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macfrog · 1 year

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rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

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When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old �� two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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pimosworld · 4 months

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would you be able to write something about santi and frankie making a tree house for the reader's kids?

her kids have always wanted one and there's a perfect tree for it right in the center of the back yard, but she's never had the time to make it herself or get a professional to make it.

one day, at a neighborhood barbecue, pope is talking to reader's kids (trying desperately to be their favorite uncle) when they inform him of their plan of how to get their mom to make their tree house.

he tells them to draw him up a plan of their dream tree house and tells them he'll see what he can do. with the help of fish, they draw up a real plan of action from the drawing and set out finding materials. reclaimed wood, an old slide that really just needs a fresh paint job, a carpet to go inside, and some old moroccan style tiles for the roof.

they show up, truck bed full of supplies, unannounced and get to work unloading and constructing the thing. how can the reader be so mad when her kids look so happy helping them build it and playing in it once it's built?!

(new anon, sorry that this was so long.)

Pairing-Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary-Your kids find a way to get what they want both for you and for them.

CW-SFW, Fluff, angst, mentions of parent loss, mentions of spouse loss, tf boys being protective, tf boys being great uncles, mentions of insecurities, kids being menaces, dating, cursing, inaccurate descriptions of tree house build time because this is my world and we can build tree houses quickly, so much fluff. The boys being good with their hands.

WC-2.7k

A/N- I’m sorry this took me so long anon. Writers block sucks but it’s only fitting that the anniversary of my first ever fic COMPANY that came up a few weeks ago featuring the tf boys is kicked off with your request for some Frankie and Santi being amazing. I made some adjustments but I hope this is everything you wanted and more.

[Triple Frontier Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

If you build it

“I can tell they’re up to something.” Santi shoots you a look as he flips the burgers on the grill.

“They’re kids of course they’re up to something. The question is what.” Santi closes the grill as he looks across the wide expanse of yard at his niece and nephew playing in the sandbox.

It looks like the childlike version of an ops mission happening. To someone else it may just look like a little girl playing with a stick in the sand but Santi knows better than that.

****

It’s such an odd feeling, you should still be grieving right? You most certainly shouldn’t be looking at Santi and his chiseled jaw as he watches your kids play. Or watching the way his muscles flex in his tight tee shirt as he crosses his arms. You’re so distracted you don’t even realize he’s speaking to you.

“Can you watch the grill for a second?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you feel flushed for all the wrong reasons. The sweltering heat does nothing to hide your embarrassment.

“Ya of course but don’t be gone too long. I’ve been known to burn anything on the grill.”

“I’ll make it quick then.” He winks at you as he walks across your lush green yard. Swiftly dodging a football that Benny throws deliberately at his head as he flips him off in return.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in his pants if you keep staring.” You jump at the sound of Frankie’s voice and he has the decency to look apologetic at your reaction.

You hadn’t really noticed how much they’ve all aged in the last few months. His hair is a little longer as it curls around his cap. His worry lines are just a bit deeper than you last remember them being. Yet he still smiles at you all the same as he pulls you into a deep hug, kissing the top of your head.

“I didn’t mean to scare you cariño, I was only joking.”

You shove him off playfully as you open the grill again. “I wasn’t staring.”

He bumps you out of the way as he grabs the spatula from your hand. “Sure…whatever you say. Your secrets are safe with me.” You watch him as he effortlessly dispatches all the burgers to a plate and sets them aside.

You bite your lip as you wait for him to say something but you know he’s giving you time to think. Something he’s always done for you, knowing that your mind is going a mile a minute and if anyone interrupts that train of thought it might be gone forever.

He’s just standing beside you like a steady weight as he glances around the yard at some people he barely knows and others he knows like the back of his hand. Now it’s mostly close friends and one or two neighbors, compared to several months ago when he couldn’t pick out a familiar face among the crowd. People tend to forget that your grieving continues even long after you’ve decided not to show up.

He shouldn’t feel bad for you because you’re a strong woman. More resilient than any of them could ever be.

“Frankie, can I ask you something?” You say with a nervous smile.

“You’re allowed to move on.”

You glance up at him and it’s intense the way he meets your eyes. “I didn’t ask the question.”

“You didn’t have to…my answer is still the same.”

****

As Santi approaches the sandbox he can see some kind of intricate drawing. Lexi is using a stick practically the size of her to draw it out while her brother Liam watches from the corner. She looks so much like you, especially with her focused face on as she draws another detailed set of lines that he still can’t quite make out.

Liam glances up at him and gestures with his fingers to stay quiet. Santi takes a seat at the corner of the box near him as they patiently wait for her to finish. He looks so much like him that Santi has a hard time not getting choked up, he’s grateful that they both have your personality.

“Okay.” Lexi throws the stick to the side and dusts her hands off on her white skirt. “I think it’s done.” She looks up and flashes a toothy smile at Santi and he can’t help the way his heart melts.

“Can I ask what exactly this is?”

The little girl lets out a deep sigh as she looks over at her twin brother and he just holds his hands out in silent communication that she needs to take the lead.

“Well…this is a tree house.” She pauses briefly and Santi thinks that’s cool that she can draw but then she starts. In great detail for several minutes animatedly explaining the process of her vision coming to life.

Santi has to get up and stand from her perspective to really get a grasp of what she’s talking about. He tries to follow along as she explains the duel ladder system, one on the trunk and another hanging down from the middle entrance of the house. Two doors, one for entry and the other for the slide,that lets out perfectly into the softest patch of grass in the yard. Her and her brother evidently couldn’t decide on carpet or tile so they opted to split it down the middle. Her half would be tile and his half would be carpet. They would obviously need enough room for arts and crafts, the kitchen and naps.

He’s never been so impressed with an eight year old in his entire life.

He’s so enthralled with the design that he doesn’t notice the little girl standing there staring up at him expectantly.

“So what do you think?” She’s wringing her little hands together as she glances over at her brother with an equally curious look on his face. As if a lightbulb goes off in his head Santi is suddenly aware of what exactly they were up to.

“Mija��are you asking if I can help?”

She nods her head as she rocks back and forth in the sand.

“We both have allowances if that helps.” Liam chimes in from the corner of the sandbox and Santi has to try to disguise his smile behind his hand.

“Foods ready!” You yell from across the yard and Santi meets your eyes. A look of what are you up to written all across your face.

He crouches down waving Liam over and the little boy carefully avoids the blueprints in the sand to join them. “Okay…here is what I want you to do.”

****

Your kids are being uncharacteristically good. They finished all their food, they haven’t bothered you in over an hour and even offered to help clean up the table after everyone ate.

Most everyone has cleared out from the barbecue besides for the boys who seem to be enthralled with something over by the sandbox. Frankie keeps glancing over his shoulder at you and Will has shot you a thumbs up twice. If they thought subtlety was their strong suit they are sadly mistaken. You often wonder how they managed to be special ops and keep things a secret when it’s so obvious they’ve all got something up their sleeve.

****

The something they had planned despite your initial worry was in fact a much needed day for yourself. Benny was going to take the kids to the zoo and despite wanting all the credit Will assured you he would be accompanying them so that an adult would be present.

Over the last several months various repairs around the house had gone undone in the chaos of being a newly single mom. Frankie and Santi volunteered to spend the day getting your house in order while you had a full day planned with Will’s wife Jenna. Brunch, pedicures, shopping…you couldn’t remember the last time you treated yourself to a day that wasn’t centered around your kids. As much as you loved them you knew that at times it felt like the person you used to be was long buried underneath a world of stress and hurt.

Dating was completely off the table at the moment…especially since your current situation was all but off limits. Taking care of yourself for once could be a great start in the right direction.

****

“I told you to get half inch screws Pope.”

“Those are half inch!” Santi says as he hears Frankie grumbling under his breath.

“These are definitely a quarter inch and that explains another problem.” Frankie chides as Santi flips him off.

They’ve been at this for a few hours having completed the tasks in your house in a matter of no time. All this a ruse to get the tree house completed before you and the kids are back from your day out.

It’s been awhile since they’ve done something like this. Not just the physical labor but the reward at the end being something that they know is going to brighten a lot of days. They may bicker and fight like brothers but at the end of the day Santi knows how much they both needed this. To have their minds occupied with an intricate task.

Intricate doesn’t even begin to describe what’s unfolded before them. With their niece's original design in mind and a few additions when they got to the store this is turning out to be better than some places they’ve slept while in the service.

Frankie is putting the finishing touches on the bug screen that he decided would be a good addition to the entryway for the balmy summer nights. Santi’s never felt so large while he sits on the wooden bench that doubles as a reading nook. The wood matching the same structure that he knows could withstand any storm or hurricane. The sun is setting, casting a shadow along the bright yellow carpet they found on clearance at the back of the home decor store.

The leftover Talavera tiles Santi had from his home remodel fit perfectly on the half that would be the makeshift kitchen.

There are three exits and two entries. The trap door with a knotted rope, the wooden plank stair steps and the slide that leads to the softest patch of grass in the yard.

Santiago’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of car doors slamming and children’s laughter.

“We should head down.” Frankie grunts as he shuffles over to the slide, reaching for his standard heating oil cap placed on the bench nook.

Santi raises his eyebrows at the man taking in the scene about to unfold.

“What? How else are we supposed to get down?”

“Oh I don’t know the stairs or the rope maybe?” He says sarcastically. “We don’t need you breaking the slide before they even get a chance.”

“Fuck you, this slide was built to withstand a hurricane.”

His nieces squeal from across the yard interrupts their fifth squabble of the day.

Frankie flashes him a wide grin. “Last man down has to ask their mom on a date.”

“What?!”

“Byeeee.” Frankie slides away, throwing him the middle finger on the way down.

Santi had already talked to him about this ad nauseam. It always felt like the wrong place at the wrong time.

He opened the latch to the trap door, opting to climb down to spare him the embarrassment of using a children’s slide in front of you.

****

You pulled up to the house at the exact same time as Will and Ben. You don’t remember the last time you’d felt this refreshed. Your hair and nails done, way too many bags piled in the backseat of Jenna’s car with a new wardrobe. It was exactly what you needed and a much needed conversation with another woman to reassure you that you were perfectly capable of making your own decisions about your love life. You shouldn’t feel guilty about moving on and doing what’s best for you and your children.

You half expected your kids to be happy to see you but they both gave you light hearted waves as they raced each other around the side of the house, leaving you in the driveway with Will and Ben with amused looks on their faces.

“What’s gotten into them?” You say as the boys shoot each other a look and Jenna takes your hand on hers to lead you around the house.

“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission right?” Ben says from behind you and now you’re really starting to worry. Your daughter's screech has you pulling away as you run into the backyard.

The sight you’re met with is one that completely knocks you off your feet. Your children are jumping up and down in front of a beaming Frankie and the largest tree house structure you’ve ever seen. This is something out of an outdoor life magazine.

You don’t realize you're frozen in place as the rest of the gang join him on the lawn. Santiago perhaps on purpose opted to make your life that much harder by effortlessly climbing down the rope ladder. In all the years he’s been out of the service the man still has an impeccable physique. You will your feet to move as you take in the thing that your kids have been asking you for since they could talk. The thing your husband didn’t make time for and the daunting task seemed impossible for you on your own. Paying someone was out of the question and you were too prideful to ask the boys to help you out anymore than they already did.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Santiago approaches with the most worried look you’ve ever seen on his face.

“Look, I’m really sorry if we overstepped. I know we should’ve asked and it wasn’t our place…but the kids-“

His ramblings are cut short when you throw yourself into him. He instinctively hugs you tight as he feels the wetness from your eyes soak into his shirt.

It’s embarrassing to admit how long it’s been since a man has held you and right now you can feel your resolve breaking as he soothingly rubs his hands down your back to calm your tears.

“I don’t know how to thank you Santi.” You mumble into his chest as you try to calm your beating heart.

It’s a moment before you break apart and he really gets a good look at you. Even with fresh tears in your eyes you look stunning. The most relaxed he’s seen you look in ages and just as beautiful as the day Tom introduced you to the boys.

With the group and the kids thoroughly distracted he figures now is as good a time as any. He’s far enough away that if you reject him he can slink out of the backyard and disappear to another country for three to six months while the shame dies down.

“Listen, I have to say something before I lose the courage to say it.” He nervously rubs the back of his neck as he focuses on some inanimate object behind you. “I understand if you’re not ready or you think this is highly inappropriate and in that case I’ll pretend this never happened.”

You can feel the hairs stand up on your arms and you dig your nails into your palm to keep from passing out at this very moment.

“I know it’s wrong to say but I’ve always thought you and the kids deserved better. You know I loved him but it killed me to see the way he treated you and in another life perhaps I met you first and things would look a little different. I just can’t help but think maybe this can be a second chance and if you’re willing, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

The silence is deafening as you try to form words and Santi looks as though he wants to spontaneously combust at your lack of response. In all honesty you were never really good at flirting and now you’re spiraling because what do you say besides.

“Yes.”

He lets out a huge sigh of relief as he looks up at the sky thanking whoever is watching that he didn’t just make a complete fool of himself.

You both turn around to see Benny helping your son climb the rope and Frankie sliding down with your daughter in his lap as she claps her hands. Will and his wife made it inside at some point and they wave to you both from the large open window.

“It looks like I may be able to take you up on that offer tonight.”

#triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #santi x reader #tf boys x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia fluff #santiago garcia x francisco morales #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #Benny miller #will miller #triple frontier au #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters #oscar isaac characters #triple frontier x reader #santiago pope garcia angst #santiago pope garcia fluff

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growup-thatbeautiful · 1 year

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I love all your fics!!!! I wondering if I could please request imagine (Triple Frontier) Ben Miller x shy girlfriend reader and both your infant son is mommy boy. Pretty adorable like every single day walking around the building, waiting for Ben or after the MMA fights, being both his good luck charms 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

A/n: you’re a genius, lovely! this is post-canon so i don’t have to deal with tom :) also, i spent so much time choosing the gif because i kept getting distracted about how pretty they are (the tf boys and the gifs)

Warnings: none :) reader has a kid, so if that’s not your thing don’t read!

triple frontier masterlist

Good Luck Charm

The brick wall of the gym hallway is cool against your shoulder from where you’re leaning against it. The smell of clean linoleum and the hum of the fluorescents above you provide a timeless cocoon for the sleeping bundle in your arms to nuzzle in closer to your chest.

“Good morning, Jules,” you coo softly when the bundle opens his eyes. “Have a good nap?” You get a bleary-eyed stare in response. Julian, named after Benny’s mom Julia, slowly blinks at you before spitting out his pacifier, spit following behind.

“Baby, why’d you do that?” you ask him. “You want your paci.” Sure enough, his face starts to turn red and you see his throat work up an upset whimper. Before he can start to fuss to much, though, you press the pacifier back into his mouth. Contentment settles on his face and his eyes slide back closed.

Distantly, you can hear the yelling crowd from the gym, and you don’t know how Jules is sleeping at all. The crowd is larger than normal on account of the sizable opponent Benny is fighting, hence the reason you’re waiting in the hallway instead of watching the fight.

You used to watch all of his matches when you where dating- you couldn’t get enough of the thrill of watching your Benny up on that platform, fighting with all of his strength to win. But, as you got more attached to him, it got harder to watch him take punches, especially when you had Julian.

Even if you aren’t in the room, it doesn’t stop you from thinking about Benny. The fight hasn’t started yet, which means that he’s probably in the locker room down the hall getting hyped up by the guys. As clear as if he was right in front of you, you see him wrap his hands carefully with bandages and gloves, his wedding band around a cord on his neck that holds his dog tags.

Will’s probably giving him some sort of pep talk with Santiago tagging on any information he deems helpful, which usually isn’t. Frankie, quiet and composed, os sitting on the bench, sizing up the opponent and searching for any weaknesses. They make quiet the group of men together. All there for Benny, even though none of them have to do this anymore.

When the crowd’s cheers grow louder, you know Benny’s made his way into the gym. Your husband’s always been a town favorite, and tonight there’s some sort of special opponent that he’s facing. You try not to learn all of the details- they usually make you too nervous. Benny knows not to tell you anything the same way you know not to ask questions when you patch him up. Blood, after being with him for so long, isn’t a problem for you anymore.

From somewhere down the hall, a voice calls your name. You could recognize that voice from anywhere, and if that wasn’t a dead giveaway then the loud, expletive-filled Spanish greeting gives him away before you can turn around and tell him that Julian’s asleep. Santiago wraps his arms around you, careful of Julian, and greets you warmly. “Hola, mija. How’s the kid?”

“Trying to sleep,” you respond without any malice at all. “No thanks to you.” He at least looks a little bit ashamed, but that clears away from his face as soon as Frankie steps next to him.

“Jesus, Pope, could you be any louder?” Frankie says, patting you roughly on the shoulder with a grin. “You think you would learn how to be around kids after all this time, ¿eh cabròn?”

“Thanks, Frank.” Santi’s voice is dripping with its usual sarcasm and sass, but all of you are used to it by now. 99% of what Santi says can be taken with a grain of salt.

In the gym, Benny’s name is announced over the loudspeaker and the lights start flashing rapidly. “I guess that’s your que to go,” you say. “Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

“Can we convince you to join us?” Frankie asks. Because it’s Frankie, you know he means the offer. If you asked him, he would take care of Julian while you went to see Benny, and you would trust him fully to do so. After two of his own kids, Frankie knows how to take care of all kinds of disasters, and you know his gentleness applies to anyone he considers family.

But you just don’t think that you watching is a good idea. “Nah, it’s okay, Frankie. Maybe next time.” Both of you know you’ll say the exact same thing next time too, but you always appreciate the offer.

With a knowing look, Frankie nods and leads Santiago down the hall with him into the crowded, hazy gym. You turn your attention back to Julian, who looks content in his dinosaur onesie. It was a gift from Will, and Benny wanted Julian to show support for his uncles.

The rest of the fight passes in a the crowds oohs and aahs and you can only pay so much attention to it before it starts to make you too anxious. Realistically, you know Benny can handle whoever it is he’s fighting. You heard accidentally that there’s a pound difference between them, but Benny’s fast for someone his size and you know that he can his own. Plus, he’s got a hearty amount of backup in case something goes wrong. The worst you’ve ever had to patch up in a long is a bloody nose or bruised ribs, and even then Benny usually knows how to take care of himself more than you do.

Eventually, you hear the triumphant roars reach a crescendo and the announcer calls out Benny as the winner. Pride fills your chest as you whisper to Julian. “Daddy won his fight, Jules. Just like we told him to.” Julian, waking up due to the raised noise levels, looks at you through squinted blue eyes just like his father’s.

As people trickle past you through the back exit, you make your way into the locker room where you know Benny and the guys will be as soon as Benny’s cleared by the unofficial doctor on site. It must not have been close at all because they show up after only a few minutes, cheering and yelling their way through the door.

When Benny sees you, a grin lights up his face, as if it’s a surprise to see you there. Like you would ever miss a fight.

With one strong arm wrapped around your waist, he pulls you in to a bruising kiss. “Honey,” he mutters against your lips, “I think you might be my good luck charm.”

Even after all these years, your heart still swells at his words, at the idea of Benny being just as enamored with you as you are with him. “I think Julian might be part of it too.”

With a grin, Benny looks down at the baby between you. “Hey, bud,” he greets, two sandy blond-haired heads looking at each other. While you’re the one who can seemingly always get Jules to sleep, Benny always wakes him up. Luckily, though, Julian is usually happy when he sees Benny. You can’t blame him. “How was your day with mama?”

“He had a rough day at school,” you explain softly to Benny, looking at Julian. “Apparently he was fussy.”

Benny scoffs and carefully takes Julian when you offer him. If it was anyone else covered in sweat and blood, you would say no, but you know Benny’s at least washed his hands. “My baby? Never. He’s an angel.”

“Sure, honey,” you respond, happy to see the twinkle in Benny’s eye. He may not agree, but you know there’s nothing that makes him in a better mood than winning and having his family there. “How was the fight?”

Benny’s grin spreads across his face and takes on a confidence that you usually don’t see outside of your home. “Not even close. He didn’t see a fuckin’ thing coming.”

“Benny,” you sigh, gesturing to Julian. “I’ll let it slide because you just won.”

“Good luck getting Pope to stop. His favorite words aren’t appropriate for kids,” Benny says in return, but you know he’s trying. His language is already better than it used to be. “Isn’t that right, Jules?”

Jules responds with a happy noise, one that just makes Benny’s grin even wider. You can’t help but appreciate the sight before you; your two beaming boys with each other, your family together.

Yeah, you’re going to keep coming to his fights. Maybe your his good luck charm, maybe you’re not, but nothing could possibly stop you from seeing Benny like this.

Happy. Content. Loved.

“Come here, honey,” Benny calls to you, and who are you to say no. Carefully, you let yourself be wrapped in Benny’s arms, your head on the warm muscle of his shoulder. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course,” you whisper. “We’re your good luck charms, right?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. You ignore the whistling and cheering of Santi and Frankie and the over-exaggerated gagging of Will. “Nothin’ like you, sweetheart. Or you-” he looks down at Julia “-bud.”

You can’t help but agree.

#i’ve been talking with my friends about how much i want kids recently so this is perfect nonnie <3 #nova answers #this is adorable #triple frontier #benny miller #benjamin miller #ben miller #benny miller fanfic #benny miller x female reader #benny miller fic #benny miller x reader #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x you #benny miller x y/n #benjamin miller x you #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier boys

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 21 days

Text

I Hope You Dance [a Jay and Frankie fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: TeenagerParent!Jay and Frankie, allusions to J & F having sex, underage drinking, vomiting, mention of girls kissing, teenage bisexual panic.

Words: 1,817

Summary: Jay and Frankie have a childfree night when Alma, 15, calls in panic from a party and asks to be picked up. Mom and dad to the rescue in more ways than one.

A/N: @beesmall asked the following: "What are things like for Jay and Frankie when the girls are a little older? Would love to hear about how they navigate the teenage drama years." I hope you like it! (Title is shameless stolen from Lee Ann Womack's song of the same name. I don't particularly like the song, but it fits the fic *shrugs*)

”MOOOOOM!”

Jay puts down the knife she was just about to use to cut vegetables, and looks over at Frankie, who’s frying meatballs at the stove.

”Is that girl about to die or what the hell is going on?”

Frankie chuckles. ”I think she might.”

The stairs groan under the running feet of a very stressed teenager, and the second after, Alma shows up in the kitchen.

”Mom, where’s my purple plaid?”

”I don’t know, honey, I don’t have a crystal ball,” Jay tells her patiently as she cuts up the tomatoes. ”And what have I told you about yelling like that?”

”Not to,” Alma pouts, but she’s still vibrating with pent up energy. ”But mom, if I don’t have the plaid, I won’t have anything to wear to Kat’s party!”

”You have a closet full of clothes.”

”You don’t get it!”

Alma storms off again in search of the beloved plaid, and Jay sighs deeply.

”My daughter cares about fashion. What did I do wrong?”

”Now, now,” Frankie chides her while shaking the frying pan in order to turn the meatballs. ”There are worse things a fifteen-year-old could do, you know that. Ours is actually very balanced.”

”Oh, I know that. But I still don’t understand how I’m supposed to know where her clothes are. Our kids fold their own clean clothes, and put the dirty ones in the hamper.”

”Maybe Bianca borrowed it.”

”If she did, Alma’s going to kill her.”

Alma reappears, now carrying the purple plaid and a very relieved look.

”Where was it?” Frankie asks lightly, knowing the answer.

”Where I left it,” the girl mutters, but she seems less stressed now.

”Imagine that,” Jay quips with a teasing smile, which is met by an eyeroll.

”Okay, mom.”

”Lay the table, please. Dinner will be ready soon, and then I’ll drive you to the party.”

Alma accepts without comments, and Jay watches her in secret while preparing the salad. Alma may be something of a tomboy who doesn’t really care about makeup and skimpy little party outfits, but she still cares about what she looks like. That purple plaid is her favorite, and she’d obviously want to wear it for a party.

After dinner, Jay takes Bianca to a friend’s house for a sleepover, then picks up Alma’s friend Joanna, and drives the girls to Kat’s house for the party.

”Remember that you can call for any reason,” she reminds her daughter before dropping them off. ”If anything happens, if something feels wrong, if the two of you wanna go home. Okay? At any time.”

”Sure, mom,” Alma nods, already getting out of the car. ”I’ll call, I promise!”

”Have fun!”

Confident that Alma will reach out, Jay drives back home to the old farm that she and Frankie bought and fixed up with the South American money all those years ago. Frankie’s waiting for her, grinning mischievously at her from his chair on the porch when she ascends the stairs.

”What?” she grins back, knowing full well what’s on his mind. The older the kids get and the more time they spend away from home, the more the sturdy bed in the master bedroom has to suffer. The years haven’t diminished the love and attraction Jay and Frankie have for each other.

”Come here, mama...”

///

The phone wakes Jay from her slumber, but as soon as she sees her oldest daughter’s photo on the screen, she’s wide awake.

”Hi, sweetie.”

”Mom?” Alma’s voice is small and unsure. ”Can you come and pick us up?”

”Alma, what’s the matter?” Jay’s in full mission mode immediately, getting out of bed and pulling out clothes from the closet. Frankie sits up as well, hearing that something’s amiss.

”Joanna isn’t feeling well, she had a lot to drink, and there are some older guys here...”

”I’m on my way, honey. Are you safe there? You want me to call 911?”

”Just get here, mom.”

”Fifteen minutes, honey.”

Frankie’s up as well, pulling his jeans on.

”What’s wrong?” he wants to know as soon as Jay hangs up. She pulls an old army hoodie over her head.

”Joanna drank too much, and apparently there are some older guys there. I think Alma’s fine, but she wasn’t feeling safe.”

”I’m coming with.”

Jay nods, and a couple of minutes later, they’re in the car, leaving the farm.

The party’s in full swing when they get there, but when Jay marches in, grim-faced and heavy-booted, it puts a damper on things. Not even the seventeen- and eighteen-year-old boys dare say anything when she turns her steely gaze at them.

”I’m only gonna say this once,” she proclaims loudly. ”Everyone who’s not on Kat’s year, get the fuck out. You have ten seconds, then I’m calling the cops and holding you down until they come and arrest your asses.”

Five guys get up quickly, picking up six-packs, and making their way past her, only to meet Frankie’s broad shoulders towering menacingly over them at the door. A car engine starts, and it’s like the rest of the crowd lowers their shoulders. Jay quickly finds Alma and Joanna in the bathroom, poor Joanna sobbing into the toilet bowl. After making sure that both girls are okay, Jay and Alma help lead Joanna out, where Frankie picks up the lurching girl, and carries her to the car.

”You can’t tell my parents, they’ll kill me,” she sobs in the backseat. Jay and Frankie exchange glances as they get in the front seat, Frankie driving this time. Joanna was supposed to spend the night at their house, and maybe it’s better to stick to the plan, and deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

They make it home with a couple of stops so that Joanna can throw up by the roadside, Jay and Frankie comforting her, Alma watching with a lost look on her face. When they finally get home, they put Joanna up in the guestroom with a bucket, an extra blanket, painkillers and water. After making sure she’s okay, they leave her to sleep.

Jay exhales deeply once the guestroom door clicks shut behind her. Walking into the kitchen, she glances at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s two am. She hears Frankie call her softly from the living-room. Walking there, she finds her husband and daughter on the couch. Alma’s looking confused and tired, and Frankie has his arm around her shoulders.

”I’m sorry, mom,” she whispers, and Jay hurries to her, sitting down next to her.

”Alma, honey, you have nothing to apologize for.”

”I should’ve taken better care of her.”

”It’s not your responsibility,” Frankie reminds her gently, and Jay nods.

”He’s right. You did everything right, Alma, you looked out for your friend, and you called us when you couldn’t handle the situation. I promise you, Alma, you did exactly right. I’m proud of you.”

The girl’s eyes fill with tears. ”Really?”

”So, so proud,” Frankie confirms, and Alma sobs.

”Even when I drink? I mean, with mom...”

”Honey, I’ve told you, I know you’re going to drink sooner or later,” Jay reminds her. They’ve had this conversation before, and so far, Alma hasn’t once come home drunk. ”I just want you to be careful when you do.”

”It wasn’t even that good, so I couldn’t drink much.”

”Yeah, it tastes shit, doesn’t it?” Jay chuckles. Alma smiles weakly through her tears before sobbing again.

”Joanna’s gonna be mad at me.”

”She’ll be fine in the morning,” Jay guesses. ”She’ll probably feel ashamed, but it’s okay. She’ll come around.”

”No, I mean...” The girl clams shut, and Jay strokes her neck gently until she’s comfortable to share.

”We were dancing and having a really good time and... I kissed her.”

Oh, my poor baby. Alma came out as bisexual about a year ago, first to her beloved uncle Benny, shortly later to her parents and sister. It hadn’t changed anything for Jay and Frankie, except that their first week after the coming out was filled with frantic googling on how to support their daughter. Dating, Jay had realized, would maybe be a little trickier for Alma, but she had resolved to give advice and help whenever her daughter asked for it, not before.

”You think she’ll be mad at you for that?” Frankie asks her gently. Alma shrugs.

”She got really weird, and then the guys showed up, and they had beers and she just started hanging with them.”

”Baby, I’m sure you’ll patch things up,” Jay tries to comfort her. ”Just let her sober up, live through her hangover which I’m sure will be epic, and then you can figure things out.”

”She kissed me back.”

”Then I hope there’s an even bigger chance that things will work out,” Frankie points out. Alma shakes her head.

”Her mom and dad are really strict. They’ll kill her.”

”No they won’t,” Jay tells her firmly. ”We’ll see to that, honey, I promise. It’ll be okay.”

Alma takes a deep breath and sighs it out, relaxing visibly.

”I love you, mom,” she whispers, and now Jay embraces her tightly.

”I love you too, Alma.”

”I love you, dad.”

”I love you, mijita.” Frankie’s arms are around them both, warm and reassuring.

They help their daughter to bed before retiring to their own bedroom for the second time that night.

”Christ,” Jay yawns as she undresses. ”I guess it begins. The dating and heartache phase, not to mention drinking.”

”But we did good,” Frankie reminds her, already in bed and waiting for her. ”She did everything right, just like you said.”

”Yeah, thank fuck.” Jay joins him between the sheets that still smell of their earlier love-making. She settles against him and yawns again.

”But I can’t believe our baby girl is so grown up already,” Frankie adds, his voice quivering a little. Jay passes her hand over his chest in half a caress, half a shove.

”Please don’t start bawling about our kids growing up yet again, I’m too tired for that shit.”

”When will you stop pretending like you don’t think it’s super cute that I get so emotional?” he chuckles, and Jay has to smile.

”When hell freezes over.”

”You’re a hard woman. But you did amazing with Alma tonight.”

”It was teamwork, baby,” she reminds, now angling her face up towards his. Their lips brush against each other. ”It's always teamwork.”

Frankie hums before pressing his lips to hers for a long, sweet kiss that ends with both of them yawning.

”Goddammit, I’m too old for this,” he mutters, and Jay lays her head down on his shoulder again.

”You and me both. And we still have to deal with whatever fresh catastrophe those two come up with tomorrow.”

”That’s for tomorrow,” Frankie rules, and Jay agrees. Right now, both of them are happy with what they’ve accomplished, and deserve some sleep.

#jay and frankie #frankie morales #jay 'lady' ray #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #my fic

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romanarose · 4 months

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Mom snd I I are watching triple frontier here are thoughts so far

She says that she’s not going to judge the man on their butts :(((

But she says Will’s eyes are pretty

We’re at the house and things are going south and mother is stressed

#triple frontier #Santiago Garcia #William miller #Ben miller #Frankie morales

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 1 year

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King of Your Heart

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 2 "Easy"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39), friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, light smut, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), alcohol consumption, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, blind dates, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt, reader has complicated relationship with her body, Frankie is a dick (later)

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

Frankie looks around your room, looking at the pictures displayed all over the room. He knows why you have so many pictures of everyone you love. It was to show that you hold them a special place in your big heart (that you lie about saying your heart is nonexistent). You value memories since your parents passed away, you told Frankie that it was a way to remind you that you have people who care about you because you feel like you're drowning in sadness from time to time and your friends were always there to pull you out and bring you back to life.

The picture frame on the bedside table was of you and him, you guys were on the couch in your apartment drunk and sharing a pint of ice cream. You had a big smile and Frankie had a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in his mouth. He remembers that night, the guys came over to cheer you up since it was the death anniversary of your mom's passing. You wanted to spend the day alone and cry in private. But the guys being well...your friends decided against it. You were taken aback by the overwhelming feeling of being cared for.

Frankie looks over at your sleeping body turned away from him, you were curling into yourself and holding the pillow like a person. His heart aches wanting to hold you and have you in his arms. He could just say that he's a cuddly person when he sleeps and you would believe him. Frankie chooses to not disturb your sleep and just watches your chest rise and fall with every breath you take.

You come up to the table asking what everyone is drinking, and everyone gives the answer 'Budweiser', then you come back with 4 beers and 1 vodka cranberry which will switch to a vodka redbull depending on how buzzed you want to get. Frankie watches you hand out the beers and take a seat between Benny and Pope.

Frankie felt like he was punched in the gut. But jealousy and guilt play tug of war with his heart. "Fish, I asked you a question," You leaned on the tabletop and wave your hands in his face, he shakes his head and cleared his throat. "What did you say, princess?" Frankie asks before he takes a swig of his drink. That stupid nickname you got from this group makes your face burn.

The other night pops into your mind with Frankie fucking you on the floor of the living room in your apartment after everyone left poker night. "You know we let you win, princess..." Frankie grunts pulling you by the hair, forcing you to look back at him while he fucks you into the carpet, the rug burn was worth it the next morning.

"I asked you if you're coming to poker night tomorrow?" You pushed the memory into the back of your mind. Frankie nods while he is swallowing hard, you nod back and turn your attention to Benny who is talking about the next fight and you tried to seem engaged in the conversation but you kept stealing glances at Frankie. You hated how he decided to wear the shirt you had on the night before. The heathered gray T-shirt is so soft on the skin. You know it still smells like your Victoria's Secret perfume that he is obsessed with.

"I need my princess there cheering me on," Benny winks at you making you giggle. Frankie's jaw twitches when Benny says 'My princess'. "Don't worry, I'll be there this time Benny." You wrapped your arm around Benny's shoulders and you could feel Frankie's stare burning into your skin.

To you, Frankie's stare is just him letting you know that you need to choose your apartment or his house. But Frankie's glare is him trying to control the green monster inside him.

"I need you to ask you for a favor, can you come with me on a date? The girl I've been seeing has a friend that is interested in you, princess," Benny asks you, Frankie used every ounce of self-control to not answer for you, he wanted to exclaim that you are not going on a date. "Like a blind date? I don't know..." You were unsure due to the friends with benefits with Frankie, Pope watches Frankie's jaw twitch. Benny continues to beg you and of course, you being the great friend you are, you reluctantly agreed to the double date.

"I'm grabbing another round, Fish mind helping me?" Santiago told up and nodded to the bar. Frankie doesn't say anything and follows Pope to the bar.

"Alright, talk to me," Pope said waving down the closest bartender and giving them the order. Frankie crosses his arms and leans on the bar top. "What do you mean?" Frankie asks trying to act like he hasn't been avoiding everyone.

He has been avoiding everyone since sleeping with you almost every night. "Cut the shit, man," Pope rolls his eyes and sighs. He looks to Frankie who was looking back at the table watching you laugh and talk to Will and Benny.

You looked so beautiful with a smile painted across your face. You are always so happy with everyone. You lit up the room and made sure everyone was having a good time. "She's been acting different too...putting more time into everyone else but you..." Pope's words make Frankie snap out of his gaze on you. Frankie turns his head back to the bar and rubs with his face in his hands.

"You are the one giving it away...I don't know why you two think keeping anything a secret is working. We all think you have already slept together so if you two are actually fucking no one will be surprised...I take that back Benny might be surprised." Pope was talking in a very low tone and Frankie was swimming in his mind. Was he being obvious? Is it the stares? Is it how he just happens to be hangout with you whenever the guys call for a boy's night?

"We aren't doing anything. We are just friends." Frankie didn't know what else to say. Pope nods not having the energy to make Frankie crack. "Alright I'll let it go," he hands Frankie your drink and his beer, the two men walk back to the table and saw you were gone. Frankie sets his beer on the table and holds your drink and looks around the room. There you were at the DJ station batting your eyes trying to get the guy to play whatever song you had in your head at the moment.

Then a second later whatever song was playing gets interrupted by your favorite song from the early 2000s. You smiled at yourself so proud of getting what you wanted. You waltzed to the table singing and pulling Benny to the makeshift dance floor. Benny happily spins you around and into his arms. Frankie didn't know that the clear plastic cup filled with cranberry juice and vodka spills onto the floor.

Fuck

He looks at Will and Pope who were staring at the cranberry juice leaking out of the cup and all over his hands. Benny was talking to some girl across the room. Your laugh gets closer, you stop laughing when you looked at Frankie covered in cranberry juice. Frankie studies the fall of your smile and your eyes meet his.

"Someone bumped into me...I'll go get you a new one," Frankie was too quick to dismiss himself from the scene. You watch Frankie grab another drink for you and he hands it off to you. His fingers grazing yours, you both ignore the spark of the small touch. You thank him and take a long sip trying to act like you weren't wondering if he was lying about someone bumping into him.

"I think I'm going to take off," Frankie grabs his hat and pats his jeans to figure out where he put the keys to his truck. "Frankie..." You call out his name when he brushes past you, he turns to you, and could see some sort of struggle in him. You could feel Will and Santiago watching you and Frankie acting out of character. "Text me when you're home safe...goodnight," You smiled, Frankie nods before walking out of the bar. His ears started to ring from the music being so loud.

Where did this jealousy come from? The whole blind date has Frankie reeling, making him feel the anger festering.

Frankie never was a jealous person until you came into his life. He hated hearing about anyone trying to be your friend. Frankie especially hated hearing about the asshole you dated or just entertained. You and him were simply 'just friends', not 'just friends' but you guys were 'best friends'. You claimed that title in the privacy of your time alone together. You always teased Pope saying he's been replaced. You understood Frankie on a whole other level than anyone has. You didn't complicate things when Frankie would confide in you about problems. He loved how easy it is with you. Easy to talk about his past. Easy to just sit on the couch and watch TV in silence. Easy to just have you under him whimpering for him. You were just an easy person who just wanted to be around your friends.

You sit down trying to ground yourself. Was Frankie mad at you? Was it the blind date set up? Why is he acting so different? Did he think starting friends with benefits was a mistake? Frankie wasn't acting like Frankie, your easy-going best friend. All you wanted to do was chase after him but couldn't because you were afraid of giving away your cover. But was it ever really a secret?

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal

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commanderdazzle · 3 months

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Update on my adventures as a new Pedro Pascal fan;

So far I've watched Prospect and The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent, and as usual, I have ✨opinions✨

Prospect was incredible; it combined my love of bizarre scifi tech, sweeping set pieces, and Lone Wolf And Cub narratives. The story, character writing, and aesthetic was everything the Mortal Engines movie should have had but failed to deliver. And Pedro; couldn't understand a word he was saying without subtitles, but damn did I want to hear him talk anyway. Great movie if you like your men chatty like I do!

The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent was pretty funny, and probably would have been better if I got more of the references, but I've only seen Nick Cage in one movie (National Treasure) and have heard of a few more. My sensitivity to second hand embarrassment made it a hard watch, but overall, I did get a lot of laughs out of it. Pedro as Javi is a big baby with a great crying face, but also looks good holding a gun, and the meme of him driving the car while smiling on LSD is classic.

As for the rest of my list; I haven't started The Last of Us yet because my mom and sister agreed to watch too (we're trying to watch more TV together, so far we've done Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, and The Boys,) so I'm thinking of going for Triple Frontier next, then reviewing my list again after that.

#pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou hbo #the mandalorian #prospect 2018 #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #triple frontier

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laurfilijames · 1 year

Note

Okay, I’m here, I’m making myself comfortable 😌

I’m avoiding SOA talk until I finish season seven, so I don’t stumble onto anything (honestly shocked I’ve managed to stay spoiler free for so long)

So, our man Will Miller… do you have any of your own head cannons for the most reserved of the Triple Frontier boys?

Ooooo yay!!!!!!! I was so happy to see this in my inbox you have no idea 🤗💗 Sorry it took me so long to answer, I'm hosting family at my cottage this weekend and there are dogs and children everywhere and not a moments peace 😅

Totally fair to avoid SOA talk! I'm glad you've managed to remain spoiler-free until this point!

You bet your ass I have headcanons about the Captain! This man is on my mind day and night and each time I watch TF, more thoughts (and thots) and ideas come up and I simply can't get enough.

So, here's a few I'll share that maybe some will agree with and maybe some won't!

The Miller's had a rough upbringing. Their dad was a drunk and their mom left when they were fairly young, resulting in Will stepping up to care for Benny and making sure he was looked after, earning Will his seriousness and maturity far sooner than he should've.

Because of that, Will was out of that house as soon as possible, having enlisted the day he turned 17.

Growing up, Will taught Benny how to fight and defend himself, making him feel less guilty about leaving his younger brother at home without him when he went away.

Because he saw what happened to his parents, Will doesn't drink much. He doesn't like the loss of control and hates the emotions it stirs up in him when he does have a couple more than he normally would. He will have a beer or two with the guys or enjoy a glass of wine with dinner occasionally, but never enough to even get a buzz.

He keeps track of everything because it helps him process things. He never wants to forget the things he's done; good or bad. It helps him stay accountable for his actions and he's not the type of guy to kid himself into thinking his position can justify it, and he's learned over the years to acknowledge rather than bury what's happened. The numbers are sort of a certainty for him and help ground him.

Will doesn't sleep well. He suffers from nightmares often, and on nights when they don't happen, he's usually awake on account of his own thoughts. When a nightmare does happen, he wakes up in a full sweat and more often than not it's accompanied by screaming and thrashing around. To help pass the hours when he isn't able to fall back asleep, he'll go for a run to get rid of that anxious energy or hit the 24 hour gym.

I'm one to believe that his relationship with his ex-fiancée wasn't the best, that maybe they had been together since they were young and over the years grew apart and fell out of love as they changed and got older. Will's choice in career caused a lot of stress between them and wedged them apart even more, and unfortunately she took advantage of his deployments to indulge in affairs with men who suited her better. The Publix incident was the last straw for her; she wasn't willing to stick around to try to help him through things and abandoned him completely, leaving him to spiral before picking himself back up again with the help of his brother and friends.

I honestly could keep going but I'll stop there! Please, please, please if you or anyone else has opinions on any of this and wants to discuss it further send me an ask or reblog this. I just love talking about my man 😩💗

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munsonownsmyass · 10 months

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~~ Update ~~

(If anyone cares 😆)

Life has been a shit show lately. So I'm sorry I've been so bad at reading, reblogging, participating in stuff and just... well, generally being around.

I will do better though and I do have some stuff planned, that I hope my brain will cooperate enough for me to write 🤣

Killing me Softly - serial killer Matt Murdock (don't worry, it'll be good 😉)

I got this amazing art from @bunnelbie for the story and it's simply beautiful 😍

Stole my heart at Christmas - A The Holiday AU with Quinn McKenna and Frank Castle as the guys. Will feature OCs, not reader. Hope people will read anyways 😅

Have done a little moodboard as a teaser 🙈

And because of @boliv-jenta sharing those Frankie gifs last night and me now watching Triple Frontier for the umpteenth time, I have some ideas for Frankie. Benny and Will too..

If I were you - Frankie Morales and single mom

Right place at the right time - Benny Miller

Play date - Will Miller and plus size reader

Tagging a few people that I feel like I should apologize too for going AWOL or just people who might be interested.

@e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @theradioactivespidergwen @murdock-and-the-sea @mattmurdocksscars @boliv-jenta @wardenparker @misspearly1 @chvoswxtch @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @saintmurd0ck @pedrito-friskito @lucy-sky @darlingshane

#writing update #matt murdock #frank castle #quinn mckenna #frankie morales #benny miller #will miller

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ironmandeficiency · 10 months

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woke up to my dad and almost-step-mom watching triple frontier and it literally took TWO seconds of seeing oscar isaac on screen for me to yell “SANTIAGO!!!”

#jj’s on the dumb bitch juice #triple frontier #oscar isaac #santiago garcia

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nerdieforpedro · 9 months

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What's "Dont Play With Me" about 👀👀

Bonus question: how do you go about naming your fics 🤔

Oddly enough, “Don’t play with me” was going to be an entire smut fest with Santiago Garcia (aka Oscar Isaac’s character) from Triple Frontier.

BUT

I watched Oscar singing a duet with Gaby Moreno called “Luna de Xelajú” which is a beautiful ballad. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

The link is here: https://youtu.be/XwtwN6gqwUA?si=OH6StfCiiR00evo6

youtube

So that man sung me out of smut and I’m making it fluff. THAT SAYS SO MUCH.

Not to say there won’t be Santi smut down the road, we’re in early January. There will be Santi smut! 👏🏽

Just his voice, the guitar, his curls, the beard SIR 🫠

Now your bonus question: My titles are place holders so I know which fic is which when I look through my ever expanding Google docs. They sometimes are the final title, but like I just did with another fic, after editing and re-reading it, I changed the title.

My titles usually start out as vibes. For example “Keep me warm” I wanted the reader to be someone who not only keeps Dieter warm in bed, but may bring him a little joy given that he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be. 😝

“Din’s in the Neighborhood” is a reminder to myself that it’s a modern AU where Grogu will likely be a human child and more of a slice of life deal. I’ll give Din a slight break since I had my man working in and out of his beskar recently. Din wears hoodies and glasses. 🤓

As a final example, “Pleasure Principle” was influenced by me listening to Janet Jackson, I had re-watched ‘The Equalizer 2’ because my mom wanted to watch one and two before seeing three last year. I had thots about Dave York, I work in healthcare and I wanted to dabble in BDSM a bit more after lightly exploring it with Marcus Pike. Plus as the fic goes on, both Dave and Kiara are having what they believe to be their principles tested. I did try and tie it into something to be all extra 😭

I hope I answered both questions my dear! 💝

Let me know if you have more!

Love Nerdie ❤️❤️❤️

#Nerdie answers #the paragraphs return #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #Dave York #dieter bravo #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #oscar Isaac singing and playing the guitar is a threat to my ovaries #I’m already drinking raspberry tea sir #please 🙏🏽

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qveerthe0ry · 8 months

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Hi!

I have a question for you… What is your Pedro origin story? What character brought you in? Or was it the man himself?

Omg I love this question, thank you for asking!!! 💕

So I remember way back when The Force Awakens came out, I was all up in Oscar Isaac’s business because obviously. Around the same time I was seeing lots of him and Pedro together and some Narcos content here on Tumblr, but I never really caught the Pedro bug like others did (listen I was in college I had a lot going on pls forgive me I’m already beating myself up about it). I mean, I even watched Triple Frontier for Oscar and completely dodged heart eyes for Pedro in some fantastic feat. Honestly I deserve a Nobel Prize for that probably.

Fast forward to last year. My mom just casually mentioned this great show that just dropped an episode on HBO. She said my dad made her watch it but she was hooked within the first 20 minutes. I was like huh, I’m not usually into action and shooting and stuff and I hated The Walking Dead, but if my mom likes it then I probably will too.

Obviously I fell in love with The Last of Us instantly. But I was already totally hyper fixated on Our Flag Means Death (RIP) at the time, so I was determined to be Normal about TLOU.

I failed. Miserably. Lmao. I even had a TLOU themed birthday party because I became so engrossed.

It didn’t help that I was also getting nothing but Pedro/Joel thirst traps fed to me through my FYP on tiktok.

So yeah to answer your question, it was The Last of Us that finally made me catch the Pedro bug and I’m so here for it idk how I’m ever going to get over this man and his incredible characters.

#sorry if that was a really complex answer but if there’s two things I like to talk about most it’s myself and Pedro pascal lmao

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growup-thatbeautiful · 2 years

Text

the four times benny calls you and the one time he doesn’t have to

A/n: i miss benny a whole lot for no reason and this is my manifestation of that :(( also someone dare me to write about jake seresin cause i want to but i’m scared

warnings: slight angst, cursing,

word count: ~2.3k

Triple Frontier Masterlist

General Masterlist

~*~

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, scrolling aimlessly through whatever social media platform you first opened when you took a break from getting ready. Your coffee is sitting on the marble in front of you, still steaming, and you’re dressed for work.

It’s a quieter morning than normal. Usually, Benny’s here beside you, in tandem with your movements. You make his coffee, he reminds you to put in socks. It just works, somehow.

Without him by your side, it’s lonely and cold, and you miss his arms around you, like they always seem to be when you need them.

Early this morning, before the sun was up, Benny left with Will and Santi to go on to a boxing tournament close to his hometown, Because of that, he decided to stay a few more days and see his family, something you can understand. They’ve always been close, the Miller family, and you know how much Benny misses his mom. Unfortunately for you, though, work got in the way, and you’re stuck in Florida

He left with a kiss pressed to your forehead and a hushed, “I’ll see you soon, honey. I love you.”

You were too tired to open your eyes and see the small smile on his face. You did, however, feel the press of his lips against your temple. That’s not something you would ever miss, or, at least, you hope.

Your screen is interrupted by a picture of Benny, announcing a phone call from him. It’s one of your favorite pictures of him, with his smile as big as it gets and his eyes trained at the camera, at you. The day it was taken, you remember, had started horribly. Your coffee spilled on the car ride to the beach, you forgot the sunscreen, and Benny missed a call from Will at a point when he was away. But, in perfect Benny fashion, things turned around with a few strange and inappropriate jokes and the right amount of sun. Just knowing that, with Benny, the worst days can become the fondest memories, is enough to keep the picture as your contact of him.

“Hi, baby,” you say, holding the phone up against your cheek. “How was your flight?” you ask, jumping onto the counter.

His sigh, while soft and probably meant to be hidden from you, plays through your phone directly into your ear. “Shitty. Santi didn’t have enough room, and his knee started acting up. We’re waiting on an uber now, I just wanted you to know that we landed safely.”

“Thanks for calling. Tell Santi I’m sorry.” You lean back on your hands and put your phone on speaker.

“Okay, honey, I will.” You can hear the smile on his face, and the affection in his voice. “Are you on your way to work?” “I’m about to leave,” you say, looking at your lack of shoes and messy hair.

“Meaning you don’t have your shoes on and you haven’t eaten breakfast.” Benny doesn’t have to be with you to know exactly what’s going on in your morning.

“Am I that predictable?” you laugh along with him, missing the smile on his face. If only you were there to see the way his eyes crinkle up in the corner.

“Only in the morning,” he consoles. “Our car is here, now, so we’re going to get going. I’ll put you on speaker phone and you can say hi to Santi and Will.”

“Hi, boys,” you sing. “Keep Benny in line while he’s there. I know those high school halls have a lot of old memories.”

“We’ll watch him,” Santi promises. “If you promise to have fun while he’s away. Enjoy that empty house without the pendejo running around like crazy.”

“I’ll try my best.” Slowly, you make your way back to the bedroom and pull out your socks and shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. It’s a little thing, a small detail in the larger picture of your day, but it’s also something that you’ve unknowingly relied on Benny for so long.

“I’ll be home soon, honey. Just a few days, yeah?” Benny’s voice is loud again, and you can picture the phone shoved against his ear, his baseball cap resting haphazardly on his head. “Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll see you then. I love you, Benny. Be safe.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Have a good day at work.”

~*~

The second time Benny calls you is later that night. He’s an hour behind you, so it’s not quite as late in Texas when he hits the dial button. It doesn’t matter, though, because you were waiting anyway. You didn’t have to talk to him about it, there was just an unspoken agreement to call you at night.

“Hey, honey. Are you busy?” he asks, his voice grainy and lower in the phone static.

You look at the cup of tea in your lap and the sitcom on the television. “Very. But I can make time for you in my schedule, Miller.”

“Thanks.” He sounds tired, and you know, just from hearing him speak, that he’s been running his hands through his hair nervously, causing it to stick up in all directions. You can see him sitting in his childhood bedroom, comic book heroes on the walls, and a creaky twin bed in the corner. “Tell me about your day.”

You hum and take a sip of tea. “It was pretty normal, other than the fact that I was missing a certain someone all day. Even Yvette commented that I seemed off.”

Benny gasps dramatically, and you hear the sound of him flopping against his bed. “Yvette? The heartless Yvette? That can’t be true.”

“It is,” you confirm. “I guess I must have looked really shitty.”

“Never,” he immediately counters. “You just have sad eyes, sometimes.”

“Sad eyes?” you snort, putting your tea down on the low table. “That’s what every girl wants to hear Benjamin.”

“What can I say, I’m a charmer,” he drawls. “Especially for girls with sad eyes.”

You laugh an ugly, full-bodied laugh, your head thrown back against the cushions, your eyes closed as you shake with it. “I’ll keep that in mind when you get back.” You relax into the couch, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. “You better come back soon,” you say. “It’s fucking lonely without you.”

“It is here, too,” Benny says. You know, it’s weird. I lived here my whole life without you, and now I’m here and it feels like you should be at my parents' house with me.”

Your hands run across your face, your mind revolving his words around. “I think that’s love, Benny.”

“Of course it is,” he easily agrees. “I don’t know what else it would be, baby.” It shouldn’t surprise you how your stomach fills with butterflies, how a smile finds its way to your face from his words.

“You’re fucking cheesy,” you say, mostly because you don’t know what else to say.

“You love me for it,” he deflects. “I can be as cheesy as I want to be, and you can’t do a thing about it, honey. You’re stuck with me.” “I’m stuck with you?”

“Yep. Will and Santi would never let me fuck it up. They like you too much, honey.”

“That’s good to know,” you smile, settling further into the couch. The pillow is smushed against your cheek, your tea cooling in the chilly evening air. “What’s your plan for tomorrow?”

“I’ll do a little training, whatever Will has planned, then my parents are taking us to dinner. They miss you, by the way. I don’t think I can get away with not bringing you with me next time.”

“Tell Susan and Daniel I wish I was there,” you mumble against the cotton. “Don’t push yourself too hard tomorrow, yeah? You have a big fight.”

“Aw, honey, you’re worried about me,” he grins. “I won’t get hurt, don’t worry.” There’s rustling on the other side of the phone, and you hear someone speaking to him.

“Is that Will?” you ask. “Tell him hi for me. If it’s Santi tell him I found the chocolate that he ate and he can fuck himself.” “It’s Santi,” Benny says, moving the phone away from his ear to say, “Santi, she says you’re fucked for eating her chocolate.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

“Anytime, baby. I love doing your dirty work. I have to go, mom set the kitchen on fire again. Will is trying to get her to stop cooking, but she won’t take the hint.”

“Okay,” you laugh. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

~*~

“My mom wants to say hi to you,” Benny immediately warns when you call him. “I wasn’t able to get you out of it, unfortunately, so be prepared to listen about JoAnne’s latest drama.”

“She’s dating Roger, the grocery store clerk,” Will calls from his spot across the room, comfortable in an armchair. “It’s a whole scandal, here.”

“Let me talk to my girl before she’s taken away by mom,” Benny complains. “I only get to talk to her when you aren’t keeping me busy, asshole.”

“Benjamin, language,” Susan chides, ruffling his hair. “Don’t swear around pretty girls like her. It’s not-”

“Seemly,” Benny and Will chime in, sending looks at each other knowing looks.

“Hey Susan,” you call. “How are you?”

This time, you don’t get to talk to Benny as much as you would want to, but you get to hear his mother gush about how much he’s grown and how happy he is with you. That can never be a waste to listen to, especially when she gives you stories about how Benny followed Will around before he could even walk.

She talks for longer than you have time to listen to, and by the time she’s done, you’ve long since finished going on your walk. It’s nice, though, to have someone care so much about you; to have a whole family that’s taken you in with open arms. Susan doesn’t even give the phone back to Benny before she hangs up with a sweet, “You’re coming for Christmas and I don’t care what excuse Benny has.”

~*~

It’s the night of Benny’s fight after he’s finished getting his knuckles beaten and bloodied. You can see, from his side of the facetime, that there’s a cut on his lip and a bruise underneath his left eye, but you’ve seen him worse. His head is pillowed in his hands, tilted to the side. There’s damp sweat in his hair, which hangs in front of his face, framing his eyes. He looks good, like he always does after his fights. The adrenaline coursing through his veins lights up his eyes, making them even brighter than usual. He’s not wearing a shirt and the sweat that shines against his golden skin makes it absolutely glow in the low light of some backroom used to house the fighters.

You don’t hesitate to tell him how good he looks, and he doesn’t think twice about matching the praise with a grin on his face. “Look at you,” Benny sighs. “Shit, you’re pretty.”

“Just pretty?” you tease, tilting your head to the side.

“Among other things,” he admits softly. “But you already know that, honey.”

“So, how was the fight?” You already know, of course, that he won, thanks to a quick text from WIll letting you know how Benny’s doing. You would have started the call differently if you knew he lost.

As soon as you saw Will's text after you got out of the shower, you called Benny, wearing his t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. Your hair is creating a wet spot against the comforter of your bed, but you can't seem to care.

“It was easy. If I’d have known it would have been like this I wouldn’t have trained the way I did. Fucking waste of time.” You don’t know if it’s confidence, which it could be, or the right amount of pride in how the fight turned out, which it also could be. Will was vague in his description, but he said, after Benny warmed up, it was pretty brutal for the other guy.

“Benny,” you half-scold, half-laugh along. “You’ll have to give me a recap when you get home.”

“I will,” he promises. “I can’t fucking wait to see you again. It feels like it’s been forever.”

“It has been forever,” you affirm. “Next time I’m quitting my job and following you around. That’s what Santi does, anyway, right? I can do it better to him.”

“I’m sure you could, honey. You would definitely have perks that Pope doesn’t have either.” His statement is met with an over-the-top eyebrow waggle and a wide grin, which you still haven’t worried up any immunity against.

"I better," you laugh. "Santi does have a better ass, though. He could work as eye candy in a pinch."

"Who says he hasn't?" Beny jokes, positioning the phone to show you a grumpy-looking Santiago and a disgusted Will.

"Hi," you wave at them, smiling and trying not to laugh at their combined expressions. "Benny didn't tell me you were there." "Sorry," Benny says, but he doesn't sound even halfway apologetic. "I forgot. You just distract me too much, honey."

"Fuck off, Ben," Santiago groans, running a hand across his face. "You win one fucking fight and suddenly you're the king of the jungle."

"I already was that," he deflects. "Now I just have someone to brag to. Someone who doesn't tell me to fuck off all the time."

"Yeah, I only do sometimes," you agree. "When he's being a real asshole." You put your phone against the pillows on your bed and lay down, tired of holding it up.

"And that's such a rare occurrence," Will adds drily. "He's always a piece of cake."

"I am," Benny defends. "Sweetheart, are you really going to let them gang up on me like that?"

"Seeing as you're all grown men sitting in a high school locker room, yes, I'm going to let them do whatever the fuck they want."

"I knew there was a reason we kept you around," Santi laughs. Benny's face is scrunched up in a mock hurt expression and Will hides a smile behind his hand. "Come on, Will. I can tell when we aren't wanted. Let's leave these two kids to themselves." "Finally," Benny calls after them as they walk away. You see, out of the corner of the camera, Will flip him off. "So, honey, is that my t-shirt you're wearing?"

“And what if it is, Miller?”

~*~

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, one of your favorite spots to aimlessly scroll through your phone or sit and wait for food on the stove. Music is blasting through your speaker, some sappy old country shit Benny’s got you hooked to. Currently, you’re waiting for water to boil for tea, wearing yet another one of Benny’s army shirts and a pair of sweatpants. The shirt, though worn thin and scattered with holes, keeps Benny’s smell: smoky cologne and the mint gum he’s always chewing.

Benny’s supposed to be home tomorrow, and you’re finding it hard to get anything done. All you can think about is seeing him again, hearing his laugh again. There’s a reason he usually takes you with him. Neither one of you does good when you’re apart, you never have. Since you were kids, phone calls always meant missing his presence next to you, whether it was because he was grounded by his mom or because he was as over at some other girls’ house.

After that, it meant he was overseas somewhere, and that was even more unbearable. When he came back, for the final time, you figured he was going to be by your side for good. So, it really isn’t a surprise that his a sense comes with such anxiety for you. It just sucks.

You don’t hear the front door opening and closing; Benny knows how to be quiet when he wants to. You don’t even see him until he’s leaning against the doorway, a black t-shirt tight across his chest, baseball cap on backwards. “There’s my girl,” he says, taking long strides towards you.

He stops when he’s in between your dangling legs, and he, with ease, pulls you closer to him by your thighs. “Hi, honey,” he murmurs with a grin. Before you can say anything in response, he leans in and wraps his arms around you, his hands underneath your thighs. You let out a surprised shriek when he lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

“Benny- there’s boiling water on the stove,” you attempt to explain, but you’re cut off by the air leaving your chest when he holds you against the wall.

“I’ll make you tea later,” he breathes, his face buried in your neck. “We have lost time to make up for. I fucking missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” you admit softly. “Fuck Texas.”

He laughs against your skin, his breath warm. “Fuck Texas, huh?”

“Yes,” you emphasize. “Fuck it.”

“Baby,” he drawls, pulling away to look you in the eye. “How about you start with me, then we can move on to Texas?”

You barely, barely, hold in the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Santi. Don’t make me send you back.”

“You would never.” His tone is confident, surety laced in his accent.

He’s right, of course. You could never send him away.

#benny miller #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller x y/n #benny miller fic #benny miller fanfic #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x female reader #benjamin miller #ben miller x you #benjamin miller x you #nova writes #triple frontier x you #triple frontier fanfiction #tf #triple frontier fic #ben miller

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thatredheadwriter · 2 years

Text

Black Friday

frankie morales x reader

You and Frankie are both weathering the elements to make it the best Christmas ever.

This is a SFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie Morales of Triple Frontier. This work does not contain smut, however, it may contain mature language or themes, and as a rule, my blog is only for those over the age of 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

It’s a meet cute, fluffy as hell

Black Friday is hell, but this is cute and I couldn’t not do it

I know nothing about children’s toys, so I made something up, don’t judge me

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You check your watch for the umpteenth time and curse when you see it’s only been two minutes since the last time you checked. Florida was not supposed to be this cold and you hadn’t owned a proper coat in years. Your coffee had been reduced to dregs nearly an hour ago and it was still thirty minutes until the store was due to open.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be one of the lunatics standing outside a big box store at 4 am the morning after Thanksgiving, but you had a reputation to uphold as the world’s greatest aunt. Your niece’s favorite TV show just released a line of dolls and according to the news outlets, the product in stock would not be enough to meet the demand. With her mom deployed and your brother working nights on base, you decided if nobody else was going to get her that overpriced, strawberry-scented, talking doll, you would.

“I think time moves slower the colder it gets,” a deep voice chuckles behind you, and you turn back to see a man who looks just as exhausted as you are, although there’s a coffee thermos clipped to his belt and your mouth instantly waters. In your early-morning, cold-addled state, you don’t realize you’re staring until he shifts nervously and apologizes, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

You immediately speak up, “No, no, you didn’t bother me. I’m just exhausted. And freezing.” You blow on your hands for effect, wishing you still had those gloves you’d won in the office party gift exchange last year.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grins, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes sparkle under the brim of his well-worn cap. Chesnut curls stick out from underneath it, streaked with flecks of gray that match the crinkles beside his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here, but my daughter wants this doll for Christmas, and…she’s been great. She really deserves it.”

Right, daughter. Which means this handsome man is probably not looking to ask you out, even if his ring finger is decidedly bare. But you don’t linger on it long. You doubt he’d see you that way even if he was available, dressed in animal-fur covered joggers and a sweatshirt you got in college.

“The Tina Talks doll?” you question, leaning against the freezing brick to relieve your aching feet and face this handsome stranger more easily.

“That’s the one. Don’t tell me that’s what you’re here for too.”

You huff a laugh, watching your breath dissipate in the freezing morning air. “Unfortunately. I have to protect my status as the world’s greatest aunt, and my niece is obsessed with that show.”

“What is it about this doll? The show isn’t even good,” he leans in and whispers like it’s some big secret, but you only laugh harder.

“I know! We always watch it when she stays over and I cannot handle more than two at a time or I will go insane.”

The two of you chuckle for a moment, lost in your own little bubble. You watch as calloused, nimble fingers unclip the thermos from his belt loop and he pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, and your mouth practically waters at the steam floating up from the metal mug.

You know you’ve been caught staring when he holds the thermos out to you. “Do you want some? I have plenty.”

You’re going to refuse, but your empty cup is still in your hand and he’s drinking it so it’s probably not poisoned. Plus it’d be nice to feel your fingers.

“Sure, thanks,” you pop the lid off your empty latte and hold it out for him to fill.

“It’s black, sorry if that’s not what you’re used to.” This man seems genuinely apologetic that he doesn’t have any cream or sugar to offer you, and it’s positively endearing.

You smile at his kindness. “I usually sweeten mine up a little, but I am not feeling picky.”

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both sip at your coffees, and the line shifts slightly in anticipation.

“I never did get your name,” you look at him from the corner of your eye, and he pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to decipher your motives. He must determine you’re not a threat because he swallows his coffee and recaps the thermos.

“Francisco Morales, but everyone calls me Frankie. Or Fish,” he adds the last part reluctantly, and you determine there’s a story there that you’d definitely like to hear.

“It’s nice to meet you, Frankie,” you let the name roll over your tongue, and you instantly know it fits the man in front of you.

“Do I get your name?” he asks with a slight cock of his brow, tucking a plump lower lip between his teeth.

You leave him hanging for a moment, but then give him your name. He repeats it in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, unrelated to the biting cold around you.

Frankie rolls his shoulders back, a motion that seems to pain him. One of his hands comes up to rub the back of his neck and he curses quietly in Spanish.

“You okay?” you ask, already deeply invested in this beautiful man’s well-being.

His laugh is tinged with bitterness this time, “Annual football game with my guys got a little rough. I’m getting too old for that shit, but they still make me play every year.”

“I have ibuprofen in my bag,” you offer, already digging through the compartments of your purse for the bottle you know you refilled after your period last week. “It’s the least I can do after you shared your coffee.”

He smiles, and you suddenly feel about five degrees warmer. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

You finally find the evasive bottle and pass it over to him, trying not to lose your composure when your hand brushes his for a moment.

“Thanks,” he says once he’s swallowed them and passed back the bottle.

“Don’t mention it. Happy to help any dad who’s willing to stand out here for three hours just to get his daughter’s Christmas present.”

Frankie looks like he’s about to say something else when suddenly there’s a commotion up by the doors. When you check your watch you realize the store is opening and your heart falls as you realize your time with Frankie is at an end.

As the line moves towards the door, Frankie clears his throat and calls your name as he reaches out to touch your elbow. You slide over so he can walk beside you on the walkway, and you notice he looks flustered.

“I was wondering if, and if not that’s totally okay, but could I maybe have your number? You can forget I-”

“Frankie, I’d love to,” you smile like a fool as the two of you enter retail hell together.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales blurb #meet cute #triple frontier #triple frontier blurb #right on queue

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