“I love you,” he whispered against you, moving both hands to grip your hips as his own drove into you repeatedly. 

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moaned as your eyes fell shut at the feeling of getting closer and closer to your climax. Frankie just knew exactly what to say and what to do to get you to the edge of your orgasm and this time was no different. Your bodies moved in tandem with one another, breaths against each other’s lips, moans escaping quietly. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your fingernails digging into his skin at his upper back. 

Frankie groaned against you, pecking your lips lightly before he buried his face against the crook of your neck, rolling his hips against yours. His fingertips dug into your hips as he felt your walls slowly begin to tighten even further around his manhood, throbbing against you. He knew you were close, so he gently nipped at your skin along the side of your neck as he pulled out to his tip only to slam into you. He repeated this motion several times, the sound of skin slapping against one another beginning to echo off the four walls of the bedroom. 

“Frankie!” you moaned loudly, tightening your legs around his hips to keep him still as you reached your high. 

Frankie let out a moan, feeling your walls milk his manhood to his own release. He pulled back enough to look down at you, gripping your hips as he began to quicken his own movements. He watched as your body bounced against his own with his rapid thrusts, becoming more erratic. 

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, hermosa,” he moaned, slamming into you once more as he released in your depths. His body shook slightly and he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily. 

You smiled to yourself, running your fingertips lightly along your back, brushing against the scratches you left. Frankie shuddered against you and pulled back to peck your lips, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“You and me forever?” you asked with hopeful eyes. 

Frankie brought a hand to brush his thumb across your cheek and whispered quietly, said quietly, “Forever, hermosa.”

---

Epilogue.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed, @tanzthompson, @casa-boiardi. @bitchwitch1981. @painitemoondust, @pedritosdarling, @vanemando15, @kittenlittle24​, @gracie7209​, @your-voice-is-mellifluous​, @mikeyswifie

[garrettandoscargirlsblog]

Special Birthday

Summary: Took me awhile to finish this birthday fic! Finally its done!! Happy belated birthday Garret! Fic is in Benny's point of view. There is some smut. no minors please!!

Another year has gone. Well.. I'm still 39 until the magic hour I came into this world officially. Will thinks I'm weird. I'm not ya know. Way I see it, you turn a year older at the exact hour of ya birth. This year I'm gonna be the big four o! Officially in that club with the others. I know there will be a huge party and shit. Looking forward to it. More importantly, see what kind of gifts I'll get. Only thing I need is my special baby girl. My wife. Who is fast asleep right now. Poor girl. Worked another double shift. I just got in as well. Was called in because a huge trauma came in. Need lots of help. As much I want to crawl into bed,but I reel in blood, sweat, and other stuff that landed on me. Lookin back at her once more before closin the door. Can't wait to get cleaned up,and snuggle with her. Look so sweet ,and sexy in my old army tee. Hair still in her messy ponytail. Yet few strands round her face. Kisses her forehead,” I'm home darlin. Go back to sleep. Be back .” Heard her whispering,” hurry up daddy.Need you to hold me . “ Oh I will hurry up alright ! Wanna get some much needed rest . Boned tired! 

Turning off the bathroom light sees a vision of loveliness. She moved towards my side of the bed. Covers barely coverin her angelic, yet young body. So beautiful. Kissed her lips,” Move over baby girl. Daddy is ready for bed “ Her head on my damp chest , followed by her soft ,small fingers in my chest hair. Love her touches on me. Soothing ,and ohh so soft hands she has. Her smell of roses. So soothing. About to close my eyes till the sounds of rain fallin on the window. Least it's not thundering. Sounds like guns firing in the sky. Still can't get that sound out of my head until I met my young wife. My soulmate. Can recall the moment I met her. Was at nursing school,and needed a partner for certain things. We hitted right off. So there was over a decade between us. Oh my angel. She understands me. Knows what to do since her dad was in the army. Sounds of whimpering caused me to come back to reality. My poor baby girl. Rubbing her bare back,” I'm here. Daddy's here shhh…” Whispers in her ear to go back to sleep. Knowing the next day would be filled with lots of laughs. 

Woke up early in the afternoon to the smell of food,and music playing downstairs. Getting dressed in my old sweats and tee. Head downstairs to a beautiful site. Watching her swaying while scrambling eggs. Oh how sexy she looks!! Shit can't take it anymore! Came up behind her placing a messy kiss on her neck,”  Mmmm.. this is what I want for my birthday. To be alone with my angel of a wife. She turned around to kiss me,and told me that we can't. Have to get ready for his birthday party. She whispers that there will be a special present for me later on tonight. Oh! I have a good idea what kind of gift it would be. 

We arrived a bit late to my party. Not complainin though. We had a hard time gettin out the door. Ya see it happened like this. Here I was watchin her gettin ready. See her in that beautiful blue sundress that hugs her perfectly. One she wore on the day I first proposed to her. Couldn't help myself! I had to make love to her right then and there. I know she has to keep me busy. See I happened to read a text from Willy boy about distractin me because they haven't finished decorating because ole Pope was late getting his present and decorations. Am I gonna tell her about me snooping? Oh hell no! Not the first time I snooped when it comes to birthdays. Okay, the important ones.Like during my 16th. Knew I was getting a Jeep. ( Still own) 21st? Didn't remember much on account got drunk for the first time. Thanks bros. On to my 30th? Have to ask Will since I don't have the foggiest idea. Since he has a perfect memory. 

Finally we arrived at our favorite restaurant. See a huge picture frame with pics of me from the time I was born till the present. My parents rushed over to hug me . Made me cry since I haven't seen them since the wedding. Followed by my cousins ,and childhood friends,and lastly my brothers at arms. Will motions everyone to sit. Means one thing. Long speech followed by a few home movies. Ones I wished they would burn,or even forget about ,like me ripping my pants! Not funny! 

After that lively presentation. Time for my gifts! One that touched me was my first guitar! Seems like my darlin gave it to Pope to get it tuned up,and cleaned. Followed by a leather notebook full of my songs! I literally cried! That was the most beautiful gift I ever received! Which I tried out! Strummed a familiar tune. Till it was time for my birthday cake! Chocolate chip! Made by my ma! Love love it! 

Was gettin late for some of the guests. They left ,but not before wishing me a happy birthday. Followed by a few corny jokes. Har har har! Will, Pope ,and Frankie boy stayed to help pack up my presents. What a load! 

When we got home. Knew my darlin was up to somethin. Told me to get comfortable on the couch. She will be right back. Okay… she's up to somethin. Maybe another gift? Got my answer till the lights go dim! WTF!! Lookin up to see a naughty vision! Dressed in a  laced bra! Crotchless panties! Hello naughty angel of mine! Looks like I'm gonna get a lapdance tonight! Darlin being in the driver seat drives me wild! Can't touch her till I get permission to!  I'm so hard now! Watching her rubbing her hands on my body! Waiting for her mouth on her favorite lollipop! Prayers were finally answered till she unzipped my jeans and made her gasp since I have gone commando. Oh, that she smiles real big while she goes to work on my shaft! Closing my eyes to savor this sensation,and then to feel my balls getting licked caused me to quiver! Oh keep going darlin! Love that mouth on me! I'm hard as fuck now! Ready to be inside me! Oh got my wish! Her straddling me hands unbuttoned my shirt while grinning her heart out! Followed by her biting my neck , hands rubbing my chest! Happy birthday to me! Finally at long last I get to touch her! Had to kiss her like I have been deprived for so long! Tongues danced while we kissed till her orgasm hit. Oh, I wanted her to have more! What birthday boy wants oh he would get! 

Four orgasms later. Followed by a nice and long shower. Bed feels good right now. My now worn out angel is fast asleep. Hold her close to my chest. Followed by butterfly kisses on her forehead telling her how much I love her. Thanking her for everything. Time to get some sleep. Tomorrow work invades our lives again. Thank God for the night shift.

@musings-of-a-rose @rhoorl @crookedbreadtimemachine @dameronscopilot @romanarose

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 17

Summary: You're going back to Paris. There's only one thing left for you to do, here: break up with Benny. Meanwhile, Frankie tries to find a way to love you that doesn't mean letting you go.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Ok orange besties, we're in the endgame (yes I've always wanted to say that). Thank you to everyone who's still here 🧡 It's been a hot minute, and I'm so very sorry. Some wonderful, brilliant, beautiful human beings helped me. I want to humbly thank them. @frannyzooey beta read this chapter, which is a very dull and formal way to express how much she's improved (my entire life) it with her kindness, goddess's brain and generosity. Kelli my love, you know, you know everything 🧡 (I adore you). @the-ginger-hedge-witch immediately "unblocked" me when I couldn't even make out my own characters' thoughts because I'm dumb and she's a genius... Ren ma Reine, you are truly my Queen, I love you and admire you so damn much and I miss your voice and your hugs like a ghost limb 🧡 @dreamymyrrh made sure I wouldn't give up. You brilliant little devil you, I love you to pieces, you make my life brighter every day, I'm just the luckiest. You deserve the world and you will get it 🧡

Word count: 6.9k

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Chapter 17: Auf Achse

“This is a Brooklyn bound L train. Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

Frankie exits the train on the Union Square platform in a brooding rush. He barely falters when his left shoulder collides with another passenger. The man steps into the car hurling incoherent slurs that don't reach his ears, the giant overhead rotor fan annihilating all surrounding noises and Frankie remains unfazed, trapped within the din of his own mind. 

Ducking his head to avoid the stale air fanned into his face, and under the familiar shelter provided by the brim of his cap, he moves his body forward amid the roiling motion of his thoughts. 

He has seldom known peace, never experienced quiet, and when he has, it was only too briefly. In the orange, in the ocean. But the storm has picked up speed since April, hitting the walls of his skull, and the same vision resurfaces above the mess, relentless and without mercy: you, disappearing inside your red brick building without a look back for him.

As you laid naked on top of him, your sweet face resting in the palm of his hand, he had wanted to believe it. That the disrupted promise for a bright future together had been restored. Yet you all but ran away from him. 

It’s Thursday again, the middle of the afternoon. The connection to the 6 train is already crowded, tourists and kids in uniform teeming around him in tight clusters, but he doesn’t register any of it, walking on autopilot, with the looming threat of your resentment hovering in and out of focus in his overworked brain. 

Should he have told you back in his car, when you had questioned him about that damn 15 year gap, about the true meaning of his scar? In Will’s kitchen? Back in the bar? When is the start? 

Striding down the tiled corridors is downright brutal, each and every muscle in his sore body battling his will to turn around and hurry back to you, to tuck your body away against his chest underneath his clothes and your face into the crook of his neck and explain. Explain in words that are not his because his words have failed him. And you. 

No te vayas por una hora porque entonces… 

Borrowed words he struggles to remember, would they make any difference?

Truth is, he betrayed you long ago. When he doubted you, when he gave way to anger and rage and easy, degrading escapes. 

I never stopped waiting, this you have to understand. 

You never ran away from him, not really. You ran away for him. 

Beyond his pain, yours claws at his heart, threatening his precarious balance, like a hindered scream catching at his throat and constricting his chest. He can’t think of you alone, emptily gazing out your window like a desolate figure in a Hopper painting. Can’t live with the fact that he’s the reason you finally stopped waiting. 

What could have he said? Were there any words that would have held the power to bend your mind and turn you around, erase your guilt and keep you to him? Why didn’t he try harder?

I don’t fucking care.

Tilting up his head, he finds himself sitting on the hard plastic bench of the 6 train. Across the central aisle, a small boy propped on his father’s lap is staring at him, the bottom half of his face smeared in apple sauce. The dried flakes of yellow compote shape a beard around his plump lips, and his wide, intrigued eyes make him look old beyond his years.

Frankie’s eyes flick upward to the map, where the blinking dot reminds him to get out at the next stop.

He resurfaces on Bleecker St, to an unexpected cool breeze, and tries to let it clear his mind so he will be able to present his sister with an intelligible account of the situation.

Growing up in the Morales household meant evolving in a crowded, shape-shifting space ; the small two-bedroom apartment serving as a workshop for Eva’s sewing business. In the cramped living-room, numerous piles of seemingly orderless clothes and fabric laid in what felt like an endless rotation, on top of beaten pieces of furniture that was bought at garage sales or found on the curb. For the two siblings, lounging on the couch to watch a movie or sitting at the table to do their homework meant having to move a heap of clothes that would invariably crumble to the floor a few minutes later. Only Eva seemed able to balance the precarious stacks that earned her a living and provided for her children.

Frankie rapidly became skilled at fixing just about anything, from a chest drawer to a toaster, because it was in his answer-seeking nature and because it gave him a sense of purpose. Izzy began bringing money home when she was fifteen, tutoring kids and baby-sitting young children from posh neighbourhoods, but both her and Eva denied Frankie when he expressed his intention to get an after-school part-time job. It had little or nothing to do with the fact that he was a boy, but rather the two Morales women were determined to clear the path that would lead him to an airport runway. 

Having been brought up in a space intended for two people and shared by four, as they alternately navigated and evaded their father’s ghost, as a result, Izzy and Frankie curated sparsely furnished, minimally decorated homes. 

The transient soldier’s path Frankie walked for most of his life made his relative material asceticism a practical choice and still, two years after settling down, it’s reflected in his utilitarian interior, where the only items in surplus are books. 

Similarly, Izzy’s place, on the top floor of a Mott Street brick building, doesn’t reflect the social status to which she has risen. Childless by choice and conviction, Izzy is rarely single, but prefers to live alone, and her comfortable income could afford her much more than the pricey location she has chosen to live in, the only luxury she indulges in. 

Throughout the years, her place has become as close to a family home as Frankie’s fragmented life could have had him hope for. The tastefully arranged apartment is where he spent his leaves and tended to his wounds, both tangible and the ones that wouldn’t heal. The walls, adorned with modern and old black and white prints, watched over his restless nights as he laid curled up on the opening sofa, fresh off the Army, sleep eluding him. Where his sister admonished his excesses without ever speaking a word, and forgave him everything speaking too many, always providing practical ways out along with unwavering love and support. 

So, quite naturally, it is where his steps take him now, because a phone conversation wouldn’t cut through the fog. 

When she opens her door, Izzy’s taken aback by her brother’s drawn features, even though the tension in his voice earlier on the phone had cued her in as to what to expect. 

“Damn, you look like shit, hermanito,” she whispers. “¿Qué te pasa?”

Frankie sighs as deeply as his constricted chest will allow, fails to look her in the eyes and snaps, “Yea, can I get in, first?”

She steps to the side and lets him in, and as Frankie walks past her and into the bright living-room, she scrunches her nose. 

“When was the last time you showered?”

The comment earns her a roguish look but he doesn’t argue with it. He has yet to wash you off his skin, or change the denim shirt he put on to drive you back.

Standing by the door, her left hand still grasping the doorknob, she surveys his tall, dark frame standing out in the centre of the white room, and before he can sit, she says with unusual softness, “The hat.”

Pausing imperceptibly, he removes his cap and swivels around to place it on the nearby oak dining table. They stand still in the afternoon light, with distant street noises from the world that exists outside the narrow windows dwarfing time and space. 

“¿Querés un mate?”

 “Sure.” 

Speaking feels physically insurmountable. He has to engage all his muscles, reach for air at the very end of his lungs. 

When Izzy comes out of the small kitchen, Frankie’s in a leather armchair with tubular iron armrests, and rubbing his clammy palms over his jeans. She places two round cups with metallic straws on the dark kidney coffee table and sits on the edge of the off-white couch, doing her very best to conceal the concern that reads plainly on her open face. 

“You haven’t been using ag-“ she starts, but stops short when her brother looks her straight in the eyes with a warning on his face, lips pinched, jaw clenched. 

“I’m clean, Izzy,” he grumbles.

“No because if you are-” she trails off, and her uncharacteristic hesitancy drums on his nerves.

Frankie knows his sister can listen. She’s been his sole confidant for over forty years. The only living soul who knows of what happened to you and him in the orange bedroom. She just needs a little reminder.

“I’m gonna tell you everything, Izzy. Just let me talk, alright?” he tries, his neck strained around the words to keep his tone down.

She nods and smooths down the wrinkles of her blouse. 

“Ok,” he starts, and the waver in his voice surprises them both, “I don’t know if you remember… the girl…“

How the hell does he explain that? Is he supposed to say your name?

“The French girl?” she asks. “The one who got away?”

The one who got away. 

Izzy’s eyes have grown as wide as her glasses, but her demeanour has shifted, no longer wary. Frankie’s jaw unclenches for the first time since you’ve left him yesterday, surprise untangling his brow for a fleeting second. Arms crossed on his chest, he leans back into the leather back of the chair, searching her dark eyes. 

“Go ahead, hermanito,” she encourages, “I’m listening.”

He unfolds his arms. Sits up straight. Draws in one last breath. 

Then, he jumps. 

The first words are the most difficult, the ones that define your relationship to his friend, but once he spits them out, the rest freely flows, and he talks. He talks more than he ever has, with Izzy or Santiago or William, using words he can’t recall ever pronouncing before, like longing and certainty and craving and peacefulness, “her skin, Izzy, her fucking skin,” and to his attentive sister, he bares it all. 

The years spent losing himself when he couldn’t find you, regrets, remorse, errors and shame. The blind wildfire of his hatred when you walked back into his life with another man, with this other man. How you gently extinguished the blaze without so much as a word. How it only took five encounters, stretched over the course of three months, before you found yourselves coming apart around each other again. How you ran from him, in the end, and how he’d been powerless to hold you back. 

How he didn’t even try. 

That you were going home and how far away that meant, just so you could protect a friendship he wasn’t even sure could be saved. 

What he sees play across Izzy’s face doesn’t reflect any of the ugly feelings throbbing in his chest. There’s understanding in her eyes, and hope in her smile; relief in her posture. For Isolda Morales remembers what Francisco Jr cannot: the ashen neon light of a military hospital room, and the lean, lifeless figure of her brother lying under a coarse sheet that looked like a shroud. She remembers the blood-stained dressing wrapped around his waist. She remembers his face, gleaming a waxy yellow as the morphine flooded his system, and his wistful realisation, spoken around a drug-heavy tongue, “if I die now, she will never even know.”

Izzy could have cursed your name, then, Gabrielle, but for the second time in her lifetime, and for her baby brother’s sake, she walked her mother’s path, and formulated a silent prayer. 

For the lost lovers to be reunited. 

When her brother falls silent, Izzy feels like herself again. 

“I knew you to be more persistent, Francisco,” she says sternly.

The statement hits him square in the chest with lethal precision. The soft leather creaks in protest when he leans back into the armchair, scrutinizing his sister’s face. 

“I don’t have much latitude, here,” he argues. “If she wants to go–”

“You’re not really considering letting her go?” she cuts him with ill-concealed impatience.

“I can’t hold her back, Izzy. She’s a free woman,” he says, and he hates that it sounds like an apology.

Izzy lunges forward, reaching for her untouched cup of mate. She takes a long, slow sip, mulling over her next words while Frankie waits, running his hand over his mouth, bracing himself.

“Why are you here?” she asks eventually, replacing the cup on its glass coaster. When he doesn’t answer, she presses further. “You’ve never been one to seek comfort, and I can’t imagine you coming here so I can give you a sisterly pat on the back and tell you everything’s gonna be alright. Nothing will, by the way. So what is it that you want from me? Why did you come?”

He can see it. See it so clearly. The shame on your face the first time he touched your breasts and then your relieved abandon when he came on your skin after only one night together. He remembers how this victory made him feel, the single most meaningful thing he could ever achieve. How you kept saying “sorry,” how you still say “please,” consistently moving through life as if you take up too much space. 

“I want her, Izzy. I want to be with her. Take care of her,” he says, a nod punctuating each affirmation. “But I can’t coerce her into choosing me, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” he continues, his blood brought to a simmering level by the uncomfortable truth in her words, by the paralysing contradiction in his. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Frankie! She is choosing you. It’s herself she’s not choosing, here.”

Frankie flinches, trying to swallow the handful of pins and needles she just shoved down his throat. 

“Is that what it is?” she asks in a softer tone. “You think getting her to stay would make you, what, selfish? A bad man? Because it would fuck things up with the guys? Are you afraid that she would despise you for that?”

Bending forward, he rests his elbows on his lap, his fingernail worrying at the little tattoo on his left thumb. Izzy’s eyes rapidly flick down from his hands to his tense face, in time to see him mutely nod his agreement, his gaze floorward.  

“I know,” he starts, his voice hoarse and so quiet she has to lean forward not to miss a word, “I know that if I’m with her… if she’s mine… I could fix it.”

“Are you talking about yourself or the group’s dynamics?” Izzy asks without malice.   

Her. I’m talking about her. She’s the only one that matters. 

The look on his face is one of pleading and pain, eyes strained on his hands where he presses a finger onto the green mark, seeking focus through the discomfort.

“Frankie, look at me.”

Frankie finally lifts his head and finds her dark, lively eyes. They’re the same as his. Identical, yet so different. 

“I think that’s what you came for. To hear me tell you to fight for yourself, for once.” She pauses to let it sink in. “It’s ok to fight for what you want. I know you’ve always put everyone else’s needs first, because you’re a good man, Francisco. But you can’t miss that shot. You’ve been so lucky. Twice over. I can’t say I’ve ever felt the way you do.”

“You had it pretty bad for Paula,” he mutters.

“True,” she agrees. “But I left, in the end.”

“What happened with that?”

“I think I was too independent. And she wanted kids. Listen, we’re not talking about me, here,” she shrugs away the topic with the back of her hand. “Hermanito, you’ll never be happy without her. You are right. You know you are. Go get your girl. The way you talk about her, it sounds like she needs you just as bad as you need her. You can make everything right after, later. Do whatever it takes to convince her. You’ve loved her forever.”

His mouth is parched but he’s still denying himself the drink that would soothe his throat, and it’s a hard swallow before he can articulate his next words. 

“Fuck, Izzy, that’s all I ever want. To keep her safe.” 

In the breast pocket of his shirt, a muffled buzzing signals an incoming text.

He pulls his phone out hastily, hoping to see your name lighting up the screen. What he reads instead draws a hissed curse from his tight lips and they dip downward, pulled by his corded neck. 

“Fuck.”

“¿Quién es?” 

“Ben. Wants to meet at the bar. Now.”

—

Pope arrives first, and when he steps into the bar, it’s as though the dim lights instantly grow brighter. 

A thoughtful, personal greeting to everyone, from the regulars to the bartender, and their faces lighten up too, under the glow of his attention. 

He orders beers for the five of them and leisurely struts over to their usual table, securing the spot before larger parties of the early evening start pouring in. Taking his favourite seat on the left, he waits for the bartender to bring over their drinks. Service at the table is a preferential treatment only Tom and him are ever granted. 

The Millers come in shortly after, and Pope’s easy smile drops at the sight of the youngest man, who’s clearly missing more than a couple hours of sleep. Who, on closer observation, might have been crying. 

He stands up to welcome them with a brotherly embrace, but he has to wait to ask his many questions. The glasses and ice-cold pitcher are brought in, and when Fish arrives next, Pope straightens up in his seat. His gaze intensifies, strained on the two men sitting side by side to his right around the large wooden table. The blond and the dark-haired. There’s something at play here, something he’s been missing, and his increased attention darkens his handsome features.  

“Damn, when I got your text I thought we would be celebrating something. What’s going on, guys?” The corner of his lips curls up with a charming smile, but his stare is cold, his eyes working on reading the scene. 

So far unusually quiet, Benny’s about to speak when his brother lays a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s wait for Redfly,” he suggests in a firm tone, “I don’t think you wanna have to repeat that twice.”

Frankie slowly downs half his glass in long, uninterrupted gulps. He knows his quietness to be suspicious. If Benny has news that requires to be delivered in such an exceptional setting, and that he hasn’t heard of already, he should at least express concern or curiosity. But Benny's blotched face and his fraternal handshake told him everything he needs to know. 

You carried out your plan and took the blow so he could walk out of this unscathed. 

It’s going to take more than a beer to take off the edge. 

Alone yet undeterred in his attempt to maintain the illusion of a friendly gathering, Pope proceeds to fill the uneasy silence with innocuous small talk.

Frankie’s eyes meet Will’s steely gaze for the briefest moment and gratitude flares in his chest for his sensible advice. The feeling doesn’t last, however, taken down by guilt, and shame. The man dropped you on his threshold, knowing enough about the history between you to figure out what could ensue.  

When Redfly eventually shows up and takes his seat, the overhanging tension cranks up until Benny’s baritone breaks like thunder over the five of them. Unable to contain himself any longer, his account of your breakup, that he never names as such, spills out of him in an endless, vivacious stream with that larger than life petulance that’s always tugged at Frankie’s heartstrings. Only today, everything bites at his nerves and erodes his restraint, from the emotion brimming under the surface of Benny’s messy narrative to Pope’s genuine look of surprise and Redfly’s unfazed reaction.

Exhaustion comes in waves, and he has just enough control left in him to maintain a white knuckled grasp around his glass and not resort to the telling rubbing of the little target inked on his skin. 

Looking at his friend’s hunched posture and wet eyes proves itself impossible, but more than once his gaze lingers on Will’s face, in a vain attempt to read the man’s thoughts. There’s nothing to see there, nothing to grasp, and suddenly an alarming doubt has him uncomfortably shifting in his seat: what does he let on? Ducking his head, he finds the shelter of his cap brim. 

His heart thumps louder than Benny’s voice at what’s missing from his story. What did you feel? What did you look like? What were you wearing? Did you cry? Did you brush a strand of hair off his forehead like he watched you doing once? Did you cup his face, give him one last kiss? Did you fuck one last time?

Benny marks a pause, which leaves space for Pope and Redfly to express their sympathy. Frankie registers plainly the lack of sincerity in Redfly’s short sentence, and he’s reminded of that very first night, when you were introduced to the group and had the audacity to tell him off. He had wondered, no, hoped, truly, that you had done so on his account. He has his answer now. Most of the things you’ve ever done have been either because or for him. 

Why hadn’t he said something, then? Anything. “We’ve met before,” simple, non-committal. In retrospect, this had been the biggest mistake of all. There might have been a chance to salvage something from this wreck if he had spoken there and then, instead of letting his friend proudly parade you in front of everyone. But he’d been too consumed by anger to think straight. Anger and jealousy. And something else. Your skin. The mad beating of your heart under the pulse point of your neck. Had you shown him that piece of paper then, he might have fucked you on the table. 

You hadn’t said anything either. You looked as if you’d seen death itself, which he mistook for an admission of guilt. In truth you had instantly fathomed the depth of the mess you two were in. Clever, clever girl.

In the end, your tacit, instinctual agreement over your conjoint secret spoke of the intensity of your feelings. Unescapable. And everlasting. 

“Shit Benny, I’m really sorry. That’s tough,” Pope says for the third time. “When did she say she was leaving?”

“I don’t know, man, and I don’t care cause it’s not happening,” Benny shoots back, shaking his head left and right like a scared kid. 

Will tuts and when he speaks, his tone suggests they’ve already been over that a hundred times. “Come on buddy, you know she does what she—“ 

“The hell she does!” he all but shouts. 

Under the brim of his cap, Frankie clenches his eyes, your voice on loop in his mind, “he’s your best friend…” He’s painfully aware that he has yet to say something, anything. 

“Did she explain why she’s going back to Paris?” he eventually asks under his breath. 

“I don’t know, something about her boss offering back her former position,” Benny answers dismissively.

“That boss a man, by any chance?” Redfly snarls. 

“Jesus, man,” Will breathes out. 

All of a sudden, the situation feels uncomfortably familiar. The stench of gasoline fills up his nostrils and cold sweat breaks out along his spine. Questionable orders and deflected responsibility. Frankie’s gaze moves up to focus on Tom and it’s as though he sees the man, their undisputed leader, for the very first time. Flawed, sad, and bitter.

“Look,” Pope starts, another attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere, “Yovanna likes her, and she has a pretty good bullshit radar. Maybe it’s just that. Maybe she’s really just homesick, maybe she does need to go back.“

“Yeah, maybe it’s this, or maybe it’s that,” Tom persists.

Pope raises an eyebrow at the comment. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tilts his chin up to address Will. “You know her the best. After Benny, I mean. She didn’t tell you anything?”

Will sits up straight, unfurling his sturdy frame. “Talks about Paris all the time. She’s homesick, alright,” he confirms. 

“She is,” Frankie whispers. 

The words slip out of him before he can hold them. All eyes turn to him, save for Tom’s, who slaps his palm on the table and starts rambling. 

“And that’s just the French for you, guys. A bunch of double-faced, unreliable people. Lazy, always fucking protesting something, never falling in line…”

“Ok, we get it,” Will grunts.

“No I mean, let that be a lesson to you, Benny. Because she really just said ‘it’s not you it’s me’ and dumped you for–”

“Hey, here’s an idea for you, Tom.”

The air stills around the five men, wrapped around the anger in Frankie’s commanding tone. 

“Fish, easy, man,” Will warns with a tilt of his head, but Frankie’s already raising up to his feet, right fist resting knuckle down on top of the table, squaring up with his former commanding officer who’s staring back at him, dumbfounded.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” 

Hushed conversations fade around them; most of the room turning its attention to their group. 

His voice picks up in intensity as he speaks. “You don’t know anything about her, or where she’s from, or why she did what she did– in fact, you know jack shit, so why don’t you shut your mouth, for once, because if you don’t I swear I’ll make you.”

Tom is about to answer when Pope lifts his hands in the air, palms outward. 

“Alright, what the hell is going on, here, guys?”

“Yeah, what the hell is going on, Fish?” Benny asks, standing up. 

Frankie turns to face his friend and something flickers in his eyes. Almost regret, though not quite an apology, but rather a suppressed threat that twists his lips. In his peripheral vision, Will drops his head with a heavy sigh. 

“Did you fuck my girl, Fish?” Benny quietly asks, a lingering doubt in his tone. 

Frankie’s lived long enough to know this is the pivotal point of his adult life, and in his head, an image surfaces. The waves of the Pacific Ocean. 

Raising a pointing index at the tall man, he licks his lips and slowly answers. 

“She is not your girl.”

He only has time to register Tom’s sniggering snort before Ben’s fist collides with his face. A sharp pain blurs his vision and the violence of the blow sends his cap flying across the room. The back of his knees hit the chair and he topples backward in a loud clatter. 

An instant uproar bursts around them. Frankie tries to sit up but Ben is on him before he can move, pinning him down to the floor in a straddle, his shirt clutched in his fist. Frankie tries shoving him back but there’s no fighting his strength and he takes the second punch; the back of his head hitting the hardwood floor with an ominous thud and the skin over his cheekbone breaking under the impact of Ben’s knuckles.

A piercing, ringing noise fills his ears, drowning out the other men’s voices along with Ben’s curses, and a surge of blind rage washes over him. He strikes Ben once, twice in rapid succession under the sternum, the sound of his own grunts splitting his skull and Ben collapses on top of him with a groan, warm breath fanning the side of his face. Frankie can’t breathe, crushed under the weight, but it’s lifted off his chest immediately.

Clutching his brother by the collar of his t-shirt and the waist of his jeans, Will pulls him off Frankie and away before he has a chance to dive in again. Frankie’s ready, getting up off the floor, Pope sliding both hands under his arms to hold him back, but Frankie’s voice is heavy with unreleased anger when he shouts, “It’s fine! I’m fine!” 

In the dim bar, several people have stood up to get a better view of the commotion. 

Shoulders heaving, he pushes Pope away, ready to counter or attack, but Will has both hands on his brother’s chest and is holding him back. 

“Get him out of here!” he commands Pope, his words barely audible under Ben’s string of insults. 

It’s a beat before Pope is able to snap out of it, his deep frown and curled lips betraying his horror. He turns to Frankie, who is still standing a few feet from the two brothers with his fists clenched and bared teeth, feet planted firmly on the ground and seemingly ready to launch his body forward. Pope comes closer to drag him toward the exit, a splayed hand on his shoulders forcing him backwards, a low rumble of “Come on, man, let’s go,” as if he were attempting to tame a wild beast.

Frankie catches sight of Tom, who hasn’t moved from his seat, beer in hand, staring him down with contempt. 

“Go fuck yourself, Tom,” he coldly throws in his direction, but it’s Ben who answers. 

“You go fuck yourself, man! I fucking trusted you!”

“Pope! Out!” Will shouts.

Before Pope has time to react, Frankie shrugs off his hands and takes a step forward. Ben stills under his brother’s hold, observing his moves, slow and deliberate as he bends down to pick his hat off the floor. 

He stands up, and the two men glare at each other one last time.

“She was never yours,” he quietly states, before Pope gives him a hard push and they both disappear through the door. 

Out in the street, the brutal daylight has him squinting. He winces at the pain in his cheek, letting Pope usher him toward his car, with a hand on his back to make sure he complies. 

Once in the car, Pope doesn’t wait to start the ignition, forcing his way into the rush hour traffic, and they drive in silence for a while. Frankie’s eyes are trained on the windshield, his breathing evening out slowly, both hands braced on his knees. Adrenaline still pumping high through his system, he can’t bring himself to risk a glance at his friend’s face, knowing he can’t confront the disappointment he knows he’ll find there. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck, man? ¿Qué pasó? ¿Qué has hecho?” Pope bursts out vehemently. 

Frankie sighs in frustration; he’s not telling this story again, not today, not now. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong, Santiago, ok? It’s fucking bad luck if–”

“Bad luck? Really, Frankie, bad luck? Your fucking face is bleeding! You served together for ten years! The man saved your life!”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t thought about it?” his voice raises to a near breaking point. “Gabrielle and I, we met– fifteen fucking years ago, ok? She was never his. To me, she’s everything. I lost her once, I’m not losing her again. That’s it, that’s what’s happening.”

The cab falls quiet again. The car stops at a red light and Santiago pivots in his seat, trying to catch Frankie’s distant gaze, and his dark eyes soften. 

“Why did you never tell me? I would have listened,” he says. 

“I know.” 

He wants to explain. And he hopes that one day he will get the chance. His silence didn’t spring from lack of trust, but from lack of faith. From the unexplainable absence that left him broken. But right now his jaw is too tightly clenched to articulate the intricate feeling, and his tongue too heavy with the bitter taste of loss that is only too familiar to him. 

“Makes sense, though,” Santiago continues. 

“What?” he asks with a dry mouth, eyes to his knees. 

“You. Missing someone. All these years. I think I always assumed it was your parents, but with all the compulsive fucking I should have guessed it was a girl.” 

Frankie doesn’t answer. Santi’s offering open-minded understanding, just like he always has. It might be just who he is. Or it might be that Frankie is right in his gut feeling: he can fix it. 

The grey sedan in front of them starts moving, and Santiago activates the right-turn signal.

“Where are you going?” Frankie asks.

“Your place, where you wanna go?” 

“No, leave me at the corner of Seaview and County. You need to turn around.” 

“What’s there?” Santi frowns. “Her place? You really serious about this?” he asks kindly.

“Yea I'm fucking serious. I'm not going back,” Frankie mutters.

“Well, you’re going back to her,” Santi quips with a grin. 

Frankie finally looks at his friend, who’s flashing him his most radiant smile. “Ok, Pablo Neruda, calla y conduce.” 

—

You called in sick, and then you simply gave up. What’s the point anyway? For what purpose? To whose benefit?

Countless times you reached for your phone to dial up Rosie, missing her so much you could have screamed, but even for that sort of relief you were too exhausted. 

You drafted an email to your boss in Paris, enquiring about the modalities of a possible reinstatement, and failed to send it. 

You sat under the shower until the water ran cold, until your eyes ran dry, until your whole body began shivering from the loss of his scent on your skin.  

You stared at your ashen reflection in the bathroom mirror, setting a mental countdown to the disappearance of the purple flecks he had left on your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, the swell of your ass. They’ll be gone in a few days. Then your life will reverse to being contained into a memory. 

You crossed your arms over your belly and clasped your hips in the same way he had on the fire escape and in his kitchen. 

Underwear, socks, high collar T-shirt, jeans. You dressed methodically and remembered to take your Metrocard and to lock your door and walked over to Walgreens to buy some cheap concealer you weren’t sure how to use, applying it in the pharmacy aisle to cover the stubborn marks your clothes wouldn’t hide.

All this, so you could finally, finally ride the bus one last time to Benny’s place. 

The conversation didn’t go down easy. That’s one hell of an understatement. He wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t even let you speak. He followed you around his house as you gathered your belongings, (they were everywhere, fuck, what had you been thinking), and kept tugging at your arm for you to face him, trying to cup your face but you wouldn’t let him. Imploring eyes and vows to give you anything you ever needed, and you would have given ten years of your useless life to get out of there, to stop wanting to take him in your arms and thread your fingers through his hair. 

You were going to miss him. You missed him already. The realisation struck you like lightning and brought a foul taste to your mouth. 

In the end, you still kissed him. Or, you let him kiss you. 

“You’ll be fine,” you breathed into his mouth and his hold on you was bruising but it was not the same. Nothing ever was. 

Your best friend’s words rang in your ears, true and prophetic. 

Rosie, Will, Benny. You were, you are, throwing away the best relationships you’ve ever had over a one-night stand. 

Only there’s this space, between his jaw and his collarbone, along the strong line of his neck, where your face fits perfectly. Where you’re important, primordial. Where you’re protected and safe. And free to be what you can or want to be. That space was made just for you, along the strong line of Frankie’s neck, and that space is worth everything. Even if you can only know of it in your most valuable memory. 

You’ll choose him, again and again and again: over yourself and over everything. 

You wish Rosie had chosen you. You’ll be lost without her. You are, already. 

You’re confident you’ve taken the best possible decision. You couldn’t live with the guilt, nor the threat of his eventual resentment. 

Back in your apartment, you wiped the concealer off your skin and undressed to your panties. You put on a threadbare red T-shirt, flocked with the name “Chamonix” and a skiing figure that belonged to your grandfather. 

Then you drew the curtains. You crawled into bed and pulled the blue sheet over your head. 

You'll think about everything later. Rosie, work, packing, moving –for now you just need to sleep, because you’re too tired to hurt, too tired to weep. Heavy heart, heavy lids, heavy limbs. 

Time passes, and then a strong, repetitive banging rattles your front door, slowly penetrating the dazed limbo your mind has slipped into. It might be the morning, or the middle of the night. Your body is curled up and sore and you scramble out of bed, hitting your shoulder on the door frame as you step into the living-room. It doesn’t even occur to you to put on some pants before you open the door. 

He’s here. 

His broad silhouette backlit against the neon lit corridor, the left side of his face bruised and bloodied. 

He’s here. 

He steps into the dark apartment and closes the door behind him. His hands find your hips, and he pulls you in. 

He’s here. 

“Who did that to you?” you whisper. “Frankie, what did you do?”

Everyone he’s ever known has asked him a variation of this question, today. What has he done. What did he do. And for each version, there’s only one answer: he’s come back to you. 

“It’s fine,” he tells you, his heart painfully pulsating under the cut on his skin but you take his hands off your hips and instruct him to sit. 

In the bathroom, your numb fingers fumble noisily in the cabinet for a cotton pad and some alcohol. When you close the mirrored door, you’re met with your reflection again. You might be on the brink of tears or the verge of laughter.

When you come out, something feels different. It’s a minute before you realise he’s opened the curtains he came in to install with his friend less than a week ago. The setting sun casts a golden hue in your small living-room. He hasn’t sat, but he's taken off his cap and he’s pacing the small room. 

“It’s over, Gabrielle. I told him. Ben knows. So that’s that, he knows everything.” 

It’s a half-truth but the details can wait. Frankie stills when you approach him, knee popped to the side and hands on his hips, but his eyes betray his nervousness. 

They follow your trembling hands as they soak the rectangular pad with the yellow liquid. They search your face for a reaction, an emotion, but you give him nothing, focused on your task. 

You bring your hand to his face and start wiping his cheek before you stop, hesitant, your fingers releasing their grasp on the cotton pad that falls onto the carpet without a sound. Raising to your tiptoes, you peck an open-mouthed kiss to his wound. 

His skin quivers under your lips. You look up at him when you lick your lips clean of his blood, it tastes of copper and salt, and his eyebrows go so high, the crease between them nearly disappears. His shoulders ease down, almost unwillingly, there’s a twitch in his arm, and he sighs heavily. His hands go back to your hips, where they belong, and his heart is pounding. 

“You’re staying,” he says, his voice coarse and urgent. “I need to hear you say it, baby. With words. Say you’re staying.”

The fabric of your T-shirt paints your vision red when you slide it off above your head. One by one, you unfasten the press-stud of his shirt and open it wide. There’s a large bruise on the right side of his chest, under his collarbone. You brush your fingers over the purple mark, all the way down to the scar on his side. 

Your hands skate up along his sides and find their way around his waist to splay over his back and you press your breasts to the warmth of his solid body. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, and you tell him. 

“I’ll stay. I’ll stay right here.”

You still can’t describe it, and you probably never will, but it’s fine, you won’t have to anymore. His scent. Ever present. Unforgotten. It surrounds you, now. And as Frankie takes the sides of his shirt and wraps them around you in a tight embrace, you both smile with relief. 

It’s been a long journey, but you made it home in the end. 

****

Bonus (because I had a hard time choosing between the two and I love @nicolethered 🧡):

Additional note: I HC that Santi and Frankie, and especially Izzy and Frankie, would speak a lot more in Spanish, between them. Unfortunately, I don't. So this is what it is 😔 A (French) friend who speaks Spanish kindly helped me with the translations. If you're a native speaker and I've messed it up, please slap me over the back of the head.

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks

[reneeluv154]

Chess-obsessed

Hi sorry if this one isn’t all that great, I'm struggling a bit right now but I hope you enjoy anyway!🤍

I dragged my feet across the bedroom floor, Benny wasn’t in bed yet again. There was a small glowing light coming from behind the bedroom door. In my small white gown, I carefully opened the door peeking out from behind it. Benny was neither sitting at his chessboard nor in his excuse for a living room.

Where had he gone? I wondered. My question was soon answered when I heard the shower running. I went and grabbed the radio before sitting on the couch and turning the volume on low. They were playing slow and calm music which was not helping with my sleepy state of mind. I wanted to wait for Benny, he always smells like citrus and vanilla when getting out of the shower, sometimes a hint of mint, and always leather. My eyes slowly closed but snapped open as I heard the bathroom door click and Benny walked out, his hair still dripping wet with only a towel around his waist.

“What are you doing up?” He whispered, I wasn’t sure as to why. I shrugged letting my eyes fall shut once again. He chuckled. I felt the space on the couch next to me dip, his scent that I knew all too well filling my senses. I fell into him, his arms wrapping around me, giving me a tight squeeze.

“Did I wake you?”

I shook my head.

“Can you come to bed?”

He sighed, taking a minute to think.

“I’m not all that tired baby. But I can sit here with you and listen to the radio.”

He leaned forward, turning the volume knob.

I awoke to Benny’s arms still tightly around me and the light of day filling the apartment, his head resting on my own. I hated to wake him, knowing he had more than likely been up all night, so I laid there for a good while before having to adjust. He stirred as well, slowly opening his eyes. “Good morning.” I smiled.

“Good morning” He groaned, giving my nose a small kiss.

“Would you be a doll and make me a cup of coffee while I get dressed?” It was just now I noticed he still had the towel around his waist. I nodded, getting up to fix his coffee while he walked into the bedroom to change. I finished making his coffee.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He came from behind me, giving my bottom a small pinch. I giggled while handing him his coffee.

“What are you gonna do today?”

He asked.

“Oh you know, slave away for the attention of my chess-obsessed boyfriend.” I laughed, He didn’t find it funny, giving me a stern, confused look. “You don’t have to slave away for my attention.”

I rolled my eyes. “Admit it you love your chess board more than me.” I giggled whacking him playfully with a small pillow. I know I joked but deep down I was curious.

“Y/n, I love you far more than that silly chessboard, I don’t love that chessboard, I love you, you are someone that brings me joy and warmth even on my darkest days.”

“But chess brings you joy.”

He shook his head.

“Yes. Chess brings me joy but I could live without chess.”

My eyes widened in shock, did he really just say that?

“I could never live without you. Life would be absolute hell without you, love.”

I smiled before moving to sit in his lap and play with his hair as we yet again listened to the radio.