#Frankie Morales Pedro pascal

[thetriumphantpanda]

driving home for christmas | frankie morales

Summary | With a long drive ahead of you to reach your parents for Christmas, there's only one thing to do to pass the time.

Word Count | 2k

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings | This is basically porn without plot. Mentions of family Christmas, oral sex (M), allusions to oral sex (f), road head (pls be safe y'all), smattering of cock worship, lil bit of competency kink, dirty talk (y'all this man has hell of a mouth), a little bit of cumplay if you squint.

Authors Note | I don't even have anything to say other than, I love this man and this has made me realise I need to write him more. Enjoy!

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

There’s something that always happens to you when you sit in the car alongside Frankie. The way he can effortlessly drive with one hand on the wheel, his fingers tapping along to the sounds of the radio, the way his free hand only leaves the top of your thigh to turn the wheel when it’s needed or to change gears and the way he always put his hand on the back of your seat when he’s reversing – it all makes you feel hot, watching his competency in action. It makes you want to fuck him.

But you’re already running late. Overslept this morning, Frankie’s fault for spending so long between your thighs the night before. Your parents, waiting at the other end of the journey to celebrate Christmas together for the first time, a text from your mother suggesting she’s slightly perturbed at your delay – her Christmas Eve meal pushed back a few hours, the bottles of champagne chilling but unopened until you arrive.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, hermosa.” Frankie chuckles, catching your eyes trained on him, specifically the way his arms bulge when he shifts lanes on the highway.

“I don’t need one,” You shrug, “You’re always right here.”

He smiles lightly, watching as you pull your hands from your lap, set it on his knee and start slowly dragging your fingers up his jean-clad thigh. Frankie looks at you through the side of his eye, smirk splaying over his mouth as your hand moves higher.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrug, “You shouldn’t be so fucking attractive then, should you?”

“That desperate to suck my cock that you can’t wait until tonight?” He teases, as your hand splays over the bulge growing in his jeans.

“Are you complaining?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Not at all, baby,” He shifts in his seat a little, moving himself down so your fingers can work the button of his jeans, “You knock yourself out.”

It’s all the permission you need to unclip your seatbelt and lean over the centre console. Frankie shifts just a little to let you reach a warm hand beneath the material of his jeans and his underwear to pull his cock free, running your hand gently up and down his length. You revel in the way his head tips back against the seat, his eyes fluttering closed a little before he realises he has to keep an eye on the road.

You languidly move your hand up and down his cock, there’s no need to rush, you still have a few hours between you and your destination, and you like the way that Frankie sounds when you tease him a bit, when you know exactly what he wants but won’t give to him just yet. The way he sucks that plush bottom lip into his mouth to save himself from begging, but always ends up doing it anyways.

You watch his face closely as you drag your thumb over his head, flushed red and leaking, the way he inhales gently from his mouth as you drag that slick around the head of his cock, dragging your fist down and back up a few times before you pull your hand away altogether. You can’t help the smile that drags across your face when he groans at your hand being gone, head turning to watch you as you keep your eyes on him, spit fully into your palm before it’s circled back around the base of his cock, fingers tighter around him this time as you drag your hand back up and down, Frankie’s head hitting the headrest, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“You okay, baby?” You ask, sickly sweet as your hand continues to move up and down his cock.

“Would be even better if you put your mouth on me, cariño.”

“What’s the rush?” You shrug, hand squeezing around his length a little, “We’ve got hours to go.”

He clears his throat when your thumb runs over the underside of his flushed head, over that sensitive spot that always makes him grip his hand in your hair when you flutter your tongue over it.

“Because there’s a high likelihood that I’m going to have to pull over once you’re finished and eat your cunt, baby.”

His words make you gasp, heat settling in your stomach and a sharp strike of want right between your legs. The thought of him so desperate for you that he would pull over, spread you out on the backseat and eat you until you cried, like he always did, and there was no getting around it, that would take time, he liked to take his time with you, and you were already running late.

You shift in your seat, sink your body down so you can lean over the centre console. Your hand still gripping his cock, you press your lips to the tiny sliver of skin just above, where his jeans are undone and his t-shirt ends, tongue darting out to taste his skin as your hand keeps pumping him gently.

Your hand grips him near the tip of his cock, holding him still so you can press your hot mouth to the base of him, soft kisses pressed to his entire length until you reach the head of his cock, flushed an angry shade of red now. You smirk to yourself as you dart the tip of your tongue out, running it gently across the head, catching the bead of slick that sits on the slit of him as you go.

His taste drives you wild, it always has. Slightly bitter, but not unpleasant, salty and musky and something distinctly Frankie too. When the first taste hits your tongue, there’s a switch that flicks in your brain, you want more of it, you want every drop that he can give you, so you finally do what he’s been pleading with you to do, you wrap your hot mouth around his head, free hand slipping down to cup his balls in your palm, tongue swirling over his head before you start moving your mouth down slowly on him, pulling your lips off him, hand following up and down his cock to spread the wetness your mouth has left all over him.

“I love your cock so much, Frankie.” You speak softly, nuzzling his length with your nose, watching as your hand squeezes as it moves up his cock, bead of precome pooling at his tip, your tongue licking it into your mouth.

“That right, baby?” He asks, tone low.

“Yeah,” You sigh, subtly trying to rub your thighs together for some relief, “It’s so perfect, always makes me feel so good.”

“You gonna show me how much you love it?” It almost like a dare, and you’ve always liked a challenge.

So with one hand still cupping his balls, fingers moving gently against them, you wrap your mouth back around him and take him as far down into your mouth as you can before he hits the back of your throat, your other hand working across the length of him you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Shit baby,” He chokes out as you set a pace of moving your mouth up and down him, hand following, spreading spit all over him, wetness pooling at the base of his cock, “Yeah, that’s it, just like that.”

His praise makes you weak, makes you wet, you can already feel the slick pooling in your panties, but you know he can do better, you know he can be nicer to you. You relax your jaw a little, move your mouth down a little further than you had been, tip of Frankie’s cock hitting your throat. You hold yourself there for a moment before you bob your head right there where you are, his cock punching at the back of your throat, the wet sounds of him thrusting up into your mouth filling the car until Frankie hits just a little too far down, making your throat constrict around him, gagging and spluttering on him, tears forming at your waterline as you pull off him, string of saliva keeping your mouth attached to his cock as you catch your breath.

Frankie brings a hand down, cupping your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, “Too big for you, huh, baby?” He asks, winking at the end, “Put your mouth back on me,” He always gets a little demanding when he’s getting close, “You know I love it when you choke on me.”

Your tongue darts across your bottom lip before his hand on your chin tangles in the back of your hair, pushing your head gently back towards his cock, pushing your mouth down onto him as far as he thinks you can go. He fists at your hair, flicker of pain settling across your scalp as he uses the leverage to move your head up and down in just the right pace that he can push your throat down onto him, but pull you back off just in time to save you from gagging on him.

He’s getting louder with his moans, and you can feel the slight tightening of his balls in your palm, he’s close. When he drags your head up the next time, you tease the underside of his head with your tongue, which has him gripping your hair tighter, keeping you still right there.

“Jesus, fuck,” He groans out, “Do that again.”

So you do, you keep the tip of your tongue flicking at the underside of his cock, one of your hands coming back to the base of him, pumping his length as you work your mouth over him.

“God damn it, baby, I’m gonna come.”

You moan around him, all the permission he needs to start moving your head again until he keeps you still with your lips wrapped around the base of his cock. You can feel the warm spurts of his cum before he lets out a ragged moan into the air of the car, that taste you love so much spreading out across your tongue, thick and viscose as he drains himself into your mouth.

You’re both still for a moment - you can hear him sucking in breath from above you, his hand loosening it’s grip on your hair to let you sit back up in your seat.

Much like he did before, he grips your chin in his hand, turns your face to his, “Show me.”

You open your mouth, stick your tongue out a little to show him the milky white pool of his cum in your mouth. He tilts your chin down, pad of his thumb dragging across your tongue a little before he closes your mouth for you, raised eyebrow waiting for you to do exactly what you want and swallow him down, opening your mouth again, sticking your tongue right out this time to show him that it’s all gone.

“Good girl.”

He finally lets you sit back properly into your chair, seatbelt back on as he moves to tuck himself back into his jeans.

“Nice work, Morales.” You chuckle, eyes settling on the road ahead, “Road head whilst it’s snowing and we’re still alive?”

It’s snowing a little now, not enough to prove a problem, but enough to make the bubble of excitement meet the bubble of want in your stomach. Christmas is here, you think, warm hand slipping over to rest on Frankie’s thigh, his own free hand coming down to cover your own, smiling at you.

“Well, would you look at that,” He tilts his head towards a sign, “Somewhere to pull over.”

His eyes are expectant, your eyes are wide, thighs rubbing together a little at what that means.

“Want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

But of course, it’s a rhetorical question, because of course you do, his fingers already tipping the indicator down, switching lanes so he can pull off the highway.

“Merry Christmas to us, I guess.”

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Life In The Fast Lane

Chpt 1.

Characters - Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary - What could be better than being stuck in rush hour traffic in the middle of summer? Oh yeah, how about getting your truck rear-ended by the prettiest girl you've seen in years and being late for game night with the boys?

Word Count - 2.9K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Fluffy!Frankie, Flirty!Frankie, use of pet names, mentions slight smut but nothing explicit, mentions of blood, wound cleaning, I think that's all?

A/N - I have wanted to write a series for Frankie for ages but didn't know where to start, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy! As always a massive thank you and all the love to my bby @pedgeitopascal for being the most supportive & lovely human! <3

Feedback is always appreciated!

Divider credit to @saradika

Frankie was on his way to meet up with Pope; he had arranged to pick him up and then head over to Will’s place as it was his turn to host them for tonight's big game. From what he had seen in the group chat before he got in the truck, Benny was already there, and Tom was heading over once he dropped Tess off at her friend's house.

Staring absentmindedly out the windscreen, waiting for the lights to change, Frankie lets out a loud groan, glancing at the clock. He would never hear the end of it if he was late picking Santi up.

A loud thud pulled him from his thoughts as the truck lurched forward. Standing on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of him that had just started rolling forward as the lights changed to amber.

He quickly glanced in his rear-view mirror and saw a woman behind the wheel of a car with a look of absolute horror on her face; it was almost comical the way her mouth hung open in a small O.

"Mierda, C’mon! I don’t need this today!" Letting out an exasperated sigh, he carded his hands through his hair as he placed the faded, well-worn baseball cap on his head, hiding his curls.

Based on what he could see from the rear-view mirror, his truck dwarfed your small, beat-up Volkswagen Polo, so there wasn’t likely to be much damage, to his truck at least.

He took a deep breath and opened the driver's door of the truck. He tried to remind himself that accidents happened all the time in the city, and it’s not as if this was anything serious. Doing his best to remain calm, he slips out of his truck and walks to the driver's side of the offending vehicle.

The woman is still sitting in the driver's seat of her car, frantically glancing between Frankie and where the two vehicles are now joined, as he approaches her window with a small, polite smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Frankie can see that she is visibly shaken, frantically trying to get her seatbelt off with trembling hands. Once she manages to remove the seatbelt from its holder, she begins frantically trying to unwind her window.

After a moment when the window remains fully closed despite her best efforts. He reaches forward and slowly opens her driver’s door. The sounds of the Eagles greeting him;

"He was a hard-headed man,

He was brutally handsome,

And she was terminally pretty.

She held him up, and he held her for ransom.

"In the heart of the cold, cold city." 

"Are you okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft and gentle as he fully opened the driver’s door. He left his forearm hanging over the top of the door and leaned his hip against it.

He could see the worry in her eyes and immediately felt the urge to do anything he could to help her feel better—to reach out and stroke the stray strand of hair from her face so he could get a better look at her eyes.

"What the hell, Frankie?" "Get a hold of yourself, Pendejo," he scolds himself mentally.

"Uh yeah, I'm... yeah, I'm fine, I think," she stammers as she wipes a finger and thumb across her plump bottom lip, in apparent disbelief of what has just happened.

"God, I am so sorry about your truck, sir. I saw the lights turning and was getting ready to accelerate, and the car lurched forward and... into the back of your truck...but you already knew the last part." The words were flying out at a mile a minute in a guilty voice.

As if she had just been pulled over by the cops or something.

The words weren’t registering in Frankie's head; all he could think of was how beautiful she was and how pretty her mouth was when she chewed on her bottom lip. A flood of images raced past his vision—all the things he could do to those lips and what those lips could do to him.

"Sir? Are you okay?" She questioned, making to step out of her car. Her arm reached out to place a hand on his arm in concern. He met her eyes for the second time and saw that the worried crease was still very much in place between her soft brows.

"What?"  Frankie asked, dazed as he shook his head to try and erase the explicit scenes in his head.

"I said, are you okay, sir?" She repeated—was he imagining the emphasis she was putting on the last word? He did his best to ignore the tingling heat making its way up his spine. Glancing down at her hand, which was resting lightly on his bicep,

"Yeah, I'm great, thanks," he said with a grin, and instantly he was kicking himself. What a stupid thing to say after someone tailgates you!

"I mean, I'm not hurt, I'm fine," He chuckles lightly, "We should probably get off the road though, and exchange information?"

He asked with a raised eyebrow as he gestured to where the two of you were standing in the middle of the road. A steady stream of cars queued behind hers, beeping and honking impatiently.

Oh, yes, of course!" The woman responds as if shaking her own thoughts out of her head.

"I have to warn you though when I pull forward, I'm taking your bumper with me," Frankie advised grimly, rubbing a hand across his face.

"I think that’s only fair after I crashed into you, don’t you?" She replied with a giggle and a warm smile, which lit up her oval face.

"Fair point well-made, Chica," he laughed, and he couldn’t help the grin snaking his lips upward.

Both returning to your vehicles, Frankie took the lead and slowly put his foot down on the accelerator and inched the truck forward. He winced, wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes as he heard the screeching and cracking as the woman's bumper protested.

His truck was finally released from her car, and he drove a little way down the road into a layby. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he could see the poor battered car - missing its bumper - creeping slowly to park behind him.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he watches her running her hands through her long, wavey hair and shaking her head to herself as she puts the car in park.

Frankie leaves the truck once more, eyes glued to the woman bending over her driver's side to grab a shoulder bag from the passenger footwell of her car. She stands and smooths the black sundress over her ample figure, the dress hugging her in all the right places.

He clears his throat and tears his eyes from her as she walks towards him, not watching her footing as she digs in the bag for something. She doesn’t notice the steep curb when she trips, taking the weight of the fall on her knees.

"Ouch, oh for fucks sake!" she mutters under her breath, loud enough that Frankie picks it up clearly. He loves a woman with a foul mouth. Someone who doesn’t care about being prim and proper. He wonders briefly just how dirty her mouth can get, but stops that thought in its tracks.

"Shit, are you alright?!" He asks as he rushes to help her on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just waiting for the ground to swallow me already." She admits being clearly mortified by the whole ordeal. Swiping the dust from the sidewalk off her dress and looking down at her, Frankie can see the way she scrunches her nose.

He is certain it is the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

"I'm Y/N... Y/N Y/L/N. I am really sorry about all of this," she huffs a laugh and gestures at her car and then at herself.

"Well, Y/N, I'm Frankie Morales, and it is a pleasure to meet you, even under the circumstances," he chuckles. "Are you sure you're alright? Your leg is bleeding." He asked concern more evident in his tone than he realised.  

"Oh shit" Y/N groaned as she looked at her knee, blood quickly trickling down her leg and pooling at her white ankle sock.

"Hold on, I have a first aid kit in the cab!" Frankie sprang into action, quickly retrieving the basic first aid kit he kept in the cab of the truck in case of emergancies.

Like pretty women getting scraped knees...

He rounded to the truck bed and pulled the tailgate down and motioned for her to sit on it. Trying to hide his snicker as she struggled to hoist herself up. Watching the look of determination on Y/N’s face, he lost it, and he couldn’t help the belly laugh that broke through his lips.

"Do you need a boost, pequeño?" Still chuckling, he made his way over to stand in front of her.

"I don’t know what that means, but I'm sure it is rude to laugh at someone when they’re gravely injured." She scolds him playfully.

"It means little one, and you're right—that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. I apologise Here, let me help you." He can see the blush creep up her neck as he reveals the meaning of the nickname.

He places two big calloused hands on either side of her waist, making eye contact before hand to check if it was okay for him to touch her, and she nods her head yes. Frankie lifts her gently onto the tailgate. She is hiding behind her hair, but he can tell she is grinning.

Y/N’s legs were dangling comically high from the back of the truck. Frankie stands in front of her, unzipping the first aid kit, locating the antibacterial wipes and a bandaid, and then zips the bag closed once more.

"May I?" Frankie gestures towards her bleeding leg, which thankfully has slowed.

"Yes, thank you," Y/N answers in a shy voice with a small nod of her head.

He lifts her foot with his left hand and softly begins to clean the blood from her ankle to her knee with his right. He does his best to ignore how good it feels to hold her soft calf in his large strong hand but he can hear her breath quickening, and he is unsure if she is in pain or if it’s caused by his close proximity.

Throwing caution to the wind, he asks, "Are you in pain, Y/N?" Voice deep and gravely. Looking into her eyes, he notices for the first time that they are the clearest shade of (Y/E/C), glistening brightly in the summer sun. Momentarily stunned, his hand stops cleaning the wound.

"No, no, I'm not in any pain, you are very gentle." She compliments him, and he grins back, satisfied that the wound is as clean as it is going to get. Frankie places the plaster over the graze on her knee. He can’t help but rub the pad of his thumb back and forth over the material a few times before pulling back.

"There we are, almost as good as new." He smiles brightly, pleased with his handy work.

"Okay, now to the nitty gritty before I have a chance to embarrass myself again. I will give you my insurance information," she mumbles as she finally reaches for the notebook and pen in her bag. She flicks through the pages until she finds a blank one and delicately jots down her first and last names.

Frankie looks back and forth between his truck and Y/N’s car; there truly was no damage to the truck, a few minor scratches where the bumper had caught, but nothing that didn’t fade to the background with the rest of the dings and dents in the old girl.

"How about we forget about the insurance? You came out of this a hell of a lot worse than I did. Physically speaking also," he says. He chuckles and gestures to the sticking plaster on her leg.

"Why don't we just exchange numbers? I know a guy that can fix your car up for cheap, and I could maybe take you out to dinner tomorrow if you would like." Frankie didn’t know what had come over him.

The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and he was truly impressed that he didn’t stumble over them in some sort of verbal vomit like a nervous teenager.

"Are you sure? I scratched the shit out of your truck; I want to get that fixed for you!" Y/N insisted. Frankie's heart sank as she brushed over the dinner invitation, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

"No, it’s honestly fine; there are that many scrapes and scratches on this waggon, and I like to think of them as character-building." He laughs, trying desperately to hide his disappointment.

"Okay, I still feel awful, but if you could put me in touch with your friend, I would really appreciate it." Y/N nods seriously as she finishes writing on the piece of paper

She folds it in half, tries and fails to jump down from the truckbed herself, and sighs out a half-hearted laugh. She looks up at Frankie with a "Help a girl out" look and a small grin playing on her perfect lips.

Frankie places his hands on her waist again, shocked by the heat of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her dress, and places her steadily on the sidewalk.

"Thank you for not being an asshole about this and for fixing my leg, offering your friends help, and, well, just thank you for everything. It’s been a day from hell." Y/N laughs, and the sound tinkles through Frankie like a lullaby.

"Sure, it's no problem, pequeño" he grins at her deep blush, "if your free tomorrow I can get my buddy to take a look, I can put your bumper in the back of the truck if you like?" He offers. 

"Oh yeah, that would be perfect! I have no plans for tomorrow, so just whenever works best for you, Frankie." The way his name rolled off her tongue so innocently had Frankie clearing his throat nervously.

Okay, I will call you tomorrow then?." He asked in confusion; she still hadn’t given him her information.

"I’d like that." She smiled shyly back at him, the most tempting pink creeping across her cheeks.

"Um, you have to give me your number for me to call it Y/N." He chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck again.

"Oh fuck, I'm an idiot." She let her head fall into her hands in embarrassment, and Frankie was glad she couldn’t see him right now. The way she almost moaned that word was torturing him, and he had to readjust the way he stood as he felt his pants tightening ever so slightly.

"Jesus Frank, reign it in; she doesn’t even want to have dinner with you, let alone anything else," he thought to himself harshly. This woman was affecting him far more than any stranger should be able to.

Y/N held her hand out with the folded note between her thumb and index finger. The slight tremble in her hand didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but Frankie chose not to acknowledge it; it was probably just leftover adrenaline from the crash anyway.

"Thanks, Y/N," he took the paper from her, held it in one hand, and tapped it against the palm of his other.

"Okay, I guess I’ll hear from you tomorrow?" She asked, and Frankie was sure he could hear the hope in her voice as he nodded back.

"You sure will, Hermosa," Frankie replied without thinking, and it was his turn to blush.

Okay, that sounds good. I will speak to you tomorrow. It was great to meet you, Frankie."

He just smiled as he watched from the side of his truck. Walking back to her little beat-up Polo, climbing into the front seat, and driving away with a grin on her pretty face.

Frankie has to take a second before he moves, running his hand over the fresh dent and scratches on the back of the truck. Smiling to himself at how a perfect stranger had effectively turned him into a teenager again,

He lifts the bumper and places it gently into the bed of the truck, pulling the cover down over top, and then secures the tailgate.

Y/N just seemed so good and sweet. "Any wonder she didn’t want to go to dinner with me?" he thought to himself.

He climbs back into the cab of the truck and opens the piece of paper she had given him. The first thing he notices is how lovely her handwriting is, and scrawled elegantly across the page is her telephone number and a message that reads:

"I would love to go to dinner with you, Frankie."

He holds the piece of paper between both hands, sure that if he lets it go, it will disappear. Grinning ear to ear, his phone starts ringing, and he lifts it from the passenger seat without looking at who is calling.

"Hello?" He asks, aware of how dopey he sounds as he stares at the note in his hand.

Frank, where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here a half hour ago!" Pope half yells down the phone at him.

"Calm down, I got into a bit of an accident. Im okay though; she was a happy accident." He grins down the line. "I’ll be over in five." He hangs up on Pope and places the note in his sun visor for safekeeping until tomorrow.

Excited at the idea of seeing her again and the night ahead with the boys, he flicks his indicator on and merges into the traffic heading to Santiago’s with the dopiest grin splitting his face.

A/N -

Pequeño ~ Little one

Hermosa ~ Beautiful

[romanarose]

Take Your Time: Chapter 1

Frankie "Catfish" Morales X Fem! Oc (Jana Fernandez)

Chapter 2

Series masterlist

Fic summary: Told through the present and series of flashbacks, Frankie and Jana, his ex-girlfriend and the mother of his daughter, Rosie, begin spending more time together as Frankie attempts to get sober, and Jana becomes friends with the girlfriend of Frankie's best friend. They both say they never stopped loving each other, is the timing right for them to finally have a life together?

Chapter summary: 6 months into his sobriety, Frankkie is still struggling. When Will, Benny and Santi are all out of town and he needs help, he knows he can still call on Jana.

Takes place within Leather and Lace in what I call "TF Romanaverse" but it is NOT necessary to read LaL beforehand. You'll be more familiar with the Oc's such as Jana, Laci, and a little bit of Lorelei, but I wrote this series specifically to be read separately incase you don't read Santi fics, that series didn't interest you, or the content was too dark. Speaking fo which, read the mfing warnings.

Warnings!: Self harm (not a suicide attempt but sure looks like one) cutting, blood, puke, excessive drinking, mentions of drug use and addiction but no more relapses, Frankie feeling miserable. Graffic depiction of the wounds as first aid is being applied. Do noooooot actually do this for first aid. Get them to a hospital. But this is fiction.

******************

Answering the phone at midnight, Jana already swung both legs over the bed and began pulling socks on. “Frankie? What’s going on?”

“M’sorry. Woke you.” Frankie’s slurred voice answered.

“No you didn’t, the shelter had me on overnights last week, remember?.” Frankie had Rosie, their daughter, most of the week, albeit they stayed with Santi and Laci. While Frankie’s recovery was going well, Jana was still nervous with several days in a row, worried it might overwhelm him. Laci watched Rosie when Frankie worked, and if both were busy, Santi had taken her, impressing Laci very much with his skills with the toddler.

“Sorry” Frankie repeated. “Everyone else is gone. Didn’t know who else to call.”

 “You can always call me, Francisco. What did you take?”

“Jus’ whiskey right now, but that’s why m’callin’ you” 

Phone to here ear, she carefully bundled up a sleeping Rosa in a few blankets, the mild Florida winter making for less of a need for a full coat, especially when she’d have to take it off to buckle her into the car seat anyway. “Whiskey we can work with, honey.” Quickly, Jana back tracked as she headed out the door. “We can work if you relapse too, okay? Never be afraid to call me or the guys, we’re always here for you.”

 Jana had gone back and forth with her feelings on Santi for a number of years, mostly when she was still dating Frankie. Frankie would follow that man to the end of the earth, and pretty much had. That trip to Columbia had been the nail in the coffin for a relationship already strained from addiction, and Jana held it against Santiago for a long while. In more recent times, however, she’s come to see him as an ally for Frankie. Santi and his girl, Laci, as well as Will and Benny had all pulled together this last year as Francisco tried to sober up for perhaps the first real time. Although Jana was not with Frankie anymore, she would always love him. They hadn’t broken up for lack of love, or even for lack of trying, but for the things coke can do to a person, especially a person who recently came into a shit ton of money and nothing to do when his daughter is gone but get high.

“I’m waking Rosa” He sounded sleepy.

“No,” Jana couldn’t help but laugh, looking at her curly-haired daughter, out cold in the car seat. “That girl started sleeping through the night at one month old, she’s a miracle child”

“Yeah. Yeah she is. She deserves someone better.”

She got in the car, hooking up the phone to the speaker. “Stop. You’re a good dad, Frankie, a great dad. I’ve never seen a man play dolls with a kid for 2 hours straight, she adores you. You just need a little help”

“Yeah” It was quiet.

“Frank, hey, don’t fucking go to sleep, we’ll be right there.”

“Don’t wan’ her t’see me like this”

“She won’t, I promise. What room are you in?”

“Bathroom”

“Okay, I’ll lay her down in her crib before I even come to the bathroom okay?”

“Promise?”

“As long as you stay awake, yes.”

“Fine”

“Okay”

Wanting to make sure she paid attention to the road, her nighttime vision not greatJana didn’t talk much, only when she thought he was falling asleep. She parked on the wrong side of the road, quickly grabbing Rose (how did this child sleep so much?), calling to Frankie she was here, and laid her down in the crib as promised. Her room at her uncle Santi’s had a toddler bed, as she was quickly growing, taking after her dad, but this would do fine in a pinch. With her heart about to burst out of her chest, she ran into the bathroom, expecting to find him puking or passed out on the floor. Instead, to her horror, she found him in his underwear, slumped up against the tub and the wall, blood on his arms and legs.

“Frank!”

Thinking quickly, Jana grabbed one of his towels and wrapped it around the two deep cuts on the inside of his wrist and the one on the outside. There were a few others on his legs, but it was clear the wrist was more imminent a danger. “I’m calling an ambulance, hold on” She instructed as she placed his hand over the towel. “No” Frankie mumbled. “No ambulance” “You tried to kill yourself Frankie!” Jana shouts, the smell of alcohol and puke was raw in the bathroom, permeating her nose and she vaguely registered his crumbled up shirt as the source of the vomit, and assumed he must’ve thrown up on himself in the binge. Frank grabbed her hand, finally looking at her. “No, I didn’t” Eyes wide and panicked, she looked at him intently, gritting through her tensed mouth. “Then what the hell is this!”

Closed his eyes again. “I don’t know. Wanted to feel something, punish myself, I dunno”

“Hey. hey.” Gently tapping his cheek, Jana kept him conscious. “You need to stay awake.”

“No hospital” He reiterated. “They’ll lock me up and I swear to god this is only going to get worse.”

Jana considered for a moment, then reached for her phone. “Fine, but I’m calling Will” The older Miller was as close to a doctor as any of them knew, starting as a combat medic before he quickly rose in the ranks and eventually joined Delta Force as Tom handpicked his team. Throughout the years, they had called on him in lieu of an actual doctors visit, as the man kept up with trainings and taking classes. He could probably out do a doctor at this point, but much of his training was in formal. Frankie did not like this plan either, shaking his head. “No, they’re out of town visiting their cousin or something. Don’t wanna bug em” “It’s Will or an ambulance.” Jana gave him his choices, but as Frankie seemed to struggle to choose between being hospitalized or being a bother to the people that mean most to him, Jana calmed her tone, taking Frankie’s flushed and puffy face in her hands. “Francisco, Will loves you, so do Benny, Santi and Lace, so do I. We want to help you. You aren’t a bother, you aren’t a burden, Will would want me to call him.” Dodging her eyes, he gave a quick nod, consenting to calling Will. Jana pressed the facetime option on Will’s contact page and within two rings his face appeared on the screen. “Jana? What's wrong? Is Rosie okay? Are you?” He had clearly been sleeping, and it warmed Jana’s heart that he answered so fast, worried something happened to her or Rosa. That’s what she liked about Frankie’s friends. In the past, she could barely get the care she wanted from the men she dated, and their friends barely acknowledged her, if not being flat-out creepy or making racial comments. The Millers and Santiago, for all her and Santi bicker, had been nothing but respectful and welcoming to her, and she liked to think she welcomed back. “We’re fine, it’s… here” Jana flipped the camera to show Frankie. The poor man looked humiliated, but she’d handle that later. “He won’t go to the hospital and insists it wasn’t an attempt, I need you to look at them and tell me if we can handle it here.” Will was a combat medic. He’d seen way worse, hell, Jana knew. Hell, he’d seen worse on himself and his friends, including Frankie, but he was obvious not prepared for this, and despite his ability to keep calm in this emergency, she heard his voice shake, just a bit. “Okay.” Scanning up the cuts on his legs, Will confirmed those weren’t a risk, but he had seen the bloody towel around his friends wrist, and told her to unwrap it. She had to pad the blood away for him to even see how bad it was.

“Fish, you should really get stitch-” “No” Frankie was having none of it. Jana turned the camera back to her. “Can I take care of it here?” “Jana, he should really-”

“Yes or no” Will sighed. “Can you give him stitches?”

Jana glanced to Frankie, bleeding heavily and looking absolutely wrecked. She wanted him in the hospital, in the safety of doctors but she also knew he had seen a lot, and hospitals made him anxious. Plus, there was no doubt in her mind that for someone who valued quality time so heavily, a mandatory lock up for a suicide attempt, or whatever this was, would only make him worse.

“Yeah, I think so. ”

Will was not thrilled, but allowed it. “Go get his first aid kit, I’ll walk you through it.” All the guys had ‘first aid kits’ that were the size of small hospitals, thanks to Will. He instructed Frankie to keep his arm raised and gently keep pressure on the wounds. Jana knelt beside him. “Can you stay like this for me? While I get what you need?”

Eyes wide and wet, he looked up at her an nodded.

She kissed his forehead and she got up. “Good job, I’ll be right back.” Taking the phone with her, she went to the kitchen where she knew his first aid kit was. “What’s he on?” Will asked. “Just liquor, Helluva lot of it, and whiskey if I’m smelling it right.” “He’s been sober from coke for six months, maybe it’s time he stops drinking too.” “One bridge at a time, Will. He still has cravings, let’s give him a break.” Jana continued gathering what  she needed and washing her hands thoroughly. “He tried to kill himself while drunk, Jana!” She looked directly at the camera. “How about you deal with your alcoholic brother, I’ll deal with Frankie, okay?” Jana snapped. A pause. She knew she wasn’t supposed to bring that up. “Sorry-”

“Let’s get him stitched up, we can talk about this later.” Sighing, she rinsed her hands and turned the faucet off with her elbow. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m just a bit freaked out.”

“I understand. We should probably talk when Ben and I are back, discuss it with Santi.” Jana wasn’t sure how she felt about talking about Frankie and his problems when he wasn’t around. “Yeah, with Frankie.”

Will nodded on screen. “With Frankie.”

Frankie, of course, had things for stitches, the over-anxious man he was. With Will’s guidance, the cuts only needed on each, enough to close the wound a bit. The bleeding slowed, and after disinfecting and bandaging the wound, and thanking Will (as well as promising to update him throughout the night), Jana found herself propped up in the bathroom wall, covered in blood, Frankie’s head on her lap as she played with his hair. Her instructions were to keep him awake for a while, since he lost so much blood, but this was proving difficult as the alcohol ran through his system.

“Where did Santi and Laci go? Laci didn’t mention going anywhere this weekend.” She asked. Santi’s girlfriend had begun volunteering at the women’s shelter Jana worked in, and the pair had become fast friends. Frankie mumbled, trying to stay awake. “It was snowing somewhere up north, Laci missed the snow, so he took her up there to some fancy hotel for a few days. Private hot tub, rose petals, room service. Whole shabang.” Jana couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at that. “She’s really got that boy whipped, huh?”

To her relief he smiled back. “Yeah but he’s got her wrapped around his finger too.” “They're really cute”

“Yeah, they are.” Frankie’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. That’s what you deserved. Someone who could be like that for you. Take care of you.”

“Frank…” He shut his eyes, and Jana thumbed away a tear that ran down her cheek. “Honey, no. I don’t need what Laci needs. I don’t need to be taken care of like that. You cared for me in all the ways I needed you too, and you continue to provide for me and our baby. You were a good boyfriend, you really were. I was really, really happy with you, that’s why we decided to have Rosa” Jana leaned down to press a kiss into his hair as his eyes remained locked shut. “You gave me the most precious thing in my life, and if I didn’t love you enough already, I’d love you simply for that. Look at me, sweetie.” With a soft touch, she coaxed his eyes open. “I love you, I always loved you and I never stopped loving you. I promised you that when I left. You are an excellent father and a loving, good, kind friend. If I can’t be with you as a partner, I’m happy to be your friend, for the rest of our lives.”

Looking at her, Frankie nodded. “I never stopped loving you either. I’m sorry. I know i’ve said it 1000 times but I’m sorry. For the coke, for how I acted, for going to Columbia when you told me not to, for everything that happened after…” “It’s okay, honey, I forgave you a long time ago. I know as well as you do that addiction is an evil illness” “It doesn’t mean I didn’t make mistakes-” “I know, you made mistakes and so did I. It’s okay. You’re not a bad person, Francisco.” He closed his eyes again, wincing this time. “Oh fuck.” Jana, having been through enough nights of the two of them drinking together in their youth, especially back in the army, knew what that meant. “Okay, up.” She helped him get over the toilet bowl, rubbing his bare back as he threw up. “Pope’s never gonna leave town again. Gonna start camping outside the house” “Pope can suck my dick, Frankie” Jana replied, an smiled when she heard him chuckle. “I’m serious.” But she was laughing too. “If you need him back off a bit, I’ll talk to him.” Frankie shook his head. “I like… I like having them around, I just don’t want to interrupt his life.” “You aren’t, I promise. He loves you very much, and much as he likes to pretend he’s a rolling stone, I think it’s become apparent with Laci around he’s a caretaker at heart.” Frankie mumbles “Like Han Solo”

This causes Jana to laugh. “Yeah, yeah like Han Solo.” “I’m sorry” Frankie spoke between dry heaves. “I’m really trying to sober up.” “Take your time. God knows you held my hair back enough times, Azúcar, I’m just returning the favor.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You exist, Frankie. You don’t have to earn me, who you are is enough.”

Jana got Frankie set up on the living room floor, plush carpeting and the blankets she laid down giving enough comfort while simultaneously keeping him on a firm surface. After getting him to rinse out his mouth and drinking some water, he was put in the recovery position (confirming to Will via text that it was done) and she covered him in a warm blanket, after putting a pair of pj’s over him, to spare him a bit of dignity if nothing else. For the next half hour, at 2 AM, she cleaned up the bathroom of blood and vomit, showered his blood off her and helped herself to his clothes, threw hers and Frankies messy clothes in the wash with the bloodied towels, redressed his wounds as he slept, and did the dishes for good measure. One less thing for him to worry about in the morning. And he would worry in the morning. They got through that hard part, but it was all far from over. Jana laid beside him, getting under the covers on the hard floor and got just close enough to where she’d wake if he started to choke or vomit or anything, but didn’t want to encroach on his personal space.

It was far from over, to be sure, but Jana planned on working with him, Will, Benny and Santi, and being there for him every step of the way. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, but he’s always been the love of her life.

****************

I knoooooow an intense start to a series!!!! But I really hope you guys like it! LMK if you'd like to be added to the tag list!!! @milkymoon2483 @trinkets01 @welcometostayingawake

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[berryispunk]

I enhanced the pic as good as I can !!! My service for my fellow Frankie fans 🙂‍↕️

[flightlessangelwings]

Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

[liminaltourist]

Found this photo and it's totally Pedro Pascal coded. Am I wrong? 🤔 I'm afraid I've fallen down the rabbit hole 🐇

P.s. if you write something a fic about this please tag me. Would love to read it!

[pedrorascal]

[pedgito]

Happy National Catfish (Frankie Morales) Day! (June 25th, 2024)

[mdawgswizzleinthehizzle]

curls curls curls curls

[thetriumphantpanda]

rainy days | frankie morales

Summary | It has never been your favourite day, but he always knows how to make it better.

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count |

Warnings | Mentions of depression and sadness, negative feelings around birthdays, Frankie makes it all better, two idiots truly in love, allusions to smut but nothing explicit.

Authors Note | To my darling Jo, @undercoverpena - whilst this is my entry to your birthday celebration (I got the colour old rose, apologies for the tenuous link to brief you're about to read), it is also my love letter to you. To the woman you are. To the friend you have become. A love letter to the fact that you can be soft and emotional and have flaws and still be worthy of all the love in the world. Because you are. I have said it many times in recent days, but it is the truth, that I love you unconditionally and I am forever grateful for your friendship and love. I am here for you. I see you. I understand you. And I love you. Happy Birthday darling woman.

He knows it isn’t your favourite day of the year. One that is usually meant to bring joy and happiness and love is instead one that fills you with dread. Worried people would forget, having to force a smile at gifts that show that they really don’t know you at all.

He knows not to push it either. He’s good at that. Knowing the battles to pick and those to leave. You suppose that’s why you love him so much. The way he’s comfortable to sit in your hurt with you, not immediately jumping into fixing it, because it’s been years and you don’t think he could truly unravel everything behind the feelings. But he’s there, with a strong arm around you and a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t need words, just his presence to say I’m here, I see you and I love you regardless.

It rains, because of course it does, weather to match mood, drowning out any hopes of the walk he’d promised. You distract yourself, cleaning mainly, even though the kitchen counters are spotless and the vacuum has been used more times in the past week than it has in the previous two years since you bought it. Distraction mainly, but now, with nothing to do, you sit. Listen to the fat raindrops and odd rumble of thunder. You reread the same four pages of your book, hopelessly trying to stop checking your phone for missed calls or messages of glad tidings.

The doorbell rings, startling you. Clad in a big jumper, leggings and socks, hair scraped back, you open the door, roar of rain rushing in, to find him standing there. Your man. Your Frankie. He’s soaked to the bone, t-shirt wet and cap dripping, but he’s smiling, both hands behind his back.

“You’ll catch your death, Morales,” you chastise lightly, moving aside for him to step into the warmth of your house, but he makes no effort to move, “Are you coming in?”

It almost makes you laugh when he starts talking, like a scene from the old romcoms you used to watch, but you let him do it anyway. His right hand moves first, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a dusty rose colour, which he hands to you. They remind you of the paint swatches, the way he’d patiently waited at the store for you to pick it. And then painted eleven swatches on the living room wall until you settled on one. Old rose.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, “Feliz cumpleaños.”

He bends, warm lips to your cheek, finally stepping across the threshold into your home, the place he spends more time in than his own home, his other secret revealed in the shape of a basket, woven, with a telltale red and white gingham poking out.

“Damn the rain,” he says, “and damn this misery, I know we can’t have this outside, but I know you hate eating outside anyway.”

He holds the basket up to you, lets you open the top. It’s full to the brim with food, all of your favourite things from your favourite places you’ve been with him in the past year. Pastries from the coffee shop where you had your first date, fruit from the farmer’s market you visit each Sunday, sandwiches from the shop you always stop at when you visit him at work to make sure he’s eating - it’s all there, in black and white, the moments you’ve shared, tiny, edible pieces of his love and care for you, that’s he’s the first person to ever truly see you, to ever truly know you. It makes your eyes water and your nose sniffle.

You press up on tiptoes and gently slant your lips over his, trying to tell him without words how much this means, how much you truly do love him.

You spread a blanket on the floor, unpack the food and sit for hours, eating and talking and kissing, until it goes dark outside. It still rains as he clears up, lightening now illuminating the sky, it rains as he leads you upstairs and undressed you, and thunder cracks along with your gasps and moans when he buries himself inside you.

It eases late, after he’s woken you in the dead of night with his mouth fused to your cunt. Draped across his chest, silence, save for the two of your breathing, you realise that this is all you need. One man who will do the most for you. One man who will continue, day in and day out, that he truly loves you. Maybe it won’t fix the disdain for your birthday, maybe it won’t fix anything else, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he found you and he loves you.

“Muchas gracias,” you whisper softly against his skin, “Te amo, mi amor.”

“Te amo, querida.”

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Peaceful Easy Feeling

Chpt 2 of Life In The Fast Lane

Characters - Frankie Morales x Reader, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller.

Summary - As you and Frankie both reminise over your accidental meeting yesterday, you make plans to see eachother again, but will the two of you be able to get over your nerves?

Word Count - 6.8K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Fluffy!Frankie, Flirty!Frankie, Insecure!Frankie, use of pet names, mentions slight spice but nothing too explicit, mentions of anxiety and nightmares. Written in both reader's & Frankie's POV.

A/N - This chpt was meant to go a different way but I got so carried away that I decieded to split the rest into Chpt 3, which im hoping to have posted soon!

Feedback, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

June 24th 2016

You climbed into the driver's seat of your now very beat-up car—not that it was in the best condition before. Now with the bumper missing, the slight ripple in the metal of its bonnet, and the scratches left from the tailgate of Frankie’s truck, the car was definitely looking worse for wear.

You said a silent prayer that you had picked it up from a family friend for relatively cheap, and you had never been one to obsess over the looks of your vehicle; it was simply a method of getting you from A to B.

You stare out the windscreen and make eye contact with the kind stranger for the last time, unable to stop the smile turning up the corners of your lips and the blush working its way quickly across your cheeks.

You decide to take a page out of his book and chalk the new scratches up to character building. You honestly weren't sure if it was safe to drive without your bumper, but with as helpful as Frankie had been, you don’t think he would let you drive away if it wasn’t.

So, you put the car in drive and pull out of the slip lane you were both parked in. Allowing yourself one last glance in the rear-view mirror, you see him bending down to pick your bumper up and place it gently in the bed of his truck.

As you drove away from the scene of the accident, you felt both flustered and giddy at the same time. You can’t believe you crashed into his truck, yet he has been so kind and understanding. You couldn't help but think about how he had smiled at you and how his eyes had crinkled at the corners.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts as you make your way down the street. You still had a lot to do today, and you couldn't afford to be distracted. You were supposed to be meeting your best friend, Lianne, at the mall in half an hour.

Turning up the radio dial, trying to distract yourself from the incident that had just occurred. You start singing along to the tune of one of your favourite Eagles songs, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to the man you had just met. You couldn't help but wonder what he did for a living, where he lived, or what his friends are like.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you had just had a genuinely meaningful interaction with someone, even if it was just for a few brief moments.

You pull into the mall parking lot, turn off the car, and take a deep breath before getting out. You spot Lianne waiting for you by the entrance, waving happily as she sees you.

As you walk towards her, you can't help but smile. You were grateful for the distraction that Lianne always provided, and you were looking forward to spending the evening with her. But even as you talked and laughed, your mind kept wandering back to the stranger and his truck.

As you and Lianne sit down at a café, she looks at you curiously. "Is everything okay?" she asks, noticing that you seem a bit distracted.

You take a deep breath and decide to confide in her. "I had a bit of an accident this afternoon," you admit, feeling a flush creeping up your neck. "I rear-ended someone in the middle of rush hour traffic today." You explain, through another surge of embarrassment.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" She asks, concern knitting her brows together.

You nod, wondering breifly how she hadn't noticed the damage to the car when you pulled into the parking lot.

"Yeah, it was just a small fender-bender. The guy whose truck I hit was so…lovely. He helped me out of my car and made sure I was okay; he even cleaned my leg and put a band-aid on it when I fell on the sidewalk like an idiot. He was just sweet about the whole thing." You state this matter-of-factly, as if you were reciting a news article.

You told her all this while stirring your tea absentmindedly, doing your best to avoid the scrutinising gaze she had fixed on you.

"Well, that's good at least. I'm glad you’re okay Y/N, is your car alright? I couldn’t really see it when you drove in." Lianne smiles sympathetically.

"The car has definitely seen better days, but Frankie said one of his friends could fix it for cheap for me, so that’s good." You shrug, not really caring about the car. Just more about seeing him again.

"Oooh, Frankie? Are you sure that the accident is all that’s got you distracted?" She asks as she bobs her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

You can’t help but laugh at her, still fidgeting with your teacup and trying to find the words to explain the pull you felt towards the handsome stranger.

"Okay, you got me there, but… I just had this weird feeling when I met him. Like, I was meant to bump into him or something."

Lianne raises an eyebrow. "Meant to bump into him?" she laughs at the almost pun.

You nod and laugh along, feeling silly for even bringing it up. "I don't know; it's probably nothing. But I just can't seem to shake the feeling that I was supposed to meet him."

Lianne chuckles softly. "Well, stranger things have happened. Maybe it's fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe you were meant to meet this guy for a reason."

"Oh yeah, 'cause that’s just my luck." You retort, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Hey, you never know. Maybe he's your soulmate." Lianne reasons, and there is a slight humor in her tone.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lia. I just met him. Besides, I don't believe in soulmates; you know that." You reminded her, shaking your head at the idea.

"Ugh, I know, but really? Why not?" Lianne raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, clearly exasperated at your lack of scepticism.

You take a sip of your tea, considering her question.

"I don't know; I just think that the idea of there being only one perfect person out there for each of us is kind of…restrictive. What if you never meet them? Or what if you do, but they're in a different part of the world, or they're already married, or…" 

Lianne interrupts you: "Okay, okay, I get it. You don't believe in soulmates. That's fine. But you have to admit, there was something special about this guy, right?"

You nod reluctantly and say, "Yeah, I guess. I mean, he was really nice. And he had this…energy about him, you know? Like he was genuinely happy to be helping me, even though I'd just crashed into his truck." A small smile plays on the corners of your mouth as you remember how eager he had been.

"See? Maybe it's not soulmates, but there's something there. Did you get his number?" Lianne beamed.

"He has my number—and my bumper, for that matter; he said he would call me tomorrow once he speaks to his friend, and he kind of invited me to dinner", a buzzing from your pocket distracts you; apologising to Lianne, you pull your phone out and see a text.

When you unlock your phone, you find it's from a number you don't recognise that isn't saved in your phone. It's from him. You take a deep breath, open the message, and read it aloud to Lianne.

"Hey, it’s Frankie the guy with the truck.

I just wanted to check in and make sure you got home okay.  Also, my friend can take a look at your car tomorrow if you’re free?

x"

You stare at your phone, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. You glance up at Lianne and can see she is grinning at you like a Cheshire cat as if to say, ‘I told you so'.

"Oh, would you calm down; he’s just going to get my truck fixed for me, and that’s it!" You laugh at your friend's enthusiasm, and as much as you would like to join her, you needed to keep a level head.

If you were being honest with yourself, it felt like you were floating. One simple text from this man, a practical stranger to you, had you wondering if you had gone back in time to your first teenage crush.

Butterflies are battering violently around your belly, threatening to burst out as you quickly type a reply.

"Hey, Frankie, Thanks for checking in! I ended up meeting a friend for coffee, but I got here in one piece! That would be great; I have no plans tomorrow, so just let me know when works for you guys. x "

You can feel your face heating up; Lianne is looking at you expectantly, clearly waiting for you to tell her what you responded with.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You laugh at your friend, who can barely contain herself.

"C'mon, spill the beans, Y/N!" Don’t make me force it out of you! She pleads with you, literally perched on the edge of her seat in excitement.

"I just told him that I met a friend for coffee and that I'm free tomorrow, that’s all! I'm sorry, there are no juicy details for you to drool over." You cock your eyebrow at her, teasing.

You know that she is just excited at the potential of a romantic relationship after your long spell of singledom. In truth, you don't mind being single; it wasn’t something you gave much thought to. You are happy with your own company and that of your family and friends.

"No, I think you meant to say there are no juicy details yet." Lianne grins as she rubs her hands together mischievously.

"Sure sure, that’s exactly what I meant," you mutter sarcastically while rolling your eyes.

You both finish your drinks, gather your things, and make your way out of the café. Noticing that it’s starting to get dark out, the crickets chirping away in the background, and the streets growing quiet, you offer to give Lianne a ride home; she only lives about ten minutes from you, and you welcome the company.

She gladly accepts the lift, but you can see the worried expression growing on her face as the two of you approach your car. You answer her question before she has a chance to speak.

"Don’t worry; it looks way worse than it actually is. The car runs fine, and I promise it's just cosmetic damage, thankfully. One accident is more than enough for me today," you joke, nudging her with your shoulder as you make your way to the driver's seat.

The two of you chat about her plans for the weekend as you drive and agree that you will take a walk with her on Sunday evening. She asks if you are planning on going to dinner with Frankie tomorrow, and you admit that you don’t quite know what the plan is but that you will wait and see what happens.

You pull up outside her apartment block, and she says her goodbyes as she climbs out of the passenger seat. Before she closes the door, she leans down, holding her hands to her chest as if she were about to say a prayer.

"Please, please promise me you will call as soon as you get home tomorrow and fill me in on all the details?" She was giving you her best puppy dog eyes, and it works like a charm.

"Yes, Lia, if anything exciting happens tomorrow, you will be the first to know. Do you need me to pinky swear?" You laugh as you lean over the centre console towards her side of the car.

"Alright, I'm not that bad! But be safe and call me if you need me, and if you go to dinner, let me know where he is taking you, so I know where you are, okay?" Lianne asks tone suddenly serious. 

"Of course, Lia, thanks; I appreciate it," you say sincerely and nod your head in promise.

This is one of the things you loved most about Lianne; she is loyal, and she protects her loved ones fiercely. She watches a little too much true crime, but you can’t blame her for being protective; there sure are a lot of weirdos in the world.

The drive back to your house is short, the exhaustion of the stressful day finally catching up to you as you pull into your driveway for the second time this evening.

After unlocking and relocking the front door behind you, you throw your keys into the checkerboard-printed ceramic bowl on the small wooden console in the hallway and let your bag drop from your shoulder.

You kick your shoes off and make your way to your bathroom, methodically washing your face and brushing your teeth. Absentmindedly, you pick up your phone.

There’s another text, and it’s from Frankie. You are suddenly much more interested in the device you as you pause to read the message. The toothbrush still hanging out of your mouth.

‘Hey Hermosa, I just wanted to check if 2 p.m is okay for tomorrow? x' 

Your face heats up as you remember how his voice got low and rough when he spoke in what you imagine to be his native language by the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue.

You have never heard such an inviting sound. It made your skin flush, and thoughts of what it would be like to feel him murmur the beautiful language against your naked skin gave you goosebumps.

Your thighs pressed together of their own accord. You let out a quiet giggle to yourself at how much of an effect he already has on you.

Shaking the tempting thoughts from your head, you decide to be as bold in your reply as he is, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as you type your response.

‘Hey good looking, 2 pm is perfect! Do you want to send me the address? x'

Hitting send on the message before you lose your nerve and change your mind, leaning against the bathroom vanity, and staring at the screen, hoping it’s not too much. You set your phone on the counter and finish your night routine.

You change into your pyjamas, which is really just a baggy t-shirt; you throw the comforter back; pick up your well-loved copy of ‘Crime and Punishment, and settle in for the night. You don’t even get through the first page when your phone dings from your nightstand.

‘Great!  The address is 629 Pennington Ave, 32357 Jacksonville, It’s my friend's house; I'll meet you there at 2 p.m. It’s a date. x'

Excitement and nervousness settle over you as you set your phone on the nightstand. Picking the book off the nightstand, you try to read a few more chapters, but it's a wasted effort.

You are far too keyed up to read, deciding to pick out an outfit for the next day that was casual enough to wear during the day but nice enough in case Frankie asked you to dinner.

With it being the peak of summer in Florida, you know it's going to be another unbearably hot and humid day, so you picked out your favourite sundress. It's pale blue in colour, with tiny, delicate flowers printed all over.

It shows just the right amount of cleavage with a small drawstring that ties into a bow between your breasts and cinches you in at the waist to accentuate your curves.

The skirt of the dress flows to just above your knee. To make the outfit a little less dressy, you lay out a light-wash denim jacket and a pair of white sneakers.

You're happy with your choice, and with one less thing to fuss over tomorrow, you crawl back into bed. Leaning over and switching off the bedside lamp, you smile to yourself and curl into the comforter, hoping the exhaustion from today's events will allow you a good night's sleep.

But with the anticipation of seeing him again, you don't think it's likely.

June 25th 2016

Frankie wakes to the alarm screeching from his bedside table.

A loud groan escapes his lips as he rolls to the other side of the bed, his long legs tangled in the sheets. His hand frantically batted around until his fingers met the offending sound.

Groggily, he squints his eyes at the time, 8 a.m. Cursing under his breath, he swipes his thumb across the screen to silence the alarm.

Rolling onto his back, he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom. Large, veined hands rubbed over his face, scratching through the coarse hairs on his jaw.

The morning sun casts a soft glow on everything it touches as it peeks through the thin linen curtains. Why does he always forget to turn his alarm off on weekends? He has absolutely no reason to be awake this early on a Saturday.

As he stares blindly into space, the first thing on his mind is you. How you looked so disbelieving when he first caught sight of you in his rear-view mirror when you hit the truck, How you stammered your apologies; how the sun glistened in your eyes as he cleaned the cut on your leg. Your back-and-forth texting last night

He was a bit embarrassed at how nervous he was about reaching out. A million thoughts raced through his mind, one after the other, as he typed your number into his phone.

"Should I call her? No, no, that's a bit forward. I should just text her, but what if she doesn't like texting? I did say I would call, but that was just a figure of speech, right? What if I call her and she doesn't answer? God, Francisco, it's not a big deal; just text her!" He caught himself as he felt the smile pulling the corners of his lips upward at the memory.

Knowing full well sleep would not find him again, he throws the sheets back and climbs out of bed, stretching for the first time that morning. Heading into the bathroom, he stands at the counter and looks at himself in the mirror.

It's not that he doesn't take pride in his appearance, but now that his line of work no longer requires him to be pristine. No more meticulous shaving each morning, and he could allow his hair to grow longer, like he used to wear it before inlisting many moons ago.

His curls had begun brushing against his forehead and the nape of his neck. Sure, he was probably due for a haircut, but he kind of liked it, and it was usually hidden under his cap anyway.

As he watches his reflextion, turning his head from left to right and back again, he can tell he has let things run away from him a little.

His beard—although it had always been a little patchy—was now creeping up ever so slightly over his cheekbones and down his neck, the grey and white hairs becoming ever more present.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to tidy himself up, he lifts the safety razor out of the bathroom cabinet and replaces the blade. Lathering the shaving cream with the brush and placing wide, thick stripes of it across his cheeks and neck.

Frankie carefully drags the blade across his skin, removing the sparse hairs that grew above his beard line; he does the same with his neck, taking extra care not to nick his protruding adams apple.

He debates going the whole hog and shaving it all off but decides against it, afraid he might not like it once it's gone. Or that you won't.

Turning the shower on, Frankie steps into the welcoming stream of hot water, letting it wash over the untidy mop of dark chocolate-caramel curls. As he stands in the steam, his mind replays yesterday's events for the second time this morning.

Except now, he's remembering how innocent you looked when you called him sir. How he could feel your heart racing as he placed his big hands on your waist to boost you onto the tailgate of his truck. How your breathing hitched when he touched the smooth, soft skin of your calf. How good and right it felt to be held in his firm grip.

He feels the familiar tingle up his spine and the throbbing ache in his cock at the thought, and he shakes it from his head as quickly as it enters.

He wants nothing more than to fantasise about you like that, but he won't allow himself to do it until he knows the feelings are mutual.

Doing his best to finish his shower routine without touching himself at the thought of you, he once again finds himself in front of the mirror, a tower wrapped low around his hips.

He admires his handy work with his facial hair, only to find himself concentrating on the empty patches where the hair stubbornly refuses grow. He has never given any thought to that until now.

Frankie realises then that it's because he wants to look his best for you; he hasn't felt like this since he was a teenager, his thoughts all consumed by a woman he met only a day ago.

"Get a hold of yourself, Francisco; why would she be interested anyway?" He scolds himself, but he can't help but hope that he was wrong and that you were feeling the same butterflies in your chest as he was.

Walking back to his bedroom he finds himself standing in front of the dresser. What the hell was he supposed to wear? He's probably going to end up helping Benny with your car, so there's no point in dressing up just to get dirty.

He planned to ask you if you would join him for dinner tonight, so he threw on a pair of tan cargo trousers he uses for work and a grey crew-neck t-shirt.

Frankie throws his nicest pair of jeans and a flannel dress shirt into an overnight bag. If he is lucky enough for you to say yes to dinner, he'll wash up and change at Benny's place.

As he finished getting dressed, he ran his hands through his damp, unruly curls and placed the last missing piece on top of his head—his well-worn 'Standard Heating Oil' baseball cap.

It had been given to him by his mother. It wasn't necessarily a gift; she just saw it and thought he would like it. She always made a point of picking him things up when she saw something he liked, knowing he never usually spends money on himself. Frankie makes a mental note to give her a call later this week and see how she is doing.

The cap was the only thing he had brought with him when he deployed, to remind him of home. He remembers tearing it from his head and holding that very cap to his chest, right over his heart, with a vice grip on several occasions, as if it were a talisman.

When missions hadn't gone according to plan and he thought he might not make it back to his family and friends. In the end, though, he always got out with thankfully minor injuries.

So for that reason, he considers it his good luck charm and refuses to leave the house without it; even if he is going somewhere "formal," which is rare, he always brings it with him in the truck.

Frankies phone rings, pulling him out of his reverie. He picks the phone up off the nightstand, pulling the charging cord from the port, and, glancing at the screen, it's Pope. He answers the call and is greeted by a very cheery Santiago.

"Hola Hermano, how are you?" Pope's voice sounds chirpily from the speaker.

"Hey, I'm alright, what's up?" Frankie asks suspiciously. He had spoken to pope less than twelve hours ago, and it wasn't like him to call this early in the morning.

"Nothing's up. Can't I just call to catch up with my mejor amiga?" He responds innocently.

"I would usually agree, but considering I dropped you off not twelve hours ago, I'm assuming something is up?" Frankie shoots back with a chuckle.

"Okay, that's fair enough. I was going to call into your place to hear more about this pretty lady you're helping out this afternoon." Frankie can hear the shit-eating grin on Santiago's face through the phone line.

"I knew you were digging; feel free to come over, but theres nothing to tell," he deadpans.

"Alright, alright, I'll see you in five." Pope laughs and hangs up the phone.

The last thing Frankie wants is Pope grilling him about you when there is really nothing to tell. As much as he felt a connection to you, he was certain that he was letting his imagination run away from him and that in reality you were just being polite.

Right on cue, Santi is walking through the front door of Frankie's house. Taking in his surroundings and appreciating the fact that nothing had changed in this place; everything still lived where it had the last time he visited.

"Morning, you want coffee?" Frankie greets Pope as he strolls into the kitchen.

"Please! So what happened yesterday? You were pretty tight-lipped with the details around the guys last night," he asks, arching a thick brow and leaning against the kitchen island.

"Same thing I told you yesterday—nothing really happened; she rear-ended my truck and fell on her way to give me her insurance information. I patched up her leg, and that was that." Frankie retells the same shortened version of events as he had the day before.

"Frank Who are you trying to kid here? I can see right through you; you've been on cloud nine since you picked me up yesterday. This girl clearly has something to do with it." Pope insisted; he was observant; Frankie had to give it to him, but really, what was there to say?

"Fine, everything I told you is pretty much what happened, but… I told her not to worry about the insurance and that I would get Benny to fix her car, and I asked her to dinner." That's all. Frankie admits sheepishly, his large veined hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.

"Ahhhh, you see, I knew there was more to this story than you were letting on last night!" Pope wagged his finger in Frankie's direction, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh, of course you did; I forgot you were omniscient." Frankie snarks back with a roll of his eyes.

"Not omniscient, I just know you too well, Hermano! So what's this girl like? Did she say yes? She's clearly done a number on you if you asked her to dinner," Pope asks, eyes gleaming at the prospect of new information.

"That's true; she said yes to dinner; she actually gave me this note."

Frankie chuckles, sliding the note, which is now very worn from his constant folding and unfolding, across the counter to his friend before continuing.

"She said yes to dinner. I just feel like I read more into it than I should have known. I don't know if she's interested in me or just being polite." He lets out a long sigh and looks back at Pope, already waiting for a snarky comment, as he watches his friend read over your neat handwriting. but what he receives is understanding.

"Yeah, I get it, bud, but from that note, from what you've told me about meeting her yesterday and my infanite wisdom with the ladies," he pauses to give Frankie an exaggerated wink before continuing. "I think she is definitely interested! And if I'm wrong, then so what! What have you got to lose?" Pope grinned, glad his friend was finally taking a chance on someone.

"Just my pride, so, you know, nothing major," Frankie huffed out a laugh.

"Listen, on a serious note, I just wanted to come over and make sure you were okay after yesterday. I know things like that can bring up some shit." Pope said, his tone suddenly sombre.

He stood from his seat on the island and walked around to clasp a firm grip on Frankie's shoulder. reassuring him that he could be honest and tell his friend if he was going through something.

Frankie smiled genuinely, appreciating how much Pope looks out for him, even if he is gone the majority of the time.

"No, I'm good, Pope; meeting Y/N was honestly like a breath of fresh air; no nightmares or anything last night." He beamed, realising that for the first time in what felt like years, he had actually had a full night's sleep; he felt well rested, and his anxiety was at bay, aside from the nerves about seeing you again, which he tried desperatly to squash down.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Frankie; it's about time you got some well-deserved rest. Ah, so her name is Y/N then? There is more to learn yet," Pope says, playfully jabbing Frankie in the ribs.

Frankie has never really believed in soulmates or in "fate" bringing people together, but he had to admit that meeting you yesterday felt different; it felt special in a way he had never experienced before. It was like he was supposed to be at that stop light at just the right time.

He's never been more grateful for Pope; after all, if he wasn't on his way to pick him up, he would never have met you. Though Frankie keeps this thought to himself, Pope's head is big enough already; he doesn't need this information to inflate it more.

"Right, I have to shoot. Im meeting Will at the diner for breakfast. You joining us?" asked Pope as he shrugged out of his light jacket, picking up his keys from the countertop.

"Nah, I'm good. Im going to run some errands and then head over to Benny's; I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow though." Frankie assures him.

"You better, I want to hear more about this lovely lady!" Pope gives him a quick hug and a pat on the back before heading out of the kitchen. Leaving Frankie alone with his thoughts.

He needed to find something to occupy his mind as he waited for it to be an acceptable time to head to Benny's. He did a once-over of the house with the vacuum. Frankie has always liked his place to be clean and tidy, as he finds it helps with his anxiety.

Once that was finished, he grabbed his keys and headed into town. Frankie wants to do everything right by you and wants to give you everything you deserve and more. He knows he doesn't know anything about you yet, but he decides to pick you up some flowers.

As Frankie hits the town centre, he mumbles a low "Yes!" as he swings the truck into a curbside parking space just a few doors down from the florist shop. Once the truck is in park, a thought occurs to him and stops him in his tracks.

"Shit, I don't even know what kind of flowers she likes."

While he is debating what to do, he stays in the quiet cab of the truck until he swings the door open and heads in the direction of the florist.

"I'll just take a gamble, see what they have, and pick something nice." He thinks as he pulls open the door. The aroma of fresh flowers and foliage greets him, and it reminds him of you, the floral scent of your perfume still lingering in his mind.

"Good Morning. Can I help you with anything?" An older woman asks from behind a rather large bouquet of what looked like fresias, but he honestly wasn't sure.

"Morning, ma'am, I'm just looking for a bouquet, but I don't really know what I'm looking for; I'm a little lost," he admits sheepishly, his hand returning to the nape of his neck, rubbing at the curls sticking out from under the cap.

"Okay, I can help you with that, no problem! Is it for a special occasion? Or a particular person?" She asks while making her way around the counter and coming to stand in the centre of the shop floor.

Frankie follows, and as he looks around, he can see they are now surrounded by what looks like a hundred different varieties of flowers, some of which he is familiar with from seeing them around his mother's house and others he has never seen before.

"It's, uh, a first date, or at least I hope it will be." He laughs and smiles politely at the woman. She returns it with a warm smile, understanding settling in her features.

"Okay, what about some pink roses? Or even some daisies if you want something less traditional?" The woman gestures around at the different options available. Frankies eyes follow her hand and dart around the room until he sees them.

They were the brightest sunflowers he had ever seen, with their massive yellow petals shining in the sunlight of the shop window. He knew they were the ones the second his eyes landed on them.

"What about sunflowers?" He asked the florist with the same warm smile she had given him a few seconds ago.

"We can certainly do that; are there any other flowers you would like along with them?" She asks as she lifts the bucket and brings it over to the large, heavy-looking workbench on the south side of the store.

"Just whatever you think would look best," he nodded.

"Sure, no problem. Could you give me about twenty minutes to make this up?" Asked the florist.

"Of course, take your time; there's no rush." He offers another smile and heads for the door.

He finishes the last of his errands over the next fifteen minutes. Frankie pulls out his phone to check the time and notices it's almost one in the afternoon. He opens his contacts and hits 'dial' on Benny's name. He answers in two rings.

"Hey Ben, are we still good for this afternoon, yeah?" Frankie asks, hoping Benny can't hear the nerves in his voice.

"Yeah, man, all good. What time is your, eh, friend going to be here?" Benny chuckled down the line.

"I asked Y/N to meet me at your place at 2pm so I'm going to head over to you in five if that's alright?" He asked as he made his way back up Main Street to the florist's shop.

Yeah, brother, no worries! I'll see you soon. Benny replied brightly, and Frankie hung up the phone.

Just as he was about to enter the flower shop, his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Digging roughly in his pocket to fetch the device, Frankie looks at the screen, and his breath leaves him. He is standing with his hand on the door handle, staring at your name on his phone like an idiot.

He finally answers and greets you with a voice like melting honey: "Hola Hermosa, how are you today?" The smile growing on his face felt like it could split him down the middle.

"Hey Frankie, I'm doing a lot better now that I'm talking to you good-looking. How are you doing?" a light, breathy laugh sounding down the phone at him.

He swore that was the prettiest sound he had ever heard. In that moment, he was sure he could listen to it on repeat for the rest of his life. The thought of that scared the shit out of him. How has he been so enraptured by someone he barely knows?

Well, I'm awfully glad to hear that. Are we still on for this afternoon?" He almost crooned back at you, hoping the eagerness in his voice wasn't too obvious.

"I am indeed; that is, if you still want to." He could hear the nerves in her sweet voice, and it made him relax a little. He was glad he wasn't the only one who was anxious about this afternoon. 

"Of course I do, I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Y/N," Frankie admits before continuing, "Benny thinks he has all the parts he needs to fix your car, so it shouldn't take us long." He debates asking you to dinner then and there but decides to wait so he can give you the flowers.

"You are?" you ask, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Of course I am hermosa; Benny is also looking forward to meeting the woman daring enough to take on the truck." Frankie huffs out a laugh, trying to cover his chagrin.

"That makes me really happy… that you're looking forward to it; meeting Benny on the other hand is sending my nerves into overdrive if I'm being honest," you let out another soft laugh.

"Don't be nervous; he's the human equivalent of a golden retriever." He laughs heartily.

Okay, I'll make sure to bring some tennis balls." You deadpan, and it sends Frankie into an uncontrollable fit of belly laughter. His sides are aching by the time he gets a hold of himself as he commits your tinkling laughter to memory.

"I like that sound," she murmurs into the receiver. Frankie isn't even sure if he was meant to hear it, but it spreads its way through his chest and squeezes around his heart.

"I could say the same thing to you," he whispers, his voice thick and rough with emotion.

"I will see you soon then?" You confirm with him that you don't care if you sound desperate or overeager.

"Tan pronto, Cariño" he promises, both of you stay quietly on the line, not wanting to be the ones to end the phone call.

"Adiós Frankie," you all but purr, and he feels his knees get weak.

As he stands by the shop window, Frankie tightly grips his phone while leaning his back against the glass. With his free hand, he removes the baseball cap from his head, running his fingers through the soft and thick curls at the back of his neck.

Chuckling to himself, he shakes his head again before proceeding towards the entrance of the shop.

He gazes at the breathtaking arrangement crafted by the florist, momentarily taken aback by its intricate beauty. The arrangement is adorned with bright yellow sunflowers and delicate blue cornflowers scattered throughout.

Grateful for the artistry of the florist, he manages to stammer out his thanks. She tries to hand him his change, but he insists that she keep it as a token for her hard work. Frankie wishes her a good day before turning on his heel and leaving the store.

As he walks towards his car, he realises that he's humming a tune under his breath. It's a song that he hasn't thought about in years, but now it seems like the most fitting song in the world. He chuckles to himself, feeling like a teenager again.

Climbing into the truck, he gingerly sets the flowers on the backseat. He unlocks his phone and flicks his thumb across the screen, opening the Spotify app, selecting the 'This is Eagles" playlist, and hitting play on the song he had just been humming.

Frankie let his head fall back against the headrest, eyes closed and a faint smile on his lips. He's lost in the music, swaying his head back and forth as he sings along to the smooth, melodic voice of Don Henley.

"Cause I get a peaceful easy feeling, And I know you won't let me down, 'Cause I'm already standing, Im already standing, Yes, I'm already standing, On the ground,"

He taps his foot to the beat, his fingers drumming out the rhythm on the worn-out steering wheel. Everything around him fades away, and he's lost in the moment, his deep, gravelly voice rising in volume.

As the song draws to a close, he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes once more and letting the final notes linger in the air. A moment of silence passes before he opens his eyes and exhales, a sense of calm and contentment spreading through him.

The next song starts to play through the speakers, and the familiar beginning guitar riffs of "Life in the Fast Lane" fill the cab, and Frankie is once again brought back to the memory of opening your driver's side door yesterday and being greeted with the very same song.

Putting the truck in drive and pulling out into the flow of lunchtime traffic, he continues to tap along to the music as he makes his way to Benny's house. As he makes his way to you.

"Ahh, Francisco, you're in trouble." He chuckles to himself and turns the radio up, unable to stop the grin that seems to be taking up permanent residence on his face.

[romanarose]

Take Your Time: Chapter 2

Frankie Morales X Fem!Oc (Jana Hernandez)

Chapter 1 : Chapter 3

Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Dealing with the fall out of the previous night, Frankie struggles with his own self-hatred and worry of the harm he's causing his daughter, her mother who he still loves, and the friends that surround him, and attempts to push them away.

Warnings: LOOOOTTSSSS of negative self-talk, self-hatred, self-sabotage. Frankie's being a dick near the end but give him some grace, he's struggling. Talk over suicidal thoughts, wanting to die, addiction, overdose, wounds/blood, bad coping. A/N: I won't go into Laci's backstory here, all you really need to know is given in the text. She's had a hard life, hence Santi's protectiveness over her, especially in regards to sex. If you are curious, you can read chapter 1-3 of Leather and Lace. Chapter 1 goes into how the group meets Laci, and chapter 3 tells you how she ended up with Santi. Chapter 2 is just Santi being a sweetie. Also, I don't know how clear I made this so far, bc it's clear in LaL, but Jana is afro-latina, Chilean on her mom's side, Ethiopian on her dad's side, making Rosie mixed too. I've been doing a lot of research and just listening to my friends of either culture, but if I say something incorrect or offensive, please let me know. I am actively trying to make sure my OC's aren't constantly white, but seeing as I am white, I could very well mess something up.

********************************* When Frankie woke up that morning, all that registered was feeling like complete shit; his head hurt, and he felt nauseous. Next thing that came to mind was that he was on the floor. When he opens his eyes, he sees a blurry vision of the couch and his carpet. When he notices long dark curls falling on his face, Francisco starts to remember when happened last night: the drinking, fighting calling up his old contacts to buy coke, blood, calling- oh fucking hell. Frankie groaned, embarrassed and humiliated. How could he do this to her? Waking her up when she works so hard, dragging her and his daughter out in the cold and she had to- how did she stop the bleeding? It all started to get kinda blurry at that point. Frankie pulled his arm out, finding bandages wrapped around his wrists.

“Morning, Francisco” The tired voice of Jana spoke from beside him. Frankie’s body tensed, and Jana immediately gave him space. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” Jana speaks firmly; she never liked him apologizing. Frankie feels her sit up. “How are you feeling?” “Me siento como una mierda” Jana chuckles a bit as she gets up. “I bet you do” She gently kicks him. “Sit up, let me redress your wrist.” Another pang of guilt shot through him, but he was in no position to argue. Jana took off the wrapping, and Frankie notices the two stitches on either wound. “You called Will, didn’t you?” He asked, knowing the answer and what it meant. Will knew what happened, which meant that Benny and Santaigo knew too. “Yeah, you were bleeding quite a bit, I needed to make sure you didn’t die.” Frankie just nodded, trying not to look at where she was working, lest he begin puking. Again. “Thank you” His eyes averted where she gazed up at him, knelt at the floor before where he sat on the couch. “Don’t worry about it, honey.” A bit of a pause. “Santi texted me, I guess Will called him. He asked if he could come over today?” She didn’t miss the small sigh that came out of mouth. “This is why I didn’t want anyone to know, I didn’t want them to come home early.” “He’s not, they got a call, their getting their first kid today.” Santiago and Laci had decided to do respite foster care together. This was short term foster care, a few hours to a week, and they were able to decline at any time. Laci had seen so much of the struggle of women and families in the system and wanted to help. Her and Santi decided this was a good way to do their part and put their money to use without having to commit to a long-term foster child. Laci, as emotional as she was, would likely get very attached to any kid in her home that long. Plus, ever unspoken, Benny was still blacking out every week and getting in fights, and Frankie was obviously still struggling with recovery, and Laci and Santi needed to be able to help their friends. “Are you lying to me?” Frankie asked. “No, I won’t lie to you, promise.”

“Is Pope lying to you?” Jana chuckled at that. “I don’t think so. Laci asked if we can go get some stuff for infants while you and Santi talk”

The idea of a ‘talk’ with Santi made him anxious. His friend, for much of their life, had been his strength, a sense of security. They had grown up together, enlisted together, and it was Fish’s connection to Santiago that had gotten him in Tom’s circle. Hence, when Tom hand-picked his team, Frankie was picked for his skills as a pilot. Santiago’s sister, Fatima, had practically raised the pair of them, and her death had hit Frankie nearly as hard as it did Santiago, it was bad enough that when his daughter was born, Jana had no qualms naming her after Santi’s sister. Together, they decided on Fatima Rosa-Maria, Rosie for short. “Okay.” Frankie nodded as Jana wrapped him back up again. From her room, he heard Rosie start calling. “Daddy! Daddy!” At two years old, she was just starting talking, and for the first time today Frankie smiled. She was the most precious thing in the world to him, and no matter how bad things got, his little girl always brought him joy. Jana kissed his wrist as she finished. “Do you wanna go see here?” He did. He really fucking did. But Frankie shook his head. “Can you get her? I need to shower. Don’t want her to associate me with the smell of puke and alcohol.”

She seemed to understand, and put saran wrap over his dressings, instructing him to try not to get it wet, and casually requesting he keep the door unlocked.

 From where he undressed in the bathroom, Frankie heard Rosie squeal ‘Mama!’ in surprise, and he wanted so badly in this moment to give his daughter this. He wanted nothing more than a family with Jana and her, her mommy and daddy married and in love, one household; a household frequently filled with her aunts and uncles, and the million little cousins that Santi and Laci inevitably produce after fucking like rabbits… He wanted a happy family for her, for Jana, and hell, for himself. He wanted to give to Jana what Santi gave to Laci, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t the man Santiago was. Santi had taken Lacina at her lowest, carefully and lovingly built her up, adorned her in love and affection, given his all to her; Frankie had nothing to give. Best he could do was make sure they were taken care of. 

 After Santi had gone back for the money in the canyon, he split it with all of them, making them all set for life. Despite the cost of raising a child and his addiction, Frankie still had a shit tone of money; him and Benny didn’t have as much as Santi and Will, who were more responsible, but enough he’d never have to work again. But he did. They all did. Something to take their minds off things. Benny still fought MMA and Will still did his talks. Santi had missions that he often recruited the others for, although he stopped that since the day Laci came into his life. Frankie worked with Pope back when he used to contract, but for almost a year now, there had been nothing, leaving him with nothing to do when Rosa was gone but see the guys, or get high. Recently, he had taken a basic engineering job, Monday through Friday, 9-5, simply for the structure and honestly? He liked it. He liked knowing when he’d wake up and when he’d go to bed, still seeing the guys frequently, and being able to have Rosie when Jana worked evenings and over nights.

Jana refused ‘charity’ as she called it. Since leaving, she wouldn’t let Frankie pay for anything of hers that didn’t involve Rosa; so Frankie paid for everything to do with her. Frankie paid for daycare, their home security, and sent her money every month for food, pullups, clothes, and fun. Jana even acquiesced to letting him buy her a car when her piece of shit broke down on the side of the road again; a simple Buick, just something safe. As he stood in the shower, nearly numb to the scalding water, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to cry, just a bit. He had everything in his hands, a beautiful girlfriend he was ready to propose to, his perfect little baby, the best friends a guy could ask for, and he threw it away for addiction. Jana and him had been on the rocks before Columbia, but that trip had put a gap between them that was irreparable. She didn’t leave right away; she was worried about him, but she didn’t stay long, especially as his using got worse. She refused to raise their daughter in that, and she was right to leave. Frankie had often wondered how things would have gone if he had simply gotten clean when Jana did. Frankie wouldn’t have been desperate for the money, he wouldn’t have gone on that godforsaken mission, and Santi wouldn’t have been able to do that stupid fucking heist without a pilot. With no mission, Tom would still be alive.

“Francisco?” Jana’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he realized despite not dipping his head under the water, his face was soaked. “You okay in there?”

He wanted to ask her to come in, he wanted to hold her… but he couldn’t. Asking for help was hard, but letting her see how broken he really is was even harder. “Yeah, just warming up.” he lied. He wanted her there, but also wanted her far, far away from him, away from his own personal disaster. “Okay, I’m making breakfast, it’ll be ready for you whenever you’re out.” It sounded so damn casual. What he would give to have this every day, to wake up to her hair in his face every morning… but she deserved better. Flashes of last night blurred in his head as he stepped out of the shower: Jana’s panicked voice, the vague sound of Will trying to keep his cool, blood coating the dark skin of her hands, the thick, pungent smell of puke in the air… he looked around the bathroom, it was squeaky clean. She must’ve cleaned. That woman was a fucking saint. That was why they couldn’t be together. She deserved more, she deserved better, so did Santi, Will, and Benjamin, so did Rose. He wished he could simply stop existing, stop being, erase his existence without erasing her, somehow. He wished it had been him, not Tom, with a bullet through his fucking brain. He’d kill himself if he didn’t think it would cause everyone more pain, but he knew that would make matters worse, and Benny would probably drink himself to death, if he doesn’t already. Best he could do is try to be as little of a problem as possible.

He stepped into the illuminated kitchen, seeing Jana feeding Rosie in her high chair, and despite his misery, the world looked just a little bit better with them in the room. “Hey honey” She smiled at him as she spooned some apple sauce into Rosie’s mouth and he felt warm inside again. “Is it okay if I shower?” “Of course, are you washing your hair?” He asked with a mouthful of the omelet she cooked up.

Jana laughed, walking to the hall to get the towels out of the dryer. “No offense Francisco, but I’m not washing my hair with your white boy 3-1, I’ll have to use so much coconut to come back from that.” she called out to him, her jovial voice ringing down the hallway. “Do you happen to have anything I can tie my hair back with?” “I think Laci left a hair tie the other night, but… I actually have your shower bonnet in the closet… with the rest of your hair stuff…” His voice trailed off as he continued feeding his babbling little girl. Her voice slowly got louder as he came back around, arms holding the laundry basket. “What?”

Avoiding her gaze, he continued. “When you left you… didn’t take some of your stuff. By the time I noticed, I figured you bought new shit so I just… kept it, just in case.” He didn’t tell her he spent the better part of that first year hoping she’d come back. “I also have a silk pillowcase, you know, if you ever need it again.” “I brought my pillowcase when I left...” She said as she sat down the basket. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Yeah I… bought one. Didn’t want to mess up your hair if you ever got stuck here for one reason or another. Plus, Rosie will need one when she’s a little older anyway” Their daughter had gotten her hair from her maternal grandfathers side, 4A curl type, as he had learned from his online research on how to care for her hair. 

He heard Jana walk across the floor, her soft hands on his. “You’re a good man, Francisco.” He couldn’t help smile into her touch, but deflected the conversation before it could go any further. “Her hair is getting longer. I want to start styling her hair, I’m just not sure how.” Jana recognized right away how he shifted attention to Rosie instead of himself. “You were getting pretty good at braiding my hair, back in the day.” “I might be a little out of practice.” Jana knew Frankie was worried about having a biracial daughter. He barely managed his own soft curls, tucking them away under his hat most days. He wanted to be able to properly care for her hair, and was not afraid of being corrected. “How about I wash my hair today, and you can braid it, and we’ll see where you're at.” Smiling softly at her, he finally met Jana’s eyes. “That would be nice” When Santi let himself and Laci into Frankie’s house, he expected Jana and Rose to be there. What he did not expect was for Jana to be sat on the floor between Frankie’s knees braiding her hair and massaging oil into it while the pair of them and their toddler watched Bluey. With a glance to Laci, he knew automatically she was thinking the same thing he was. The pair had been spending a lot of time together the last few months. Laci kept hoping they’d get back together, telling him how fun it would be, how they could be couple friends, all the grand plans she had for the next 50 years. Santi couldn’t lie; he had hoped they’d patch things up too, but as he told Laci before, Frankie didn’t think he deserved her. He felt Laci squeeze his hand. She was nervous. She was scared for Frankie, having heard minimal details of what happened last night but she cared deeply for him and it hurt her when people she loved hurt. Santi had to remind her not to overwhelm him, and she was buzzing with a nervous energy as she held back her desire to run over to him and shower her with hugs. “Hey guys” Fish called from the couch, beckoning them over. He saw Laci and her desperate attempts to stay calm. Putting a hair tie as he finished the second of the double dutch braids, he patted on the couch next to him. “C’mon, I know you wanna” Laci nearly tackled him in the hug. Despite her skinny arms, she held onto him tightly, but careful not to touch either wrist. He wore a flannel to cover the bandages, and she didn’t know which side was hurt. “I love you so much Frankie, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

He gave an awkward hug back. “I love you too, manita. Can I finish Jana’s hair?” Laci promptly slid down the couch and onto the floor to greet Jana, and started talking about the stores she wanted to go to. Santi sat behind her, rubbing her shoulders. “Would you like me to do yours too, munequita?” The girl beamed up at him. “Yes please”

Santi’s braids… left something to be desired, so they opted to just put two pigtails to the top half of her short blonde hair at the top of her head as Frankie laid Jana’s baby hairs down. “Voila!” Santi motioned as they finished. “Don’t our girls look beautiful?” Frankie winced at Santi calling Jana his girl, but he couldn’t really blame the man; they spent so much time together, the four of them, it was hard to not see them as a couple.

Jana took Laci’s hand. “Yes we do!” And Frankie couldn’t help the breath that hitched in him at the idea of Jana being okay being called his again…. Laci got Rosie ready to go to the store with them to allow Frankie and Santi privacy. She gave Frankie a kiss on his head from where he sat on the couch, and ruffled Santi’s curls. “Adios, Santito” “You’re only half an inch taller than me, Jana” He grumbled. She leaned over to him on his other side. “Sé gentil” Laci gave him a smooch before she quite literally skipped out the doorway. When the door closed, Frankie turned to Santi “Your girl just skipped.” He teased. Despite his nerves surrounding the reason he was here, Santiago beamed and blushed like a smitten teenager. “Yeah, she’s something else.” There was a pause before Frankie spoke. “I didn’t try to kill myself, Santi” “Then what the hell happened” Santi breathed out, exasperated. Frankie slumped down on the couch, pouting. “I don't know how to explain it, hermano. I was having cravings, I had some drinks to curb it, then I just felt… I don’t know, like I didn’t exist or something” “What are you talking about?” “I just told you I didn’t know how to explain it. Don’t ever just wanna… feel something?” A soft chuckle. “Sometimes I feel I have the opposite problem” Frankie returned the laugh. “I know you do, lover boy” “Not just with her, I mean, in general. It’s been better the last half a year, I think Benny can agree I’ve yelled at him less” “Well, except when we went to get the Christmas tree-” “He almost took her foot off!” Frankie raised his hands in mock defense, smiling “Si, si, yo estaba allí” Santi settled, dropping it. “I just mean, I think we can all agree I run a little hot.” “Yeah.” “I’m not going to ask to see the cuts… but how bad was it?” “Will didn’t spill all the gory details?” Frankie joked. “No, you know him, he doesn’t generally want to get involved in things more than he has to. Not one for gossip.” Frankie nods. “Few on my legs weren’t bad enough to need anything, wrists needed stitches.” “Dios Mio, ¿Qué está pasando contigo?” Pope exclaimed, his anxiety for his friend going through the roof. “How am I not supposed to take this as a suicide attempt?” He sounded exasperated, but the pain in his eyes as he turned to Frankie was clear. “You’re not very good at this” Frankie attempted to dissipate the tension with a joke. Santi wasn’t thrilled. He took Frankie’s face in his hands, a similar soft touch Frankie had seen Santiago give Laci. “I’m trying, man. I know I’m not good at this, but I’m trying here.” Closing his eyes and allowing the familiar touch “I know, you’ve gotten better since Laci came around” “Yeah” Santi practically whispered. Frankie didn’t have to open his eyes to picture the dreamy expression on his face. “She brings out the best in me.” “Yeah. She really does.” There was a pause as they both settled back into their seats before Santi talked again. “So you called Jana?” “Don’t get jealous”

“I’m not! I’m just saying-” “Don’t” “She’s been around a lot lately-” “Santi, stop.” He couldn’t have this talk, he didn’t want anyone trying to talk him into it. She deserved better. “I think she’d like to get back-” “Stop” Jana deserved better, Rosie deserved better, Santi deserved better. “Laci thinks that-” Laci, Will, Benny, they all deserved better than him. The urge to push everyone away bubbled up. “Laci needs to mind her damn business.”

“Hey.” Santiago turned him, his face suddenly that deadly calm that came before he absolutely rocked someone's shit. “Watch it.” Frankie wanted to apologize, but he also wanted Santi out of his house and out of his life, he wanted Santi so mad at him that his death wouldn’t phase him. One less person to worry about should he overdose or finally put himself out of his misery. He didn’t look at Pope. He didn’t back down. “Look at me, Francisco” Fish turned to him, face deadset into a glare. “I’ll letting that go because you’re going through something, but you leave her out of whatever the fuck is going on with you, got it?”

He could practically feel the crease in his furrowed brow. Push him away, push him out of your life, he’ll take the girl and Millers with him. “We get it, you’re pussy whipped, you don’t need to make a big show of your masculinity just because she’s the first girl small enough to make you feel tall and your dick feel big-” Even if this doesn't alienate the others, all it would take was picking a fight with Benny. Will would automatically get in the middle of it, and Laci, who spent most of her time away from Santi hanging out with Benny, would put herself between Benny and anyone who'd insult him, which has even included Santi on occasion. “What is going on with you?” Santi couldn’t fathom what would make Frankie suddenly turn on him like this. Keep going, keep talking about her and he’ll deck you, and walk out of your life. He could forgive a lot of things, but not transgressions against her. “You don’t have to act all protective, pendejo, it’s not like she can leave you anyway, but that’s probably why you brought her in-” He didn’t know where the hell these words were coming from, they certainly weren’t things he’d ever thought before. He loved Santigo as a brother, and Laci as his little sister, but that's why he needed them to go. He was a downward spiral, a grenade, and he couldn’t take them with him when he exploded. “Last fucking warning, Fish” The dark look in Santi’s eyes told him he’d switched from Santiago, domestic and in sappy love, to Pope, a soldier trained to kill, who’d taken out men who’d hurt his girl before, and would do it again. He was playing with fire. He just needed one more push, hit him in his weak spot, not his knees, but his jealous streak. “You knew she’d be completely dependent on you, so she’d never leave. If she could, she’d probably leave you, wouldn’t she? She’d probably be with Ben right now, hell, she’s probably fucking him when they-” Within a blink, Frankie felt himself being pulled up by the strong hand that was fisted in his shirt. Despite the panic that had bubbled in his chest knowing what Santi was capable of, Frankie couldn’t bring himself to punch or hit Santi. 

“I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to push me away. Well it’s not going to work, asshole. You’re stuck with me. It’s been 35 years of this, you think I don’t know you well enough by now? I get it. You’re picking on her because you know that’s the only way to get me this fucking mad.” Frankie just glared harshly at him, unwilling to back down or take back the words he said. Santi continued. “But you do not fucking talk about Laci, and you absolutely do not talk about her in the context of sex, do you understand me? Ever. Off limits.” Unable to apologize but unable to push him further, Frankie’s face remained stagnant. Santiago shoved him back down onto the couch, pointing at him. “Nice fucking try” he sat back down on the oppesit end of the couch, crossing his arms. “It worked, I’m furious at you, but I’m not leaving you, not until Jana comes back” When Jana walked in, she sensed the tension immediately as she saw them both sitting silently with stiff body language on the couch and muttered something to Laci about it not going well. Seeing Santi and Frankie clearly in distress, Laci sat down Rosie and walked over to them. “Frankie, what’s-” But before Laci could finish her sentence, Santi grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the man.

“We’re going home”

Laci looked confused and concerned. “But-” but she was being pulled away.

“C’mon, we got a baby to prep for the baby.” Santi turned to Jana, muttering about how it’s her turn.

Jana grabbed Laci’s free hand. “Can you stop pulling her around?” She said, referencing Laci.

Laci stood between them, arms spread out between her lover and her friend. “I think you’re both pulling me around right now”

Jana and Santi both dropped her hands, but Laci promptly found herself at Santi’s side. Something had upset him, and she wanted to be there for him. Santi wrapped an arm around her possessively, ushering her out the door. He looked at Frankie before leaving. “Call me when you’re ready to apologize” and nodded a goodbye at Jana, and Laci gave both a little wave as she followed Santi’s lead.

When the door shut, Jana turned to Frankie. “What did you do?”

Crossing his arms, Frankie didn’t acknowledge her. He couldn’t manage to say anything to push her away like he did Santi, but he hoped if he just ignored her, she’d leave.

Jana wasn’t as easy to play as Santi.

“Nice try, cielito. You’re stuck with me today. Whatever the fuck happened between you is something for Will to deal with, not me. Today is just you, me and Rosie, and you can pout all you want, but something tells me you won’t stand a chance when she wants to play barbies.”

She was right. Jana and Rosie stayed the day, and as much as he tried to keep them at arm's length, when Rosie toddled over to him with her dolls, he soon found himself on the floor having Barbie and Ken make-out while making kissing noises. “Oooohhh Ken you’re so hot” he said in a girlie voice.

When Jana and Rose left that evening, Frankie's goodbye was lingering. He wanted to push them away, but that was nearly impossible, he couldn't hurt Jana the way he had Santi, so as he closed the door behind her, he resolved to do his best to keep them out.

***************************************

THANKS FOR READING!!!! My boy is going through it :(

LMK if you'd like to join the tag list!!!!

@milkymoon2483 @trinkets01 @welcometostayingawake @luciannadraven33

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy. 

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate. 

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also  warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for. 

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period. 

 Your cycle had  been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag. 

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military. 

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it. 

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response. 

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood. 

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration. 

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.” 

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man. 

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work. 

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband. 

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending. 

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee 

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.  

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie. 

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!” 

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath. 

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-” 

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.” 

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door. 

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway. 

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it. 

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood. 

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear. 

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants. 

Your period had come.  

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie. 

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ” 

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply. 

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.” 

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first. 

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.” 

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply. 

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘” 

“Oh shut up, meanie.” 

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍” 

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way. 

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch. 

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband. 

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?” 

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest. 

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace. 

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you. 

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-” 

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse. 

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem. 

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”   

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him. 

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you. 

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you. 

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza. 

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-” 

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?” 

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?” 

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.” 

“I think I can make that happen.” 

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest. 

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy. 

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. 

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you. 

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core. 

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you. 

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices. 

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period. 

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man. 

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths. 

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.” 

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds. 

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt. 

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot. 

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” 

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could. 

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.” 

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt. 

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace. 

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over. 

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him. 

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity. 

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him. 

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate. 

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word. 

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.” 

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there. 

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did. 

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.” 

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in. 

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.” 

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high. 

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.  

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss. 

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss. 

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.” 

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @angel98624 @anoverwhelmingdin @pimosworld @nandan11 @iloveenya @survivingandenduring

[almostfoxglove]

SIT BACK, BABY

written for @joelmillerisapunk's #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Frankie Morales x f!Reader BODY PART: Thighs | WORD COUNT: 4.1k CW: Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.

SUMMARY: You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Your alarm clock reads 2:02 A.M. when you stir from a sweat-stained dream. 

Someone is breaking into your apartment.

Or sounds like they're trying to break in, at least. The awkward stabbing and metal scrape of disobedient picks and keys. A sudden fear cleaves through you, skull to stomach, and just like that you’re wide awake. Then you hear a familiar voice mutter, “Fucking please—”

And you sigh. You’re not in any danger.

Yellow light leaks into your apartment from the hall where you find your mountain of a neighbor slumped on his knees at your feet, one hand raised at the level of your lock, a silver key pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

He tilts his chin up, letting you glimpse beneath the brim of his navy ball cap the glassiness of his warm eyes, the flush of his cheeks. His lips part, bewildered or lost. The man looks hopelessly drunk. 

“Haanng on,” Frankie grins, squinting up at you. “You’re in my apartment?”

He drops his hand and his apartment key slips from his grasp onto the floor, unnoticed by him. You’ve lived across the hall from him for two years, steadfast in your belief that fucking anyone who lives in your building—or frankly, within a three block radius—is a hideous mistake. Has that made your hopeless crush on him any less… crushing?

Absolutely fucking not.

Now, seeing Frankie on his knees is doing something terrible to your brain. Giving it all sorts of ideas. You blame his jeans, the brawn of his thighs—how badly you’d like to sink your teeth into them surprises you.

“My apartment, actually,” you correct, lifting one finger to point over his shoulder, across the hall. Frankie turns and, sure enough, recognizes his apartment number gleaming on the door.

“Shit,” he says. You make a point of staring him dead in the eye even when you’d usually look away, just so you don’t look at his legs. The spread of his knees on the carpeted floor. 

Doe-eyed, Frankie blinks up at you—helpless as a pup—as need stirs in your stomach. The urge to hold him. To take care of him for a while.

“I’m a lil’ drunk,” he admits in a whisper, like it’s a secret, like you wouldn’t have known.

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t say.”

He buries his face in his palms and groans quietly, embarrassed. “Hermosa,” he muffles, making your mouth go dry. When his hands drop, his gaze lands at your feet, rising slowly to your legs—he turns, you think, the color of a berry. Something that bursts red against your fingertips in summer.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Frankie says plainly, his eyebrows high on his head.

Shit.

You cross your arms over your chest as if that’ll hide your legs, bare beneath the t-shirt you sleep in. You can’t remember what underwear you have on, if it’s a cute pair or a laundry day pair, and pray quietly that he can’t glimpse them from where he’s sitting, though he probably can. What’s worse, though, is that you can tell Frankie’s not trying to peek. He’s looking you in the eye—respectful, it seems, even on the verge of a blackout.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you say, trying not to blush. “Y’woke me up.”

Poor, drunk Frankie’s face just folds. Devastated to have bothered you—he huffs softly, lets his eyes stutter closed, dark lashes shivering on his cheeks. It really isn’t fair, how cute he is like this. Grown, drunk men are idiots. Nuisances, at best. And yet here he is—this broad mass of a man, solid in his calm, easy way—managing to be both out of his mind and entirely endearing at the same time. It’s almost annoying, how not annoyed you are to be disturbed from a fit of slumber. You’re sort of glad.

“M’sorry,” Frankie mumbles, staring at the floor. He lifts one finger and with your breath held you watch it move slowly toward your foot until his fingertip meets your bare ankle. Softly, so softly. You hardly feel it, this small touch, his fragile apology. 

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. It’s like he knows you’ve had some stupid crush on him for two years.

“Come on,” you say, as you crouch down to retrieve his forgotten key, then his arm, warm and solid in your grasp. “Think you better get into bed.”

He giggles as he lurches to his feet, thankfully able to stand after you steady him and release the weight of his arm. Cheeks warm, you walk his key across the hall, unlock the door, and step aside for him to go in with a sweep of your hand.

“How embarrassed should I be tomorrow?” Frankie asks, coming to stand at your side to stare down the tunnel of darkness formed by his entryway.

You shrug. “Willing to bet you won’t remember this in the morning,” you say, smirk nagging at your lips as you nudge his key back into his hand.

At the contact, he turns, face shadowed by his hat and curls licking playfully beneath the brim, and though you expect him to laugh or smile there’s not a drop of humor in his expression—he looks, you think, disappointed. Like maybe he doesn’t want to forget. Squinting, you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment, but Frankie doesn’t move. He blinks drowsily at you, bottom lip pouting again.

This is probably the most you’ve ever spoken in one go.

The closest you’ve ever stood.

“Pope’s never gonna le’me live this down,” he mumbles.

You huff a short chuckle under your breath and set one hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, to urge him inside—clearly the man’s never going to go in on his own. 

“That one of your broad shouldered friends?” you tease.

Frankie only budges a step closer to the doorway, frowning as he rolls his shoulders, standing up a little straighter as if to make a point. “Yes,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you tease, then drop your hand from his back. “You’re very broad, too.”

“I feel bad I woke you up,” Frankie says softly.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, and you feel it again—that impulse to hold him, make it better. Rub his shoulders or something, just to help him relax.

“It is,” Frankie mumbles sorrily.

“Did you mean to wake me up?”

He sighs. “No.”

“Were you trying to break in, or did you get mixed up?”

“Got mixed up,” he admits quietly.

You catch his gaze and offer him a small smile. “Then I forgive you,” you say. “No harm done, seriously. You’re not the worst person to find at my door.”

This seems to settle him, at least a little, because with one final, frowning huff Frankie surrenders his guilt and nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, and time stands briefly still as he moves toward you—leaning in to graze his lips against your cheek, his stubble brushing your skin. 

You stand, statued by your surprise, unable even to breathe.

“G’night, nena.”

“Goodnight,” you choke out, grateful that in his state he doesn’t seem to register your shock or the tremble in your voice. If he weren’t drunk, you’re pretty sure that would’ve snapped you. You’d have told him right now and right here that you’ll take care of him, help him unwind a little—that you’ve wanted to touch him for two years and it hasn’t gotten any easier, orbiting him without the guts to swing yourself closer to his gravity.

But he is drunk. Three quarters out of his mind, if you had to guess, based on the clumsy muddle of his footsteps as he at last sways into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. Leaving you breathless in the hallway, alone.

In the morning, you wake to a band of sunlight searing through your curtains. You’ve slept through your alarm all the way till ten, and lift your phone to find a text waiting on your lock screen, sent two hours ago.

Think I owe you an apology, neighbor.

Groggy, you frown at the string of digits you don’t recognize until the night comes back to you, piece by piece. Your heart stutters as you sit up in bed, letting your bedsheets pool in your lap as you type out a reply.

How did you get my number?

Also, you got up at 8am?? Are you even alive?

You get a reply only minutes later, while you’re brushing your teeth.

Told the building manager that I was getting your mail and wanted to return it. Little scary how few questions they asked.

You scoff, only to have your phone ding again immediately.

Sure hope I’m alive. I have a very thoughtful neighbor to thank for getting me home safe.

You spit into the sink, then rinse your mouth, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Thoughtful, huh?

Pretty, too. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that yet.

Still feel bad about last night. Let me make it up to you.

No more than six hours later, you’re pulled from whatever TV show’s been rotting your brain all afternoon by a steady knock on your front door. Your skin twinkles with nerves.

You’re fully clothed this time—showered too, thankfully—and when you open the door Frankie isn’t on his knees. He’s standing, curls squashed beneath his hat, t-shirt stretched across his chest, in black athletic shorts baring him below the knee, as he holds up two plastic bags that fill the hallway with a smell you know all too well: takeout from the Chinese place you love down the road. When your eyes round at the sight, Frankie grins, letting you glimpse the dimple that winks from his cheek. 

You see, too, his exhaustion. The navy shadows bruised beneath his glassy eyes. He may be alive, but it’s painfully obvious that he must, beneath that smile, be suffering a brutal hangover. And he’s bringing you food—too generous a gesture, you think, for such a small crime.

“Hoped you might like this place,” he says.

“You really didn’t have to—” you start to say, but Frankie shakes his head before squeezing past you in the doorway to come inside.

“Only fair,” he insists, and you shut the door while he toes out of his shoes, thoughtful enough not to drag dirt into your apartment as he breezes into your kitchen like he’s done this a hundred times before. Opening the bags, cracking each container, fishing through drawers until he finds your cutlery. Domestic and entirely alien: this man you’ve known for two years who’s never entered your space, making himself at home. Trying to serve you.

Dumbstruck, you watch him, unsure what to say and the longer you do, the more the ache of him seems to radiate. You swear you see him wince when a drawer slams too hard, when he looks up accidentally into the ceiling light. With one hand, you reach out and turn the dimmer switch to soften the lights over his head, and Frankie looks up from the styrofoam containers to catch your eye. 

The grin drops from his face. “Shit—is this too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Frankie wipes his hands on his thighs as he rounds the kitchen island to stand before you, dark lashes batting worriedly over his freckled cheeks as he lowers his head to meet your eye. “If you want, I can just leave you with the food. Don't wanna be here if you don't want me to be.”

A soft scoff leaves your lips, the first breath of disbelief disguised as laughter. “Frankie,” you breathe, and his chest puffs at the way you say his name. “You look like you feel like shit. Your head must be killing you. And you brought me food.”

His jaw ticks, and you wonder if he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you, too.

“No more fussing over me,” you say, lifting your hands slowly to rest on his shoulders. 

Frankie flinches but doesn’t pull away, his warm eyes flickering between yours like he’s trying to unpuzzle you. 

“Let me help,” you say.

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, sounding winded. Desperate. He shakes his head.

With a soft grin you slip your hands down his arms—firm and hot beneath your palms—to guide him toward your couch, warmed by a box of sunlight cast through the windows. Frankie sits with a gentle sigh, biceps tensing beneath your grasp, not yet sure what to make of you. You give his arms a light squeeze, flash him a grin you hope might ease his nerves, and sink to the carpet between his knees.

Frankie’s eyes go black.

The air simmers, woozy as the space above molten tarmac in the dead of summer. It’s a kind of spell, you think. His sharpened breath. Your hands slipping easily over his bare knees. And it’s obvious: the riot of guilt surging behind his lust-blown eyes, his instinct to politely turn you down as you rub his joints softly with your thumbs.

“Don’t have to,” you tell him, careful to hold his eye so he’ll see you mean them. “But I’d like to, if you want. Could take care of you for a while.”

Frankie lets out a ragged breath, and his eyes slam shut before he drops his head on the back of your couch. “Shit—are you—shit.” He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, groans quietly, and from the floor you watch the way his whole body shudders as he struggles for air.

“That a yes or a no, let’s eat Chinese food?” you ask softly, hands frozen on his knees until he answers. “Either is good.”

“Shit—yes, that’s a yes,” Frankie pants, still hiding behind his hands with his head tipped back.

You lift one hand from his knee to reach for him, curling your fingertips around his forearm, pulling it away from his eyes. “Mírame,” you say, and it’s possible Frankie comes undone right then and there—chest deflating, arms slumping limp into his lap, head lolling to look down at you in disbelief.

Lips parted, his tongue slips across his bottom lip, sending a thrill through your body and a sudden stutter to your heart. But this isn’t about you; it’s about him, so you squeeze your thighs together as Frankie shifts his hips on the couch and nods shakily.

Oh, this is dangerous. How he already looks ready to fall apart beneath your hands. You might never get enough of it.

Testing the waters, you slide your hands slowly up his thighs just far enough to brush your fingertips to the hem of his shorts, the roped muscles in his legs tensing beneath your caress. “If you want me to stop, just say, okay?”

Frankie shakes his head, licks his lip again, and your eyes follow the glide of his tongue. “Not gonna want you to stop,” he breathes, as his cheek dimples with the flash of a sheepish grin.

You hum softly, shuffle closer to the couch, encouraging him to spread his legs wider with a press of your hands. “Just sit back, baby,” you murmur.

So he does. Frankie grunts as you patiently knead the mesa of his thighs—the hills of muscle bound tight beneath golden skin, so hot to the touch—and lower your lips to lay a kiss on his knee, glancing up through your lashes to gauge his reaction.

He rewards you with a needy groan that goes straight to your cunt.

You smile against his skin, let your hands wander, thumbs digging into his thighs as you work loose their knotted web. Humming, your hands slipping beneath the black curtain of his shorts to stray higher as you work, you slide the flat of your tongue up his inner thigh and Frankie’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck—nena, shit,” he pants, just before one hand bolts out to cover the crown of your head, stilling your movements. 

You take your mouth off him and look up, basking in the abyss of his dark eyes and the red of his neck. “Want me to stop?” you ask.

Immediately, Frankie’s head shakes nonono as he gathers your hair in his fist, holding it back from your face. “Que cosa mas linda. So fuckin’ pretty.”

It’s easy, but you knew it would be, watching his body twitch and melt beneath your ministrations, the caress of your attentive hands. The wet suckle of your lips and tongue rising towards his hips. Slowly, you unwind him. Let him dissolve into your couch, always with some sweet nothing on his lips that could ruin you if you let it—mierda, feels so—so fucking good, perfect hands, holy shit, tan suave.

The taste of his skin is a balm in itself, heady, a little sweat-kissed, addictive. With his shorts shoved high on his hips, you latch at the supple flesh of his inner thigh and suck, drawing a tortured whimper from Frankie as he shivers, his chest rising faster with every breath.

“Shit—por favor, please,” he begs, as the hand in your hair gently scratches your scalp. It’s so gentle you almost believe he doesn’t know he’s doing it—that touching you like this, so tenderly, so ruinously, is to Frankie instinct alone.

“So sweet to me,” you murmur against his thigh, licking the pink mark you’ve left on his skin. “So strong, so warm. Just wanna take care of you, Frankie. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Hermosa,” he groans, desperate now, his cock twitching beneath the black of his shorts.

The square of sunlight glows over you both, warming you just as much as his body. Beyond the cracked window you can hear the chirp of birds finding their way to each other, the squeal of distant traffic, the churn of wind through the alley. All of it—all that raucous city noise that used to keep you up all night—feels tranquil now. A serene soundtrack whispering below the rasps of Frankie’s pleasure.

“Wanted to for a long time,” you tell him, before latching again at the top of his other thigh, marking satin skin with a matching brand. “Wanted to touch you so bad.”

He’s gasping now, lungs desperate for air like he’s been running, and his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder to pull you closer. “Would’a—” he wheezes, and lets his head drop back against the couch again like it’s too much to look right at you. “Would’ve let you if I’d—fuck—if I’d known.”

You hum against his leg, reach both hands high enough to dig your thumbs in the crevice of his hips, and Frankie jolts, hissing a strangled fuck before settling again, more liquid than before.

Higher, your mouth climbs, desperate for more of him. Electric with the feeling of his need, the way his hands keep you near to him—thumb sweet on your shoulder, fingertips drawing little circles on your scalp. It’s possible you’ve never liked pleasuring someone so much, and you’ve liked it before. But Frankie responds to your every movement and breath, every change in pressure or place, strung taut as a bow that’s fighting not to snap.

With a final glance up at Frankie, his head hung back to unveil the gold of his throat, the stubble scattered along his jaw, you nuzzle your nose gently against his crotch and feel his cock throb, hitting your cheek.

“Baby,” he whines, hand tightening in your hair.

“I’ve got you,” you coo, and draw your own out of his shorts to hook into the waistband. “Gonna take you out now, is that okay?”

“Fuck—yes—fucking yes it’s okay,” he begs, and the light sting of his hand pulling your hair tighter paints a smile on your face. 

Slowly, you peel down his shorts and find no boxers beneath them, only the heavy length of him which bobs up against his t-shirt, thick and swollen and aching. “No underwear? Frankie,” you tease, and he chuckles hoarsely as you cast his shorts aside.

“Laundry day,” he wheezes, and you click your tongue before scooting forward until your chest presses against the cushions, framed by his legs.

He’s beautiful like this, destroyed but in the good way—dragged out of his head for a while by your dutiful hands, your thumbs digging into the meat of his thighs. His cock leaking and twitching every time the warmth of your breath fans over his soft skin.

With one hand, you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, and the whimper that leaves Frankie’s lips in reply might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wet your tongue along his length, tasting the earth of him before wrapping your lips around his tip, trading off between suckling and licking.

The hand in your hair locks up suddenly, not moving your head but clamping down hard. You moan softly and he twitches on your tongue. Grows harder, somehow, when a moment ago you’d have thought it impossible.

“Ay,” he croaks. “Fuck—your fucking mouth, baby.”

Perhaps this is what emboldens you, makes you sloppy—just as needy as him. Drool slicking to his length as you bob, drinking in his every moan and babble. Your fist pumping what you can’t take, jaw aching around his girth. Frankie might come apart at the molecules, you think. Evanesce cell by cell, held in the heat of your mouth as you swallow around his length, forcing the head of his cock to the back of your throat.

When you gag, eyes watering, heart a hummingbird in your chest, he makes a desperate whine and his hand tenses on your shoulder. 

You’d stay here the rest of the night, if he’d let you, but he doesn’t.

Frankie thighs twitch, breaths coming faster now, shorter. Close. 

“Necesito sentirte,” he says as he squeezes your shoulder again. “Please—shit, gonna come if you don’t stop—fuck, nena, please let me feel you. Wanna feel you so fucking bad. Wanted you—fuckfuck—wanted you the day you moved in.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you see his hat has tumbled off, leaving the crown of his head a mess of flattened down curls broken up by the occasional stray, and something about how he looks in this moment, fuckedout and gone and desperate, makes you want to stay right where you are. 

Still, you hollow your cheeks as you ease off him with a wet pop, one hand pumping his thick cock while the other rubs his muscled thigh. You shake your head, bottom lip bitten. “Next time,” you promise, with a smirk rich on your lips. Then you’re on him again, throat open and accepting as he teeters on the edge of falling apart. 

“Mmmph, shit—nena, so good, oh my god,” Frankie gasps, hands back in your hair to hold it out of your way. “Gonna make me—fuck, where do I—where do you—”

He doesn’t get the rest out; the moment you slip your hand beneath his balls and sink your lips to the base of his heavy length, taking him to the hilt, Frankie comes with a sudden cry. Warmth pumps down your aching throat as he pants, fingers tangled in your hair, and you swallow it all hungrily while you moan.

He whimpers when you lift off his spent cock to look up at him with a satisfied grin. If you thought he looked ruined before, you were wrong. This is what he looks like when you’ve wrecked him. 

“Come here,” he croaks, then with a grunt Frankie yanks you off the floor and onto his lap to envelope you in his arms. You settle on his thighs, try not to swoon at his strength, and when he kisses you it isn’t at all what you’re expecting—there’s no roar, no taking, not a drop of desperation left in him at all. No, Frankie kisses you wholly, gently, all lithe tongue and sweetness and gratitude, and the longer it goes on the more you both smile, struggling to kiss around laughter and teeth.

When he pulls back, his pupils are still blown but warm too, so warm. His face and beard gilded with late afternoon light. He strokes a thumb across your cheek, then bumps his nose against yours, and you sink against his chest to chase his mouth. Before you can, Frankie's arms lock around your waist; he throws you down onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with a smug little smile.

“This time I get to taste you, hermosa,” he promises, then seals it with a kiss.

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