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youvebeenlivingfictional · 24 days

Text

Impressions

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Notes: Idk y'all my brain spit this out. I haven’t written Will in, like…..100 years?

Rating: Mature - mostly for language

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, fluff. Not beta-read.

Length: 7.5K

Summary: Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

GIF by charllehunnam

Your first impression of Will Miller is technically...Good.

It's from Benny, is the thing.

You hear the sweet and the sour, the grumbling when Benny is training at the gym alone in the mornings—"He's a hard ass, but he means well."

It's said with a little smile, with sibling love and familiarity that tells you that Ben and Will have told each other to go fuck themselves just as much as they've said that they're proud of one another.

Your second impression of Will comes from Terry.

Terrence Owen McLowery is your best friend, your informal trainee, and is currently ranked in the Middleweight division, just a few spots behind Ben Miller (but gaining, and fast). He's one of the few openly gay boxers in your area and in his division, something that he might get more hate for if he couldn't kick the shit out of anyone slagging his name off behind his back.

Terry gets to as many matches as he possibly can, even when he's not fighting in them. You try to join him as often as you can, but there are times when you just can't swing it. He likes to scope out the competition.

"I'm gonna be in there, kickin' their ass one day," He tells you, "I should clock their weaknesses now, not then."

He spends more time ringside than he does in the ring for the sake of observation. And he's seen the Miller brothers at fight after fight.

"You oughta see 'im," Terry says, a dreamy look in his eyes—and you don't know if he's talking about Ben or Will, but you kinda figure it's both. Look, you've met Ben, you wouldn't be surprised if good genes ran in the family.

"He's real level-headed, ringside, even when Ben’s in a jam," Terry adds, and you realize that he's talking about Will, "Kinda like you, but without the taunting."

You roll your eyes a little bit, "You told me the taunting makes you try harder."

"Hmph."

"And I told you a real coach wouldn't do that,” You tack on.

Terry doesn't hmph at that one. He doesn't like it when you point out that you're not a professional coach. You taught him the basics a long time ago, back when the two of you needed to have one another's backs on the playground—and you keep him honest when he's training up now. But Terry needs a coach that'll actually help him in the ring, not do what you do. And sure, you don't do the worst job, but Terry could go further with a professional.

Your first two impressions that you get of Will Miller are pretty stellar. That said, they don't actually involve meeting the guy.

The day you do, well. That's another story.

You’re at the gym early. Terry is supposed to be there, too, but he took a late shift at work and couldn’t drag himself out of bed. You don’t blame him—a body needs rest if you’re going to put it through its paces. You’re striding past the ring at the center of the gym when you spot Ben sparring with another contender in the middleweight division. You spot an error, one that Terry makes frequently himself, and call out,

“Pick up your right shoulder, Miller!”

The advice incurs a nod from Ben—and a glare from a golden-headed man standing ringside. Something in his cool gaze chastens you, and you hurry on toward the class you signed up for.

“What was with that guy?” You ask Ben later as you’re stretching.

“What guy?”

“Blonde, bearded…Glaring?” You remind him. Ben’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You mean Will?”

“That was Will?” You ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah. Glaring?”

“He looked like he was trying to melt me with his laser vision.”

It makes Benny’s laugh boom in the gym, and you glance around to see if you’ve attracted any attention. Sure enough, Will’s not too far off, his arms folded across his chest as he speaks to someone. His gaze darts between Ben and you, and his eyes narrow.

“Aaaand there it is again,” You mutter, drawing your legs back from the stretch.

“Hey,” You hear. You frown, turning back to the source, and find Will striding toward you. You’re about to offer your hand, to introduce yourself—in relation to Ben, or Terry, something—but he speaks again before you can get a word out:

“Ben’s got a fight coming up. He doesn’t need any glove bunnies distracting him.”

Your mouth was opened to speak, but now your jaw drops, a scoff of indignation flying out.

“Glove bunnies?” You repeat, stunned. Will waves you off.

“Whatever Ben does in his own time is none of my business, but when he’s here, and when he’s in the ring, he needs to be focused.”

Will doesn’t let you get in another word before he’s turning and walking away. You watch him go, stunned. Asshole. Asshole. As you turn to head into the locker room, you remember Ben telling you that he’s a hard ass, but he means well.

Well-meaning or not, Will Miller is a dick.

“There’s a man outside who’s looking for you,” You hear.

You glance up from your laptop, brows raised at your coworker. It couldn’t be Terry; he’d call or text you, not ask for you. And it can’t be…Actually, you can’t think of any other guy that would come looking for you at work.

“Did you tell him I was in here?”

“I said I wasn’t sure anyone by that name worked here and that I’d check,” Molly relays. You nod a little bit, muttering, “Solid,” before adding, “He say who he is?”

“Will Miller?”

You freeze, then, hands hovering over your keyboard. What the hell is Miller doing there? And how does he know where you work?

“Okay,” You nod, “Okay, tell him I’ll be out in a...A minute.”

“Sure.” Molly starts to drift away from you before she turns, half-jogging back to your desk.

“He is so hot,” She hisses. You can't help your grudging smile.

“Yes, he is.”

Asshole or not, you can agree that Will Miller is annoyingly, startlingly attractive.

The man that meets you outside is a far cry from the one who accosted you at the gym just a week ago. In a well-fitting polo and a pair of khakis, he looks more like a suburban dad than a hardened drillmaster. You stop just a few feet from the door to your office, arms folded tightly over your chest. He clears his throat, approaching you slowly and stopping just a couple of steps from you.

“Ben had a fight this weekend,” He says. Him starting that way makes your stomach swoop with fear. You immediately worry that something’s gone wrong, that Ben is badly hurt. But Will goes on:

“He kept his right shoulder up. That little tip saved his ass a few times.”

Your brows raise. You didn’t expect him to admit it, even if it did help.

“I saw Terry, too,” Will adds, “And realized precisely how and where I fucked up when he showed me a picture of you.”

Will doesn't look like he's trying to melt you with his heat vision anymore. In fact, he looks...Genuinely remorseful.

“I see,” You nod a little.

Will pushes a sigh out through his nose.

“I’m sorry for approaching the situation the way I did. And for calling you a, uh—”

“Glove bunny?”

He winces with the reminder. “Yeah. I didn’t have all of the facts. Even if I had, it was still the wrong way to approach the situation, and I apologize.”

You take a moment to drink in his face again, as if you’re seeing it for the first time. His blue eyes are soft where they were icy, and the once-harsh press of his lips is replaced with a regretful, almost contemplative pout. And then you nod a touch.

“I appreciate and accept your apology.”

Something akin to relief seems to wash over him, and he holds his hand out.

“I’m Will, by the way.”

“Will?” You repeat, screwing your face up in mock confusion, “Will...Will...That certainly sounds familiar.”

A smile tugs his lips up just a touch as he pumps your hand up and down.

“I train Ben Miller. I'm his brother,” He adds.

“Oh, that Will. Right, of course.”

You let his hand drop and folded your arms across your chest.

“Blank slate,” You add softly.

Will’s brows jump.

“Completely?”

“Well, Ben says you’re a hard ass and Terry thinks you’re dreamy, but I’ll try not to let their impressions color mine.”

“Pretty mixed reviews.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you exchange curious smiles before you nod over your shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get back to work."

“Of course.”

“See you around, Miller.”

“Seriously, Terrence!” You call out as Terry spars with one of the other gym members, “Is this prep or are you trying to waltz him into tapping out?”

Terry groans, reeling away from his sparring partner.

“God, you’re a bitch,” He grunts as he walks toward you, bending over for his water.

“And you’re a dumbass, Billy Elliot. Get back in there.”

“He’s holding his breath,” You hear. You turn back to see Will Miller coming closer.

“When he punches,” He clarifies.

“You can tell him,” You offer before you whistle sharply, stopping Terry from stepping more deeply into the ring. You nod toward Will and listen as he offers his tip. Terry takes his time listening, nodding, leaning against the ropes.

“...Think you got it?” You ask.

“Loud and clear,” Terry agrees before turning back to his sparring partner.

You glance over at Will, nodding your chin up. “Thanks."

“Sure,” Will smiles before walking away. Ben’s not too far away, working at a punching bag. You watch Will for a long moment before turning back to Terry in the ring. Terry ducks out of the way of an oncoming jab, and finds time to shoot you a wink before he turns back to his sparring partner.

“Terry—”

“Come on—”

“I can’t tonight, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow!”

“Just a few rounds! Come with me, see Ben in action—and see what I mean about Will ring-side.”

“You just want me to go because you think you’ll be much less conspicuous drooling over them if I’m there.”

“Maybe.”

“And for the record, you’d be just as conspicuous.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.”

“Come with meeee," He whines. "If you’re not there, I’ll curse out a redneck bigot and I’ll get in trouble for beating him up in the parking lot.”

“Well then you and the Millers can tag team.”

Terry groans loudly, tipping his head back. “Don’t. Don’t even think about putting ‘Miller’ and ‘tag team’ in the same sentence. My mind just went to about eight filthy places.”

“Just eight?”

“Alright, nine.”

“Terry. Sweetheart. Angel. Not tonight.”

“Four rounds.”

“No.”

“Two rounds.”

“Terry—”

“Ben’ll probably take ‘em down in one.”

“I’m sure he’d love that you have so much faith in his skill, but we’ll have to get through the matches before his, and that’ll already be way late.”

“I won’t make you come to the gym with me tomorrow.”

“Probably because you won’t make it to the gym tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point.”

You didn’t always love the atmosphere around the fight. You used to hate the screaming, the overpriced beer, the rednecks. It used to make you wary, going with Terry. People knew him. It's not secret that he's gay. He used to catch more shit for it before he bulked up and started fighting. Even after he had, the slurs hadn’t stopped. It used to raise your hackles—but Terry’s got more of a handle on how he approaches those incidents, and he’s made a lot of friends that frequent the ring, both as spectators, and in the Middleweight division.

You wouldn’t say that you like going to fights now, but you don’t find it as daunting as you used to. Now, the atmosphere is exciting—it zips through you like lightning; it makes your fingers tingle, and your heart pound.

“Here,” Terry calls out, pressing a beer into your hand.

“I told you I’ve got work tomorrow!”

“I got two for myself, you’re just holding that one for me.”

“Bullshit,” You laugh, looking up at the ring as the bell sounds.

By the time the first two fights are down, you know you should leave. It’s late, and it’s only going to get later—you’ve had three beers, and Terry’s coming back with another one.

“Terry, I really shouldn’t—”

“Ben’s coming down the hall,” He half-yells into your ear, and you have to stop yourself from muttering, ‘Fucking finally,’ when it bubbles up in you. You push it down with a gulp of beer, glancing back and trying to catch sight of the Millers. You see Benny’s chestnut hair; Will’s bright head bobs into view just moments later. You and Terry begin to cheer almost on instinct as they come more fully into view—as Benny heads into the ring, and Will rounds the corner. Will looks around, and his eyes catch on you and Terry. He raises his hand to give Terry a pat on the shoulder, and meets your eyes dead-on.

It’s a half-second, that’s all, but it seems to last for far longer. If anyone asked you what happened in that half-second, you’d tell them that you nodded to him—you know that for sure, because he nods, too. You’re not sure if it’s the beer, or the crackling of the air around you, but your skin feels hot. You don’t even know if you’re smiling. But Will’s gaze holds on yours for a long time, even as he walks on. When he finally looks away, you can feel your heart thudding in the vicinity of your throat.

Terry leans over, his shoulder nudging yours as he speaks into your ear:

“Distracted much?”

“...What?” You manage, tipping your head back toward him as you watch Benny climb into the ring.

“Uh-huh.”

When you glance up at Terry, you find him grinning smugly, and you reach out, shoving his shoulder as you grumble, “Shut up.” As the bell sounds, you yell out, “Let’s go!” and vaguely register Will’s yell of, “It’s time to work!”

Ben is a hunter in the ring.

You can’t help but compare the way he fights with the way Terry fights. Terry prefers to hold back, to let his opponent dance around and tire themselves out. Terry is a slow-burn; Benny is a wildfire. Will is as much wind to guide his brother as he throws gasoline on Benny’s flame, honing his path and stoking his focus on the rare occasions that Benny takes a hard hit or seems to flounder.

You plan to only stay for a couple of rounds, but before you know it, you’re cheering Benny as his opponent is knocked down, and stays down. The ref takes hold of Benny’s wrist, holding it up as he proclaims him the winner, and you and Terry crow with excitement. As the crowd begins to flow—as Benny is led out to be checked over by the ring doctor—you turn to Terry, ready to insist again that you have to leave. But you feel a hand land on your shoulder, and turn your head to see Will leaning in. He gets close between you and Terry, and asks over the hum of the crowd, “What are you guys doing now?”

You should be more concerned about the fact that tomorrow morning (well, later this morning) is going to be absolute hell for you. You should be concerned about the fact that when you get home, whenever you get home, you’re probably going to need to have a couple of pieces of toast and a few glasses of water. Your head is buzzing with the beers you had at the fight, and now with the two that you’ve had at the bar. But the zipwire-tense feeling that had ripped through you is ebbing as you watch Benny return from the bar with a massive basket of fries and a fresh round of beers.

Oh, man. You’re really gonna regret this tomorrow.

You push the thought away as you reach out, taking up a precariously full beer and leaning back in your seat.

“Surprised you’ve got such a sedate after party,” Terry comments as he takes one of the beers.

“Fewer glove bunnies than I expected,” You add, eyes sliding to Will’s, where he sits across from you. He appears to bite back a smile, eyes dipping to the table. Benny’s eyes dart between the two of you, brow furrowing, and you give a small, reassuring shake of your head.

“I have a question,” Benny declares, leaning against the table.

“Has it got anything to do with that swelling cheek?” Terry asks, waving a finger toward Benny’s face.

“No,” Benny huffs, “I know how all about that. How’d you two meet?” He asks. You glance at Terry, arching a brow as he turns to you with a grin.

“School,” Is your short answer.

“I moved in around, like…Fifth grade-ish?” Terry’s brow furrows.

“It wasn’t fifth-grade-ish, it was fifth grade,” You correct.

“I wasn’t the most social kid, and that caught me a lot of shit. I got picked on, and this one,” Terry pushes his shoulder against yours, and you sway with it, bobbing back and forth, “Taught me how to keep from getting my ass kicked on the way home.”

“Seriously?” Ben asks. You shrug a little.

“It started with short-cuts to get him home, but when other kids caught on, things got a bit more…Physical.”

“Did you already know how to fight?” Will asks.

“I wouldn’t say that. I knew how to swing a fist, I didn’t really know how to fight. We both learned to, though, because we…Had to.”

“She’s been stuck with me ever since,” Terry sighs dramatically. You roll your eyes, turning a fond smile up at him.

“He’s like my taller, irritating younger brother,” You add.

“I know all about that,” Will pipes up, and you can’t help but turn a laugh at him.

“So what about you two, how did you two meet?” You tease, waving your finger between them.

“Oh, man,” Ben mutters.

“Well I came home one day and my mom said, ‘We have a surprise for you’,” Will says, “And then six months later, this dick shows up.”

“And he’s been stuck with me ever since,” Ben smiles, glancing at Will. You reach out, plucking up a couple of the fries and dipping them in ketchup.

“Did you guys get along growing up?”

“We don’t even get along now,” Ben teases. Will chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not always. We butt heads as kids, and we do sometimes now, but…We get our shit done.”

“He’s a hardass,” Ben cuts in.

“And he’s a dumbass.”

You grin. “So you complement each other is what I’m hearing.”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

You’re taking a long pull from your water bottle, fighting the dryness in your throat when you hear Will.

“What can I say,” You manage as you lower it. “I only just recovered from going out with y’all the other night.”

Will chuckles, leaning against the pillar beside you as you wipe down your treadmill.

“Didn’t mean to tire you out.”

“I’m out of practice. Terry hasn’t had a fight in a couple of months, so I don’t stay up that late anymore.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m in bed at 9:30 and I like it.”

You take up your water bottle, and the two of you start drifting away from the treadmills.

“Why hasn’t Terry been in the ring?” Will plies.

“His rotator cuff’s kinda fucked up. He’s been taking it easy—Well. As easy as he's willing to take it. He has a check-in with his doctor in a couple of weeks.”

“That must be driving him nuts.”

“Oh, he’s losing it. He’s trying to go to as many fights as he can, though.”

“I’ve seen him at a few lately—Besides, Benny’s, you know. I was wondering why you didn’t go with him.”

You stop at the door to the women’s locker room and turn around to face him.

“Bed. 9:30,” You reiterate.

“Well I know that now.” Will tucks his hands into his pockets, smiling. “I wanted to ask: Do you think you could see it in yourself to duck your bedtime again?”

“Depends on what for.”

“There’s a fight down in Fernsworth this weekend. There’s a new kid on the bill, he’s apparently pretty vicious.”

“Oh yeah? When this weekend?”

“Friday.”

You consider, lips pursing, and Will chuckles at your expression.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Terry’s got work that night.”

“So’s Ben.”

Your gut swoops in surprise, a brow lifting and falling quickly, but Will’s face remains as calm as ever.

“So?” Will presses. If you were reading into it, you’d think he was batting his pretty eyelashes. Before you can overthink it, you hold your hand out and order: “Phone.”

Will rifles into his pocket and pulls it out, passing it over. You add yourself as a contact, your heart thudding in your chest, ears going hot as you double-check that it’s right. You pass it back to Will, meeting his eyes again. “You can send me all the details.”

“Don’t feel like talking to me anymore?”

“I have to go to work, Miller,” You laugh, taking a couple of steps back. “Text me—And keep an eye out for those glove bunnies.”

“Always.”

You get one last look at Will, at his sweet, amused smile, and you turn, heading in to take a shower (and maybe to silently scream into your hands, a little).

You don’t dress up, and you do not tell Terry where you’re going, or with whom. It’s been bad enough that he clocked your swell of interest when you’d gone out with all of them, and worse still that he’s encouraged it. You’d been pressing your hands down onto the tops of his shoes, ensuring that his feet stayed flat as he worked on his core.

“At least—fuck him,” Terry had insisted as he’d come up from reps of crunches. “Do you—have any idea—what’d I’d do tuh—Phew—Have those pretty—blue eyes pointed at me—like that?”

You’d raised your brow, casting a wary eye about to ensure that neither of the Miller brothers were anywhere nearby before you’d insisted, “Nothing is going to happen between me and Will.”

“Why—the hell—not?” Terry gasped, finishing out his reps. He groaned, sweeping his hand across his sweating brow before planting both hands on the mat behind himself. “He’s leaps and bounds better than the other assholes you used to fuck with.”

Like it or not, you knew Terry was right.

For your rough and real first impression, Will is actually kinda sweet. You still don’t know him all that well, and maybe tonight could change that. But you insist to yourself that you’re not going out to flirt with Will, you’re going to see this new fighter (Charlie “Shredder” Klein: 5’9, 194 pounds, rookie, southpaw) and gather some info for when, inevitably, Terry winds up fighting the guy. You dress…Comfortably, in one of your nicer pairs of jeans and one of your favorite tops. You feel cute, and you feel cute for you. If Will thinks that you’re cute in the outfit, well…That’s just a bonus.

You don’t think he would tell you, though. Will Miller seems like the type to keep his cards close to his chest.

The ride down to the venue is filled with polite small talk. The feeling in the cab of his truck is almost like the same nervous air of a first date. Your stomach is twisting like a nest of garter snakes; your skin is hot with nerves; you rub your sweaty palms nervously against your jeans. The two of you stick close together at the fight—though you don't exactly have an alternative; the venue is packed. Now and again, if you get nudged too roughly by someone else, or pushed one way or another, Will cuts a sharp, warning look at them over your head at the perpetrator. The third or so time it happens, you reach out, resting a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry about them,” You say into his ear, cutting over the noise, “The fight’s in the ring, not with these dickheads.”

Will’s lips twitch with a smile as he leans in to speak into your ear in turn. He says, “It’ll be here if they’re not careful,” But you almost don’t catch it. You’re too focused on everything else—on the press of his warm and firm body against your side; on the way his hand rests on your lower back; on the whisper of his beard against your cheek; on the brush of his lips and breath against the shell of your ear, and the way his voice seems to drown out the clamor of the spectators around you. It makes your heart tick up in your chest, a shiver tripping down your spine and stopping right where his hand sits.

When your mind catches up with what he’s said, you laugh, nudging his hip with yours.

“Eyes on the prize, Miller,” You urge.

“They are,” He answers without missing a beat. It makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You finally force yourself to, and to clap as the announcer brings in the first contender, looking around to try and catch a glimpse of them—and not to overthink the way that Will’s hand is still resting on your back.

“Weak spots?” Will asks. You consider for a moment, running your finger along the side of your beer bottle. The buzz from the fight is wearing off, and the bar that you've gone to is far more quiet compared to the venue.

“He doesn’t go in…With a plan,” You say after a moment.

“His coach was calling plays.”

“Yeah, but Klein wasn’t listening. I mean when you tell Ben to back the fuck off or get away from the ropes, he backs the fuck off or gets away from the ropes, because in that moment, you see things in a way that he doesn’t. He trusts you to steer him. Klein’s coach can yell whatever he wants, but it’s not heard. Klein’s in the fight, he’s on the inside, he thinks he knows best, and that…That got him fucked up tonight. Might not always get him fucked up, but today’s outcome, you know. Not so much.”

“Strong indictment.”

“You asked me what I thought.”

“And I got it. I appreciate that.”

You raise your brows at Will’s calm, honest expression.

“What about you?” You ask, nodding to him, “What do you think his weak spots are?”

“He’s a brawler, not a fighter. He likes to go in for little…squirrely swiping matches. He wants excitement, not wins.”

You shake your head at the assessment. “That just spells trouble for our boys.”

“Less trouble if we go in with a plan.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The two of you lightly clink your beers together, sharing a smile before you take sips.

“I’m surprised you came tonight,” Will admits as he sets his bottle down.

“Really?"

“Little bit.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t exactly have the nicest start.”

“No, we didn’t, but…I don’t know, I thought we were on a more level field now.”

“I think we are.”

The two of you watch one another for a long moment, considering, and before you can say anything, Will adds: “I’m glad you came with me.”

“Yeah? Didn’t wanna brave the hillbilly circus alone?”

“I have before and it’s never fun.”

“It wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I had good company.”

You smile a little bit, eyes sweeping Will’s face as flattery wells in your stomach.

“...You knew Terry had work tonight, didn’t you,” You accuse softly. Will shrugs a shoulder, raising his bottle to his lips again. You can’t help your flattered smile, and you force yourself to keep your eyes on him.

“Ben might’ve mentioned it,” Will finally concedes.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“I'm still sitting here, aren’t I?”

Will’s smile widens, and your stomach flutters. “You could’ve just asked me out,” You add in a mutter.

“Well, now I know that for next time.”

Next time. Your face goes hot; the beer in your stomach feels like it’s bubbling.

“Yes you do,” You agree, nodding a little.

“When I do,” Will adds, leaning against the table, sending another burst through your chest at his use of ‘when’ where you'd expected 'if', “You alright with it being this sort of thing?”

“What, a fight and a beer? Hell yeah—Long as it’s before 9:30.”

Will laughs, tugging his sleeve back and glancing at his watch.

“You have any idea what time it is?”

“No, and I do not wanna know.”

You fold your across your chest, eyeing Terry’s form as he pounds the punching bag in front of himself.

“How are you feeling?” You ask as he leans away from the bag, swiping at the sweat dripping down his face.

“‘Bout what?” He asks a little blandly between pants.

“The fight.”

“You asking me because I got a fight, or does it have to do with who I’m going up against?”

You purse your lips, eyes sweeping the gym for any sign of either of the Miller brothers. Finding neither, you answer, “Both?”

Terry chuckles, turning back to the bag.

“I’m not gonna go easy on Benny just ‘cause he’s a friend, and he ain’t gonna take it easy on me, either—”

“I know—”

“I mean, we always knew this was gonna happen—”

“I know! I know, oh my god, I get it.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Terry mutters, punching viciously at the bag again.

“I’d be a bad coach not to ask, you know half of the fight’s in your head. And speaking of bad coach,” You add, “You found anyone else yet?”

Terry casts you an irritated look out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you really talkin’ about this right now?”

“...Okay, letting it go,” You sigh before tacking on, “And you’re holding your breath again.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” You hear from behind you. You turn to see Will just a few steps away. You smile almost involuntarily. You haven’t seen Will since your not-quite date, but you’ve thought about him and texted with him plenty.

“Shouldn’t you be mindin’ your own fighter, Miller?” Terry asks, straightening up and raising his hands to stop the swinging bag.

“Don’t worry, McLowery. The second he needs minding, I’ll be on it.” Will takes a few steps back from you both, shooting you a wink before he turns away. Your stomach twists, and you carefully smooth your smile away before turning to face Terry again.

“Alright, c’mon,” You wave him toward the bag again, “Let’s go, we got half an hour and then we gotta get going. I can’t be late for work again.”

It’s odd, finding yourself on the opposite side of the ring as Will. As nervous as you are—for the way your body feels like it’s buzzing, a tingle in your fingertips—you know that the boys’ll take this seriously. It was going to happen sooner or later; you just didn’t think it would be so soon. You hope that they come out of the ring with their friendships (and their bones) intact.

You shift from foot to foot, drawing a shaky breath in through your nose as Ben and Terry begin to circle up. Your eye catches on Will’s for just a moment. You trade nods, then turn your eyes back to your respective fighters. It’s a heady moment. The room seems to quiet around you for a moment as Ben and Terry approach one another, each with one fist out and one by their cheeks. You hardly blink as they get closer and closer—

“I almost had you.”

It’s a gravely mutter, the first thing that Terry’s said since leaving the ring. He’s got a fat lip, and his right cheek is going to make it look like he’s part chipmunk in the morning. It’s a moment before Ben offers a grumbled, “...Almost.” Then, “Didn’t, though.”

Terry takes a swipe at his head. Ben ducks it, raising his arm to push at Terry’s shoulder. You shake your head, leaning against the bar and watching them teasingly grapple.

“You think they’d be too tired to do that by now,” You comment, shaking your head.

“Adrenaline’s probably still pushin’ em. They’ll crash later.”

The both of you are speaking a little more softly than usual; you had yelled your heads off at the match, and you're not sure about Will, but your throat feels so fricking raw. You nod, smile widening as the guys scrap a little more.

“Hey—Alright, alright,” You finally raise your voice as they knock back into a stool. “If your sorry asses get us thrown out, you're paying.”

“Drinks are on me, anyway,” Benny turns to give you a grin, teeth bright beneath the shiner developing on his right eye. Still, it’s a relief to see the boys settle. You shift on your stool and lean back against the bar, twisting your seat back and forth.

“How are you feelin’?”

You glance over at Will, brow furrowing in confusion at the question.

“I didn’t just go five rounds with those numbskulls,” You point out, nodding toward them.

“I know. You seemed…Tense.”

“I was worried about ‘em.”

“Terry?”

“Both of them.”

Will nods, eyes sweeping across your face before he glances around to the guys.

“They’re doing alright.”

“I know. I’m—I’m calming down, I just…” You trail off, shaking your head. “So many of Terry’s other friends in the ring are in different divisions. This is the first friend he’s, like, fought-fought.”

“He did alright.”

“No, I know. Nothing too broken. And Ben’s fine, too, so. Like I said,” You raise your hands in a slight pushing motion. “Calming down.”

Will smiles, taking a step closer and sliding his arm around your middle, bracketing you against the bar. Your stomach flips at the closeness, at the weight and warmth of his arm.

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’ve just been completely chill the whole time?”

Will shrugs. “I trusted the guys to handle it. They handled it.”

“Alright…Knowitall,” You mutter. You smile as Will takes a step closer. He seems to glance toward the guys again before he lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Your stomach bursts with butterflies, and you gently lower your head, resting it against his. You turn your head as you hear the bartender’s, “Here you go,” behind you. The two of you straighten up, turning to the bar fully and reaching for your beers.

“So,” Will clears his throat, “You busy this Friday?”

You smile, trailing your finger along the side of your glass.

“Is there another southpaw you wanna get a look at?”

“Nope, just dinner. I thought maybe I could cook at your place—that way I won’t interfere with your bedtime.”

You can’t help your grin, or the slight tip of your head as he crowds close again.

“That is so considerate of you, Miller.”

“I do what I can.”

You try to chip in for the groceries, but Will won’t hear of it. He won’t even tell you what he’s making.

“You know that I can probably mentally tally up whatever it is you bring and, like, Venmo you that amount, right?” You ask. It’s a little huffed as it leaves you, your gaze and focus on the swinging punching bag in front of you. When Will doesn’t answer, you glance over, and do a double take at the sight of him.

He’s watching you with a warm, sweet look, his hands tucked in his pocket as he slouches against the wall beside you. You raise your hands to steady the bag and keep it from swinging and hitting you in the face, stomach fluttering at the way this man is looking at you—like you’re dolled up and wearing a goddamn ballgown, and not sweating in the middle of a gym.

“Besides, what if I have an allergy or something?” You add.

“I’ve already run the ingredients by someone.”

You frown. “Who?”

Will doesn’t answer, just shrugs and holds his gaze steadily on yours. You narrow your eyes slightly, turning to look around the gym. Terry’s not too far off—and he’s pointedly keeping his focus on anything but you.

“...Terrence,” You call out.

“Busy!” He yells back, plucking his water bottle and phone and hurrying to another machine. You roll your eyes, turning back to Will with a mutter of, “Spy.”

His smile widens.

“I can be there by six, that alright?” He asks, pushes off of the wall.

“Uh-huh.”

“If I see any kind of calculator when I’m cooking…”

“Oh, you won’t. I’m like a phone ninja.”

Will chuckles, leaning in and murmuring, “See you tonight.”

The closeness of his murmur and his breath brushing against your sweat-slicked skin sends goosebumps skittering down your arms.

Your plan to stealthily tally everything up disappears as Will unpacks the groceries. You blink, stunned, before you pick up a jar of sauce, turning it around in your hands.

“Are you fricking kidding me?”

Will doesn’t answer. He just backs off, an amused smile on his lips and his hand on his hip as you reach into the grocery bag and rifle through it before reeling back, screeching, “You took off all of the labels?!”

“You thought I was just gonna let you look through everything and tally up how much this cost me?” He turns and reaches into the bag again, continuing to unpack. “Amateur hour.”

You bite your lip, watching in silence for a few moments as you think. What sort of 3-D dating chess is this man playing?

“You are…Frighteningly tactful, Miller.”

His smile widens, and he seems to duck his head to unearth something from the bulging grocery bag, but you can see the creeping flush of flattering rising up in his cheeks.

“I can still guestimate, you know,” You warn.

He stops then, bracing his hands on the counter.

“Would you just let me do something nice for you?” His brows raise, his lips on the edge of pursing in disappointment. You’re stunned into silence as he adds, “Nothing has to be owed. I just…I just wanna make you dinner.”

You pause before you nod a little. Will’s brows raise further, and you nod again, watching as he turns back toward the bag. You hesitate before nervously sidling up beside him, pressing yourself against his side and eyeing his steady hands.

“Can I at least help?” You ask. Glancing at him, you find Will’s annoyance smoothed away, replaced with a somewhat serene consideration. He nods, concedes: “A little.”

Will designates you two things to chop (red and green peppers), and one thing to stir (vegetable stir fry). He keeps his back to you as he adds seasonings to your chicken (“It’s a secret recipe,” He insists before he shoos you away from the counter. All you get a glimpse of is the garlic salt).

You don’t know exactly what he puts on it, but when you take your first bite, it’s perfectly moist, and damn delicious. You don’t even bother to hide your groan, or the way you close your eyes to just savor—and try to work out one or two of the spices. You get hits of chili. Chili and…Cumin? Little pops of cumin—

“I’m not telling you,” Will’s mirthful warning floats across the table to you. Your smile widens, shaking your head and opening your eyes.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Miller.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this your secret recipe?”

“My mom’s.”

“Did she make it a lot growing up?"

“In the summer, mostly, for barbecues and stuff.”

“Tastes pretty good from the oven.”

He grunts, nodding. “Better on the grill,” He admits, “With a little char on it.”

“Mm, noted. Are you and your mom close?”

Will quirks a brow as he reaches for his drink, and you realize that you’ve been bombarding him with questions. Before you can apologize, he offers:

“Pretty close. I try to see her at least once a week. It used to be more, but she said I was smothering her.”

You smile, chuckling.

“That’s kinda precious.”

Will shrugs a touch, pushing his veggies around his plate.

“My dad passed a couple’a years ago and I think coming around as much as I used to might’ve helped, but mom’s got her own life, you know. She’s got a book club…She’s apparently a bingo assassin.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Some people think she’s cheating.”

“...Is she?” You tease.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. What she lacks in subtlety, she makes up for in sneakiness.”

“Is that where you and Ben get it?”

He chuckles, ducking his head and poking at the food on his plate.

“Some of it, maybe.”

“And the rest?”

“Training.”

“Do you think Ben would agree?"

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You lean back, poking at your food in turn and fighting the embarrassed churning in your stomach.

“Not always,” You mumble. You hear Will huff a soft laugh, and smile as he reaches across the table to take hold of your hand.

"I don't mind," He insists, thumb sweeping along the side of your hand. "Long as I get to ask a few, too."

"This was nice," You offer, almost woefully trailing Will to the front door. You've wanted to make a move since he put you to work in your kitchen—you've been thinking about it as the two of you were at your sink, doing the dishes; since you were sitting on your couch, talking about work, and the gym, and who Ben and Terry are facing next. You've been so close so consistently—arm to arm, hip to hip, knee to knee. The tiny touches have made you crave more, and Will's sweet smiles have made you do whatever you can think of to seek them out.

When he'd told you that he ought to get going, that he was meeting Ben in the gym at five the next morning, you were pretty sure that he was telling the truth—but you were already mourning the loss of the moment, and his warmth in your apartment.

"It was...Once you stopped pestering me about paying," He teases as he pulled on his jacket. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, how about I bring a bunch of labeless groceries over to your place, make you dinner, and see how you like it."

"I think I'd like it a lot," He insists, straightening his collar. "How's next week?"

And it's so swift and so smooth that you're certain you look more than a little gobsmacked. But you nod.

"Yeah. I can do next week."

"Friday?"

"Sure."

"Okay." He opens your door. "It's a date."

Just like that—so easy and open, and such a far cry to the first time he spoke to you at the gym.

"Good," You agree, leaning against the wall by your front door. "Let me know when you get home."

"I will." He leans in, and your breath catches in your throat as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You bite your lip at the gentle prickle of his beard against your skin, eyelids fluttering as Will stays close. He raises his hand, gently sweeping his thumb against your lower lip and tugging it from your teeth.

"Don't do that," He shakes his head. "Don't bite your lip."

"Why?" You mumble, leaning into the flirty urge that's rising in you. "There someone else that's supposed to do it for me?"

Will breathes out a groan, resting his temple gently against yours.

"I'm trying to be good," He warns. You sweep your tongue across your lower lip, letting the tip graze his thumb, and grinning as he swallows thickly.

"This feels good to me." You reach up, cupping his cheek.

"You realize if we do this, you'll be up past 9:30?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

You think for a moment that he'll draw away, that he'll call it—

Your stomach drops as he pulls away and you hear the door shut, but grin as he crowds up against you, lips pressing warmly to yours. You sigh, looping your arm around your shoulders and keeping you close. His hands slide over your hips, drawing you into his chest. You slide your hand up, gently teasing your nails against the nape of his neck.

"Remind me to apologize to Ben the next time I see him," You mumble.

"Why's that?"

"You're going to be very late tomorrow morning."

tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Will Miller x Reader #Will Miller x You #Will Miller/Reader #Will Miller/You #Will Miller fic #Will Miller imagine #Impressions #sorry this took 800 years

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 3 months

Text

Best Friend's Brother

Will Miller x f!reader

Warnings: (infidelity, possible unlikeable reader/Will, fingering, p in v, creampie, no safe sex, dirty talk, cursing)

A/N: Don't mind most of my smut wear condoms. Also I needed more Will fics out there.

Summary: With enough liquid courage you tell your best friend's brother exactly how you feel about his fiance.

Word Count: 4.3K

“You know if you interacted with anybody here you wouldn’t have to read so many romance books.” Benny’s breath tickles your ear as your eyes are glued to the words on your phone screen. Your favorite author surprise dropped a new chapter and you retreated from conversation to read it.

“After I finish this chapter.” You barely pay any mind to your best friend.

“You said that 10 minutes ago.” For such a large man Benny has a talent for sounding like a whiney child when he wants.

You heave a deep sigh before placing your phone on the table. The moment your irritated eyes land on Benny he sheepishly slides two whiskey shots in front of you. Internally you’re already gagging but you shoot them back and grimace at the burning in your chest. The warm air of the bar did little to help the heat flourishing through your body.

“You couldn’t have grabbed me a soda.” Temporarily a frown is etched on your face until the bitter taste goes away.

“I drank it while you were reading.” His answer makes your head snap to him but before you could respond he abruptly stands. “Will!” His booming voice does little to disturb the patrons around you, but the name he calls makes the hair on your body stand up.

The two golden boys meet in the middle to hug each other and you try to calm your overactive mind. You could say you’ve had a lingering attraction to the older Miller brother, though it would be downplaying the amount of times you’ve thought about him.

When you first met Benny his brother was already away so you only knew him through the stories Benny would tell. From the way he described his brother, you thought he was too good to be true. But when you met him you were proven wrong, and soon you were under his spell.

“Hey, Buttercup.” Your thoughts halt when you feel Will’s hands squeeze your shoulders before taking the seat to your left. His nickname for you never failed to warm your cheeks, even if technically he had a fiance.

“Hi Will,” The cheery tone of your voice causes Benny to roll his eyes at your abrupt change of mood. You never brought up how you felt about his brother but it wasn’t hard for him to put together the pieces.

Benny checks his phone before telling the both of you he’s getting more drinks for when Santi and Frankie arrive.

“How’s the book going?” You playfully roll your eyes at the mention of your pipe dream from when you were 19.

“Still on page 3, inspiration has yet to strike.” His smile makes your heart beat so heavily in your chest you think he can see it.

“Hard to believe that,” His hands grab at the half-cold fries on your plate. “What genre are pushing for anyway?”

“Most likely historical romance,” The whiskey shots settle and you feel your body become lighter. “The old-timey English is hard to get into though.”

“Coming from the walking encyclopedia.” His words are slightly muffled by the fries he’s shoveling into his mouth.

“What’d we miss?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to find him and Frankie occupying the seats in front of you.

“Not much Benny’s getting the drinks.” Will rubs his hands on his jeans to rid his hands of grease.

As usual, the men around you dive into sports commentary as if they’re the analysts they watch on TV. In the meantime, you skim over the food menu trying to figure out what else you want. With two more people at the table, the heat from Will’s arm brushing against you makes you lean closer to him. If he felt the difference he didn’t let anything on.

Two pitchers of beer slosh against the plastic as it's being set down before a flight of whiskey is placed directly in front of you. An eager smile graces Benny’s face and you know exactly how this night is gonna go. As the two of you go shot for shot the three veterans look at you both in amusement.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Santiago smiled as he nudged h

“It’s going,” Despite his lack of answer the way he feels is written all over his face, and everyone at the table knows it.

“It can’t be that bad man.” Frankie tries to give the benefit of the doubt but he unknowingly releases the floodgates.

“She told her family to send pictures of what they were gonna wear to the ceremony,” Will gulps the rest of his beer before continuing, “Then she proceeded to veto her grandmother’s peach pantsuit because it was too close to white.”

Everybody has variants of shock written on their face except you, though your reasons may have more to do with animosity. Melody, his fiance, had first been introduced two years ago. From the start, you could tell they weren’t right for each other, but your mouth remained shut until Benny brought it up.

Leave it to your best friend to be the one feeding into your delusions.

“And don’t get me started on the flower girl fight, she had both her sisters send test shots of their daughters.” You adamantly aim to keep your mouth shut, knowing the liquor has loosened your lips. The last thing you wanna do is rattle down the long list of reasons you don’t like his fiance, namely because she’s his fiance.

“You sure know how to pick em’ Ironhead.” Santiago whistles while he thinks of all his previous relationships.

“Maybe it’s just the wedding.” His tone was even but laced with something like doubt.

“Maybe it’s a glimpse into your future.” Benny tries to bring the lighthearted energy back by wiggling his fingers and mimicking a ghost.

A smile cracks Ironhead’s exterior at his little brother’s antics.

“Drinks anyone?” You look around the table watching them nod in agreement before taking off to the bar.

The counter is busy when you approach so you take the time to go over what you want. Two pitchers of beer and two Long Island iced teas. A hand connecting with your lower back causes you to swivel your head to accost the perpetrator, only to find Will. Relief floods through you but not for long.

“You’ve been quiet all night, it’s not like you.” Will leans his other arm over the bar, caging you in.

“Your brother’s been force-feeding my shots all night what’d you expect.” You hope you can stir him away with humor but he knows better and so should you.

“What do you think? Am I setting myself up for failure again?” The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. You know how he feels about this being his second engagement and nobody could blame him for wanting to be sure.

“Look if you’re happy what does it matter what those idiots are talking about?” Will’s eyes narrow and you give in to the voices in your head. “Honestly, she’s always lacked valuable character traits.” You avoid eye contact with the man next to you as you flag down a bartender to give the order.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” His blue eyes bore into yours and you find your eyes lowering to his lips.

“And how exactly am I supposed to bring that up in conversation?” Your conversation ceases for now as the bartender places your drinks in front of you.

A silence falls over the both of you even after you return to the table. Thankfully none of the other guys notice you averting your eyes from Will’s direction.

……………

All Will could think about was what you said.

Sure he noticed how self-centered Mel could be but it didn’t bother him because he had his fair share of baggage. Even when the guys were making their jokes about how she acted on a camping trip, he didn’t care. Yet the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t shake the feeling that this engagement wasn’t right either.

For the past hour, he’s been looking your way, hoping to catch your eye, but you purposefully avoid it. He watches you engage with everyone else until you feel his gaze burning and return to sipping on your drink.

He checks his phone only to find a string of complaints from Mel.

“I should get going.” Will reaches for his wallet and places enough bills down for the tab and tip. Much to the dismay of everyone else at the table.

“We’re supposed to be treating you man.” Frankie scrambles to get his wallet but Will waves him off with a charming smile.

“Next time.” He promises.

“We should probably head out too.” You peer over at Benny with pouty lips

“I can take you.” William wastes no time volunteering to get you alone, he’s never been one to squander an opportunity.

For the first time in an hour you look up at him and he can see the panic swimming in your eyes. You want to object but that would look suspicious so you nod your head and gather your things. Each of the guys hugs you goodbye before Will’s hand finds its way back to your lower back to guide you through the crowd.

You know it’s a friendly touch still, excitement swirls within you.

Outside the bar is just as crowded so Will’s hands remain on you. In fact, he slides his right hand around your waist to bring you closer to him. People walking past would assume the two of you were together the way you were glued to each other.

“When you said she lacked character traits, which specifically do you mean?” Will’s rough voice shocked you with how close it was to your ear.

“This feels like a trap.” You look up at him with suspicion.

“It’s not, I promise.” He laughs at your hesitance, “You’ve just never said anything and if you had…” He drops his sentence but you know what he’s implying.

“You really care about what Benny’s best friend thinks?” You jab his stomach with your elbow.

“You know you mean more than that to me.” He leaves no room for argument and you’re left speechless at his side.

You take a moment to digest his words because it isn’t the first time he’s said them, but it feels like it.

“Sometimes it feels like you care more for her than she does you.” Your voice is quiet. “And it’s not like I would be telling you out of the purest intentions.” The words leave your lips before you think better of it.

“What intention would you have?” You realize too late that he’s slowed the pace and now you’re standing face to face.

“For you to break up with her.” You see no point in lying, and it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way.

“And that’s it?” Will looks down at you like you're his prey. Clearly, he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm.” You lied. “How away far is your car?”

“It’s right there.” He tips his head in the direction of his truck but his eyes and body don’t move from you.

After a few seconds, you turn to make your way to the car but Will’s hand prevents you from leaving your spot.

“Is that all you’d want me to do? Leave her?” That gruff voice is going straight is going straight down to your core.

“No.” Your eyes are glued to the ground.

For now, your answer seems good enough because he pulls you back into him for the remaining three feet to the car. He opens the passenger door for you and you take a short reprieve to gather yourself.

Of course, Will could read how desperate you were for him. Dread settled in the bottom of your stomach when you think of how awkward this ride is gonna be.

“Look I’m sorry, here I am criticizing Melody for her character-” You spew out your thoughts hoping to do damage control.

“I’m not upset Buttercup, when the guy's rib on Mel’s antics it’s one thing but when you say it…” He plays with the scruff on his chin before continuing, “Santiago has yet to be in a serious relationship, Frankie is working his way back from the doghouse, and Benny is Benny.”

Your giggle rings through the cabin despite the tense atmosphere and Will can’t help but join you.

“Seriously, I’m no better especially since I want to be in her position.” Your eyes are focused on your lap but you almost feel the wind from Will’s head craning towards you.

“You what?!” Based on his tone of voice he didn’t know that tidbit and you were the one to give yourself away.

“Shit.” You clasp your hands over your face as you feel the car pull to a stop.

“What do you mean you want to be in her position?” The fact that he softened his voice made this the stuff of nightmares.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory William.” You deadpan without bothering to look up.

“Indulge me.” You remove your hand from your face but keep your eyes locked in front of you.

You make sure he can see your eyes roll before you continue, “She’s worried about how everything’ll look to other people but if I were the one marrying you the only thing I’d be worried about is how much lingerie I could reasonably pack for the honeymoon.”

“How long?” The thought of your words causes pools of blood to gather below his waist. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Since I met you.” You say matter-of-factly. “I thought it was just a crush but it progressed over the years.”

“Why didn’t you or Benny say anything?” Will’s upper body almost completely faces you.

“Are you saying you would’ve been receptive?” You ask the question but you already have an inkling of what he’ll say.

“I don’t know-” Will feels like the rug was swept out from underneath him. He’d already had doubts but he was willing to settle, at least before you opened your mouth.

“Exactly.” You don’t let him finish in the hopes that he’ll pull back onto the road.

“To be fair I have a decade on you so legally speaking, it’s a little touchy.” Of all the times he graced you with his humor it was not appreciated right now.

“More like a decade and a half but okay.” Despite yourself, you smile while his drops at your statement.

“And yet that didn’t deter you.” Suddenly the cab feels small and you don’t know when but the two of you got closer.

“That’s because I never said it was a bad thing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Tonight you were full of surprises. Will thought he knew everything there was to know about you but he hadn’t seen this side of you. Your blown-out pupils and plump lips call out to him like a siren’s song. The faint scent of whiskey and strawberry chapstick wafts his way. Intoxicating is the only way to describe how you’re making him feel because the beers he had did nothing.

He doesn’t register his hand reaching out to rub his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck he loses every thought,,,,,,

Will removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips. It doesn’t take long for you to kiss him back with even more vigor, this was your chance and it wouldn’t go to waste. You feel your bottom lip being sucked into his mouth but somehow he isn’t close enough. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, bringing him closer while you tilt your head.

Your soft hands feel almost ticklish on the back of his neck and a deep groan passes his lips.

Will reaches out to your waist, pulling you closer until he feels your tits pressed against his chest. You make the lust-filled decision to swing your knee onto his other side and sit on his lap. The denim skirt you’re wearing rides up, almost showing him your panties.

A gasp escapes your lips when you feel what you thought was Will’s zipper. One look at his smirking face tells you you’re mistaken.

“Is that-” Your eyes zero in on where the two of you meet.

“Mhmm,” Will confirms your dream and arousal bubbles in your core. Before you can say anything he rolls his hips perfectly hitting your clit in just the right spot.

The sound that leaves your body is a culmination of all the years you’ve spent yearning for him, for a moment like this. You’ve never felt more desperate in your life. Quickly you lay your head in the crook of his neck and rock your hips back and forth. Your hands find themselves squeezing his biceps for purchase.

All of your breathless pants make him throb with need, as good as you feel like this he wants it all. Will inches his hand up your inner thigh, planting himself on your moving hips.

“Buttercup?” Will talks to you like he’s rousing you from sleep.

“Hm?” He watches you focus with your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out, there’s no better view.

“Want you to sit on it.” He can tell when you register his words because of the decline of your movement.

In all of five seconds, you’re clawing at his pants and all he can do is look at you. There’s no denying you’re gorgeous, sweet, funny. Now that he thinks about it he did care a little more for you than he should. Hell, sometimes you would go to him before Benny and he always felt great when he could problem-solve for you.

While he had been staring at you and daydreaming you managed to pull him out of his pants. If he thought your hands felt good before they feel even better now that they were stroking him.

“You’re so big Will.” Even your fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing.

“Yeah?” Will rubs over your wet fold through your panties, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me right?” He slides your panties to the side before teasing your entrance with his middle finger.

“Whatever you want.” And you meant every word.

He barely has his finger in and you’re already clenching around him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you impatiently rock your hips showing him you’re ready. Will groans when he feels your warm walls clenching on his finger. He takes his other hand to your chin to bring you closer before telling you, “You’re perfect.”

Before you fully realize what he said he adds another finger to your aching core. Your eyes meet his almost pitch-black ones, and again you feel like his prey the way they bore into his. When he curls his fingers inside you you involuntary buck your hips for more.

You wonder if you’ll leave bruises the way your fingers dig into Will’s shoulders. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, his teeth slightly rub against yours before he deepens it. Dizziness fills your head from the way his fingers pumped into you to his warm tongue licking into your mouth.

You were ruined for anyone else after him.

The sounds in the truck consist of heavy breathing, moans, and squelching. A pit formed in your lower stomach and you felt like you were falling in it. You feel too much at once and you feel yourself pulling away from the kiss to calm down but Will moves to your neck. As he sucks and licks at your neck his fingers expertly pull you over the edge.

You would’ve fallen against the wheel if he hadn’t held you in his arms. He rubs his hands over your back until you come to. Somehow your orgasm felt like a shot of espresso and you’re right back on Will.

Without pause you sink down on his leaking tip and slowly inch him deeper. You watch his face while you do it and you almost miss his blue eyes, but he looks so much more hypnotizing. You couldn’t look away and neither could he.

Will couldn’t imagine his night would end up like this, not that he was complaining.

With you finally taking all of him you let out the airiest sigh before rocking your hips. Your knees were burning from the seats but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Will’s hands move down your back to grip your ass while you rock and bounce on him.

“Fuck,” He is the first to break eye contact but only to look at where the two of you meet. Your juices leave a ring on his dick and he almost cums at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you next time.”

“Next time?” You try slowing your hips to comprehend what he just said but he picks up your slack. With his hips rutting into yours from below the pleasure must be clouding your brain to imagine things.

“You thought I was gonna let you go after this baby?” An unforgiving pace brings that familiar pit in your stomach that has you pawing at his covered chest. “You know me better than that Buttercup.”

Will’s hips sputter before you hear a guttural groan and warmth being shot into you. Even as he’s cumming he uses his hand to urge you to rock your hips against him. When everything slows to a halt all that’s left is heavy breathing from the both of you.

“Did you mean it?” You bring yourself to ask as you fiddle with your fingers

Will lifts his head from the headrest to look at you, “Of course I mean it.”

“You know you still have a fiance right?”

“You didn’t have to put off by that a few minutes ago,” His playful grin lets you know he’s only messing with you. “Seriously though it wouldn’t have lasted, I just didn’t think anybody else would want me.”

“I mean you make it easy.” You haven’t looked up at him yet.

“You’re one to talk.” Will tilts his head before giving you a kiss. “Let’s get you home.” Heat fills your face at his charm.

With a hiss, he slowly helps to lift you off his now softening dick. You’re quick to move your panties back in place before any of his cum drips out. He tucks himself into himself back into his pants.

Before he even turns on the car you’re lying across the the front seat and nodding off. He takes the jacket he always keeps in his car behind the seat and drapes it over you.

He takes a look at his phone and sees missed calls from everyone. It’s almost 3 in the morning and Will winces as he looks at the messages asking him where he is. Instead of staying here for another hour, he heads in the direction of your condo.

Your porch light is on when he pulls into the driveway in front of your house. One look over at you and he can see that you’re dead to the world so he searches for your purse. When he finds your keys he runs to open the door before circling back to pick you up.

Once in the house, he kicks the door closed then locks it. He already knows the way to your room since he basically set it up for you. In fact he moved most of your furniture for you, not wanting moving companies to take advantage of you.

Your room has clothes strewn on the floor in what looks like failed outfits you tried on. A laugh escapes Will when he realizes you ended up wearing a short jean skirt with a v-neck. It’s only two steps to the bed and he lays you down gently not wanting to wake you.

He tries replacing the jacket over you but your fingers have gripped it so he settles on laying the comforter over you. When he’s sure you’re settled he rounds your bed to sit on the other side, unlacing his boots. After that are his shoes socks, jeans, and shirt.

A relaxed sigh is let out the moment his back hits your bed. Although it makes no sense to cuddle, he saddles his body close to yours.

Bacon and potatoes infiltrate your nose the more awake you become. Last night quickly flashes through your mind as if your brain urged you to remember. Your room is exactly how you left it and the thought of Will seeing it sends shame through your body. Of the discarded clothes you pick up some lounge shorts to throw on.

Your hunger overpowers your drowsiness so you make your way to the kitchen. Will’s naked back is a welcomed sight anytime.

“Good morning.” He grins when you make an appearance next to him.

“Morning Buttercup.” The spatula he’s using to stir potatoes is cast aside so he can run rub circles on your lower back.

Now that the afterglow faded you wondered what direction this is heading in.

“I ended things with Mel this morning, she’s pissed to say the least.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Guilt creeps into you now that your chickens have come home to roost

“I know, but I’m glad it happened.” Without waiting for your reply he's back to cooking like our conversation never happened. “You can sit down if you want it’ll only be five more minutes.”

The debrief call with Benny will be one for the books.

#triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #william miller #will miller smut #william ironhead miller #will ironhead miller

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

Text

A Secret Kind of Pain (one-shot) FrankieMorales x f!Reader

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n) (No descriptions other than hair he can move behind your ear. She’s you, babe!)

Rating: 18+

Words: 7.0k

Summary: A poker night over at Benny’s tests the amazing burgeoning relationship you have been hiding with Frankie Morales.

Warnings: secret relationship, friends to lovers, angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, sweet Spanish nicknames, Frankie is a jealous lil’ thing, miscommunication trope.

a/n: I love Frankie Morales and realized I needed to write him up a honey. Y’all can blame my muses for this. I keep tryin’ to update my other stories and the damn muses keep starting new ones! At leas this is a one-shot!

Also if you like my stuff I'd really love a follow, a reblog, a comment (those especially make me smile!) would be real appreciated!

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"We're gonna be late," you whine, even as your back arches against the springy mattress. Your breathing is shallow, your forehead dotted with perspiration.

"I don't care," he replies breathlessly from between your thighs, dark eyes fixed on yours as his pouty mouth goes back to work.

You've been like this all afternoon, touching, kissing, fucking. You're both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the fan in the corner of the room no match for the balmy weather.

"Frankie," you whine, feeling his hands on the globes of your ass, pulling your dripping sex more fully against his mouth and tongue. He won't let up. He's eating you out like his life depends on it and has been for the last forty minutes.

Your legs are spread wide over his broad shoulders and his hands move over the crease of your thighs to hold you in place as he devours you. He feels so impossibly good, you can't help but succumb, your hands fisting in his curls, your body quaking with every swipe of his deft tongue.

His mouth begins giving your pussy sloppy kisses, groaning as he does. You don't know who loves this more - you or him. You whimper out his name again, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"C'mon cariño," he purrs, smiling up at you. "You can give me one more."

And you do. You come crying his name as he gently laves your clit. As you come down you reach blindly for him, sighing contentedly as he crawls up the length of your body, pressing glossy kisses up your naked flesh before he positions his cock at your entrance.

"Don't make me wait," you beg, urging your hips towards him. He smiles down at you before his mouth is on yours, his cock sliding into your slick cunt. It's not long before he's emptying himself into you and moaning into your neck.

You lay tangled in the sheets afterwards, your head on his arm, looking at his hawkish profile. He looks almost angelic with his hat off and his curls on display.

"We're gonna be late," you repeat giving his bristled cheek a swift kiss. You go to move off the mattress and to the shower but he holds tightly to you, his leg lacings between yours.

"Let's not go," he says, nuzzling against your neck. "Let's just stay in."

"How is that going to look?" you counter, not oblivious to his hand which ventures to brush over your chest. "We both don't show up to poker night? The week after we both mysteriously don't make it to the pub for drinks?"

Frankie sighs, knowing that you're right. You're always right. The second that the guys find out you're together it's going to be a nightmare.

They'll have opinions, so many fucking opinions on Frankie dating Tom's cousin. The one that Will had a crush on for years. The one Pope flirted with every time she came back for family visits. The one they all promised Tom they'd never fuck; a pact they reminded themselves of when she moved back to town a year ago for her job.

The one Frankie had fallen for the second he'd met her at one of Benny's shows. The one he'd sat next to, thighs touching as they laughed and talked between rounds as he stole bits of her popcorn. The one he'd told himself he couldn't want, but then found he couldn't stay away from.

So when he'd thrown a memorial party for Tom's birthday months ago and you'd stayed behind to help him clean and you confessed your burgeoning feelings for him it seemed it was inevitable he would take you in his arms telling you he felt the same. It felt fated that he would be kiss you before carrying you to his bedroom and making love to you until the sun came up.

You'd both known it had to remain a secret. Couldn't come out. Not when things were still so new, still so fresh. Not when Tom was gone, the promise his friends had made still very real.

Didn't matter that Frankie hadn't met you before he made that vow because he was always away flying or with his ex when you were visiting Tom. Didn't matter that he didn't just want to fuck you.

Pope hadn't been stupid. He'd known Frankie was seeing someone in the following months. In a panic Frankie had confessed over drinks one day that he was seeing some girl from the coffee shop near his place. This had placated Pope enough to drop it.

But he and the rest of the gang still teased Frankie about it for weeks, insisting he bring his "imaginary girlfriend" to poker night while you sat back in the booth, hiding your grin behind your beer bottle.

And so you snuck around, slipping into Frankie's bed and into his life without hesitation. Nights and weekends were spent making meals together, watching TV, going to try new coffee shops, kissing and fucking everywhere in his house.

He craved you when you weren't around, more than coke, more than flying, more than anything. He loved that his pillows smelled of you, that your variety of shampoos and conditioners lined his shower floor.

"I gotta shower and then we gotta go, Morales."

Frankie finally releases you, but not before pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. You smile before rolling off his bed and towards the shower. Frankie watches your naked body sauntering away and he holds in a grateful sigh.

///

"I'll go in first," you tell him, grabbing the bag of pretzels from the back seat of the truck.

Frankie has parked around the corner from Benny's, knowing you both couldn't show up together at Benny's infamous poker night.

You'd made yourself part of the group soon after moving back. Part of you wonders if it's because you're filling a void left by Tom or if they really like your company. You decide you don't mind when it means more time with Frankie.

"See you in there."

You go to leave, hand on the door before you shoot him a sweet smile. You lean over to give him a peck on the lips. You glance over the t-shirt that strains over his biceps, the jeans that mold over his long thighs and you give a crooked smile.

"Did I tell you how sexy you look tonight, Morales?"

Frankie blushes up his neck, his face growing red as he gives a bashful grin at you from under his baseball hat. The kind of smile that makes his dimple pop out. You give him a wink and then you're gone, heading into Benny's place, carrying a comically large bag of pretzels.

Frankie watches the clock, waiting a whole five minutes before grabbing the shopping bag from the back seat.

He ambles towards Benny's front door, noting the SUV with the space invaders bumper sticker. Will is here already, probably the first to arrive at his brother's event.

By the time Frankie arrives the group is loudly chatting, the kitchen full of food and noise. Benny and Pope are opening beers for their dates and you're nowhere to be seen.

"You didn't bring your girl?" Benny observes with a frown when Frankie enters the kitchen holding the shopping bag of chips and salsa.

"Uh we broke up," Frankie says with a shrug, accepting the coke can his friend passes him. Pope pulls out the chips and salsa, dark eyes trailing inside the bag before he's pouring the chips into a bowl.

"You don't seem too upset about it," Pope says with a quirked brow, his arm going to sling around the shoulders of his date. Frankie is about to reply when you both hear your laugh from the next room.

The two of you glance over to see you and Will on the couch, knees almost touching as Will says something else to make you laugh. You have a great laugh, the kind where you tilt your head back and you just let go. The kind that makes Frankie smile when he hears it.

But he doesn't smile now. In fact it's quite the opposite. He watches as Will's light eyes trace over your face warmly.

"Seems like Will is foregoing the pact," Pope says amused, his eyes on Frankie's face.

Frankie feels his hand curl into a fist. Who the fuck does Will think he is? Will could have any girl he wants; he's handsome and successful. He's not a recovering addict who can't legally fly anymore like Frankie.

Doubt, the ugly insidious snake creeps into his mind. Why are you with him? What could be possibly offer you?

"Hey Fish," Will calls out with a wave to Frankie when he notices the man in the kitchen. "No girl tonight?"

"They broke up," Pope says, coming to rest on the edge of the couch.

"Sorry to hear that," you say airily. Frankie can't look at you. He knows he'll see the amused glint there and he can't risk it.

"He doesn't seem too upset about it," Pope smiles.

Frankie focuses his attention on Benny who claps him on the back before announcing that it's time to start the poker game. Everyone moves to the table that Benny has set up with chips and cards.

Frankie's chest warms when you slide into the chair next to his at the table but he holds in a grimace when Will takes the seat next to yours, smiling at you.

You nudge his thigh under the table and he slips a hand under the table to give your knee a squeeze, watching your lips curl into a subtle smile at the contact.

Frankie feels idiotic for being jealous when you're obviously his girl. But the thing is he hasn't said you're his girl. It's just silently implied. He wonders if he needs to tell you, in words.

"Alright," Benny announces, breaking into Frankie's thoughts. "The game is Omaha and-"

You tune Benny out as he explains the rules for the large group around the table. You throw in your two ten dollar bills along with the rest of the group to the center of the table.

All you can focus on is Frankie's hand still resting on your knee, so wide and warm.

You're so into him it's ridiculous. You love the way he curls around you in bed, the way he makes you coffee to take to work, the way he looks at you when you talk because he's really** listening to what you have to say.

He removes his hand as the game starts and you immediately miss the contact. You look across the table at Pope and Benny and their girlfriends, jealous that they get to flaunt their relationships while you have to keep yours hidden.

But at the same time you don't want anything to spoil this beautiful thing you have with Frankie. It's too precious to you, too beloved. So you'll keep it a secret for as long as you need to.

The game is a long one and considering the entire group is ridiculously competitive the air is tense. Pope and Benny's dates are the first to be knocked out, both shrugging and leaning against their boyfriends, watching them play.

You stand after you fold your latest hand, stretching and announcing that you need a drink.

"Can you grab me a Coke, baby?" Frankie asks without thinking, his focus on his cards. It's an innocuous comment, one he's made to you at home dozens of times before.

Immediately he realizes the fuck up. Your eyes are blown wide, your features contorted into horror as you look down at him. He snaps his attention to the group abruptly, his face blanching and his shoulders rising. The men nearby give puzzled looks in your direction.

"The fuck did you just call her?" Pope laughs, amusement clear in his handsome features.

"He called her baby," Benny says with a grins, taking a swig of his beer.

"He didn't!"

"Asked her to get him a drink!"

"The fuck?" you say forcing a laugh and giving Frankie a look of disdain. "I know your girlfriend dumped you but I'm not throwing you a pity lay, Morales. I'm not really into guys who wear baseball caps past the age of twenty."

The group erupts into drunken laughter that you both join in on. But you don't see the hurt in Frankie's soulful eyes.

"I'm gonna grab that drink," you tell the group, needing some air and a chance to stop the pounding of your heart.

"Can you get me one, baby?" Will teases.

"Of course honey," you tease right back with a wink.

You don't even cast a look in Frankie's direction. His stomach twists when you return to the table with a bottle of beer for yourself and Will and no drink for him.

"When are you gonna bring a guy around for poker night?" Benny slurs from the other end of the table. "You been single too long."

"Maybe that's how I like it."

You swallow nervously, your cards growing slippery in your damp hands. They've never asked you things like this. Why now?

"C'mon," Pope urges, pressing a kiss to his girlfriends' shoulder. "I bet Yovanna can set you up with one of her friends, couldn't you, bonita?."

"Oh yes!" Yovanna nods, smiling.

"I dunno about that," you say, your face heating. You force your attention back to your cards. "I'm pretty busy with work."

"Too busy to date anyone?" Will says, trying to say it lightly but failing miserably. You can feel irritation radiating off of Frankie beside you. A quick glance out the corner of your eyes tells you he's clenching his jaw as he looks at his cards.

You want to squeeze against Frankie, bury your face in his neck and assure him that he's the only man for you. That you think about Frankie more than you think about yourself some days. That you've imagined an entire life with him, a future. That Will is perfectly nice but you're utterly besotted with Frankie.

"Not really into dating right now," you chirp, grin widening. "I'm more into winning all your money. That’s a full house, bitches!"

The group groans as you pull the money towards you, slipping the winnings from this round into your jeans pocket. The game continues on for several more rounds, until it's late and you feel yourself drifting.

"I should head out," Frankie says with a sigh, tossing his cards into the center of the table. "Don't have any more money left to lose tonight."

He stands, moving out the door without a backwards glance at you. You know the drill, you can’t leave at the same time. You stretch after the folding your cards.

"I should head out too," you say forcing a yawn. "Gotta be into work early tomorrow. Night guys."

The group bids you both drunken goodbyes, their focus on the remaining pot of cash in between them. You wave, heading out the door in search of Frankie around the corner. You see him leaning against his truck looking delicious. His broad arms are crossed in front of him, but his customary smile is replaced by a look of sullen displeasure.

When you're safely away from the house inside his truck your hand reaches for his across the bench seat. You're confused when he pulls out of reach, his hand going to the wheel. This confuses you because you’ve never taken a drive with Frankie where his hand wasn’t on your knee.

You pull on your seatbelt, convinced you must have mistaken him pulling away earlier as he starts the car. Maybe he just needs both hands to drive tonight. The weather has taken a turn, raining lightly in the darkness.

"Benny's new girl seems nice," you offer in the quiet of the drive. You glance over at Frankie when he doesn't reply. "You okay?"

"Hated how you looked at me tonight," Frankie finally gets out, his voice rasping. "Like I disgusted you."

Immediately you feel your heart sink.

"You know I didn't mean it," you say, reaching for him and again Frankie shrugs out of your grip, his dark eyes somber as he drives.

"Seemed real easy for you to say that shit," Frankie says tightly. "Pity lay?"

"Frankie we agreed we didn't want anyone to know," you reply, irritation rising in you that he seems to be blaming you. "That we didn't want our relationship under a microscope. I'm only doing what we both agreed was right."

"Yep," Frankie nods sharply, his dark eyes on the road. "Guess I didn't realize that meant flirting with Will all night."

Jealousy coils in him, twisting between his ribs and pulling angrily, causing his temper to flare, his body to tense up.

"I wasn't flirting, Frankie."

"Could've fooled me."

He's at your house now, pulled up to the curb with the engine still running. You swallow the frustration in your chest, turning to Frankie. You really like him and you don't want to fight. You can work this out; you just need to discuss it.

But Frankie still isn't looking at you. His hand is just curled around the steering wheel and his face is partially hidden in shadow. All you can make out is the sharp of his jaw under his scruff.

"You wanna come in so we can talk about this?"

"I'm tired," Frankie replies with a soft shake of his head. "Gonna head home."

"Tomorrow then?"

Frankie shrugs.

This was a fun dream. A sweet illusion. But there's no way it can continue. No way that you're gonna wanna stick with Frankie for the long haul. Not when men like Will want you.

"Right." You give a disgusted scoff, pulling the seatbelt off of you. "I think I'm gonna be tired for the next week or so, so I wouldn't bother calling."

"I won't."

"Good."

You jump out of the still running truck, slamming the door behind you and making your way to your house. You're thankful he can't see the tears that slip down your cheek as he drives off into the darkness.

///

Frankie has a brutal stubborn streak and a temper to match. The problem is so do you. No one is willing to be the first to wave the white flag. Instead you both give each other the silent treatment. It goes on for over a week, neither of you bending. No texts, no calls, no nothing.

But it's Frankie who breaks first when one evening he finds his pillow no longer smells of your shampoo. The panic of knowing that like the faded scent, you're disappearing from his life.

He throws himself into his truck and begun driving over to your place. He doesn't even want to waste time texting or calling. He just wants to see your face, to take it between his hands and kiss it. To apologize to you because he's been a fucking idiot.

How could he have been so pissed off at you for something you both agreed on? Something that he'd fucking suggested? So insecure when you've never given him reason to be?

He drives to your place and when he sees Will's car parked out front he feels like he's going to be sick. He thinks maybe he's made a mistake but then he sees that fucking space invaders bumper sticker.

Will is inside your house, in there with you.

Images of the two of you fucking immediately flood his mind. Will fucking you in the bed Frankie helped you to set up the bed frame for. You making the same noises for Will that you do for Frankie.

It takes all his willpower to keep driving, to swallow the lump that's formed in his throat at the thought you could move on so quickly.

But that dark part in the back of his head insists that this is for the best. That he was never worthy of you anyway. That he needs to let you move on with Will.

Frankie is friends with the group so he doesn't miss a poker night or drinks out or going to the batting cages. When your absence is commented on by the group he pretends to be equally perplexed until Will comments that he thinks you're busy with work. The same kind of shit Frankie used to say to cover up that you were together.

He doesn't let Will see his irritation. He doesn't ask Will about you. He wants you to be happy.

He doesn't let anyone see his heartbreak.

///

When the third week of silence from Frankie ends you feel your resolve dissolving. Yes, he'd been an asshole, but Frankie was also delicate at times. More delicate than you gave him credit for.

He'd been through a lot and perhaps this reaction was out of fear not anger. This is what you told yourself as you sent off the text to him.

Hey. Busy tonight?

Yep. Got a date.

You feel as if you've been punched in the gut. You're breathing sharply when his second text comes through seconds later.

Tell Will I say hi.

You frown at the message, confused. But you don't parse it. You're too upset. Too hurt. He just ... Moved on? One fight and he's fucking met someone else?

You were so fucking stupid to do this. To fall in with one of Tom's friends. He'd warned you off all of them and given you good reasons for why none of them were dating material.

But then you'd met Frankie Morales. The man with the shy smile and dark curls peeking out under a faded ball cap and all warnings had been forgotten.

You allowed yourself to fall head over heels, quickly and without protecting yourself. Like a skydiver jumping eagerly out of the plane without a parachute.

But now you wish you'd listened. Because the pain of losing Frankie is worse than anything you could have anticipated.

Your phone chirrups with a text from Pope.

Where the fuck have u been?

Work is busy.

Not too busy to come have drinks with us tomorrow night.

Sorry can't.

Either you come out or I'll send Will and Frankie in to drag you out of your office in front of everyone.

...

What pub?

///

Frankie watches you walk into the pub from under the brim of his hat. You've obviously just come from work; you have that serious look about you. It dissolves slightly when you see the group calling your name.

It's been weeks since he last saw you and it's like you've only gotten more beautiful. Your smile brighter, your eyes luminous. You give a wave to the group, eyes sweeping over Frankie as if he's just another one of the guys.

He's confused when Will greets you casually, no standing up and kissing when you waltz over.

"We've missed you," Benny says sliding you over a drink as you take the free spot next to Will in the booth.

You feel warmed by the realization that these men are your friends. That you're not just a placeholder for Tom.

"Works been so busy," you explain with a shy shrug. "Tell me what I missed."

"Hmmm well Benny and Carmella have started a couple's pottery class," Will tells you smiling as Benny rolls his eyes, his eyes on his phone as he texts his girlfriend. "Catfish here officially got his license back and Pope here is still annoyingly good looking."

"Obnoxiously so," Pope agrees, tapping his beer bottle against Will's in cheers.

You force a smile to your face as the group laughs but all you can hear is Catfish got his license back.

You'd talked about what you'd both do when that happened. That you'd bake him a cake and you'd go celebrate with the biggest steak at the nicest restaurant. That you'd ride him before he took you for a ride in his friend’s helicopter.

You'd made these plans giggling in bed, warmed by each other's bodies and smiles.

Now it seems like a lifetime ago.

"Congrats," you say to Frankie, looking at his ear and not his eyes. "I'm really happy for you."

He probably doesn't even remember what you'd planned. Or worse he's gonna do it with his new girl.

"Thanks," Frankie replies in a soft voice, no malice left in it. His eyes are on your face, the longing clear in them, not that you're looking at his eyes.

He misses you something terrible. All he wants is to pull you into his arms and cover your face with kisses. He's so fucking furious with himself for letting you get away.

Will leans back in the booth, arms sliding against the back of your seat as he stretches. Frankie's face immediately darkens and he's sullen as the rest of the group laughs and jokes.

A short while later someone suggests darts and you all agree, going to stand around the only free one left at the side of the pub.

You go first, you're usually very good. But you can feel Frankie's eyes on you, burning through your clothes. You falter, your darts barely making it into the circular cork.

"She's lost her edge," Will jokes, slinging an arm around your neck companionably. "Spending too much time at work, not enough time at the pub."

You laugh up at him, eyes disappearing into half moons. Frankie watches this and feels his stomach churn. Its one thing to move on with Will, but it’s quite another to rub it in Frankie’s fucking face.

"Move," he says gruffly to the two of you. You look at him shocked, hurt at how he's spoken to you both.

"Someone's got their panties in a twist," Will says smirking at the rest of the group. "I'm gonna get another round."

Frankie ignores him, tossing his own darts. They don't even hit the outer circle; they just careen off into the nearby wood. He grimaces and turns to see you watching, your face unreadable.

"What?" Frankie challenges, his neck going red. His dark eyes narrow on your face. "Like you did so much better?"

His voice is so dark and spiteful Pope and Benny turn from their conversation at the sound of it.

"Dude, calm down," Benny says looking from you to Frankie.

Pope says something as well but all Frankie can focus on is the way your eyes are filling up with tears. He feels all his frustration and anger leave him, replaced with icy shame as you murmur about going to the bathroom, shouldering past Will as he returns with the drinks.

He barely waits ten seconds before he's following you, not caring how it looks, not caring that you're with Will. He needs to talk to you, to touch you.

He gets to you just before you're heading into the women's bathroom. He grips your wrist.

"We need to talk."

You allow him to tug your limp arm as he pulls you outside the pub along with him. It's drizzling and cars are driving by but neither of you care. You pull back from his grip, eyes on the wet cement. Frankie gazes at you, wishing you would look at him.

"Why are you being so mean?" You suddenly ask in a quiet, hollow voice. "You're a lot of things, Frankie. But mean isn't one of them."

Frankie feels his heart sink at the accusation, mostly because it's true, and also because he never wanted you to think of him as anything less than.

Irritation and hurt flash on his features now, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

"Hard not to be upset when the girl you were seeing moves on with your friend."

Your head raises, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"You and Will," Frankie says, trying to act like it doesn't hurt him just to say the words. "I'm happy for you both but doesn't mean I wanna see it every time we all hang out.”

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

You're really going to act dumb? He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck, smoothing the curls there.

"I drove by your house a couple weeks ago," Frankie finally says, mouth in a frown. "After the poker night. I was coming to apologize."

Hope blooms behind your rib cage, a bouquet of desire and genuine need for Frankie overtaking the weeds of your previous devastation. He came to see you? To apologize?

"You did?"

"Yeah." Frankie's normally sweet, soft eyes are hard. "Saw Will's car out front."

Your face is confused, your eyes scanning the air as if you're trying to recall. And then suddenly you do. Your hope crumbles to dust. You realize now what all of this was. Possessive male bullshit. The kind of thing you thought Frankie was above.

"He came to borrow my portable BBQ," you tell him flatly. "He mentioned that he needed it for camping and I offered mine since I never use it."

Frankie feels his face slackening in disbelief. He blinks rapidly a few times, his posture going from rigid to loose.

"He wasn't there to-"

"To fuck me?" You shake your head with a sneer. "No, Frankie. You see, I was really into this other guy at the time so fucking someone else never even crossed my mind. But thanks for assuming that I’ll just fall into bed with someone every time we have a fight."

Frankie's heart hammers and shame suffuses him. He feels like a fucking moron. How could he ever have thought you’d do it? How could he have thought so little of both you and Will? He takes a step towards you as you hold out a hand between your bodies, your gaze turned icy.

"Don't even think about it."

You slip past him, heading inside and grabbing your purse. You're flustered and give the group a sharp goodbye, ignoring their questions as you dash from the pub, your second beer untouched.

Frankie returns to the group moments later, his eyes red-rimmed. He's confused when the group just stares at him in disbelief.

Benny is twisting the dart in his fingers, Pope has his arms crossed and Will just looks abashed. They all shoot each other confused looks when Frankie reaches for his dart.

"Aren't you going after your girl, Fish?"

Frankie feels his stomach twisting at Pope's words. "Huh?"

"She just left here looking really upset," Will adds. "I think she was almost crying."

Frankie looks at the concerned faces of all his friends and he leans against the wall in disbelief. There’s a heavy silence there, pitying looks from all of them. No menace, no anger. Just overwhelming sadness for their friend.

"You ... You all knew?"

The men nod, smirks on all their faces.

"And you aren't pissed?"

"Jealous? Yes," Will laughs. "Not angry though. Why would we be?"

"The promise to Tom -"

"Tom isn't here and you're both adults. And I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time," Pope says, looking thoughtful. “Maybe ever.”

Frankie can barely believe what's happening. All the sneaking around, the stress of being caught, all for nothing. He could have been holding you, calling you his girl in public this whole time.

"How long did you know?"

"After the poker night," Pope says. Frankie feels his body deflating.

"How?"

"Saw the receipt for chips, salsa and pretzels. Saw how you were when Will was flirting with her." Pope shrugs. "Put two and two together."

"I never knew until later that night," Will says looking apologetic. "I never would have chatted her up if I knew you were with her, Fish."

"We felt like assholes after talking about setting her up on dates and all that shit," Benny adds.

"Yeah, well, we're not together anymore," Frankie mumbles, hating that he has to tell them this. Hating that he's fumbled the best thing that ever happened to him.

"But you were, right?"

"Yeah."

"How long was it going on?" Pope asks.

"Four months."

"But you and that coffee shop girl-"

"Wasn't real," Frankie sighs, putting his forehead in his hand. "Just didn't want you guys to catch onto us."

The men share an amused look.

"Well your girl sold it," Benny confirms. "You not so much."

His girl. His girl. Frankie is almost elated at the sound of it. Then devastated when he realizes that he’s fucked it all up.

"Every time she came into the damn room you'd stop talking," Pope points out. "You'd get all squirrelly."

"We thought you just didn't like her or something," Will shrugs. "Didn't realize you were in love with her."

"In love?" Frankie says, dark eyes fixed on Will's. He's never said those words aloud in regards to you. Thought them, whispered them at home alone as he thought of you, but never spoken them to you.

"Yeah," Will nods, brows furrowed. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

///

You decide to make pancakes that night, a comfort food because you are desperately in need of comfort. You've been trying not to cry since you drove home, trying to forget Frankie's face as you left him in the pub.

He thought you were with Will? He thought that your feelings could so easily be swayed?

All you can see is the Frankie’s beautiful eyes of his that you'd fallen in love with first, followed quickly by his laugh, his smile, the way he runs his fingers through his hair when he adjusts his cap. The way he loves fiercely and his first instinct is to protect.

You pull into your driveway with your grocery bag, confused when you see Frankie's truck already there. He's standing on your porch, face eager as he watches you park. Frowning you take your shopping bag from the car and stalk towards your front door, ignoring Frankie entirely.

"Go home Frankie."

He watches you approach, his heart hammering in his chest. You look so fierce, so strong, so fucking beautiful. He hates that he's wasted time not being with you.

"Can we talk?"

"Had three weeks to talk," you bite back as you look for your house key. He watches you search through your purse until you find it.

"I know," Frankie insists, voice low. "I'm so sorry."

The emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You don't glance at him when you unlock the door but you do wait for him when you push it open.

"You've got five minutes."

He walks in after you, watching you head to the kitchen. He closes the door, watching as you take down bowls and bring out the whisk. He can see that you're making pancakes, your comfort meal and this tugs at his heartstrings.

He normally makes you pancakes for dinner on the days you text you're having a tough day. When your boss is on your ass and you want to cry in the ladies room. On those nights Frankie would be there at your place with flowers on your kitchen table and pancakes flipping in the pan.

He watches you measure the dry mix into the bowl, followed by the egg and milk. He knows it's going to taste like shit because Frankie always makes his from scratch with vanilla and a pinch of cinnamon.

"Down to four minutes," you snap at him, breaking him from his trance of watching you mix everything in the bowl. He stands on the outside of the kitchen, framed by the arch leading into it.

He feels awkward, his broad shoulders too-wide for your small space, his body out of place here in the warmth of your home. A place he normally felt so at ease in, suddenly gloomy and foreign.

"The guys know about us."

You stop your mixing to look over at him, your face pinched. "Why would you tell them?"

"They already knew," Frankie says, stepping further into the kitchen, feet soundless against the tiles. "Turns out I'm not so great at being subtle."

You turn back to your batter, mixing with a soft hum.

"Can't say it's one of your strong points," you say with a small curl of your lip. A smirk. That small motion gives Frankie enough encouragement to keep walking towards you.

"Were they upset?"

"No."

"Really?" You've stopped mixing long enough to see Frankie is beside you now, leaning against the counter, his eyes tilted to your face. You don’t dare look at him when you shrug. "Well, guess that doesn't matter now anyway."

Your mixing resumes again as you glance to see that the butter is melted in the pan on the stove. You try to ignore the way Frankie is staring at you.

"They asked me if I was in love with you."

He sees your body tense at this proclamation. He sees the way your eyes dart to his face only to leave once more. Your breathing is increasing, your hands completely stilled over the bowl. From here he can see some of the mix that has dribbled onto your wrist.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I was," Frankie admits almost breathless. "That I'd been a fucking insecure idiot because I was so terrified at how much I loved you."

Your body starts to thrum. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

"Terrified?" you ask gently. You turn off the stove, pancakes forgotten for the moment. Frankie’s eyes, those beautiful eyes capture yours and you can’t look away this time. You can only stare up at him as he speaks in that shy, rasping way of his.

"Last woman I cared about got pregnant by another guy and tried to convince me it was mine," Frankie tells you. "Only then I had coke to keep me from falling apart."

You nod, knowing this story of Frankie's past. He knows that you know this, but he has to remind you. It explains the next part, even though he hates bringing it up in front of you. He doesn’t like you to see his weaknesses. But he needs you to and he knows that you’ll accept them.

"But now I'm sober, I don't have any way to escape when I feel... I've never...." Frankie looks concerted, taking off his cap to nervously run his fingers through his hair before replacing it. "I've never felt about someone the way I do about you. Never. It scares the fuck outta me."

You want to leap into his arms. You want to kiss him until you're both breathless. But the text, the girl, all of it flashes into your mind. The relieved smile that had started in your cheeks quickly dies, the light in your eyes dimming. Frankie sees all of this, confused at your sudden withdrawal.

"You liked me so much you decided to start dating someone new a week after we'd had a fight?"

Frankie's cheeks flame and he gives a nervous smirk. "That uh... was kinda because I thought you were with Will."

Your jaw clenches at how amused he seems. "Didn't stop you from going on a date."

"Cariño," Frankie says, his voice low. "She was as real as the coffee shop girl."

"What?"

"I thought you were with Will," Frankie shrugs, neck reddening. "I wanted to look like I'd moved on too."

You blink up at him and then you can't help it, you laugh. A loud, melodic thing that Frankie can't help but join in on.

"You fucking liar," you grin, both amused at the situation and so fucking relieved.

Frankie's eyes are damp, unsure if from laughter or what he's about to tell you. You let him cup your face in his wide hands, nuzzling against the warmth of them.

"I wasn't lying about what I said before," Frankie says, his thumb grazing your cheek. "I love you, querida."

You don't hesitate. You can't. Not when it's been bubbling up within you for weeks.

"I love you too, Morales."

Frankie hears those words and feels his entire body lightening. As if just your voice could soothe every ailment, your mere presence purge every bad feeling from his body. It also scares the shit out of him. To know that what you both have is real. To know that it isn't casual. That both of your hearts are on the line.

He knows he will have to be better for you. To learn to communicate, to bring you close when he's scared instead of trying to push you away. It starts tonight.

He lowers his mouth to yours, kissing softly. You melt into him, warmed by the strong arms that encircle you. By the only man you want warming your arms and your bed. The only man you want for the rest of your life even if its dizzying in its proportion.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Frankie is comforted by this. That is not just him that feels the enormity of the shift. He pushes your hair behind one ear, taken entirely by how beautiful you look in the low kitchen light.

"My pillow doesn't smell like you anymore," you tell him and his eyes blow wide.

"Mine doesn't smell like you either," he admits, a small crooked smirk on his face. "That's why I drove over that night."

You make a humming noise, stroking his face, fingernails rasping over his stubbled cheek. He watches your eyes crinkle in amusement.

"I can't believe you thought I'd go for Will."

"He's handsome, smart, has his life together," Frankie shrugs. "What can I offer you compared to him?"

Your face goes serious, your eyes searching his.

"You're everything I want, Frankie."

His mouth finds yours once more, his hands skating down your back until you're arched against him and it isn't long before the kisses turn heated, his hands coming to stroke you through your shirt.

When Frankie begins licking into your mouth you decide that the pancakes can be saved for later. You move your mouth to graze his earlobe.

"Do you remember what we said we'd do when you got your license back, Morales?"

Frankie smiles against your mouth, his voice dropping to a soft purr as his arms bring you tighter against him. "I do."

"Should we go to the bedroom then?" You arch a playful brow. "You get your ride and then I get mine?"

"Anything you want, cariño," Frankie says, kissing you deeply. "Anything you want."

#frankie morales #fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x ofc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #francisco morales #romance #angsty #angst #miscommunication trope #happy ending #happily ever after

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morallyinept · 4 months

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A full character analysis on FRANCISCO 'CATFISH' MORALES from the film TRIPLE FRONTIER.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

FULL CHARACTER STUDY:

Basic Details:

Full Name: Francisco Morales

Nickname(s): Frankie, Catfish

Appears in: Triple Frontier, 2019 (first appearance on screen seen at approx. 24:04)

Age (if known): Unconfirmed. Late 30's/possible early 40's - exact age unknown

Nationality: Presumed Texan (due to Pope mentioning his cowboy boots, but not officially confirmed, and based off of Frankie's accent)/South American/Latino heritage - appears to be living in Florida

Sexuality: Straight

Family: Mention of a female partner and baby, no mention of wider family

Spouse/Partner: Female, name unknown

Relationship Status: Officially unknown, however Frankie mentions "my lady" so it's possible he's in a relationship with a female. Unconfirmed if engaged or married

Current Living Status: Alive

Languages Spoken: English, Spanish

Education: Not confirmed, however to be in Delta Force, basic high school education and college graduate (B.A. or B.S.) would be required to enlist as a minimum, according to their current enrollment programme requirements. Minimum age is 21 to enlist.

Occupation:

Job Role/Title: Pilot, currently suspended

Special Skill(s): Pilot - flies helicopters, no mention of other aircraft. Combat training in Delta Force, Special Ops (which would include basic training such as artillery, first aid, survival, tactical, and radar and flight for pilots)

Notable Colleague(s): Santiago Pope, Benny & Will Miller, Tom Davis (Delta Force comrades/friends)

Distinguishing Features:

Tattoo(s): Bullseye tattoo on left hand between thumb and forefinger (Pedro's own)

Piercings: None

Scar(s): None notable, however Frankie sustains a gash on his left upper cheek during the film from the helicopter crash, which looks like it could be deep enough to leave a scar, however it's not seen on his cheek at the end of the film

Other Markings: Freckles on neck

Prominent Feature(s): Greying facial scruff, moustache, curled hair

Injuries: Gash on left upper cheek below eye from helicopter crash

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Frankie's gash on his left cheek:

Personality:

Traits: Smart, sensitive, reasonable

Frankie has a soft, slightly rough cadence to his voice. He speaks mostly with an American accent throughout the film. It's hinted that he is from Texas, so this could be a Texan accent.

He is not above taking charge when needed and shows some leadership skills. It's apparent that Frankie can be easily led into things however, judging by how initially he declines to join the mission, but then when everyone else joins, he quickly agrees, indicating he can quickly fold under pressure.

Frankie also tends to jump the gun, establishing that it's better to shoot the enemy and ask questions later. This is evidenced in the film when he urges Pope to "shoot the driver" and states "I’ll tell you right now, if we get to that beach and Ben isn’t there, I’m fucking killing people," and "I'm taking a shot." He's also the one to shoot a guard first in Lorea's house. He shoots at the farmers, although Tom is the one who shoots them first in that scene, even though Frankie believes it was himself. Frankie also acknowledges his tendency to be quick on the draw when he states: "I was too quick on the trigger. You know it and I know it. I killed those people."

It's also evident Frankie would have some form of PTSD based on how he shoots without blinking/wincing, and how he mentions: "man, I almost forgot why I got out of this business. Shit gets so dark so quick."

It's not confirmed the cause for Frankie's suspension, whether he was smuggling drugs (cocaine) or if he was physically taking drugs himself. However, based on a suspension, in terms of the law, suspended pending a review/investigation means an outcome has not been reached yet, nor has an arrest. This has been left open to interpretation. Also, it appears that Frankie was not under the influence of any narcotics during the film, as he had adept focus and showed no obvious signs of withdrawal/addiction, (however this does not necessarily mean that he might not have one) therefore could be more aligned to a possible smuggling/carrying suspension. "I got busted. It’s not a big deal. Actually, it’s a big deal. Technically it’s a suspension. I’m still under review." Again, this is left unconfirmed, and open to interpretation.

It also appears that whilst Will and Tom are retired from Delta Force, and Pope is now working alone on missions, Frankie is still working in aviation as he is suspended. It's not clear however, if he is still working for the forces in some capacity as a pilot, or whether he is working for a private aviation company as an employee and has been suspended. Again, this is unconfirmed and open to interpretation.

Fashion/Outfits:

Outfit 1 - (Benny MMA fight scene) Blue V-neck t-shirt, brown leather-trimmed jacket, brown belt, blue jeans, navy baseball cap, mention of cowboy boots when Pope points to his feet, but it's not actually seen if Frankie's wearing them in this scene or not

Outfit 2 - (Scoping out Lorea's place) Light burgundy round neck t-shirt, flannel denim-looking overshirt in green, light brown cargo jean pants, brown belt, aviators (in car), navy baseball cap, desert boots

Outfit 3 - (Shipping container scene) Gray round neck t-shirt, light brown cargo jean pants, aviators, navy baseball cap, desert boots

Outfit 4 - (Lorea's house ambush scene & remainder of film) Light brown cargo jean pants, cream/beige pants belt, white round neck t-shirt, salmon pink overshirt, brown tac vest plate, navy baseball cap, desert boots, navy backpack, black tac belt, wine rain jacket (added later)

Outfit 5 - (End scene) Grey stork short-sleeve shirt, blue jeans, flip flops

Accessories: Black carabiner on tac vest plate, notepad, black cable ties, watch on left wrist, spare belts and ammo on tac vest plate, comms mic, aviators, navy Standard Heating Oil baseball cap. Frankie's baseball cap is a direct nod to the film A Most Violent Year, in which Oscar Issac starred as a character working for the fictional oil company, and starred alongside Pedro in Triple Frontier playing Santiago Pope.

Weapons Used:

Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)

Glock 19 side arm gun, 3rd generation 9x19mm

Norinco type 56-1 AKMS Rifle, 7.62x39mm with shoulder support

Modes of Transport:

Vehicle(s):

Frankie flies a MIL MI-8 1960's Soviet chopper.

Frankie drives a 1995 Toyota Land Cruiser Autana when driving back from the bar & in the shipping container scene

Frankie drives a 2008 Ford E Series from Lorea's house

Frankie drives a Red 1985 Toyota Land Cruiser in the beach scene car chase

Dialogue:

🗨 See Frankie's full dialogue from the film, including deleted scenes.

Further Character Links (if any):

Interview with Pedro about filming for Triple Frontier

Samples of Frankie's Wardrobe - Watch, Stork Shirt, Ralph Lauren Jacket & Khul Rain Jacket info obtained via Styleofpascal IG

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #francisco morales #frankie morales #PPCU #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales triple frontier #pedro pascal character analysis

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Security Details: Chapter 1 [frankie morales]

Frankie’s long-time friend enlists his help. He's more than eager to accept the job. The problem is that he's in love with her.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

pairing: francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: abusive relationship (not between frankie and reader), murder, violence, BAMF frankie, protective frankie, possessive frankie, soft frankie, mutual pining, yearning, reader is not named but has a call sign (fox), frankie is dumb but he's got the spirit, angst, smut, fluff, partners to friends to lovers, happy ending, frankie spends most of this fic in his feelings, telltale signs of a fic written by a hopeless romantic, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex, consensual somnophilia, english and spanish dirty talk, frankie going feral to keep his girl safe, possessive sex, blood and injury, undefined age gap

tags and warnings for this chapter: extremely/viscerally/unfathomably dumb frankie, mutual pining, so much yearning that my cup runneth over, foot-in-mouth syndrome, angst, abuse against reader, unrequited love

word count: ~ 10k

shrike is actually my all-time favourite hozier song and was the inspiration for this fic long ago. i still have a huge soft spot for this story; it is the ache of pining and the drive to be good enough for that one person you know will make everything better.

chapter 1: i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

Tomorrow is fight night for Benny, which means he’s taken to beating the shit out of his friends as a warm-up.

Frankie lifts his elbows in front of his face to block the next blow before taking a swing at Benny’s exposed stomach. The fighter ducks out of the way and lands his next punch—right to Frankie’s jaw. It’s enough of a hit to sting and throb, knocking his teeth around a little, and Benny immediately loses his gloves and claps Frankie on the shoulders.

“Shit. Shit, Cat, I’m sorry. You good?”

Frankie doesn’t feel any blood welling from his lip, so he considers it a draw. Still, he shakes out his knuckles, preparing for another round. “I’m good. Are you good?” He grins at Benny. “‘Cause I almost had you tapping.”

From outside the ring, Will whoops. “That’s right, Fish. Take his ass down.”

“Nah,” says Benny, sliding onto the floor off the ring and reaching for a towel. “Don’t feel like killing Frankie today.”

“Jackass,” says Frankie, joining the brothers on the floor. “Could’ve won.”

He and Benny slap their palms together, and the three of them silently agree to end Benny’s destructive training for the day. Frankie suspects his face will bruise by dinner tonight.

Will lies down on a bench and looks up at Frankie. “Where's Foxy? I know she could take Benny down.”

Frankie tries not to sound bitter when he grumbles, “Date night,” but fails. Benny and Will lock eyes, and the latter whistles, imitating an explosion with his mouth.

Frankie drops down to the floor, back up against the ring with his knees bent. “She knows her boyfriend’s a piece of shit, right?” asks Benny.

Frankie doesn’t want to talk about this, especially not when his friends know he’s the pathetic asshole who was too afraid to ask her out before someone else cut in. A someone else who has her showing up at the bar on their nights out with red eyes and strained smiles. The someone else who, despite being a well-rounded dickhead with control issues, still managed to get the girl.

He’s been with her through her boyfriends, just as she’s been through his singular attempt (and failure) at settling down. He hasn’t liked a single one of her partners, not even when they seemed to get along with Benny or Will or Pope or—in rare cases—all three. Frankie knows it’s because he can’t stand that every single time she introduces them to someone new, it means another guy who’s braver than he is. Another guy who beat him to the punch. Another few months wasted as his best friend stands within arm’s reach and remains altogether untouchable.

“She’s coming tonight, right?” asks Will.

“She is if it’s date night,” mumbles Benny, but Frankie hears him and bristles.

“Fuck off.”

“Kidding,” he says, lifting his hands in the air. “She probably doesn’t come, anyway. Not with that douchebag.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He has no right to say who she sleeps with, dates, or spends her time around. He has no more claim to her than he does to the throne of England. But shit, he can’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on her body. His hands tremble as he wipes them on his jeans and stands up. “See you dickheads tonight,” he says. “And stop talking about Fox’s sex life, or I’ll bury both your heads in sand.”

He slips his gym bag into the backseat of his truck when it begins to vibrate. He fumbles for his cell phone and looks at her profile picture, blown up large on his screen: a big smile on her face, her eyes glittering with mischief, as Pope’s pie-covered mouth kisses her on the cheek. He gives the camera a thumbs-up. Frankie had taken the picture.

Pope walked into the bar with Will and promptly received a meringue to the face.

“Happy birthday, Santiago!” she whooped, toasting her Cosmopolitan in the air. She loved fruity drinks on special occasions, and had managed to convince Ben and Frankie to order a Shirley Temple and Sex on the Beach, respectively.

“Come here, Foxy,” shouted Pope over the chaos of the bar.

Pope kissed her, sloppy and loudly, on the cheek. Frankie snapped a picture. Later, he would assign it to her contact on his phone.

He wanted to tell her she was beautiful that night, glowing and cheerful in her tight black dress. She was practically on his lap in the booth thanks to the big bodies of Ben and Will sandwiching her between them, spreading their legs. He suspected it was deliberate. Frankie kept his arm secured around her waist all night, never quite touching the soft skin at her back with his fingers. He was hard enough as it was.

“This okay?” she asked him, tentative and pleasantly flushed from her three drinks of the night.

It was loud as hell in the bar, but he could only hear the wash of her voice down his spine. “Yeah, Foxy. Don't worry about me.”

She tugged on a lock of his hair beneath his cap, now long enough to curl at his neck. “That's my job.”

I'm so in love with you.

He never told her. But he went home that night and fucked his hand twice in the shower. The week after, she introduced him to her latest boyfriend.

Frankie answers his phone. “Go for Frankie, Foxy.”

“Hey!” Her honeyed voice is a tonic. “I’m sorry I couldn't watch Benny beat you guys up, but I was out getting groceries for Matt.”

Frankie can't help it. It rears up from inside like a fire-breather. “Matt can't get his own groceries?”

His name leaves her mouth like a tired warning. “Frank…”

He feels like an asshole right away, slinging another arrow at her deadbeat boyfriend and making her upset, but Matt Erickson may truly be Frankie Morales’s archenemy. Not to put too dramatic a point on it.

The worst day of Frankie’s life was when she took that first bullet for him.

She's a good sniper. Damn good. She still smiles like she's never seen a battlefield. She treats it like a job where it counts, and sometimes he catches her kissing the ring on her index finger: silver, a gift from her father. He was killed in battle, and was the reason she joined. And she became deadly as she was sweet, gentle, a good dancer.

She can really dance.

She caught the sniper on the ridge faster than Frankie could register his body dropping just behind him. He whipped around to watch his skull hit the ground, his blood colouring the deadened earth. Frankie lifted a hand to the back of his head absentmindedly. He was untouched, unharmed.

“Shit, Morales,” she said breathlessly, approaching him after she scanned the horizon for more surprises and hopped down from her cover of cliffs. “Almost let him shoot you.”

He shook his head, mildly speechless, and checked her over for injuries. He tugged on her tactical vest the way he always does. She squeezed his arm. “That makes eighty confirmed. You gonna buy me a drink?”

He swallowed. “I’m going to buy every one of your drinks for the rest of your life.”

She grinned up at him.

He remembers the wind whipping her hair about her face, the glimmer in her eye. He doesn’t remember where the shot came from. He only remembers seeing her face fall and her eyes slide over his shoulder. He remembers her shifting them around, diving like a swan to block his body from something.

He heard the crack of the shot, then another as Will took him out with a shout. And he saw the blood blossoming at her hip. She reached out and steadied herself on his shoulder. “Oh, shit,” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, Frank. I wasn’t looking. That was really stupid. Wasn’t… Didn’t see…”

He still feels the panic when he recalls that day.

He slipped his rifle around to his front and scanned the cliffs through the scope, but Will’s cry of “CLEAR!” echoed through the valley. Frankie dropped to his knees in front of her and lifted up her shirt to bear her midriff to him. She clutched the straps of his vest to keep herself upright.

“How’s it look?” she managed to ask, trying to keep her breathing steady and her eyes open. She was handling it beautifully.

“It’s nothing,” he said, though the choked sound of it betrayed him. “Just a scratch.”

It wasn’t. The shot went clean through her hip and was bleeding badly enough to blanch her face. She was turning grey, her body trembling. “Thought so,” she said. “Frankie…”

She didn’t finish. Her eyes fluttered and her foot faltered. He gripped her good hip hard and squeezed. He needed to keep her talking.

“Why did you do that?” he said frantically, watching periodically for Will and Benny as they made their way around the ridge down to the valley. Frankie opened his medkit, but there wouldn’t be much in here that could do her good. He shucked off his extra layer—a thick down jacket that protected him from the wind up here—and pressed it to her wound. “That was stupid, Foxy. Real fucking stupid.”

“Oh, shut up,” she wheezed. “Saved your life, Cat. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Need you to hold onto me,” he said. “I’m going to sit you down, but you need to hold on. It’s going to hurt.”

She panted through her teeth as Frankie lowered her to the ground, sitting upright against a rock. He kneeled over her legs and continued to put pressure on her wound. She blinked hard from the pinching pressure. “Part of the job, right?”

“Shouldn’t be. Not you. Not fuckin’ you.” He kept the pressure, hard and steady, on her wound, but the sight of blood—her blood, the only blood that could send him into a panic—nauseated him.

She laughed, but it sounded nothing like her laugh. Her laugh was bells at noon, the sun high in the sky. This was hollow as a dead tree. “Thought this was an equal-opportunity workplace.”

She can weave stories and poetry from the smoky tendrils of death. By the embers of the fire, when they were the only two left awake, she would give him offerings.

One night, she had lain beside him, and they stared up at the stars between the wispy clouds. Frankie had to let their co-pilot Mickey go that day. He’d been a lost cause, unable to release the seat belt as their helicopter went up in flames. They ran for cover, and all Frankie could think was, You could have done more.

“When people die,” she had told him, “maybe their souls leave them for a reason. Maybe they have to leave because they need to bury themselves in the living. I think you’re keeping his soul safe, Frankie.”

It was the most profound piece of wisdom he’d ever heard, from her sleep-addled voice, next to him as they lay next to one another, barely touching, only watching the sky. It was only days after the team saw her signed on, and Frankie was already in love.

“Frank… Frankie… ” Her blood made things slippery and got on both of their hands. There was a small red heart on her hip when two droplets of blood joined together.

Funny.

“Frankie…” Her eyes begged him. She scrambled to keep holding onto his hand. “Don’t let me die. I really don’t want to die.”

It was so rare, like seeing the bright burning core of a comet. Watching her crumble, desperate, sand between his fingers. She was dying, and they both knew it.

Still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t do it the way he’d done with Mickey (“I’m sorry, I can’t get you out, we have to go”). “You’re not gonna die,” he told her, gritting his teeth and keeping pressure, keeping an eye on the pulse point at her sweat- and blood-slick throat. “Not gonna let you fuckin’ die, Foxy. Still need to give us that wisdom of yours, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice slurring as her eyes slipped shut for a moment. Only a moment, and the earth beneath Frankie’s feet shifted. But she blinked them back open. “You’re all idiots, and I need to be there to save your asses.”

“That’s right, baby,” he said softly, weakly.

Neither of them would mention the nickname after that—the first time he’d addressed her by anything but her name or call sign. In that moment, he existed to bring her comfort. He existed to keep her alive. Breathing, for all he cared, didn’t matter one bit.

“Where do you think we go when we die?” asked Frankie one day, stuck on a rooftop adjacent to hers, just the two of them tracking a target through their scopes. An elusive target. They’d been here four hours, bruising their hip bones on concrete and baking in the Colombian sun.

“Oh, Francisco,” crackled her voice in his ear. The sound of his name on her lips always struck his bones like hammers upon rocks. “We don’t die. Not you and me. We just float down the river and crawl out on the other end.”

“I like your wisdom,” he said. The air was hot and stiff, his forehead beading with sweat. “But that sounds awful wet.”

“Bet you could use a drink right now.”

“Damn right I could.”

“Whoever makes the shot buys the round,” she offered.

His heart soared with a hope he’d not yet learned to squash. “Just you and me?”

“That’s the only way to go, Frankie,” she said.

He found a beacon in her. Her heart was—is—a miraculous thing. It beats louder than everything else, hums like a soft melody, and casts its net across the reaches of the world. Her eyes find things nobody else’s can. Her smile reanimates dead things. She became a goddess to him. He wanted to hold that heart in his palms to see how brightly it glowed. He wanted to be the one with the privilege to keep it safe in his hands.

She didn’t die that day. Frankie lay into the evac team for taking so damn long and refused to leave her side even when they insisted there was no room left on the chopper. He didn’t give a fuck, not when her hand kept grasping his in a desperate, half-alive attempt to keep him close. He became a rabid animal, snarling at anyone who came too close or pushed too hard on her wounds or tried to separate them.

In her hospital bed back at their temporary base (this was a shitty covert job in Alberta, so the infirmary was more of a tent filled with stretchers than a state-of-the-art facility), she laughed at his latest joke.

“What’s a pirate’s favourite letter?”

“Frank, I’m in so much pain—”

“You think it would be R, but it be the C they love.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. It was quiet in the tent, filled with sleeping and recovering bodies. “Can’t believe I saved your stupid ass. Must be all that love I’ve got.”

He froze. Love. She said love.

She said love, and yet there was a man waiting in her bed when she returned home with a new tale of glory to tell. A man who could never understand the things Frankie did, the things they spoke about under the stars when everyone else slept. She was off-limits. Untouchable. He wanted her more than anything in the world, and he could not have her. Because he could not say love.

“I’ll let you rest.”

He slipped his hand from hers and flexed it all the way back to his tent. It felt cold without her there. He just left her, alone and afraid to fall asleep. Afraid to close her eyes and never wake. He was the real coward.

“Did Matt get you to your appointment yesterday?” asks Frankie, trying for civility. “How did it go?”

She's been in physiotherapy since a bad fall shattered her ankle a few months ago. It's been making her antsy, off the field and stuck at home. “I walked,” she says idly, breezily, like she's trying to rush through it and move on. And she does. “We still on for tonight?”

He freezes.

“You what?”

“I walked,” she repeats.

“You walked.”

Her voice is vaguely amused. “That is what I said, Cat.”

Frankie makes a decision. The next time he sees Matt Erickson, he’s going to punch him in the face. Frankie doesn't like confrontation, but he'll go one-to-a thousand against a Viking army if it means she's happy and safe. Walking half an hour to a physiotherapy appointment with a bum ankle is not happy and safe.

“Frankie, I can hear your ears steaming,” comes her gentle voice in his ear. “I was fine. I didn't trip and the pain wasn't bad.”

“That's not the—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “That's not the point. He was supposed to take you.”

He can't deny he's happy to hear a touch of bitterness when she says, “He got called into work.”

“Could've called me,” says Frankie, even though it's too late. “I would've taken you.”

“I’m okay,” she coos, patient as ever with him and his sour moods. “I promise you, Frank, I'm fine.”

He drops it for now. But if he sees her limping tonight, he's going to throw her asshole boyfriend into a Dumpster. “How's María?” she asks him.

He huffs out his laughter as he gets into the driver’s seat. His back protests with a pinch of pain. “Misses you like hell. Asked me on Sunday if you can babysit this weekend.”

“Did she ask that, or her daddy?” she says slyly. Frankie closes his eyes and briefly knocks his forehead into the steering wheel, all because she can't see him. The way she speaks is clear and gentle; intelligent. His cock seems to like the sound of daddy passing her lips.

“We collaborated,” he says sheepishly. She makes him so nervous.

“Mmm.” There's sounds of rustling, and he can picture her moving about the kitchen, smiling as she wedges the phone between her ear and shoulder and unpacks her groceries. “Well, I’m available Saturday night if you want to go out, have some fun. You know I’m always happy to spend some time with my favourite girl.”

Frankie has no plans for Saturday, and he isn't particularly keen on making any. He’ll make a last-minute excuse to stay in with his two favourite girls on the planet and he’ll go another night wanting her but refraining from stepping any closer than he should. “Yeah. I’ll think of something,” he says.

“Oh! And I picked up some more baby food since you're running low. I know she's almost eleven months, but she goes through that stuff like a vacuum cleaner.” Frankie’s heart is close to bursting. She treats his daughter like her own most days and thinks of things neither he nor Lisa do half the time. Frankie’s pretty sure Lisa is in love with her, too. She has that effect on people.

“Thanks, Fox,” he chokes out.

“And if your plans miraculously fall through,” she says playfully, “remind me to give you a haircut. Otherwise, I’ll be teaching María how to braid it.”

Self-consciously, he takes off his cap and ruffles his own hair. It is getting long again, curling around his ears and sticking up wildly when it’s humid, which is most days down here. “Yes, ma’am.”

Like everything else in her life, she treats Frankie’s haircuts with the utmost care and attention. She handles scissors as though they’re needles she must perfectly thread. Her haircuts are serviceable, and she asks for nothing in return except her next drink at the bar (he buys her drinks when they’re out together, anyway), but it’s the process he likes most.

“Ow.”

“Don’t be a dummy, Cat. I’m not hurting you.”

Her hands lathered the shampoo in his hair, her long nails (a treat for herself during her temporary leave thanks to a certain gunshot wound) digging deliciously into his scalp, reaching the roots of his head and into his brain and turning him wholly pliable beneath her touch. “No,” he mumbled. “Just keeping you on your toes, Foxy.”

It was an awkward job: sitting up against the bathtub with his head dangling uncomfortably under the detachable shower head while she washed his hair, sidled up next to him on her knees. He kept his eyes closed because if he opened them, his eyes would be level with her tits. She wore an old, ratty sweatshirt from his closet so she didn’t have to worry about getting hair all over her, but his imagination was a real son of a bitch. It liked to run wild with pictures of her body beneath all that fabric, soft and sweet. He would have wet dreams about her if she wore a paper bag every day.

“Lift your head for me, Frankie,” she said softly, cradling the back of his neck to support it as she washed the shampoo from his scalp. When they were finished, he shook out his hair like a wet dog and splattered her with water. “Frankie!”

Her shrieks alerted María, so she picked up the then-four-month-old and bounced her on her hip while the other hand gently blow-dried Frankie’s hair. “Okay, gorgeous,” she said, switching off the dryer.

“You talking to me or my kid?”

“You decide.” She kissed María on the top of her head, which was covered in the same dark brown curls as her father’s. “Let’s go cut daddy’s hair, hmm?”

Frankie tangled himself in each thick thread of yearning that stretched between them as she ventured farther away, downstairs into the kitchen where she would cut his hair over the garbage can. She had done it a hundred times, he felt, but the longing remained. The ache to touch her on the cheek, the waist, draw her in closer and kiss the soul right out of her. He wanted to take it and swallow it and wrap himself in it, keeping her forever with him the way she said they did with each life they took. He wanted that. He wanted to hold her life in his palms and nurture it, let it unfold with his, the lines on their palms intertwining like twin comets’ paths through the sky.

Every day with her felt like that: chasing the sun, only to find out he was chasing a picture. He could never grasp it, never cradle it or sleep next to it or bury himself so deep in it he lost sense of himself altogether. He wanted so much of her that her essence choked him. It filled his lungs like gravel because he could never have her. So he yearned, and let himself die a little more each time she went home to someone else.

“Frankie?” she asked him that night, both of them watching María sleep in his arms as they lounged on the couch, the television muted.

He was drifting off, fighting sleep so he wouldn’t drop his baby girl. The sound of the voice next to him stirred him just enough, and he gained the sense she was about to impart a piece of wisdom he would carry forever.

“I think you’re going to live a long, happy life.” Her head was on the arm of the sofa, and her eyes were drooping, but not quite closed, looking at him through her lashes. They were like shadowy spiderwebs on her cheeks. “I think, of all the people I’ve met in my life, you’re the one who deserves it most. I want you to have it, so I’m telling you right now that you will.”

It occurred to him much later that she thought he was asleep.

The bar itself is a piece of shit in the middle of a highway, barely big enough to even qualify as a truck stop, and it’s called The High Dive. Sounds about right. Frankie gets there last (a routine phone call with his parole officer lasted longer than he would’ve hoped, but at least he’s through with his community service), and Fox is already in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend.

“Invited himself,” says Will, interrupting Frankie’s train of thought before he can even make a stop at a coherent one. The Miller brother has a beer tucked into the crook of his elbow as his arms sit folded over his chest. “Doesn’t seem to trust you very much, Morales.”

“Hmm. Can’t imagine why.” Frankie is hardly listening. His eyes are laser-focused on the movements of Matt Erickson’s flailing arms as he yells at his girlfriend. Frankie’s hackles are up and his vision is beginning to bleed.

“He wouldn’t, Fish,” says Will, nudging him with an elbow. “He wouldn’t take a swing, not here.”

“I never—”

“Yeah, you’re thinkin’ it, man. We’re all fuckin’ thinking it.” Will gestures to their favourite booth in the corner of the bar where Benny, Santiago, and a couple locals they’ve befriended over the years are sitting. Benny and Pope sneak frequent looks across the bar to where the couple is still locked in a heated argument, standing too close in the shadowy hall that leads to the bathroom.

It’s not like Frankie has any evidence that Erickson has laid a hand on her. He knows the guy is volatile, angry at one wrong twitch of a finger. Frankie wouldn’t give a fuck if he decided to take a swing at him or his friends; it would give them all an excuse to deal a few blows in return, which he knows they’ve all been itching to do. No—he’s too close to her, his hands clenching into fists and jerking around as she flinches away from him until she’s backed into the wall, keeping her guard up and placing a hand on his chest to keep him at arm’s length. She’s speaking clearly and firmly, patient even as her boyfriend loses his shit. Frankie cannot hear a word, but he knows she’s in the right.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Frankie just manages to bite his words off.

“My guess?” Will shakes his head. “To keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll give him a fucking eyeful,” says Frankie, surging forward.

“Hey.” Will claps a hand down on his shoulder to stop him. “Come on. Leave them be. He’ll get pissed and leave.”

“I don’t like this, man.” She’s handling it, still, trying to bring Matt’s temper down to a simmer. Frankie can’t look away. His eyes are her shield; if he blinks or moves, it will drop, and Matt will act. He will hurt her. Frankie can’t let it happen.

The knot in his chest begins to loosen when she seems to strike a common ground with Matt. He breathes hard and backs away, nodding and muttering something. She smiles feebly, her shoulders rounded and her eyes dim with exhaustion, and he kisses her on the forehead.

Frankie lets Will guide him to the booth and slides in next to Pope. “Pendejo,” says Santiago. Frankie knows he isn’t speaking to him.

“Don’t get me fuckin’ started.” Pope slips a beer under Frankie’s nose. “Thanks, man.”

“Anyone ever tell her she’s way too hot for that asshole?” says John, a local Army-turned-trucker around the same age as Frankie, who doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth at that comment.

Erickson approaches them without her in tow. That makes Frankie’s internal alarm bells sound. “Hey,” he says, lifting his beer in greeting. “How's everyone holding up?”

There is an awkward sound-off of halfhearted replies from everyone at the table except for Frankie, who won't even indulge. He has tunnel-vision, and he needs to make sure she's all right.

His eyes meet Will’s, and the Miller discretely nods. “Hey, Erickson,” he says loudly. “Mind checking out my hood? My engine light came on halfway through the drive here and I don't want it to explode on the way home.”

Erickson agrees with mild enthusiasm (the prospect of getting paid for a tune-up provides most of his polite response) and follows Will outside. Frankie flees toward the bathroom and knocks on the door.

“Foxy.”

Come in is her soft reply.

The sound of the door unlocking is all Frankie needs to push his way inside and close them both inside. In here, the world pushes in on the two of them, and it feels like sitting in the bathroom together at his home, listening to her quiet humming as she washes his hair. “If he sees you in here, he's going to kill you,” she says. Her voice is utterly defeated. “I don't want to hear a lecture on how I need to leave him, Frank. I can't—” Her breath catches in her throat. “I can’t do this tonight.”

She finally faces him. He can tell that she's been crying, but he still counts to ten when he sees her puffy eyes and rounded shoulders. He's always been terrible at containing his impatience or rage compared to her, but she looks so beat-down and tired that all he can think to do is pull her into his arms.

“He can try,” says Frankie, smoothing down her hair and kissing the top of her head. Her hands find his back, warm and soft, her cheek resting on his chest. She sniffles quietly. Frankie’s entire body feels tight, sandpaper on a wall, catching on every groove of her body against him.

“I really want to kill him first,” he confesses.

She shakes her head. “Not going to jail, Francisco. Can’t survive on this Earth without you.”

His ears are ringing. He barely hears the doorknob jiggle, the knock at the door, the scuffle outside.

“She's in the fuckin’ bathroom, dude,” says Benny on the other side of the door. “Give her some privacy.”

“Oh, you mean her and Morales? You want me to give them privacy? Want me to let them fuck each other in there while I stay right here?”

“Maybe you should leave. You've had a bit too much to drink.” This comes from Pope. Reasonable, but tense.

“Open the fucking door, babe,” shouts Erickson. Frankie puts her behind him instinctively.

“Don't say a word,” she warns him. He bites down on his tongue. Her hand slips around to his arm and squeezes. She raises her voice so Matt can hear her. “I’m coming out, Matthew. We’re going home. Okay?”

Don’t, Frankie wants to say. Don't go home with him. Fuck, baby, come back and never let him touch you again. But she ordered him to stay quiet, and he can't refuse her. He can't do anything.

It always ends like this. He lets her go, and he freezes. He can never be brave where it counts.

She unlocks the door to face down her boyfriend, who's stone-faced and glaring at Frankie. He grabs her arm, tight enough to make her wince, and she shoves him hard in the chest. “Don't fucking touch me,” she says. “We. Are. Leaving.”

And they do. Frankie just lets her go, watching her until she's out of his sight and a bit further than that. He lets her go again.

The next night, Friday, is Benny’s fight. She’s limping when she walks into the locker room.

Frankie leaps to his feet despite the protest from his back. He’s in front of her, probably crowding her, but his head is in overdrive. “What happened? Shit, you're limping. Why the fuck are you limping? Did he fucking hurt you? I swear to God, juro por Dios, if he hurt you—”

“Francisco.” She's firm, jagged-edged, and it startles him into silence. She looks like she hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep in days, and her beautiful optimistic smile is nowhere to be seen. “He was angry with me for last night,” she tells him. Matter-of-fact and emotionless. “He grabbed my ankle and twisted it. I grabbed a bag and left while he was passed out. I slept in my car. It's the first time he's ever laid hands on me.”

Frankie staggers backward. “I—” He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. He’s furious. He's terrified. He's sad and disgusted. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She hugs herself. “I’m a total idiot. I know I am. I know he's a piece of shit, Francisco. I know it, and then sometimes he would be so kind, so gentle, and I wouldn't know which way was up. I never thought he would—” She breaks off like the words stabbed her, snapping her mouth shut and bringing her hand to it, trembling with tears she refuses to let fall. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

She's the finest sniper on the team. She's a storm on the field and she's the one who speaks the soothing words to them all when they're hurt or tense or just want to fall asleep. She's the reason and the eyes. She's responsible for their lives every time they step foot on the ground, and she never lets a single one go.

He says her name. It’s quiet and weak and almost lost in the ambient noise of distant cheering and air conditioning. It's a name that invokes rain and thunder and sunshine—the kind of sunshine that parts those angry rolling clouds. It's a rare name because it feels sacred. It's the name he reserves when he's about to do something stupid.

“Don't say my name like that, Francisco.”

He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and grinned, cocksure and tipsy. He squares up with Pope at the table and the two lock hands in preparation for the arm wrestle. “You ready to eat shit, Morales?”

“Nah, pendejo. You're gonna buy a round after this.”

Whoops and jeers lifted from the crowd, but Frankie just turned to her and winked. She stood out with her tight-ass jeans and her wicked glare. Damn, Frankie wanted to impress her. It's probably the only reason he beat Pope.

“So,” he said after he took down both Will and Benny, too. “Believe me now?”

She rolled her eyes and placed her elbow on the table. “Fine, Cat. When I win, I’m getting a shopping spree.”

“Hope you like wearing the same thing every day,” he teased, locking his fingers around her hand. Around them, they cheered for the Fox.

Frankie lost. She got her shopping spree, and she showed off all the pretty dresses she bought with his money while he and María watched the makeshift fashion show. He didn't mind one bit.

Now, Frankie takes a step forward and places his hands on her arms, her skin soft and warm beneath his rough hands.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he tells her. “Every single time I've wanted to tell you, I’ve let you go.”

She frowns at her shoes and whispers his name. “I can't,” she says. “Please don't say it.”

What?

“I…” He grasps at the air for something to say and falters. “I don't understand. Help me understand.”

Another sob leaves her mouth when she meets his eye. “I’ve waited years for you, Francisco,” she says, the words toppling onto him. Demolitions. Smoke. “If you say it now, I won't be able to stop myself from saying it back.”

He's in fragments on the floor. The world shifts from one axis to the other, back and forth, teetering over the blackness of space. “Honey, please just let me—”

“Frankie. I mean it.” She takes a step back, gently brushing him off her. There's nothing malicious in the action, but it tugs Frankie’s heart along with it. She's holding it in her hands, the way he's always wanted to do with hers. “Right now, I feel like I’m about to fall apart, and I don't think I can have that conversation with you.” She swipes her thumb under her eyes.

“No.” It comes out strangled and pathetic, like regurgitating stones. “No. Don’t go. Fucking stay. I—shit, I need you to stay.”

He's being a selfish asshole. His foot is in his mouth. She's hurt and needs space and now he can't let her go. What is wrong with him?

He knows it was the wrong thing to say. Hurt floods her eyes. “I’ve been patient,” she says evenly. “But I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. You married Lisa, you had María, and I tried to move on. Maybe it isn't about what you need right now, Frank.”

He doesn't know why he gets angry, but he suspects he'll realise later that he's mad at himself. Which means he doesn't stop himself from digging deeper. “Are you serious? You've been fucking around with a hundred other guys because you wanted me? Tell me how that makes sense, honey, because it doesn't make a goddamn inch of sense to me.”

He regrets every word right away. Her face falls and her fingers touch her own throat like he threw a sucker-punch to it. Her entire body shrinks in on itself, and she looks like she does when Matt makes her feel small, worthless. But it wasn't Matt. Frankie did that. Frankie, who's supposed to be her friend. He wants to throw up. How could he ever think he could be good to her?

She swallows and gathers all her breath to make herself a bit taller. Frankie begins to shake his head, reaching for her. His stomach plummets when she flinches away. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should have said that. I didn't mean—”

“You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it, Frankie,” she says. Her voice is still collected, if a bit cooler, and it only makes him sink further into despair. “Don't take it back. I know you never liked any of them. That doesn't mean you get to talk to me like I’m just a whore when you were about to tell me you loved me.”

She's right. She's so right and he's so stupid. “Please.” He doesn't move for her, but he can't let her leave. He can't let them go their separate ways like this. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she says. “But that really hurt, Frankie. I’m exhausted, and my ankle is killing me, and Benny’s about to fight. I’m going to go find the others now. Okay?”

No . No, it's not okay. None of this is okay. “Don't…” He pulls at his collar. He's burning alive. “Don't leave it like this.”

There's a hollowness in her eyes. “You made that choice for me,” she says. “Just… do me a favour. Stay at Pope’s tonight.”

It's an unspoken code. Frankie can get down on life, on himself. He's been busted for taking things that make him feel lighter, but it only ever lasts as long as the drugs. He's clean, and he wants to stay clean. But he feels that familiar urge, that self-loathing that makes him itch for the powder. He won't do it. It'll make things worse. It'll make her look at him differently, and he's fucked everything up already.

“I will,” he promises.

She limps away to join the madness of the ring. Frankie’s heart goes with her.

“So, you shouted at her.”

“Yeah.”

“After she just ran away from her ex, who had put his hands on her and undid weeks of physiotherapy.”

“Yes, Pope. I did.”

“She practically confessed she's been in love with you since before Lisa, and then you implied she was a whore.”

“I didn't—”

“She's sleeping in her goddamn car, Frank.”

Frankie slams his hands down on the table, enjoying the brief sting of pain. “Jesus Christ. I know it was wrong. I know. Okay?”

Santiago shakes his head. “I don't think you do get it, asshole. I think you wanted to tell her you loved her because she was finally available. It was fucking selfish, Frank, and you know it.”

Frankie runs his hands through his hair. It's been a while since she cut it.

“Fuck.”

Pope is right.

Frankie became a soldier at that moment. A soldier with one goal: tell her the truth before she slipped away. And he neglected everything else. Her feelings, her fear, her uncertainty. And when he couldn't accomplish his mission, he panicked. He kept her close, pressured her, and never gave her room to breathe.

He threw away his friendship with her over a few petty words.

Frankie doesn't hear from her for a week. He asks around, consults her family and friends, but not even Benny, Will, or Pope have seen her. She's still on leave since her physiotherapist sent in a report detailing Erickson’s assault, but she typically makes a habit of checking in with her friends. It's why Frankie stays at Santiago’s, drinking enough to put him to sleep at night but never using. He dreams of his Fox at night. They’re different dreams than he usually finds himself living in. She isn't panting and moaning and screaming his name while he pounds into her. He dreams of her smiling and laughing and lying with him in his bed. She's safe in his dreams. She's with him, and he's good to her.

Frankie sleeps past noon the day she shows up on Santiago’s doorstep.

Santiago is dressed and he's already eaten, but neither he nor Frankie mind him leaving out some cold eggs and bacon for Frankie to munch on when he decides to get his lazy ass out of bed. He wanders downstairs eventually, scratching the back of his neck and grumbling “Good morning” even though it isn't. She's not here. She seems to be nowhere.

The knock at the door is clear but rushed. Santiago opens it to find her standing on his porch, dressed in a pair of ratty (men’s?) jeans, rolled up several times at the ankles, and a sweatshirt for a college she didn't attend. Her hair is tucked into the hood and she smiles grimly. “Hi.”

“Holy shit.” Santiago takes in the dark half-moons beneath her eyes and the tremor in her hands. But he notices the bruises most. Her lip is split, while her left cheekbone is shiny and purple. There's a cut on the slope of her nose and her forehead. He steps out onto the porch so Frankie can't overhear them or see her beat-up face. “Holy shit, Fox.”

“I know.” She brings him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Santi. I’m in trouble. Couldn't contact you.”

He catches her sharp inhale when his hand brushes her side. He eyes her sternly. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It's Matt.” She rolls her eyes, but he sees tears well in the whites. “He found me the other night. Didn't like that I left. At least he didn't get my ankle again. Handcuffed him to the stove before he could try.”

Santiago pinches the bridge of his nose. Her relentless optimism is often refreshing, but right now, he's really fucking pissed off. “Is he put away?”

“Affirmative. Had to answer a lot of questions, but I sort of found myself asking a lot more.” She sighs. “I think he's into something. I’m being followed.”

Santiago frowns. “Drug pusher?”

“Not sure. All I know is I look like I had a fight with a blender, and I’ve seen a couple vehicles tailing me in the last couple days. Had to ditch my car.” She squeezes his arm. “I’m sorry I didn't reach out, Santiago. You didn't deserve to worry like that. None of you.”

Not even Frankie. It's unspoken, but he heard it in the way her words falter in the end. “You want to talk to him?” offers Santiago.

“Has he been…” She clears her throat. “Is he clean?”

“As a whistle. If you don't count whiskey.”

She smiles, and it's real. “Good. That's good.”

“He's not going to be happy to see you like this.”

“He's seen me take bullets,” she counters. “This is a walk in the park.”

That's not true—Frankie pouts when she gets a papercut—but Santiago nods. “You want something to eat?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve probably stayed too long already. I don't want you wrapped up in this. Whatever this is.”

He ushers her inside and makes sure there aren't any suspicious vehicles nearby before he locks the door. She isn't limping anymore, but the state of her face makes up for it by leaps and bounds.

Santiago squeezes her hand before he leaves to give them privacy. “He's been a total asshole without you around.”

She gives him a wry look. “I’m not going to forgive him, but I’m not going to chew him out, either. He already knows he's an idiot.”

She walks alone into the kitchen. He's sitting at the table and poking some cold eggs with a fork. “Frankie?”

The sound of her voice is something from his dreams. His head jerks up, expecting to find a shadow or a whisper only to wake up alone. But she's there. She's in the kitchen with him, standing just past the doorway. He feels the beat of his heart thrum back to life where it lay in her hands, at the same time his stomach plummets and his meagre breakfast threatens to lurch back up his throat. Frankie bolts to his feet.

She's been beaten.

“Who—”

“I’m okay.”

They speak at the same time, and a rapid silence overtakes the room. Frankie takes a step toward her. She doesn't move away. His fingers flex. He wants to touch her. He wants to tend to her wounds the way he's done so many times in the field.

No. He wants to touch her like a friend, a partner, a lover. He wants to be gentle and crack jokes and make her laugh. He wants to see her eyes scrunch up with joy.

He wants to kill who did this to her, but the urge to care for her overwhelms his tenuous anger.

“It’ll heal,” she says plainly.

He does not say a word.

“You've been my best friend for ten years, Frankie. That doesn't go away with a mistake. But I need your help, and it helps if this isn't painfully awkward.”

He understands the implication. I’m not here to make up.

“What's going on?” he asks. “I—we haven't heard from you.”

“I’m in trouble,” she tells him. It's straightforward as a soldier, but there's something else.

He's fine-tuned to her voice, the way she sounds when she’s angry all the way to jumping for joy. This sounds like fear, and it radiates all the way from his ears to his feet. “What’s happening?” he asks. “I want to help you, Foxy, I swear it. I’ll do anything.”

She smiles. It's coloured with exhaustion, agony, and a little gratefulness. “Thank you.”

The safe house is a little ways outside St. Augustine: an hour or so in Frankie’s truck if he takes the usual route to the coast. But he doesn't. He swerves between freeways, doubles back three times, and stops at four different service centres using three different credit cards and one with cash. It makes for one hell of a confusing trail, and it takes them four hours (and change) to get within a mile of the destination, but it seems to be working so far.

She’s silent for most of the trip, her knees drawn up to her chest and her body tilted toward the passenger’s side window. She watches the trees and roads speed by with her cheek in her palm. It's nighttime now. The lights of other cars illuminate the shiny bruises on her face, making Frankie tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

It's his fault. It’s all his fault that Erickson went back for her.

“How long have you had this place?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from disuse.

Frankie checks his rearview mirror to make sure no one follows him when he turns onto a side street that leads into town. “Me and the guys paid for it. Thought it would be good to have somewhere to go in the state. Just in case.”

She nods thoughtfully. “I like it here. It’s refreshing.”

He has so many things he wants to say. He needs to apologise, to beg for her forgiveness. He's going to get on his knees and plead with her. He won't lose his best friend because he got angry and stupid. But right now, he needs to protect her. He can do at least that.

“It's coastal,” says Frankie. “Should give you a good view.”

“Always thinking of the little guy, Cat,” she says playfully. He doesn't miss the hurt that still lingers in her tone. Neither of them can forget the things they said that day.

She confessed to wanting him before he married Lisa, and he threw it in her face. She will never want him again, but he will be forever damned if he doesn't make things right and earn the privilege of being her friend again.

“You aren't the little guy,” he says, making another turn. Ahead, he sees a familiar white wraparound porch. “War hero, remember?”

She snorts. “War hero who can't put up a fight against her psychotic ex-boyfriend.”

His frown deepens until he's technically pouting. “Fox…”

“Just fucking around, Frank.” She extends her leg and gently prods his thigh with her foot. His heart leaps to his throat. “Been through worse.”

His chest is fluttering from the simple touch alone. He doesn't know what he'd do if she truly touched him. Skin against skin.

“Focus, Catfish. Don’t want you fallin’ down on the job.”

“Eat my cue ball, Ironhead.”

“If you two don't shut up, I will shove this cue down your pants.”

A stranger sidled up behind her where she bent over the billiards table and swigged his beer. “Very nice,” he said, eyes on her ass in those tight jeans as she sunk the 12 ball.

Frankie frowned deeply at him. He had left his friends at the bar to approach her, and all of them were watching as he tried to engage her in conversation. Clearly, a bet had been made. “You from around here?”

“Are you trying to get under my skirt, out-of-towner?” She clicked her tongue. “For shame. Never wear a dress shirt to a bar.”

“C’mon,” he persisted. “We’ll buy your drinks.”

“I’m set,” she said politely. “But I don't want to be passed around.”

The man’s eyes travelled down toward her breasts. “You sure?”

Pope was the first to speak up, shouldering his way into the conversation. “Hey. My eyes are up here, buddy,” he says, more easy-going than Frankie would be if he trusted himself to speak.

Will sunk his next ball and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Try your luck somewhere else. She's taken.”

“What, by you?” scoffed the stranger.

“Nah, dickhead. By him.” Will jerked his head in Frankie’s direction.

Frankie, whose knuckles were white around his cue, didn’t register what's happening until she took a step away from the stranger and wrapped her hand around his bicep. The touch blossomed from the point of contact until it festered like a sore deep within his chest. She was touching him.

“Wanna take a picture, or you wanna fuck off?” said Frankie coolly.

The stranger lifted his hands in the air. “Can see when I’m not winning. Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes when he was gone and stepped away. “I’m sorry, Frank,” she said softly. “I won't tell Lisa or anything. Will shouldn't have…”

Frankie shook his head and kissed her temple in case the men were still watching. “Don't. He was bothering you.”

He didn't wear his wedding ring, and neither did Lisa, unless her parents were around. He should have loved her the way he did the girl in front of him. They both love María, their beautiful little girl, their light. But they never ached for each other the way Frankie does Fox.

Frankie pulls into the driveway. He recalls that night, the way her hand felt so assured around him. He recalls aching for it to be real, for him to stand up for her because he is with her, because he gets to sleep with her every night and love her freely. He's missed every single chance.

Nestled in a small neighbourhood near the highway and surrounded by fields of farmland, the house is quaint and painted a muted grey. The porch slinks around the house, a bench swinging in the gentle breeze. “Frank, the door,” she says. “Only half of it is painted.”

Frankie eyes the front door, dark green from the doorknob to the ground. “Got high with Pope,” he grumbles.

She hums her understanding and he escorts her inside. It's as plain inside as outside, a one-floor home with a small kitchen on the right and a living room to the left. In the hallway ahead lies doors to the bathroom and the bedroom. The singular bedroom.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he blurts out when her eyes land on the two doors down the hall. “Have before.”

She frowns up at him. “I brought this down on you, Cat. You take the bed.”

“Don't start. That couch is uncomfortable as shit.”

“Okay, you've convinced me.”

“I’ll get the bags.” He gently lifts her chin to examine her face, all clinical. “Bathroom’s on the left. I’ll meet you in there.”

She lifts a brow. “I can clean myself up.”

He grunts. “I’ve always been the better medic.”

He drops the bags on the floor and digs out the medical supplies from underneath the kitchen sink. She has shed her hoodie and remains in a tight tank top, examining bruises on her throat in the shape of fingers. His eye twitches.

“I know you're pissed,” she says without looking at him. “If it helps, I am, too. Never thought I’d have to fight him off like that. Just… wasn't in my best form.”

Frankie gently touches her side as he moves around her. “Up,” he says gruffly. She knows the drill; a hundred times over they’ve had to patch one another up in the field. This should feel no different. She settles herself on the countertop while he fishes around for a bandage. “You hurt anywhere else?”

It's the question he's been avoiding, but it's necessary. She shrugs. “Mostly just got me in the face.”

“That the truth?”

She breathes slower when he touches her face to clean off the cut on her forehead, and she holds her breath altogether when he gets to her lips. “Frank,” she says. It's a whisper, a leaf tumbling and drifting on a breeze, quiet as night.

He meets her eye after he's secured the bandage to her forehead. “Tell me.”

She lifts her hips and shimmies her too-big jeans down her legs. He's seen her in her underwear before, but it doesn't fail to make him feel like he's drowning. “He cut me here,” she says, showing him a knife slash on her inner thigh near her pelvis, and another just beneath the waistband of her panties. “And here.”

He swallows, seeing red. His hand finds her skin, gravitating to it like it’s an opposite charge, and he’s touching her thigh before he knows it. “Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuckin’ kill him.” The man cut up her perfect, smooth skin. He was supposed to cherish and protect her and make her feel beautiful. He fucking hurt her, and Frankie was not there to stop him. To rip him apart. He wants to feel his knuckles break upon impact.

She releases a shaky breath. He feels it ruffle his hair, so close together in the dim light. “He didn't—”

Frankie just shakes his head. She goes quiet. He doesn't trust himself to talk; it will probably dig the hole deeper. She watches him clean the cuts, fresh enough that this must've happened last night. Saturday night. It's the day she usually babysits.

She hisses suddenly. “Frankie, gentle, please.” She pries his hand from her thigh.

A wave of nauseating guilt wreaks havoc on his body. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he croaks.

She plays an intricate game with her fingers as he continues to clean her wounds. He applies a worn-out tube of polysporin to the cut on her thigh. “Do you think María hates me now?” she asks, her voice soft and vulnerable as ever when it comes to his daughter. “Y’know, since I missed out on babysitting last week?”

He hums. “She couldn't hate you if you took all her toys away.”

“Don’t say a thing like that, Francisco. She’ll hear you.” Her head falls back and knocks gently against the wall. Her eyes slip shut. “You never told me what happened in Peru.”

“You… really don’t wanna know what happened in Peru, Fox.” Frankie grits his teeth, his hand coming to rest on her hip over that thin scrap of a tank top. “Promise.”

“You’re not giving me enough credit,” she says firmly, pinning him with a stare. “I’ve been your partner for ten years, Francisco. Lisa and I were terrified. She thought she was going to lose her baby’s dad, and I thought I was going to lose my best friend. You were gone for way longer than you said you’d be, and when you came back, none of you would talk about what happened. Redfly was gone, and all of you just—just moved on. You closed up.”

The least Frankie can do is look up and meet her eye. But he can’t. He just keeps his hand on her hip, gently stroking the bone with his thumb.

“You want to know something silly? Even when you and Lisa got married, I thought I still had a chance with you.” At that, his head jerks up at last, and he finds her eyes brimming with tears. “Stupid, right? I thought…” She scoffs, shaking her head. “I could deal with you not loving me, but you not trusting me hurt so much more.”

He squeezes her hip. “Honey…” His teeth clack together with how hard he bites down on his own jaw. “I haven’t trusted any of those guys with a rat shit’s worth of how much I trust you. You’ve taken a bullet for me, for fuck’s sake. It’s just… Losing Tom, killing those people, all for nothing. Jesus, I hate myself for how well I sleep considering everything I’ve done.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” she says indignantly. “It can’t have been for nothing.”

That just makes him feel more cynical. “Stole about two hundred and fifty million. Came back with what amounted to a million each, and didn’t keep a cent.”

Her lips part in understandable shock, but all she says is, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Nothing good came from it,” says Frankie. “Not a goddamn minute of it. Tom’s dead.”

“Frank.” She steadies her hands on his shoulders as she slips off the vanity and looks up at him. It vaguely occurs to him that she’s still in her panties. “Do you trust me?”

“With my fucking life,” he replies.

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“There was that one time when you took a left inside of a right off Madison—”

She repeats her question, and he answers truthfully this time. “No, Fox. You haven’t.”

Even on a roof, scoping the enemy, or in his daughter’s bedroom, singing a gentle lullaby, or in the barracks, trading jokes (Frankie) and wisdom (Fox). Every word that has ever escaped her perfect lips has coiled itself around his heart.

“Then trust me to tell you the truth.” She tugs on the hems of his sleeves with her fingers. “You have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Sometimes, I want to rip it out and examine it under a microscope just to watch it work the way it does. And sometimes, I want to beat you over the head with it. I know it’s hard. I’ve had my fair share of shit I had to trudge through in order to just fucking function every day. But you gotta know how good you are, Frank. You have to. Because if you don’t, there isn’t any hope for the rest of us.” She adjusts the cap on his head. “Killing and fighting isn’t who we are. It’s what we do. I’ll make something to eat.”

With that, she’s gone, slipping past him, leaving him cold and stunned and unable to speak. She’s all the wisdom of a prophet, sunshine in a human body, the first crack of a firework and the muffled silence of dipping your head underwater. She’s the serenity of dusk. He doesn’t know how to gather all the love that spills through his fingers.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal fic #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction

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jo-harrington · 9 months

Text

Interview Prep (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried about making a change to some routines.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.03

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Meeting the Family, Anxiety, Fluff

Note: Special thanks to @chestylarouxx @fracturedarkness and @courtingchaos for reading my snippets, listening to my rambling, and easing my nerves with this one. It's been in my drafts since February! And it's always kind of eluded me, but it's very special so I appreciate the time you took to help me out. So so much.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

“…and I swear the sound is so much better than my Fender. Like a thousand times better. I’m gonna need a new amp, I think. She is way too good for that hunk of junk that Rick got from his buddy way back when.”

“Uh huh.”

“God, I wish you could come to a show to hear it. Maybe...maybe I can ask Tom at the Hideout if our set could be a little later one night so you could come out after the store closed?"

"Sure."

“And then we could get pickle and bologna milkshakes at Benny's afterwards."

"Sounds great."

"Am I boring you?” Eddie finally stopped as he hit the button on the bailer and put his hands on his hips. "You're not even listening."

“What?” You freed yourself from your thoughts and got a good look at him. "I...what? No."

It was break time, which meant cardboard got crushed and garbage tossed before you ventured into the food court for something to eat. And on a day like today when your schedules aligned, that also meant your break was spent with your closest friend--only friend--in Hawkins.

And on any other day, you would have happily listened to his story.

Hell, you actually had listened to him...for most of it at least--he boasted about his new guitar, how he named her Sweetheart, and her first actual performance outside of Gareth's garage that had occurred the night prior--before you got too caught up in your own head.

It had been a normal Wednesday when you got to the store for your opening shift. The registers were counted, gate pushed up, and you were about to confidently post the new schedule.

Then the mail was delivered.

And with it, a larger envelope from home office that contained a very hefty packet inside.

Normally a package like that would make you happy; it was a sign that one of your favorite weeks of the year was approaching: planogram week. It was, quite honestly, not only your favorite week but your favorite part of the job altogether. More than your team, more than your discount...certainly more than helping customers.

Summer was coming to an end, which meant all of the trendy accessories would make way for backpacks, water bottles, notebooks, and lunch boxes. Things that stayed hidden away for 75% of the year, but were suddenly at the forefront of every parent and pre-teen's mind as they got ready to look their best on the first day of school.

Today, however, you suddenly felt a sense of dread as you opened the package because a planogram meant that you would have to schedule an overnight shift on the one night of the week that the mall closed early.

Sunday Night.

Date Night with Eddie.

Eddie's favorite night. And yours.

Your favorite part of your job encroached on what was becoming an essential part of your life.

So you spiraled until your break because it was easier to worry and overthink than it was to just...communicate the fact that you might have to miss a Sunday and face the possibility that Eddie could be mad at you.

Unfortunately he seemed a little steamed right now because he thought you hadn't been listening to him.

His little grumpy face was cute though.

Why was this harder than having to call your team to ask if they were ok with an unexpected overnight shift? God damn it, you needed to get a grip.

“You weren’t listening to anything I said,” he repeated.

“Yes I was,” you insisted.

“What did I say then?”

“You nailed the solo.”

“And…”

“And you actually got a round of applause.”

“And?”

“And you need a new amp.”

“And?”

“Uhm… a-and…”

Shit…maybe you had delved a little bit too far.

Growing up with a big, loud family--including an overbearing mother and two annoying brothers--meant you had the innate ability to split your brain in half and listen to them while also worrying about your own shit.

However, thanks to the intensity of your worrying, that ability failed you.

You wracked your brain for a good 30 seconds until Eddie’s scowl turned into a wicked smile, and then you knew he was just being a jerk.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled at him.

“Excuse me,” he placed a hand on his chest in fake affront and stumbled back a few steps to collapse against the side of the trash compactor. “I'm the worst? You agreed to Pickle and Bologna milkshakes and ignored your best friend. Not very metal, sweetheart."

"I just have a lot on my mind." You shook your head and sighed. "Sorry."

"Well it's a good thing that I am a great listener. Unlike someone."

Eddie pushed himself off the compactor, put his hand on your shoulder, and guided you back inside to the food court. You got your meals of choice and tucked yourselves into a table in the corner by the JCPenney entrance.

"Alright," he started with his mouth full of fries. "Tell dear old Eddie what's bothering you."

You swallowed a mouthful of food and took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

"Well...there's this big thing coming up at work...planogram...uh...floor set," you began. "And it's really important and after it's done...we'll get visitors from corporate and my boss will probably make a few visits to see how it's going. I just want to do really well."

"Well, you've been doing a good job so far right?" Eddie shrugged. "Why wouldn't they think so now?"

"I don't know, I don't wanna mess it up," you admitted. "I'm a new store manager. And a lot of the team never worked retail before. I literally cried my first floor set as a sales associate. It's tough."

"You're just giving yourself the yips. I do it all the time when we add a new song to the set list."

"Don't just say that to make me feel better."

"Last week I forgot how to do a G-chord," he crossed his heart. "Scouts honor."

"You were a Boy Scout?" you asked skeptically.

"Stop distracting me." He popped another French fry in his mouth in an exaggerated fashion. "What else?"

"Well...we have to schedule floor sets on a Sunday."

"Ok."

"After the store closes."

"...Oh."

"Yeah."

Eddie sipped his drink thoughtfully and stared at you with his abyss-like eyes; they didn't betray a single thought going through his head and it made you nervous.

And nervous meant that you didn't shut up.

"I mean I don't want to have to cancel our night out," you started with the word vomit. "It's just the way things are always done and you'll see one day if you still work at Tape World for long enough, that's one of those things that...I don't know, if you try to do things differently it always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"And I'm young and whenever we have a conference call to talk about sales...my DM doesn't let me forget that I'm a baby compared to everyone else and it's so frustrating because I feel like I can't even suggest anything new because it immediately is dismissed as naive. It's like they keep waiting for me to fail. So I wish...I wish I could make a change so we could keep our plans. Like if it was anything else I could make it work but I...this thing I just can't, you know?

"But...but...b-because I would have to work on Sunday overnight I would probably be off another day so if you're ok with it we can do something else? Maybe on...I don't think I could get Tuesday off because of everyone's availability...maybe Friday if your friends are cool with me crashing your club night. Or...you open on Saturdays. We could do Saturday night instead?"

The punctuation to the drawn out sentence was your labored breath and Eddie noisily sucking the dregs of his soda through the straw. Shithead that he was didn't even have the decency to do anything but continue watching you with his big dumb cute eyes.

"Weeellllll..." he started in a sing-song tone and then paused and sucked at the straw some more.

Could he just tell you to fuck off already so this wouldn't be as painful as it was?

"That really sucks you need to work overnight," he finished his thought with a grin and shoved his cup to the side. "Being in the mall after hours...sounds kinda creepy. Do you think there are ghosts?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" you deadpanned. "You let me go on and on like that for nothing?"

"It was funny."

"I hate you."

"You cherish me."

"It was painful." You groaned. "Like I think I'm sweating. My heart hurts Edward."

"Don't act like you've never let me do that before," he scoffed and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. You threw a fry at him. "Don't start what you can't finish sweetheart. One fry can turn into a food fight and I would hate to find out the hard way why I'm Hawkins High's food fighting champion."

"Ok so...Saturday night?" you asked. "This Saturday...are you doing anything?"

"Uh..." Eddie hesitated and sat up a little straighter. "I mean...no hot dates or anything. What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe just what we normally do?" you suggested. "Drive around, eat a bunch of junk food. Or if you want to come over to my place and I--"

"So, I have a confession to make," he interrupted you. "I actually do have plans on Saturday. More like...standing plans than anything. My uncle Wayne is off on Saturdays and we've always watched reruns on TV and ordered pizza. Family night or whatever. My mom used to do the same thing so...Wayne thought it would be...I dunno, good for stability or something.

"It's silly but I don't want to just ditch him without asking," Eddie explained and your heart melted.

Of course you didn't want to take time away from his family; you knew how important his uncle was to him.

"Oh...well that's ok...we can rain check for another day then or--"

"Why don't you just come over?" Eddie asked. "He won't mind. I am opening this Saturday so I'll be done by 5; you can get there in time for Wheel of Fortune. That way he can't yell at me when I try to solve the puzzles with lewd words." He mimics, what you assume is, Wayne's voice.

Eddie looked so eager that you immediately agreed.

Your heart stopped in your chest though.

Come over? And meet his uncle?

Sure...you'd already met Benny a few weeks ago...and yeah you'd thought of it like meeting someone from Eddie's family but...this was his actual family. What if you insulted his uncle or...or made yourself look stupid.

You needed to put your best foot forward. Make a good impression.

"How about..." your mouth started moving before your brain could catch up. "...instead of ordering pizza, I cook for you guys instead? I'll be off Saturday since I'm doing the overnight on Sunday. I can just bring everything over."

Eddie's eyes lit up and as he teased you about the impressive cooking skills that you had supposedly boasted about previously, all you could think was...

How did this situation get even more stressful?

---

The rest of the week leading up to Saturday had been overwhelming to say the least.

To you, food was life. Cooking for someone was everything that you could do to show them that you cared. How many hours had you spent with your grandma making cookies for neighbors at Christmas, or freezer meals when a distant relative had a baby, or a tray of something after a friend of the family had passed.

Food was love and friendship, and as much as what you had done for Eddie with the guitar had been a show of friendship...this meant so much more.

So you needed to hit a home run...or a bullseye...or whatever sports terminology signified that you won.

Which meant you'd spent some down time flipping through your grandma's old recipes that she had gifted you once upon a time--a thin, pocket-sized spiral notebook with a purple cover that was filled with her illegible handwriting and personal shorthand--and thinking of ideas that would be both impressive and hearty. You'd already changed your mind twice, and had made just as many trips to Bradleys for extra ingredients.

You'd also pestered Eddie several times through the course of the week to get his input without giving anything away.

"Does your uncle like cheese?"

"Of course he does."

"Some people don't."

"Would we get pizza every Saturday if we didn't like cheese?"

"There's some pizza that doesn't have cheese."

"Why the questions? Are you nervous sweetheart?"

And that was when he started to tease you. Every chance he got. Lunches, breaks, passing you on the way to the employee lot as you started a shift and he ended one.

He asked if you wanted their phone number so you could call Wayne and make kissy noises at each other for hours, if you wanted him to bring love letters home to save on stamps, and if you were planning to dress really nice for your date with his uncle.

"I'll be sure to grab extra chapstick for him so his lips are ready for you tomorrow," he laughed and leaned closer to make the biggest, noisiest smacking kiss noise in your ear as you waited for your break time cookies.

"You're an idiot," you rolled your eyes after he uttered the last one. "I don't want him to hate me because...what if he doesn't want me to hang around you anymore. I'd kind of lose my mind."

"Oh, uh," Eddie backed away a little bit and rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his back pockets. "Wayne wouldn't do that. He's...a little bit of a grump, but he's harmless."

"Guess we know where you got it from," you muttered.

"I didn't know you were...actually worried," Eddie continued. "I'm sorry. But it'll be ok. Even if you...wore a potato sack and brought canned beans that we had to heat on the stove for dinner. He'll think you're great. Because you are."

You were both a little silent after that, Eddie staring at his feet bashfully as you felt your heart race and your head spin.

You finalized your plans that night when you got home and immediately started on your dessert, sure that it was all gonna be a hit with both Munsons.

It was gonna be great. Because Eddie thought you were great.

And Saturday, the doubt didn't creep on you at all. Not while you cooked, not as you packed your casserole dish and Tupperware into a large cooler bag, and not even as you drove across town, following Eddie's directions to Forest Hills without getting lost once.

It wasn't until you stepped out of your car and stared at the front door that you felt your stomach drop a little.

Those four cement steps might as well have been a thousand.

But...your sneakers only needed to crunch on the gravel before the door was thrown open and a slightly-breathless Eddie smiled at you...and then all the worry disappeared.

"Hey," he greeted. "D-did you need any help?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," you shrugged.

He jogged down the steps in socked-feet and crossed to the passenger's side door of your car, talking a mile a minute as he reached in to grab your things.

"I, uh, got home an hour ago," he rambled. "The A/C at the store conked out...and then Paulie had me make a trash run before I left. Had a big shipment today. So if I'm still a little sweaty...that's why."

"You're fine," you laughed.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry. I've been cooking so I'm probably a little sweaty too. Lasagna and July...sort of don't go together that well."

He raced up the steps and held the door open for you.

"Lasagna? Oh the old man is gonna love you," Eddie chuckled.

You entered the Munson abode and were immediately hit by the strongest sense of home that you'd felt since...well, since you'd still been at home. Not necessarily that it was a place where you belonged, but...it was a place of belonging.

Mugs and hats and other memorabilia lined the walls, reminiscent of the tchotchkes that your mother stacked to high heaven on every available surface. The couch was a little faded but looked comfortable and soft as though you could sink into the cushions and disappear into a soft nether-realm.

Your grandpa had a couch like that. His spot sunk to the shape of his body. It was still your favorite place to sit when he wasn't already there. It was like a hug.

That was when your eyes found the armchair, molded around the shape of the man seated in it. He was older, a little weathered and greying, hairline receding, and even though he isn't smiling right now, the lines around his mouth were indication enough that he smiled quite a bit.

Just like his nephew.

"Uh, Wayne this is my friend from the mall," Eddie introduced you as he juggled your cooler bag and your large Tupperware to the kitchen counter. "The one I told you about. Works at the jewelry store."

"Nice to meet you," you smiled and held a hand out to him to shake. He took your hand in a firm grasp and as you shook his the way your grandfather taught you--to command respect and trust--his eyes narrowed.

"I had to hear about you through Rick, who heard about you through Benny," Wayne started. "And I haven't the slightest idea why my nephew thought he needed to keep you a secret; not the first girlfriend he's brought around--"

Eddie groaned something unintelligible from the kitchen and you fought the urge to break eye contact with Wayne so you could look at him.

"--but I just watched him run around for the past hour tidying up. And he's never done that before. So if you can help him keep the habit, you're alright in my book." Wayne smiled widely and let your hand go.

"Thank you," you chuckled nervously, suddenly realizing how silly it had been that you were even worried in the first place.

Eddie had been right.

You could never admit that to him.

"Even did the dishes," Wayne looked past you at Eddie. "He never does the dishes."

"W-we're having dinner," Eddie whined. "Gotta have clean plates."

The two of them bantered back and forth comfortably and you joined Eddie in the kitchen to get everything plated. There was a salad, buttery mashed potatoes, and of course your still-warm and gooey lasagna.

Eddie explained that it was Wayne's favorite that he rarely got to have homemade--

"Stoffers will do in a pinch," Wayne explained.

--and that you were already more loved than he was simply for making it, to which Wayne agreed. And he even pointed out the well-loved Garfield mug that he had gotten Wayne for Father's Day one year for that fact alone.

Eddie tried to protest when you took the dessert bowl from him to stow it away in the fridge until it was the appropriate time.

"I didn't even get to have cookies with you today," he reasoned. "Or a soda. See? I suffer when you're not working. How am I--a growing boy--supposed to reach my fullest potential without proper sustenance?"

You snorted and brought the plates out to the living area while Eddie trailed behind you.

"He's just grumpy because you're making him eat vegetables," Wayne chuckled as he took his plate. "A feat I have yet to achieve in 8 years. So if you weren't already in my good books, you are now."

Dinner passed relatively uneventfully at first. You and Eddie sat on the couch--which was just as comfy as you thought it would be--as Wayne occupied the armchair. They inhaled their first helping and showered you with compliments. Eddie begrudgingly admitted that your cooking was as good as you had bragged, and even said the dressing on your salad "wasn't Ranch but was still pretty tasty."

As Eddie had told you days ago, Wheel of Fortune started promptly at 7:30 and he and Wayne tried to solve as many puzzles as possible around mouthfuls of food. They teased each other when their guesses were particularly ridiculous, and celebrated when they got one right.

You solved a long puzzle correctly--your only contribution to their little competition--before there were very many tiles revealed on the board and Eddie patted your thigh in praise when you got it right with a soft "that's my girl" that nearly had you drop your plate.

When Wheel ended, Wayne stood up to grab seconds for himself and Eddie and a couple of beers for you all. Before he sat back down he grabbed a tape from a basket beside the television and popped it into the VCR.

"I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly. "I like the background noise and Love Boat doesn't start til 9."

As the static on the screen cleared, you were treated to a good look of a Map to Illustrate the Ponderosa in Nevada.

"Mind? I love Bonanza," you laughed, and Eddie groaned beside you.

"No I already have to endure Wayne and Rick and their western reruns, and now you too?"

Conversation then turned to you. Turned to the usual stuff that you talked about when you met someone new. And you really...didn't like talking about yourself. The middle child and the only girl with two strong-willed brothers and parents that liked to pick and pick and pick at every imperfection; it was ingrained in you.

Thankfully, Eddie seemed to really like to talk to you, at you, about you.

"I work at Claire's. We do like...ear piercing and cute accessories for kids."

"She works there? She's the store manager. And the youngest one in the company. Right? Is that...no...in the district. Anyway..."

And where you faltered, he picked up the reins.

"I mean it's just community college. Everyone graduates. I'm not smart or anything."

"Are you shitting me right now? Sweetheart I can't even graduate high school."

Eagerly.

"And there was this one time, I shit you not Wayne," Eddie's hands mimed as he tried to tell his story. "She literally balanced on one foot on the top rung of a ladder. Had to have been...20 feet high...to get this kitten that was stuck on top of the bailer. How it got there? I couldn't tell you."

"It was not the top rung."

"It was."

"It wasn't 20 feet!"

"Let me tell the story."

"I'm supposed to be telling the story," you laughed at him.

"Ok, you're right, but you weren't telling it good enough," Eddie argued. "You have to emphasize."

"He means fib," Wayne clarified.

"I mean...bend the truth for entertainment purposes only," Eddie explained rapidly.

Eventually dinner was done and it was time for dessert, which Eddie eagerly followed you into the kitchen for.

"How am I doing?" you asked nervously as you rummaged in the fridge.

"You're doing great. How many times do I have to tell you he would like you?" he huffed good-naturedly.

"I don't know, I just needed reassurance."

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffed. "You're doing great. I'm sure he'll be asking me when the next time you'll be over is so he can maybe get some more lasagna. He doesn't just let anyone watch A Rose for Lotta with him. You're special."

"Am I?"

"You're special to me."

You looked up at Eddie a little shocked and he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

You couldn't get your hopes up. You just...couldn't.

"What's taking so long in there?" Wayne asked as he ejected the tape from the VCR so he could flip to ABC. You both looked over and found him watching you with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

"I dunno," Eddie replied petulantly. "Someone's withholding my reward."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed another set of plates from the drying rack by the sink. You opened your container to reveal the fluffy green mounds of pudding and whipped cream and marshmallows studded with bright maraschino cherries.

"Sweetheart, you didn't," Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned over to look into the Tupperware.

"I did," you beamed.

The perfect end to a great night.

Because you might not have known that lasagna was Wayne's favorite.

But you knew that Watergate salad was Eddie's.

---

It was late by the time Eddie walked you out to your car, way past your usual bedtime, and later than you should have been up especially considering that you would be doing the overnight tomorrow.

The dessert had been consumed in its entirety; once you and Wayne had your fill, Eddie ate the remainder out of the bowl looking, quite literally, like a kid in a candy store. And as Captain Stubing and Doc Bricker bickered aboard the Pacific Princess, you began dozing on Eddie's shoulder.

He shook you awake and you said your goodbyes to Wayne.

"You're welcome anytime," he insisted as you headed to the door. "Lasagna or no. Don't let Ed trick you into spoiling us. He's still young but my waistband can't handle it."

And now you were standing with Eddie, the driver's side door between you as you sort of refused to get in and drive away. It was a real Midwest Goodbye.

"I'll see you at work..." you fumbled over your words as you tried to think of the next time you'd actually get to see him. You had the overnight tomorrow, and you'd be off Monday. Eddie would be off Tuesday which meant... "Oh god, well...Wednesday? That seems so far away."

"It doesn't have to be Wednesday," Eddie shrugged. "What if I brought you breakfast on Monday? After your floor set is over?"

"God that's gonna be so early for you," you dismissed his idea.

"So? You just made us the best dinner and there's leftovers for a few days, which you didn't want. Let me get you breakfast."

"I don't want to put you out."

The two of you bickered back and forth for a minute before you put your foot down and told him to sleep in because he had to close on Monday night.

"Thanks though," you said. "This was nice. Family dinner at home. It was really nice. Makes me a little homesick but...I guess Hawkins is my home for now."

"Hey, of course, any time," Eddie replied. He looked pensive for a second and then turned so he didn't have to look at you. Like he was hesitant about what you would say or think. "We don't...I mean I guess what I mean is...I really enjoy hanging out on Sundays and I know this is sort of a one-off thing. But...you know we don't only have to hang out on Sundays. We can do...I mean...have dinner again sometimes or meet you after work even if I'm off...or see a movie again...get something from Family Video or..."

"You wanna hang out with me more?" you cut into his rambling.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Friends hang out all the time but..." You shrugged. "Don't...skip out on...I mean I guess I don't know what it is you do with the guys outside of band practice and DnD. Don't skip out on them just for me."

"No, hey now, wait," Eddie held his hand out to stop you. "Those turds already see me all the time and are gonna see me more once school's back in session. And...I'll probably work less so...I'll take any time with you now that I can get."

"Alright." You beamed.

"Alright." He mirrored you. "More non-Sunday hangouts."

You agreed and he held out his pinky. You immediately hooked yours into it.

“See you Wednesday sweetheart,” Eddie said his farewell. “Don’t dream of me too much.”

---

"Alright guys, it's almost 7am, time to clean up," you announced to your overnight crew with a clap of your hands.

It had been a fun but trying night, but ultimately successful.

Saturday had been perfect but your whole Sunday routine had already been thrown off and you spent a majority of your day sleeping and cleaning and wondering what Eddie was getting up to at work.

As you predicted, everyone was more than a little confused by the planogram booklet but you were a patient teacher. Everyone thought they had an eye for store layout until they were faced with twenty shipment boxes of pencil cases and locker decor. You had to talk a few of them down from near-panics several times throughout the night.

Over the course of the floorset, side ponytails became even more askew than normal, a few pairs of shoes got kicked into a pile by the gate, and everyone turned into tired, sweaty messes.

To keep morale up, you had insisted on everyone bringing a favorite tape that alternated in the shop radio and you had stocked up at Bradley's with an assortment of sugary snacks and drinks for the break room. Thankfully, the treats had prevented anyone from bursting into tears or threatening to quit, as you had witnessed countless times during your time working in retail.

You really channeled Eddie's sweet tooth when making your choices and it had paid off.

But after 12 hours of unpacking, stacking, dusting, shifting, and sliding, you were all ready to go home.

You ushered everyone out of the store and locked the gate behind you, and as the group walked toward the employee exit, excitement had returned. Pride for a seemingly-impossible task completed.

"The store looks so good! Mindy is gonna shit herself when she comes in to open."

"Oh my god, do you think we're gonna have a store visit? Can you let me know what they think of the hair wall?"

"We're gonna make so many sales! Who can say no to that unicorn backpack?"

You entertained their conversation but when you set foot outside and saw a familiar van parked next to your car, you lost all ability to speak.

He had said he was gonna surprise you with breakfast...but you told him not to. Of course he didn't listen; it had you rolling your eyes in annoyed amusement.

God you knew everyone was a gossip, this was gonna get to Mindy and then she was gonna give you an earful. She already let you have it when she heard about your invitation to dinner.

You quickly thanked your team and ushered them to their cars before you meandered towards yours. You ignored the questioning looks that they shot you as you hesitated to get into your car but you waved goodbye as they drove away.

When the last car left the lot, you immediately stormed over to the passenger's side door of the van and threw it open to find a McDonald's bag on the seat, two coffees in the cupholders, and a tired-eyed Eddie in the driver's seat. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time with Kiss's Beth.

"I'm always somewhere else," he turned his upper body towards you dramatically and began serenading you. "And you're always there alone."

"Unbelievable," you scoffed at him.

"Just a few more hours and I'll be right home to you. I think I hear them calling. Oh Beth what can I do?" He slapped his hands against the steering wheel dramatically. "Beth what can I do?"

You climbed into the passengers seat, closed the door behind you, and opened the McDonalds bag to the delightful smell of hot, fresh, crispy hash browns and egg McMuffins.

"If it's not obvious," Eddie announced as he reached across the van to shove his hand into the bag for a hash brown of his own. "I'm Beth in this scenario because you left me alone for hours and hours and hours last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah I got into all sorts of trouble."

“I told you not to bring breakfast.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

"You didn't need to come if you were tired."

"I wanted to and I pretty much do whatever I want anyways," he insisted, and then thankfully focused on his food as you felt your face heat up.

"Well, if you'd like to know, me and the boys were not actually playing all night," you remarked and dug the sandwiches out of the brown bag. You handed one to Eddie, whose mouth was already full of salty, potatoey goodness after he'd shoved the hash brown in one piece. His cheeks were all round and full like a chipmunks and you held back a giggle.

God he was too cute. And he brought you breakfast after a long overnight shift. And he had called you his girl and told you you were special. How were you supposed to stop yourself from having a crush on him if this was...just how he was?

The two of you got to talking about your night, about his Sunday shift, about what you did before work, about what he did after it. And it was nice.

And as you sat there watching him slurp the hot coffee and watch the sparse traffic around the mall dive, you finally found the right words and the strength not to make an absolute fool of yourself.

"This was really nice of you, Eddie. You're wonderful."

He put his hand on his chest and looked a little sheepish.

"I'm wonderful?"

"You're wonderful to me."

---

Next Part: Corrective Action

The tag list is currently suspended.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #store manager verse #stranger things fic #Eddie munson fic #stranger things Eddie munson

258 notes · View notes

foli-vora · 2 years

Note

Congratulations Foli!!! You deserve all those followers and more.

How about #146 “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh..no, I was just..” “Want some help?” with Frankie? Maybe a friends to lovers vibe? 👀

And no pressure! I know prompts can be hit or miss, muse-wise 💕

hello my angel! thank you so much, and thank you for your request! friends to lovers? baby, you are speaking my language! i had so much fun writing this - i hope you enjoy, lovely!

caught out

frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 2k warnings: STRICTLY 18+ ONLY. masturbation (f), eavesdropping/slight voyeurism, spiiice, bumpin' & grindin', the utter softness that this man makes me feel

[gif by moi]

It’s the need for tools that brings him to your house on a Saturday afternoon, standing outside your pale green front door with his shades shielding his eyes from the warm spring sun. You hadn’t responded to his text of ‘are you home?’ and he briefly wonders if you had plans.

He knocks, waiting a beat before knocking again. Not home, then.

He works his keys from his back pocket and fingers through the different ones until he finds yours, slipping it into the lock and letting himself in. You wouldn’t mind – you never did.

You made it clear when giving him a key that he was free to come and go as he pleased, unlike Benny who was now on a strict policy to only let himself into your home with explicit permission after he ended up eating the leftovers you had saved and were excited to eat after work. The younger Miller barely survived that ordeal.

He toes his boots off quietly by the door before making a move for your kitchen, knowing the last time he had his wrench set was when he fixed your shitty sink last week. You really need a new one – how many times did he need to fix that thing before you accepted that fact? So stubborn.

It’s when he’s rifling through your cupboard, his sunglasses discarded on the countertop, that he thinks he hears you calling to him. It was definitely his name, and it was definitely you… so maybe you were home. Looking around your place, you wouldn’t think so. No lights were on, no music or TV or any other sounds of life. Maybe you’d been sleeping?

A brief flash of guilt swims in his chest from disturbing you and he straightens, closing the cupboards softly and poking his head out of the kitchen, expecting you to be walking his way with that tender little smile that makes his heart launch into his throat every fucking time.

It was hard, reigning in the force of his not-so-little crush every damn time he saw you. You just worked so well as friends though, he didn’t want to risk ruining what you had with a relationship. And as far as he knew, you weren’t interested in seeing anyone. No… it was better to keep the bond you had as it was now. He’d only screw it up.

You’re nowhere to be found when he looks, and a frown starts to form between his brows.

You call for him again, and something deep in his gut stirs at the way you sound. Were you hurt?

A part of him seemingly knows it’s not that, but a wave of concern grows anyway and washes away the prickle of heat taking over his skin. He steps towards your room, studying the way the door falls open just a crack and your darkened room beyond.

He goes to speak, to reassure you it was him, but stops at the very faint sound of buzzing, a barely there hum filling the air. He wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so focused on it. Another whimper of his name carries to his ears and it all hits him like lightning.

God, were you –

He sucks in a breath and his hands clench into fists at his sides, his mind now screaming at him to leave. This isn’t right, he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on something so personal, so intimate, like a damn creep.

He should absolutely leave. He should slip out as quickly and quietly as he did upon entering. He needs to leave. Right now. He should leave –

Why can’t he fucking move?

His jeans pull tighter as his cock swells within the confines of them, straining against the rough fabric and throbbing with each mental image his brain throws at him.

Were you completely nude? Were you still dressed, clothes merely shoved haphazardly out of the way in your desperation to get off? How were you positioned? Was it a bullet? A vibrating dildo? How did you look taking it?

“Shit,” he curses lowly, a small curl of disgust at himself building in his gut and snapping him free from the haze of lust and hunger filling his mind.

His hands itch to touch you, to follow your guidance and learn every little thing that makes your breath catch; your toes curl; your hands tighten in his hair until it feels like you’d pull it right out of his scalp…

No.

No, he needs to leave, but then… maybe you wouldn’t mind if he lets his presence known. You are calling for him, after all. It’s his name on your lips while you’re lost in whatever bliss you’re drowning yourself in. His name — no one else's. Does that mean you feel the same as him? Was it purely sexual? Was it –

Lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts, he doesn’t realise how close his leg comes to the vintage console table lining your wall. The corner of the solid timber catches his hip and the thing jolts, an already badly balanced frame falling at the sudden knock and it slaps face down loudly.

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

The soft noise abruptly stops in your bedroom at the sudden disturbance, and he panics, smoothing his sweaty palms down his jeans and fixing the way they sit over his stiff cock. Hopefully they were tight enough to keep it hidden.

“Hey, it’s me.” He calls, fixing the frame and desperately trying to make it look like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on you getting yourself off.

“Frankie?”

His heart thunders at your voice.

It takes a few moments for you to get yourself together, and in those few moments he thinks of anything and everything to quell the wild erection straining against fly. Fuck, why won’t it go away?

Soon your bedroom door is pulled open and then there you are, your crumpled tee caught in the waistband of your sleep shorts, no doubt from being pulled on in a panic. He tears his eyes away from your body and forces a smile, desperately trying to calm the tremble in his hands.

“Sorry, I was just – I did knock… I thought you weren’t home. I’m just here to grab my wrench set.”

“Oh!” You breathe, clearing your throat softly and discreetly fixing the way your clothes cling to you. “Right. Sorry about that, I must’ve not heard you. Yeah I uh – I moved them into the garage. Um, they’re on the shelf… next to your drill.”

He nods, rocking back onto his heels and digging his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, hoping you don’t notice the way he positions his hands to make sure there’s no evidence of any sort of… obvious lumps.

His tongue runs along his lower lip, deliberating on whether or not to broach the topic. He could leave it right here – take his tools and just leave like the original plan had been. He could keep what you have and not make it awkward, not potentially risk losing the friendship you both had crafted…

Or he could take the risk. He could push it, just a little, and see where it goes. You were calling for him, you were thinking of him… that obviously meant you felt something surely.

“Were you…”

Say it.

Say it, you fucking coward.

“Were you just masturbating?”

Mortification fills you with a flush of heat along your skin, flooding your cheeks and turning your face to flames. Your flight instinct rears to life in the back of your mind. God, he heard you. How could you explain this? Had he heard you saying his name? Moaning it? Was he uncomfortable?

Of course he’s uncomfortable! You inwardly cringe, your heart that had previously been erratic from your desperation in search of bliss, now hurried due to the panic growing in your chest. Your stomach lurches at the possibility of losing his friendship. You’d done so well hiding your crush over the time you’d known him, and now it was all falling apart.

“U-uh… no. Of course not! I was just –”

He watches you quietly, those beautifully deep, observant eyes flickering across your face as you desperately try to string together an excuse. He knows you’re lying. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone – a lie hurriedly crafted in the midst of your humiliation and panic would be all too easy for him to see through.

“Tell me,” he insists, his tone low and soft.

Something about the way he gazes at you, his eyes burning with something you just can’t place – hope? desire? – it gently coaxes the heat that had previously been dowsed back into a flame, settling low and churning in your core. It gives you a small shove of courage, and you squirm a little where you stand.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “I was.”

He exhales sharply, his throat bobbing with a swallow as he nods, almost expectantly. “And who were you thinking of?”

“You, Francisco. I was thinking of you.”

Silence falls over the both of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. No, the air feels charged. You feel it run along the skin of the back of your neck and down along your spine, the darkening of his gaze building a strong tightening of anticipation in your chest. This can’t be happening… can it?

Finally – he moves, standing straighter and letting his gaze roll along your frame hungrily. “Want some help?”

What? Fuck.

You can’t get the word out quick enough.

“Yes –”

He moves instantly, striding forward and curling a large hand against your skin to cup your cheek before tilting your head and claiming your mouth. Fucking finally.

His moustache tickles in the best of way, as you always suspected. His lips are soft and supple against yours, quickly giving way to an urgency you endeavour to keep up with. You’re weak against him, the strong arm that curls around your back pulling at you until you’re flush against his body.

You surrender to the ferocity of his kiss, parting your lips at the gentle probe of his tongue and meeting it with your own. He groans softly into your mouth, your hands winding around his neck and twisting your fingers into his hair.

The breath leaves your lungs when his hand drops to palm your ass, his fingers digging harshly into the fleshy swell of it and it’s your turn to moan when you feel the noticeable solid bulge in his jeans, pressing and rubbing against your mound.

Still sensitive from your previous attention to it, your clit throbs with each eager grind against his hard cock, the desperate roll of your hips encouraged by the hand planted on your ass. The thin material of your sleep shorts allows you to feel the roughness of his jeans as if there were nothing there at all, and you’re suddenly incredibly thankful for skipping underwear in your hurry to get dressed.

“Is this a bad idea?” You breathe, breaking away from the greedy pursuit of his mouth and blinking at him with a shine of worry growing in your eyes.

Though everything feels so right in the moment, you feel the stirrings of anxiety creep along the edges of your mind.

You adore Frankie – you don’t think you’d cope very well with losing him. The mere idea of it births an ache deep in your chest and you wonder if your friendship would even be salvageable after rubbing up on each other like this. How could you ever act normal around him after feeling and tasting him the way you have?

He takes a moment to try and level his breathing, swiping his tongue along his lower lip and catching the remnants of your saliva. He fights the urge to dive back in for another taste of your mouth as his heart runs wild in his chest, trying to hold back the vicious denial building in his throat.

“I don’t know,” he returns quietly, searching your face for any clues as to your answer. “Is it?”

He waits, hanging suspended in the moment. Can you see the hope in his gaze? The devotion? Can you feel the way he’s wanted this for so long?

“No,” you decide after a moment of studying him, your fingers toying with the short waves at the nape of his neck, rolling and twisting the silky soft strands. “I don’t think this is a bad idea.”

“No?”

You smile that smile and he feels his chest tighten at the adoring warmth of it. “It’s always been you, Frankie.”

He exhales lightly, the corners of his lips twitching below his moustache with the threat of a smile. His thumb brushes the skin of your cheek and you soak in the affectionate action, your heart wild against your ribs.

“It’s always been you.”

everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @william-butcher, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @h-hxgirl, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx

frankie morales tags: @a-reader-and-a-writer, @sanfransolomitatm, @pedrohoe04, @evyiione, @stardust-galaxies, @xjsteph, @androah, @wildmoonflower, @naughtynecromancer, @quica-quica-quica, @stevenmylove, @lawfulgranola, @notagamersdey, @fuckoffbard, @yt-adriana, @dins-cyare, @clydesducktape, @serini-ty, @chaoticevilbakugo, @breakfastonpluto19

#foli's 3k #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal x reader

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gosmigenergy · 7 months

Text

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fifteen

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader )

BOOT WORSHIP / SPANKING / LACTATION/BREASTFEEDING

Summary: After wanting to spank you for months, Frankie finally shares his desire.

Day Fifteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, spanking, hair pulling, Dom!Frankie turns Soft!Frankie, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2k

If he’s ever given the opportunity, Frankie’s hand will meet your ass and you give him too many opportunities to count. He thought you would have realised by now that he was an ass man but apparently not.

He pats you on the butt while you wait for your coffee, holding onto the counter top, bleary eyed. When the boys are over and you climb over their splayed legs to take a seat, he has a playful swat. He grabs handfuls upon handfuls of you when things heat up between the pair of you.

And it’s not that you haven’t notice, you just haven’t said anything, the notion has always felt somewhat loving.

There was one time however where he wasn’t so gentle.

You were on your hands and knees, searching for something under your bed. He clocked you, ass up in those ridiculously short pyjama bottoms and the temptation was too strong. You weren’t even aware he was in the room until the heavy handed smack. The force sent you forward, the shock causing you to hit your head on the slats.

“Francisco!”

That’s when he learned you only called him by his full name when you were pissed. He’d already bolted from the room when you managed to worm your way from under the bed. You rubbed your butt.

Sure it hurt but fuck, did it turn you on.

There was always an anticipation in you when his hand came to your ass, yet a slap like that never happened again.

“You missed a good fight,” he let you go in the house first.

“You all keep telling me that but I can’t watch him get beat up like that.”

The scrapping, the kicks and the punches were fine at first but the more time you spent with Benny, the more it hurt to watch him in the cage. Instead you waited outside or in the locker room for everything to be over.

Frankie plucks off his cap, throwing it aside with his jacket.

“He’s a big boy,” he cups your cheeks, “he can handle it.”

“I know. I just don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

He let you wrap your arms around him where you press your ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He kisses the crown of your head.

You yawn.

“Tired, querida?”

“No, just in need of a pick me up,” you stretch, walking away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Want a late night snack?”

“I’m ok, thanks babe.”

You’d started to get into the habit of calling them all babe, he still wasn’t used to it.

After your shower, you gravitate towards his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts to choose which one to wear. You always went for the softest, the one that had clung onto his sandalwood scent even though he’d washed it hundreds of times before.

He’d just thrown the last piece of a grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth and was sucking the grease from his thick fingers when you join him. He looks you up and down, taking his finger out with a pop as he puts the empty plate on the table.

“So you’re the one who keeps stealing my favourite shirt.”

It was obviously you.

You pout, “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”

He watched as you smoothed the fabric over your figure, purposefully showing glimpses of the bare skin hidden underneath. You turn around just so you can lift the hemline enough for him to see the curve of your ass, no knickers in sight.

He leans back, arms blocking his chest.

“Of course it does.”

His eyes focus back on the television.

Playing with the cuffs in your fingers, you tentatively join him on the couch, knees to your chest.

“Are you mad with me?”

He looks at your doe eyes.

“A little…”

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All I want to do is throw you over my leg and spank you but you don’t want that.”

Your heart skips a beat, the thought of it pooling in your belly and spreading between your thighs.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” he took his hand away from his face. “When I smacked you on the ass a couple of months back, you weren’t pleased.”

You take his other hand, “Frankie, that was just bad timing.”

“It was? You seemed angry.”

“It was the shock and the head bump. If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to do it again.”

His mouth was hanging open, brows knotted, “Really?”

You hum, nodding, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Huh.”

He stops talking, his mind working to formulate his next move.

The expectancy was tortuous, the passing seconds making you squirm then suddenly, everything went fast.

Frankie grabbed you firmly around the waist and hauled your body off the cushions. Intuitively, you went limp and allowed him to position you on his legs, your stomach pressing into bone. The shirt had already ridden up, the chill wafting onto your warm pussy and once you’ve caught your breath, you lift your head to look at him.

He stares at you hungrily.

His broad palm rubs gently, getting you used to the feel of his hand on your ass though you were pretty used to it being there. He waited for you to settle before he slaps you a few times but you barely flinch.

“You can go harder.”

He starts rubbing again.

“This is just the prep,” he gives some more slaps before groping, sinking his nails into the meat of your ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You scoff, “I thought that was the point?”

“Put it this way, I want you to be able to sit tomorrow.”

That you could agree with.

There’s a couple of final swats before he soothes you one last time. You swallow as you hear him take a deep breath, his hand no longer on the flaring skin of your ass. Closing your eyes, the impact comes fast and you yelp in response.

“You alright?”

His hand relaxed.

You nod enthusiastically, rearranging your position a little to get your ass up higher. He smirked at your eagerness, his other hand running up your spine and he watches the shiver take your whole body.

Then he gives another, then another over and over.

You happily take every welt, the heaviness rippling through your ass and your juices begin to flow. Each slap is met with a honeyed moan, your toes beginning to curl as your desire rushes through you.

Frankie is relishing in it.

How dutiful you are, taking it as hard as he’s giving.

As he continues, your nails claw into his jeans as you try to steady against the brunt, your head lulling as your head fills with nothing but him. The air as it’s puffed from his nostrils, his eyes observing every minuscule response and making the hair at the back of you neck stand on end, his cock growing and hardening into the side of your chest.

His next smack hits different.

It stings, the prickle spreading across your ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say through gritted teeth.

He does it again and you gasp, your chest shuddering as you breath.

“You good?”

You nod but he doesn’t see it.

Instead, his free hand trails towards your neck, fingers locking into a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head back and you feel the strain in your neck, you mewl.

“Querida?”

“Yeah,” you say breathily. “I’m good.”

You look to him out of the corner of your eye, heavy lids. He has to smile at how you appear, cheeks flushed, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth, drunk off his dominance.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You hum.

He slaps your ass and watches your facial features go slack.

Carrying on his thrashing, he can see how your legs splay, how your pussy glistens, twitching as the ache travels. He knows you’re enjoying this yet your ass is beginning to disagree. It’s scorching under his touch, handprints blending into the same raised mark that spreads the width of your ass cheeks.

Your scalp was tingling as his fingers still pulled, the sensation flooding your back. It dispersed, vibrating through your limbs until you were vibrating.

The next spank hurt, your senses overwhelmed and then the next.

“Stop.”

He raises his hand but doesn’t swing.

“Stop,” you tap his leg, “stop, please.”

His hand loosens on your head and you turn to jelly, legs buckling as you fall onto your knees, forehead pressed to the outside of his leg. He lets you catch your breath, stroking your hair delicately.

You took your time, your presence coming back to the room, to him.

When you look up at him, he’s already gazing down out you, straight lipped but soft behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles, “You might not be thanking me later.”

You smile, knowing that that wasn’t going to happen.

Helping you up off the floor, he lays you out across the couch and tucks himself in behind you. He props up on an elbow, his other hand, running up and down your side in a soothing manner. You could go to sleep, if it wasn’t for a raging boner.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Ignore it,” he grumbles.

“It’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“That sounds like a bad pun.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

You work a hand behind your back, cupping his bulge through his jeans.

He groans, eyelids fluttering shut as he felt your fingers pull at the zipper. You coil a hand through the opening and knead his length, a spot already present on his underwear.

“Fuck me, Frankie.”

It’s what he needed to hear.

Opening his eyes, his hand fights to undo his belt and unfasten his button. He frees his cock from his briefs before hooking your leg over his, spreading you wide. Shuffling, he lines himself up, taking his cock in his fingers and pushing through your folds. He slowly rolls his hips and fills you to the hilt.

You sigh.

He slides back with ease, your juices helping him glide through your walls. He takes his time, thrusting you at a languished pace. Two of his fingers dance across your navel before pressing on your clit, your head falling back and he delivers kisses underneath your jaw.

Your hands come to the back of his head and you kiss him squarely in the lips, nudging your chin for entry. His tongue slips into yours before you get chance, stealing the moan that escaped you. Your tongues twist and curl together, chasing the taste of each other.

He circles your clit in rhythm to his thrusts, the bundle of nerves pulsating to your inner walls that clench around his length.

You chase his lips when he takes them away but your easily distracted when he snaps his hips a fraction harder. You cry and he only smiles, eyes dark with heavy lids. He drops his hand from his head and works it under your neck, hand slipping underneath his shirt to your breast. Your head falls back as he squeezes your breast and clit in unison.

You cry, eye screwing shut and you feel his breath hot by your ear.

He shushes you, holds you while your body convulses in orgasm, his t-shirt bundling in your hand.

Your cunt contracts around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says gruffly, working against your walls.

With your tightness, he was far from finding release himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he felt his balls recede as he pumped into you, filling you with every last drop of his seed.

Sinking into the couch, his body loosens.

You scramble to unbutton the shirt and throw it open to feel the cooler air hit your skin, your stomach rising and falling as you catch your breath. The pair of you lay there, lost for words, unable to move in the afterglow.

After a while, he nudges his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Love you, querida.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie kissed your shoulder, his hand skimming your body before coming to rest on your ass.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #kinktober

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flightlessangelwings · 3 months

Text

My Boys

Frankie Morales x fem!reader x Benny Miller (Messy Pile of Affection universe)

Word count- 1.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), mmf threesome, established relationship, pegging, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving, hint at f receiving), soft dom reader, sub!Frankie, praise, pet names (babe, baby), fluff, feelings, no use of y/n

Notes- A bonus for Peg That Middle Ages Man Campaign!!! Thanks again to @wannab-urs for putting this event on!! And while this is et in MPoA-verse, this can be read on it's own since it's just smut lol! But I love writing this thruple so much so I'm happy with how this turned out! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on new posts!!

“Shit…” you breathed as you soaked in the sight before you, “You guys look so fucking hot right now.”

Benny looked up from where he concentrated on Frankie in front of him and smirked at you, “So do you, babe,” he winked.

You bit your lip as you grinned back at one of your boyfriends. The way his gaze bore into you made your skin tingle. Absentmindedly, you ran your hand down the front of your body, testing Benny with a squeeze of your breast before you grabbed the dildo that sat snugly in the harness you wore- the only thing on your body. Benny let out a soft moan at the show you put on as his cock twitched just against Frankie’s face.

Between you and Benny, Frankie was positioned on his hands and knees, just as bare as both of you. His skin glistened from sweat from the fingering you just gave him, and generous amounts of lube dripped from between his asscheeks. Benny had watched as you prepped Frankie for your dildo, his hand stroking his cock the entire time as he enjoyed the show the two of you put on.

“You alright, Frankie?” you murmured as you caressed his back, running your hand up and down his spine.

“Great, babe,” Frankie smirked as he looked over his shoulder, “Fuck you do look hot with that strap!”

Heat rose in your skin as your tone dropped, “I like you on your hands and knees too, baby.”

“Fuck, me too!” Benny interjected enthuastically.

Frankie turned back and looked up at Benny with his mouth open. His mouth watered at the sight of his cock, so beautiful and yet just out of reach of his lips. “Ben…” he breathed.

In a rare display of soft tenderness, Benny cupped Frankie’s face, running his thumb across the soft stubble as they locked eyes. From behind, you still ran your hands up and down Frankie’s sides in a soothing manner. Heavy breaths filled the room as the three of you stayed hypnotized by each other. Hands roamed all over, touching and caressing wherever you all could reach.

It was you who finally broke the silence, “You ready, Frankie babe?” you asked in a hushed tone, yet one that still held all the need you felt as the tip of your dildo tickled the skin of his ass.

He let out a low groan, “Yes,” he replied to you as he adjusted himself slightly, “Fuck me, baby.”

Benny let out a low groan of his own as you coated the dildo once more in lube and positioned yourself. “She’s gonna fuck you so good, Fish,” he moaned, knowing first hand just how proficient you were with your strap.

You glanced up for a moment and gave Benny a knowing smirk before you turned all your attention on the toy that you had poking at Frankie’s entrance. Before he could come up with a clever comeback to Benny’s comment, you pushed the tip in, causing any thought he might have had to vanish from his mind.

As Frankie moaned loudly, all he could think about was how good the stretch of your cock felt as you slowly pushed into him. You kneaded and spread his ass as you watched the toy disappear into him inch by inch until your hips met his ass. Benny too watched in awe, frozen in captivation.

“You doing ok, Frankie?” you asked in a whisper as you gave him a moment to adjust.

“Y-yeah,” he whimpered as his arms trembled to keep him up. He then looked up to meet Benny’s piercing gaze, “Your turn, Ben.”

“Fuck…” he breathed as Frankie’s mouth dropped open for him in an invitation.

Without a word, you gave your hips a thrust, catching Frankie and Benny both by surprise. And the sound that Frankie let out went right to your core and made you clench around nothing. “Fuck,” you echoed Benny’s curse under your breath as you thrust again, pushing Frankie forward this time.

As he lurched forward, Frankie aimed himself right at Benny’s hard cock, and the moment he was close enough, he wrapped his lips around it. Benny gasped as the warmth of Frankie’s mouth engulfed him, and he grabbed his shoulders to make sure he didn’t let go.

Together, you and Benny found a rhythm on either side of Frankie. The slow thrust of your hips made a squelching echo in the room as Frankie’s moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth. Benny, however, moaned loudly as he felt Frankie’s tongue along his length. And you couldn’t help but moan as you watched your boys in front of you.

Picking up your pace, you felt the room warm as the need grew exponentially. Overwhelmed with emotions, you reeled your hand back and slapped Frankie’s ass hard as you thrust even deeper into him. The moan he let out, while muffled, still filled the room as Frankie jolted forward in surprise. Benny’s eyes widened as he watched you rock your hips harder and faster into your shared boyfriend.

“Shit baby,” Benny groaned, “Do that again.”

“You like that, huh?” you purred as you did exactly that. Slapping Frankie’s ass again, both men groaned and you felt dizzy from how hot it was. “Yeah… I think both my boys like that,” you added as you slapped Frankie once more, squeezing it hard this time.

“Fuck…” Benny growled as his own hips stuttered into Frankie’s mouth, driving his cock down his throat.

Frankie had never been so helpless in his life. And he had never been more turned on. Though his own groans and moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth, he knew you both could tell he was enjoying this. The muscles in his ass clenched as he squeezed your dildo as you thrust into him over and over again, mirroring the way both he and Benny would fuck you.

Benny could feel Frankie’s moans around his length, and it sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. “Shit…” he groaned as his mind went blank too. Normally Benny had a lot to say during sex, but tonight he was speechless. Watching you fuck Frankie while his own cock was deep down his throat was almost too much in the best way possible.

“My boys are so fucking good for me,” you cooed as you grabbed Frankie’s hips to angle yourself differently. As you gave one harsh thrust, Frankie’s mouth dropped open, allowing a cry to spill out unmuffled. “That’s it,” you purred as you started rocking your hips back and forth again, “That’s my Frankie baby.”

“Fuck, baby,” Benny’s eyes started to roll back into his head as he felt his climax start to build, “I’m the luckiest fuckin’ guy to get you two… Ahh… Fuck….” The way Frankie groaned into his cock sent wave and wave of pleasure up Benny’s spine. And Benny couldn’t help but thrust his hips into his mouth in time with your thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna cum…”

That was the only warning Frankie got before Benny’s cock exploded in his mouth. He gagged for a moment until he closed his lips around his cock and sucked hard, letting his boyfriend ride out his orgasm in his mouth. He was rocked back and forth by your pounding on the other end, but Frankie concentrated hard on swallowing every last drop, not wanting anything to go to waste.

“That’s it, Frankie baby,” Benny cooed as he gave one last thrust.

You stilled yourself for a moment, burying your dildo deep inside Frankie as Benny slowly pulled out of his mouth. You allowed him to take one deep breath as he tasted fresh air for the first time, but then you started up again. “Let us see you cum now, Frankie,” you murmured as you reached around and wrapped your hand around his cock.

Frankie’s moan filled the room as he was able to voice his pleasure for the first time that night. He leaned forward, resting his hard on Benny’s chest as he listened to the sweet nothing’s he whispered in his ear as you pounded into him.

Pumping his cock at the same time, you let out a moan of your own as you listened to the chorus of your boys together. Even after having cum, Benny wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it lazily, sending chills up his spine and overstimulating himself. And you couldn't help but notice.

“Fuck…” you breathed as you clenched your jaw and sped up your pace.

“Fuck!” Frankie cried out as the sensations almost got too much for him, but in the best way, “Baby…”

“Cum, Frankie.”

That was all it took to send him over the edge. Gripping into Benny for dear life, Frankie came hard with a loud groan. He saw stars as you thrust into his sweet spot over and over again while you worked his cock with your hand. And feeling Benny as an anchor only added to the emotions. Frankie made a mess between their bodies as his seed splashed them both.

With a final grunt, you thrust fully into Frankie once last time, pumping his cock to squeeze every last ounce of orgasm from him before you knew he had enough. Heavy breaths filled the room as you leaned forward, resting against Benny as well.

“I’ve got you, babes,” Benny murmured as he wrapped his arms around you both, awkwardly holding his boyfriend and his girlfriend in his arms, “Fuck that was so hot,” he added in a whisper.

“Fuck yeah it was,” Frankie replied with an exhausted laugh.

You just hummed with a smile on your face as you enjoyed the feeling of Frankie under you. It was almost as if you could feel the cock inside of him, much like the way they each liked to stay inside of you for several moments before pulling out.

Benny was the first to open his eyes, taking in the sight of the two loves of his life in his arms, “I love you guys,” he blurted out.

“I love you too,” you blinked your eyes open.

“I love you guys too,” Frankie groaned as he pushed himself up, causing your strap to pull out of him in the process of adjusting to see you both.

He turned to you first, cupping your face and placing a deep, passionate kiss on your lips. He swallowed the moan you let out, and savored the taste of you on his tongue. Then, Frankie broke away with a gasp for breath before he turned to Benny and kissed him the same way. Hand roamed all over each other as you leaned in and joined in on the kiss. The three of you became a puddle of lips and tongues as you all tried to kiss each other at the same time, emotions overpowering the fact that it was awkward and messy. But that was perfect for how the three of you always were.

This time, it was Frankie who broke the silence as he turned to you, “Now how about Ben and I eat your sweet pussy until you can’t fuckin’ think anymore, baby.”

You whimpered in response as your skin tingled and warmed. In the heat of the moment, you almost forgot that your own needs weren’t taken care of.

“Shit I love when you talk like that, Frankie,” Benny groaned, “But I am starved so…”

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roxygen22 · 2 months

Text

Paper

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

Summary: Reader and Willy discover that Ben/Bean is an aspiring artist. Age: 3 & 17

<><><><><>

You were outside hanging clothes on the line to dry when you heard the back door slam and little feet running toward you. Before your brain could register what was happening, you were nearly bowled over by the force of Ben running into your leg.

You looked down to find that Ben had buried his face and balled up his fists in your skirt. "Pa ell a mm," you heard his garbled speech muffled by the fabric. You knelt down and pried his fingers loose so you could look at his red, tear-streaked face.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I couldn't understand you when your mouth was covered. Take a deep breath." You inhaled deeply through your nose and out through your mouth a couple of times, motioning for him to copy you. "Good. Now, try again. What's all this about?"

"P-papa lelled at m-meeee." The boy started sobbing again.

"Oh dear. What happened?"

"I..." he sucked in a breath. "I wanted to dwaw him a picture. I saw paper on Papa's desk..."

"Ah, I see. Did that paper already have words on it?"

"Only on fwont. I dwew on back."

"Oh, Benny. We talked about asking before you touch anything in the study. Papa has very important papers in there for the shop and factory."

"I'm sowwy." He looked up at you with big puppy-dog eyes. You cupped his round cheeks in your hands.

"I know you are. But I'm not the one you need to apologize, too. Why don't you go inside to your room and play while I go check on Papa. After that, you can tell him you're sorry." Ben nodded, then shuffled through the back door to his room with his head hung low.

It was out of character for Willy to snap at anyone. The man typically had the patience of a saint, so you knew Ben must have drawn on something important. You quietly stepped into the study and spied Willy slumped in the armchair, one hand supporting his forehead and one foot kicked out. It looked as if he had collapsed dramatically into it.

"I made him cry," Willy said morosely without looking up. "I didn't- I didn't mean to. I shouted his name. I was just trying to get his attention and stop him before he did more damage. I...I startled him, and he ran off to you."

"Full name or nickname?" you asked as you sat on the sofa next to him.

"Full name," he groaned.

You grimaced. Ouch, you thought. Willy hardly ever referred to the boy as anything but Bean and almost never as Benjamin unless introducing him to others. It's on par with your mother using your middle name when you were in trouble. You shuddered slightly. That probably wounded Ben worse than the volume. "What did he draw on?"

Willy held up the face page of a contract with the hand not supporting his head. He had yet to look up at you.

"Oh dear."

"I'll ask Beth to type up a new one tomorrow before the meeting. It wasn't worth raising my voice at him. I...I just had a long day and...of course, that doesn't excuse anything. Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright," you said soothingly as you placed your hand on Willy's arm. "He's calming down in his room. Like you said, he was startled. You are usually the fun one, not the disciplinarian."

"I should go to him," Willy said as he stood from the chair. You returned to your previous task of hanging out the laundry so they could have some time alone to make amends.

Willy walked to Ben's room and gently knocked before pushing the door open. Ben looked up at him from his desk with big sad eyes.

"Hey there," Willy said softly.

"I dwew you another picture. I'm sowwy, Papa," Ben said pitifully as he handed Willy a piece of paper.

"Oh, Bean. Is this the factory?" Ben nodded excitedly. "Wow, such great detail! Is this what you wanted to draw earlier?" Ben nodded again, with less exuberance this time. Willy's heart broke as he saw his son's face fall.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry for raising my voice and scaring you. That was a very important paper you were drawing on, and I needed you to stop."

"I know, Mamma told me I need to ask first," he responded dejectedly. "I just had a picture in my head that I wanted to dwaw when I was by your desk."

"Ah, that I understand. Sometimes my ideas don't come to me at convenient times, either. Tell you what. How about I set up a drawer with paper that's safe to draw or write on whenever an idea strikes. You never have to ask for permission as long as it's from that drawer. Deal?"

Ben's face lit up again, and he stuck his tiny right hand to shake. "Deal!"

Willy shook his son's hand with his right and looked down again at the picture in his left. It was incredibly well done for Ben's age.

"Can I take this to the factory with me? I want to frame and hang it. If you draw more, I'll have a whole gallery wall of Benjamin Wonka works."

Ben giggled, "Okay, Papa!"

<><><><><>

Over time, Ben's art skills matured to charcoals, watercolors, canvases, and paints. Willy spotted the talent early and took great pleasure in encouraging it, supplying it. Fourteen years later, he had indeed collected enough of Ben's work to fill multiple walls.

"People need to see this."

Willy decided to surprise Ben by converting one of his shops into a limited time art gallery for his 17th birthday. He somehow managed to promote what ended up being the town's social event of the season while also keeping it a secret from his boy.

It was finally the night of the big reveal. "Papa, why are we going to the shop so late? I thought we were going to meet Mamma and Charlie for dinner?" Ben walked shoulder to shoulder with Willy. They were nearly the same height now.

Willy was vibrating with excitement. "I just need to pick up something I left there," he bent the truth slightly. "Your birthday present."

When they arrived, Willy unlocked the doors to reveal a magenta velvet curtain blocking the entry. He took the gold pull cord in his hand and handed it to Ben.

Ben looked at the tassel in his hand, bewildered. "What is this?"

"Your gift! Pull it and find out." As Ben pulled the cord, the curtain drew back to reveal...

"Surprise!!"

Ben stood there with his mouth ajar as he looked around at you, Charlotte, Noodle, his friends and girlfriend. Everyone rushed him for a celebratory hug. He gave you a kiss on the cheek. Then, the background details caught his eye. The crowd separated as Ben made his way to look at the walls that were now decorated with his paintings rather than shelves of candies and chocolates.

He browsed in awe until he stopped at the penciled sketch of the Wonka factory, gently tracing the golden frame with his fingers. He felt Willy step up beside him and gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Bean."

Ben looked over his shoulder to reveal misty eyes. "Thanks for always being my biggest fan, Papa," he said reverently.

"I'm glad I could be right here beside you when your talent is shared with the world."

<><><><><>

A/N: I think it's safe to say that Willy would be his kids' biggest cheerleaders.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

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harrywavycurly · 1 year

Note

Eddie being 100% supportive but also a little grossed out by pregnancy cravings 😂

Hiiii babes!! I hope you enjoy this! I needed some fluff in my life today and dad to be Eddie just always hits the spot😂💖

-want more Eddie and Pregnant!Reader? Look here✨

*Eddie loves you but you have the weirdest cravings he’s ever heard of*

“Baby I don’t…I don’t think that’s gonna taste very good.” “Why?” “Uh it’s…ranch and strawberries…” “yeah and they are both good so imagine how good they’ll taste together.” “Whatever you say sweetheart…”

“That’s a pickle with a fruit roll up around it and…hot Cheetos?” “It is…I call it my craving roll up.” “Nice name baby…how does it taste?” “Honestly it’s so good I think I might’ve even moaned a bit after the first bite…” “of course you did Princess.” “Want to try it?” “Uh..no that’s okay baby you enjoy your little..craving creation.”

“You want a grilled cheese and some fries… anything else?” “Oh and maybe a chocolate shake.” “Okay baby..I’ll run to Benny’s and I’ll be right back.” “Oh oh and maybe a side of pickles and sour cream.” “Uhh sour cream?” “Yeah for the fries and pickles.” “Oh uh okay…anything else baby?” “No I think that’s it.” “Okay…call me if you think of anything else sweetheart.” “Oh maybe some onion rings?” “You got it baby…I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t look at me like that Eddie I can’t help my cravings.” “Sorry baby I’m just…this is the oddest one of them all…so far.” “It’s not that weird.” “Baby you’re eating ketchup and Oreos…” “so? It’s like sweet and…tangy.” “Right…” “can you hand me the mustard?” “I have to draw the line sweetheart there’s no way I can let you eat mustard and Oreos.” “Do you want me to cry?…because that’s how badly I need to try an Oreo with mustard on it Eddie…I’ll literally cry.” “Okay okay baby here…don’t cry please.”

#pregnant convos #eddie munson x pregnant!reader #eddie munson x you fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #boyfriend eddie munson #Eddie Munson #my little dungeon master baby

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reveluving · 10 months

Text

i got you, you got me ; benny miller x reader

summary: you love Benny; he loves you, and he’ll make sure you remember, even if it means taking you in the changing room.

warnings: s~mut obv (minors DNI!), a teeny bit of angst & a whole lot of fluff!

a/n: omg what another ‘formal’ fic in the same month whaaat? and a filthy one WITH plot (somewhat), no less??? crazy!! but no, thank you so much, dear anon! (also a cont. to this piece!) so I really hope you guys enjoy it, I know I did! love y’all!! and don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» fancy reading another triple frontier fic? check out the m.list!

» smut includes; possessive dom hubby!benny, ‘angel’ as a pet name, size kink, dirty talk i.e. + about exhibitionism & voyeurism (it doesn’t happen tho!), nipple play, fingering, unprotected sex (p in v)

'I love you more than you can imagine.' ;

His eyes never left yours when he locked the door, loosening the gauze wrapped around his left knuckle with his teeth and letting it drop to the floor. He then beckoned you with the same hand.

“Come here,” You placed your hand on his. He raised them to his lips, kissing the back of them before yanking you to his chest. Nuzzling his face in your hair, he murmured, “Can I take you here, angel?”

His other hand slid up your back, the shivers that ran up your spine followed his touch before he gently pulled your head back.

“Can I fuck my pretty lil’ wife while those boys out there can only listen to just how good I make you feel?”

His voice was dripping with lust, but his hands stayed put. He wouldn't dare to continue against your will. Both of you were open to experimenting, and though your husband sometimes thinks with his dick and sees them as a challenge, the second you tell him that you're uncomfortable, he'll stop himself faster than a sucker punch.

He had a knack for disrespecting others, but he'll never let one of them be you.

"Please," You whimpered, granting him the verbal permission he was looking for, as he always does. Hearing your desperation for him, he muttered a 'fuck' and turned you around, pressing his lips to your neck. He took the time to cover the space between your jaw and shoulder with kisses and licks while unwrapping the other gauze. He threw the fabric to the side and squeezed your breasts through the layers of clothes. Your head fell backwards, encouraging him to leave more hickeys to his satisfaction. He pulled away for a moment, removing your shirt hastily and pulling the cups of your bra over your breasts.

Your breathing grew heavier as he fondled your mounds, yelping as he latched his lips back onto your neck, leaving hickeys after every suck. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, watching himself ravenously tug on your nipples with both hands.

“These beautiful tits,” He rasped, only to end his own sentence with a groan as the image of him sucking on sensitive bud flashed before his very eyes. His mouth watered at the thought of it, though his hands would have to do for now as his patience ran thin. One of his hands moved downwards, teasing your ribs and tummy before slipping them under your pants, brushing the pads of his callused fingers over your sopping lips, “Ooh, there it is.”

You couldn’t do anything but held onto his hands. They were prominently smaller than his own—rougher and possibly deadly as they caressed and roused you in ways you couldn’t even describe. He had no problem taking your pants off, especially after catching a glimpse of your lace panties; his favourite pair.

“So wet,” He purred, daring you to break eye contact before mirroring the way your lips fell open as he teased his middle finger through your folds, though barely sinking inside you, “Come here.”

Pulling you to the right end of a bench, he sat you down with him behind you. He forced your legs open, running his large hand up and down your thigh.

Anywhere but the one place you needed him most.

Despite your whines, he didn't relent, not even when the bench began to glisten from your arousal. He tutted at the sight, though he was anything but displeased.

"What would the boys say if they saw us this way, hm?" The grip on your inner thigh tightened by a fraction, "Seeing ‘lil’ ol’ Benny’ all big and strong, now playing with the Siren’s pretty pussy?"

You knew he wasn’t talking about his brother or his friends.

Being less buff nor serious in his days in the armed forces, he was prone to the jibes of his old squad. Calling him Benny in a patronizing manner rather than the call sign (which even he doesn’t remember anymore) he was assigned with as a sad way to dampen his spirit.

The other reason he was given shit all those years ago was for his rumoured adoration for none other than you—Siren.

Many failed to see his potential, but unlike them, you weren’t of them.

And from then on, he knew you were the one.

You could care less about their thoughts, and so could he, not when he had you in his arms, exquisitely vulnerable for him and him only.

“Should I just tear these off,” He wondered aloud, pulling the waistband before letting it snap back against your skin with a ‘snap!’. Hearing you yelp, he cooed, “Or should I just move them to the side like this and…”

He pushed the fabric to the side, splitting the juices connected to the lace and pushing his middle finger inside you, exhaling slowly at the squelching. You needed more, though, and ever the attentive husband, he voiced it out for you.

“You can take more, can you?” You could only let him know with a meek ‘uh huh’, bringing your hand up to the back of his neck and occasionally running your nails over his scalp. He did as you wanted, putting his index finger in before easing in a third. He fingered you the way he’d fuck you with his cock, entranced by the sight of your walls clenching around him desperately. Soon, the sheer need for him clouded your worries, your voice now at a higher pitch.

"I love you, angel," He murmured against you, taking a moment to appreciate the moment—to appreciate you, before losing himself in the pleasure as he stood up a bit to take his boxers off, stroking himself languidly, "I love you more than you can imagine."

"I do, too. I love you," You panted, placing your hand on his cheek for a kiss. Heated and needy, he pulled away first in favour of a taste of your juices on his fingers before he lay back onto the bench, holding you carefully and caging you to his chest.

He spread your legs open, teasingly running his cock over your pussy lips before easing himself in, exhaling with a rumble in his throat. He was only halfway in and already throbbing, barely able to control himself as he waited for your signal. It didn’t take long, though, as you began pushing yourself into him, and just like that, he plunged himself into you.

He gripped your thighs, pulling himself out till the very tip of him was left before slamming back in. He repeated, hearing your cry out every time before it turned into continuous wails as he picked up the pace.

"All those wins," He kissed your neck, "All those knockouts," He kissed your jaw before whispering in your ear, "I do it all for you."

He planted his feet on the floor, thrusting up into you mercilessly. You briefly thanked Benny’s training for his endurance as you felt the burn in your thighs, plus the way he dug his fingers into your skin. Benny's eyes were closed shut, imaging your slick that was beginning to trickle down his thighs.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, your voice alternating between squeaks and screams, plus the obscene sounds of your hips slapping as it echoed in the changing room.

“Bet they’re wishing for you to say their names right now. All they want is to have you but they’ll never get to,” His hips stilled for a moment, wanting to hear you say it, “You know why, don't you?"

You nodded profusely.

"Because I'm yours,” He hummed, resuming his thrusts at a slower pace, as though it wasn’t enough of an answer, “I’m yours… and yours alone…!"

"There you go," And just like that, he became animalistic; slamming you down onto his cock like the pretty little ragdoll that you were. With your walls fluttering around him, you gasped out before shaking in his arms as your orgasm ripped through you. He didn’t stop, however, fucking through your high and chasing his own release before ending with a final buck of his hips. Using his strength, he clung to you, letting your body jerk as his cum shot deep inside you.

You tried to catch your breath, with Benny in no rush as he, too, needed a bit of time, feeling himself twitch.

Seconds passed, and you tried to move a little, slightly dizzy at the position you were in.

"Hang on," He tapped you on the knee, taking a deep breath before pulling out slowly, your mewls just barely over his soft huff. He maneuvered you to a position similar to when he first sat you down on the bench. One of his arms remained around your stomach, stopping you from slumping to the side.

Both of you watched as his cum began to dribble out of you.

"Fuck," He chuckled, prompting you to follow as his heaving chest caused you to bounce a little. Your laughs only grew as he planted kisses across your shoulder blades, exaggerating the sounds of his smooches. The best you could do was to squirm in his arms, unable to move from both his arms and your shaky legs. Eventually, he stopped, laying his head back on the bench to ease the kink in his neck and asked, "You okay?"

"Mhm," You interlaced your fingers through his, "I've never felt better."

"Good," He replied, wanting nothing more than to continue hugging you like his own personal teddy bear, "That's good."

The two of you stayed like that, content to be in each other's arms even for just a moment.

But it was only in character of him to tell you the first thing that came to his mind.

"Wanna get waffles?" He piped up, "I'm thinking Pop's."

"Pop's?" You glanced at the clock, "Benny, it's getting pretty late."

Not that you had anything against the diner, and then again, breakfast for dinner sounded pretty good.

"And? C'mon, you told me you were craving waffles the other day. Pop's doesn't close until another, what, three hours? And you haven't had dinner either." He then begged, "Please?"

You huffed in amusement as he dragged his plea, You were also slightly touched that he brought up your cravings. You didn't think he'd remember that.

"Whatever you want, handsome," You felt him smile against you, though he remained silent after, "Benny?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

He paused for a moment—why wouldn't he be okay? He's flourishing in his career, albeit a smaller one. He has been doing better since he finished his time in the Special Forces and now, he's happily married to his best friend.

He wouldn't want to have it any other way.

"Never been better." He sighed in relief, sounding content before raising his head, "C'mon." He moved off the bench, helping you move your legs to one side before sliding his arms under your knees. Your arms encircled his neck, only to be caught by surprise as he gave you a gentle peck on the nose.

The two of you shared a moment of laughter before he carried you to the showers, committed to taking care of you now that he doesn't have to worry about another match until later on.

Not that he wouldn't if he did have one though, he's just extra determined, now that he gets to have you all to himself.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: I just thought about whether or not public changing rooms can be locked so um. Let's just say for this piece's sake, it can be locked okay <3

» gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

#— reve's reverie 🌹#— reve's asks 🌹#*whispers in disbelief* i did it #its hubby benny time #ben miller #benny miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller imagine #benny miller fanfic #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #hubby benny <3 #yes i titled it over a red velvet lyric AGAIN

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romanarose · 9 months

Text

Gross Reality

Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Join my tag list!

Triple Frontier Masterlist

800 Words

Summary: You are on your period and feel disgusting, Santi isn't phased.

Content Warnings: BODILY FLUIDS, all the bodily fluids. This fic is just me being self-indulgent because I'm feeling disgusting on my period today. Breif reference to butt stuff bc it's me. But mostly, if bodily fluids like puke and shit gross you out, keep going but I know this is the reality for many people who get periods.

A/N: In my head, this takes place in a lil universe of several of my Santi fics, including the one I did with Dolli, Honest Mistake, and but more importantly another Santi period fic I referenced in this fic, Santi With a Reader on Her Period.

****************

Santi Claus: Hey babe, you wanna come over today? The new Spider-verse movie is on Disney plus, we can refuel your fanfiction inspiration 👀or inspiration 👀 for other things 👀

Benny’s Hot Friend: Can’t, busy sitting on the toilet.

Santi realized, again, he needed to change his girlfriends name from what he had drunkenly put it in as months ago at Will’s engagement party.

Santi Claus: … just sitting there?

Benny’s hot friend: No, dumbass

Santi Claus: Did you get distracted watching tik tok for an hour again?

Benny’s Hot friend: NO! Im on my period and it’s day two and everything is fucking awful and I wanna die and I think I’m going to on this toilet

Santi Claus: Cramps?

Benny’s Hot Friend: Shitting, Santi. Shitting. I’ve bled through my tampons after 30 minuets and i'm sick of it and I keep needing to shit and it’s disgusting and I’m disgusting and I’m just free bleeding over the toilet and shitting when need because I can’t trust my farts ARE YOU HAPPY

Santa Claus is typing

Santi Claus is typing

Santi was very carefully plotting his next words.

Santi Claus: Amor, have you eaten today?

Benny’s Hot Friend: NO I HAVEN'T EATEN TODAY SANTI IF YOU MUST ASK AND I HAVEN'T HAD ANY CAFFEINE EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE.

When he didn’t respond, you assumed he’d gotten sick of your shit. It wasn’t that long ago that you happen woken up on top of him with a surprise early period, bleeding all over your new boyfriend who you hadn’t even farted around, and now, although you were more secure, you still worried you’d come across as gross and bitchy and he was over it. Your periods were horrible, the first 2-3 days at least. Dejected, you clean yourself up but only to go get more pain medicine and plot yourself back down on the toilet.

Another round of cramps came and pretty soon you could add tears and puke to the list of fluids exiting you, ready to just get into the bathtub and cry when you felt your hair being held back and you look to your side to see Santi, eyes concerned and worried, but not disturbed.

“Do you need a hospital, mi vida?”

You shake your head. “No, tummy just hurts.”

Not deterred, Santi holds your hair and rubs your stomach as you empty into the trashcan until the pain subsided enough to try taking a pill again. Dutifully, Santi cleaned up the trash can and your face before guiding you up rinse your mouth out with mouth wash, all while muttering oft praises and encouragement. ‘There we go, let it out’ ‘Do you feel better? Bien.’ ‘Doing good, just spit it out now’

“Santi, I’m sorry, this is so gross-”

“Oh hush. This is far from the worst I’ve seen.”

“Saw worse in the military?”

“No- well, yeah, but I was thinking about the time Benny called me after getting food poisoning from Taco Bell and I had to play big brother while Will was out of town.”

“Yeah” You pant, stomach hurting. “I’ve had to deal with him sick too. He’s a bigfucking baby. Now can you please get out, I need to shit.”

Santi scoffed at that. “You think I don’t shit? I shit all day, three times before lunch-”

“Yeah, you should get that checked out”

“-I’m not phased. I’ve had my finger in your ass, I can handle what comes out of it.”

Finally, you giggle, smiling at him as he sat at the tub edge. “Okay, your funeral.” You bent over in pain again, wondering what the fuck you did to deserve this nonsesnese every month and what you did to deserve to deserve such a loving boyfriend. You wanted to marry this pain in your ass, marry him so hard. He talks to you while you take care of business whipping your face when you get the cold sweats

“Santi, I love you but you’ve gotta get outta here while I clean up.”

He chuckles, but concedes. “Okay, I brought over chinese food-”

“Oh FUCK YEAH”

“-and coffee”

“FFFFFUUUCCKKK YEEEAAHHH”

“I’ll get it ready in the kitchen when you’re done”

He does as promised and you begin to clean up when you get a ding on your phone. You didn’t realize it was Santi’s until it was too late, and you saw it. No, he wasn’t cheating. No, he wasn’t talking shit. It was the last text you sent him and you saw what your name was on the screen.

Benny’s Hot Friend.

“Santiago Garcia!” You stand in the kitchen with his phone, fully dressed but your hair clinging to your face from sweat. “Wanna explain my contact name?”

He looks confused, then his eyes widen and he stops plating your food. Muneca, listen, I can explain-”

“BENNY’S HOT FRIEND?!” But you were smiling.

He starts to back away, hands raised in defense. “I said you were hot!”

“Did you forget my name that night?”

“Honey, I had like 8 beers and I’m a short king! I was drunk!”

Playfully, you run at Santi, threatening to bleed on him again.

***************

Anyway, shout out to my Peeps in the whorefully yours discord! we all go there and complain about our periods bc they suck. Mine arent THAT bad, I mostly had the shits and the excessive bleeding and I do just sit on the toilet sometimes but I know other people who throw up from the pain.

Your pain is real, and you deserve someone to take care of you

@fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @k-ra @eyelessfaces @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiagogarcia reader #x reader #santiago garcia reader #fem!reader #santiago garcia fem reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier reader #sick fic #sic fic

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kairiscorner · 10 months

Text

since the barbie movie brainrot is getting to me, have some

ben reilly x reader headcanons (when you go to watch the barbie movie)

btw spoilers for the barbie movie under the cut !!

when you came up to him, asking him if he'd like to watch the barbie movie with you, he'd perk up a little from his 'moping pillar' and think about it, but he'd go back to facing it while telling you, "i got no time to watch some silly dolls movie, babe... i have real things to do and think about, not watch a bunch of dolls come to life."

you'd nod sarcastically and tease him about wanting to see it for ryan gosling because "blonde himbo men are your type", you'd say while side eyeing him with a sly smile as he perks up at those first three words.

"o-on second thought... i'm your blond himbo men. i'll go, but not because you asked me to."

he'd grumble a little and ask what's so good about the barbie movie, and you'd argue, "because it's barbie!" and he'd groan as he stomps his feet and trudges behind you, grumbling, "oh please, you just wanna see it for ryan gosling, i'm already right here for you, babe."

as you two are watching the first few minutes of the movie, by the time you get to the first song, HE'D BE VIBING ALONG AND SWINGING HIS HEAD TO THE MUSIC

"you're vibing" "huh? no, no, i... i'm shifting in my seat, is all" "but you're smiling and swaying to the beat" "i just have a major itch in my butt right now, okay, babe?" "sureeeee"

the minute you saw ryan gosling in the beach scene and feigned simping over him, like shielding your eyes from him as you smiled widely, or fanned yourself and muttered some words under your breath, he'd watch you and fold his arms in front of his chest and scoff.

"i can do that, i have more abs than he does, watch," he says as he readies to take his hoodie thing off him, BUT YOU STOP HIM IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE YOU TWO ARE IN A PUBLIC THEATER

"i just wanna prove to you he's got nothing on me! you don't need a ken, you have a ben! me! i'm your ben!" he says as his voice rises a little, irritating the people around you two, and you have never been more embarrassed in your entire life 😭😭😭

"okay, okay, you have lovely abs, benny, now keep them under your hoo--" "so you like me more than ken?" "...yes, i like you more than ke--" "do you love me more than ken?" "of course!" "well, kiss me to prove it. come on, babe." you sighed, shook your head, and he keeps pestering you for kisses, but you cover his face with your hand as he puckers up and leans closer towards you :>

IN THE SCENE WHERE KEN IS ONLY HAVING A GOOD DAY WHEN BARBIE NOTICES HIM, YOU LAUGH A LITTLE BECAUSE THAT SCENE IS ALL TOO FAMILIAR TO YOUUUUU

"why's it funny?" "oh, nothing, nothing, it's just... i know that all too well." "what do you mean, you don't know any kens, do you know any kens? i'll challenge them to a flex off." "no, benny, i don't know any kens." "well good, because i'm sure if you knew any, they'd--" "hush now, the movie's getting good." "dammit, you like ryan gosling more than me." (he says that as he puts his hoodie up and pulls the drawstrings and crosses his arms over his chest LMAO)

AND IN THE SCENE WHERE KEN TRIES TO KISS BARBIE BUT DOESN'T ACTUALLY KISS HER AND PULLS AWAY SATISFIED, YOU CHUCKLE AND LOOK AT BEN, AND HE LOOKS AT YOU, "why's that funny?" "because you used to do that when you were asking me out, remember?" (he does not remember, or pretends not to) "well i always get a kiss in the end, unlike ken over here. what a crappy name, anyway." "it's close to yours." "hey! leave my name out of this, hmph... ben's the best name in the world. second to yours, of course--" "hmm?" "nothing!"

during that one scene where ken's wearing the long sleeved clothing that said something along the lines of "i'm kenough", he'd be tearing up during the context of that scene and mumbles, "i'm benough..." "that you are, benny. you are benough."

out of the two of you, ben would come out crying, but he'd mask it as his usual brooding state and claim he just had some dust in his eyes. "in a theater?" "y-yeah... the pink p... powder fr-from the p-p-popcorn ente... red my e-eyes." "benny, it's completely okay to cry... like how barbie told ken..." you'd tell him as you hold his arm and caress his bicep, AND HE LETS OUT ALL HIS PENT UP EMOTIONS AND SADNESS ON YOU FROM THE MOVIE RIGHT THEN AND THERE, GUSHING ABOUT HOW HAPPY HE WAS FOR KEN FINDING WHO HE WAS WITHOUT BARBIE AND HOW BARBIE BECAME HUMAN.......

he loved it. and bought a barbie doll that looked like you, and you bought a ken doll that looked like him to match :>

a/n: i have so much more for him in store I SWEAR

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara

#ben reilly #ben reilly x reader #the barbie movie #barbie #ben reilly fluff #ben reilly headcanons #atsv #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #the barbie movie spoilers #greta gerwig

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jo-harrington · 5 months

Text

Incremental Planning (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: On-The-Job Training

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Wicks'n'Sticks!Reader (you'll see)

Summary: You and Steve have been going out for a little while and he suddenly feels the need to step up his game.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Fall 1985, Steve and Robin work at Scoops, Reader works at Wicks and Sticks (formerly at Dippin' Dots; you job hop...it's a thing), New Relationship "Troubles," Infatuation/Crush, Cute Dates, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: Dedicated to @dr-aculaaa (late bday gift), @rosewaterandivy and @carolmunson who've heard little tidbits intermittently but this has taken a minute to come together. And @ghost-proofbaby for the last date idea. Enjoy <3

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

If Steve had to pick one thing that was his best quality, it would be that he was reliable.

"Psshh, yeah right," Robin scoffed. "Reliably late to picking me up for work every day."

"Hey!" Steve argued. "I promised to drive you to school when it starts next week, so could you...I dunno...gimme a break here?"

"You don't need to do your hair every morning; I have band first period so if you could please be a little better with time, I'd appreciate it!"

"Robin!"

Reliable, unfortunately, was boring. And you were anything but boring.

Steve learned quickly that his favorite thing about you was that you changed with the seasons. If the wind blew in a different direction, so would you.

Just like the whole vanilla debacle, you were never satisfied with one flavor. Yeah you liked a root beer float for a while, but before long, you were a banana split person. And shortly after that, hot fudge.

And while changing tastes in ice cream was endearing and made him a little looser--and got him a date--it was how quickly you changed tastes in other things that had him a little worried.

"I quit Dippin' Dots!" you announced one afternoon in early September, throwing your visor at him from across the counter.

"You what?" He stared at you with wide eyes.

"I quit," you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head towards him. "Dippin' Dots."

"No I got that I just...why?" He held his hands out around him. "Rival ice cream shops. That's kind of our thing."

"Well, you're just gonna have to get a job at a rival candle store because you're looking at the new sales associate at Wicks'n'Sticks."

You grinned at him and proudly pulled the little name badge from the back pocket of your jeans, your name already engraved and everything. Steve's eyes darted between it and you, unable to comprehend that you were joking.

"No, I'm not serious," you laughed. "Unless you hate it here, which I know you do."

"Shhh, not so loud!"

"The pay sucks, you always go home sticky, and you get yelled at by every mom in Roane County for getting their order wrong. I've heard you say it enough times Steve."

You were right; he just liked sticking to routines. Routines were nice...reliable.

"So what does that mean for us?" he asked.

"Means we're just gonna have to get another thing," you offered. "Like...making out in the service corridors instead of up against the kiosk after hours."

Ok, so...he could live with that.

What worried him was, well, if you were just just dating reliable old Steve Harrington all the time, you'd get bored with him. Nancy had gotten bored with him and looked for someone...better. You'd already gotten mad at him for being slow on the uptake about the small vanilla cup. What if he was boring in some other way? What if you tired of him just like you tired of your job at Dippin' Dots?

He'd already established a routine with your dates. Movie nights on Thursdays whenever new shows came out, then dinner at Benny's on Sunday nights, and lunch at the food court on Tuesdays when your shifts aligned.

You always said you liked your "dates."

"Is that what they said?" Robin asked as he aired his fears to her on the way to school one morning. "'Dates.' With air quotes?"

"Yeah?" He stumbled over his words. "Why? What are you--why are you--what is that...is that a problem? It's our routine."

"Oh god," she groaned and slammed her head back against the headrest. "You already have a routine? Dating isn't about routines. Is this...did you have routines with Nancy?"

"Yes, why?"

"Ok, new plan of attack," she waved her hands in front of her. "New date ideas. Every week. You, Steve Harrington, are hopeless."

---

The whiteboard in the backroom suddenly became the "Date Idea Board."

Robin had told him to do it as soon as he got to Scoops, brought the board out to the counter with him. Ice cream was less popular in the mornings, it seemed, especially with kids back in school--

He could see why you jumped the Dippin' Dots ship. Aside from the handful of mall employees taking their breaks and wanting ice cream, he was bored.

--so he had plenty of time to think of something before the closing lead came in.

But the board remained blank all the way up until lunchtime.

"What did I do during school?" he threw his hands up in the air as he started towards the food court. "Movies...dinner...parking up at the quarry and making out? We haven't done that yet. I guess..."

He roared in frustration as he got in line at Hot Dog on a Stick, earning dirty looks from several lunch-goers.

"What?" he scoffed at them, and then tried to nonchalantly glance around.

And that's when Steve spotted them, tucked at a table near JCPenney, heads close together as they each held an earpad of a set of headphones connected to a walkman on the table, free hands reaching periodically for a basket of cheese fries: Eddie Munson and the Claire's manager.

It kind of made Steve a little antsy, like he was observing a private moment, the way they smiled at each other and bantered back and forth. He didn't even get this feeling watching couples make out in the hallways at Hawkins High. He wondered for a second if anyone felt that way when they saw the two of you together...

No one saw you together at the movies, or late Sunday nights at Benny's. And during lunch on Tuesdays, you definitely sat across the table from one another...not next to each other like that.

Was that it? Was that the answer? Just...go more places together. He really wished he had someone to ask about this.

And his wish was granted when Eddie looked at the time on his watch and then, with a flick of his girlfriend's dangly earrings, he ran out of the food court.

Steve abandoned his place in line and rushed across to plant himself in Eddie's vacated seat.

"Uh," the manager squinted her eyes at him in recollection. "...hi cherry lipbalm guy."

"It was strawberry, actually," he then pointed to his name tag, "and it's...Steve."

"Hi Steve," she amended and pointed to her own name tag to introduce herself.

"Hi."

It was awkwardly silent for a moment.

"I don't have any lip balm down here," she chewed her fingernail for a moment. "If that's why you stopped by. You have to go ups--"

"I need dating advice," he blurted out. "Again."

"Wha--"

"Where does Eddie take you out for dates?"

"I don't...they're not..."

"Because I...ok you remember the Dippin' Dots cashier?" he launched right into his story, despite her deer-in-the-headlights expression. "They agreed to go out with me--thanks, by the way--but they're...I'm afraid they're getting bored of our routine."

"Routine?" she winced.

"That's what Robin's reaction was too. Sorry, Robin, that's my friend, she works at Scoops too. Anyway..."

Steve continued his tale, telling her about your new job and general shift in likes and dislikes from day to day. How unpredictable you were, how much he liked that about you but how much he feared that meant you wouldn't like him before long.

"And I just...like them so much? I don't want to screw it up."

The Claires manager's expression had softened the longer he talked and once he was done and out of breath she smiled.

"Well this is a really nice development."

"That's all you have to say?" he asked incredulously.

Her expression fell.

"Listen, Steve, I only have 5 minutes left of my lunch and I'm very happy to give you advice if you need it but it seems like you don't really need it. You know what it is your friend likes, or rather...how your friend's likes change...you just need to be...spontaneous and deliver the unexpected!"

"But what is that?" He raked his hands through his hair. "What should I do? What does Eddie do?"

"Eddie doesn't..." she sighed. "You shouldn't just mimic what he does, but he's himself. He's goofy and loud and we do goofy and loud things. He likes snacks, I like snacks...we're constantly sharing food."

She gestured to the cheese fries.

"Just do what feels right? Be yourself. Incorporate them into things that you want and need to do. Need to go to the laundromat? Ask if they want to go and watch the soaps with you while your towels are in the dryer."

For a minute that didn't make much sense to him. That wasn't a date. Who went on dates like that? But...you know, once upon a time he used to watch his parents pretend to waltz as they folded bedsheets together. The love that used to be in their eyes during a menial task.

Not that this was love with you but...he knew he could be a little bit of a romantic. One day maybe...

"I do like All My Children," he finally nodded. "Ok this could work."

"No Steve, wait..." The manager held her hands out as he stood from the chair and started jogging back to Scoops.

"Thank you!" he shouted and waved.

---

Thus began the gauntlet of unexpected, inventive, spontaneous dates.

He started with the Laundromat; it was stuck in his head now and it was either going to be a win or the biggest failure he had. And you'd break up with him.

You were a little baffled when he told you his idea, but you went along with it. He picked you and your basket up promptly at 9am on Wednesday.

"Did your mom stop doing the wash for you Stevie?" you joked as you tossed your basket in the backseat.

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. He actually begged his mom not to snatch up his dirty Scoops uniforms from the hamper so he could take care of them himself. She gave him the proudest smile and a kiss on the forehead.

But he would never tell you that.

You, by chance, were a regular at the All Washed Up on Main Street. Said hello to Cheryl the Attendant, who was folding the hourly drop offs. Had your dollar bills all ready to go and you did a little dance as the change machine chugged and spat out quarters.

You took the lead for him, when he--understandably--looked a little confused.

"Obviously they don't have soap for you to use," you rolled your eyes and slotted coins into the little machine with different soaps and fabric softeners. "You need to bring it yourself. Or buy it. What do you like? Snuggle? Do you like lavender?"

But he still had a few tricks up his sleeves.

He brought Uno and a deck of cards to teach you to play Gin Rummy.

"Just like my granny taught me," he smiled and your expression melted.

And when you started shuffling your clothes into the dryers, he got snacks from the vending machine for you both.

"Dr. Pepper and HandiSnacks." He proudly handed you your treat.

"How did you know I always get this when I come do my laundry?" you held them to your chest excitedly.

---

A night at the arcade was next.

To be honest, Steve thought with everyone's latest obsession over StarCourt, he'd be free to show his face at the Palace Arcade.

Unfortunately, his heart stopped when he saw the gaggle of familiar bikes chained up outside.

"Ooh, ok what do you say to pizza after we play some games?" you asked when you saw the pizzeria further up the strip mall. When you turned to him, you noticed his stricken expression. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," he shrugged, trying to act cool. "No nothing, it's just...some kids I used to babysit..."

Great lie there Harrington, you still babysit them.

"...are here. Those are their bikes."

"Aww," your eyes got soft and you put on the baby voice you used to tease him sometimes. "Big bad babysitter Stevie and little his Kindergarten Crew. It'll be fine, they won't bother us playing Skee Ball."

You walked confidently into the arcade, straight to your favorite game, all while Steve sent cursory glances down each row of machines and tried to be as stealth as possible.

Like a ninja, he told Nancy once.

"Steve?" Dustin called as he spotted him ducking between a few Pac-Man cabinets. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh," Steve's eyes slid in your direction and then he waved awkwardly. "Hey Henderson, you know. Killing time."

"Max is trying to unlock a secret level of Galaga," he thumbed over his shoulder. "Maybe you can get next turn if she can't."

"I'd love to I'd just--"

"Steve?" He winced at your voice behind him. "You coming?"

"Yeah," he shot you a smile and then turned back to Dustin with murderous eyes. "I was just telling this little twerp to beat it."

"This one of the kids?" you sidled up next to him and smiled at Dustin. "Hey."

"Hey!" He got a sly look on his face and wiggled his eyebrows at Steve, who looked positively livid. "You on a date there, Harrington old boy?"

"Who are you, Jay Gatsby? I like you," you laughed at Dustin and then clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I like this kid; you might as well introduce me to all the little rascals. It'll explain why you're such a PTA mom all the time."

Steve groaned as Dustin grabbed your arm and dragged you over to the rest of the kids, but he couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when you gave him a look of sheer glee and affection.

Maybe he was doing something right?

---

He blindfolded you for the next date--the last idea he had for this two week sprint full of creative dates--although...he might not have needed to do it for the whole car ride.

"Steve I'm gonna be sick," you had groaned pathetically from the passenger's seat of his car.

But it was worth it.

He'd gone to the mall office to grab the mail--who knew stores at the mall got mail--when he saw a pamphlet for local tourist attractions and he'd been inspired.

The Fort Wayne Children's Zoo.

You were in awe, it's such a sweet date idea.

The two of you held hands as you dodged groups of field trip goers, parents with their kids on playdates, and other bored adults. You told him fun facts about your favorite animals and his.

"I always wanted to be," you told him, nose scrunched in embarrassment. "I dunno...a vet or a...marine biologist or something. One of those big jobs that kids always dream about. Now I work at StarCourt Mall and I'm on the verge of finding a new job again."

"So do I," he chuckled. "At least you've thought about your future. I sort of never did."

"There's always time," your eyes sparkled. "We're still young and have our whole lives ahead of us. I've been looking at pamphlets for the Tri-County Community College. We could take classes in the next semester."

"Yeah?" he asked, slyly. "We?"

"Shut up," you pushed him to the side.

"Didn't know you'd still plan on dating me next year."

"Why not?"

Steve shrugged but kept his mouth shut, and then steered you towards your final destination.

The Reef.

So it wasn't a full aquarium, but it was close enough. He couldn't drive you all the way out to Indianapolis without arousing suspicion. Besides, the Reef had enough of an array of colorful marine life to make you happy. You gushed over all of the different fish that you recognized as the two of you wound through the small aquarium building.

You'd actually told him about your dream career as a kid before and he'd stored that little tidbit away. Pulled a favor with his mom to pull a favor with someone she knew and low and behold--

"Steve!" you exclaimed as you saw the little setup on the bench in front of the tank of Moon Jellies, an assortment of sandwiches and sodas basking in the blue glow emitted from behind the glass. "What's this?"

"Surprise!" He held his hands out a little pathetically. "The real date...not just the zoo but...a little picnic too."

"I love it!" you laughed.

"You do?" he beamed in relief. "I've...I've really been trying. I know...you're always so...and Robin said I was boring, so I thought maybe we could try some new dates. Not just...dinners and movies. I wanted to make you happy. Make you smile."

He kept rambling on about the other ideas he had, but then confessed that he sort of missed late dinners at Benny's on Sundays because he got to hold your hand across the table. He didn't notice the way your gaze got softer as he said the things that you'd been thinking all day--because these spontaneous dates were great but you missed the sweet dinners at Benny's and the movie nights where you made out in the back row at the Hawk during boring scenes--or how you inched closer you him until your hands were caressing his cheeks and your lips descended on his.

From the outside looking in, it was almost picturesque.

Something from a John Hughes movie as the two of you rocked back and forth in the glow of the jellyfish tank and one big smooch turned into little sweet ones, soft lips pecking at each other, over and over. Tasting the words that you each wanted to say to one another but...didn't quite have the courage to.

Yet.

Next Part: Developmental Achievement

#stranger things fic #Steve harrington x reader #Steve harrington fic #store manager verse #Steve harrington fluff #scoops steve

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