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anitalenia · 2 months

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━━ 𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒔 pt. 4

━━ 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the frontier boys as random tropes. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ part one | part two | part three

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ Pope, Will, Benny, Frank x fem!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ ceo!Pope x assistant!Reader, lumberjack!Will x bimbo!Reader, bartender!Benny x fem!Reader, step dad!Frank x step daughter!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sexual content, implied smut, graphic depictions of sexual acts, fantasized sexual content, blowjobs, depictions of fingering, pussy eating, inappropriate family dynamics you definitely shouldn’t partake in, inappropriate work relationships that you definitely shouldn’t do in real life (unless you want to purrrr💅🏻), a little long just cause I haven’t made one in a while, slight dark content in Franks section

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sorry for the wait with this series, people really loved it actually, more than I thought they would. The begging for another part finally got to me, so here you go!!!! Hope you enjoy while I work on the next one 😭

━━ SANTIAGO ‘POPE’ GARCIA ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

CEO! SANTIAGO ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 desk in those cute little skirts and too tight dresses, always so busy and always so beautiful. He liked to stare out at you from his private office with a semi hard cock in his black slacks; a perfect view of your desk and the best view of you.

He could never get any work done of course, not properly anyway, too busy thinking about you and all the things you’d do for him if he asked. You always did what he asked, so eager to work and so eager to please. You, you with those black stiletto heels and those pink pouty lips, you, you with your sweet voice and your round hips — begging to be fucked good.

Nngh, just you.

He liked to call you into his office for no real reason other than his own selfish desires; he liked to see your hips sway when you walked and stare at your soft tits when you’d lean over — it’s what really got him through the tough days.

He loved to hear your soft giggles and see your cheeks go pink when he’d say something scandalously sly, something a ceo definitely shouldn’t say to their assistant, something a boss definitely shouldn’t say to their employee.

He’d take you on business meetings and lavish business trips, invite you to expensive business dinners and elite business parties, it was always business, business, business. He wanted more than that, wanted to take you out for real and show you how much of a gentleman he could be if you’d give him the chance.

Mainly, he wanted to show you how good he could fuck you, much better than any man could, show you how well he knew your body in ways you even didn’t, in ways no man did.

He’d have to clench his fists and hold himself back from fucking you on his very desk with his blinds open for all the horny temps to see — the ones who could never seem to leave you and your beauty alone, the ones who gawked at you in the break room, the ones whose grimy hands lingered on your arm for just a little too long…

That always pissed him off, having to see those puny fanboys of yours charade around your desk like prissy princesses and fight for your attention — it was pathetic and obnoxious. He couldn’t fire them like he wanted to though (unfortunately), too many lawsuits already being filed against him that he was too rich to really care about.

He had lawyers for that shit anyway.

Santiago, or Santi as he’s made you call him now, liked to watch you talk. He loved hearing your voice, seeing the way your lips moved and sparkled with gloss as you rambled on about some company he supposedly owned, pacing his office as he sat in his chair with his dick hard under his desk.

He’d clench his jaw and picture how those lips would look wrapped around his thick cock, your lipstick leaving stains all over him that he could admire later — maybe he’d even have you under his desk during meetings, sitting right between his legs with your lipstick smeared over your cheeks, and a sweet mix of your saliva and his cum dripping down his balls —

“Are you even listening to me?” You’d always scold him with your arms crossed over your chest when you’d notice his blank stare, pushing your tits up and giving him yet another fantasy he couldn’t get his mind off of.

He’d quickly snap out of whatever trance he was in, eyes flickering from your tits to your face, intense and twinkling — really thinking he was slick enough that you wouldn’t notice it. Then he’d let out a husky chuckle, his hand subtly palming his cock as he’d say, “Of course I am.”

You’d just roll your eyes and continue talking, oblivious to his arousal as he’d stare at your ass, your lips, your legs, his hungry eyes running up and down the length of your perfect body until he was so hard he physically couldn’t stand it.

But that was the norm for him.

For any other girl he had everything — the money, the power, the cars, the looks. He could’ve had literally any other girl he wanted yet he wanted you, yet he couldn’t have you.

You were so professional, always did your job perfectly and always did the right thing, the perfect assistant, the perfect employee, the perfect woman. Why, why, couldn’t you be one of those dumb slutty assistants who he didn’t give a damn about? The ones who didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were a slut, the ones who’d drop everything and suck his dick if he asked, even if he didn’t ask.

But no, you were you and you were so damn different from that and really, that made him want you even more. The fact that you weren’t a dumb girl but a mature woman, as flawless and elegant as rose petals and wine. He wanted you to break out of that persona, see your strong facade crack and crumble for him, for his love, for his cock.

He wanted to see that perfect red lipstick smeared over your tear stained cheeks, see that tight pussy gaping and wet and begging for him, see those lacy panties wrapped around your ankles as he’d fuck you hard and fast before a business meeting in just the way he knew you’d like, just hard enough so everyone could see the stumble in your walk and the tears in your eyes.

One day he was going to have that, one day. But for now he was just gonna have to stick with the lustful stares during crowded meetings and the not-so-innocent fantasies when you’d poke into his office.

One day he’d have you, one day… but for now he was satisfied with jerking his dick off in his office at the sweet smell of your lingering perfume. For now he was okay with imagining to throw you on his desk and fucking your brains out when you’d deliver his coffee in the mornings, his lunch in the afternoon, his dinner in the evenings… all the while staring at you from behind his computer with his dick so achingly hard he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

All right, he wasn’t okay with it but what choice did he have? Bosses shouldn’t fuck their assistants, but damn, he couldn’t wait to break his own rule and see how easily he could make a good girl turn bad.

━━ WILL ‘IRONHEAD’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

LUMBERJACK! WILL ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 where you went. It was inevitable really; a pretty girl like you, wearing those pink skirts like you did, wearing those 6-inch heels like you did, wearing those tight tops like you did, in a town like this? It was really no wonder why you always got stared at.

It was just unfortunate that you were too dumb to notice that he was no better than the countless men that gawked at you, he was just better at hiding it.

You were the bosses daughter — dangerously beautiful and utterly unattainable (spoiled rotten too). You were a walking, talking Barbie in pink dresses and pretty purses; a pink, glittering ditzy princess who carelessly walked around the muddy work site in those cute heels of yours — William believed you were too beautiful to walk around in the filth.

You were the sweetest little thing he had ever met too — a butterfly in a battlefield — so giggly and cheery it drove him insane. The sound of your voice in his ears, your laugh, twinkling and sweet like sparkling water; he could only imagine how good you’d sound underneath him as he drove his cock into you nice and slow so you felt every vein, every ridge, every curve hitting that spot inside you that made you squeal.

Your father was a good man, had hired Will in a desperate time when he needed someone — something, constant. Ever since then Will had always been the best employee. He was the first hire and the only one to stay when things got tough. He put in the most hours, doing the most work, being the best lumberjack he could be for your father in repayment of his kindness. So for that reason Will had earned your father’s respect in more ways than one — for being patient, hardworking, loyal.

So sometimes Will would feel bad when he’d sneak into the bathroom after a rather short conversation with you; he’d slam the stall door closed and whip out his throbbing cock to relief some of the tension you had so dim wittingly caused.

He’d fuck his fist at the thought of you bent over the break room table he had left you at, cute mini skirt flipped up and giving him a perfect view of that pretty pussy he only prayed to see. He knew it was gorgeous, knew it’d be just as pretty as you, knew he’d be fucking addicted at the first taste.

Will was patient, level headed, a loyal worker who’d never betray your fathers trust… but he’d picture thrusting his thick fingers inside you slowly and carefully, smearing cum over your warm hole and feel your wetness drip down his palm as you begged him to go faster — a pretty pink mess all for him.

He'd imagine throwing your cute little ass against a tree and wrapping your smooth legs around his waist when he was supposed to be working, telling you to be a good girl for him as he'd grope your tits and hear your needy whimpers.

He’d hold you against him as he’d push his hard cock inside your tight little pussy once you begged him enough, listen to your gasps as he’d stretch you out in ways you’d never been stretched before. He'd be sure to cover your mouth with his calloused, work torn hands to muffle your screams, have you claw his chiseled back with those glossy pink nails of yours until he bled.

He’d make you cum around his cock as he whispered every filthy thing he could think of in your ear, hear you whine and whimper and leave bruises in the sweet spots only he got to see; your father would be down the hill confused on where the both of you had gone.

He’d squirt all over his hand and thighs once he was done, panting and hissing from the pleasure pulsing through his body. He knew you were right outside those doors too, right where he left you in the break room, sipping on an ice coffee — completely oblivious.

Will would take a long while to clean himself up after that, the guilt burrowing heavy in his tummy knowing your father’s office was right down the hall. He wouldn’t dare look in that direction, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to look your father in the eye for a good hour.

He’d walk out the bathroom as inconspicuously as possible and put his hands in his coat pockets, walk back into the break room like nothing had happened, like he didn’t want to fuck your brains out right then and there, and he’d lean against the door frame and give you the most charming, innocent smile you dotingly believed.

“Hey, darlin’.”

You’d look up from your phone startled, your tits spilling out of your pink top and the plushness of your thighs flared out on the bench. Your hair was shiny and glittery with cute hair clips on each side, your makeup done so prettily and perfectly he just wanted to ruin it. You looked so damn good Will couldn’t help but take a minute to admire you some more, his eyes running over you hotly, but too subtly for you to notice.

“Oh, hey, where did you go? You said 5 minutes…” You teasingly pouted up at him with those glossy, twinkling lips of yours like you weren’t making this hard enough as it was.

You’d giggle and smile at him — making his heart churn and dick stir. He’d be entranced by your tits jiggling as you did, covered in glittery perfume and smelling of vanilla and strawberries.

So fucking delicious.

Then you’d wrap those same lips around your pink straw and take another sip of your iced coffee.

God damn those lips of yours… Will would go in a daze at the image of you on your knees for him, your lipgloss smeared over your cheeks as you’d suck his swollen cock head into your mouth, patiently waiting for him to say you could take more. Sparkly pink lip stains marked over his dick and balls… it was his dream.

Will knew he was bigger than you too, in a lot of ways, was reminded of if every time you stood next to his hulking form in those cute heels of yours that still didn’t manage to reach him. He was a 6’0 mass of muscle and brawn, carved from brick and forged from stone and way too rough around the edges to handle a delicate thing like you — it’d be like putting a pretty flower petal in the brazen hands of a giant. He wasn’t sure he could have you and not ruin you.

But god damn he’d fucking try. He’d be so delicate and tender with you in ways he’s never been with another woman. He’d cherish every scar and blemish on your smooth skin and treat you like the princess you so clearly were. He’d kiss you from head to toe and lap at your pussy like a poor man worshipping a goddess — he’d be oh so lucky.

He was big, yes, but he promised he wouldn’t crush you. He was rough, yes, but even a pretty girl like you liked having a rough hand wrapped around her throat. You’d be a pretty pink angel wrapped in his gray cotton sheets, held between his mundane, trauma stained hands.

He was manly and burly, all flannel jackets and tree stained jeans and you were girly and feminine, all short skirts and glittering strawberry lipgloss. You two didn’t work in a conventional sense but nothing about his life or yours was conventional.

Your father was a good man and William was a good worker, the best employee, the best lumberjack. He was patient and so loyal, fully aware he was risking his livelihood by wanting you but yet he was left wanting anyway. You were too cute and bouncy and he needed you to bounce on his cock more than he needed a job.

He wanted to see you bare for him — bare in heart, mind, and soul because he knew there was more to you than meets the eye. There was more of you to discover beyond the pink masses and he wanted to be the one that discovered it, the one that you trusted enough to show it to. He wanted to see the real you bared to him in the middle of the night with the beautiful afterglow of what you two had just done shining on your skin — your most organic, happiest form.

“Ah, William, I see you’re keeping my girl company? I hope she’s not keeping you, she’s a chatterbox.” Your father laughed and smacked a hand on Will’s shoulder, suddenly popping up in the doorway like Will had conjured him with his guilt. A thud sounded from the smack and Will felt his shoulder sting, completely shaken out of his fantasy now.

He looked at your father and laughed that charming laugh — I want to fuck your daughter more than I need air to breath sir but no she’s not a problem at all.

━━ BENJAMIN ‘BENNY’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

BARTENDER! BENNY ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 it almost angered you. Every Saturday night the club was packed with women just hoping Benny the Bartender would look their way… it was pathetic, if you didn’t do the exact same thing.

It was routine for you, the only thing you really looked forward to in your long weeks of monotonous work and errands — Benny was new, exciting, and so fucking hot you blushed at just the mere thought of him.

He was so charming too, so good at his job by simply just existing you could see why the company had hired him. With just one dazzling smile the whole room swooned and came, even you, who so pathetically tried to act hard to get at the corner of the bar with your lonely margarita you only ever ordered — you needed to be somewhat tipsy to actually have the confidence to talk to him.

You’d wear your sexiest dresses, your cutest shoes, have your hair done pristinely and your makeup done perfectly all in hopes of Benny noticing you — you were almost ashamed that you valued his attention that much.

You’d sit by yourself, alone, at the end of the bar staring at him while he worked, staring at his face and body and just picturing him fucking you on this very bar with his snapback still on his head, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits, anywhere his greedy hands could leave their mark on.

He’d wear baseball tees and black t-shirts that clung perfectly to his abs and muscles — you even heard a rumor that he was in an underground fighting ring that gave him all those muscles and scars in the first place. The thought aroused you incredibly and you couldn’t stop from fluttering your eyes at him more than usual that night.

He seldom never wore his snapback, and while you loved seeing his full face you couldn’t deny how much you loved the nights when he left his hat at home more.

He’d have his dirty blonde hair slicked back out of his face but yet there was always that one rebelling strand that fell over his eyes when he was working… it drove you insane. And the way he’d run his fingers through his hair when he was in the middle of a busy service, the way your own hands could pull it when he was laid between your legs, nibbling on your thighs and bringing you to such an ecstasy you’ve never experienced.

He was such a natural flirt too, professional to a limit when it came to all the women fawning over him over the bar, their tits falling out of their dresses and their lips over lined with lipstick. He’d laugh that boisterous laugh of his, take shots with them like he wasn’t on the clock, and he’d charm the panties right off them and the money right out of their purses by the time he was done.

You couldn’t say you weren’t jealous.

Benny, on the other hand, was all too aware of the pretty girl at the end of the bar who never seemed to bring anyone but her credit card. He was all too aware of her pretty eyes and pretty lips and perfect set of tits in those skimpy dresses she’d always wear.

And honestly, since the first night he saw you he’s wanted you.

He’d flirt with you all the time in that southern accent of his that charmed all the ladies, but you never seemed to register it, or in other words, you never seemed to care.

You were nothing like the women he dealt with every night — you would roll your eyes when he’d tell you how happy he was to see you again, purse your lips when he complimented your makeup, and seem totally disinterested in him and whatever nonsense he had to say.

And he fucking loved it.

You didn’t fawn over him like the others girls did, you didn’t seem to buy into the whole charming bartender shtick he portrayed either. You were quiet and beautiful and sharp; you never seemed too desperate or eager for him like everyone else. Sure, he loved the attention from other women, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t, but the fact that he never seemed to have yours made him want you even more.

He’d flirt with you whenever he got the chance to, knew your drink of choice by heart now and was always there to fill it back up when it was empty. He was attentive to your needs and he swore he could be just as attentive in other settings if you gave him the chance.

You’d just sit there in the shadows, skin flashing blue and black from the lights of the club and looking so damn fine Benny wished he could drag you into the bathroom and fuck your brains out on the door, feel the music pumping through your veins as you stuck your tongue in his mouth until all he tasted was you and liqueur.

It’d be fast and hot and he wouldn’t be able to breath in anything but you and margarita salt but it sounded perfect. His big hand wrapped around your throat as people knocked on the door like you two weren’t busy. He’d try to muffle your moans for your sake but he’d also decide he liked hearing them more. It’d be cramped and intimate and it would certainly leave him breathless but god damn that sounded like just what he needed right now.

He’d be drunk on you, the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you wrapped around him so tight — the mysterious girl he could never seem to break through to no matter how many times he tried. Sometimes, Benny even felt like giving up — you clearly didn’t want him like he wanted you.

But then, at some point during the night when you were two margaritas in and your eyes were starting to get hazy, he’d look over at you and you’d be giving him the hottest, most seductive look he’s ever seen. It makes his heart pound and skin prickle, his cock ache for something.

It was the kind of look where your eyelashes would flutter and you’d stare up at him with a delectable little smirk on your face, a look that screamed take me now, take me on this bar and show everyone what you’re capable of, show these other bitches you only want me.

And he fucking wished he could. It was that look that kept him going, that look that gave him hope.

And you wanted him to do just that. To leave bruises on your skin and taint your body with himself, to leave his mark on your pussy and soul and be so deep inside you you weren’t sure where his body began and your pleasure ended, just that you needed more, more, more of it.

But Benny assumed that was the game you two liked to play — to show up every Saturday night with the expectation that one of you was going to finally make a move on the other. To see who would crack first, give in to the temptation the both of you so clearly desired but neither were confident enough to admit.

Benny, the sexy bartender obsessed with the mysterious girl who barely gave him the time of day.

You, the girl at the end of the bar wishing Benny would just take the initiative and fuck her already.

And to think, Benny did want you, wanted you so fucking badly, only you. You’re the one that he even bothered to show off for anyway; flipping bottles, being quick on his feet, being better than anyone else cause he knew you were the one watching.

He made a soulful promise to both you and him that one of these nights you’re gonna give him that damned look one more time and he’s not gonna have a choice but to prove to you why you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend to finish.

━━ FRANK ‘CATFISH’ MORALES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP DAD! FRANK ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 for a good year and a half before he met you, the young and beautiful daughter of the woman he supposedly loved.

You were grown, well, grown enough; a beautiful woman with dreams and ambitions, goals for her life that he couldn’t help but admire. But you also had this delectable snark you certainly didn’t get from your mother, an attitude that made anything remotely good about you pale in comparison — it drove him mad.

He hated to act like a father to you because he wasn’t your father — you were in your 20s anyway, it was too late for him to be anything other than Frank. He was just an older man in your life set to wed your mother, yet he really only had eyes for you, his beautiful step daughter he certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about when he was fucking your mother.

You were bratty and mean, always rolled your eyes at him and walked off right in the middle of him talking to you; you wore those short shorts he despised (loved more than he should have) and those dresses that clung just a little too tight to your body for his liking. You were disobedient and rude, but so fucking sexy he was left torn between his desires and morals.

You never cared what he had to say about anything, never bothered to listen to his rules, and never bothered to wear some god damn house appropriate shorts that didn’t shove your round ass into his face every time he walked past you.

He imagined bending you over his knee and pulling your shorts off you, gently sliding your pink panties down your thighs, then spanking your ass, hard, like the disobedient brat you were until his handprints were etched into your skin, until you were sniffling and moaning for him to stop, until you had finally learned some respect.

He wondered if you’d get wet from that simple act alone: maybe your childish attitude was all a front, an act, to really piss him off to his limits and see how far you could push him until he broke. Maybe you wanted to be punished by him, be spanked raw, be fucked hard, until tears were streaming in your pretty little eyes and you were sobbing your apologizes to him instead of running your mouth.

As a matter of fact he should do just that; with all the times you’d “accidentally” leave the door open when you were showering and your mother had gone shopping, just you and Frank and the sizzling tension between you left to fend for itself. He was a gentleman at heart but no man could deny the allure of such a pretty body like yours covered in water.

He should shove your face into his pillow and fuck you from behind so you didn’t have to see his face like he knew you’d want to. He’d hold your hands behind your back and pound you until you cried for him to stop, to go faster, that it hurts, but you fucking wanted more.

You’d probably be a squirter too, all mean girls like you were when they got stripped down to the bare parts of themselves, where they couldn’t hide behind their own insolence and were touched by the experienced hands of an older man.

Frank was a patient man, a very patient man. It took a lot to drive him over the edge but yet you always seemed to know just what to say and just what to do to really push his buttons.

Your bedroom door wide open as you changed out of your bra, your perky tits all smooth and round for him to ogle at through the hallway, your music blasting through the whole house when he was trying to get some god damn sleep, bringing over your stupid little boyfriends into his house and letting them fuck you under his roof — it was all reason enough for him to punish you.

And no, Frank wasn’t jealous. He was a grown man, what did he have to be jealous about? He wasn’t jealous when he’d hear your moans sound through the whole house, the headboard banging on the wall, the giggles you’d try to hide as you’d walk them out the door. It was pathetic. Those boys could never fuck you like he could and he knew it. He was not jealous.

You were a bad girl, a naughty girl, and he didn’t like pretty little girls who thought they knew better than him.

You never showed him any gratitude, or appreciation for taking you and your mother in when he didn’t have to, you never thanked him when he made you a hot meal, and you never listened when he’d say put gas back in my car if you use it.

He basically let you do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. There was no structure, no rhyme or reason to anything you did and he’d be damned if he was going to let a spoiled brat like you make his life any harder than it needed to be.

Your mother was an angel, all kisses and kind words and that’s why he loved her in the first place. He had plans to marry her and live a great life with her. Even when she mentioned a daughter Frank didn’t worry, he imagined an adorable little toddler with big doe eyes and a kind heart just like her mother. But then he met you, and you were no kid, and you were certainly no fucking angel.

You were a soul sucking succubus sent from the depths of hell to tempt him, to make him fail yet another marriage. You were young and he knew it was wrong to despise you yet simultaneously want you so fucking badly. He wanted you out of his house, but he also wanted you on your knees and gagging around his cock. He wanted you to shut up for once, but he also wanted you to scream his name until the neighbors knew it.

It was certainly complicated and contradicting, and with his wedding on the way he really didn’t need anything going wrong. But, he figured, if he married your mother at least he would always be around to keep you in line, right?

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avastrasposts · 11 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 14

I'm sorry. Please feel free to yell at me.

Warnings Contain spoilers

Word count: 5.7k Chapter 15

You start pulling on your clothes as you come back from the bathroom, Frankie is already wrapped up in the bed sheets, half asleep as he pries open an eye to look at you.

“I was thinking we should maybe not both sleep at the same time,” you say, reaching down for your boots. Frankie loses his sleepy look almost immediately and shoots up in bed, but you’re already holding your palm up to him.

“I’m taking the first watch, Frankie, no arguments. You didn’t sleep last night, I did, albeit behind the couch, but still. You need to sleep because to be frank, we’re gonna need you alert tomorrow more than me.”

“Cariño…” he starts to protest but you physically push him down onto the bed with your hands on his shoulders, and he lets you topple him over.

“Sleep, Frankie, I’m going to be outside the door, you’ll hear me shout if anything happens.”

He looks up at you, trying to find an argument for taking the whole watch himself, but his brain is scrambled by adrenaline and sleep deprivation. The post-orgasm hormones don’t help either.

“Leave the door open, wake me at three,” is all he manages before you kiss his lips and stroke his cheek, you swear he’s already asleep by the time you leave the room.

Staying awake was harder than you thought, sitting on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter stops you from dozing off, but you still feel like your jaw is going to pop as you yawn widely. Your gun is on the counter in front of you as you study the ring Frankie slipped onto your finger. The delicate gold band is thin, three simple diamonds set in a row, with room, you notice, for more diamonds along the band. You know Frankie isn’t the kind of guy to spend three months pay on a ring just so that it’s as big as possible, he would pick the ring that meant something to him and make it mean something to you too. You run your fingers over the diamonds, three in a row, you’ll have to ask him tomorrow.

At three am you gently walk into the bedroom to wake Frankie, but he sleeps too lightly, your footsteps wake him up and he shoots up in bed.

“It’s ok, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, “It’s three am.”

“Ok,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep as he rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. You pull off your boots and crawl into bed with your clothes on next to Frankie. He catches your chin between his thumb and fingers, giving you a slow kiss, before letting go.

When you wake up a few hours later daylight is starting to slip through the shutters of the window. Frankie’s hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you.

“Hermosa, time to wake up,” he murmurs as he bends and presses his lips to your temple. “The night was quiet and I made coffee.”

“Thank you,” you mumble and push the covers back, sitting up as Frankie hands you a mug.

You drink it while you get ready, which only means you put your boots back on and stick the gun into the back of your trousers. Frankie’s heated up another can of stew from Denny’s supplies and you both eat it in silence. You’re apprehensive about leaving the safety and quiet of the cabin and move back into populated areas, but you can see Frankie’s nerves too. His jaw is clenched as he goes through both your packs, swapping out some of the food for Denny’s supplies. As soon as you put down your spoon into the empty bowl he grabs it from you and starts readying up to leave.

“We should leave a note for Pope or anyone else who comes here,” you say and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, I did already,” he points to a folded piece of paper on the dining room table, “Read it and tell me if it makes sense.”

You pick it up and flip it open, reading Frankie’s neat handwriting;

September 29th

To anyone of the guys

My girl and I are safe up here for now. We’re heading to L’s place today. Pope was here on the 27th, also went for L but hasn’t returned yet.

We’ll return here when we have L, hope to see you all safe.

Catfish

You fold it up and put it back on the table, “Looks good to me, I really hope they’re all here when we get back,” you say, looking over at Frankie who’s picked up your backpack and walked over to you with it.

“Yeah, I really hope so too,” he replies as he helps you on with the pack, turning you around and adjusting the straps before he pulls your gun from behind your back.

“I made you this while I was keeping watch,” he holds up a makeshift leg holster. “You can’t wear a regular holster with a backpack on and you won’t be able to get the gun from behind the pack, and I don’t want you walking around with the gun in your hand.”

He kneels down and straps it to your thigh, using a snap-link to attach it to your belt. “Denny had a couple of old holsters for his hunting gear so I repurposed them.” He’s got a similar holster on his leg, his gun already in it and now he slides your gun into yours.

“Feel good?” he asks, looking up at you from the floor, tugging on the holster, making sure it’s not too tight.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, Frankie, I’ve never even fired a gun.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to but I can’t show you, I don’t know when we’ll get more bullets,” he gets up and gives your backpack a final look over, “Denny didn’t keep any guns or ammo up here so we’ll have to grab any that we find.”

Once outside the cabin, Frankie locks up and puts the key back into the lock box before turning towards the lake.

“There are a couple of canoes down by the small boat house,” he says, “we can use one of them to get across the lake, saves us walking around it, we’re heading in that direction.”

You nod and follow him down the gentle slope to the lake, the morning is calm and quiet, and again you’re struck by how normal everything feels. If it wasn’t for the slightly heavy feeling in your stomach, a small hot ball of anxiety, you’d think it was just Frankie and you heading out for a couple of days camping.

The trip over the lake is smooth and when you get to the other side, about a mile from the cabin, you get the packs out before Frankie paddles the canoe into some thick, tall reeds to camouflage it as much as possible. Luckily it’s an old wood canoe and it all but disappears into the reeds.

Frankie glances down at his compass, attached to his belt, and motion for you to follow him. You’ve agreed to speak as little as possible and move quietly. There probably won’t be any infected out here but Frankie doesn’t want to take any chances. So in silence you walk behind him for three hours, stopping when he holds up his hand, checking his direction or listening intently. At one point he signals for you to stop and crouch and as you sink down behind a bush, you hear rustling in the shrubs ahead. Your skin goes cold as you mimic Frankie’s movement and pull out your gun, moving it slowly out of your leg holster. The rustling continues, coming closer until, finally, you see the source of the sound, a white tail deer, slowly ambling through the forest, nibbling at leaves here and there as it goes. You let your breath out slowly, as Frankie stands up, startling the deer enough to make it prance away into the underbrush.

At the three hour mark Frankie finds a good spot for a break, a small stream that lets you refill your water bottles. Stretching out your legs on the ground, your back against a large boulder, you try to savor your lunch sandwich. Frankie sinks down next to you and gives you a little nudge with his shoulder.

“How you holding up, cariño?” he asks in a low voice.

“I’m alright, just jumpy,” you reply, leaning your head on his solid shoulder for a little bit. He caresses your cheek with his warm palm and you feel his lips press into the top of your head before he begins to unwrap his sandwich.

After lunch you get even jumpier, you’re still following hiking trails through the forest but every now and then you have to cross main roads, you start seeing houses, you even skirt around a small town. In the distance you see a group of people, you can’t tell if they’re infected or not, but as Frankie leads the two of you in a wide circle around the group, you keep watching them. They don’t move and you think they’re too unnaturally still for humans.

Just as you’ve managed to clear a small ridge and put some distance between yourself and them, a loud collective shriek goes up from the group of people. Frankie immediately grabs you and pulls you down into the tall grass next to the trail. It feels like your heart is going to claw itself out of your chest as you feel Frankie’s weight on top of you, he’s half covered you with his body. You glance up at his face and you see him carefully lift his head out of the tall grass.

“It’s ok, they’re running, but in the other direction,” he whispers and pulls you up. In a crouch Frankie starts to jog down the other side of the ridge, holding on to your hand as you run to keep up with him. You continue running until your lungs are about to give up and Frankie slows down but starts walking next to you, keeping a brutal pace, still holding onto your hand.

“We need to get away from them as fast as possible, we can’t fight that many on foot,” he pants, giving your hand another squeeze.

Not until you’ve covered about three miles does he slow down to a regular pace, you’re drenched in sweat and breathing hard, your legs aching. He pulls you off the side of the trail you’ve been following, into the forest and behind a thick shrub.

“Sit down,” he motions, pointing to the ground, “catch your breath and drink some water.”

You gratefully sink down and pull out your water bottle while Frankie remains standing.

“We’re about half a mile from the bridge and the river crossing,” he says, looking at the map. “We need to be extra careful as we approach, if people in this area were trying to get away from any towns they’d probably have to cross there which means a potential traffic jam and potentially infected.”

You nod and sip the water, offering Frankie your bottle when you’re done. He gratefully takes a long swig while you get back to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the sprint but you want to keep moving. The countryside around you makes you nervous, there are small farms dotted across it, three days ago you would’ve thought it looked quaint and rural, now the sight of every farm house makes you edgy.

Putting away your water bottle, you follow Frankie back to the trail and after a short time it emerges from the forest onto a large country road, up ahead you can see the bridge. As Frankie had feared, it’s jammed with cars. You can walk between them, but the thought of what might be hiding among them makes panic claw its way up your throat and you take a tight hold of Frankie’s hand. He looks back and sees the fear in your eyes. Pulling you back into the trees he wraps his arms around you. Holding you tight to his chest for a minute, he pulls back and cups your cheeks, his large hands are warm and dry on your skin, as he kisses you deeply before he looks down at you and traces his fingers over your lips.

“I’m sorry, cariño, it’s the only way forward.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s committing it to memory and you suddenly realize what he’s doing.

“Don’t say goodbye, Frankie,” you croak, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just in case, mi amor,” he says in a low voice, pressing his lips to yours again. When he pulls back he turns and takes your hand, leading you back to the road where he lets go of it.

“Stay six feet behind me, gun out, safety off, but keep it pointed to the ground. If you have to fire, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.” He gives you a final look, a small smile, before turning back to the road.

It’s slow going, following Frankie’s lead you move carefully in his footsteps, trying to make as little noise as possible. Frankie stops and surveys the cars in front of you regularly but nothing seems out of the ordinary, you see no humans, only open car doors, luggage that’s been left behind.

As you’ve crossed about two thirds of the bridge a dog suddenly launches itself at the cage door keeping it shut in, barking loudly from inside a large SUV. Frankie and you both drop into a crouch, trying to see if the loud noise will draw in any infected, but the dog quietens down and the landscape around the bridge remains silent. You breathe a sigh of relief as Frankie carefully stands up again and motions for you to follow him. He carefully approaches the dog in the cage, a golden retriever you think, mumbling soft words to it, calming it down. Soon the dog is licking his fingers through the bars of the cage and Frankie slides back the lock, opening the door. The dog jumps down, its tail happily wagging as you scratch its ears.

“Good boy,” you mumble, patting its flank as Frankie starts moving forward again. You give the dog a final scratch before you follow him towards the end of the bridge. The dog trails behind you for a while before it falls behind, going back to the SUV.

As you get to the end of the bridge Frankie holds his hand up, signaling for you to stop. He points to the last pillar of the bridge, written on it, in what looks like black magic marker, are the letters SOF, underneath is a rectangle with a single line through the middle and the number 1 just outside the box.

“Special Operations Force,” Frankie says, “Pope’s been through here but he’s alone. The rectangle means he’s motorized.” He walks over to the pillar, pulling a marker from his side pocket and crouching down he writes SOF underneath Pope’s message, but he adds an odd looking cross underneath, two sides are flat and two are rounded. Then he writes ‘2’ next to it.

“Special Operations Aviation,” he explains while he stands up and puts the marker away. “I don’t think any of the other guys will come past here but if Pope comes back the same way he’ll see that we’ve been here.”

You continue down the road, it’s still about an hour's walk to Lucía’s house and you’re forced to stay on the road, there are no hiking trails leading in the right direction. Frankie’s head is on a swivel, his gun drawn as you both walk off to the side of the road, creating some distance between yourselves and the cars. There are less of them now, and up ahead you can see an almost clear road. You crest a hill in the road, carefully trying to see over to the other side before you’re too exposed, when a pickup truck just ahead rumbles to life and barrels towards you with a screech of tires. Frankie grabs your hand and pulls you behind one of the few cars on the road, his gun aimed at the truck. “They’ve got to be ok, right Frankie?” you say, his hand still holding you down behind the car. “Infected can’t drive!”

“Stay down, cariño,” he snaps, his eyes focused on the truck. You hear it come to a stop and the engine goes silent as the doors are opened. Frankie lets go of you and grabs his gun with both hands. You turn and peek over the bonnet of the car and see two men get out, staying behind the doors of the truck, as another two jump down from the flatbed.

“You know how to use that gun, sonny?” the oldest man calls from behind the driver’s door. He’s big and burly looking, a cowboy hat squashed down on a very round head.

“Sure,” Frankie calls back, shifting his stance.

“Why don’t you lower it and toss it over here. And any gun your cute girl might be carrying.” The man’s voice is saccharine and makes your neck hairs stand on end, you glance up at Frankie and see the muscle in his jaw working.

“We’re just passing through, trying to get to some friends, we don’t want any trouble.”

“Then why you pointing a gun at me, son?” The older man looks over his shoulder and nods at the two men who got off the truck and they slowly move to the sides, circling the two of you.

“Cariño, get your gun up and stand behind me, aim at the man on the left,” Frankie says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the older man. You do as he says, trying to have a steady grip on the gun to keep your hands from shaking. Copying Frankie’s stance, you hold your gun in both hands, your feet apart and steady, aiming at the man on the left. With a thumb you flick the safety off and draw a deep breath.

“Steady there, girlie,” the old man drawls, as he sees you move, holding up a hand to stop the two men. “Son, you don’t want to do anything stupid and get your girl in trouble here.” He moves out from behind the car door, and from the corner of your eye you see the rifle he’s holding low in his hands. “We’re just out here making sure no one’s looting these cars, especially of any guns they might find.”

“These guns are mine, like I said, we’re just passing through.” Frankie calls back through gritted teeth. You can hear the sharp tone in his voice as his eyes flick from the man in the cowboy hat and the man still standing behind the passenger side door.

“You’re outnumbered, pal,” the man on the right calls out with a chuckle, “just hand over the guns and any supplies, and we’ll let you pass.”

“Might keep your girl though,” the man on your left drawls, the man you’ve got your gun aimed at, he’s eyeing you with a smirk on his face that makes your skin crawl. “She’s shaking like a leaf but I bet she’d put up a nice little fight.”

Frankie glances over at the man on the left, before he looks back at the man in the cowboy hat, he’s got a crooked smile on his lips as he shoulders the rifle.

“C’mon, sonny, the guns and the girl, and then you can walk away.”

Frankie’s gun is loud on the silent road, and the man in the cowboy hat crumples over, his shot going wide as the rifle hits the ground. The man on the left throws himself forward and you feel the recoil in your arms as you fire, you don’t even know if your bullets hit, you can hear several shots from Frankie’s gun and your own, and Frankie’s hand on your shoulder as he pushes you to the ground. Two more shots ring out and Frankie ducks behind the car, his gun raised, listening. When nothing stirs he quickly glances over the bonnet before he stands up. Three of the men are dead on the ground, the fourth one, the one behind the passenger door, is scrabbling for something and with a few long steps, Frankie is on him, kicking the gun out of his reach.

He’s on the ground, you can see him beneath the door, Frankie towering above him, his gun aimed at the man. As you watch, the man lifts his palms up, pleading, but the shot rings out and the man slumps back. Frankie bends down and picks up the man’s gun, quickly patting him down and fishing an ammo box from his pants. When he straightens up and walks back towards you his face is impassive, blank and you remember when you last saw that look; the bar that night you thought Frankie was a violent man. Now you know, he is violent, but only when he needs to and for now, you’re very grateful for his skills.

You put your hands out to push yourself off the ground and a burning pain shoots through your shoulder, wincing you get to your feet and look at your torn shirt. Blood is seeping through and you suddenly feel faint. Frankie is on you in two fast steps, grabbing your arm and pulling back your shirt.

“You’re hit,” his voice suddenly sharp with worry, as his gentle fingers push at the fabric, making you wince again. He unbuttons your shirt and pulls it over your shoulder. “Thank god,” he breathes out as he sees the shallow gash, “you’ve been grazed, it didn’t go in.” He pulls up his arm as if he’s about to pull his backpack off but changes his mind.

“Come here, get in the truck,” he guides you over to the passenger side, “close your eyes, don’t look,” he mumbles as you have to step over the corpse. You breathe in deeply and keep your eyes closed until Frankie closes the door. He bends down to pick up the other man’s rifle, putting it behind the bench seat, before he gets in and starts up the engine. It rumbles to life and Frankie turns it around, heading back down the almost empty road, and as soon as he sees a secluded spot he pulls over and kills the engine.

“I’ve got to clean your arm, cariño,” says, opening up his backpack for the first aid kit. “Does it hurt?” He looks over at you, his eyes are worried and you shake your head to calm him.

“Only a little, it stings more than anything.”

“Ok, just keep breathing in and out while I do this.”

The iodine solution makes you whimper but Frankie is fast and efficient, when the compress is on your shoulder the pain is already subsiding. He pulls your shirt back on, gives you a soft kiss, cradling the back of your head with his large hand.

“You ok?” he asks in a low voice, “not just the injury, with what just happened too?”

You let out a shuddering breath as you allow yourself to think about the situation, “I’m very glad you used to be a soldier, Frankie,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, “I think that’s the fourth time you’ve saved my life in twenty four hours.”

“Me too,” he breathes, his thumb is caressing your cheek as he looks at you. His deep brown eyes are strained, but calm, “Things are going to get worse before they get better, cariño. I’ve seen it before, when society crumbles, it brings out the worst in people and they become very dangerous. I need you and Lucía safe at the cabin until we know things are getting back to normal, whenever that might be.”

You nod and he turns back to the wheel and starts up the truck, “At least we got a truck out of it, this will make things easier as long as we have gas.”

The truck rumbles through the landscape, in the distance you see a group of infected running towards something but the road curves and you move away from them. Frankie has driven this road hundreds of times, every time he came to pick up or drop off Lucía, and now he wonders at how eerily still it is. There are no people as the truck drives past the first few houses of the small town, cars line the main street but they’ve been pushed to the side. The dents and scrapes on them indicate that something big came through and shoved them out of the way.

Frankie turns down a smaller side street, and then another small street, coming to the end of town. There are a few cars still parked outside the houses but most are gone. You glance over at him, his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel as his restless eyes bounce around the street, looking for infected, people, anything. He’s grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flexing and when he pulls up outside a small bungalow you hear his white knuckles make the steering wheel creak.

“This is their place,” he says in a low voice, “the car is still here.” He opens the truck door and steps down, listening for any movement as you follow him out. Pulling his gun he moves carefully up the porch and tests the handle on the door, it’s locked.

“Stay by the truck,” he says to you, “if anything happens, if anyone comes, fire once in the air, ok?”

You nod and do as he says. Frankie carefully walks down the side of the house, easily scaling the wooden fence that closes off the backyard. He disappears from view and you nervously wait, looking around the quiet neighborhood. When he opens the door to the house from the inside you jump but he holds up his hand in a placating sign, signaling for you to stay where you are. He disappears into the house again, you guess this means Lucía isn’t here, and neither is anyone else.

You hear him walking through the house and before long he comes back out, a note in his hand.

“They’ve been evacuated,” he says, showing you the note from Lucía’s mom. It’s dated the day before yesterday, Saturday, the note says the soldiers came at night and gave them fifteen minutes to pack up essentials.

“She says they told her they’re going to a quarantine zone in Franklin. I’ve got to see if I can get them out of there.” He breathes a sigh of relief, “At least they’re safe for now.” he says, getting back into the truck and starting it up.

As the truck rumbles through town you start seeing more infected, they stumble out of a few of the shops, attracted to the sound of the truck. At one intersection you see a large number of them fallen into a pile, bullet wounds to their heads, and you quickly look away. Their pallid skin, starting to show strange looking lesions, no longer looks human, but their clothes are still bright and colorful, reminds you terribly of the people who would’ve put them on, maybe on Friday morning, expecting just another day.

Frankie speeds up, leaving town, and the shrieking infected behind, heading for Franklin. It’s less than an hour away, the nearest big city, and like before you see the cars pushed to the side of the road. Frankie’s fingers are drumming on the steering wheel again, his grip tight, his jaw clenched. He’s getting closer to Lucía, now he knows she’s safe, he just needs to get to her.

“When we get to the quarantine zone, do you think we should stay there?” you ask him. “It doesn’t sound like a ‘quarantine zone’ is somewhere they’ll let you in and out of. Maybe it’ll be safer for us there too?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie says, glancing over at you, “I need to see it first, how are they quarantining people? Keeping them separate enough so that if someone is already infected, they can’t attack and infect more people?” His fingers drum faster against the wheel, “I just need to see her, see her safe.”

You put your hand on his leg and give it a squeeze and he drops his hand, curling his fingers around yours.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Still stings a bit, but it’s dulled, hurts when I move it.” You test moving your arm up and down, feeling the pull of the compress.

“It’ll give you gnarly looking scar,” he grins, “match some of mine.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and gives it a kiss, his eyes leaving the road for a second. When he looks back again he sees birds circling up ahead.

“Buzzards,” he points them out to you. “Looks like they’re circling just over the road.” He slows down the truck as you come around a bend, clearing a small group of trees. The rumble of the truck startles the birds and you see more of them rise into the sky from the field bordering the road. Frankie stops the truck, leaving it in neutral, watching the birds circle, waiting to see if something moves. When nothing stirs he opens the door, signaling for you to stay put, and he steps on to the instep of the truck, hoisting himself up so that he can look over the door of the truck.

“Oh fuck…” you hear him breathe out.

“What, Frankie, what is it?” you ask but he doesn’t answer so you open your own door and swing yourself up on the instep. Frankie glances back at you and motions for you to get back inside.

“Cariño, don’t, you don’t wanna- “

It’s too late, you look over the field, it looks like almost a hundred people are lying in it, none of them moving. The buzzards are settling back down, walking across the still bodies.

“Oh my god…” you gasp, your hand going over your mouth as your eyes widen in horror. “What killed them?” you whisper, “are they infected?”

“Get into the driver’s seat,” he says, “I’m going closer but I need you to be ready to drive if they are infected.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Frankie!” you say in a hard voice, as you slide over the bench seat and get behind the wheel.

“I’m counting on it, cariño,” he grips your hand before jumping down onto the ground. Grabbing the rifle from the back he loads it before he starts moving slowly towards the field.

You step up onto the instep on the driver’s side, watching Frankie’s back as he makes his way across the road and into the field. As he reaches the first body he crouches down and seems to inspect them. Nothing moves, none of the bodies are jerking, they’re just dead. He stands up again and walks around the outskirts of where they’ve fallen. Suddenly he stops, slinging the rifle onto his back, before he steps into the mass of bodies, he must be stepping on them as he bends down and pulls at one of them, turning it over to face him. He stumbles back, losing his footing and falls onto his back among the bodies.

Without thinking you jump down from the truck and run to him, grabbing hold of his arm as he scrambles to stand up, getting away from the bodies.

“It’s Helena, she’s the mom of Lucía’s best friend,” he pants, standing up. You look over at the blonde woman, her open eyes looking sightless to the sky. Her torso has at least three bullet holes in the pale blue shirt she’s wearing, blood staining the light fabric dark.

“They lived across the street from Lucía,” Frankie croaks and you suddenly realize what he’s saying, gripping his arm hard.

He tears himself away from you as he starts circling around the bodies, crouching down, looking under those who have fallen on top of others, his eyes desperately scanning every face, every piece of visible clothing, looking for something he recognizes, praying he doesn’t. His heart is racing, his vision narrows into one long tunnel, focused on the bodies, praying, cursing, he can’t hear you call after him.

And then he sees it.

The hem of a dress he’d know anywhere because her abuela made it for her.

With a shout he steps into the mass of bodies. You rush up behind him, tears are welling up into your eyes, as you watch him scramble over to the small body. Skinny little legs in sneakers you bought for her birthday, you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from wailing.

The dress is sticking out from underneath a woman, and as he gets closer he realizes it’s his ex-girlfriend, her arms hugging her daughter tight, even in death. The back of her tan coat is dark with coagulated blood that sticks to his hands as he bends back her arms to release her grip. As he shoves her aside a strangled cry goes up from the small body underneath, Lucia’s head moves as a rattled breath escapes her lungs and Frankie cries out in relief, grabbing hold of her waist to gently turn her over, scanning her body for injuries, he sees no blood on her.

“Mija, I’m here, I’m here,” he gasps, “daddy’s here, Lucía, I’m here.”

He’s holding out his arms to lift her up when he sees it.

Trailing under the skin of her small throat.

Up under the pallid skin of her cheeks, spreading out in a fine net.

Tendrils reaching out from her small mouth.

“Frankie!” you cry as the small body shrieks and reaches for him. He almost takes her hand, almost takes the small hand that’s grasping after his. You can see it, even from behind him, you can see the empty eyes, the twitching movement.

Infected.

His hand is still in the air, halfway to reaching out for her, his Lucía, her hand outstretched to him. As she screams, his hand drops to his gun.

You turn your head when the gunshot rings out.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou #frankie morales angst #francisco catfish morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales

193 notes · View notes

astroboots · 1 year

Note

Driving by to order one smut from the smutdonald's. dealer's choice

<.< >.>

.....but Frankie facefucking Santi would be a-ok

okay ilu baaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

DOWN ON MY KNEES

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia

Summary: Santiago gets on his knees for Frankie.

Content: Explicit up the whazoo. MLM, and a very rough Frankie with a spoonful of brat taming to help the medicine go down (pssst, the medicine is his cock).

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The hard unforgiving wooden floor is digging into Santiago's knees. It's uncomfortable to say the least, the blunt pain eating into his kneecaps. He's going to bruise to shits, knees all black, blue and purple, he'll be paying the price for weeks, hobbling with every two steps. But like hell he's going to tell Frankie that.

Not when Frankie is looking at Santiago the way he is right now. Teeth bared, staring down at him. The obsidian pitch of his pupils eating into the warm brown. It's primal.

Rough fingers tangled in Santiago's curls as he grips him hard. It stings, giving him no reprieve for air at all as Frankie holds Santiago in place, the tip of Santiago's nose pushing into the softness of Frankie's abdomen until he chokes, and still Frankie doesn't let go.

If you were here, Santiago wonders what you'd think, your sweet, little Francisco. There's nothing sweet or little about the man now.

No, that thick intimidating girth that's blocking Santiago's airways, filling his entire goddamned throat until he swears it must be halfway down his lungs by now, is hardly little.

Fuck, the man's thick.

"What's wrong Pope? Thought you said you could handle it."

That warm palm of Frankie's, calloused and worn, comes to cradle Santiago's jaw, fingers fanning over his stretched and bulging cheek, and Frankie taps him there. Not hard, and that's worse somehow. It's soft, and amused, condescending, the way you'd pat an errand boy for doing a good job.

Asshole.

Tears are prickling the corners of his eyes, and it's about all Santiago can manage, to stay still and keep his eyes open so they don't breach the barrier and streak down his cheeks.

Santiago swallows around the man, and fuck, that's a mistake. The insides of his throats constricts around Frankie's cock, hugging around every inch of this Behemoth lodged inside him. It's like his body panics at the realization of just how big Frankie is, eyes welling up and he gags. Everything burns, as he desperately tries to swallow down his chocked coughs until he finally has to pull off.

And he's not even sure he can actually manage that, because every nerve in him is screaming for air. Begging him to pull away and run the other way. And he would, if it wasn't for his own stubbornness. He would if it wasn't for that infuriating expression plastered on Frankie's face right now.

Fuck! fuck!

Irritation burns across cheeks, and prickles across Santiago's swollen lips. He's a mess. Drool and spit running wet and sticky down his chin and he brings the back of his hand to wipe it off.

"Is it too much for you?" Boa handles me just fine."

Santiago grits his teeth at the taunt. He knows Frankie is doing it just to get a rise out of him. Knows that Frankie is needling his competitive streak. It's transparent as day. It's just annoying that the man succeeds.

"Fu-fuck you Frank!" It doesn't come out nearly as defiant and irritated as he intended to. Instead it's breathless, and flustered, and that irritates him even more.

There's a slow smile curling on Frankie's lips at that and before Santiago is able to think of better, and smarter retort, that familiar wide palm of Frankie's already back, pulling Santiago forward by the scruff of his neck.

"Thought that's what you'd say," Frankie says. Then he pushes Santiago forward, the rest of the way, guiding Santiago back down on him.

The fat, heavy head of Frankie's cock rests and prods against Santiago's lips until he slides in with a deep groan that reverberates and embeds itself somewhere deep in Santiago's skull.

It sends a shiver through Santiago that has him curling the tip of his toes. Everything in him aches. He's so hard, cock straining against the seam of his jeans, he's surprised the stitches haven't torn by now. His own hand comes to the front of his jeans, palming the bulge clumsily. There's a pleasure that skitters up the back of his neck so pleasantly that if Frankie's thick cock wasn't in the way, Santiago is pretty sure he'd be moaning.

"Fuck, that's a good look on you, Santiago."

Frankie's tone is almost awed as he says it. The honed sharpness softening around the edges as he stares down at Santiago. There's love there. Adoration. And there's nothing wrong with that...

But Santiago would be lying to himself that the Frankie with dark eyes, rough palm against his neck and taunting grin mocking him wasn't a turn on. He slides his mouth off the man, chin tilted up to stare up in defiance.

"Real good at playing tough when Boa's not around, aren't you?"

That's all it takes.

Something sparks behind those warm eyes until they're incinerating. Frankie reaches over, large hand wrapped around Santiago's throat that has his cock twitching and jerking against the strained denim. Precome leaks down the tip of him soaking his boxers from excitement at the man's grip around his airpipe with just the right pressure that he likes.

Then Frankie leans down, close enough that his lips brush against Santiago's ear.

"Our wife's not here to spoil you now, and I'm not planning on taking it easy on you Pope, so I'd save that smart little mouth of yours right about now."

Santiago grins. Frankie's right. If you were here, you'd spoil Santiago. If you were here Frankie wouldn't be quite this rough. If you were here that is... but you're not.

And in this moment, Santiago can't bring himself to be sorry that you're not.

Dedication: To @jazzelsaur for this demented thot. And to my beloved moose @thirstworldproblemss who helped me finish it.

#frankie morales x santiago garcia #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #santiago garcia #frankie morales

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featherandferns · 11 months

Note

7 fluff maybe?

7. I made us friendship bracelets.

This is very short but very sweet. Prepare to gag.

Feel free to request! - Prompt list

Beads - prompt 7.

Summer days call for chilling out: sun-tanning and swimming and sipping.

John B lounges at the helm of the boat, drifting in and out of sleep. Pope sits, reading a book, whilst JJ swims around in the water to cool off. Every now and then he climbs back aboard just to backflip off, aiming to spray as much water as possible on John B, who grumbles out cusses in return. You, Kie and Sarah are sat around. Sarah’s helping to braid some beads into Kiara’s hair. Pink, yellow and blue. Inspired, you’d dug about in the hold and found some string, and had started looping through some beads, working on a nice pattern. It was something you did a lot as a kid but had outgrown, and right now, you couldn’t remember why.

Tapping your foot along to the beat of a Frank Ocean song, you work at tying off the second bracelet. You’re snapped out of your peaceful haze when JJ climbs back aboard, shaking his head like a wet dog, spraying you with water.

“Quit it, JayJ!” Kiara hollers.

JJ sniggers and drops down in the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He steals a sip of your cider.

“I made us friendship bracelets,” you say with a smile, holding two up.

He grins down at you. “You’re too frigging cute sometimes.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, I second that: shut up,” Kiara says.

“Save the foreplay for at home, guys,” John B feels the need to chime in.

You and JJ ignore their joking. He meddles with the beaded bracelets already on his wrist until there’s space for yours, and you slide one on. He watches as you slip yours on too.

“Fit okay?”

“Think so,” he nods, shaking his wrist out to inspect it.

The two of you have identical colour palettes but in alternating patterns. As yours goes green, blue, yellow, his goes blue, yellow, green.

You look down at the beads and debate making more, so everyone has one, but then you decide not to. It’s nice, having it just something for yourself and JJ. As if hearing this thought process, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll never take it off,” he quietly says, so only you hear.

You flash him a smile, somewhat sappy in the moment.

“You two either get a room or get in the water so I don’t have to look at you,” John B says, propping himself up to point at the two of you. He says it as if him and Sarah don’t dote on each other openly all the time, churning up vomit in your throat at the sight.

JJ simply grins and shoots up, tackling his best friend into the water, making you laugh. You turn back to the girls and fall into the conversation Sarah’s started up about hair styles. The day slowly melts away like strawberry ice cream in the sun. But JJ keeps his word. From there on, amongst his muted coloured bead bracelets is a cheerful, bright plastic-bead one. If anybody asks where he got it from, he proudly tells them ‘my girlfriend’.

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fic #jj maybank fic #jj x reader drabble #jj drabble #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank x reader drabble #obx drabbles #outer banks drabbles #drabbles #drabble #prompts #7

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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

Text

Flight Instinct: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Francisco “Catfish” Morales)

Author’s note: this is a blurb request, and is a continuation of my poly!Triple Frontier fic, Captain of the Team. This could be read as a standalone I guess… but will make a hell of a lot more sense if you’ve read CotT and other blurbs which (chronologically precede this and) are connected to that ‘verse, i.e. Solid Ground, and Helicopter Guitar. 🧡

Screenshotting the request for this, which was sent in by the lovely @for-a-longlongtime 🧡 I’m sorry there’s no smut! But this is the scene that happened when I pressed the “play” button in my head. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for the ask and your kind words about Solid Ground! I love this pairing and it was so fun to revisit them a little further down the line (though this is a little more of a rushed effort than the last one) 😀✨🙌

Pairing: Santi x Frankie centric for this blurb (Santi’s POV) but references to wider poly!relationship including Will and fem!reader.

Genre/warnings: m/m, early relationship, some angst and Santiago’s usual insecurities, smut references but only steam in the fic itself, some fluff.

Length: blurb, fairly short

Gif: by @pedrorascal 🧡

Santiago looks at the man - Francisco - reclined on his couch.

He looks beautiful. Unfathomably so. Long limbs stretched out, his dirty-pink Henley coordinated with the mauve lick of his plush, pouty lips. With the flush of exertion still held in his cheeks - from diligently sucking Santiago’s soul out of his dick less than half an hour ago. The garment rides up to reveal bare stomach. The dusting of his happy trail drawing Santiago’s gaze down to those tight, tapered hips. To his huge, powerful hands which nestle the paperback with care, dwarfing it in the broad span of his grip. He’s beautiful, his hawkish face tipping down towards the page, warm brown eyes soft and intent.

The fucking audacity, Santiago thinks. And the way he’s so casual about it too?

Still. Desire reliably twists a knot in Santiago’s belly, tightening like a fist even if he had been left very well-sated.

So then, Santiago tuts at him for the audacity of him daring to… for daring to…. Well. For something he can’t quite put his finger on yet. “Frank. What are you doing?”

Santiago sees Francisco’s eyes flutter closed in subtle aggravation. Maybe at the interruption. More than likely, though, at his harsh tone - completely uncalled for. And yet, calm and composed, he closes the book. “Okay,” he says with a finality. The straw that broke the camel’s back, apparently. “What’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Well, that feels like a lie as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Francisco looks well aware of that fact though. Always was annoying like that. Seeing through his bullshit.

“So you always parade around the house like an aggravated chicken?” Immediately after asking his question, Francisco tilts his head, mentally answering it for himself. Often, actually.

That irks Santiago even more. So, he huffs and plants his hands on his wide hips, and meanwhile, Francisco rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. Somehow that makes him look even more beautiful as the lamplight slips fluidly over the planes of his face. Mingles into his dense mass of curls like liquid gold.

Annoying.

“Oh no,” Francisco rumbles, a deep, slightly mocking lilt to his tone which makes Santiago’s skin thrum despite himself. “Not you sticking that cute little hip out.” Francisco’s cheek tugs up with a lopsided smile, even if Santiago’s own smile does not greet him in return.

Perturbed, for no legitimate reason he can fathom, he scoops his forefinger and thumb around his mouth, his stubble rasping. He taps his foot almost impatiently, as though frustrated that Francisco hasn’t yet given him the thing he needs but can’t even name yet.

It’s hard. Makes him feel uneasy. An instinctual rather than conscious thing. A buzz in his limbs. A flutter in his chest.

A desire to leave.

To leave the room.

Maybe the country.

Definitely his feelings.

But he doesn’t.

He remembers what Francisco had told him last time he’d pulled that shit -firmly, and in no uncertain terms. “If we’re doing this, this can’t continue to happen, you hear me? I need you to stay in the room. Be a dick if you want. Just stay in the fucking room. After all this fucking time, man. Show me you at least respect me enough to give me that courtesy.”

He does. He does respect Francisco. After all this time. So, he stays. Despite his base instincts - which flood his body with the urge to run. The activation of his flight instinct. Thankfully, he supposes, Francisco is a pilot. If there’s anyone who can navigate him back to solid ground, it’s this guy.

“Come on. Sit down.” Francisco swings his legs, planting his feet to the floor. Sits up and pats the space beside him on the couch.

Santiago sighs deeply first; but then he sits, even if he doesn’t relax into it, perching his ample ass on the couch edge. He can feel the tension contorting his expression into something surly. He can’t fix it, but he makes sure to at least look down at the carpet instead of directly at Francisco. Somewhere deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve to receive the full brunt of his mood.

“Is this… because of the engagement?” Francisco ventures.

“No!” Santiago snaps back indignantly. Well. That’s another lie, apparently. As soon as that thread is tugged on, Santiago feels there’s truth in it. You and Will announcing your engagement has him feeling a lot of feelings - even if he can’t fully admit that to himself yet. Even if he can’t name them all yet. Still, that’s not quite it. At least… it’s not all of it.

“Well. Good.” If Francisco has noticed the lie, he steps over it. Instead of pulling him up on it, his hand slides down Santiago’s back and, counterintuitively, the man stiffens against the bestowed comfort. “Because they said it won’t change anything and honestly I believe-“

“-It’s not about that,” Santiago bristles.

“Okay.” Francisco’s hand smoothing at his back almost melts him. Almost. Stubbornly, he resists it. Still can’t fully admit to all the ways the man can see right through him. “Then wh-

Abruptly, Santiago rises to standing. An unfathomable adrenaline piping through his limbs. It feels like fear; though with no physical source he can name. “-What are we even doing, Frank?”

Frankie’s coffee cup brown eyes fall warm on Santiago, not bitter, even as the man clearly struggles to follow his train of thought. Honestly, Santiago is struggling to follow it himself. All he knows is he’s feeling… feelings.

“I mean. Seriously. Those two are engaged and we’re… I mean.” His voice falters. He hates that. Doesn’t like to feel vulnerable. Doesn’t like the way Francisco is able to pour himself into every crack he can find, sticking him together like glue. “Why the fuck are you on my couch? On a Tuesday night?”

“Would Wednesday work better for you, or..?”

“Frank, I’m serious. What are we doing?”

Santiago shuffles from foot to foot. Curls his tongue around his lip. Wants to run. Wants to get away from here. Doesn’t want Francisco to see him all opened up. He’s seen him all opened up. All opened up for him. Opening him up; and he can’t let him crawl inside any deeper.

He wants to leave the room.

But he doesn’t.

He risks a look back at Francisco, his head hung and his hands clasped in his lap. Santiago sees exactly what he expected to see there. Sees disappointment.

But he’s trying. For Frank, he’s trying..

Goddamn. He can say the right thing when he has something to gain. But oh boy. It’s a different story altogether when he has something to lose, isn’t it?

Francisco doesn’t rise to it though. Instead, he looks up at Santiago levelly. He feels embarrassed when he does that. Like Francisco is a man and meanwhile he’s somehow behaving like a small child.

“Take a second,” Francisco soothes, rising to standing in front of Santiago. “What is it that you actually wanna say to me?”

Santiago sniffs. Still frantic despite Francisco’s calm.

Stay in the room.

Stay on the ground, pendejo.

“You come here to fuck me and now you’re reading.” His palm gestures towards the couch in frustration. “You’re just sat there…”

Francisco’s eyebrows jump up, gently - to his credit, really trying to interpret what’s going down here. “Reading.”

“Yeah. Like this is all some…” Santiago doesn’t know where he’s going with this tirade, honestly. But he’s damn sure going to let it out anyway. “We’re not fucking married.”

Ah. There it is.

A flood of emotion rides in on the crest of that realisation. “We’re just hooking-up.”

A swallow sinks down Francisco’s corded neck. His mouth scrunches up into a pout, but other than that, he doesn’t give much away. Not beyond a tiny, discernible fissure of sadness in his tone. “Oh. I hadn’t realised that’s what we were doing.”

It’s preposterous, really. Preposterous to think that 18 years of friendship - and now this - could be reduced to “hooking-up”. Like he hasn’t known Frank for longer than he’s had the goddamn couch he’s complaining about him laying on?

Still - because of course he does - Santiago doubles down. Even as Francisco’s arms fold across his chest, suddenly making Santiago feel more lonely than he has in months. He tries not to dwell on the realisation that the past few months have been the first time he hasn’t felt lonely in such a long time. “Frank. Be real for a second. Like I’m not just some pit stop? You know. Until you find a new Mom for Bella?”

He can’t stand to look at the anger which flashes in Francisco’s eyes when he says that.

In fact, Santiago wants to run from himself in that moment. From the way he can twist something good and turn it bad. From the way he always seems to have the power to make his worst fears become real. Because he just has to poke something over and over to test how real it is. But, now that he’s started? He can’t stop.

“Fuck. And then, Will and…” he trails off before he says your name. Can’t bear to say it. Pulls on that thread and suddenly it’s all connected. Him and Frankie and you and Will. All tied together in a web he can’t yet understand, let alone trust. It’s all linked to the same fear in the pit of him.

There is a beat, and Santiago chews some more words down.

“You think we’ll all leave you.” Frankie says plainly, struck by the epiphany. Finally slotting everything into place, and Santiago feels his face pinch and draw down. Feels his chest tighten.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Yeah. Yeah, Frank, that’s exactly it.

Santiago’s looking at the floor, but he can still see Frankie’s looming presence as he shuffles closer, mumbling idiota fondly under his breath.

Santiago is terrified that he will be angry. Expects it. Thinks he deserves it. But, instead, he feels Francisco’s strong arms wind around his middle. He feels the warm press of Frankie around him, muddling him closer. Still, although he wants to, he doesn’t yield to it yet. Not all the way.

“You’re the biggest flight risk around here, cariño.” Francisco chuckles warmly. “If any fucker was about to leave I’d have bets on it being you.“

“Fine!” Santiago snaps, irked by the mere suggestion even if he’s done it a hundred times before. “Maybe I will!”

“Oh. You will?”

He hadn’t expected Francisco to call his bluff, honestly. Hadn’t expected a lot of things when it came to him, to be fair. His next works are weaker. “I might.”

“Okay,” Francisco shrugs, before starting towards the doorway. Christ. Is this it? Has he fucked it already? Is this done?

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice breaking.

“To the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“You’re coming, idiota.” Francisco doesn’t look “done”. Doesn’t look angry, even. Instead, he tilts his head -come on- and holds his hand out for Santiago.

“Why?” Santiago asks, even as he obliges.

Francisco leads him to his own bedroom then. Walks to the chest of drawers and pulls one of them open, lifting out piles of Santiago’s clothes and tossing them on to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Santiago’s eyes flit around the room in confusion. Embarrassment, as Francisco makes visible the exact upheaval he’s threatening.

“Well, see? That’s up to you. I’m either helping you pack, in case you wanna high tail it outta here - to get away from me reading so offensively on your couch. Or…” Francisco offers, matter-of-factly, “… I’m clearing myself a fucking drawer.”

“Huh? What for?”

Francisco turns towards him. Closes the gap between their bodies again. Presses his palm to Santiago’s face and rests the pad of his thumb on his shapely chin. “So that I have somewhere to put my stuff.” His gaze softens, and he presses a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “When I stay over on Tuesdays.”

And with that, Francisco rests his case. Retrieves the book Santiago hadn’t even realised he’d stuffed into his back pocket before heading upstairs, and rounds the bed. Reclines himself on the clear side, looking all beautiful again.

Santiago sighs.

Santiago’s side of the bed, meanwhile, is covered in piles of his clothes. He can’t even lay down next to him. Not until he deals with this. Whatever “this” is.

Francisco is a clever fucker, alright.

Santiago saws his hand across his stubble as, meanwhile, Francisco disappears into his next chapter, not even looking up at him. “Your call, Santiago. Or, after 18 years, is a fucking drawer moving too fast for you?”

With Frank’s joke… it’s ridiculous, suddenly.

He feels ridiculous suddenly.

The situation and his anger and his fear feels… ludicrous.

He sees his situation better for what it is. It’s beautiful. Beautiful like Frank is.

Guess what? Santiago stayed in the room, and it all grew just a little less scary. In no small way thanks to his skilled pilot, who has spent so long learning his awkward, complex controls. Knows how to push all his buttons in just the right way.

His chest feels lighter. The knot in him unspools. An awed smile even cracks his face as he picks up a pile of boxers. “Well. You don’t need a whole drawer do you?”

“¡Ay, dios!” Frankie complains fondly.

“I mean. You don’t wear all that many clothes while you’re here, do you?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively - just in time for Francisco to clock it when he looks up, a smile chiselling itself from his strong features.

“Need extra hoodies, don’t I? You steal ‘em, pendejo.”

The two men lock eyes for a moment. Study one another, almost wistfully. Softer now. Full of feeling and affection.

Santiago knows it. Knows this is far more than hooking-up. And that’s it. That’s exactly what he’s so afraid of. He’s scared because it’s more than he’s ever felt. Deeper than he’s ever fell.

That’s the risk when you’re flying though, he supposes.

Still, there’s something about the soft light dancing in Francisco’s warm coffee cup eyes that makes him feel far less fearful. Makes him feel braver than he thought he could be.

“I’m sorry,” Santiago admits.

“I know you are.”

It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared, Francisco’s gaze tells him wordlessly. Just stay in the room. Just stay in the fucking room.

Santiago moves the final piles of clothes on to the top of the dresser and he crawls on to the bed beside Francisco. He nestles his cheek against the taller man’s chest. Curls his form around him and Francisco wraps him safely in his embrace. He feels the man’s heartbeat thud, pleasantly slow and steady, beneath his ear. He breathes in and out with the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the tension eke out of him.

“For the record?” Francisco begins, his voice striking a deep and robust note which shimmies right through him.

A divot notches in Santiago’s brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You got that?”

Francisco’s arms wrap him tighter, and meanwhile, Santiago’s eyes squeeze shut, fighting against hot, spiking tears of relief. He feels a warm, percussive kiss being planted at his hairline. Feels Francisco’s fingers raking impossibly gently through his curls.

“Better?”

“Mhmm,” Santiago agrees. “Yeah.” And, just for a moment, he allows himself to tug a little more forcefully on that thread. The one where you’re all connected. Him and Francisco, and Will and… you. For once, he tries to imagine the thread not as a web to tangle him up, but more like a… safety net. As something he could fall into, instead of run from. After a few moments of contemplating this, Santiago’s face splits in a tentative grin. “You know. She’s gonna look hot as all hell in a wedding dress.”

Frankie’s throaty chuckle, which sounds out, has to be his favourite sound in the whole world, and so, as he’s still laughing, Santiago opts to prop himself up on one elbow. Seeks out Fransisco’s gaze to meet with his own. He wants to tell him while he’s still laughing. Wants to believe this can all turn out happy.

“I love you.”

The words flow from Santiago’s chest so naturally, so freely and yet, immediately, a more solemn note chokes Francisco’s laughter. Weighs his smile down like a stone, until he is looking back at him with wet, shining eyes, his plush, mauve lips slightly parted in surprise.

He looks at Santiago as though he’s been waiting for him to figure that out.

He looks at him like he’s surprised, or like he never expected he’d live to hear those words out of his mouth.

Then, screw being on solid ground, Santiago thinks. As Francisco - after a dumbfounded beat - meets his revelation with a searing kiss, Santiago’s heart takes flight.

Francisco’s tongue curls tenderly into his mouth. His body rolls to shift Santiago beneath his weight, his knees falling open either side of his tight hips.

“I love you too,” Francisco says, voice revving with deep feeling as he braces on top of him. Then; “thank you”.

Santiago blinks. “For the drawer?!”

Francisco’s curse under his breath is nothing but fond. “Idiota. No. For trusting me enough to say that.”

Francisco’s tongue delves into his mouth once more, opening him up.

Frank, everywhere. All over him. With his tongue; his body; his heart.

Opening him up. Opening him up. Opening him up.

He’s opening him up, and what’s more… Santiago wants to let him in.

He wants to let Francisco into the deepest parts of him.

#Pedro pascal #Oscar Isaac #Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #Francisco catfish morales #Santiago pope Garcia x Francisco catfish morales

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gnpwdrnwhiskey · 9 months

Text

Over When It's Over

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count- 650-ish

Warnings- it's just so much angst. and mentions of alcoholism.

Author's Note- so according to this poll, at least some of you wanted to read this....my usual headcanon for Frankie is that he has a woman who stands by his side no matter what, this isn't that. this is a Frankie who came home from Colombia and fell into a bottle and hasn't found his way out yet. there's no happy ending, but I'd kinda like to think if I ever visited these two again, there could be.....

"Babe? You home?"

Shit.

You weren't expecting him back so soon and you start packing a little faster.

But you don't bother answering him, the apartment's about the size of a shoebox, he'll find you sooner rather than later. Add that to the list of things that you're sick of- losing the house and having to live in this shitbox because it's all you can afford on one income.

"Babe?" He stops in the doorway, fresh beer in hand, of course. "What's going on?"

"What does it look like, Francisco?" You sigh. "I'm done. We're done. This is over. Drea and I will be at my mom's. We'll work something out with the lawyers."

"What the fuck? Are you serious with me right now? You weren't even gonna let me have a say in this? You're just gonna leave? You're just gonna take my baby from me?"

"There's nothing to say. I can't do it anymore, Frank. I can't live like this and I won't raise my daughter like this. You need help."

"I'm fine," he scoffs. "I just need to get my license back and everything will be fine, you'll see."

"Do you even hear yourself right now?" You laugh bitterly. "You're not fine. And no one is reinstating your license. If it had just been the suspension, we probably could've made it through this but then you went off with Pope and you lost Tom and you won't talk to me...."

"There's nothing to talk about," he insists with a shake of his head. Has been insisting for the last year and a half. "Bad mission, that's all. It's over, it's done."

"Oh, is it? Is it over? When's the last time you slept through the night? When's the last time you were really truly sober, hmm?? Or, or....contributed anything to this family? I can't even leave Drea alone with you because I don't know what the fuck I'll come home to! So not only am I the only one working, I'm also having to pay for fucking childcare!!"

"What do you want me to do? Flip fucking burgers? Or go hang out at the Home Depot or some shit and hope I get picked up for a crew?"

"Why not? Do you think you're too good for that? I go out and wait fucking tables five days a week because some one has to keep a roof over our heads! Do you think you're better than me? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm not saying-- damnit, I'm not a fucking day laborer, I'm a goddamn pilot! A fucking good one!"

"No, what you are now is a fucking drunk!" You yell, slamming the suitcase closed.

The silence is deafening, Frankie standing with his arms crossed staring daggers at you from the other side of the bed and you wonder for the millionth time what happened to the man you met years ago- the one with the quiet confidence and warm smile, the quick laugh and laid-back manner.

"This is horseshit," Frankie mumbles. "Ten years and you're just gonna throw it all away? Over what? A couple beers?"

You drag your suitcase off the bed and put it by the door with the others before crossing to him, pulling him into a hug that he only halfheartedly returns.

"It's more than that and you know it. You need help, with the drinking and with whatever demons you're fighting with in your head. Doesn't have to be me, but talk to someone. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Drea. She deserves the best version of you."

You give him a kiss on the check and step out of his loose embrace before grabbing your bags and walking out. And you don't look back.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfic #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales

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prongsiess · 2 years

Text

Incorrect Marauders quotes as stuff my friends have said in the past 3 years:

Remus: can I steal a chocolate?

Lily, who just witnessed Remus give a first year detention for looking at Sirius: I mean, you don’t deserve it but sure

Sirius: PIN HIM DOWN! PIN HIM DOWN!

*James, menacingly holding out toast with jam towards moony*

Remus: ok no, we’re not force feeding me

Regulus: you mean the ceiling?

James: yeah… I was gonna call it the sky floor

Peter: on a scale of potato to nun, I am a potato

Mary, looking at Lily: on a scale of pre-marital sex to the pope, how religious are you?

Lily, who just spent 8 hours studying for NEWTS: I’m just trying to eat my supper

Marlene: do I trust you with hot wax near my vagina…?

Sirius, already putting on medical gloves and heating up the wax machine: please do

Pandora, scratching their eye: there’s something in my eye

Regulus, not even looking up from his book: your finger

Barty: you’re not a cat

Regulus, transforms into his animagus form: meow

James, half conscious on the pitch after a quidditch accident: my toes are asleep

Regulus, frantic and crying: wake them up, scream at them, I DON’T KNOW

Lily: you look like slutty Dora the Explorer

Sirius, very proud of his outfit: WHORA

Mary, talking about her pet cat: the vet’s gonna cut off his balls. Maybe it’ll make him calmer

Lily, looking over to James who’s trying to climb a chandelier: we should do that to James

Regulus: what if I hang myself

James: that’s exactly why we’re bringing you to therapy

Dorcas, looking pensively at the wall: do you know what triggers a woman?

Peter: what does?

Dorcas: oh i don’t know, I just wanted to sound smart

Mary, a pansexual third year talking about her crush on this sixth year quidditch player: those arm veins really do something to me

Frank, a straight fifth year, observing this dude’s arm very attentively: yes, very sexy

Pandora: am I the only one that thinks its hot right now

Barty, who’s learning muggle medical terms to spite his father: yeah I’m in menopause too

James, deathly afraid of birds: if I was bird I’d scare myself to death

Regulus: I mean, it could be fun. We could shit on people

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abnormalpsychology · 6 months

Text

I went to my first Rocky horror screening on Friday and I literally miss it so bad!!! I lost my mind and felt so hot and it was . transcendent . so I made a list of highlights:

- MY FRIEND AND I GETTING SAT IN THE SECOND UP CLOSE FRONT ROW BC WE LOOKED SO ENTHUSIASTIC IN OUR FLOOR SHOW MAKEUP AAGHDH 😳😳

-MY FRIEND AND I GETTING TO BE BETTY AND RALPH HAPSHATT (HER SAYING YES DESPITE NOT EVEN KNOWING WHO THEY WERE LMAO) AND ME MISSING THE BOUQUET TOSS TIMING - MY ONE JOB!!!! - OUT OF SHEER BLUESCREENING FROM SEROTONIN OVERLOAD AND PANIC LMAO

- OUR VIRGIN GAME WAS LITERALLY NOT BAD AT ALL DESPITE ME HAVING BEEN SO SCARED LOL. “I went to Rocky horror and now I’m popped!!” as our repeated call to worship with a guy dressed as the pope agahshgk, they were so gentle w us fr

- THE CAST DID THIS PRE RECORDED ROCKY HORROR VERSION OF THE NICOLE KIDMAN AD AHHAJDJ

- the audience making a joke to the stage guy (who was like probably 30) abt skibidi toliet and him being like “what the FUCK are you talking about” 💀

- preparing the audience for the ride like “people are going to be yelling the worst things you’ve ever heard in your life at the screen.”

- RIGHT INTO IT WITH A STRIPTEASE AND TIDDIES COMING ALL THE WAY OUT ON SCIENCE FICTION DOUBLE FEATURE

- “fight a triffid” “WHAT THE FUCK IS A TRIFFID”

- doing the time warp with a crowd was like the most fun I’ve ever had

- I ALSO GOT TO BE THE FUCKING LEVER RIFF RAFF CRANKS FOR ROCKY TO RISE OUT OF THE TANK LMAO

- I can’t even remember all the crowd chants but so many absolutely DESTROYED me w laughter

- “LIKE UR NECK BITCH”

- “you say goodbye / and I say” “hello 😒”

- “hey Janet are you a slut?” “yes ☺️ I am”

- IT WAS WEIRDLY LIKE CHURCH BC EVERYONE KNEW HOW ALL THIS SHIT WORKED AND HAD THEIR LINES MEMORIZED AND WE DIDNT BUT THEY LITERALLY HAD SIGNS AND SO MUCH KIND NICE INSTRUCTION FOR NEW PPL AND LIKE. I LOVE THEM

- THE LINES I KNEW I WAS SO GODDAMN HAPPY TO KNOW AND I EVEN YELLED OUT MY OWN ONES I CAME UP WITH AND THESE OLDER LADIES BEHIND US KNEW ALL THESE ORIGINAL ONES TOO

- “keep calm / don’t panic” or something like that and everyone just screamed in unison 😭 multiple times lol

- FORGOT TO GET US A PROP BAG BC WE GOT TO BE VIPS WHICH KILLED ME BUT IM GOING BACK ANYWAYS SOOOO 🤪🤪

- everyone had so many funny chants that kept surprising me but I was just singing along bc the songs already are just sOOOOO INCREDIBLY FUN anyways

- the improvisations by the cast were so consistently v funny, I loved them . and like everyone was trans!!! so many binders!!! it was incredible

- “-visitors, let alone offer them hospitality “HORSE BRUTALITY?” WAS SAID SOOO LOUD LMAO

- “it’s a Bird it’s a plane it’s SUPER ASSHOLE”

- THE WEAKLING WEIGHING 98 LBS CALLBACK LINE WAS EVERYONE JUST BEING MEAN TO BRAD AND IT WAS SOOO FUNNY LMAO

- EVERYONE THROWING UP TOLIET PAPER AND PARTY POPPERS AND CARDS IN THE AIR WAS SO BEAUTIFUL TO WATCH ACTUALLY <3

- THE BEDROOM SCENE OUR FRANK WAS LIKE “yep it’s totally me . Brad majors 😐 That’s me” not even TRYING and I fucking died lmao

- OH MY GOD. THE BEDROOM SCENES IN SILHOUETTE WHERE THEY HAD THEM PULL DIFF INSANE PROPS OUT OF BRAD AND JANETS ASSHOLES 💀💀💀💀 I WAS LIKE “THATS NOT HOT????”

- the Eddie chanting (“not the ass but the side!”) was SO FUN I WAS SO HAPPY I STUDIED FOR HOURS READING THE PARTICIPATION SCRIPTS LMAO

- Eddie live where they did the hand jive and I couldn’t do it fast enough and Rocky was wtaching me and said “IM LOOKING AT YOU”

- THE REVEAL OF EDDIE’S BODY WHERE THEY COULDNT HAVE HIM LYING UNDERNEATH THE TABLE SO THEY JUST HAD HIS ACTOR RUN OUT AND BE DEAD AS FAST AS POSSIBLE FHSAHSHHAHAHA

- them like “haha Dr Scott! we are eating ur nephew” 💀 #prankd

- I got to throw in my own little lines with like “You’re going to kill him? What’s his crime?”“WHATS NOT?” And I FELT SO FUNNY FOR IT

- riff saying “my most beautiful sister” and my friend (WHO HADNT FINISHED THE MOVIE) turning to me slowly like .. 😟?

- EVEN IN “IM GOING HOME” THEY STILL HAD CHANTS MAKING FUN OF IT FHAJQHS

- THEY DID SUPER HEROES AND I WENT “THANK YOU JESUS” ALOUD HFJSJW

- they had audience members also be the table Frank rides in the scene and the sonic oscillator which was so great!!! my FAVORITE of which was the cutie playing the globe at the end who got so dizzy she had to stop 😭❤️

- anyways it went crazy. pls go to Rocky horror if you get a chance asap!!!! go to events! be gay! it will change ur life

- <3 u rockyhorror :)

#bbge.text #rocky horror picture show #rocky horror #rhps

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

Mismatched

December 4: Cider/Moon - Matchmaking gone wrong (Frankie Morales x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW: Angsty nonsense. The keywords of “cider” and “moon” are like Carmen Sandeigo—see if you can find ‘em.

Word Count: 1261

AN: There is a sequel here!

AN2: Requested by anon!

Molly’s the one who sets it up. She and Tom throw a party each autumn, timed to hit the local college’s homecoming. They do all the autumn stuff: set up a bonfire in their backyard, stock the party with hearty tail-gating type fare like hard ciders and brats and hot wings.

But in addition to playing at gracious hostess, Molly appoints herself as matchmaker for the evening. She knows someone, a friend of a friend, and she thinks Frankie would be perfect for her.

“I don’t know, Molly,” Frankie says. He takes off his hat, runs his fingers through his hair nervously. He just finalized his divorce a six months earlier, and it left him wrung out and empty. He only gets to see his infant daughter on the weekends. He lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment, and he’s putting in hours at the local car shop since his pilot’s license was suspended. He goes to group once a week to try and beat his addiction.

In short, he doesn’t feel like he has much to offer anyone.

Molly nudges him as she walks past to get more ice for the cooler of beers out on the back porch. “C’mon, Frank,” she says with a winsome smile. “I talked you up to her.”

Frankie glances at Molly, then slides his gaze over to Tom. The man remains mute, but he does offer a slight shrug as if to say, “what can it hurt?”

It can hurt quite a bit, as it turns out.

-----

Halfway through the evening, you arrive. Frankie and the guys are circled up near the bonfire, chatting about old Delta stories, when Molly waves over at them from across the yard. When they stand and stare at her, she makes a frustrated face, points at Frankie, and waves him over specifically.

“Looks like your date’s arrived, Fish,” Pope says with a shit-eating grin.

“Good luck with that, bud,” Benny adds, and Will gives him a mock-salute.

Frankie sighs and tugs at his shirt, winces at the wrinkles there. He swears it looked fine when he put it on that afternoon, but now it’s wrinkled. Makes him look even less pulled-together.

“Walking the plank,” Tom says as he walks away, and he sighs again, grumbles that he should have stayed home.

-----

The problem is, Frankie likes you immediately.

You have some spark, some…something that makes him perk up and take notice of you a little more closely as Molly introduces the two of you. Your hand is soft in his as you shake it, and you give him a bright smile that feels genuine.

And for a while, the two of you chat. It’s all the usual small talk bullshit: talk of the weather, of how each of you know Molly and Tom, of your lives. Frankie is out of practice with women, with dating, but he tries. He asks more questions, and he listens more than he talks. He makes eye contact; he smiles. He offers you a fresh drink.

You tell him about yourself and he hedges his replies about his own life. Of course he doesn’t tell you he’s a recovering addict, that he works a minimum wage job changing the oil in cars because he lost his license to fly. He does admit that he’s divorced and has an infant daughter, and he has no reason to think you feel any sort of way about those facts—you tilt your head sympathetically, you smile at him.

For the first time since his marriage fell apart so spectacularly, Frankie feels the faintest bit of hope, like the thin margin of dawn appearing over the horizon. He feels like he might not always be alone, like the darkness is about to break.

It makes it hurt that much more, when he accidentally overhears you talking to Molly later.

-----

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He doesn’t even mean to split up with you, but it happens naturally: you go to use the restroom, he goes to get you each a fresh drink.

Frankie wanders outside and is intercepted by Pope, and the two chat underneath a bedroom window that is open a crack. Of course neither of them notice it until they hear voices—yours and Molly’s.

“No, you were right,” they hear you say. “He’s good-looking.��

Pope snorts at that, but he slaps Frankie’s chest, and the man can’t help but stand a little straighter, push his shoulders back—

“But c’mon, Mol…divorced with a kid? I’m not signing up for that. No thanks.”

Just like that, his misplaced hope, the bit of pride at your first words about him…it all flees him. He’s deflated, just like that.

“Aw, shit, Fish,” Pope starts to mutter, but Frankie waves him off with a pained smile.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “No worries.”

-----

Frankie Morales may be divorced, a single father, an addict. He may live in a shitty apartment with modular furniture. He may fall asleep each night with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the deep-seeded fear that his life is on a long, slow skid into despair.

But he’s not an asshole.

He plasters a smile on his face. He gets you a drink and finds you, presses it into your hand, accepts your thanks and its accompanying smile.

He doesn’t make a scene of it, but he doesn’t want to wait for the polite brush-off, the kindly lie where you pretend to want to go on a date and then ghost him or blow him off later.

“I’m not feeling very well,” he tells you, and it’s not a lie. He just wants to get home. Wants to take as hot of a shower as his apartment’s bathroom can muster, and then collapse into bed.

You respond sympathetically and that hurts too. Frankie guesses that you’re probably a good person—you just don’t want him and his situation—and he tries not to take it personally.

“Do you need anything?” you ask. “Need me to call you a cab or something?”

“Nah.” He glances around the room, sees Pope whispering to Tom, and he guesses that the moment might slip out of his control. Tom likes to drink at these things, and Frankie can picture the man approaching you, getting too close to you and demanding to know what’s wrong with Fish, giving you off-color stories about Fish’s time in the service—

“I’m gonna head out,” Frankie says, turning back to you. He offers you another smile and holds out his hand. “It was really nice to meet you. I enjoyed talking to you.”

You take his hand in yours, and Frankie swallows down the disappointment. He hadn’t asked Molly for her matchmaking skills but it had seemed so promising all the same…up until it wasn’t.

He doesn’t wait for you to give him the brush-off or some flimsy promise to make future plans. He gives you a final nod and smile and then he turns to leave.

Outside in the front of the house, it’s dark. All of the warmth is inside or in the backyard, where the bonfire roars and where the sounds of music and laughter ring in the night. Frankie trudges to his old truck, a beat-down wreck just like him.

So much for the darkness about to break. He sits in his truck for a moment and sighs. There’s no thin margin of light on the horizon after all—just endless darkness save for the fingernail of a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales imagine #Triple Frontier #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

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rafesveryrealgf · 1 year

Text

Surf The Wave

(JJ Maybank x reader)

Warnings: kissing, Curse words, the word ‘baby’, lowkey soft!jj

Synopsis: JJ attempts to teach his girlfriend how to surf.

Living in the outer banks and never having surfed wasn’t something you often liked to admit, and it also wasn’t something that sat right with your boyfriend, JJ. Being his girlfriend meant hours at the beach watching him and the Pogues surf and to be quite frank, you didn’t like that you couldn’t be out there with them, surfing the waves.

You wanted to surf, but it looked far too difficult so you never gave it a shot.

But JJ was determined to get you in the water, surfing waves by the end of summer.

You two were hanging at the Chateau with the Pogues, who were off doing their own things, when JJ decided today was the day he was going to teach you.

“Okay, so,” JJ claps his hands together, bringing you out your daze. “We’re surfing today, and you’re coming,”

You chuckled, smiling up at your boyfriend who hovered over you as you sat down on a stool that was place outside. “Yes..” you replied slowly. “don’t I always?”

He bends down to kiss you. “Nah, Baby, today is gonna be a little different.”

You hummed against his lips. “How’s that?”

“We’re teaching you how to surf.”

You quickly pulled away, smiling at his enthusiasm.

“JJ, I’m gonna suck,” you whined.

“Practice makes perfect, baby. Get your swimsuit on.” He quickly kissed you before running to get the rest of your friends.

You threw your head back like a child about to throw a tantrum before going inside to grab your spare swimsuit that you would leave at the Chateau incase you were in need of one.

You, JJ, and the rest of the Pogues hopped out the van when you arrived at the beach. John b. and Sarah walked hand in hand down to the water, while Pope and Kiara got their boards and made their way down to the water, following John b. and Sarah.

You and JJ hopped out the van last and made your way to the back of the van to get your boards. You crossed your arms and looked over your shoulder while JJ was busy getting the boards out the back.

He grabbed your board first placing it in front of you for you to grab when he noticed you were anxiously scanning the perimeter. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m gonna embarrass myself. I just know it.” You frowned, looking down.

“Look, you’re gonna do great? And I’ll be right beside you the whole time, alright?” He reassuringly rubbed your arm to ease the angsty feeling.

It helped a little.

“Thank you,” You smiled at the blond haired boy, and grabbed your board before laying a kiss on his soft, pink lips.

He returned the smiled and kissed back before grabbing the other board out the van. “Let’s go,” he jerked his head sideways.

You both walked down to the beach, hand in hand, while your other arm carried your surf board.

By the time you made it down, your friends had already made it into the water. Sarah and John b. were splashing around while Pope and Kiara were paddling their surfboards.

You both swam out into the water until you could no longer touch the seabed, you both set your boards in the water and sat on them with both legs dangling on either side of the board.

He pushed up off the board and landed on his feet with his arms swaying by his side. “Alright, now first step is… learning how to stand up on the board.”

You rolled your eyes. “That should be easy.”

You got up on your hands to duplicate JJ’s moves “Shit.” as soon as you hopped up, the board flipped over, sending you sideways into the water.

When you re-emerged from the water with a smug look on your face, JJ, who was back on his stomach, waiting for you to come up, couldn’t contain his laugh.

“Ha. Ha. Laugh it up.” You gave him a sarcastic smile, and made your way back on the board so you could try again.

“Okay, okay. let’s try again, yeah?” He reached his arm out for you to grab his hand.

It had been 20 minutes of nonstop trying to balance yourself on your board at this point, and in all honesty you didn’t know how much more you could take.

You both stood at the same time as he helped you balance yourself.

“Alright, you gotta balance yourself,” he stated, getting ready to let go of your hand.

“JJ, no. wait!” You gripped his hand tighter. “I’m gonna fall.”

“You got this baby, c’mon.” He let go of your hand.

And.. you did it, you balanced yourself on your board.

“Look at you! First step down.” He smiled.

“That’s enough for me, I’m ready to go home.” You bring yourself back on your stomach, looking defeated.

#jj maybank #outerbanks #obx #jjmaybank #bf!jjmaybank #soft!jjmaybank

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hrodvitnon · 10 days

Note

Thanks for hearing me out there, I really needed all of that. I think your blog (as well as other tumblr blogs in general like kaiju-krew) help keep me sane while witnessing all sorts of really dumb takes from the fandom, especially from the likes of Twitter and Reddit. The worst takes I've seen so far are the ones that claim that unlike Kong, if Godzilla ever encounters another one of his kind, he would kill them just for disrupting his nap and/or harm a baby of his kind because he's a reptile and something something "alphas in nature kill offspring that isn't their own to prevent competition" and junk like that.

It just really sucks to see them humanize Kong (and in many cases, turn him into a literal saint) while at the same time, reducing Godzilla to just a dumb animal when they're both intelligent and sympathetic but flawed individuals.

Also your comparisons of MV Godzilla to Doomguy and cats is very on-point. All three of them may look and act prickly at first, but there's more to them than just that and if you actually take your time to look past that and get to know them better while respecting their space, they're actually not bad at all. And in the case of both Godzilla and cats, it's kind of like intruding into an introvert's personal space and acting constantly annoying to them, and then getting mad and calling them a jerk once they show signs of wanting you to leave them alone.

(About Matt Frank's post, I took another look at it and he deleted the initial post, probably because of all the backlash he got from it since he misunderstood MV Godzilla's character hard. And in case you're curious on what the post said, it's something on the lines of something like "It's great that MV Godzilla is just an aggro jerkface in the whole movie (GxK) for NO reason at all and I'm all for it").

(That said, his follow-up replies to that are still there and they're still not the best takes. Here they are, for anyone who doesn't have access to that hellish site.)

Yeeeep, this is why I stay as much as possible away from the Twitter and especially the fandom side of Reddit; in fact, there are very specific reasons I would venture into those lawless depths: Check if anyone else has run into a game bug I've encountered and any workarounds for it, or fun gifs I just happened to spy on a Google Image search.

And you know, maybe it's because I just woke up, but to those who demonize Godzilla, I'm about to do something fuckin' hilarious with my power as a fic writer with my own canon at my fingertips. Check this shit out: In an AbraxasVerse take of GxK, when Godzilla is napping in the Colosseum and the authorities are like "what the fuck do we do," who rolls up but THE ACTUAL POPE to welcome the giant napping Nukasaurus Rex and be like "This is a beast of god who protects our world. I talked about this the last time he saved us, did you not listen to my sermon last Mass? For shame. Let the noble beast rest. Amen." Not in those exact words, but yeah.

Oh yeah, @thebeastunleashed showed the the tweets on Discord. Matt, I respect ya as a phenomenal kaiju artist and you're entitled to which Goji's your favorite and also your opinion, but sometimes it's okay to be wrong. (Incidentally, my favorite Godzillas are Heisei and MonsterVerse so I happen to prefer a Godzilla with a soft side.)

#alteringworldscapes #monsterverse #godzilla #abraxasverse #just for funsies #and yes the pope being chill with goji IS abraxasverse canon now. i can do that. because it's funny to me.#italian authorities: the lizard is in our colosseum! the pope: IF HE FITS HE SITS

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motownfiction · 3 months

Text

and the rot sets in

About a month after his father’s death, Daniel goes to the cemetery to see him.

He thinks it’s a little weird that Frank was buried. Who was there to put him in the ground? He has siblings, but do they care? Maybe they’re all just so afraid of the pope they put their animosity aside to make sure none of them went to hell. That sounds about right. If Daniel remembers anything about his father’s brother, it was that he used the Bible to forgive himself for everything. No matter the shit he did, he thought that book was a forcefield.

You could say a lot about Frank, but at least he didn’t do that.

Daniel knows where they buried him. Lola went to the funeral, and she let him know. She even volunteered to come with him today, but Daniel wouldn’t let her. He knew he had to go alone. He always has to go alone. This is between a man and his father’s corpse.

When he gets to the headstone, he’s not really sure what he’s doing here. Either one of them, actually. Daniel didn’t go to the funeral for a reason. But he had to go today. Alone. In the extended winter that just won’t end, he had to come here, and he had to see this. To know that it’s nothing. To know that granite and dirt have no power over him. Not Frank’s granite or Frank’s dirt, anyway. Daniel wonders if he was afraid that his father’s wrist would shoot up from the grass and pull him under, below the earth, below Hell, where a guy like him belongs. He’s talking about Frank when he says a guy like him. Not himself. Not anymore.

He can’t think so badly of himself anymore. Not with three kids who think the world of him. Not with the life he’s lucky enough to have.

He looks down at Frank’s gravestone again.

No thanks to you.

Somebody’s listening to a radio somewhere in the background. A groundskeeper, cleaning up the place, taking advantage of the fact that there’s almost no one in the cemetery to offend. Daniel closes his eyes and tries to hear the song.

Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain …

Daniel laughs. He doesn’t know why, but Sonny and Cher are the perfect singers for the first time a neglected son visits his deadbeat father’s resting place. Something about the irony.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. He does not need to come here anymore. Not for himself, anyway.

As he walks to his car, he passes the groundskeeper. For a moment, he’s horrified to be listening to pop music in front of a mourner, but Daniel shoots him a rare toothy smile. He relaxes. They both do.

And the beat goes on.

And the rot sets in.

The beat goes on.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 31! i'm pretty happy with the vignettes this month! in february, i'm splitting the time between prompts for this blog & my other blog, so stay tuned! i'm excited 💕)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: daniel deluca #year: 2007

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heythere-mel · 1 year

Text

Lovefool

Chapter 3: I Can't Care 'bout Anything But You

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

W/C: 1.6K+

A/N: SURPRISE! Ya girl is back with the next chapter in this little series. I haven’t updated in a year (holy shit I am SO SORRY.) but here we are with my fave lovebirds. Happy Halloween to all the homies out there and comments, likes, anything are welcomed. Enjoy bbys! 🎃🤍

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

——-

“I’m gonna marry her one day.”

That little black velvet box was taunting him.

You had just left for work when he decided to give the simple, yet elegant piece of jewelry another glance. He kept it hidden in a small lockbox he still had from when he was in the service, knowing you would probably never look there. Secretly, it’s where he stored anything of sentimental value in. From one of the first little love letters you’d given him, to a movie ticket from your first official date, even a couple of cheeky Polaroids you took for him as a birthday surprise a few months back.

You had been in a relationship for well over two years now. Having made the step of finally moving in together about six months prior, Frankie could honestly say it’s the happiest he’d ever been. He had the obvious approval of the guys, his family adored you, even the señoras at the floral shop he liked to frequent when he wanted to surprise you with a fresh bouquet would ask when he was going to finally pop the question. He knew it shouldn’t have come off as such a challenge, but like everything else he was, in typical Frankie fashion, overthinking it.

“How am I going to do this?” Frankie sighed, running his finger over the precious stone. His phone buzzing on the nightstand pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hola feo! Hey, we’re at the store right now picking up pumpkins for tomorrow and found these cool stencils to use. Can I buy them or is that considered cheating? You know Ben could use as much help as possible.”

“I’m going to beat your girl in the contest this year Frank!” Benny screams in the background.

“Go ahead and get them. You know he’ll still find a way to fuck it up.”

“Fuck you Fish!”

He laughs at the other man’s competitive nature. You had won the Halloween carving contest two years running now. There wasn’t any big prize involved, but bragging rights and pick of the scary movie you all would be watching that night was incentive enough. (Benny thinks it’s because you’re Frankie’s girl that gives you the advantage. In actuality, he just sucks.) He stares back to the ring as Santiago goes on about the prices of Halloween candy when his eyes go wide.

“Pope! Change of plans! I need you guys to help me with something!”

——-

The next day Frankie is doing his best to keep cool. He’s kept himself busy by cleaning up the house, making sure the little ghost lights you found are strung up around the patio perfectly, even bringing out the couple of plastic tables you would be using and setting them up with assorted carving tools and paints.

Honestly, anything to keep from having to face you for too long, he was doing.

Frankie knew he had some time so he quietly went through his plan one last time. You, on the other hand, were busy picking out the perfect design for your pumpkin. You told him it’s not about winning, but thinking back to the little smirk on your face when you were announced as the winner again last year and Benny smashing his pumpkin in a humorous protest was enough to have you wanting that first place spot again.

“Babe! Where you at?”

“Outside hermosa!”

You step out to the back patio and gasp at the setup.

“Frankie! This looks so good!” you praise as you run up and give him a quick peck.

“You like it?! It was a bitch untangling those ghosts so it better look good.”

“Ugh, handsome and he knows how to string up lights? You’re gonna fuck around and get yourself wifed up Morales.” He stiffened momentarily by your choice of words before shaking his head and cracking a smile.

“Oh! Help me pick out a picture for my pumpkin!” you pull out your phone and enthusiastically start swiping through the selected photos. “Should I do the witch flying on a broom, or this werewolf howling at the moon?”

“Should you even be showing me your design? We are competing against each other too cariño.”

“Are we though?” your left eyebrow arching in question.

“Wow, that hurt.” his faux wounded expression making you giggle.

“Hmmmm, they’re both great options but do you think you can finish something that elaborate tonight babe? It’s timed too, remember.” He knew you could, but the longer he could distract you later, the better.

“Is that a challenge?!” narrowing your eyes at him and he throws his hands up in surrender.

“I mean, I know you got it in you, but Benny said he’s bringing his A-game tonight, and to watch your ass. I just don’t want you getting too caught up and you don’t finish.”

“Ohhhh, just you wait precioso! I’m not back to back champ for nothing!”

With that final say you run out to finish getting ready, leaving Frankie standing there with a huge grin plastered on his face.

Yeah, she’s the one.

——-

The sun had finally begun to set as you and the boys gathered in the backyard. While you were busy helping Will gather the pumpkins from the house to bring out, Santi and Benny found it to be the perfect opportunity to pull Frankie aside to see how he was doing.

“You ready hermano?” Santi whispered, grabbing him by his shoulders.

“You look like you might yak Fish.”

“Don’t listen to him, you look great! This flannel is nice. Going for the lumberjack look I see.”

“Cállate pendejo. She happens to like it.” Frankie retorts.

“We’re just giving you shit, you know that.”

“I know. I’m just a little nervous.” Frankie mutters as he looks over Pope’s shoulder to make sure you’re still in the house.

“No need. That girl in there loves you. So much so, it’s almost sickening how cute y’all are.”

“Yeah man! And feisty as hell, which is why I love messing with her.” Benny snickers to the group.

“Thanks guys. I owe you one.”

“No problem. Just remember, I call dibs on best man. Ben said he wants flower girl.” Santi throws his thumb back to Benny, nodding in confirmation.

“Deal.”

——-

“Okay, y’all know the rules. We’ve all got an hour to carve, paint, whatever you wanna do to your pumpkin and then we’ll vote. No peeking at other pumpkins until we’re all done. Benny, no smashing your pumpkin when you lose. Sweetheart, take it easy on us this year okay?”

“Can’t promise you anything boys. Good luck hermoso.” shooting a wink toward Frankie who’s seated at the opposite end of the table.

Frankie opts for painting his pumpkin this year. His design wouldn’t necessitate the full hour so he tries to drag it out as slowly as possible.

He grows more anxious by the minute. What if she says no? That’s always a possibility, right? The hour suddenly seems to be passing by too quickly for his liking when he decides to look over. You’re caught up cracking jokes with his brothers, your small pocketknife in your hand for hollowing out smaller sections of your design, and singing along to the Halloween playlist blaring from the speaker. He’s never felt more right about anything.

——-

Will looks to Frankie as the timer is about to go off on his phone. A quick nod and crooked smile signal he’s ready.

“Okay and time!”

The other guys both look up to Frankie with knowing grins on their faces. A small thumbs up from Santi thrown in for good measure.

“Wait! Just let me get this last piece!”

“This is why she wins because she’s still working after the time!”

“I told you it would be too much babe.”

“Hush Morales!”

“Alright, since I’m the oldest, I’m going first.”

Everyone’s attention is now on Will as he turns his pumpkin around. He usually puts up a good fight as well when it comes to this which is why you’re thrown off when you see his final product.

“Will. You carved your name into your pumpkin?”

You were clueless.

“It’s classic.” giving a small shrug. “Pope.”

Santi claps his hands together and quickly turns his pumpkin. A delicate You carved into it.

“You. Guys what’s going on?”

Frankie couldn’t help his shit eating grin as he sees the visible confusion on your face.

“That’s a nice looking you, Santiago.”

“Why thank you Benjamin. You’re up.”

Alright, your main competition. You hadn’t caught on to what the others were doing but if anyone would give you a run for your money, it was Benny.

“Get ready to have your mind blown sweetheart!” turning his pumpkin to display a brightly colored Marry sprawled across the front. Then it clicks.

“Marry. Fra…”

Before you could get his name out you gaze to your left to see your boyfriend turning his pumpkin. The word Me painted in your favorite color with a question mark and cutely drawn ring that glittered for effect.

Frankie’s heart was pounding as he steps from around his side of the table. Setting his pumpkin down gently beside yours, he pulls the box from his back pocket as he gets down on one knee. Your watery smile like a breath of fresh air telling him to go ahead.

“Hermosa, these last few years have been everything to me. You are everything to me. You know I’m not good with words…”

“You’re doing fine mi amor.” bringing one of your hands up running it over his cheek.

“…but would you, will you marry me?”

“Yes Francisco!” Those words instantaneous as he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He places the ring on your finger before you practically tackle him to the ground. The others whistling and cheering from the table behind you.

“You’re gonna wife me up, huh Morales?”

“I had to before I ended up the wifey.” Your boisterous laughter couldn’t be contained. Your smile shining the brightest he’d ever seen it. He couldn’t wait to continue making you do that for the rest of his life.

“Well, I say I won this years contest boys!” Benny exclaims.

“What are you talking about?! If anything Fish won!”

“Did you see how she was speechless at my pumpkin?!”

“Wait, what did you end up going with?” Frankie queries.

“The werewolf. It fit perfectly with An American Werewolf In Paris that I had picked to watch.”

Benny turned your pumpkin around to show the rest of the guys. An audible groan leaving his mouth when he sees the detail you were able to put in, even in such a small amount of time.

“I’m never gonna win this contest again.”

“Hey Ben, your pumpkin was amazing. And since I’m in such a fantastic mood, I relinquish my award to you.”

“OH HELL YES! WE’RE WATCHING MONSTERS INC!”

“Benny that’s a child’s film what the fuck?!” You hear him and Santi bicker as they rush inside to get the film queued up. Will hot on their heels to give you two a minute.

“You sure you wanna sit through that?”

“Let him have it,” leaning in closer to his ear.

“I get my real prize after they’re all gone.”

#lovefool #frankie morales x f!reader #mel writes!#pedro pascal

112 notes · View notes

albertasunrise · 1 year

Text

Man Down - 1

Masterlist

Notes: Really liked this idea. This started off as a Oneshot but it’s kinda end up a multi-chapter thing. Anyway… hope you enjoy @sn1peraj

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose to give none. Read at your own risk. This is suitable for general audiences.

Series Masterlist

From the moment they’d stepped out of that bar, the whole trip had been a shit show. If they’d known how much worse it was going to get… They would have taken up Pope’s offer to leave.

A recce.

That’s what they had agreed to and yet Pope tempted them with the promise of riches. To be able to live comfortably. Yet as they took down man after man in that Kingpin’s house, it felt like they weren’t meant for a comfortable life. It wasn’t something they deserved.

Clearing the house, Pope had decided to make one final sweep as Tom and Frankie doused the master bedroom with accelerant.

“You think he escaped?” Asked Frank as he turned to Tom, his weapon now resting across his front.

“I dunno.” The man replied as he looked up at Frankie “Time to light her up.”

“Come on, we need to go.” Called out Will as he stomped into the room, eyes sweeping from Tom to Frank.

None of them noticed the Wardrobe move. Gunfire erupted, taking the trio by surprise but Tom was quick to shoot the man down. Santi sprinted in and ran straight for the panic room. Shooting his target several times before he finally turned his back.

“What are we shooting at in here?” Asked a panicked Benny as he appeared in the doorway, his weapon ready in hand.

“That Lorea?” Asked Tom and Santi nodded.

“He’s dead.” The man replied as he looked at his captain.

“Good.”

Fish yelled out as the adrenaline wore off and he was made aware of the gushing wound on his side.

“Ahhh.” He choked as his knees went weak “I’m hit.” He managed to say before his legs gave out and he collapsed.

“Shit.” Ben cussed as he sprinted to his friend's side, watching as Will and Santi inspected the damage.

“Fuck.” Growled Santi as he glanced at Fish.

“What?” Ben asked, his voice wobbling.

“Bullet’s still inside him.”

“He’s losing a lot of blood Pope.” Will stated as he desperately tried to staunch it whilst Santi rummaged through his pack.

“I know… God. Shit, shit, shit.” He cursed as he found the instrument he was looking for “Ben, I need you to support his head.” The man ordered as he glanced at the younger Miller “Try to find something he can bite down on.”

“I’m fine.” Sobbed the pilot and for a moment the men stopped, they’d almost forgotten he was still conscious “I’ll be okay, please just… just leave it.”

“I can’t Frank.” replied Pope grimly “Bullets gotta come out.”

“It’s okay Fishsticks.” Said Ben calmly as he positioned himself at Frankie’s head and rested in his lap “Will be over in a jiffy.”

“We haven’t got time for this.” Snapped Tom and Will glared at him.

“If we don’t do this, he’ll die.” The man replied through gritted teeth.

“Okay, bite down.” Said Ben as he placed a leather belt between Frankie’s straight teeth.

Santi then, using the instrument he’d pulled from his pack, started to rummage in the wound for the bullet. Fish didn’t hold back. He screamed and bit down hard on the worm leather, head pressing back against Ben’s thighs.

“It’s okay, man.” Ben cooed as he stroked the man’s hair, blinking away the tears that began to form.

“Got it!” Pope announced before pulling the projectile from the wound and tossing it over his shoulder.

He then made quick work of wrapping Frank’s wound with a compression bandage, his hands shaking as the reality of their situation started to hit home.

“Good work.” Will said as he patted Pope's arm before his gaze drifted to Ben.

“You're all done Fishcake.” Ben announced as he looked down at the pale pilot “Think you can stand?”

“Jus’ need a minute.” Frank replied breathlessly, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay conscious.

“Right, Ironhead, Pope, you help me load this money into the vans!” Ordered Tom “Ben, you get Catfish up and out of here. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Ben replied as he watched the three men sprint from the room.

He gave Fish a few more minutes to get his bearings before he pushed the man to sit up, wincing at the pained cry this elicited.

“Sorry buddy but we gots to go.”

With Ben’s help, Frank got to his feet. He clutched to the younger man a moment as a wave of dizziness hit him but when it passed, he gave Ben a nod and they made their way out. The pain was what kept Fish focused and grounded. He couldn't afford to be the weak one of the pack. He needed to fly them out because he was the only one that could. They were relying on him.

"Wait in the van." Ben ordered as he opened the door for him.

"I can help." Frankie argued but Ben shook his head.

"We need you straight when we arrive at that airfield." Ben stated as he gave Frank a friendly pat on the back.

"I can at least drive." Grumbled the pilot as he climbed into the van and scooted over to the driver's side. Unwilling to be completely useless.

The four remaining soldiers made quick work of packing the two vans. They were cutting it close but as all but Ben clambered into the vehicles, they started to make their way up the muddy drive towards the gate. Benny walked towards them as two explosions went off behind him. He was shaking his head in frustration and Frankie called out to the man in concern, but Ben simply walked past and climbed into the truck that Santi was driving.

They were slow leaving Lorea's estate. When Frankie spotted vehicles up ahead he just drove on past as ordered, unable to miss the child in the back seat. The Kingpin may have been a monster... But he was also a father. Something he was able to relate to.

The drive to the airfield was uneventful. Frankie still used the pain that pulsed in his belly to keep him focused. He could feel the tolls of blood loss trying to sink their claws in but he couldn't afford to let them. So he soldiered on.

An hour later he was weighing each bag before they were loaded onto the bird. The more that he weighed, the more concerned he grew. He wasn't going to be able to get all this money, and them, over the Andies safely. His heart hammered in his chest as he glanced at Redfly and Pope. They were talking among themselves as Will and Ben loaded the last of the bags onto the aircraft. He knew he needed to speak up but his current condition was already a cause for concern and he didn't want to add to the list.

Yet, he knew he had to.

"If that scale is even close to being right, we're gonna have a weight issue." He stated when he came to a stop at Red's side.

"What's the issue? This helo can carry 9,000 pounds." Tom stated, almost waving off Frankie's statement.

The pilot found his frustration rising as he tried to steady his breathing. He was the pilot here, not Redfly. He was the one who knew the stakes if they flew with all that cash.

"That's 9,000 at 2,000 feet." He yelled, desperately trying to make himself heard over the beat of the engines "If we want to get to the ocean, we gotta fly over the fucking Andes, man."

"Are we really leaving $200 million on the fucking runway?" Tom snapped back and Frankie knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Their captain wasn't going to listen to him so he was going to have to make it work. He just hoped he could.

"Okay, she'll make it. Let's go!." The Pilot conceded before sprinting lightly over to the aircraft, holding onto it a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"You okay Fish?" Will asked upon noticing how his friend's hand stopped short of getting into the helli.

"Yup." Frank replied. Giving his friend a short nod before climbing inside and making his way to the cockpit.

...

Santi's CI was dropped in Peru that evening as he had promised he would. Frankie watched from the cockpit as words were exchanged between her, Pop and Redfly. He knew their captain didn't trust her but he also knew in truth, the man mainly didn't want to hand her over any money.

The cash had turned Tom into someone else entirely. He wasn't the straight-thinking man that had gotten them out of trouble in war. No. He was a money-hungry animal that cared about little more than getting this cash home.

Frank supposed that's what a rough divorce and a shitty-paid job did to you.

Half an hour later, Santi was joining him in the cockpit as they started to make their way to the coast. He hoped they would have an easy trip. He knew better though.

"The weight drags at higher altitudes." He stated as Pope took a seat beside him "I'd like to stay under 5,000 feet till we hit the Andes." He finished, glancing at his friend before returning his attention to the skies ahead "Ocean in four hours."

"Roger that. Nice work."

The sun was just peaking over the mountaintops when they reached the Andies and Fish was starting to feel the seriousness of his injuries. Dizziness had taken up permanent residence in his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. He knew he was in trouble but he also knew that if he didn't just hold out a little while longer. They were all done for.

Pope was replaced with Redfly. The captain watched Frank like a hawk as the man started to calculate the best routes to get the hanging net below them over the jagged peaks ahead.

"I'm gonna try between these two bigger peaks." He stated as he glanced at Tom "Find this valley I saw on the map."

"Roger that." The man replied before looking forward again "Just one last push through the Andes." He said, his tone hopeful "How high do you think that is?" He asked the pilot as they neared a dip between two peaks.

"It's gotta be 11,000. Can't fly that high."

"Shouldn't have to. Head for that lower ridge." Stated Tom as he pointed towards it.

"How are we doing up here, boys?" Asked Santi as he poked his head through the entrance to the cockpit, his eyes settling on the ridge ahead of them "Can we make it over?"

"I don't know." Frankie replied honestly, unable to take his eyes off the controls.

"What the fuck is going on up here?" Piped up Ben as he appeared behind Pope, noting the tension as he too looked to the blockade ahead.

"Go for it." Said Santi, as he watched Frank nudge the aircraft to climb.

Like his namesake would do, he made a silent prayer that they would make it over in one piece. There was little else he could do.

"All right, baby. All right, baby." Uttered Frank under his voice as he steered them towards the peak "Come on, now." He pleaded as they edged closer "All right, baby."

"We're redlining, man." Pope stated as he pointed at the gauge.

"It's close, though." Replied Frank, not taking his eyes away from the mountain ahead.

"It's too much weight. It's too much fucking weight." Stated Fish, his voice shaky but his hands steady as a rock "We're never gonna make it."

"What does that mean?" Tom snapped as he looked over at the pilot.

"It means we're losing fucking money." Frankie answered plainly.

"You wanna leave $50 million in the middle of the jungle?" Red asked and Frank almost wanted to scoff but instead, he answered with a simple question.

"Do you wanna get to the ocean?"

Tom thought about the question a moment and it amazed the others that their captain... The man they looked to, to keep a level head and make straight decisions... Was unsure whether he valued their lives over the money. The chance to be rich beyond imagining had clouded his judgement and they all started to wonder whether they could trust him to call the shots.

"All right, go do it."

"I got it." Stated Ben as he sprinted to the back.

"I got it." Called Will as he saw his brother turn to the back with Santi behind him.

They were quick to dump the bags and the trio watched as they fell into the jungle below. 50 million dollars gone... Just like that.

"All right, let me check." Grunted Santi as he scrambled to his feet and made his way to the cockpit where Frankie was fighting to keep the craft steady.

"How's she feeling now?" He asked as he appeared through the entrance, eyes on the pilot.

"That's feeling better."

A tense silence fell over the craft as Fish piloted them towards the ridge. His strength was starting to wane and his hands grew shaky. He held onto the gearstick like his life depended on it, delicately steering it up.

"Come on. Come on." He muttered under his breath as they edged even closer "Come on."

BANG.

The whole craft dropped as they started to lose altitude. Adrenaline kicked in and the pilot did his best to keep them under control.

"What the fuck are you doing, Catfish?" Shouted Will as he looked towards the cockpit.

"One of the gearboxes is blown."

Frankie ignored everyone then. All he cared about was keeping the craft from crashing into the side of the mountain. He had known this would happen. He warned Tom. If only the man had listened to him.

"I don't want to go into a spin." He announced, gritting his teeth as he fought with the helli for control "Okay, we might be in trouble here."

The reality of the situation was clear to Frank. His friends' lives were in his hands. All that mattered now was getting the bird onto the ground with minimal injuries.p but he could feel himself losing the battle he'd been fighting with his body. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe and he was sweating buckets. He knew the signs of shock and he was sailing past each and every red flag. He knew he wasn't likely going to make it out of this alive.

But he'd be damned if he didn't do his best to make sure the others did.

"Ah, we should land. We should land now."

"Crash-land here, and we all die." Yelled Tom but Frank ignored him.

He was the reason they were in this mess.

"I'm trying to get her back to flat."

"Roger. Prepare for a hard landing!"

The next few minutes were a mix of orders from Frank and Tom as the man tried to find somewhere safe to bring them down. Upon seeing the farmer's field he'd found on the map, he started to make the manoeuvres needed to get them down.

"I can't land this with that bag under us." He stated, glancing at Tom before returning his attention to the controls "We should lose the money,

maybe we don't die."

When Tom didn't answer the pilot took matters into his own hands.

"Lose the money, or we're all gonna die!" He yelled over the coms "Hit the external load release. It's on the wall!"

Ben was the one to take this task on. Following the orders given to him, he took the steps needed to release the bag. Only, the bag didn't drop.

"It didn't work" He yelled over the sound of the engines, his heart in his throat as they got closer to the trees below.

"There should be a manual override on the cargo hook."

Ben spotted the mechanism and carefully lowered himself out of the craft so he could reach it with his boot. The bag then finally dropped but so did he and Ben managed to grab hold of the helli before he fell to his death, crying out as he held on for his life.

"All right, I'm gonna try to land here."

Frank started to lower the craft to the ground but the craft was fighting back. He pulled any remaining strength he had into getting it down, faintly hearing Ben call over the coms that he had to jump. The helli bounced off the ground as it fought against the pilot's attempts to get it to settle.

"Bad landing."

The bird bounced more violently before it yawed to the side, its blades hitting the ground and snapping like plastic. Ben watched in horror as the craft bashed against the ground a few more times before it finally came to a halt and its engines fell silent.

"Fish!" Ben called out as he sprinted to the craft, coming to a stop outside the cockpit and peering through the dusty glass "Fish!" He called again when he saw the man hanging limply from his seat.

He made quick work of kicking away the glass that kept him from his friend, noting that Tom was already clambering his way to the exit that Ben had cleared and after waiting for his captain to climb free, he went in for Frankie.

"Fish!" He called again as he made his way to his friend "Fuck Fish! Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

The man didn't answer and Ben's stomach twisted painfully as he supported the pilot's top half whilst trying to free him from his seat. With lightning reflexed, he managed to catch Fish's bottom half before he hit the roof of the cockpit before lowering him down so he could better inspect him. It was too dark to get a decent look so after ripping off his coat and placing it under Frankie's prone form to protect him from the glasses, he carefully dragged the pilot from the wreckage.

"BEN?" Called out Will as he freed himself from the hold.

"Here."

The younger Miller was joined by his brother who helped him pull their brother-in-arms to a safe distance. When they were confident that he was, Ben laid him down and started to inspect the pilot once more. His blood turned to ice in his veins and what they discovered.

"FISH?" Called out Pope.

"OVER HERE." Choked Ben as he placed a hand over Frankie's freshly bleeding wound "Shit... Fish."

"What's going on..." Santi trailed off as he saw Ben's bloody hand pressed firmly on Frank's belly.

He didn't need to ask what was wrong. He could see it plain as day. Frankie had saved them all from a gruesome death of fire and smoke... But at his own expense.

"Fish?" He called out gently as he kneeled at Frankie's side and cupped his clammy cheek "Come on brother, open your eyes for me." He pleaded but Frankie didn't stir.

None of them noticed that Tom had come up behind them.

"How is he?" He asked and Ben felt his anger come to a head.

"He's bleeding out in the middle of the jungle." He growled, eyes burning into the older man that stood over them "How do you think he is?"

"What are his chances?" The man asked coldly, pulling Pope and Ironhead's attention away from the unconscious pilot.

"What?" Will spat, looking at Tom in disbelief at what he was hearing.

"We need to be realistic here." The man started coldly "We can't carry Catfish and the money."

"So we leave the money." Yelled Ben as he got to his feet and glared at his Red.

"If he's on death's door..."

"No." Snarled Will as he got to his feet and stood beside his brother "Catfish saved our necks." He stated as he glanced at the pilot again "We are getting him home."

There was a tense silence as they all stared at Redfly.

"Even if that means leaving the cash in the fucking jungle." He finished, leaving no space for argument from Tom.

"Okay."

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45 notes · View notes

romanarose · 1 year

Text

Take Your Take: Chapter 3

Francisco Morales x Fem!oc (Jana Fernandez)

Chapter 2: Chapter 4

Take Your Time Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Frankie tries to distance himself from everyone he loves, thinking they ae better off without him. Luckily, his friends won't back down that easily.

Warnings: Mentions of self harm LOTS OF TALK OF DRINKING, ADDICTION. not suicidal ideation but like. Mentioning drinking oneself to death, mentions of suicide, giving up, etc. Food and eating, insomnia, childhood neglect. Benny does not handle things the best, says some shitty things, addict shaming etc. Jana may not be handling things great either. The things Benny says and things Frankie thinks about himself are not my thoughts on addiction at all, but they were things I was thinking when my drinking was really bad. Let me know if I missed something.

*********

Group chat started with Benny Miller, Will Miller, and Santito Jana Fernandez: Hey, has anyone heard from Frankie lately? Hasn’t answered calls or texts. Benny Miller: Nothing from me, he’s left my messages on seen tho, still alive. Will Miller: Nothing here. He supposed to be watching chiquita? Jana Fernandez: Yeah, Jacob’s not answering my calls either, I’m already late for work. Will Miller: Head over, I’ll meet you there and take her. Jana Fernandez: Thank you Will, I really appreciate it.

Will Miller: Be there in 10. Benny Miller: I’ll go to Frank’s and check on him. Will Miller: Pope, you gonna keep lurking? Santito: Yes. Jana Fernandez: You can’t still be mad. Benny Miller: When it’s about Laci, he absolutely can. Santito: Jan Jan aren’t you supposed to be driving? Jana Fernandez: Hands free technology, fucko Benny Miller: 👁️👄👁️ Benny Miller: You would know that if you weren’t a fucking boomer, Pope. Will Miller: Don’t get involved in their pissing match. Benny Miller: You’re no better, you still have wired earbuds. Jana Fernandez: Will no offense but wtf is wrong with you?

Jana Fernandez: And aren’t you supposed to be driving? Will Miller: Hands free technology, fucker

Will Miller: Wait that was rude

Will Miller: Don’t hold that against me

Benny Miller: It’s fucko, but you tried, boomer Santito laughed at ‘Hands free technology, fucker’ Jana Fernandez: I’m gonna drop kick all of you. Benny Miller: 😢

Jana Fernandez: Not you sweetie

Benny Miller: 😃

Frankie woke up in the afternoon to the smell of booze and pounding on his front door as well as his head, and attempted to simply ignore it until whoever it was went away. He glances at home phone to see the several texts and phone calls from Jana that he painfully ignored. It hurt him to do this to her, knowing she needed him, knowing he was supposed to watch Rosie this weekend, knowing he is letting her down. But this is what he needed to do. Look at him, he’s drinking himself into a coma at 1 pm on a Sunday, he had been drinking since approximately 5:24 PM on Friday when he had walked in the door of his home, and popped open the bottle of whiskey before he even took off his coat. This had been the routine every day this week, as it had become increasingly what he had done over the last 6 months. It was one of the Millers, he presumed. Jana would be shouting at him right, Santi would’ve let himself in. Whoever it is will let themselves in soon enough. All four of them shared security codes and keys to each other’s houses. If it was Pope, he’d have walked in without knocking. Frankie wasn’t sure if Benny figured it out or not, but Frankie knew it was because of them, because of the fact they thought Frankie would overdose or that Ben would asphyxiate on his own vomit in a drunken stupor. They were only given the other two’s info to not make them feel singled out. That was the thing about their group. They were always close, but after Tom died and Frankie and Benny’s problems became much worse, Will and Santi were damn near co-parenting sometimes. Everyone had their rolls.

Santi was their leader, a fierce protector who was hard to crack but when you got through to him, or when he let you in, you were under strong and watchful eyes. Jana was under that protection, so was Rosie, so was Laci to a fault.. From the minute that boy set eyes on her, his entire focus became protecting her. He was loyal, too. You didn’t just walk away from that, Jana certainly didn’t just because she left Frankie. Even Will’s ex-fiance, Emily, she never quite fit in with them the way Jana or Laci did, she was an extension of Will, and thus when Santi heard her new man hit her, found him and sent him to the ER before Will even had a chance. Of course, that anger would be directed at any man who had hurt women. Santi’s dad had left him very young, leaving him to be raised by a single mom and his older sister, both of whom died while he was in his 30’s. Frankie often thought Santi was trying to pay them back for all they did. Santi was a force to be reckoned with, however, and you did not want to get on his bad side, which Frankie absolutely had done. He crossed multiple lines there. You don’t talk about the girl, you don’t talk about her and sex, and you absolutely do not tarnish her honor by insinuating she was cheating with her best friend. She’d never do that, and Benny could never disrespect Santiago, or her, like that.

Benny was a soldier, but he was never the best at following orders until he came under Santiago. At his core, Benny was a rebel. Growing up, him and Will’s dad beat them, and Ben was the primary target due to his nature, but this never managed to break Benny in. Likewise, as much as the military tried to strip him down, he always remained uniquely Benny. His time between high school and joining the army saw Ben’s wilderness years, not unlike where he was now. After a devastating break up in high school with a boy who Ben never really admitted he was seeing, Benny fell into a bad crowd. Drinking, hard drugs, eating problems and risky relationships, Ben’s addictive personality was in full swing and Will came home on leave, essentially dragging Benny kicking and screaming into the army. Surprisingly, Benny thrived. He cleaned up, got his shit together, and made a good soldier. However, the things Benny saw and did in special ops weighed on him, and it all came to a head when Tom died. That’s what saw Benny at the place he was now; enough money to never work again but still fighting MMA, and fighting in bars every other weekend or so. Benny practically worshiped Santi. In their early years, Benny had a pretty intense crush on him that no one really ever really acknowledged, and although that dissipated, Benny would still follow Santi anywhere. Benny was loyal, and it would take a hell of a lot to get him to abandon Frankie, Benny didn’t abandon friends. Thing was, like Santi, Benny was protective of Laci. He was already likely irritated with Frankie or his comments about Benny and the girl, and Frankie wondered how much more it would take to push him away. You get Ben, you get Santi riled up pretty easily. Laci was very protective of Ben, emotionally as well as physically despite her being more than a foot shorter than him, so you get her too. Thing is, you get Benny, you get Will. And you do not want to get Will. William Miller was their pillar. Santi led them, Santi planned and schemed and created, but Will was the one who kept them corralled. Will was logical, literal and an absolute force of a man who did not put up with bullshit, thus he is the one who kept them focused.. He had spent his entire life trying to keep his younger brother alive, and that wears on a person; it was one hell of a task. Starting as combat medic, Will quickly worked his way through the ranks, his physical strength, bright intelligence, ability to compartmentalize and stay calm making him a natural stand out in the field, and the respect he earned from his team kept him out of trouble. Above all else, Will protected and supported Benny. Since their childhood, deflecting their fathers anger, to their teens, when the only reason Benny didn’t get the shit beat out of him was because he fell under Will’s social umbrella before Benny really hit puberty and his height and good looks came in. When Benny’s eating was bad, when his drinking and drug use got out of hand, down to the field, Will was there. As hesitant as Will was for Benny to join Delta Force, a part of Will knew Benny would get into something, and he was thankful that he could be there to keep an eye on him. Will didn’t take shit. He was the one who got Santi to stop his self sabotage with Laci, and Will would likewise be the hardest one to break loyalty, but it could be done.

Frankie knew he was the mediator. Frankie was protective of his friends to be sure, but not to the point of loss of rationale that would come with the others. Benny and Santi were hot headed, and although Will was generally calm, his anger outbursts could be devastating. No one would hurt Frankie, however, he knew that. So Frankie often found himself between them when arguments bubbled up. Francisco briefly wondered how the dynamic would shift without him, but he knew it would settle, the way things had resettled when Tom died. Just like Tom, Frankie was replaceable.

Benny let himself in.

“Fish, what the fuck.” He said, exasperated. “You left Jana with Rose when she had to work? I know you’re going through something, but that's shitty, you should've called so she could plan for it, or one of us would’ve taken her” He looked genuinely disappointed in Frankie, who was groaning and pulling his blanket over his face. “Will has Rosie right now, if you were wondering”

He was wondering, actually. Ben continued. “What’s all this about? I’m sure you know Santi told us what you said. You know us, we all love to gossip.” Frankie didn’t reply, simply staring off at whatever trashy MTV show was playing in the background. Reaching for the remote and shutting off the TV, Benny hoped to gain Frankie’s attention, but Frankie just watched a black screen.

“C’mon man, you think you can push us away? It’s not going to work.”

Finally, a low mutter from Frankie’s lips, still refusing to look at Benny. “Worked on Pope” Ben rolled his eyes at that. “No, it didn’t. He’s mad at you, but that’s not enough for him to give up on you, you know that damn well. You’ve been friends since, what, elementary school? You’re stuck with him, and stuck with us too.”

No response.

“Come on, try something” Benny motioned Frankie towards him. “I dare you. Nothing you can say that I haven't heard before”

Frankie shrugged, tiredly and drunkenly slurring. “I dunno. You’re gay or something”

Despite his annoyance, Benny did laugh at that. “Yeah, that might’ve worked in 2009, not anymore. Try again.”

Frankie wanted to. He wanted to push Benny far, far away, but the fight… simply wasn’t in him. He was drunk, he was exhausted, he was borderline catatonic at this point, there was nothing else in him except to drink himself to death, or maybe go back to the coke to speed up the process.

But Benny wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “I don’t understand you, Fish. You’ve been a great dad and now all of a sudden you get sober, and now you’re acting like this? Now all of a sudden you feel like shit?”

What Benny didn’t know is he’s always felt like shit. Before she was born, he felt like shit, but at least him and Jana were on their bullshit together. Then Jana got clean and Frankie toned things down enough for them to decide to keep Rosie when Jana accidentally got pregnant, but he never sobered up, and it fucking killed him. He couldn’t do it when she was born, he couldn’t do it when Fatima, the woman that raised him, Santi’s sister, overdosed heroin, he couldn’t do it when his license was in danger, he couldn’t do it when the choice was between Jana and having a happy family together, or her walking out with their daughter, and he couldn’t do it until a cocaine rager ended him on Jana’s door step in the middle of the night. That night was a catalyst for this. Jana had taken Rosie on a trip to see Jana’s parents, and just as Santi predicted, without Rosie around to watch, Frankie went off the deep end. Jana and Rose weren’t home, as Frank screamed and banged on the door, missing his daughter, but it set of the home security. Jana called Santiago, who, in his never wavering loyalty, came to his rescue, keeping him out of jail and alive.

And here he was, several months later, still battling cravings like all hell. Shouldn’t Rose be enough? Shouldn’t his perfect little baby and her mother be enough to fight for? It shouldn’t be a struggle, it shouldn’t be a choice he was actively making every fucking minuet.

You are so weak, you are so fucking pathetic.

“Maybe this is what you want, huh?” Ben was unrelenting. “You want to push away the last family you have left, you want to make it so no one comes to your fucking funeral when you drink yourself to death?”

Benny knew he didn’t really have room to talk there, but he was trying to push his buttons, trying to get a reaction. He just needed to get him to fucking talk, and they could figure this out. He wouldn’t leave his friend like this.

“You had a beautiful girlfriend, and beautiful daughter and none of that was enough for you huh? You just had to throw it all away, and now you’re throwing it away again. You’re lucky enough to be exes with someone you never had to fight over custody with, someone who communicated and never fought with you, you got to see Rosie plenty and still you want to throw it away! And for what? God, you’re not even using, so what’s the point? Are you just done with them? Do they mean nothing to you?”

Benn could tell this was getting under his skin. Just a little bit more... “Oh that's it, huh, you just don’t care anymore. Fine, Frank, fine, drink yourself to death, overdose, whatever it is you’re planning on doing but know that 15 or 20 years from now, that little baby is going to be grown up, and what she’s not going to care about the fact her dad had some problems, that her dad had an addiction, she’s going to care about the fact that she wasn’t good enough for you to want to be around her”

“SHUT UP BEN!” Frankie was on his feet in a second, shoving Benny harshly before stopping himself from carrying it further.

Benny raised his hands defensively, taking a step back, smiling. “There you are.”

And with that, Frankie knew he had been played. Covering his face in his hands, he sat back down and hung his head low. “What do you want, Ben.”

Benjamin Miller sat down next to his friend. “I want you back, Frankie. You were doing so good, you are doing so good. Six months sober is a big fucking deal. I know you want to see them, I know you want to hold your baby, so why are you doing this?”

Covering the tears that were wetting his hands, Frankie answers honestly. “Rose doesn’t deserve this, neither does Jana. It’s best they get used to me being gone”

“Jesus, Frank…” Ben breathes in sharply, carefully considering his next course of action. “Don’t you see how that scares the shit out of me? I know I’m a mess, but I worry about you too, a lot. I can’t lose another friend… I know you’ve seen more loss than me, your mom, Fatima, Tom… please don’t do that to us. I know it’s selfish to ask…” Benny choked up, flopping back on the couch. “But I need you alive. Remember when we split up with Santi when we found Laci, and we spent those 30 something hours thinking he was dead… God I was a fucking mess. My life would be over if something happened to you guys, I’d never see a sober day in my life and I know… I know it’s not about me but I need you to understand, we love you, we love you so fucking much. Me, Will, Pope, Laci, Jana, Rose. Christ, Frank, Rosie adores you, you’re a great dad, you just need help”

Frankie leaned back with Ben, allowing Benny to rest his wet face on Frankie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Ben, I am. I don’t want to hurt you guys, that’s why I said that shit to Santi, that’s why I abandoned Jana and Rose, I just… I don’t know if I can keep doing this…”

Benny took his hand. “You can, you’ve gone so fucking far already, you just have to let us in, not push us away…”

“I know… I’m gonna try, I promise.”

“I’ll talk to Jana and the guys. We’ll help you, you can always come stay with me or Will, and Santi and Lace when they don’t have foster kids. We’re not going to abandon you.”

A deep, steadying breath. “I’m not… I’m not ready to see Jana and Rose yet…”

Benny nodded against Frankies arm. “Okay, I’ll talk to her, I’ll handle it. She’ll understand, she always has. Everythings gonna be okay.”

Benny stayed with him that day and all night, until Frankie left for work in the morning, talking over things here and there. Benny was easy to talk to like that. When Frankie came home from his job shortly before 5:30, Benny’s jeep was replaced by Will’s truck. Just like, Will stayed through the next morning. Will didn’t have a big dramatic talk; Will was not dramatic.

“Did you try to kill yourself?”

“No”

“What do you need from me? Need to talk?”

“No, I just need your company”

“Done”

Everyone had rolls to play, and Will’s was not one to talk. He would, of course, if that’s what Frankie needed, but even if he did, it would be more along the lines of guided listening. No, Will was the pillar, and his part was to stay there with Frankie as much as he needed. Frankie appreciated Will’s silent company. It was a comfortable silence, to be sure. Occasionally, if Frankie found himself drift off into his thoughts, Will, ever observant, would ask “You good?”

“Yeah, just think’n, that’s all”

“Anything you wanna bounce off me?”

“Not right now, thanks”

“Alright, you let me know if you need to. Ran into the nurse again.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Ben did some asking around, turns out she’s got a boyfriend”

“Oh damn, sorry to hear that”

“Yeah, but I knew him in high school, he’s a loser.”

“Still got a chance, man.”

Will was the kind of person you came to if you needed answers, a solution, to brainstorm ideas and to be told the honest truth. Sometimes, in recovery, people tiptoe around you. Will wouldn’t do that, but he wouldn’t be cruel either.

Will left that morning, and Frankie was surprised to find, not long after getting home, a gentle but firm knock on the door. He opened it to find Laci on his door step holding a few bags of groceries. He looked down at her, confused at the fact Santi wasn’t trailing her like a puppy as he usually did. He looked up to see Santi in his car, frowning. It wasn’t a ‘’fuck you, Frankie’ Frown, but more of his ever present concern whenever he left the girl anywhere.

“You gonna let me in, or are you gonna wait until I drop this milk on your toes”

“Oh-uh, sorry.”

Frankie moved aside, letting her walk to the kitchen she was familiar with after babysitting Rosie so much, and Frankie looked on. Ever stubborn, Santi stayed in the car. Frankie gave a little wave, which Santi returned, and after he closed the door, he heard Santi leave.

“I can’t believe Pope let you come here”

The blonde turned around as she set the groceries down, her face calm, but firm. He did something wrong. “Frankie, I love you, but I need all of you guys to stop acting like Santi makes the choices on where I go. He does not ‘let me’ do anything, okay?”

Frankie nodded, conceding to her. “You’re right, Manita, lo siento. I only meant that, considering what I said, I didn’t think Santi would drive you here.”

She relaxed at that, taking out the items from the reusable and placing them on the counter. “He knew if he didn’t take me, Ben or Will would.”

“Did he…” Frankie cleared his throat, a deep flush creeping on his face “Talk to you about that?”

She looked at him as she gathered the pans and utensils she needed. “About what you said? Yeah, after he tried to avoid it for hours” She shook her head with a smile. “Always trying to protect me, as if I haven't been called worse things than a cheater”

When Frankie had said those things, he knew it would get back to her, but in the clarity of sobriety from the booze Benny poured down the drain, the idea that she thought he thought those things of her… “No, Lace, I don’t think-”

Laci held out a hand, a soft smile on her face. “I know, Frankie. You were trying to get a rise out of Santi.”

Frankie nodded, dodging her eyes and looking ashamed. “I don’t think of you as that kind of person. I know you and Santi are in love, and I know Ben is your friend.”

Her smile grew at the mention of Santi’s love for her. “It’s okay, I swear. No hard feelings. Now, can you reach that pan on the top shelf?”

Frankie readily walked around the counter to reach for the desired item. “You don’t have to make anything, Laci”

“I know, but I want to. Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve eaten real food this week” She had him there. “That’s what I thought. Now, show me you onion chopping skills, because Ben’s gotten to the point he can out mince the best of us.”

Frankie smiled back at her sparkling blue eyes, gave her a kiss on the side of her head with a very quiet ‘thank you’ and went to work.

Laci didn’t make him talk either, opting to chatter away about the week. She told him how their first foster kid went, how despite having the baby for only a few hours, Laci already felt attached and wasn’t entirely sure she could do this long term. Laci had a difficult life, resulting in strong, fearful attachment to those she loved. This wasn’t always a good thing; before Santi, she had a myriad of abusive boyfriends and friendships that drained her of everything she had, everything she was after her brother’s death left her on her own.. Laci had attached to Rosie immediately the first day they met each other, and had quickly become an aunt to her, like Santi was her uncle. Frankie could imagine how having a kid for a few hours, nonetheless up to a week and then never seeing them again might be difficult on the girl, but she knew she was privileged with Santi’s money, and wanted to give back.

As she talked on about convincing Santi to get a cat, Frankie smiled, watching her cook. Frankie could absolutely see why Santi fell so deeply in love, and there was no doubt in his mind that had they met under different circumstances and Laci hadn’t been so dependent on him at the start, they would be no less in love now.

When night fell, Laci asked if she could stay over. Last summer, when Frankie lived with Santi and Laci for the earliest months of sobriety, Frankie often found himself awake on the couch. Laci, troubled with nightmares, would join him if she couldn’t sleep and Santi was out cold. Together, they’d watch late night shitty TV and infomercials together. Tonight, they recreated that until Laci fell asleep on the couch and he covered her in a blanket. He woke up to Laci cooking him breakfast, handing him a plate before saying goodbye and heading out the door.

That evening, he wondered if Ben would be back and just have a rotation of people watching him, but was surprised when Santi let himself into the house.

Frankie blinked at him. “Hey man.”

Shuffling where he stood with his hands in his pockets, Santi looked like he was considering his words. “Hey”

“Are you uh… next on addict duty?” He joked lightly.

There was a pause as Santi’s face still, then the tell tale sign of him biting back a laugh before his face split into a wide grin. “Jesus” He chuckled.

Frankie laughed along with him for a moment before they settled into silence, some of the tension eased.

“I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry. I don’t think those things about her”

“I know, she wouldn’t have been over if we thought you did”

“I don’t…” Frankie took a big breath, stepping a bit closer. “I don’t think those things about you, either. I don’t think you’re taking advantage of her.”

Santi closed him eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah I know. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

He shook his head. “No, you were right to, I-”

“Frank.” Santi interrupted. “You’re wrists were still bloody, I should’ve been more patient.”

“You stayed, though. You didn’t leave me.”

Santi visably softened, closing the gap and wrapping his brother in a hug that Frankie readily returned. “Never gonna leave, Francisco. You can’t get rid of me if you tried”

They watched Tv together, talking as if nothing had happened.

“So Laci convinced you to get a cat?”

“Yeah,” Santi chuckled. “Therapist thought it would be good for her, she really loves it.”

Frankie simply nodded.

Santi shuffled before his next words. “We wanna have a baby”

Francisco never turned so damn fast. “What? You haven't even been dating a year”

“Well, we’re not having a kid right now. She’s got an appointment with a doctor, we don’t even know if she can have kids after everything. Plus, he’s still pretty underweight, gotta make sure her body can handle that sort of thing”

Frankie calmed down a bit. He loved Laci, but a kid right now seemed fast.

“Besides” Santi continued with a smirk. “I gotta propose first.”

There was that fast turn again, he nearly cracked his neck. “Pope!” He said with a smile. Despite his reservations about jumping in, he couldn’t help but be happy for his friends..

Santi grinned. “I got a ring already, I just gotta figure out how to do it.”

Laci was having a sleepover with Benny so that Santi could stay the night. Although Laci staying over at Ben’s or vice versa wasn’t uncommon, Laci and Santiago spending more than one night apart was. This would be the most nights in a row they’d spent apart since Santi, Will and Frankie went to St. Louis that summer. Santi had often expressed how much better he slept with her rather than alone, prompting Frankie to joke.

“You need me to cuddle you tonight so you don’t miss her too much?”

“Oh ha, ha, ha” Santi grumbled, settling himself into the couch with a blanket, since Rosie's room only had her bed.

After a pause, Frankie continued. “Come on, you’re not sleeping on the couch. I’m not cuddling yuh, though.”

With a grin, Santi joined him. Although the pair shared plenty of beds and tents over the years, somehow, this reminded Frankie of their childhood. The two of them were often left alone in their younger years, sometimes all day if Santi’s mom was working multiple shifts and Fatima was working her job to keep the family alive. As a result, it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for Santiago and Frankie to stay together overnight alone when Frankie’s dad was too high or drunk to function. Frankie was forever grateful to the Garcia’s for taking him in, another mouth to feed and sometimes clothe when his dad was on a bender, he’d never have graduated and might not have survived without them. For years, him and Santi were constantly together, only separated by the military when they joined and were stationed separately. Still, fate had other plans, and when the special ops team Santi joined needed a pilot, Santi went to bat for him, scoring him a position on the team, and once again they were reunited. Santi was a brother in all senses but blood and he owed everything to him. His life, in multiple ways, but also Jana and Rosie; Santi introduced them, after all, when Frankie visited Santi in Fort Stewart. Through everything, no matter what, Santi stayed by his side.

When Santi left that morning, he asked if Frankie was ready to see the girls, and Frankie hesitantly agreed. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready, if he ever would be, but if he was going to be a dad, he couldn’t just choose it when it was convenient.

When the knock came at the end of Frankie’s day, Frankie rushed to the door to find an exceedingly rare sight. Jana, dressed in gray sweats and a flannel, crying, holding a fussy Rose in her arms. Jana almost never cried. And worst of all, she looked angry.

“Jan-”

“I have been standing out here for twenty minutes, waiting to stop crying before I knock, because I didn’t want you to see me like this, i didn’t want you to feel bad, but I don’t think it’s stopping”

Frankie looked on pathetically, wanting so badly to hold her, wipe away the tears.

Jana let out a frustrated growl. “I stitched up your wrists two weeks ago, and I have not had a damn minute to breathe or process it since then! You abandon me when I needed you to take your daughter, thank fucking god Will came for her, and thank god Laci and Jacob could watch her while I worked, but god dammit, for two weeks, two weeks! I didn’t eat, and I haven't slept because every time I lay down, all I can see is you covered in blood. And I know, I know I can’t be angry, I shouldn’t be angry because this isn’t about me-”

“Jana, no-”

She threw up the arm that wasn’t holding Rose. “But I am! And I know I shouldn’t, but I’m hurt, I’m frustrated, I’m tired and I’m scared, Francisco. I’m terrified!” Jana wiped tears from her dark skin, brown eyes flashing angrily, but so, so sad. “I’m so fucking scared and I’ve been scared for years as I watched you get worse, and worse, and worse and then that night happened and you say it wasn’t an attempt, but it very well could’ve ended with you DEAD!” Jana screamed, before Rosie started crying, already cranky, and Jana immediately nuzzled Rose to her chest, face contorting in pain as she held her daughter and Frankie watched on helplessly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry mija” She stroked her hair.

“Here, let me” Frankie reached out for Rosie, who Jana gave up to him, and Rose clung desperately to her dad.

Jana watched on as Rosie quieted down. “She’s been cranky all week. She missed her daddy…” taking a deep breath, she calmed herself a bit, although the long-built up tears didn’t stop. “She needs a nap. Can you put her down? I need… I need to take a minute”

“Yeah” Frankie nodded frantically, holding Rosa tightly. “I’m sorry, for everything, I-”

Jana shut her eyes tightly. “Can we talk in a bit? You talk to her first, I need… I need to go run or something.”

“Yeah, yeah querida, do what you have to, I’ll get her too sleep.”

With a kiss on Rosie’s head, and a sad smile to Frankie, Jana pulled out her airpods and immediately went on a run. She wasn’t kidding about that.

Frankie walked inside, taking Rose to her room, but he didn’t want to let go of her yet. He sat in the rocking chair Will made and upholstered for her baby shower, holding her so fucking tight as he began crying. “I’m so sorry, baby girl”

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

ITS BAAAACCKKKKKKKK sorry this took like a month. I was going through some stuff, peronally, then I had to finish Sunshine, starlight, sweetheart, brightside and get the next part of Awakening out (Bi santi!!!!) THEN I GOT FUCKING STUCK SO BAD IT WASN'T COMING TO ME had to change things around a bit, thank you to my love @welcometostayingawake for helping <3

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@milkymoon2483 @trinkets01 @poeedameronn @luciannadraven33 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @itspdameronthings @ellenmunn and apologies to @littlenosoul i completetly forget to tag you in the first two chapters!!! but here is number 3, hope you like the other two!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #cw addiction #tw suicide #triple frontier #triple frontier angst #triple frontier hurt comfort #hurt comfort #angst #frankie morales oc #frankie morales fem!oc #frankie morales hurt comfort #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie catfish morales #best friend benny miller

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