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PEDRO PASCAL as Harry Castillo MATERIALISTS dir. Celine Song

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CLINT FLOOD + smoking [upclose]

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Too soon??

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Rules I Break For Him 2

Javier Peña (Narcos) fanfiction

Javier Peña x f!reader More chapters in Masterlist: HERE

Agent Peña gets a new boss - a woman who’s uncompromising, focused only on her job. But how long can she resist him before giving in?

ℹ️ If you’ve seen Narcos, please don’t worry about timelines, years, real events or places - this story focuses on the emotional bond between the characters rather than real accuracy. Enjoy!

Warnings:

• Sexual Content / Explicit Sexual Content

• Strong Language / Explicit Language

• Violence / Graphic Violence

• Guns / Gun Violence

• Drug Use

• Alcohol Use

• Smoking

• Mentions of Death

• Emotional Hurt / Angst

• Power Imbalance

It had been a few hours. I'd unpacked my crap in the new office and even managed to send of the rookies off with my suitcase to the address of my new apartment. It's close to the base and looks so American inside, I probably won't even remember I'm in Colombia half the time.

Normally, I'd have taken the damn thing over myself after work, but I had evening plans with Peña. Strictly professional, obviously. We needed to exchange intel and I wanted to make it clear who's running this show.

He'd been gone a while, and I could finally feel my shoulders start to unclench. The hormonal wave? Yeah, that shit was probably just the tropical air messing with my system.

I mean, I'm not some teen girl losing her mind over a hot guy. Also, I'm his boss. And I'm definitely not going to stare at his ass every time he walks by.

Even thought it's a nice ass. Like, really nice. Tight jeans kind of nice. Jeans that are doing way too much for that body.

I frown. Get it together! Jesus Christ.

That whole distracted by some guy phase? Been there, done that, burned the t-shisrt. I came here to work. If anything, I need to knock Peña down a peg or two.

By the time I finished my last report, it was already dark outside. I glanced at my watch. 8pm. He should be showing up any second now.

And like clockwork, there was a knock. Except he didn't wait for me to say anything - he just walked in like he owned the place. "Hey. All done. Hope you didn't wait too long," he mumbled.

I had half a mind to snap at him. Maybe I shouldn't have offered him first-name terms right after meeting him. Also, why does he still look so fucking good after a full day of work?! Hair a little messy, shirt unbuttoned just enough to be dangerous, that smirk like he knows exactly what he's doing.

"All good. Just finished the report," I said, getting up and stretching past him toward the door. His scent hit me again - smoke and fresh mint. How the fuck does that even work on him? And why does it make me want to touch him?

Nope. Not happening.

I put distance between us, fast. I could feel his eyes on my back. He shut the door behind us, and we headed out.

We stepped outside, and he made his way to his car like it was the most natural thing in the world. No question about who's driving. He opened the passenger door, gave me a nod.

I climbed in. He got behind the wheel. "The bar's about 10 minutes out, safer part of town," he said. "DEA guys hang there, local cops sometimes too. Place is clean - no drugs, no bullshit."

"How patriotic," I quipped. "Uncle Sam's little cantina. Didn't find many of those in Bogotá."

"You've been in Bogotá?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me you didn't do your homework on your new boss," I shot him a look. "I figured you DEA boys would already know my shoe size,"

"6.5," he said, dead serious, then gave me a wink.

I smirked. Cocky bastard.

We pulled up to a place called La Casa Fiesta, and it was already buzzing. He wasn't lying - it looked a notch above the usual. Still, I couldn't help noticing the group of local hookers nearby. One of them winked at him. And the motherfucker winked a back.

"Hey, Maria," he muttered, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

Right. So he's friendly with the local sex workers. Noted. I looked away before my mouth said something my brain would regret, and headed straight for the door.

He slammed his car door shut and jogged after me, quick enough to open the bar door before I could reach for it. Charming. Knows the hookers, but still opens doors for you.

"Evening, Javi. Usual?" the bartender called as soon as we sat down near the bar. The place was low-lit and warm, walls painted deep red, worn leather chairs, and tables that had probably seen better days. Smelled like cheap beer and cigarettes. Somehow? Kinda comforting.

"What are you drinking?" Peña asked, turning toward me.

"Gin," I said. Could've gone for something stronger, honestly.

"You heard the lady," he called out. "Bring the bottle. 2 glasses."

The bartender nodded, grinning like we were his favorite soap opera.

A few minutes later, we had the bottle, 2 glasses, and - surprise - a bowl of green olives. I hadn't expected snacks. Cute!

"So," I said, leaning back a bit. "Cali cartel, huh?"

"Yeah. That's the current headache. Ever since Murphy left, it's just been me," he said, pouring us both a drink. "But I heard the new boss is planning on going out info the field. That true?"

God, the way he said 'boss'. Like it was a challenge.

"Damn right I am. Bureaucracy's already boring me to death," I replied, taking a sip. "I know it won't be easy. But with your help, Javier, I think I'll be just fine. You seem to know your way around... the locals."

And fuck me, did I really just say that?! Note to self: stop chugging gin when you're trying to assert authority.

Peña clearly caught the jab. His eyes narrowed, a flash of something sharp passing throught them. "Some of them, yeah. Doesn't mean it meant anything," he said, draining his glass. "What matters is who I know now." There was an edge in that sentence. I felt my face flush. Shit.

The night rolled on. No more sharp comments, just conversation that drifted way pas professional.

I was definitely tipsy. Okay, drunk. Not blackout drunk, but enough to feel warm and unfiltered. Probably not great, considering it was day 1 in a new city, and I was drinking with a guy who technically worked under me.

Still. I learned stuff. Javier's 40 - nailed it. From Texas, fluent Spanish, while I could barely string a sentence together. Allergic to cats. Currently single - no wife, no girlfriend.

Don't ask me why that detail made me feel weirdly better. It just did.

We polished off the bottle. Thank God the bar was closing. Midnight was creeping in, and I was offícially gone. Javier? Looked like he could down another round without blinking.

"We should head out," he said, standing like he hadn't had a single drink. "I'm not driving, obviously. DEA badge or not, I'm not that dumb. I called a cab. It'll drop us off at the building."

"The building?"

"Yeah," he smirked. "Nobody told you? Our apartments are across the hall."

Oh. Cool.

So basically, when I go home tonight, this man will be 10 feet away. One flimsy hallway between me and this walking, smirking sin.

I got up and - yep - immediately swayed. Not enought to fall, but enough to curse the gin and whoever invented it.

Suddenly, his hands were on my waist. Steadying me. And that did not help. Great. Now my drunk brain had even more evidence of how good his hands felt.

"I got this," I muttered.

"I believe you. I just don't want to scrape you off the floor," he said with a grin.

Are you laughing at me?! I mean, fair. But still.

He paid the bill, and we stepped outside. His arm stayed around my waist like it belonged there. The night air hit me hard - cold, sharp, and sobering, but not enough. My head was still spinning. His fingers still firm on my side.

We stopped. He turned to face me.

His lips were close. Too close. His scent - God, it was everywhere. Smoke and mint and fuck-you confidence.

"You okay?" He asked, and for a second, I forgot who I was supposed to be. Not his boss. Not the new supervisor. Just someone standing in the dark, barely keeping it together.

"I will be. Just... haven't had a drink in a while. Bad judgment call, I guess," I said, trying not to stare at his mouth.

"Gustavo was clearly thrilled. Guess we paid for his rent tonight," he said, lighting a cigarette.

Jesus. That should not to be hot. But it was.

I watched the smoke curl from his lips and thought - yep. I'm fucked. "Gustavo?" I asked, brain slightly delayed.

"Bartender," he replied with a smirk.

"Ah. So he's the one to blame for... this."

"This?" He raised an eyebrow, taking another drag. "You mean being out here with me? That a bad thing?"

"I don't know yet," I said, squinting up at him.

He looked at me, then his hand - still on my waist - started moving. Just slightly. A slow, teasing touch.

Maybe it was the gin. Or the fact that I hadn't gotten laid in way too long. But the way he smelled, the way he looked at me - I was drowning.

I stared at his lips. That gooddamn bottom lip. Full, soft-looking. My brain short-circuited.

"I should... I'm sorry. I'm probably just really drunk," I mumbled, eyes still locked on his mouth.

He didn't answer. Just watched me. Then he tossed the half-smoked cigarette and slid his other hand to my waist.

My brain exploded. My body followed.

I reached up, grabbed his face gently with both hands, and kissed him. Hard.

Next Chapter soon 🔥

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Okay so But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor is currently blasting in my headphones and my brain is already spinning up ideas for a new fanfic. Probably with Joel.

geez, I'm honestly scared of my own ideas sometimes lol

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— NARCOS #3.7 (2015-2017) [insp]

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I would simply see him once, make 48 reckless life choices, ignore every red flag, and then cry about it while saying ‘it’s not his fault, he’s just misunderstood’ 🤝🏼

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Rules I Break For Him 1

Javier Peña (Narcos) fanfiction

Javier Peña x f!reader More chapters in Masterlist: HERE

Agent Peña gets a new boss - a woman who’s uncompromising, focused only on her job. But how long can she resist him before giving in?

ℹ️ If you’ve seen Narcos, please don’t worry about timelines, years, real events or places - this story focuses on the emotional bond between the characters rather than real accuracy. Enjoy!

Warnings:

• Sexual Content / Explicit Sexual Content

• Strong Language / Explicit Language

• Violence / Graphic Violence

• Guns / Gun Violence

• Drug Use

• Alcohol Use

• Smoking

• Mentions of Death

• Emotional Hurt / Angst

• Power Imbalance

My plane just touched down smoothly on the runway in one of the most drug-ridden states in South America. Colombia.

Oh yeah, I have a past here, even though I’ve tried to forget it. But maybe more on that later.

Right now, I have a feeling I won’t be forgetting anytime soon, since I’ve been transferred here from California to the DEA.

Maybe you’ve heard of it, mostly because of the capture of Escobar. That was a few months ago. Now, though, a new cartel is running things.

The DEA made a huge mistake getting rid of one of the best agents - the man who helped bring down Escobar - and sending him back to Texas.

Sure, maybe he could have handled things a little differently, maybe stayed out of it a bit more, but fuck! He did more for them than anyone else.

When I found out I was being assigned here, I begged them to bring agent Peña back. I had a feeling we wouldn’t get anywhere without him.

Truth is, I don’t even know what he looks like or how old he is. I’m picturing some smooth-talking Texan with a cowboy hat and a loose flannel shirt.

God. I always do this… try to tear men down in my head so I can feel like I belong in their world and can do at least as much as they can.

While I was waiting for my suitcase, I ordered a cab, and now I’m making my way out of the building, just wanting to get to the office already.

It’s noon, the sun is fucking brutal, and I silently bless whoever invented cabs, because taking public transportation in Cali would have been a goddamn nightmare.

The ride goes by pretty fast. I check my makeup and hair in a small mirror. Not bad for after a multi-hour flight.

My hair flutters slightly in the breeze from the open window, and my eyes are starting to adjust to the local sunlight. It’s different here, sharper. It wasn’t like this in Sacramento.

I can’t really explain it, but I feel better here. Which is a hell of a paradox, considering I was happy in California. Maybe I’m still happy, in my own way. I feel like I can finally close that chapter and no man is ever going to fuck me up again.

Yeah, about that past I mentioned earlier - the one I’m trying to forget? His name was Diego. It lasted about two years before he cheated on me with the first whore he could find on the street.

Lovely past, right?

I ran back to the States and didn’t want to hear another word about Colombia. Luckily, I’m in a different city now, working at a different station. Because if I had to go back to Bogotá, to the station at the US embassy, I’d probably be the laughingstock of the whole damn place.

Here in Cali, I’m going to build my authority from scratch. And believe me - no agent is ever getting under my skin again.

Here we go. I’m standing in front of the DEA station, which from now on is my new base. I worked hard for this. I’m single and childless, but carrying a lot of work on my shoulders.

Most of the people at this station are men, and haha, it’s the early ’90s, so it’s nothing unusual. But things are slowly getting better.

I open the door and I’m immediately hit by the sound of male laughter and voices, all mixed with the smell of sweat and that typical stench of ‘I’m the master of the universe, bow down to me.’

I probably look like a sore thumb right now. Almost no one notices me, so I head straight toward the director’s office.

I call the elevator, no way I’m dragging my suitcase up to the fourth floor. I press the button, run a hand through my hair, and adjust my blouse, which might be a little see-through. Fuck, I should’ve worn the black one. I glance at myself in the mirror… tight jeans hugging my body, making me feel confident.

Yeah, feminists probably wouldn’t be giving me a gold star right now.

The elevator doors are almost closing when a hand suddenly pushes them open again. First thing I notice are the veins standing out on his arm, pulling me into a bit of a trance.

Geez, get it together.

Then I realize the hand (with no wedding ring) belongs to a tall, lean man, dark-haired, radiating charisma. I’d guess about fourty, a mustache, and surprisingly gentle brown eyes that contrast sharply with the sharp lines of his face.

“Which floor?” he asks, looking like he doesn’t actually give a shit about the answer. Still, I catch his eyes roaming over my body.

Well, at least we’re even - I might have stared at his ass in those tight gray jeans two seconds longer than would be considered polite.

“Hm?” he presses, looking at me with amusement, maybe a hint of impatience.

I flush, feeling the heat rush to my face.

What the hell is happening? Maybe I really should’ve had breakfast. Nothing else could explain this weakness.

“Uh, fourth,” I squeak and drop my eyes. “Director’s office,” I add, lifting my head again, remembering I need to project confidence here.

He gives me a strange look that I can’t quite read. At the same time, his scent hits me, nothing like the disgusting smells from the entrance. He smells like peppermint and freshly lit cigarettes. No sweat, no filthy socks. Nice. Apparently, some men here actually know how to smell decent.

The elevator stops with a loud clunk. “After you,” he says with a wink.

I grab the handle of my suitcase and stumble out of the elevator, feeling his eyes on my back.

Okay, that’s enough. Focus.

I walk down the hallway and knock on the oak door at the end on the left. The station director himself opens the door, welcoming me with a smile.

A man in his sixties, chubby cheeks, and a generally kind demeanor - at least, according to what they say. “Good to see you, Miss. Was the trip alright?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

“Good. I won’t burden you with long speeches… everything was already discussed before your arrival. The apartment we assigned you is ready; you know the address, right? Agent Peña should be arriving soon too, he’ll show you your office. Honestly, I’m not thrilled he’s back, but I trust you’ll keep him under control. His desk will be right outside your office… sometimes it’s better to keep subordinates where you can see them,” says Mr. Rodriguez.

I smile but say nothing. I don’t want to come off like a bitch. I’m sure Peña and I can figure out his desk ourselves. Besides, he’s supposedly out in the field most of the time anyway.

“And about that supervision, Miss,” Rodriguez continues, smiling at me, “I know it’s not exactly part of your job description, but you should go out into the field with Peña too. We don’t want him getting mixed up with some gangs again while trying to catch the new cartel.”

I give him a thoughtful look. Maybe he’s not as likable as he seemed at first. If this is how he thinks about his best agent, I can only imagine how he thinks about the others… or about me.

I don’t have time to think about it more, because there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” says Rodriguez.

The man from the elevator steps inside. What the hell is he doing here? I feel the heat rush to my cheeks again.

“Miss, allow me to introduce your new subordinate, agent Peña,” says Rodriguez, standing up and shaking Peña’s hand.

I stare at him, fascinated.

“Javier, this is your new boss,” Rodriguez adds.

“Peña,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes as he offers me his hand. “Nice to meet you… again.”

“Pleasure’s mine. If you don’t mind, can we be less formal?” I ask, shaking his hand. Maybe it’s unusual, considering the hierarchy, but I always try to keep a friendly atmosphere in my team.

Anyway, it’s clear now - my image of Peña as an old cowboy in a tacky flannel shirt was completely wrong. He’s the exact opposite of what I imagined. A jolt of electricity runs through me, and my breath catches.

“In that case, nice to meet you too,” he says, smiling warmly. “I’m Javier.” His lips curl into a smile, and I feel a rush of heat pooling low in my belly.

God help me. This can’t be happening. Why couldn’t he be sweaty and ugly? Why am I reacting like a damn teenager?

Rodriguez gets up and rather unceremoniously shoos us out of his office.

I’m still in a daze, barely registering what’s happening.

“Alright. I’ll show you your office,” Javier says, looking at me. “I have some work to finish after that, so… ready?”

I swallow hard. “Sure. Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my suitcase and following him.

I barely register how we got to the elevator and out again.

Next thing I know, we’re standing in my new office.

Javier’s desk really is just outside the door… only one door between us. For some reason, that thought unsettles me a little.

“Well, we’ll have time to talk everything through. And I know you’re the boss here, but I have to go, I need to check some phone records. It’ll probably take until evening. But there’s a bar a few blocks away… maybe we could talk more informally there? I’ll pick you up when I’m done?” he asks, looking at me expectantly.

“Yeah. That’s probably better than trying to go over everything here and now,” I manage, sitting down in my chair, pretending to be busy organizing my pens and coffee mug.

“Great,” Javier says with a smile and leaves my office.

I catch myself shamelessly staring at his ass.

Damn. That ass!

I think I’ll have to ban him from wearing tight pants to work. Or maybe I should just ban myself from staring at his mouth every time he talks.

I don’t understand what the hell is happening to me. I’ve known him for half an hour.

And I’m already wondering just how bad of an idea it would be to go for that drink.

I sigh and start trying to settle into my office.

Next Chapter here

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PEDRO PASCAL as Clint Flood FREAKY TALES 2025 | dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

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God help us

PEDRO PASCAL FREAKY TALES (2025) | dir. Anna Bowen & Ryan Fleck

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PEDRO PASCAL as Clint Flood FREAKY TALES 2025 | dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

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I mean… GOOD MORNING 😈

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🎀 sweaty babygirl

Javi in the infamous pink shirt

Bonus:

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One More Mission 4

Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier) fanfiction

Frankie Morales x f!reader More chapters in masterlist: HERE

After swearing he was done with dangerous missions, Frankie comes home to tell you he’s leaving again - for one last job.

Warnings:

• Angst

• Explicit sexual content (18+)

• Fluff / Hurt-Comfort

• Emotional pain

• Mild references to violence

• Vulgar Language

Two long weeks. That’s how long it took before Frankie finally called me after that goddamn “mission”.

I broke down. Completely. I couldn’t even speak, just sobbed into the phone while he kept repeating that he was okay, that he only had a few scratches and was already boarding the next plane home.

To me.

To June.

To us.

I cried long after the call ended. But this time, it was from relief. Fucking relief.

Honestly… these were the longest two weeks of my life. Every day, I was just surviving. Functioning on autopilot, going through the motions of being a mom. If it weren’t for my older sister, I don’t think I would’ve made it.

I was so stressed I stopped producing milk, and June had to switch to formula. On top of worrying about Frankie, I was drowning in guilt - convinced I was the worst mother in the world.

I checked on June constantly. Made sure she was breathing. Lived in a state of anxiety that clung to me like a second skin. I never expected it to hit me this hard.

And honestly? I don’t even know if this - if we - were worth those damn millions.

But today… today he’s coming home. According to the last update I got from him, he’s on the final flight that’ll bring him straight back here.

I have to be at the airport in an hour. June is fed, and my sister Rachel - my lifeline these past two weeks - is coming with me.

When we get to the airport, June is happily drooling in her stroller, and Rachel squeezes my shoulder encouragingly.

I keep my eyes locked on the arrival gate. And then I see him. Backpack slung over one shoulder, same cap he wore when he left, jeans, and that blue denim shirt I gave him last Christmas.

Our eyes meet… And I don’t hesitate. I run. I leave Rachel and my sweet baby girl behind me, but I can’t help it.

Every time I saw this kind of scene in a movie, the woman sprinting across an airport to the man she loves - I’d laugh. Hell, we used to laugh at it together.

But now? There’s nothing funny about this. Neither of us are laughing. And neither of us care how we look.

We crash into each other’s arms and hold on tight. I’m sobbing again… this time with sheer, overwhelming relief.

I can’t believe I’m holding him. Smelling him. Feeling his scruff against my cheek.

Frankie pulls me in close, my head tucked against his shoulder. “Hey baby,” he whispers in my ear after two endless weeks. “I love you. I fucking love you so much.” His voice trembles a little.

“Please, don’t ever… ever leave me again,” I say, lifting my head to look at him.

“Never again, baby,” he promises, brushing his fingers over my cheek.

I study his face. There’s a scratch on the left side, not far from his eye. I reach out and gently run my finger over it. “You okay?” I whisper.

“I am,” he nods. “Just missed you both like hell.”

That’s when I remember Rachel and June still standing behind us. I pull back (even though I don’t want to), grab his hand, and we walk back together.

“Hey Rachel,” Frankie says with a quick nod, but his eyes go straight to the stroller. He bends down and scoops June into his arms. She kicks her legs happily, and I swear - even at three months old - she knows exactly what’s happening.

“Hey there, baby girl. Daddy’s here. And I’m never leaving you again. Not you, not mommy,” he murmurs softly, kissing her tiny forehead.

At one point, she wraps her tiny hand around his finger. And I burst into tears again. Frankie pulls me in, still holding June between us.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you both.”

After we made it out of the airport and got home (Rachel was driving; I’m still not ready to drive alone with June) we headed straight into the living room.

Frankie sat down on the couch. “Baby, I need to tell you something,” he began.

The tone in his voice immediately put me on edge. What now?

Rachel must have sensed it too, because she said: “I’ll take June for a walk, sis. She’s fed, and she looks like she’s about to fall asleep anyway. You two need to talk.”

I nodded mechanically.

Frankie gave her a small, almost reluctant nod too.

Rachel backed out into the hallway with the stroller. “I’ll be back in like two hours, okay?”

Once the door clicked shut behind her, I sat down across from Frankie on the couch, facing him. And I don’t know why, but I had this feeling… this conversation wasn’t going to go well.

“So talk to me,” I said softly, but cautiously.

He took my hand and looked at me with that this-is-bad kind of look. “Shit, this isn’t easy,” he exhaled. “Baby, I… I don’t have the money.”

At first, I didn’t even register what he was saying. “Well, I mean, if you don’t have millions, that’s okay,” I replied, assuming he at least had something… something that could change our lives.

“No, wait… you don’t get it. It’s not just that I don’t have millions… I don’t have anything.”

And that’s when it hit me. Before I could even respond, Frankie started spilling everything. Everything that happened over there. When he got to the part where Tom was killed, something twisted violently inside me.

I pulled my hand from his and shot up from the couch. “So… the whole mission was for nothing? That’s what you’re telling me?!” I started pacing nervously across the living room.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie said quietly.

“No. Wait. So…” I searched for words. “So I spent two fucking weeks terrified - barely eating, barely sleeping. I lost my milk for June, Frankie. Do you get that?! I can’t even fully take care of her right now. And you’re telling me it was all for nothing? That they almost killed you… that I could’ve been the widow instead of Tom’s wife?!”

Frankie stands up from the couch and positions himself right in front of me. “Baby. But I’m here. I came back, and I’m not going anywhere…” he tries to comfort me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

I yank myself out of his grip and shove him. “Fuck, Frankie! You promised you were going there to give us a better life. That the money would change everything. That was the only reason I even tried to come to terms with it. And now you come home and tell me that–” I can’t even finish the sentence. “Fuck!”

I snap. I’m not usually the hysterical type, but two weeks of stress, pain, and fear come crashing to the surface all at once. I start sobbing from rage, pushing against Frankie’s chest, but he barely moves.

He’s strong. He lets me lash out, doesn’t stop me, just stands there with those deep brown eyes locked on mine.

“How could you, Frankie?!” My fists clench, and I slam them against his chest again.

He takes it without flinching. His eyes are dark, wounded.

When I hit him one more time - desperation and hot tears streaming down my cheeks - he suddenly grabs my wrists. Firmly, but not to hurt me. “I tried, babe. I fucking tried!” he shouts.

I stare into his eyes, breathing hard, anger making my chest heave. He still has my hands in his. His face is so close to mine, I can feel our breaths tangling together - hot, rapid, electric.

He locks eyes with me, holding me still for a beat… then lets go.

And that’s it. I snap again, this time in a completely different way.

I throw myself at him and kiss him. Furious, primal, unstoppable. Frankie kisses me back instantly. Our tongues collide in a heated battle, mouths moving like we’re starving for each other.

I rip off his cap and toss it aside, threading my fingers into his hair. He grabs my hips and presses me hard against the nearest wall. I gasp as our lips break apart.

“I want you. I need you. So fucking bad.”

“Then take me,” I whisper, voice rough and breathless.

Frankie’s eyes darken. He pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it to the floor next to his cap. With one smooth motion, he unclasps my bra, letting it slide from my shoulders to the ground. He cups one of my breasts, kneading it gently, thumb circling my nipple while his mouth stays on mine.

I start to melt. Every thought disappears except the feeling of him touching me.

He kisses down my neck, across my collarbones, over my breasts, and down to my stomach. He sinks to his knees in front of me. Unbuttons my jeans. He pulls both my jeans and panties down in one slow, fluid move, letting them fall to my ankles.

I step out of them and kick them to the side. Now I’m standing completely naked in front of him.

Frankie looks up at me, eyes burning. He kisses me just below my belly button, then lower.

I start to squirm, grabbing onto his head for balance.

Frankie’s mouth moves even lower, right there. His tongue parts me gently before pressing directly onto my clit.

I gasp, tugging at his hair.

He keeps going, working me slowly, then slides his index finger inside.

A moan escapes my lips and my knees nearly give out. This… this is exactly what I needed. My muscles clench around his finger.

He curls it perfectly, stroking that spot inside while his thumb circles my clit. “Baby, you’re so fucking wet. I love it… I missed this… missed you… every fucking day.”

And I love when he talks like that. I love those long fingers of his that know exactly what they’re doing.

But suddenly, he pulls his finger out and stands up in front of me.

“Don’t even think about stopping,” I breathe, shooting him a slight glare. I reach down and start unzipping his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs. Sliding my hand under his boxers, I wrap my fingers around his cock. It’s hot and hard.

I free him from the fabric and take him fully into my hands. Even after all these years, I’m still fascinated by his size.

Frankie groans, bracing one hand against the wall behind me.

“I need to feel you inside me. Fuck me. I don’t care about the money right now! I want you to fuck me,” I whisper, not even sure where the desperation is coming from.

Frankie doesn’t hesitate. He lifts me up into his arms like I weigh nothing and presses me hard against the wall.

I wrap my legs around his waist, clutching his shoulders as his strong hands grip under my thighs. We’re barely inches apart. I feel him - hot, thick, ready - pressed between my thighs.

He pressed the head of his cock against my pussy. Then without warning, he pushed inside, filling me completely.

I gasp sharply, burying my face into his shoulder as he starts thrusting.

Deep.

Steady.

Rough.

He holds me tightly but with that kind of tenderness that says he’ll never let go. His rhythm gets harder, faster… like he’s trying to fuck away all the shit he’s been carrying.

And fuck, I love when he fills me up like this. When his big cock stretches me open and takes everything. I grip his shoulders, nibbling lightly at his right one, trying to move my hips against him even with my back pinned to the wall.

Frankie shifts me, angling my body so he can hit just the right spot…! And fuck, I feel it. Every time. I start moaning, louder.

His breathing gets rough. “Baby, who are you gonna cum for?” he growls into my ear.

I lift my head and give him a look ‘you know exactly what you’re doing’.

He knows that question drives me crazy. Especially when he’s buried this deep inside me. He slams into me harder, faster, and I know I’m not going to last much longer.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

He crashes his mouth onto mine, tongue sliding in… And that’s it. I cum hard, body trembling, clenching around him.

Frankie keeps thrusting, groaning against my lips until he slams deep one final time… And spills inside me, pulse after pulse.

I don’t feel anything else.

Just him. Just the bliss.

My knees are shaking, everything is fuzzy, and I don’t care.

Even after five years, this man still fucks me like it’s the first time. His moans mix with mine, raw and real.

I know he’s letting go of everything he held in those two awful weeks. And I’m letting go right along with him.

His breathing finally starts to slow. He slips out of me gently, and I flinch a little.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, still holding me tight, softly nipping at my jaw. He loves doing that, I always tease him for being such a biter.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. And I mean it.

We both needed this.

Next Chapter soon (maybe?) 🎀

[pascalispunkczechia]

🎀 MASTERLIST 🎀

Frankie Morales (One More Mission)

After swearing he was done with dangerous missions, Frankie comes home to tell you he’s leaving again - for one last job.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Javier Peña (Rules I Break For Him)

Agent Peña gets a new boss - a woman who’s uncompromising, focused only on her job. But how long can she resist him before giving in?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[pascalispunkczechia]

One More Mission 3

Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier) fanfiction

Frankie Morales x f!reader More chapters in masterlist: HERE

After swearing he was done with dangerous missions, Frankie comes home to tell you he’s leaving again - for one last job.

Warnings:

• Angst

• Explicit sexual content (18+)

• Fluff / Hurt-Comfort

• Emotional pain

• Mild references to violence

• Vulgar language

I wake up before Frankie. For a while, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling. The baby monitor on the nightstand is quiet. It’s 7 a.m. We made it through the night.

I got up a few times to check on June, and every time I came back to bed, I curled tightly into Frankie, silently hoping he’d change his mind. I don’t care about money. I just want my man alive.

I turn to face him. He’s still sleeping peacefully, his eyes closed, hair messy, face relaxed.

God, I love him. I love him so much.

I watch him for a while, reach out and gently trace my fingers along his face. He frowns slightly, then opens his eyes. “Hey,” he smiles sleepily.

“Hey,” I whisper, kissing him softly.

“How long have you been awake?” he murmurs.

“A little while–” But I don’t get to finish. From the nursery, we hear crying.

“Stay in bed, I got her,” he says gently, stroking my arm before dragging himself out from under the covers.

I follow him into the kitchen later, where he’s bouncing June in one arm and trying to make coffee with the other.

I smile and shake my head. I walk over, take her from him, and sit down with her in my lap. She smells like baby powder and tugs gently at the ends of my hair with her tiny hand.

We eat breakfast in silence. Hanging between us is the unspoken truth… Frankie’s supposed to leave the day after tomorrow. Unless he changes his mind.

God, I keep hoping.

But I don’t want to push him anymore. I don’t want another fight.

Then the doorbell rings. “Are we expecting someone?” I ask, confused. It’s Tuesday morning. Who the hell would be stopping by now?

“No idea. I’ll check,” Frankie says, getting up and walking toward the hallway.

I rock June in my arms as she gazes up at me with her big brown eyes, so much like his.

She’s perfect. She’s all him.

But I don’t get to melt for long. Frankie walks back into the kitchen… With Pope. Of course. The man who pulled him into this.

I look at Pope, confused but cold. “Hey,” I greet him cautiously.

“Hi,” he says, clearly uneasy. “Sorry to break up your morning like this. I just needed to talk to Frankie–”

“Then talk,” I cut in. “I don’t think we keep secrets in this house.” My tone’s polite, but clipped. I’m expecting nothing good.

Frankie looks tense, arms crossed, and Pope shifts awkwardly. “Catfish… we need to leave two days earlier. I know we said Thursday, but plans changed. The guy Benny arranged for the helicopter is only available sooner.”

Pope clearly hates having this conversation in front of me. But I don’t hear anything beyond ‘leave two days earlier’ and ‘tonight’.

And suddenly, I feel sick. My ears ring. I get up silently, still holding June - she’s fallen asleep again - and walk to her room to lay her down.

I barely register the sound of Frankie saying my name behind me. Everything feels robotic. Numb. Like I’m not even really here.

Somehow, I end up back in our bedroom, lying on the bed. Weak. Lost. Maybe already halfway broken.

A little while later, I hear him come in. He lies down beside me, pressing his forehead gently against mine. “I’m sorry, baby. Looks like I really have to leave tonight. I know I said yesterday–”

“I know what you said,” I whisper, cutting him off. “You told me about this whole fucked-up mission yesterday, and no, I haven’t come to terms with it. You know that. But I thought… we’d at least have two more days. That maybe… maybe you’d change your mind. And now you’re taking even that from us?” I’m trying not to cry, but it’s hard.

“Baby, I’m doing this–”

“I know why,” I say quickly, stopping him again. “At least I know what you told me yesterday…”

This time, he cuts me off. “I’m coming back. That’s all that matters. I’ll come back, and with that money, we’ll have a whole new life.”

That was the end of our conversation a few hours ago. Now we’re here. At the airport. I’m doing everything I can not to fall apart. Frankie’s holding my hand tightly.

After a moment, Pope arrives. Then Benny, Will, and Tom. They all nod politely at me.

I give them a small nod in return, just enough to show I don’t like this one damn bit. I don’t know what kind of message I’m sending. Maybe I’m just trying to hold on to something. Anything.

Frankie turns to face me and takes both my hands in his. He kisses my knuckles softly. His eyes lock with mine… those warm brown eyes that have always seen straight through me.

Maybe they see now, too, just how badly I want to scream Don’t go. Please don’t go. Or maybe they see it and he’s still going anyway.

He leans in and kisses me - deeply. Then kisses my forehead. Then he turns to the stroller.

June lies there peacefully, completely unaware that her father is heading into a dangerous jungle. Completely unaware that her mother is terrified he might not come back. Frankie leans down, picks her up gently, and kisses her little forehead. He whispers something to her that I can’t hear.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. I love these moments, watching the two of them together. But I never imagined I’d witness something like this, under circumstances like these.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the rest of the guys. They’re staring at the ground. They don’t look any more comfortable with this than I am.

But they can’t really understand. None of them have babies. Pope, Will, and Benny are still kid-free. And Tom? His girls are already in school. He’s not leaving behind a three-month-old.

Frankie sets June back in her stroller carefully. Then turns to me. I throw my arms around him and hold him so tight I’m probably crushing him. I breathe in the scent of his detergent and shampoo, the smell that’s so purely him.

“Come back to me,” I whisper into his shoulder, where I’ve buried my face.

“I will,” he whispers back.

I let him go.

He puts on his cap, picks up his duffel bag, and looks at me one last time.

And already, I miss every piece of him. Every atom. He gives me one final nod… And then all I can do is watch him walk away.

Next Chapter here 🎀

[pascalispunkczechia]

One More Mission 2

Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier) fanfiction

Frankie Morales x f!reader More chapters in masterlist: HERE

After swearing he was done with dangerous missions, Frankie comes home to tell you he’s leaving again - for one last job.

Warnings:

• Angst

• Explicit sexual content (18+)

• Fluff / Hurt-Comfort

• Emotional pain

• Mild references to violence

• Vulgar language

I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting in the chair in our daughter’s room. I rock her in my arms on autopilot, tears still silently running down my cheeks. Thankfully, June slowly starts to calm down. Her breathing evens out, soft and steady. She’s asleep.

I stand up carefully, trying not to wake her, and lay her gently into her crib. I look at her for a long moment.

She’s so tiny. So defenseless. Her lashes are long and dark, her messy brown hair sticks out in soft tufts, and her little mouth is slightly open. She’s perfect. She’s a perfect copy of her father - who today told me he’s planning to join another dangerous mission. In Brasil, of all places. With his bunch of dumbass friends.

Another wave of tears slips down my face. I don’t want to raise our daughter without her father. Does he not get that? I brush my fingers gently across June’s cheek. That’s when I hear a quiet knock on the door.

Frankie.

I don’t answer. I just quickly move to the door and wipe my face. I open it and look up at him.

He’s standing there, shoulders slumped, the usual spark in his eyes completely gone. “Baby…” he says softly, reaching for me.

I pull away and close the nursery door behind me without a word. I walk past him toward our bedroom, needing space, needing a bed and a pillow to cry into. I sit down on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands. I hear him enter the room behind me, quietly. I know I can’t keep avoiding him in this tiny house.

“How could you?” I say, voice already shaking. “Cocaine? You risk your job, your pilot license, and more than that - me and your daughter? Frankie, it’s not just the two of us anymore. We’re a family now. We’re three. We have a responsibility to June…” I can’t go on.

He sits beside me but doesn’t touch me. He gives me space. “That’s exactly why I have to fix this,” he says, waving his hands around. “All of this. You deserve a big, beautiful house with a white picket fence. A paid-off mortgage. Our little girl deserves the best schools. Hell, you even deserve that damn new dishwasher.”

His voice breaks a little. “You gave me a child. You made us a family. I need to give something back. I can’t be that guy who can’t take care of his family on a vet’s pension. Baby, please. I have to do this for us.”

Something inside me breaks open. I start to sob and throw myself into his arms.

He holds me tightly, rubbing my back, stroking my hair, pulling me close like he never wants to let go. He whispers to me that nothing will happen to him. That he’s a soldier - even if he’s not active anymore. That he won’t be alone. That he knows how these things go. That he’ll be back in a few days - with millions of dollars that’ll change our lives.

I listen, trying to believe him. I cling to him like I’m afraid he’ll vanish right here and now. “Don’t get yourself killed,” I whisper into his shirt, now soaked with my tears. “Please. Don’t leave us alone. We need you. I need you. More than you might even realize.”

We stay like that, holding each other in a tight, desperate embrace. Eventually, the crying eases. I pull back a little and look into his eyes. They’re shining with tears, but he doesn’t cry. He always stays strong when I fall apart. And God, I love that about him. Even if he’s about to go off to Brasil like some - I don’t even know - some fucking wannabe Robin Hood.

I reach up, gently touch his face, then stand up from the bed. I slowly pull off my shirt, stained with who-knows-what. Probably baby drool. Maybe something worse.

Frankie watches me with that quiet, focused look of his. I slide my shorts off and let them fall to the floor. I walk back to him, silent, and straddle his lap. I take his face in my hands. “Be close to me,” I whisper, voice trembling.

A flicker returns to his eyes, and he kisses me… deep, hungry. His hands roam up my back, pulling me flush against him. I tug his shirt over his head, breathing in that familiar mix of laundry detergent and his scent - God, his smell has always made me weak.

I run my fingers down his chest, stopping at the faded bullet scars on his right side. I brush them gently with my fingertips. I’ve seen them a hundred times. But today… it feels different.

He senses it too. Without a word, he stands - lifting me with him - and lays me down gently on the bed.

I hear the snap of his belt, then the heavy drop of jeans hitting the floor. Frankie kicks them aside and steps closer, his body warm and tense with anticipation. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties, drags them down slowly, and tosses them aside without a second thought.

He gently pushes my thighs apart and settles between them. His lips claim mine in a kiss that sends a shiver through me, his hands threading through my hair, gliding over my skin. Then I feel him - his cock, thick and hot - pressing against me, parting me inch by inch as he sinks into me.

A gasp escapes my lips as my body stretches to take him in. He fills me completely, deeply, and begins to move with slow, deliberate thrusts. Every motion sends a jolt of pleasure through my spine. I wrap my legs around his hips, holding him tight, needing more of him, needing all of him.

We move together, breath syncing, bodies locked in rhythm. He fucks me with care but certainty, every stroke hitting just right. I moan against his neck, fingernails scraping down his back.

When I feel the heat coiling in my belly, I grab a fistful of his hair, pull him closer, and arch my back. My hips rise to meet his as he drives into me harder, deeper. The pressure builds fast. With one last thrust, we shatter together - gasping, trembling, our bodies still pressed tight, skin against skin. And then, with barely a whisper, I say the words only he’s meant to hear: “Please… come back to me. Just come back.”

He doesn’t answer with words. He just leans in, presses his forehead against mine, and breathes for a long moment.

Then finally, he speaks. “I love you,” he says.

He shifts, pulling me into him like I’m made of glass. My back against his chest, his arm around my waist. A perfect, quiet spoon.

Soon, I hear his slow, steady breathing. The baby monitor on the nightstand is silent. June’s fancy little foot monitor - which cost a damn fortune - hasn’t beeped once.

So I let myself close my eyes. And I fall asleep within seconds, completely exhausted. From everything Frankie told me today. From everything I feel. Next Chapter here 🎀