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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 1 month ago

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It Will Come Back - Logan Howlett x f!reader

[a/n: hi!! It’s been a minute but your girl is back with some good ol’ wolvie. another joel fic is in the works, and possible a part two to this one depending on feedback <3 love yall]

Warnings: angst, brief smut (NSFW), cage fighting, alcohol, cigar, mention of cat death :(

Content/themes: angst! cage fighter!logan, bartender!reader, not really an age gap idk I see reader as a full grown established adult, based of the hozier song, reader & lo hookup in this chapter but don’t get together, fear of love, mild smut, big stray cat metaphor, possible mutant!reader, reader has a sexy car so, brief section on their backseat of her car sex, the claws come out (or did they?), idiots who deserve comfort and love and need to recover from years of trauma to love each other because they are meant for each other

Summary: A stray Wolverine finds his way into your bar looking for the cage fights. But you both find something you swore off a long time ago. [1.3k words]

You knew better. You’d known better since you were told at age 7 not to feed the stray because he’d keep coming back. But you never really learned your lesson, since that cat proved to be the sweetest of them all. He’d curl up to you when you left your window open at night, push up against your legs in the backyard when you’d come home from school, hiss at any other person or animal. That’s why they put him down, when the neighborhood decided he was too aggressive.

Love like that wasn’t something you'd ever find again. The unconditional protectiveness you received all from simply feeding a stray with your kindness. And that's how you got him killed.

Never again.

To say your love life was parallel to a nun’s would be an over exaggeration. No man had ever drawn in your love the way a stray could.

The tragedy that is a stray.

Maybe you gravitated to working in this bar because everyone here was a stray. Everyone an orphan, who was someone’s, once. It helped that the cage fights were rather entertaining. Watching grown men lose their shit over losing bets, dealing out drinks left and right, everyone who came through had a level of respect for you, everyone’s favorite bartender.

“What can I get you?” Your voice flowed with the familiar words, watching the new face turn up to make eye contact with you, a cigar hanging from his lips, a good head of hair and a worn face.

“You the lady to talk to about getting in on these fights?” He asked, giving you a questioning eyebrow.

“No, Jimmy takes all the bets around here, pudgy guy, beard, back right.” You pointed past him, to Jimmy. Instead of following your finger, he gently waved his hand, looking back at you.

“No, are you the lady to talk to about fighting?” He rephrased, and you grinned. Fresh meat, right?

“Sure, I need a name.” You replied with the grin still on your lips. He looked fit, you wondered if he’d be getting his shit rocked in the cage within the hour. Or preferably by you, and not in that cage.

“Logan.”

“I need a fighting name. Privacy, and whatever.”

“Wolverine.” He puffed out the cigar’s smoke, a smell that this place already reeked of.

“The Wolverine, that's a new one. Welcome.” You smiled more genuinely, waving over one of the announcers, alerting them to your newest competitor. “Can I get you a drink, while you wait?”

“No, just the fights.” He replied, observing you in a way that made it seem like he was taking all of you in.

“Sure you can take more than one round in the ring?” You tilted your head a bit, observing him in the same way, the tension something burning that you squeezed as you spoke, as if it’d choke him up.

“You’d be surprised.” He cracked a grin, you almost wanted to take that in a different way with the way his eyes lingered on you.

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You weren’t exactly surprised that he was a good fighter, but it's been 3 hours of continuous beatings, without a cut or a bruise to show for it, he liked to make eye contact with you, doing some dance on that tightrope you were both walking this evening. You wouldn’t complain about the view, since he started he’d shed the jacket and shirt he’d had on. It helped that he won every fight, with a somewhat practiced ease, which made plenty of viewers upset for the losses of their bets.

As the night winded down, bets closed, drunks left angry or big winners. Some frequent patrons lingered on your stools, or in the seats. You watched Logan return to the same stool as earlier.

“Would our very own Wolverine like a beer?” You offered again, wiping up some spilled beer on your bartop.

“Logan’s fine. And yeah, hun, whatever you’ve got in a bottle.” You were used to terms of endearment used by men for you around here, but nothing like the way it fell off of his lips. It made something burn in your body, a sense of nervousness and excitement, that had you grabbing the first bottle you could for him.

You popped the top, moving it over yout bartop into his hand, and part of you wanted to ask how he was unscathed from all the beatings he’d supposedly taken.

“Anything else, Logan?” You asked, more soft than you intended, taking in his appearance. What was it about this particular stray that you felt needed you? Like the way your neighborhood one had? It felt pathetic, the way you tried to straighten yourself out after the slip of your voice.

“No, darlin’. Unless you’ve got a name for me?” He grinned the same way he had earlier, and you could feel the blush dusting your cheeks.

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That’s how you made it to the backseat of your black 67’ Ford Galaxie, being fucked like you don’t think you ever have been. Something about digging your fingernails into his skin, the way you couldn’t even see any indents with how hard you pressed, maybe it was the dark? Your legs wrapped around his hips, secured by one strong arm, the other holding himself up above you, buried in your hair. He didn’t seem the affectionate type, maybe you were wrong.

You were so lost, you couldn’t distinguish the small praises and growls on his breath, even if they met your ears like a goddamn symphony.

Something made you make eye contact with him that night, making what should've been a regular hookup into something much more intimate than it should be.

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Maybe he shouldn't have looked into your eyes that night. Maybe he shouldn't have given himself a taste of something he should never have deserved once in his life.

But he did.

And by the time you were asleep on him, maybe he should have woken you up, told you he should go. Maybe he should have denied himself the tug you had on something deep inside him, what could be a tug on the heart he swore he didn't have.

But he didn't.

And in the morning when you said goodbyes, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been, at least to him, he liked watching over you that night. He craved that tugging he felt inside of himself to curl up with you, so close you couldn't ever leave him, so close that he would let nothing hurt you.

After years of losing every person he’d ever loved, some wall stayed built, a locked door that kept him out of the warmth of your embrace.

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You figured you wouldn't see him again for a long time, he’d told you he was a wanderer, traveling from place to place, with no home to call his own.

He reminded you of that stray cat, and maybe you should've ran the moment you felt like you needed to give him comfort and the home he deserved. You swore you’d never let someone who needed you die again.

But this was a man, a man whose mind had to be wired differently than a cat’s. But something told you part of it wasn't wired differently, the something that heard to skint of metal in the dark of your backseat when he’d damn near growled and come with you.

If the man wasn’t like your stray, why did he have the claws to prove that he was? You reminded yourself that was your imagination, because just as you turned your head to the sound, the glimmer of metal was a figment of your fucked-out mind, not really slipping back between his knuckles.

Hung up on a hookup? How pathetic. You’d never see this man again, he'd never stumble into your bar again, looking for a fight, and finding you instead.

Finding something neither of you wanted to give a name, yowling at the door you stayed on either side of, pleading to come in.

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[a/n: I LOVED writing this!!! PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed, it’s much appreciated PLUS it will help me know if yall want another part to their story <3]

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 1 month ago

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upcoming! fic about this man soon 😻

#hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #Wolverine #Logan #logan howlett #i love him

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 4 months ago

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Family Vacations - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader [oneshot]

[a/n: stuck in the airport with a delay that is killing me wishing i had a frankie <\3 anyway, enjoy! moodboard was slammed together 2 minutes ago. Love yall <3]

warnings: judgemental family (at first), alcohol mentions [warnings will be added as this continues]

content/themes: family beach vacation, airports, planes, Frankie is adorable, fluff, no use of y/n, family names made up, part 1, wip short series, not proof read till i get out of this goddamned nightmare of a airport

Summary: Your first time traveling with your boyfriend, to a family vacation. You’re tired, and want to sleep on his shoulder.

You could appreciate the simplicity of two seats on either side of a plane. No middle seat. Your only issue was change. As much as you hated traveling alone, you had a boyfriend to share travels with. One who was admittedly a little broad shouldered to be sitting in economy seats, poor guy.

But that meant less sleeping upright and more sleeping on said shoulders. You weren’t really sure how he’d react to that. Despite the months spent together, this was your first time traveling together. You felt that was a make or break opportunity, you’d known a few exes to be rather hasty or difficult with you while traveling. Frankie was all calm expressions and put together with tickets and luggage. No speed walking to get to a gate, with a two hour layover. Just handholding and conversation about what you’d get for your breakfast/lunch, time blended together when you woke up at 3 in the morning. He always offered you the window, after he’d seen you staring out at your first flight, but deep down, he liked being a barrier between you and anyone else.

He was just as stressed through TSA, boarding, etc… as you were, but he could tell his calm demeanor allowed you to relax a little. If that wasn’t sexy enough, the baseball cap fit snug on his head, with little tufts of his mess of curls poking out underneath, the cotton t-shirt pulled over the chest you know you left marks on a few days ago, denim jeans, boot cut looked just a little too good, was plenty.

Sitting in your 20 A and B seats, the windows shut and the air conditioning blasting, you decided to try it, test the waters. You carefully slid the plastic of the window cover down, the view becoming nothing but bleak clouds. He squeezed your hand, only a gentle reminder that he was there.

You were exhausted anyway.

You leaned your head over, on his shoulder, to which he leaned in, the arm rest already pushed up long ago between the two of you. He wrapped a protective arm around you, nuzzling his head onto yours. Success. No movement or shifting away, or excuse to not be a pillow for you. It took you mere minutes to shift from a half-asleep mindset to completely asleep.

Your family wasn’t always the most agreeable, or easy to be around. With separated parents, it was just your dad’s side. Your grandparents had finally bought a beach house, instead of renting one every year.

Your father and step-mother had already met Frankie. You weren’t really worried about how your family would like him—more so how they would act around him. Your dad and uncles had quite the habit of getting a little more rowdy or loud when they’d had a few extra alcoholic beverages. You usually just went to bed early, or played with your little cousins.

You were the oldest, and he was the first significant other to join the vacation week. To say you had a few warnings for him was an understatement.

You only woke up to some turbulence closer to the end of the 2 and a half hour flight, your boyfriend out like a light. You rubbed your eyes, forgetting about the mascara that was on your eyes. You sighed, reaching down to awkwardly free your carry-on backpack, pulling out your phone. You flipped through some music, the droning on of the pilot announcing your descent.

Frankie usually slept fine anywhere, you figured that was a result of the years spent in the military.

He only woke up when the plane hit the ground for a rather rough landing, he sat up, stirring to look at you. “Goddamn airline pilots…” he muttered before pulling his phone from the seat back pocket, checking the time, and weather, to try to predict what it’d be like once you stepped outside.

You leaned a bit closer to shift his hat back straight on his head, a teasing smile on your lips, he gave you a grumpy face, before letting you kiss his cheek.

There was nothing like that humidity hitting your face the second you stepped outside of the air conditioning. As nice as it felt to be away from the daunting reality of travel, the creeping sweat down your back as your backpack rested there was not delightful. You craved the backseat of your grandparent’s minivan, the cold drinks they brought and the blasting AC.

Frankie’s uncomfortable shifting gave you the hint he felt the same about the heat, he let go of your check bag, running and hand under his hat as he held it up enough to straighten out his unruly curls.

“My grandparents are about 5 minutes out, Franks, wanna sit?” You offered, bumping his shoulder.

“Baby, I’ve been sitting all day, if I even think about a bench you’ll have a 80 year old man on your hands.” He chuckled, and god how you loved that sound. “…so, how nice exactly are your grandparents?”

“Judgemental…at first. My grandma might talk your ear off about sweepstakes and our family. Just listen and smile.” You shrugged, taking in the hint of nerves on his face and in his words. “My grandpa likes that you’re a pilot, apparently. He was Air Force.”

“Okay…I can manage there. Your aunts and uncles?” He asked, he was always one for knowing all the details beforehand.

“Also…judgemental. At first. My Uncle James is pretty chill though, he’s married to Penny. She’s very southern and kind. My uncle Lou might come off as a bit of a dick at first, well, maybe for a bit, but that’ll fizzle out. He’s married to Jess, who’s kind of a neurotic mess, kinda micromanage-y.” You listed, trying to keep it as organized as you possibly could. “You’ve met my dad…and my stepmom…”

“So…I’m guessing you’ll be spending most of your time with the little guys?” He asked upon hearing the lineup of family members.

“Mostly. It’s more fun to tug them around in a raft or toss them into the waves than talk about adult life bullshit downing White Claws.” You shrugged again, your hand slipping down his arm to intertwine your fingers. “They’ll like you, maybe even more than me, you can toss them farther. And probably dig better holes than me.”

“Now my only goal is to be the favorite.” He laughed softly at your admission of the title of favorite cousin. His hand shook yours playfully.

“That…should be them.” You smiled, spotting the familiar minivan, looking up at Frankie, as he braced himself, looking like someone was about to taze him.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #fluff #pedro pascal fandom #writing prompt #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #airport #travel #pedro pascal fanfiction #writers on tumblr #im so tired #not proofread #family vacation

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 7 months ago

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lying in bed with joel miller in the early morning all warm and cozy beneath the sheets and nuzzling your face into his scruff and breathing him in while he pulls you in close and kisses your hair

#is one joel miller too much to ask for

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 7 months ago

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Comfort(ers) & Sheets - Joel Miller x Reader [Drabble]

[moodboard for moodboards sake can easily be read as game or hbo joel <3]

warnings/themes: allusions to sex, no smut, fluff, lots of romance/love, pov swap, implied plot, it’s sweet & short that’s it.

a/n: just a quick drabble based on a thought I had at 11pm when I should’ve definitely been sleeping. thoughts loved and appreciated if you enjoy <3

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You could spend every late Sunday morning all wrapped up in the huge white comforter you’d invested in when you moved into this house from trading.

Specifically under it, with your very sleepy husband sprawled out on his side of the bed, as you lay, naked (Joel had made sure of that the night before) your stomach pressed against the mattress, your fingers tracing down his face, over his nose. His scars.

The cool summer breeze from the morning seeps in with the dim sunlight, the warmth and coolness all at once of the oversized, stuffed blanket makes you want to lie there forever.

He doesn’t stir. Not anymore. When he knows you’re there he stays still, content even in his sleep.

You slip out of bed, only a loose sheet wrapped around you, opening the back patio door and settling in a rocking chair he’d built for you. You watch the trees behind your home, in the warm sun, your body sore and relaxed all at once. You took pride in that, even if Joel didn’t believe you. He made you feel like you could just…melt, soak into the dark ground and dig your way right back out just for him again.

“Sugar…” Joel all but spoke loudly as he leaned on the doorframe, he’d been there for a few minutes now, but he wouldn’t tell you that. In his mind, when he got to watch you think, about anything, he’d been blessed by some divine grace to have you.

“Honey.” You smile, turning enough to see him.

“Still early…come back to bed?” He offers, his tone convincing, always too convincing.

“We have a day to start.” You remind him, as he leans down to take up your hand, letting you make sure the sheet that covered you was wrapped still. You’d shown him every piece of you, and every second of that he wanted more. But until he had you safe and comfortable…that piece of you only he got, stayed hidden to the world, and to him.

“The day can wait on us.” He replies simply, picking you up completely as he carries you back in, and you shut the patio door.

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Your soft breath. That’s what he listens to. It’s the same as a heartbeat to him. It means you’re alive, and still here with him, sheet left to the floor, the same with your clothes, to be found when you meet the day. His eyes watch your resting face, pensive but restful nonetheless. His right hand snakes into your hair and out, a repeated motion, his left placed over yours, on his bare chest. He’d managed it again. Managed to keep the most beautiful and most precious thing in his life in his bed, sure, with his head buried deep between your thighs, and a slow and sleepy push back into sleep.

But he likes it that way. He’d stay like this for an eternity if he could, ignorant to every sin and deformity that is the world now, mapping out every inch he could of you, instead of escape routes and patrol paths.

He wanted every piece of you, just the way you are.

His eyes are tired but the last thing he wants to do is sleep. He watches his calloused hands, destroyed by the grips of countless guns and weapons.

He should marry you again.

Even with the years that take a toll on both of you now, years that you can let show on your faces and bodies, he wants to be smooth like a whiskey on a bar with a new finish, soft like a shower, washing the dirt from your body after a long day, a relief to you the way a breath of fresh air feels after the restriction of a gas mask. Those are the things he strives, no, begs some higher power to be.

Even in his dying breath, he is yours. That’s all he knows.

#pedro pascal #writing prompt #joel miller #game joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #fluff #fanfic #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #tlou2 #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou game #pedro pascal fandom #writers on tumblr

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 8 months ago

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me normally: 😕

me when i see a new picture of that middle-aged man: 😀

#no because im eating up all the pedro pascal content recently #i have a problem

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 8 months ago

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Look After You (Christmas Fic) - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

[moodboard for moodboard’s sake]

Summary: It’s the first time you’ve had Frankie home for the entire month of December, and you have some exciting news for him.

content/warnings: fluff, established relationship, reader & frankie are married, they have a daughter, girl dad frankie, classic christmas (no sad beige bullshit here), reader is pregnant, pregnancy announcement, their daughter is rambunctious & sweet, daughter is named Valentina (Val for short), Santiago appearance, alcohol mention (santi and frank have a beer lol), these two are so sweet you wanna throw up [2k-ish words]

a/n: okay first fic on tumblr, this feels weird. and yeah it’s wayyyy too early for Christmas but i hate that it’s snowing where i am and im pretending im happy about it (aka writing fics about Christmas) let me know what you think!!! <3

Christmas had stopped being a time to relax a long time ago. Even more so once you had your daughter. And your husband. But, Frankie was plenty of help, this evening, among many others, he’d offered to completely take over the bedtime duties for Valentina, that you normally split 50/50, so you could have some time to yourself, which you opted to wrap gifts.

It was the 23rd, and the wrapping was a little late admittedly. He’d offered everything under the sun, a hot bath, a home cooked meal, etc. You’d chosen to wrap gifts. This was the first year you got to spend the entire month with him. And Val was three. You settled down on your bed, with a bunch of gift bags, wrapping paper and a few bows. The gifts you planned for your daughter on your left, and a few for your husband on the right.

By 7 o’clock, you’d wrapped everything. Gift tags were what you had left. In your hand writing, you started to write your first name. On your daughter’s gift. You silently laughed at yourself, trying again, with a different tag, addressing it to Val, from Mama.

You’d never get used to it in the best of ways.

You smiled at the tag, feeling stupid. Stupidly happy. The amount of joy that children got out of Christmas, would last forever, and seeing the joy from your daughter made all the work worth it.

Then you got down to your husband’s little stack. A few useful items he’d asked for, a book he’d wanted, and a framed photo of the two of you. One from the day you told him you were pregnant with Val. Taken on a digital camera, he’s smiling wide, genuinely, while you press a kiss to his cheek. He had been trying to find time to get all the photos printed off the camera and frame some, specifically that one to put on his nightstand. You wrapped that last.

Cause that wasn’t the only part of the gift. You had a letter, and more importantly, a pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

You looked at it for a moment, you only found out a few days ago, and decided you’d surprise him on Christmas Eve, with the photo.

A swift knock was put on the bedroom door, to which you hid everything at your side, throwing your sweater over it. “Francisco Morales if you walk in here you may not live to see Christmas Day.” You call out, in a joking tone, as the door cracked open.

“Hey there, Mrs. Catfish.” You place the voice immediately. Santiago. “Heard you were wrapping gifts in here?”

“Yeah, you’re safe.” You chuckle lightly, standing up off the bed to hug him as he stepped in to greet you. “What’re you doing here?” You wrap your arms around him with a smile on your face.

“Holy…shit.” You furrow your brows, hearing his tone as you pull back, following his gaze. Fuck. “Looks like it’s Mama Fish of two.” He chuckled, looking back at you with a smile before you shushed him quickly.

He got a kick out of the nickname he’d come up with when he’d found out about Val.

“Yeah, looks like it.” You smile, the reality kicking in a little. “Frankie’s supposed to find out Christmas Eve so keep it zipped.” He chuckles again, taking it to heart.

“How far along?” He asks as you made an effort to finish putting everything neatly into its little box, and labeling it with his name.

“Four weeks. Only found out on the 19th.” You say quietly, stuffing presents into the closet, behind some storage boxes, stacking a few spare blankets over it for good measure.

“Damn.”

“Don’t even do the math, Santiago.” You warn with a fake scowl.

“Guess me taking Val for the weekend paid off.” He jokes as you shoot him a look, opening the door and leading him back out into the hall to the living room to find Frankie.

The Christmas lights on the tree were plugged in, blues, red, purples, oranges, greens, yellows…you’d refused to give in to the sad beige trends, you wanted your daughter to have the Christmas you did. Full of life and color, and strange ornaments with memories and crafts and photos. Frankie was in the kitchen in the fridge, digging for drinks.

“You found her?” He calls to Santi, to which he replies with a simple “yep.” “Either of you want a beer?” He asks, Santi gave you a look to which you held up a finger in warning.

“No, honey, just water for me.” You reply, and he came into the living room a few moments later, two beers and a water. You thanked him and smiled, sitting down next to him on the couch while Santiago sat in one of your armchairs.

You spent the rest of the evening talking, catching up and laughing. Your daughter slept like a rock, and eventually you checked on her, making sure she actually was asleep. She was the spitting image of both of you, snoring softly. Your pride and joy, you never thought any man would ever make you feel safe and loved enough to have a child, a home.

The last two weeks, you’d been watching Christmas movies with Val and Frankie, curled up on the couch, as she got all excited about Christmas, and winter, and presents.

Last night, she’d begged to make cookies she’d found in an old cookbook of yours. Gingerbread cookies the three of you decorated to look like each other, accompanying the little house she decorated. She passed out from a sugar high on the couch between you and Frankie at only 6 in the evening. A miracle, for a girl like her. He’d talked to you about how much he loved the two of you, quietly playing with your hair, for almost an hour before you both fell asleep.

By the time Santiago left, you both were tired, like average toddler parents were. You drag a blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it up and over the two of you, curling up with him for a minute.

“Good day?” Frankie asks, like clockwork each night he wanted to hear what you had to say. His eyes reflect the Christmas lights, and somehow every ounce of admiration and love he held for you.

“Good day. Got all the presents wrapped.”

“I’m glad, all ready for Christmas?” He rubbs your arm, pulling you closer.

“Very. You?” You look up at him, hand finding his soft brown curls, you see him wear more frequently now. Standard Oil practically owned his head of hair until you came along and convinced him the curls and little grays were perfect to you.

“I think so. Wrapped your gifts last week.” He grins down at you, hand falling at your waist, fingertips grazing your back and pulling you just a bit closer. You smile at him, God, you love him. His eyes shine a little more in the light of the tree, pulling you up to kiss him sweetly, your hand pressed gently to the side of his face.

“I love you.” You murmur, reaching just a bit farther up to press a kiss to the tip his nose, one of many things you adore about him.

“I love you, hun.” He kisses your cheek in return, letting you rest on his shoulder, just against his neck. You play with the hem of his shirt, yawning slightly. “How’s a hot shower and bed sound?” He asks with a slight chuckle, you can feel it deep in his chest, with his heartbeat. The one he knows beats just for you.

By the next evening, dinner is served, chicken (considering your daughter won’t touch turkey), mashed potatoes (her favorite), and green beans (cause somebody needed her greens.)

“Mama, do we get to open presents tonight?” Your daughter asks, her spoon spinning around in her potatoes.

“Only one, since Santa hasn’t come yet, sweetheart.” You grin, watching her take another bite, smiling at you and Frankie.

“Do you think I’ll be able to hear the reindeer? When he’s on the roof? Cause I can’t see Santa?” Val asks, pulling her hair out of the little ponytail done by Frankie from earlier when she’d “helped” him outside shovel the snow on the sidewalk, messy from her little hat.

“I don’t know about that…but I heard Santa has been leaving behind something extra special if we leave him some milk and cookies tonight.” Frankie smiles, explaining to his daughter what she could expect if she tried to stay in her bed and sleep.

“Hmm…I think we should get to bed soon, Val cause Uncle Santi called before dinner and told me Santa had already come to his house.” You hum like it's nothing, and your daughter shoots up, finishing the remainder of her plate, and Frankie smiles at you.

“Can we go get my pjs? And brush my teeth? I wanna go to bed!” Val forgets she could even have one present tonight.

She takes Frankie’s hand, tugging it a little, watching you for approval. She drags both of you, through her bedtime routine like you usually have to do for her. You kiss her goodnight, and tell her Christmas will be there the sooner she goes to sleep, and that you love her. You lean on the doorframe, watching Frankie talk to her, telling her goodnight and that he loves her.

Your hand finds your abdomen without really thinking. Jesus Christ do you love him, and God are you glad to be the one having his children.

You quickly tuck both hands in the pockets of your jeans as he turns to you, walking out with you. He takes your hand, leading you back to the living room.

“I’ve got something for you.” You say softly, he presses a kiss to your head. You reach under the couch, as you’d hidden it earlier in the day, and he chuckles a little. You hand him the box and settle with your legs over his lap, he brushes your knees with his free hand. He looks at you to see if it’s okay to open, his hands making the box look much smaller than it was. You nod, encouraging him a little, a small smile on your lips.

He shakes off the top, pushing back the wrapping and looking at you, a large grin on his face, taking up the photo frame, setting the box beside him. He pulls you in tightly, still holding the framed photo. “I’ve been meaning to do this, this is amazing, thank you-”

“Frankie, I’d take another look in the box before you thank me, honey.” You joke slightly, he lets go of you, giving you a confused look, taking the box back up, taking back some more of the wrapping, he looks back up at you, his eyes wide, and you don’t even know how his smile got better. He wraps you up in his arms again, pulling you up to hold you as close as he can.

You’re every good piece of him, you’re the one thing he could ever dream to have.

“We’re having another baby!” He’s impossibly happy, excited and holding you tight, kissing you repeatedly before you can even say another word. “I’m a dad, again…” He lets you go a little to look at you, glancing down at your stomach, and back to your eyes. “Thank you…”

Those big, brown eyes and that smile, that got you here in the first place.

You’re smiling, blushing with how excited he is. He pulls you back in, once again, elated, with little tears at the corner of his eye, holding you close. The only place he wants to be.

“I- I’m only four weeks. Only found out a few days ago, just wanted to surprise you.” You stumble over your words, and he kisses the side of your face, still holding you but loose, so you could breathe, and he could look at you.

“It’s amazing. It’s more than amazing, it’s the best fucking Christmas gift.” He grins at you, hands rubbing your arms up and down as if to warm you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Francisco.” You just about melt into his arms, his comfort the same as a blanket while it snowed outside.

He made you happier than you could’ve ever believed you deserved, let alone believed you would find. And yet, he reminded you somehow everyday of how much he didn’t deserve you.

#pedro pascal #writing prompt #christmas #fanfic #triple frontier #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #established relationship #pregnancy #wife!reader #pregnancy announcement #fluff #new writter #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales is too fucking cute and a girl dad send help

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