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Catfish X Reader - Blog Posts
a steadfast heart will conquer
summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.
pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader
word count: 2.5k
warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises
At midnight, you speak in fragments.
“I’m at your front door.”
He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.
“It’s raining.”
He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.
“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.
He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.
There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.
He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.
But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.
The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.
You don’t answer.
He lets you not answer.
There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.
He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.
“What happened?”
There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.
So he waits.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.
You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.
The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.
He notices the red mark right away.
On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.
“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.
Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.
“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.
“No.”
He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.
“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.
“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.
“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?
“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”
You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.
“Can I stay here?” you ask.
“Of course,” he replies.
His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.
Your hair smells like roses and rain.
You take his bed; he takes the couch.
It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.
It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.
“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?
“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.
“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.
“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”
Now he’s the one that feels bad.
He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.
He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.
He has one pillow. you have one too.
You both listen to each other breathe.
You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.
It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.
The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.
You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.
You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.
He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.
“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.
“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.
“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.
“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.
“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.
“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.
“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.
“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.
“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.
“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.
“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.
“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.
You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.
He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.
You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.
He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.
He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.
He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.
Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.
After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.
“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”
“Wow.”
“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.
“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.
“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.
“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”
He stares at you.
You ignore the messages and lock your phone.
You look up at Frankie.
“So?” he asks.
“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.
“What are you gonna tell him?”
“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.
You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.
He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.
“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.
“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”
“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.
“What do you think I should tell him?”
He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.
“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.
“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.
“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.
“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.
“Should I go see him today?” you ask.
“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.
“You’re no help.”
“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.
“Sure.”
“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.
“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.
“Okay.” you say.
He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.
He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.
He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.
As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.
He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.
But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.
“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”
The water turns off.
“What?”
“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”
There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.
“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.
“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.
“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.
With a smile, you close the door in his face.
The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.
It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.
Pedro Pascal Characters
Main Rec Masterlist
The Mandalorian
Narcos
Triple Frontier
WW84
Kingsman 2
Game of Thrones
The Mentalist
Prospect
The Great Wall
'tis the damn season Masterpost
Triple Frontier (2019)
frankie x reader | childhood friends to lovers | pre-canon
Rating: E (18+ only!)
At one point in your lives, you knew Frankie better than anyone else on earth. When did that change?
tags/heads up: fuck the us military, mental health issues, m/f smut, friends to lovers, drug use
ao3 | playlist
Chapter 1: All the Same to You
Chapter 2: Who am I Related to?
Chapter 3: Not my Homeland Anymore
Chapter 4: An Incandescent Glow
Chapter 5: Nothing to Figure Out ; posting soon!
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader
Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
General Warnings: Age gap (legal), single dad!Frankie, long distance relationship, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, mild ddlg dynamics, mild dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, voice kink, phone sex.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Masterlist
Take Me To Church - Din Djarin/Reader Western AU (In Progress)
Chapter One: The Beginning
Chapter Two: The Kid
Chapter Three: The Surprise
Drabble: The Union Suit
Chapter Four: The Hill
Drabble: The Henhouse
Chapter Five: The Lesson
Drabble: The Rope
Chapter Six: The Rope, Part II
Chapter Seven: The Night Trip
Drabble: US Marshal Marcus Pike
Chapter Eight: The Camping Trip
Chapter Nine: The Confession
Drabble: The Worship Service
Drabble: Oil Baron Maxwell Lord
Drabble: Ranch Owner Jack “Whiskey” Daniels
Chapter Ten: The Demand
Drabble: Frontiersman Francisco Morales
Chapter Eleven: The Kerchief
Chapter Twelve: The Mark
Drabble: The Exploration
Drabble: The Letter
Chapter Thirteen: The Ask
Chapter Fourteen: The Hour
Chapter Fifteen: The Crest
Frankie Morales Box Set
Double Feature
Be Kind, Rewind
Roll the Credits
Afternoon Matinee
Title Menu
Post Credits Scene
Home Projector
Midnight Showing
Chick Flick
Home Video
Opening Day
Movie Trivia Night
Runtime
Movie Quotes
Movie Quotes: The Sequel
Gratuitous Sex Scene
Top Gun
Wrap Party
Sound Effects
Dave/Nanny Asks
Pioneer Frankie
Need - a Frankie one shot
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
✨lmao I’m no artist so please forgive my attempt at a banner✨
more than words masterlist
Summary: The one person who you thought would be happy for you finally getting with someone decent was your best friend. After all, he had set you both up. Who would’ve thought he’d be the reason it all falls apart? (strictly 18+, no minors)
Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader & bestfriend!Benny Miller x f!reader
pt.1
pt.2
pt.3
pt.4
pt.5
pt.6
pt.7
+
If you’d like to be tagged, just let me know! And thank you to everyone who is loving this and following along—you’re all wonderful! ❤️foli
Afterglow - Masterlist (Complete)
Below are all the parts to Afterglow.
Summary: after having fallen in love in high school despite the two of you being an unlikely pair, you and Frankie make grand plans for a life and a future far away and all your own. But things…happen - change.
Now it’s been 20 years since you’ve seen Francisco Morales, but everything is about to change yet again…
»»————- ♡ ————-««
PLAYLIST
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
PART 6
PART 7
PART 8
PART 9
PART 10
PART 11
PART 12
PART 13
frankie morales must learn to navigate life outside of the one he’s known for more than two decades when he moves to a small, quiet neighborhood in an attempt to assimilate into civilian life. all the familiar faces, all the structure, all the horrors he knew before – none of it exists inside the suburban, white-picket fence fantasy he’s begun to shape for himself. hours are long, days are painful, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to do it – at least, not until he sees her. her, the married woman in the home across from his, living the same white-picket fantasy he is. her, the woman who gets it. her.
warnings/tags: language, mentions of violence and drugs, smut, angst. frankie morales x female nameless oc word count: 3k+ ( ongoing )
chapter one: old habits die hard
ao3 link | taglist form | general masterlist | spotify playlist
All That Matters
Rating: PG-13 (For language)
Summary: (Friends to lovers; Christmas fic!) It was obvious to everyone just how much you loved Frankie but the last thing you wanted to do was come on too strong and ruin one of the best friendships you’d ever had. So, you were content to keep him as a friend rather than risk losing him forever. Frankie takes it upon himself to make the first move.
Pairing: Frankie x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Word Count: 6.7k (…whoops)
Santiago Garcia’s house, situated at the corner of two residential streets but closer to the city than any of the rest of your friends, had become the unofficial headquarters for all of your group activities. Movie nights, sporting event watch parties, weekend bonfires, holiday parties, birthdays, drinking in his backyard just because; the occasion really didn’t matter. It all saw you - along with the four men you now considered to be some of your closest friends and some odd combination of additional guests - scattered around the Garcia residence.
You liked to believe that it was because Santi was the unofficial social chair of your friend group. He often took it upon himself to plan get-togethers that dragged you all away from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives in order to spend a few moments together to unwind. Whatever the reason, you couldn’t say that you minded. The more often he hosted at his place, the less often you wound up at the same shitty dive bar or, worse, hosting at your own place.
Most weekends saw you at Santi’s, listening to to the guys recount the events of their weeks or reminisce about the past with a beer in hand and a smile on your lips. It was always nice, an easy way for you to unwind after a hectic week of work and responsibility, and the promise of those easy Saturday nights was often what got you through an especially tough work week.
The promise of getting to spend your nights curled up on the swing in Santiago’s backyard next to a certain pilot didn’t really hurt any, either.
Keep reading
Ok but the cracking the headboard? He growls- Frankie most definitely growls and snarls when he comes and breaks the damn thing. Ok now I’m done.
warnings: SMUT - rough sex
a/n: this is short but i think it makes the point its supposed to make lol. i’m supposed to be working on the stuff that has been sitting in my inbox forever but y’all got me hooked on this idea so i gotta get it out.
Frankie’s body is slick against yours, a thin sheen of sweat covering you both as he takes you hard and without any kind of rhythm. His hair hangs in his face as he bares his teeth down at you, grunting with his thrusts. Your nails scratch down his back and he hisses in slight pain but doesn’t stop.
You told him you needed this so he is giving it to you. You can tell he needs this too. He needs to let go. Of course, he tells you to tell him if it gets to be too much, but with him it’s never too much. It’s just enough and it leaves you wanting more.
He looks down, grinning at the dogtags laying between your breasts. They make a small clinking sound every time your body moves when he thrusts into you and he loves that. He touches them gently before bringing his hand back up to the headboard that he is using to pull himself into you harder. It creaks precariously but you don’t hear it. All you can focus on is Frankie inside of you and the lovely sounds he’s making. He lowers himself just enough to kiss you. Before he pulls away though you bite down on his lip and he moans in surprise. You bring your hands up and push his hair out of his face. He is so lovely like this--face flushed, sweat on his brow, eyes hooded with lust and love.
“Harder,” you whisper and he looks at you as if to ask silently ‘are you sure?’ “Please...”
This time you hear the headboard creak as he tightens his grip on it to give you what you want. You touch yourself as he pounds into your relentlessly while looking for any sign that you may want him to stop. But you don’t want him to stop. You want him to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you until he can’t anymore.
The sound of his hips slapping against your skin is like music to your ears and you’re lost in it. You look down to watch him move in and out of you as you touch yourself and it’s just enough to push you over the edge. You cum around him, your toes curling as you throw your head back and cry out his name.
He’s certainly not holding back now. You feel too good--so tight around him, squeezing him, urging him to give you his all. And he does. He clinches his jaw and growls as he cums, holding onto the headboard with a grip that makes a cracking sound that has you both stilling and looking up. There it is. A nice long crack right down the middle of your somewhat new headboard.
“Oh, fuck...” Frankie breathes before looking down at you and smiling. You snort before bursting into full on laughter. He lowers himself over you and hides his face against your breasts, laughing while trying to catch his breath. “Well, you asked for rough,” he teases.
“You broke the headboard,” you say in disbelief. “That’s pretty hot actually.”
“What?” he chuckles.
“Those strong, sexy hands basically broke something in two. Hot.”
He lifts his head and smiles at you, pushing his hair out of his face again. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”
“We’ll get a new one,” you say as he rolls off of you.
“You okay?” he asks, rubbing your thighs. “I didn’t...damage you, did I?”
You giggle. “No. But if you wanna try to break me in two...”
He looks at you in shock. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”
“Hmm...my boyfriend.”
“Christ...” He sits up and touches the crack in the headboard. “We have to make sure we pick a sturdier one.”
“Oh, I don’t know, you might break that one too,” you joke and he rolls his eyes.
“I’m never living this down, am I?”
“Hell no.” You laugh as he moves closer and kisses you. He plays with the dogtags hanging around your neck.
“I love when you wear these,” he says. “The way they look on your bare skin just...” He bites his lip.
“Are you joining me for a shower?” you ask.
“Yup. Right after we break the headboard just a little more.” He looks at you and you look down.
“Already?”
“It’s you...something about you and the fucking dogtags...” His words trail off but you push him onto his back gently and get on top of him.
“My turn. Let’s see what I can do.” You hold onto the headboard, leaning over Frankie slightly and the dogtags swing freely between you two. His hands find your hips and help you onto him.
“Yes, ma’am.”