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space-cowboys-and-aliens · 1 year

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Bar Fight

Frankie Morales x afab!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, Minors DNI)

Warnings: Established relationship, SMUT, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, Frankie defends you, scary!Frankie, bar fight, toxic, blood!kink, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, angst, miscommunication (i’m sorry), fighting then fucking, dirty talk, jealous!Frankie, jealous!reader, insecure!Frankie, possessive!Frankie, Frankie WORSHIPS reader, clueless!Frankie, praise!kink, primal!kink, marking, cunnilingus, M going down on F, Frankie gets smiley after sex, not beta’d

Summary: Frankie gets into a bar fight for you, and you come to terms with conflicting emotions.

Word Count: 3.4k

Kentucky State’s head slamming into the bar reverberated louder than the scream several patrons let out. Frankie dragged the guy by the back of his shirt into the sticky wall closest to him.

The guy curled into a fetal position on the ground.

His assailant let one kick fly, make contact. Then another.

All that was left of the room once full of chatter and clinking drinks was shuffling feet out the door.

Three guys dragged Frankie away from the beer-soaked bag of flesh stuck to the hardwood floor with his own blood. You stood not five feet away, speechless and shaking.

Frankie managed to push the last man off him as he made his way out the front door they dumped him at. He spent those last few seconds scanning the room for you, and when your eyes met, your well of tears exploded. He saw your face fall from shock and fear to anger and embarrassment.

He stayed rooted in place when you shouldered him on your way outside; away from the sight of crushed bone and Frankie’s eyes as fast as possible. From behind, you thought you could hear him calling for you.

Trying to make your way back to the rusted blue pickup parked in its usual corner spot proved harder when blinded by tears rather than alcohol. The sweat dripping from your temples made your body feel exposed in the summer night’s heat.

“Wait,” you heard Frankie punch out, curtly.

You stilled when he stepped in front of you, catching up with long strides. His entire body blocked any view of the truck, but you could barely stand an attempt to look up at his face. You stared straight ahead, directly into the forest green T-shirt covering his chest. A small dark stain right in the middle stared back. Him treating you to ice cream after a horribly disappointing matinee showing, a sequel to one of your favorite franchises. Now, he's waiting for his breath to catch up with his body, hands in the air at his sides. Calmly reaching into his jean pocket for the keys, he takes his time. Gingerly lifting the handle out of its latch to swing the cabin door, he opens yours first.

Still immobile in the spot he left you, you took a deep breath and a few small steps to the truck. Planting one foot onto the floor to haul your body up into the passenger seat, him watching you the whole time. You couldn’t stand those puppy dog eyes right now. The car door shuts and silence fills the space. On the opposite side, his door opens as quickly as it shuts. He’s staring past the steering wheel now, straight out the windshield. After a few breaths, he lifts one of his hands to place it on the wheel, wincing, unsuccessfully appearing unaffected.

You pursed your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, turning your body to face Frankie.

Split, bloody knuckles met your widening gaze. One of his index fingers seemed bent out of shape, and as he brought his hands up, flexing them, it was your turn to wince at the creaking sound his joints made.

“Frankie…”, you sighed.

He seemed to wait patiently for another response, but it seemed the common denominator for tonight boiled down to him leaving you at a loss for words. Only silence could emphasize the utter disappointment and betrayal you felt. Instead, you reached across the space, between your seat and his, taking his right hand into both of yours, turning it over, and inspecting it under his cautious eyes. Only one of the nails broke, skin spattered with the stranger’s blood. You made the mistake of letting your eyes dart up into his magnetic pull, and those big brown eyes strike you more than anything.

He parts his lips for a moment, taking a breath before pausing, thinking, and instead saying shyly,

“I have some bandages and a first aid kit in the glove compartment. It should be fully stocked.”

The corners of his eyes shine with trapped tears, trying to not make this into an even bigger mess for you to clean up.

You tighten your jaw and reach for the compartment door when he abruptly adds,

“I feel horrible standing there watching you fight your own battles- you shouldn’t have to, especially against creeps and drunks at a bar.”

You’ve grabbed one of his hands to begin cleaning it off when you stop and consider this.

He continues.

“But I don’t know how to quip back every come-on, every retort, every advance, with words like you can.”

He looked down at his bleeding hands, curling them and grimacing at the shift in position. You grabbed the hand you’ve yet to sanitize. Frankie thinks he’s good about holding in the discomfort caused by the stinging, but he’s starting to catch up with his amount of experience. He keeps talking through your diligent process as you grab the wraps and tape.

“I know… I know how to defend and fight. I know the body’s weakest points. I know how to kill with my bare hands. And now I can use that to protect what I love.”

“That wasn’t love, Frankie. That was possession,” you snapped.

You didn’t mean to bring out the hurt that grew on his face right then and there. But you couldn’t stand the precedent that a bar brawl in your name would set for the relationship.

You also couldn’t stand hurting this man who would bungee-jump off a bridge without a cord for you. Who would probably take an actual bullet for you? He’s taken them for less. Who never stops showing you how much he cares, even in his own misconstrued ways.

His face softens and he spreads his legs out.

“Come here,” he whispers.

You don’t hesitate to throw the med kit down on your seat and climb onto him. As soon as you sink closer into his chest, his broad frame and strong arms find their home around you. He places a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“You don’t deserve…I never want you to not feel safe, especially when I’m around.”

He tries his words carefully, hesitant as they come out jagged and crooked, not in their right spot.

You reach up to stroke the side of his face, pulling the curls out from behind his ears.

“I’m sorry."

He closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he buries his nose into your hair.

“I’m so so sorry. I got impulsive and stupid but I never want to jeopardize what we have.”

“Yeah, Frankie, it’s what we have, not whatever you decide that leaves one or both of us cleaning up after you.”

Shock flickered across his expression as he drew back.

“I didn’t mean for this to be something you had to fix. You don’t have to be here-”

You immediately turned toward the door.

“You think I want to see this? You think I want you coming home with more scars? Another bar we can’t go to? You think I like seeing you covered in someone else’s blood?”

He felt like you’d punched him in the gut. Bandages and gauze and antiseptic forgotten, he throws open his door.

“Well, fine,” he shrugs. “Get another ride home. Maybe with someone who’s a little less fucked up than-”

“That is not what I meant.”

You tried to interrupt his train of thought. But once Frankie sets his mind on something, it’ll run to the end of its tracks.

He waits impatiently for you to move, and you dare get out of his seat to let your feet hit the pavement. You turn your head around to see him still facing out the windshield. Trying a couple steps away from the truck, the classic rock having resumed its pounding from inside the bar, you contemplate going back inside by yourself instead of wasting the night away.

“Where are you going?” he almost barks.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” you throw out behind you.

He’s out of the truck faster than he’d swung at Kentucky State.

“Hey-”.

“I’m not incapable, Frankie."

“You have nothing to prove to me, baby, just get back in the car,” sounding scared.

“No.”

Bull horns could have sprouted from his skull.

“You don’t know if they’re still in there!”

“Frankie, I’m not going to let anyone ruin my night, unlike some people.”

“It will no doubt be me who ruins a lot more than tonight if he so much as looks at you,” Frankie pounds out.

You finally whorl to face him and he’s pulled taut, waiting for your reaction. You haven’t rowled him up like this in a while.

But just as your eyes search for his, he’s walking over and taking your hands. Then he brings them up to his lips, laying a kiss on your fingertips so soft, his eyes swim, and you remember the giant teddy bear that lives inside Frankie’s overprotective and over-imposing outward self. An incessant possessiveness takes root in your brain.

All mine.

He takes a breath, and the smallest smile starts to twitch across his face. He slowly closes his eyes, then opens them.

“Come home with me.”

You hold his hands in front of you, his head above yours. The blood dried over the open wounds, and he won’t need stitches this time.

The other guy might.

Good.

You remember fear.

How loud and how close the other guy got. You remember how quick Frankie was. The blur right after that guy decided he stood a chance against former Delta Force. How that same Delta Force is looking into your eyes like they hold more diamonds than he’s ever seen before. How bloody his hand was, opening your car door. A flame flickers in your stomach.

He must see a change in your eyes because he leans down towards your ear.

“I want to make it worth your while.”

His hands trail up your sides to play with the hem of your shirt.

“Much better than some sports bar in the middle of town,” he whispers as his kisses start slowing down your neck.

“Come on, let’s go”, he purrs.

And he takes your hand to walk back to the truck. You drag your feet a little, but a quick warning glance tossed over his shoulder hauls your body back toward him.

At the door, he helps you in and closes it, then jogs around the front to hop in the driver’s seat. As he closes his door, he’s already inserted the key and is about to start the ignition when you lay a hand over his. His head jerks towards you as his brown eyes find yours.

You couldn’t bear to lose this man. You take a deep breath.

“Frankie,” you say. “I think I need you a bit more than I thought I ever would.”

His eyes widen, then soften, at this, your hands caressing each other.

You take whatever courage you have left for the night and use it to swing one leg over the other onto his seat, bringing yourself to lay across his lap. Your soft rear grinds against his crotch. He’s staring at you with his mouth slightly agape, awe glittering in his eyes.

As you slide your arms up slowly over his broad frame, they come to rest behind his head, bringing your faces as close as possible without touching.

His increased breath fans against your eyes, and he lets his rest as they close.

Bringing your lips against his ear, you take your time murmuring,

“I love how much...”

Starting a trail down his face with your lips, palming the other side,

“...you take care of me.”

Letting your hands run through his hair, his breath becoming shakier and halted.

“I love how you protect what’s yours.”

And he shudders.

As you move away from his face, his eyes open and you swear hearts form inside.

Taking a breath,

“And I love,” your eyes angle down,

“How turned on I get from watching.”

His eyebrows shoot up and his hands hold tightly onto your ass to grind your center against his even more, a growl escaping from deep within his chest. His whole body vibrates with anticipation, and you surge forward to bring your lips to his. He kisses you and it only douses the fire with gasoline, while his hands and yours reach, grab for anywhere they can touch, haven’t touched, need to touch. He snarls as your teeth connect in a fierce gasp. His hands sprawl across your body, arms wrapping around you like he’s trying to claim you.

“Mine,” you hear him get out between your lips. He swallows every one of your breathy moans with relief, his prize for tonight, trying to reel in how much he wants you, how much his body has decided he needs you. But you love when he unleashes with you, letting go so wildly. His reckless abandon overtook him. You want that part of him, his over-consuming desire. He doesn't care for propriety when he needs to feel all of you.

“Fuck the drive home,” he grits out. “Please-”

“Yes Frankie oh my god right now," your patience worn thin, tired of convincing yourself otherwise.

His groan fills the cabin when he reaches down to undo his jeans, you pulling your underwear down and off of you. Planting one knee on the outside of each of his own, you can barely contain your own excitement of fucking Frankie in his truck in the parking lot of a bar he got himself literally thrown out of because someone disrespected you in front of him. You thought it would be hard to get sexier with every passing day. Frankie makes it seem like nothing new.

He left his jeans alone to work two fingers into you, both of you letting out content moans, his other hand wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him. Your slick spilled onto your thighs and Frankie's pants as he lifted his hand to taste you, closing his eyes.

Moaning,

“God, you’re already so wet.”

You let out a whine, wishing he’d rush along your pleasure. But Frankie wasn’t like that. He’d need a push.

“Good, baby, you taste so good. Wish I could taste straight from the source,” he groaned.

You let out a displeased whine, chasing your impending orgasm, so close from just his clothed middle and fingers.

“You want me right now?”, he asks.

You huff and reach into his pants to pull his impressive cock from its confines. He lets out a breath as the air hits it, but you wrap your hands quickly around it. He rubs his hands up and down your sides as he tries to catch his breath.

“Frankiiiiiiieeee,” you drag out, high-pitched and needy.

“Yeah, baby, you need all of it right now?”

He moves your hands to line himself up with you. You grab his earlobe between your teeth as he starts into you, your hips between his hands. He meets the inside of your pussy and breaks.

“So pretty like that,”

he grits out desperately, panting against your body.

With his head thrown back and loose, dark curls around his forehead, you think the same. His grey peppered through makes you clench.

You let him grab the backs of your sweat-covered thighs and pull you onto him further, gasping for air. His expression almost pained.

“You feel so good, Frankie,” you repeat.

He ruts into you more and more, his fingers bruising your thighs as he takes your gasps and pleas and moans as they come.

“Mine.”

He spurs on again. God, you love when he gets possessive while you make him feel as good as he does you.

“It’s all yours, Frankie. Only one who makes me feel like this.”

You feel like stroking his beautiful ego as he pulls your hair back to leave your neck uncovered, marking it as he brings his other hand down to rub your clit gently. You know you shouldn't want someone who loses as much control as he can, but-

“God, I need more.”

You whine as his thrusts pick up.

“You’re perfect. Feel so perfect. Need you,” he groans as his hips snap up into yours over and over.

“I’m about to come, Frankie.”

“Me too," he follows.

“You feel- so good,” you repeat, cunt clenching tighter and tighter.

“I need you to come," he growls out.

“Please,” you beg. You’re rocking against him so hard now it should hurt, but all you can feel is pleasure rocketing pleasure through your core. He tightens his circles around your clit, planting his feet to ground himself as he feels his release draw up. You notice his breath hitch.

“Frankie, come with me!”, you cry. “Oh-,”

“God, go, baby, I’m right behind you-,”

You’re blinded by what feels like your own atoms splitting apart and are sure you scream louder than the music coming from inside the bar. It feels too good. He feels too good. You tighten around him so hard you swear he’ll slip out, but wave after wave keeps you pounding on top of him, rubbing his cock through your folds. His spend leaking out of you and his heavy gasps for air leave you suspended in time, clutching onto his body for more release. Every knot loosens and you fall against him, his chest heaving with you on top of it. Remaining tremors quake through his legs as he opens his eyes and sees you breathing against him, over him, hair strewn across your face. He reaches up and clears it from your eyes then kisses your nose, lips, and neck, sucking marks onto the skin closest to your chest. He lets his legs give out underneath you, falling beneath him. You tighten your hold around his neck, bringing your fingers up through the hair behind his neck. It’s thick and full, smelling like cedar and clover. You feel the smile growing across his face. A matching one appears on yours as he lets out breathy chuckles. He’s so beautiful, you think.

“Can I still eat you out?”, he presses with a growing Chesire grin.

“Now?!", you shatter around him into laughter of your own.

“Yes, now, please,” he confirms. Laying you down across the bench seat from your position in his lap, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, he spreads you out in front of him. He dives down so his lips can drink up any last remaining traces of himself mingling with you, squeezing your breasts through your dress in his palm. He sighs and latches his lips onto your puffy clit. His hands work the dress down your body, releasing both tits and kneading them between his hands. Your hands work through his hair and your own, clearing them from your faces, making more room for his mouth on you. You feel the inner workings of another release. Your stomach flips and your legs stretch out to press against the door. Bringing one hand down quickly to curl into you, he presses up against your softness. He finds that sweet spot so well now.

Your moans fill the cabin again, with less care than before. You want him to hear how good he is at this, how you thrive off of his claim over your body in this state. As your pitch gets higher, he smiles against your pussy as it spasms, licking up into you further and faster. He groans happily as you come all over his face, letting it cover his facial hair. He’s never heard sweeter sounds than you finishing on top of him.

You breathe heavily as he comes up and wraps his arms around your body, limp with exertion. He wipes you, then himself down with a shirt from the backseat. He lets himself relax into you as his own heart rushes. You hum gratefully from next to him. He grins.

“Can I take you home now? Do it right?”

“Oh god, Frankie-”, spent and still catching your breath.

He leans over to kiss your cheek.

“Yeah, keep saying that and we won’t be coming back out again.”

Giggling, you close your eyes,

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing full-length smut and I’m trying to get more comfortable with it after hiding behind romance novels and fanfic for a few years. I want to create more gender-inclusive works of my own with safe wholesome fun, too! Hope you enjoyed <3

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