#Frankie Morales

[harriedandharassed]

Loved this!!!

The Real Deal

Frankie uses his tongue to demonstrate why he’s less than impressed with your rose toy. (3.7k)

Tags - 18+ smut, oral sex (f receiving) , sex toys, kissing, nipple stimulation, me popping my Frankie cherry so forgive me for being a little shaky on this. I wrote him to be a little smug and cocky pussy eating expert, but i think he's quite nice also. Fic help - @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your editing, your Frankie guidance, and your endless encouragement, and also @beefrobeefcal I wasn’t supposed to ask you for help on the fic I wrote for you but I did anyway and you were gracious as always. I love you. A/N - as mentioned above, this is my first time writing Frankie so please give me some grace. And it's also rather indulgent despite it being a late birthday gift for @beefrobeefcal, I love you forever and I hope I do Frankie justice for you my beautiful, sweet, generous, thoughtful, caring, intelligent, and wonderful friend. I'm lucky to have you 🩷

The smell of your bedroom comforts you as you take your bra off and hang it on the doorknob. There’s nothing more satisfying than that at the end of a long day. You also remove your pants and panties, swapping them out for a comfortable pair of pajama shorts. You’ve just gotten off of work, it’s Friday night, and you have a date with your phone. 

You lay in your unmade bed in a spot that’s already warmed for you, probably by your cat, Dr. Waffles. You must have spooked him when you entered your apartment. The first app you open is UberEats, and you know exactly what you want: a tuna poke bowl from Cactus Club. You’re about to pay when the app alerts you that your wait time will be about an hour and a half. Fuck. You buy it anyway and open Tumblr, because you know exactly how you’ll kill time. 

You got an alert earlier that one of your favorite writers updated her series Devotion, a story about Joel from The Last of Us where Joel acts as a cult leader. It’s such a hot and thrilling story. You also saw that the writer of the series put in her author’s note that this chapter gets smutty, that Joel will go down on the main character. It’s addled your brain all day, the thought of getting it on with Cult Leader Joel.

You read through the story and as things between the characters begin to get heated, so do you. The writer describes the way Joel eats pussy with such detail that you can almost feel it, can almost hear the noises he makes and the way he dirty talks. You’ve been absentmindedly playing with your clit, feeling your arousal grow as you read on, but you decide to switch masturbation methods as you have just the tool for the occasion - your trusty rose toy. One of your best friends, Kiki, gifted it to you last year after she caught you reading smut on your phone. She said the sex toy shop was having a buy one, get one free deal and she knew just the friend to share the sweet deal with. 

The toy seemed gimmicky when you went home and opened it, what with that almost cartoonish-looking tongue right in the center of the petals. And it smelled strongly of isopropyl alcohol. But for shits and giggles, you washed it and charged it anyway and that night with the silicone rose between your thighs, your life was changed. That little tongue worked magic on your clit and had you coming more times than you could count, endless orgasms that had you seeing stars. 

With your phone in your left hand, you can’t peel your eyes away from the screen as you reach for the drawer of your nightstand. With your hand on the knob, you pull the drawer  but it doesn’t open. Odd. You tug the drawer again, and then again, and then you’re turning on your side to really yank that goddamn drawer. Each time you pull, you rock the nightstand against the wall, no doubt denting it but you don’t give a shit. Waffles made sure you’re not getting your security deposit back anyway, that much is evident in the shredded carpets and scratched up door frames.

A pounding at your door has you stopping what you’re doing. “I know, I’m coming,” you say, more to yourself than whoever’s slamming on your door at the ungodly hour of 7pm. You open the door to one annoyed Frankie Morales glaring at you with his arms crossed. 

Frankie’s your criminally handsome next door neighbor who lives in the apartment to the left of you. All it took from him was one look at his sparkly, chocolatey brown eyes, his aquiline nose, and those curls peeking out from under his baseball cap and you knew you were in trouble. 

 You moved into the complex shortly after he did a couple of years ago, and Frankie took pity on you when he saw your brother leave halfway through the job. Frankie, already sore from moving all of his furniture just two days prior, decided to help you move in the rest of your stuff. The next day after grocery shopping, you made him a lasagna and a pan of brownies to thank him for his generosity, and thus began a system of sorts. Frankie enjoyed your food thoroughly, and you enjoyed having someone to share meals with, especially since you never could get the hang of cooking for just one. So you’d make dinner and share it with him a couple of nights every week, and in turn Frankie would take care of the maintenance in your apartment so your landlord wouldn’t find out about Waffles, the cat you’re not supposed to have. Frankie quickly became one of your best friends.

“Hi, Frankie,” you said. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, sweetheart. Yes, you can help by telling me what your reason is for beating the shit out of that wall we share,” he says. “What are you even doing?”

“Sorry, the drawer to my nightstand was stuck and I was trying to open it,” you stated. 

“Did you get it?”

“Did I get what?”

“Did you get the door open,” he clarifies. 

“No,” you answer. 

“So if I leave, are you gonna keep banging on the wall?” Frankie asks. You shrug. “That’s a yes,” he says. “Would you like me to help you open it?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Need to sleep, I got an early morning.” 

You open the door wider to let Frankie inside. Waffles makes his appearance at that moment and meows at Frankie. “Yeah, yeah,” he says to the cat. “Hello to you too, pancake.”

“Waffles,” you correct. “That’s such a dumb joke.”

Frankie snickers, “Funny to me,” he smirks. 

You lead him to your bedroom and point at the nightstand. “That one,” you tell him. It’s an old nightstand, and it might’ve been nice at one point, but it was handed down to you by your brother who no doubt absolutely wrecked the poor piece of furniture. It’s a little crooked now, and the drawer’s tracks are bent so it never opens and closes nicely. 

Frankie tries opening the drawer but struggles just as you did. You don’t mind though, because from where you’re standing, you’ve got a perfect view of his ass that’s definitely filled out some since you began feeding the man. “You weren’t lying. Damn thing really is fucking stuck, huh?” Frankie grunts as he tries wriggling it open again, “What’s even in here that you need so urgently anyway?”

Oh, fuck. You didn’t even think about that, that he’d be seeing your rose toy and only your rose toy in that drawer. “Umm,” you think, “My phone charger.” Which is a dumb lie, because right next to Frankie is the outlet your charger is plugged into. Quietly, you pull it out and toss it under your bed so he doesn’t see. 

“It’s really jammed,” Frankie says. “Fuck.”

“I know, just be careful, please,” you tell him. “You don’t need to open it all the way. Actually, you don’t even have to open it at all, if it’s too much.”

That was the wrong thing to say to deter Frankie from opening your drawer. He’s got quite the competitive streak in him, so your comment only fuels him to pull the drawer harder. He pulls the nightstand away from the wall and gives it one good and strong tug and the drawer flies open, and with it your rose toy, right into Frankie. He catches it with ease, and you could die right then and there. 

“I know what this is,” Frankie murmurs quietly, turning around to face you. “So that’s your treasure chest, huh?”

With your face and your neck on fire, you try to swipe the toy out of Frankie’s hand but he pulls it out of reach. “Frankie, give it,” you snap. 

“No, no,” he smiles. “I gotta see this thing.”

Frankie swats you away as you try to take the toy back from him. He uses one hand and fumbles with it until it whizzes to life, the tongue flicking up and down in his hand. “Oh, wow,” he says. “Quite the motor in this baby.” Frankie holds the toy away from you as you try and try to grab it from him, but his grip is too strong. Finally, you give up and let him entertain himself with the thing. It’ll be an uncomfortable five minutes, but it’ll be over eventually. He’ll lose interest, just like a toddler.

You sit on the bed and Frankie sits next to you as he messes with the toy. He hums as he holds the flicking tongue against the palm of his hand. “This can’t be fun,” he comments. “But if it works for you, who am I to judge?”

“It is fun,” you defend. “It…yeah. It’s fun.” 

“But it’s so cold. And stiff,” Frankie argues. “No finesse, either.”

His comment has you intrigued, “Frankie, what do you mean, ‘no finesse’?”

“Well, look here,” Frankie shows you the toy, “Look at the tongue. It just goes up and down. It’s mechanical, you know? There’s no fluidity,” he explains. “And it sounds like those tools they use on you at the dentist’s office.” 

“Oh.”

“But, you know. If you’re happy with it, then more power to ya, I guess.” You nod as you take in the words Frankie speaks, staring at that whirring toy in his big hands your mind starts to wander. “Are you happy with it?” he asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you reply. “It’s fine.”

“Fine, huh? How’s it compare?” 

“Compare to what?”

“You know,” Frankie says. “The real deal.” 

“Well, I don’t really receive ‘the real deal’,” you admit quietly. “So…”

“Ohhh. I get it. No frame of reference, then,” Frankie replies. A beat passes as he shuts off the toy. “Would you like the real deal?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, who wouldn’t. But–”

Frankie interrupts, “No, I’m askin’ you. Right now, would you like the real deal? Feel what it’s supposed to feel like from a real man?” 

You understand what Frankie’s asking now. Your mouth drops open and you feel that exciting sort of lurch in your stomach.

“Feel a real man, with real lips, a real tongue. Real hands. We’ll broaden your horizons. What do you say?”

It almost doesn’t feel real. You laugh, uncomfortably, but Frankie looks at you with all seriousness. You can’t believe you’re gonna say yes. Of course you’re gonna say yes. Looking at Frankie, you nod quickly.  

“Words, baby,” he says. “How about a yes?”

It’s the way he calls you baby, with no hesitation. “Yes. Yes, definitely. I need that.”

“Need, huh? Poor thing,” Frankie places the toy on your nightstand and moves up your bed, inviting you to join him. He notices your shaky legs as you crawl to meet him, your movements unsure. “Relax,” he whispers, smiling at you. “Relax.” You nod and your nerves ignite as Frankie touches you, his big hand holding your face. “I’m just gonna kiss you. That’s all for now.”

“Okay.”

And then he does. He kisses you gently at first, taking mental notes of how you react. You’re rigid at first, but he just kisses you. Nothing more, nothing less. When he feels your muscles relax and you let go a little bit, let yourself fall back and relax into your bed, Frankie takes initiative and kisses you deeper. He smiles when you moan quietly into his mouth, then kisses down your jaw and your neck. “Your toy can’t kiss you like I can, huh?”

“No, Frankie,” you sigh. 

“So that’s another point Frankie, then,” he mumbles against your skin. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t enjoying yourself so much. “May I lift your shirt?”

“Mhm,” you nod, loving the way he asks permission. Frankie pushes the fabric up your chest and he wears a smirk on his face, and he’s got a certain sparkle to his dark eyes as he takes in your body, all of your soft, creamy flesh, your pebbled nipples. “And actually,” he says, reaching for your rose toy and turning it back on. “Since we’re comparing - experimenting, really, we should test both variables. Scientific method and all that.” 

“This doesn’t feel very scientific,” you tell him, giggling as you speak. 

“Sure it is, I’m a professional at this. Been studying for years. Watch - Do you prefer…” Frankie begins, he brings the toy to one of your nipples and lets the tongue flick back and forth over it. “One…” he whispers, though you can hardly hear him over your own gasps and moans. “Or two?” he licks the nipple not being teased by your toy, first swirling his tongue in circles around your areola and then gently sucks the sensitive skin. Your noises are music to his ears as your moans become louder. 

“Two,” you answer, “Two.” 

“You know why that is?” he asks, moving to lick and tease your other nipple. “Because your toy can’t go in circles, can’t suck. Can’t really tease you , either. Can’t do most of the things you’re supposed to do to a pair of tits as pretty as yours, sweetheart.” Frankie watches your reaction to his words, smirking as your cheeks heat up and you turn your face from him. “It’s true. You’re beautiful.” 

After a few more moments of Frankie kissing and licking your nipples, he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your torso, over your tummy. “Would you lift those hips for me, sweetheart?”

You lift your hips like he asks and Frankie hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs. His hand brushes over a damp spot of the fabric, and he rubs his thumb over it, admiring. “Good god, you made a mess. This all for me? Just from a little kissing?”

You nod bashfully, unsure of what to say to him. Frankie doesn’t mind, he knows that this is the part where a woman is likely to feel a little shy, vulnerable. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s working with here with you, whether you’ve received head before or not. Maybe you have, but it’s been a long time. Or maybe it was bad. He thinks about your answer to one of his questions, how you told him you’re not really receiving ‘the real deal’ and he doesn’t need to know why, he just needs to change that and eat you like his life depends on it.

Eating pussy is Frankie’s passion. Nothing compares to it, being buried in that soft, warm, wet space between a woman’s thighs. Simultaneously, it makes him feel both submissive and powerful. He loves the way some become shy when he eats them, he loves the way others shove his face between their legs. He loves the feeling of having his hair pulled as he licks, when thighs squeeze his head and he has to ease them back open. He loves the way her whole body quivers when she comes, he loves the taste, the smell, the feel and the intimacy of it all. 

Frankie places both hands on your knees and spreads your legs wide so he has space for himself between them. He begins by kissing your inner thighs, the wiry hairs of his patchy, graying beard and his mustache tickle you. “We’re gonna compare again. Are you ready, beautiful?”

“Yes,” you answer. “I’m ready.” 

Frankie brings the rose to your core and allows it to do its thing. He chuckles as you reach for his hand and adjust the way he holds the toy against your pussy to your needs. “Gotta hold it like that, huh?”

“Yeah, like that.” 

“Duly noted.” 

Frankie rests the side of his head against one of your thighs and watches you as the toy works its magic. You’re moaning nicely, but he’ll make you moan louder. He loves the way your brows knit together, he loves the steady rise and fall of your chest with your panting breaths. 

It feels so foreign, having Frankie hold the toy instead of your own hands. It still feels good, though. You rock your hips into it, chasing your quickly building orgasm. 

And then Frankie shuts it off. “Frankie,” you whine. “You–”

“I know, I know. You were having so much fun. But I’ve got a fucking bone to pick.” 

“What?” 

“Your toy’s blocking the view. I don’t wanna see that, I wanna see you.” 

Frankie tosses the toy to the side of the bed and once more spreads your legs wide. He admires your pussy, the glistening wetness dripping from your hole, the ribbons of creamy arousal on your folds. And your bush, he loves the dampened curls framing your beautiful cunt. “Such a pretty pussy,” he praises. “You gonna let me show you what you’ve been missing?”      

“Please, Frankie,” you beg. “I want that.”  

“You’re so sweet t’me,” he whispers. Frankie situates himself, adjusts your hips into position. He licks one long stripe up your seam, slowly and with a flat tongue, from the bottom all the way to the top. 

“Frankie,” you moan. “Oh, fuck.”           

“Oh, I know,” Frankie coos. “That felt good, didn’t it? That piece of plastic can’t lick you like that, can it?” 

“No,” you agree. “Again, Frankie, please.”

“It’d be my pleasure, sweetheart.” 

He licks another long stripe up you, then down. He focuses on just tasting you, getting you used to the feeling of his tongue in your folds. “Your toy doesn’t go in circles down here either, that's what the tongue is supposed to do.” Frankie demonstrates this by drawing circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue, first clockwise, then counter clockwise. Interestingly, your loudening moans indicate you prefer counter clockwise. Frankie takes note of this, files it away in his head. 

“And it doesn’t suck your clit,” he adds, “Like this –” he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it between them, causing your legs to clamp around his head, just like he loves. And though he loves it, that uncontrollable, mindless reflex, he whispers to you, “Nuh-uh, sweetheart. You spread those legs nice and wide. That’s it, good girl.” 

It’s such an intense feeling, your clit between his lips and the pressure of his mouth sucking. He switches back to gentle but consistent licks on the sensitive part of you. “And you can correct me if I’m wrong, but you can’t really finger yourself while usin’ your toy, can you?” 

“Haven’t - haven’t tried, I don’t think - fuck, Frankie - I don’t –”

“Mm. I understand.”

Frankie pulls away from you and dips two fingers into your cunt, pumping them in and out for a moment before he curls them rhythmically inside you. He finds that special, sensitive spot that intensifies all of it and moves his mouth to your clit yet again. 

He eats you ravenously, losing himself in your pussy yet manages to maintain focus on you. He feels you coming close, that slow build of your orgasm quickening in time, and he wants to drag it out. “The other thing –” he begins, “About your little toy. It takes all the hard work away, makes it less satisfying for us both, don’t you think?” he says in between pleasuring you with his tongue and his fingers. “Takes all the fun away.”

Frankie reaches for your clit with his free hand and pulls your hood back. He flicks his tongue over you and you respond to the intensified feeling by reaching for his head, tugging his soft curls between your fingers. “Frankie, oh my god. Frankie,” you cry. 

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “You moan so pretty when I’m tasting you, don’t you think?”

It’s unclear whether Frankie expects you to answer his question or not, but you do in your own way, with his name falling from your lips in broken syllables. Your orgasm builds slowly, more intensely, in a more gratifying way than you’ve ever felt. You don’t just feel it in your core, between your thighs, but you feel it in your tummy and the bottom of your spine, the backs of your thighs and all down your legs. You come with a melody of curses and praises as pleasure washes over you in seemingly never ending waves, Frankie using his tongue to fuck you through it until the very end, when you’re shuddering and your body is twitching.

You’ve never seen such a cocky, satisfied smile before. When you open your eyes, Frankie’s smirking between your thighs, absolutely pleased with himself as he sucks his fingers clean. “So what’s the verdict?”

You smile and roll your eyes. “You know what the verdict is.”

“Mhm. I do, but I gotta hear you say it anyway.”

“It’s you,” you mumble, a grin on your lips. “You win.”

Frankie beams proudly, and the moment passes quickly. It ends with a knock on your door as your UberEats is delivered. “Who’s that?” Frankie asks. 

“Dinner,” you answer. You sit up in bed and find your pajama shorts, put them on and leave your bedroom to get your food. Frankie follows you as you open your front door and bend over to get your order. You put the bag in your fridge. 

“You’re not gonna eat?”

“I need to return the favor,” you tell him. “It’s your turn.”

“I’m flattered, but what you need to do is eat, my darling. Enjoy your meal. I enjoyed mine.” You roll your eyes at the way Frankie winks at you. “We can worry about returning the favor later,” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, your taste and smell lingers on his skin and in his mustache. You hum in surprise. “You taste that? Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“Tastes good to me too. Nice reminder of what we were just doing, hm? You looked so pretty underneath me.” Frankie kisses you again, “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says, and with that, he leaves. 

If you enjoyed, please tell me so 🩷 reblogs, comments, and asks are so appreciated and keep me motivated to write

THIS IS WAFFLES! @beefrobeefcal’s cat!! One of them at least. I love this guy. Mr President. He’s the mayor

[firsttarotreader]

Y’all, it’s Frankie Morales! 😍😍😍

From the Gladiator 2 filming, by irini_nik.

[amyleepascal]

New to us photo from assistant Director Irini Nikoloudi

[likeficsinthewnd]

Just read this again for the millionth time bc it’s my favorite Frankie fic and ugh it never disappoints. YOU never disappoint!! You’re such a talented writer and I’m about to go in on your masterlist bc I need more!!

you and your friends (tommy's party pt. i)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. but you've got a handle on it. haven't you?

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. idiots in love, split pov, lots of fluff tbh and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader pays a visit to benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. f&m masturbation, voyeurism, lots of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby etc. (platonic, of course))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 9.6k

an: *mc voice* let's get this party started!

part ii - tommy's party

When Frankie catches a glimpse of you from across Will’s crowded living room, he’s not so sure Benny’s idea is a good one.

The room is lit with yellow lamplight, heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol and cigarette smoke. There are people crammed in everywhere; slumped over chairs and sofas, leant against door frames, moving in and out of the kitchen with the click of the door beads. A sluggish bass thumps out over the party, the thrum of laughter and conversation cushioning any other sound. 

He stands at the back of a sofa which has been turned inwards towards the centre of the room, leaning over Santi and Will as they howl over some story they’re retelling for a couple of girls squished between them. Frankie had been quite happy listening and laughing along, but he’s distracted when Benny taps his arm with his beer bottle and motions over to you.

‘That’s her,’ he says, ‘The girl I was telling you about.’

And yeah, he’s very quickly sure that this is a bad idea. 

Because you’re beautiful. A gorgeous wrap dress clinging to your curves, each outline flowing like you’d been poured into it. Jewellery clinking and glittering around your wrists, neck, and ears, and your hair shining like each strand had been arranged by some ethereal hand. Your smile bands out around you, bathing your audience in a kind of glow, a reflection of your warmth. Frankie watches as you tip your head back slightly in a boundless laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the soft clasp of your hand falling on the forearm of the man sat next to you. Fuck.

Frankie swallows drily, and Benny places a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, Fish,’ he says, ‘I’ll introduce you. I’ve told her about you already.’

Frankie doesn’t want to move. He’d much rather watch, much rather have Benny do the heavy lifting here. He doesn’t think he can talk to you, much less make a good first impression. 

But his friend is guiding him forwards, and he can’t help but be shepherded. Panic rises like bile in his throat, and he thinks of turning around, excusing himself to go to the bathroom and just sitting in his truck for a while instead, but then -

Your bright eyes flick up to find Benny approaching you, and your face lights up. You stand from where you were perched on the arm of a chair and walk around the bundle of people whom you'd entranced. You place a gentle hand on a soft-haired woman’s shoulder, inclining your head to say you’ll be back in a minute, before you open an arm to Benny.

‘Benny!’ You call, squeezing his waist as the younger man presses you to his side, planting a kiss to your forehead. ‘How are you, man?’ You ask. Benny returns your greeting, answering your question, but Frankie can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying. You listen intently to his friend, smiling and asking a couple more questions, before looking properly at Frankie.

‘Sorry - hey,’ you say softly, ‘You must be -’

‘Oh god,’ Benny chuckles, ‘Sorry, yes. This is Frankie.’ Benny moves to press Frankie forwards, and he stumbles a little as he catches your outstretched hand. If you notice, you don’t say anything, just smile warmly at him and shake, giving him your name. 

‘It’s good to meet you, man,’ you say, ‘Benny here has told me a lot about you.’ Benny laughs, clapping Frankie on the back.

‘Only good things, Fish,’ he grins, ‘I promise.’ Frankie rolls his eyes at him.

‘So, you’re interested in the room?’ You ask, and Frankie turns back to you. He nods, swallowing.

‘Yeah, really interested. It’d be great to come over and take a look if you’re around.’ He surprises himself at how easily the words roll off his tongue. You offer him another kind smile, nodding encouragingly, and he finds himself relaxing. 

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘You’d be very welcome to. You have glowing recommendations from the boys, anyway.’ You lean in closer to him, lowering your tone conspiratorially. ‘I’d have you moved in tomorrow if I could. Sold on you already.’ Frankie beams bashfully down at the carpet and bites his lip, Benny’s idea straying dangerously back into good territory.

‘I wouldn’t believe everything they tell you.’ He says, eyes trailing over your neckline, the dip in your cleavage, the hollow of your throat, skin gleaming and a little damp with sweat. You reach out and tuck a stray curl peeking out from his cap behind his ear.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ you murmur, and your touch, the pet name, sends a shiver down his spine. ‘I think we’d get along just fine.’

Benny leaves you both soon after, in search of another beer. He asks if you want one and you politely decline. Frankie does the same. You lead him to a quieter corner by the back window and pull him into easy conversation. You laugh and tell him this is his ‘interview’, but confess that you really have no idea what that might involve. Frankie lets you ask him any question that comes to your mind, and in this pool of time, you discover everything you could need to know about each other. Where you grew up, what your parents were like, whether you enjoyed school, what you eat when you’ve had a bad day, how often you clean the bathroom, what you do now, and what your dreams are for the future. You ask tentatively, respectfully about Delta Force. Frankie appreciates the way you preface it with an out - you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to - but he finds that he does. He spares the details but tells you about training, about flying, about meeting the boys. He tells you about Tom, and as little about Colombia as possible. You nod, brow furrowing in sympathy, in feeling, and squeeze his knee in comfort. 

Frankie’s heart shouldn’t skip the way it does, but then you’re asking him more about what Tom was like, how his family are. When his eyes mist over, you take his hand. He runs a thumb over your knuckles. He tells you, cringing, about the coke charge, about his licence. About how he’s getting it back in spring. You grin brightly at him, congratulating him, sucking air in through your teeth and doing a little dance in your chair. Frankie laughs at you, heart swelling. He doesn’t know how you’re getting him to do this - tell you all this stuff, make it feel okay, make him feel great. But he loves it. He could get used to it. You’re sat close to his side, shoulder to shoulder, and you are so warm, your skin so soft. Frankie leans in closer.

‘How did you meet Benny?’ He asks, breathing the words into the shell of your ear over the music. You squirm, dipping your head away from him, and Frankie wonders for an awful moment if he’s misjudged the closeness, if he’s already overstepped your boundaries. 

You look at him sideways, your body angled away from him.

‘He didn’t tell you?’ You ask.

Frankie raises an eyebrow, mouth open, ready to apologise. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

‘No.’ He says. You smile at him, sighing heavily through your nose.

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ you say, avoiding his gaze. ‘We met at a bar. We got on really well, and -’ you huff out a breath, meet Frankie’s eye again. He’s still watching you, not having put together the pieces. You roll your head onto your shoulder, pick the label on your bottle. ‘We slept together, Frankie.’

Frankie’s heart drops.

‘Oh.’ He says.

‘Yeah,’ you laugh, ‘Oh.’ You’re quiet for a moment, Frankie scrambling for the right thing to say. He’s too slow. You clap your hands down on your knees and rise from your seat.

‘I’m gonna head outside for a bit,’ you say. He watches you disappear with a weak smile, an anxious feeling welling in his chest. 

Frankie sits for a few minutes, taking pulls from his beer, looking out over the crowd assembled in the living room.

His spots Benny lent against a wall, held up by an arm outstretched beside a girl’s head. A tongue of fire licks up through Frankie’s belly, and he has to sit with it for a moment to work out what it is. Jealousy. He’s jealous that Benny has already touched you, has already heard you. Jealous that Benny has already crossed that threshold, and now he has to be the one to move in and keep his distance. Arbitrary rules, he knows, rules which have been disregarded before. Already, you’d be more than a quick fuck. It’s crass, but Frankie knows you should be more than someone you take home from a bar. Maybe you are - you’re here, after all, clearly invited. Frankie’s mind rocks with the notion that Benny is saving you, keeping you around. It would be cruel of him, but not impossible. Benny had a bad habit of getting what he wanted. 

Frankie grinds his teeth, tears his eyes away from his friend. Stupid, stupid. You’re someone he’s only just met, someone he might be living with. Whatever weird thing this is going on in his brain, he needs to fix it quick. Thoughts like these are not suitable in situations like living together.

Frankie stands, but instead of speaking to Benny, instead of getting to the bottom of why you’re here, he follows you through the door beads into the kitchen and out the back door.

You’re sat on the porch swing just below the kitchen window, and the surprise of finding you so easily brings Frankie to a sharp halt. You look up from your bag, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in the glow of the porch light. 

‘Hey,’ you say softly, ‘Are you okay?’

Frankie breathes out heavily.

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘Sorry about that - in there,’ gesturing over his shoulder, back into the house. 

‘Oh,’ you say, shaking your head and bringing out a small plastic baggy from your purse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not a thing. There’s no -’ you wave a hand around your head, ‘Feelings there or anything. We’re just friends now.’

Frankie nods, leans against the doorframe. Hums a response.

‘You wanna sit?’ You ask, scooching over on the swing, patting the space next to you.

Frankie pushes off the frame and comes to sit next to you. He rocks the seat slightly with his feet, yours dangling a little too far off the ground to move it. 

You grin at him, delighted with the movement. You shuffle to tuck your legs under you. 

‘Amazing,’ you grin, ‘See? Already a dream team.’

Frankie grins back at you and watches you take more items out of your bag. A small, circular grinder, a tiny rolling tray, pink papers. You pop open the baggy, and the smell of the dried plant seeps through the air, rushing up his nostrils. Frankie breathes deeply, watching you sprinkle some of the bud into your open grinder. You close it, and look up at him.

‘You a narc?’ You ask, lips still quirked.

‘No.’ Frankie chuckles. You bite your cheek, shrug your shoulders.

‘Ya never know…’ you coo, and Frankie grins.

‘I got busted for coke, baby,’ he reminds you, ‘I’m not gonna rat you out for weed.’

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

‘Fair enough.’ You say. Frankie watches as you twist the grinder back and forth over the bud, entranced by the motion of your hands. His lips part, watching the strong flex of your wrists. 

‘Do you smoke?’ You ask. His tongue dips out to lick the pillow of his lower lip, and you trace the movement with your eyes, fascinated. You swallow, clearing your throat softly. ‘Frankie?’

His eyes dart up to yours, embarrassed, flushed. 

‘Yeah?’ He says.

‘Do you smoke?’ You repeat. He looks away from you, shy, shaking his head.

‘I used to,’ he says, ‘But not for a long time.’

You nod, looking out over the garden with him. The cool wind brushing through the trees, the luminescence of the town beyond their feathered tops.

‘You wanna share?’ You ask. He looks back at you, surprised, eyebrows high on his forehead. You shrug. ‘Don’t have to, of course. Especially if it’s not gonna be good for you. Just that - if you wanna move in, I’m afraid it’s a habit I won’t be quitting.’ You raise an eyebrow at him, half apologetic, half warning. He swallows visibly.

‘What if I get too high?’ He says, breathless. You snort, balancing the rolling tray on your knees as you separate the hash out onto the paper, on top of the lavender you’ve pulled from your purse.

‘It’s okay, sugar,’ you say, ‘I’ll look after you.’

Frankie stares at you, eyes wide.

You snicker at him, finish rolling, and lick the paper. Frankie watches the swipe of your tongue, its slow draw along the edge, and feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea -

He watches as you perch the joint between your lips, put your shit back in your bag, and pull out a lighter. Your eyelashes flicker down to rest on your cheeks as the lighter clicks and you cup your hands around the flame. You take a deep breath in, hollowing your cheeks, lost to the sensation, the taste. Frankie’s jaw flexes, and he has to look away again. You exhale the thick smoke, blowing it away from him, taking another drag before knocking your hand against his arm.

‘Want some?’ You ask. 

Frankie mutters a thanks and takes the joint clumsily in his fingers, rotating it until it’s comfortable in his grip. He brings it to his mouth, and you watch as he sucks in and immediately sputters out again. He bends over his knees in a hacking cough, and you gently take the spliff as you pat his back. 

‘You okay?’ You ask, taking another draw for yourself. Frankie leans back against the seat, sucking in great breaths of air, eyes watery, his body still twitching. He gulps and nods, not looking at you. ‘Good.’ You say, softly. 

Frankie tries again a few minutes later, and is a little more successful. You finish the rest of the joint together before you flick the roach off into the darkness. Your body hums with the crickets and the static of the night air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face.

‘This is nice.’ You say dumbly, turning to face him.

His arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched again. He breathes deeply through his nose. You scrunch your face up at him, and he notices the movement out the corner of his eye. His gaze slips to you for just a second, and a large smile slips across his features. You giggle at him, heavy and giddy. The urge to take the hand folded closest to you strikes, and when you do, he turns to look at you properly.

‘You have really nice hair,’ you say softly. Frankie chuckles, unable to help himself. You grin at him. ‘What?’ You say. ‘You do.’

Frankie laughs harder, and you reach over to take the cap off his head. He makes a slow, unconvincing grab for it before you settle it on your own hair, kneeling up to swipe a hand through his curls. He watches you, unable to look away, and you gasp at the feeling of it carding through your fingers.

‘So soft,’ you breathe, delighted. You look into his eyes again, one hand cradling the back of his head. His eyes dart down to your mouth, and you lick your lips before starting to giggle. ‘Anyone ever told ya you got baby cow eyes?’ You say.

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly. His words are slow and slurred. ‘What?’

You giggle harder and move your hand round to cup his cheek, looking at him very seriously. 

‘Your eyes,’ you say, ‘Are like a baby cow’s.’ A slow spread of joy glows across Frankie’s features. His eyes scrunch up with his smile. ‘Nooo,’ you cry softly, ‘Now they’re all happy. They’re not all big and brown anymore.’

Frankie laughs with unbridled amusement, his head dropping from your hand as he clutches at your knees.

‘A baby cow?’ He gasps. You nod quickly, enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, Frankie. You got real pretty eyes.’ Your own are wide and earnest, and that seems to convince him. He raises an eyebrow before grinning goofily at you, lifting a finger to tap your nose.

‘You think I’m cute.’ He says, and you snort, which only sends him off into a flood of more giggles.

‘I didn’t say that. Only said you got pretty eyes.’ 

It’s only a little, tiny lie. And you think it’s for the best.

You spend another hour out on the porch before returning to the party, and though you don’t stray far from each other, you make a point of finding Frankie before you leave. You hand him your phone, and he stares at it, confused, before you roll your eyes playfully and say -

‘I need your number, dummy. For the room.’

He taps his number into your phone, and you save it with a little cow emoji next to his name. Frankie bites away his smile. 

When he’s lying on the sofa in the dark later, surrounded by bottles and cans and ashy cigarette ends, he can’t stop grinning to himself.

You text him early the next morning, giving him a time and a date to come and see the flat. Frankie replies with so much enthusiasm that he flushes when he reads the message back, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he stretches out on Will’s floor. He sacrifices his spot on the sofa to Will and Benny, Santi beside him as they watch Face/Off over breakfast. 

He doesn’t see your reply until the movie ends.

Can’t wait! So excited to see you!

He sets his phone back down with a happy sigh, so loud that Will and Santi, and then Benny, ask him what he’s so pleased about. 

He only gets them to stop probing by smacking Will in the face with a cushion.

---

Frankie moves in a week later, while you’re at work. 

You think it’ll be much easier for you both. If you were in the flat you’d only be in the way, and he probably needs the space and time to figure out where he wants to put his stuff. Plus, the idea of seeing him all hot and sweaty is one that, quite frankly, you’ve been trying to avoid.

Benny had told you all about his friends on that first date at the bar. You had been taken with the way he’d talked about them, so fond and positive. You’d enjoyed asking him so many questions, and were delighted when he asked you so many in return. And Benny was cute - he was hot. Enthusiastic and giving and good. But you knew, even laying next to him, both panting, turning your heads to grin at each other at the same time, that it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

He had been your type on paper. He’d ticked so many boxes, and you had both fallen into that first date with such excitement - but there was just something missing. There was no burn. You had a good time, you wanted to see him again, but you didn’t yearn for him the way you wanted to. You didn’t miss him when he wasn’t around, you weren’t worried about him fucking other girls. 

It hadn’t been a difficult conversation to have. Benny took it better than you’d hoped, and once it had been established, friendship came easily. You met Will, got on well, and the three of you would go for drinks. Benny would come over to watch a film and eat takeout, and you never touched each other. Sure, you thought about it. But you were on a mission to make life easier for yourself. To not fuck around and get attached to someone you shouldn’t get attached to.

So you should have known better when he introduced you to Frankie. Should have made up some excuse, even if he pretty much had the room after all the boys had told you. Should have backed out as soon as those beautiful brown eyes blinked at you, at that first curve of a shy smile, as soon as you’d tucked that curl behind his ear. Because Frankie was someone you could get attached to. Watching him cook, watching the steam trail out behind him after a shower, watching him stretch out on the sofa with a book, having him crinkle his crows feet at you from across the kitchen as he sips his coffee, the low timbre of his voice reaching you across the floorboards, none of these things are something you needed to know, to see. You should have known better.

Work has been busy, long. 

So busy you had to stay behind for a couple of hours to make sure the late shift got set up properly, and then you could trudge home. The bus journey, the walk up the hill, the clamber up the stairs to your front door. 

When you make it halfway up the stairs, you can smell it. A delicious, warm waft of heady spices, of richness flowing down through the stairwell. You breathe deeply, aching feet pausing on the concrete just so you can tip your head back and inhale. Your stomach growls loudly, and you wish whoever is cooking a good meal, because it sure fucking smells like it.

The smell is stronger on your floor, and you’re still taking deep breaths when you push open your front door. There’s the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen, the low hum of the radio playing. You toe off your trainers, leaving them next to a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes, splashing your keys into the bowl on the sideboard.

‘Frankie?’ You call. There’s no answer.

You move towards the sound, and push open the door to the kitchen. 

Frankie is stood with his broad back to you, stirring something in a pot. He bops his head and hums in time with the radio, unaware of you behind him.

‘Holy fuck, Frankie. That smells amazing.’

He turns with a wide smile, a spatula in his hand.

‘Welcome home. I made enough for us both.’ 

You grin at him, dropping your bag and shucking off your jacket, coming to stand beside him. You ask about what he’s cooking, and he talks you through each step, the ingredients he’s used, and finally, blessedly, tells you it’ll be ready in five minutes.

You eat across the table from each other in quiet, easy conversation. Even with it all so new, with so many of his unpacked boxes still dotted around the flat, it feels like Frankie has always been here. 

You wash and dry the plates side by side, laughing and happy and full. You retreat to your respective bedrooms to change into your pyjamas, and then you prop your door open for Frankie to come join you if he’d like. You flick on an episode of Adventure Time and dig around in your bedside table for your rolling stuff, sitting cross-legged and giggling at the cartoon as you grind, arrange, and roll the joint. 

Your roommate appears in the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

‘Come in,’ you say, beckoning him closer, shuffling on the bed to make room for him. He eyes the spliff in your hand. ‘Wanna join?’ You ask. He hesitates.

‘Just a little.’

You nod, stretching off the bed towards the window, grabbing your lighter from the ledge. You flick it to life as Frankie watches from the bed, your legs bare below your sleep shorts, your nipples hard beneath your t-shirt in the cool night air. You jerk your head at him as you exhale, and he crawls over the bed towards you. You try not to think of the way he moves as you hand it to him. 

Frankie puffs from the joint a couple times, and passes it back to you. You continue the routine until there’s nothing left, finishing the last couple of tokes before flicking the roach onto the street below.

‘What do ya wanna do?’ You ask him, closing the window. Frankie’s settled back on your bed amongst your pillows. He frowns at the ceiling.

‘Watch a movie.’ He says, and you giggle at the tacky sound of his speech.

‘Come on then, buddy,’ you say, taking his hand and pulling him from the mattress. ‘We’ll watch it on the sofa. You need some water,’ you sing, leading him towards the kitchen. ‘And we’re gonna need snacks.’

Frankie chuckles at the way you say it, a faux accent twanging at your words. He lets you push him down onto the sofa and watches you dopily as you busy yourself with refreshments. You dump everything on the coffee table before turning on the TV.

‘Help yourself,’ you say, gesturing to your stash, and Frankie leans forward in slow motion to grab a can of coke. You giggle at him. ‘What do you wanna watch?’

Frankie cracks the can open and shrugs.

‘Don’t mind.’ 

You think for a moment, roving through Netflix before slapping his arm.

‘Oh my god!’ You laugh. ‘Notting Hill. We’ll watch Notting Hill. Holy fuck, it’s so bad when you’re stoned, you have no idea.’

Frankie groans beside you, leaning forward again to grab a bag of chocolate pretzels. He rips them open and offers one to you.

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ He smiles.

Halfway through the film, Frankie’s eyes begin to seriously droop. You can’t blame him. It must have been a long day.

When his head drops to your shoulder, you let him cuddle in. He stays there for a while, but when he wakes with a start at the soreness, you manoeuvre him to turn and lay with his head on your lap. He’s pliant and soft in your hands, sighing with relief as he settles. You run a hand through his curls, scratching at his scalp, twisting strands gently around your finger. You stroke and scratch absentmindedly, watching Hugh Grant’s dramatic confession, only remembering what you’re doing when a deep snore resonates from below you.

You look down to find Frankie sound asleep, peaceful face turned up towards you. You admire his silky hair, the scruff of his beard, the heart shaped patch on the side of his face. His soft, full bottom lip, strong nose, the slope and sweep of his brow. You smile at him, something stirring in your belly.

‘Little baby cow.’ You murmur to yourself, and bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider.

---

The first weekend you have off together comes weeks after Frankie moves in. 

You have a long, cosy lie in before running your respective errands in the morning, planning to reconvene in the afternoon with food and movies and your other favourite pastime. 

By some miracle, you get home before Frankie, and unload your bag of snacks and oven food onto the kitchen table. You’re just organising it, putting away what needs to be in the fridge, when Frankie steps through the front door with a crate of soda and your favourite flowers in his other hand.

‘Hey,’ he grins at you, kicking the door shut before stepping into the room and holding out the blooms. ‘These are for you.’

You take the flowers carefully, admiring the colours, the form, the texture. You look back at him with shining eyes, and Frankie blushes.

‘How did you -’

He shrugs, moving to put the soda in the fridge. With his back to you, he says -

‘You mentioned them once, ‘bout a week after I moved in.’

Your heart melts a little, touched at the care, the thought. 

‘Just thought, ya know - don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just nice to pick something up and say I thought of you.’

You blush at his words, just as he turns back around and spots on the table -

‘Holy shit,’ he says, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels. ‘I was just thinking of these! I didn't get any while I was out and they’re my -’ He looks up at you, a knowing smile creeping across his lips.

‘Your favourite,’ you say. ‘I saw them and thought of you.’

Frankie laughs, stepping forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘Dream fuckin’ team.’ He says.

You’re both back in your pyjamas within ten minutes, sat on Frankie’s bed, a joint on the bedside table ready to go.

He flicks through the home screen of his Playstation, settling on Red Dead Redemption 2, starting up the game as you lean out his window to dispel the first stream of smoke. You pass it back and forth between you, and when it’s done Frankie chucks the roach in his bin. You climb underneath the duvet and watch Arthur Morgan’s adventures through hooded eyes, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He’s warm and solid beneath you, and you wrap your hands around his arm, breathing him in. You watch in rapt fascination as he tracks down carvings in the mountains, giggle and scold him when he barrels down the wrong side of the roads, and swat at him when his horse gets hit by a train. He loads back up his previous save to get her back, and you visit a time traveller, hunt for vampires in Saint Denis, and squeal when a UFO appears over an abandoned hut filled with rotted bodies. He tells you the stories of the characters in a spaced out slur, and you immerse yourself in the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the mists. You close your eyes to the sounds of hooves, of birds, of nature, of Frankie’s strong heartbeat and his deep breathing.

At some point in the evening, you wake again, sitting and stretching. Frankie smiles sleepily down at you.

‘I’m gonna head to bed in a bit.’ He says, and you smile at him, kneading your neck. 

‘No worries,’ you mumble. ‘I’ll head to mine, too. Catch you in the morning.’

Frankie fist bumps you as you stumble towards the door.

‘Thanks for hanging out.’ He says. You snort at him before opening the door.

‘No worries, Fish,’ you say, ‘I’m sure I was great company.’

He grins back, and you blow a kiss before snicking the door shut.

Your own sheets are blissfully cool, and you turn on a little quiet music to get yourself off to sleep. The soft, slow jangle of guitars and low voices do the trick, and if you turn your head just so, you can still smell Frankie on your pyjama top.

---

When you come through to the kitchen the next morning, Frankie is already cooking breakfast. He looks cosy in his old Lakers top and sweats that only just cling to his hips. It tightens something in your belly.

‘I’m making eggs and bacon,’ he says, before gesturing with a spatula to the percolator. ‘There’s coffee over there if you want some.’ 

‘You tryna seduce me or something?’ You ask, waggling your eyebrows. Frankie laughs at you, gorgeous little crows feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes. You have to look away quickly to hide your own gooey expression. 

‘No,’ he says, voice grappling with something of an edge - laughter, a little teasing, ‘I’m not in the business of fucking my friends.’ You flash your eyes back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and he’s peering at you from below his eyelashes, biting his lip. A grin blows out across your cheeks, and you bite your lip back.

‘Unfortunately for you, I am,’ you sigh, sweeping your hand across the edge of the kitchen table before glancing at him, his attention turned back to breakfast. ‘Santi still single?’

Frankie freezes over the eggs he’s cooking. He looks up at you slowly. Your heart dips in your chest, legs flooding with the feeling that you’ve definitely said the wrong thing.

‘Are you - are you… interested?’

You feel your cheeks heat.

‘I -’ you rub your face, trying to organise your thoughts. Frankie feels something like a freight train headed towards him. ‘No,’ You say, turning fully towards him, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m not. He’s great - he’s a lovely guy, but no.’

Frankie nods, once, twice, before staring back down at the yellow in the pan. He can’t remember what he was doing. Frying or scrambling? They’re too far gone now. He’ll have to try and pass them off as an omelette.

‘It was a stupid joke.’ You mumble, and Frankie shakes his head at the pan.

‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I just, ya know, if you were -’

You smile at him. 

‘You’d set me up?’

Frankie shrugs. You smirk.

‘Well then. If you’re patient, sugar, I might make my way through everyone. Finish with you, of course, make sure we last a little longer.’

Frankie’s head whips up, jaw dropped. He breathes your name, and you laugh.

‘My god, Fish. I’m kidding.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, relieved, disappointed. You dance around the kitchen table towards him, reaching out your hands to squish his cheeks, chanting got ya, got ya, as Frankie curls the dish cloth from over his shoulder to whip you with it.

You shriek and leap out of his way, running from him.

Frankie makes no move to follow you, turning off the stove instead, plating up the eggs and bacon. You’re still giggling at him, now armed with a dish cloth of your own. He points at you with the spatula.

‘Sit.’ He says, and you laugh again, taking a seat as Frankie brings over the plates and cutlery. As he settles, you leap up. Frankie watches you.

‘Where are you going?’ He says, spearing some egg with his fork. You return to the table with two mugs of coffee. 

‘Can’t forget the most important part of the meal.’ You say, sitting and slurping loudly, winking at him over the ceramic.

Frankie laughs at you through a mouthful of food.

‘You coming to Will’s tonight?’ He asks, swallowing.

You hum a little. 

‘Yeah, guess so.’ You say.

‘Boys’ll be there,’ he says, ‘So you’ll know a few faces. Not sure who else.’

You nod, shovelling bacon into your mouth. Frankie smiles.

‘Sure,’ you say, ‘I’ll come.’

That night, you find yourselves round at Will’s again. What was supposed to be a relatively quiet poker night has inevitably turned into too many people drinking too much booze, but he never seems to mind. 

Frankie is back leaning on the sofa, listening to Santi and Will talk. He’s laughing, thinking he should go and grab you in a minute - he doesn’t know how many of these stories you’ve heard, but he’s sure you’d enjoy them. He has a compulsion to watch you laugh, to see you enjoy the people around you, to feel the shine of your company, to see the way you look at him, eyes dancing with amusement, always as though there is some kind of joke you’re thinking of that only he will understand. 

When he looks around the living room, he can’t find you. It’s not unusual. He knows by now that you’ll be off chatting to whoever is lucky enough to find you, and he finds himself moving in the direction of the kitchen, pushing through the door beads. When he doesn’t see you in there, he catches Benny at the sink, asking if he’s seen you.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘I was just with her. She’s out on the porch swing.’

A muscle flexes in Frankie’s jaw as he moves away from Benny, that familiar creep of possessiveness crawling up his throat. Stupid, stupid. He’s already asked him, knows that he wants nothing from you. So why does it irritate him so much?

You’re outside on the swing just like Benny said, gazing up at the stars as Frankie slumps down beside you. He bounces the chair, and you giggle at him.

‘Having a good time?’ You ask. He nods. 

‘Yeah. You?’ 

You nod, tilting your face to look at him. Frankie doesn’t know when he decided it, but he’s sure your eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen. He loves the way they shine out at him now in the glow of the porchlight, warm and kind and soft. That sunny feeling he gets as he watches you moves something silken and deep within him, something lonely. 

I was just with her. Unfortunately for you, I am -

‘What?’ You say softly.

‘Nothin’,’ he shrugs. ‘Just glad I met you.’ 

You scoff lightly at him, knocking your head against his shoulder. 

‘Glad I met you, too, sugar.’ You murmur, and when Frankie meets your eye, his breath seizes in his lungs. 

You are so close.

Your eyes dart between his own and his mouth, lingering on the shape of his lips, the flecks of grey in his moustache. He can’t move as you lean closer to him, as you ghost two fingers over his wrist. Your eyes are burning, teasing, curious as he stares down at your lips, soft and inviting, curved around so many wonderful words, wrapped around the end of a joint or a beer bottle - 

‘There you are,’ Will says, bursting through the back door. You startle away from Frankie, and he feels dizzy at the change, at the rush of what was about to happen. The warm press of your body against his. ‘C’mon,’ says Will, ‘We’ve got a poker game to win.’

You watch as Frankie hauls himself away from you, settling back in the swinging chair. When the door shuts behind the two men, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the rattle of your heartbeat.

---

You wake as though through fog, to a noise you can’t quite place.

It’s quiet, but almost right by your head. A slick, rhythmic sound, heavy breaths, quiet groans, curses. Through slipping sleep, you process them, too tired to be embarrassed, to be thinking straight. The sounds of Frankie jerking off go straight to your core, and you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as you listen, as you slip your hand beneath the elastic of your panties and join him, careful to muffle your own sounds to hear him better.

You become frantic as he grows louder, as he mutters to himself, as his bed moves just enough to squeak. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he looses a particularly loud fuck, and then a strangely familiar word, followed by a long, low groan. You come hard on your fingers, panting as the heat subsides, as you hear Frankie leave his room and head to the bathroom. 

Languid and liquid in the sunbeams on your blankets, it takes you longer than it should to decipher what you’d heard. Longer than it should to wonder if it really was your name he’d gasped as he came.

Frankie needs air. 

He needs to get out of the apartment, so while he’s drinking his morning coffee, he drafts up a list of things to do. Parcels to return, small things to buy, a new coffee shop he’d like to try out. Anything to try and clear you out his head. The feel of your body pressed against his on the seat, the ghosting of your fingers on the inside of his wrist, the flame in your eyes. The way you’d jumped when Will found you, whether you meant it, whether he was imagining it, what he was going to do, what he was not going to do -

You shuffle into the kitchen still in your pyjamas, stifling a yawn behind a hand. You help yourself to coffee from the percolator, and Frankie tells you he’s heading out. You nod and give him a squeeze, saying you’re off to the gym, anyway. Frankie tries not to think of how your ass looks in your blue leggings, and sets off down the stairwell.

He stays out for as long as possible, breathing in the fresh, spring air, looking into shop windows and petting passing dogs. He only decides to call it a day when his stomach starts growling and his feet start aching. 

He feels good, energised. 

Maybe he should get out more often.

Frankie shuts the front door gently behind him, placing his keys in the bowl. He says your name, only half expecting a reply. You didn’t say when you were heading out, or when you’d be back. 

He yanks his boots off by the shoe rack you set up last week, and tucks them away neatly. His feet carry him towards the kitchen, fingers itching to hold a cup of coffee and sandwich before a soft sound stops him. His heart leaps in his throat, and he freezes, not daring to take another step. 

He registers the soft sound of the running shower, and anticipation lodges itself in his belly. He waits, heart hammering in his chest, and almost moves before he definitely, definitely hears it again.

You moan softly on the other side of the bathroom door, and Frankie’s eyes flutter shut. 

He should go. He should absolutely go, but he can see from here in the hallway that the bathroom door is open just a crack. And he has always been a flawed person, which is why it doesn’t surprise him that when he goes to shut it, to knock, to move past, he can’t keep himself from looking. Can’t stop his eyes from finding you, back against the tile, hair dripping down your shoulders, water spattering across your skin as you stand with your legs apart, one hand spreading you open, fingers moving fast across your clit. Frankie grips onto the door handle as his eyes close again. 

Because he knows what’s about to happen. Hot shame floods through him as his cock hardens embarrassingly fast, a thin ringing in his ears as he opens his eyes again, takes in the soft flesh of your thighs, the flow of water, the rivulets tracing your skin, your glistening core, the way your fingers move so desperately - 

And Frankie can see it, can feel it, can taste it when he imagines opening the door and climbing there with you, not giving you a chance to be surprised before he sinks to his knees and replaces your hand with his mouth. 

With shaking fingers, he unbuttons his jeans, unzips his fly, and begins to stroke his cock.

He has no idea how long you’ve been in there for, but he watches closely, ravenously for your tells. It’s not gonna take him long, but he wants to watch you fall apart first. 

He watches you move your weight so you slump a little lower on the wall, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. He watches as your hips twitch and roll forwards as you slow your pace, rubbing harder instead of faster, and he barely contains his own moan as you whine, high-pitched and needy, echoing off the walls. He watches your tummy clench with each stroke of your fingers, stares with drooling amazement as you snake a hand up your body to grasp and play with your tits, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between your fingers, pinching them as hard as you can. Frankie grunts when you gasp out a fuck, and for a long, heart clenching second, he thinks you hear him. You slow your movements, trying to peer through the dark crack in the door. 

Frankie can’t move, can’t stop fisting his cock as he watches you, precum dripping through his fingers, the dirty thrill of getting caught spurring him on. 

You listen carefully, turning your head to the side to see if you can catch any more noises. Satisfied you’re still alone, you continue, this time quickly finding a pace which Frankie can tell will send you off the edge. Your wet skin, the slick sounds of your fingers even over the running water, and your moans, gasps, curses, getting even louder. 

Frankie stares still, enraptured by the goddess in front of him unravelling herself, and he wants nothing more than to touch you, taste you, smell you. He tries not to think of what he’d give to be inside you, but a soft moan escapes him anyway. Imagining the clench of your warm, wet cunt, hearing you make those noises for him, the slip of your wet skin in his grasp, your tits in his hands, the bite of your teeth on his shoulder sends him rocketing to his orgasm. He barely has time to wrap the bottom of his t-shirt around his cock, biting his fist as he empties himself, opening his eyes just in time to watch your body spasm and clench, your back arch, your head knock against the tiles as you cry out oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god. 

Once you finish riding it out, whimpering and twitching, you close your eyes and breathe heavily. Frankie feels feverish, head tipping forwards onto the door frame as he tucks himself gently back into his boxers and pulls his jeans back up. He takes one last breath before a short, shrill beep echoes throughout the apartment. 

Your eyes snap to the door again as you jump, and Frankie flinches, slowly backing away as you cock your head at the gap. Beep. Frankie can feel his pulse in his ears as he reaches the front door with soft treads, managing to open it quietly through his blind panic just as you turn the shower off. He slams it shut, calling your name from the entryway, cringing at the breaking huskiness of his voice. He waits a few seconds as though he’s taking off his shoes before running to his room, hearing the snick of the bathroom door closing just as his shuts behind him. 

Frankie leans against the wood, forcing short breaths in and out his nose. Beep. 

The smoke detector again, on the other side of the door. It shocks him back to life as he rips his shirt off, stuffing it deep in his laundry hamper before scrambling for a new one, praying to whatever god is out there that you hadn’t just caught him in such an obvious lie. That you hadn’t just caught him jerking off to you masturbating in the shower.

Frankie leaves his room as quickly as possible, knowing that the longer he stays in there the more likely it is you’ll know something is wrong. He yanks the door open, stepping out into the hallway, stopping to listen on the hardwood floor. There’s not a peep from the rest of the flat, but the door to the bathroom is now wide open, small tendrils of steam slipping out into the hallway. Frankie takes a deep breath and steps lightly down the hallway to the kitchen, intent on coffee this time, on something to distract him, something to do with his hands. Beep.

He works on autopilot as he pours the grounds into the percolator, throwing up a mental wall every time a glimmer of your body passes through his mind. When he sets it over the stove top he grips the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing his cheek as he breathes heavily through his nose. This time, the beep of the smoke detector makes him jump, and he swipes a hand over his mouth.

‘We need to change the batteries in that.’ You say, and Frankie flinches as you breeze past him into the kitchen. He can’t look at you, shame and arousal colouring his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He makes a noise in his throat, and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

‘You okay?’ You ask. He swings his eyes to you, and you look back at him the same as always. Warm, kind. You can’t know. You must be oblivious, and somehow that makes it worse. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, and tries to smile, ‘Just need a coffee.’ 

His eyes try not to linger on your body, try not to linger on your lips, your hands. He grips the countertop harder. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

You smile back at him.

‘If you’re sure,’ you say, sidling closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze and wink up at him. ‘Can you make me one? I’m exhausted.’

Frankie tries to muffle his sharp intake of air with a cough. I’m exhausted. How long had you been in there? Had you even been to the gym? Or had you just spent the morning grinding and moaning and coming -

‘Sure.’ He croaks, and you frown at him.

‘You’re really feeling okay?’ You ask, bringing the back of your hand to his forehead. ‘Might be coming down with something. Tired and coughing.’ 

He shakes his head a little too enthusiastically. 

‘No, I’m fine.’ He says, interrupted only by the beep of the smoke alarm. You pull a face at it, and he moves to take the coffee off the stove.

‘Go get the ladder,’ he says, ‘And I’ll change the batteries.’

You swish out of the kitchen, and Frankie scrubs his face with his hands, groaning out a god before taking two mugs from the cupboard and filling them. He’s just finished pouring in the creamer when you struggle back through the doorway, huffing under the weight of the stepladder.

‘Coffee’s there.’ He says, jerking his head in the direction of the mugs as he takes it from you. Frankie sets it up under the detector, stepping up the first couple of rungs before you stand in front of him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you tighten your hands around the ladder’s sides, holding it steady.

‘Don’t want you doing any damage to yourself.’ You say softly.

Frankie nods and continues climbing, trying not to think of how close you are. He focuses as he reaches the ceiling, stretching up to unscrew the device.

You swallow as you’re exposed to the slither of skin the action reveals, golden in the afternoon light, and the dark hair which trails down, down, below the waistline of his jeans.

‘Take it for me.’ He says from above you, and you drag your eyes away to meet his, flushing as you reach up to grab the alarm, fingers brushing. You watch as Frankie’s gaze darkens, as he takes you in, flushed, lips bitten, standing at the perfect height. The greedy way you’d been looking at his stomach, water, thighs, fingers -

‘Thank you.’ He says, and you take the detector away to replace the batteries, your fingers shaking. Frankie watches you hungrily, the curve of your jeans, the slope of your neck when you flick your hair behind you. He’s still watching when you turn back to him and hand him the device.

‘Good girl.’ He says. Heat rushes through you at the words, your breath catching in your throat. Frankie’s movements falter only slightly before he’s reaching up again to screw the detector back in. You stare at his belly, the coarse hair, and try to think of anything but nuzzling your nose against the skin, breathing him in, unbuttoning his jeans, taking his cock in your mouth, thinking about what he’d look like, what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, whether it would be as good as what you’d imagined in the shower -

Frankie steps down from the ladder, prizing your hands off the metal, folding it shut and carrying it back out the room.

‘All done.’ He says.

You run a hand through your hair, pinching the bridge of your nose. Jesus.

You take a seat at the dining room table, and when Frankie joins you, you drink your coffee in near silence.

At work, later that evening, you shut yourself in the bathroom during your break. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds when you make yourself come, embarrassingly quick, to thoughts of what might have happened if you’d kissed Frankie’s stomach on the ladder. The uncomfortable ache in your core barely sated, your panties soaked, you try to do anything to distract yourself for the rest of the shift. Anything to keep your hands busy.

And in his bed, later that night, when he’s sure you must be asleep, Frankie takes his cock in his hand again. It doesn’t take him long, guiltily indulging in what he’d seen from the crack in the bathroom door. He comes with a quiet groan and a whisper of your name, wishing that you were there to lick the salt off his chest. 

He falls asleep to thoughts of you, like he has done from the night you met.

---

A week passes, and Frankie's pretty sure he's going insane. 

He can’t shower without picturing the way you had stood there, moaning and gasping. He can’t stop thinking of the way you had looked at him on the ladder, the way you’d looked at him sat on Will’s porch. He has to jerk off at least twice a day, and aside from it being a fucking inconvenience, he’s beginning to feel like a creep.

He thinks he needs to get laid.

There’s a girl you work with - Tasha - who gave Frankie her number not long after you started living together. She was pretty, nice enough, but Frankie hadn’t been looking for anything, and he certainly didn’t want to shit where you ate. But he texts her anyway. It’s late and sleazy, but she says yes. They meet at a bar, and when they stumble through the front door, you’re already home. 

You’re sprawled out on your bed, a joint already rolled, leftovers from work in the fridge, ready to hunker down and fill Frankie in on your day, ready to hear him tell you about his, watch some shit on the television. Tonight felt like a David Attenborough night.

You jump as the front door bangs open, as two sets of feet come tumbling in. Your heart beats loudly in your chest at the noise, at the intrusion, unsure whether you should leap up to defend your roommate or hide. Then you hear the wet sounds of kissing, the low mumble of Frankie’s words, a high-pitched laugh you recognise as the front door shuts and Frankie’s opens. 

You wait with baited breath, somehow unable to believe what is happening. Your fingers flutter on your chest, anxiously pressing the skin there. 

Frankie’s never brought anyone home before. You don’t quite know what to do with yourself.

You’ve also never quite thought about how thin the wall is between your bedroom and his. 

The realisation makes your skin flush, heated even more when you hear the mumbles and groans from the other side of the wall. Frankie saying something in a language you don’t understand, and Tasha’s breathy reply. 

You don’t know how long you listen for, frozen on your mattress as you listen to the creak of Frankie’s bed, the whines and moans falling from them. The low timber of Frankie’s speech sinks itself into the centre of your body, heating and melting. You close your eyes as you try to pick out what he’s saying, as you listen for his panting breaths, his low moans. You can feel your underwear growing wet with slick, your body tightening - hot - and then Tasha cries out. 

The sound shocks you from your reverie, shame, annoyance imploring your body to move. You raise up on your knees and pound your fist against the wall. Everything falls silent.

You breathe deeply for a moment before Frankie says something quietly, answered only by Tasha’s low giggle. Your tongue feels like ash in your throat as they both say a couple more things, more laughs pouring through the wall before you’re up, pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, leaving your room. 

There’s another shock of silence as Frankie and Tasha hear you moving, but you’re already pulling your trainers on. You can hear Frankie say something on the other side of his door, can hear it getting louder as he moves towards it, but you’re slamming the front door closed before he can intercept you.

Your Uber ride is quiet, seething. You chew your lip, clench and unclench your fists. Your phone buzzes in your grip several times, but you don’t check it. 

When you reach the low, suburban house with the cacti out front, you waste no time worrying about whether you look pretty enough. Because he’s always said you are on the nights when he’s had too much to drink.

You should know better before you raise your hand to knock. But you don’t spare a second thought as your knuckles rap against the wood. You shut down all other thoughts as the door swings open, him knowing exactly when to expect you as soon as you’d called. Something about military training and timing.

‘Hey.’ Benny says, standing in the doorway, moving aside to let you pass.

‘Hey.’ You smile back at him as you step into his house, toeing off your trainers, stripping yourself of your hoodie. 

Benny eyes you hungrily as you stand before him in your tank top. You feel the heat coil in your belly again as he steps towards you, the slick in your underwear pooling as he kisses you hard and hot and open mouthed, as you tangle your hands in his hair, as you scratch at the bare skin of his hip beneath his top. You moan against him when you feel him already hard at your stomach.

‘Bed.’ He growls.

[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 🙂‍↕️

[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!

[nerdieforpedro]

Awww… 🥰 The fluffiest of fluff. And I would do horribly in the woods so I can relate to this so much. 🤭

Brandy by the Fireplace

7.8K / Frankie Morales x City Girl!reader

Summary: When your best friend's boyfriend invites her up to the cabin he owns with his Delta Force buddies, she asks you to come along.

Warnings: None! Fluff! Insecurity and anxiety on reader's part, but Frankie makes it better (anxiety/comfort. My anxious girlies (gn) who think everyone hates them when they definitely don't? This one's for you 🥹). Nicknames because it's me. Oh, and Tom's alive?

A/N 1: Written and very late for @auteurdelabre's Trope Off Challenge - the trope here is Fish out of water because, well you know🤭🤭 Can be considered a Triple Frontier AU, or set before the events of the movie. Though I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this and the word count got away from me, I still think it's cute and very seasonal - I hope others do too!

A/N 2: As I understand it, the cottage v. cabin lexiconic difference is a Canadian thing. When people think of cottage country, it's primarily the luxury getaway experience in the Muskokas. Super fancy! Celebrities cottage there (the Beckhams, Cindy Crawford) and the properties are huge lakefront estates. While in Western Canada, people primarily have cabins - they're more rugged, remote. In no way am I saying that cottages are better than cabins! They are just different - both enjoyable and picturesque in their own way. But you gotta know what you're in for, cause of packing and stuff... 😅😅

Trailer / CABIN dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘😘

This was such an effing mistake.

You sniffle as you sit cross-legged on the simple threadbare sheets covering the thin mattress that you’ve called bed for the last two nights.  You’re holding your favourite fleece sweater in your hands, looking at the scorch marks where flareups from tonight’s bonfire had jumped from the pit and burned multiple holes - the black charred spots on the fabric blurring as your tears finally spill over.

I shouldn’t have come.

A ruined sweater in and of itself wasn’t the end of world.  But a ruined sweater here? Tonight? It’s just the freaking cherry on top of the already disastrous sundae that was this weeklong vacation so far.

And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

When your best friend Jenny begged you to come with her to her boyfriend’s cabin for a week, you had readily agreed.  You love Benny and he and Jenny are so adorable, if not a bit too overly mushy and cheesy (“We’re the better Bennifer!  Woo - Benny and Jenny!!”).  He and his old army buddies had gone in together on a cabin on a lake about seven hours out of the city at the suggestion of their Veterans Affairs therapist – something about working the land and finding serenity in nature to help them overcome some of the harder things they’ve seen over their time in service.

It apparently did wonders for them.  Both Benny and his older brother, Will, who you had met a few times, were easy going and kind men - maybe a little rough and tumble with each other sometimes, but you didn’t see it as anything more than filial comradery and brotherly love.  Jenny assured you that Benny’s other friends, Santi, Tom and Frankie were all cut from the same cloth.

Benny had invited Jenny up to the cabin for the boys’ annual Autumn weeklong trip – taking advantage of any remaining mild weather from the end of summer to clean and close up the cabin for the Fall and Winter.  All the boys would be there and Tom’s sisters had been invited as well – Jenny begged you to come for support and of course you had said yes.

Sure, you’re a city girl through and through, but this wouldn’t be your first cottaging experience.  You fondly recall the summers and Thanksgivings you had been invited to your college roommate’s family cottage in the Muskokas: crystalline waters and lush greenery bordered the beautifully landscaped acreage upon which your still close friend’s family’s 9 bedroom-9 bath modern estate resided.  Summer days were wiled away on the built-in dock lounging and reading, and the cooler temperature evenings were spent inside by one of the several contemporary fireplaces, sipping on cocktails and nibbling on charcuterie.  It was always such a treat to go - you haven’t visited in ages, but a similar getaway right now sounds like heaven.

Your first clue that perhaps this might not be the Muskoka cottage country experience you imagined, is when the last leg of your seven-hour journey in Benny’s truck was over a 30-minute dirt road so twisty and uneven that you started to feel a little nauseous. 

When you got out of the truck, you realized the true folly of your assumptions about where you were going to be staying this week.  The property could best be described as rustic and very "nature forward", the only evidence of landscaping being the dirt worn paths that led to the different cabins.  Instead of one main house, there is a Main Cabin – consisting of a living room area, place to eat, kitchen and the compound’s one bathroom.  All guests stay in individual cabins, isolated and spaced out at various points on the large property. Each so far apart and separated by the lush, dense forest, you don't even know where they all are: Upper Cabin (Benny and Jenny), Delta Cabin (Santi), Bunk Cabin (Frankie), Screened-In Veranda Cabin (You), New Cabin (Tom’s Sisters), Outhouse Cabin (no one), Grizzly Cabin (Will and Tom).

You’re not opposed to roughing it a little, but by the error of your own expectations, you’ve come thoroughly unprepared for your week’s stay.  For one thing, your cabin (as the name would suggest), along with all the others, has no windows - only screens.  Perfect for the hot summers, but with Fall coming early this year, the clothes you packed aren’t warm enough to shield you against the chill that blows over your bed each night.  For another, you find yourself sharing space with more critters that you were expecting, and not the adorable furry types either.

The frog that came out of the one toilet made you almost consider using the outhouse up by the parking lot (almost). And when you were washing your face that first night, the realization that the running tap was the only thing that was keeping the cricket from jumping out of the sink, forced you to stifle a scream that left your throat hoarse. There are all together more bugs indoors than you had expected (since you had expected windows). 

It's definitely more rustic that you’re used to, but you really do try to make the best of it.  The last thing you want is to appear rude or snobbish about the decidedly non-luxurious state of your accommodations.  Sure, it isn’t the glamourous cottage experience you had expected, but it’s still incredibly beautiful and serene here.  Moreover, you know that every cabin and amenity on the property was built by Benny and his friends and has served incredible therapeutic purpose for each of them.  You would never want to diminish that by somehow implying that the cottage isn’t… cottaging; this place serves a much more important purpose than impressing the likes of city girls guests like you.

You also don’t forget that the entire reason you’re here is to support Jenny.  Make sure she and Benny have fun.  And they are! Inseparable, giddy, googly-eyed fun.  No way are you going to ruin her perfectly good time by letting her worry about you, not when this is the first healthy relationship she’s had in years.

And honestly, everyone is so, so nice.  Benny and Will’s Delta Force teammates are as good humoured and sweet as they are.  There’s Santiago (or Santi), the unofficial leader of the crew – his hooded brown eyes look like they could tell a hundred stories, but he keeps your group entertained with the loudest and most fantastic ones, always framing his stories so that they rib at least one of his buddies.  Tom, the eldest of the friends, is more serious – the type who might exude an intimidating gravitas if you were to meet him alone, but next to the verbose energy of Benny and Santi and under the watchful eye of his sisters, he seems to relax, smiling pleasantly and genuinely while in the comforting presence of his friends.  Will, who is just as boyishly handsome as his brother, you already know to be as easy going and funny - though maybe a little less goofy than Benny.  Despite what Jenny had slyly insinuated to you before you left, you don’t think Will has any interest in you – and with Tom’s gorgeous and outgoing sisters both vying for his attention, the circumstances aren't right to try and see if there’s anything to Jenny's (and possibly Benny’s?) matchmaking. 

The last member of the friend group is Frankie, who the guys sometimes inexplicably call ‘Catfish’ – he was noticeably reserved at first, though you soon realize that he’s just as funny and generous as the others.  Frankie's steely and calm countenance seems borne out of necessity, likely from the many years of service where his competence and levelheadedness were needed to keep the other four in check, alive.  You notice that he often sits a little further back from the group, most likely out of habit, literally watching their backs; he’s quieter and less rowdy, but never fails to join in his friends’ laughter – it’s obvious to you that he loves his brothers in arms.  Once or twice, you think you feel Franke's deep, soulful eyes pointed in your direction, but when you try to meet his gaze, those same eyes disappear beneath the brim of his worn Standard Oil cap that never seems to leave his head.  You think you probably imagine it. 

Everyone is so much fun to be around, super nice and completely welcoming of you.

They just… don’t really need you here.  Well, that seems presumptuous!  Rather, there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here the same way there is for everyone else.

It was evident from the first day when the boys pulled a small catamaran out of the boathouse and attempted to try (again, from what you’re told) to put it together and get it out on the water.  Every person was asked to help pull on the trampoline netting – when it was evident that your limited strength and poor (manicured) grip on the netting wasn’t actually doing anything except making you an extra body in the way, you were relegated to standing on the side, holding a spray can of lubricant and waiting to spray it on the track if someone needed.  No one ever did.  The trampoline never got installed, and you can’t help but think it was partially because you hadn’t been able to provide the additional muscle needed.

During the day, everyone seems to engage in some type of cabin maintenance work from an unseen to-do list: painting screens, sanding down the canoe, pulling up old raspberry bushes, fixing doors and hinges in various cabins, retiling the one shower and installing a new sliding glass door, replacing the hot water pump’s aging parts, reinforcing the mesh around the young fruit trees to deter deer, repairing the older slats on the dock, removing the beaver dam under the dock, and so on and so forth.

All things you have absolutely no qualifications to help with and would likely hinder someone who did if you tried.

Jenny wasn’t terribly handy either, but she tagged along with Benny on all his chores and he didn’t mind patiently explaining and helping her help him with his tasks - the two of them giggling and in love as they winterized the boat shed.

Everyone else seems to know their daily assignments and go about their hard and dirty labour, leaving you alone to… do nothing?  It felt rude to sit out on the lawn and relax while others did work around you.  And even inside there's not much you can do; Tom’s sisters had brought up food for the first few meals and when you asked them if you could help, they insisted that they had it in hand and told you to “go have fun”.  You chastise yourself for having not asked more questions about what you and Jenny could have brought and if you and her could have signed up to cook your share of meals.

You hide out in the Main Cabin or in your own for most of the day, reading and feeling guilty - coming down periodically to chat with people but feeling like you’re distracting them from their duties.

Even after dinner when you volunteered to help do the dishes and clean-up, you were cheerfully shooed away by Santi after you couldn’t find where to put back the cutlery, then the glasses, then the lids to the pots (which were inexplicably kept separate from the pots themselves) – you’re sure there’s a system, you just don’t know what it is.

Maybe it would be different if you knew everyone better, but this is the first time you’re meeting everyone except Benny and Will.  You don’t know any of the guys particularly well but you do know that this cabin is their special place – you don’t want be a bother or ruin anyone’s good time.

To you, it's clear that you’re not carrying your weight here - the last thing you want to be is a nuisance as well. You don’t fit in and you definitely don’t belong. 

Tonight has finally felt a little more comfortable.  After a full day of work for everyone (else) and a belly bursting dinner, the boys set up a bonfire and everyone got together to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.  In addition to looking forward to the melty treats, you were secretly glad for the warmth of the fire in the chilly evening air.  Beers were cracked, marshmallows burnt, and the stories the boys told had your sides aching from so much laughter you’re sure you’ll still feel it in the morning.  But as the fire was dying, the conversation turned to what everyone’s up to tomorrow, you once again have nothing to say that's comparable to the tasks and chores listed by the others.  When Tom comments that there are still so many things to do in order to properly winterize the cabins and that it’ll be a wonder if it all gets done, you look down at your feet - face burning from the guilt and shame of being unable to contribute when help is indeed needed.  You’re sure everyone is thinking that you’re just a freeloader from the city, or worse, lazy and unwilling to put in some work.  Suddenly the last few bites of the s'more in your hand don’t look as appetizing anymore.

You excuse yourself from the group and quickly get ready for bed before heading up to your cabin for the night.  Once settled in, that’s when you discover that your sweater is full of newly burnt holes and you lose it.

Luckily, the cabins are all fairly far apart so no one can hear your crying, but your gratitude for the isolation and quiet of the cabins is short-lived; as it's been every night, the silence of the woods in the dark is deafening.  So used to the ambient noise of the city, you find that every snap of a branch or hoot of an owl slices through the night and rings out as loud as a gunshot.  You lay in bed like each night before, unable to get comfortable or calm and falling asleep only when exhaustion overtakes you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of chirping birds and the brightness of the morning sun punctuated by the shouts and loud chatter from down near the water where people are already starting their daily chores.  Another wave of guilt and anxiety sets in as you feel like you’ve had an undeserved lie-in - resting while everyone else got up early to do work.

On your way down to the Main Cabin, you see and wave good morning to Frankie who’s transporting relatively heavy chunks of wood tucked under his beefy arms.  You don’t ask if you can help – how could you? Each stump he carries looks like it could topple you over even if you managed to lift one. 

When you get down to the lawn, you catch Will and Tom’s sisters as they head up to one of the cabins with paint cans and brushes and Will cheerily calls to you, “Saved you some breakfast!”  His completely innocent and kind pronouncement sends your already tightly strung heart into another spiral and you try not to tear up as you call back your thanks.

You eat by yourself from the plates left out for you and feel a little better when you can at least wash them and leave them in the drying rack.  Pouring yourself the coffee that’s left in the cannister, you grimace at it’s lukewarmness, but you don’t know where the grounds are kept or even how to operate the ancient stovetop coffee maker to make more, so you make do and drink it sort of sadly as you return to the dining table and open your book.

It's here where Frankie finds you a few hours after you saw him last.

He asks kindly after your book before saying he’s going to make a fresh pot of coffee and offers to top you off; when you get up to help – he tells you he’s got it before disappearing into the kitchen.  Slightly discouraged, you sit back down; unless you spy on Frankie, there’s no way for you to learn how to make the coffee here - and you’re just debating if you should do just that when he pokes his head back in, “Do you want me to show you how to make the coffee?”

Eagerly, you nod and hurry to join him in the kitchen, making note of where the fresh coffee grounds are stored and listening attentively as Frankie patiently shows you how to work the vintage contraption that Santi rescued from a yard sale.  He smiles at your willing face, wondering why you’re so fascinated by something as mundane as their overly complicated coffee maker, but when you thank him, voice almost quivering with overly emotional gratitude, Frankie’s sure there’s more to it than he’s understanding.

He's been watching you, Benny’s girlfriend pretty friend, over the last two days and can't quite figure you out.  It’s clear that you’re not used to roughing it in these types of conditions, but you don’t complain or make fun – though there is a tinge of melancholy and anxiety to the gentleness of your expressions that he does understand all too well.  You seem sweet and friendly, and Benny certainly speaks warmly of you – but for some reason, you don’t seem entirely comfortable and Frankie wouldn’t be the Army strategist he is if he didn’t notice.  Or a very good host.

“Do you want to go for a row while the coffee drips?”

“A row?”  You look up, confused.

“Yeah, in the row boat.  Come on – this old thing takes forever. We could probably get a good way to the middle of the lake and head back before it’s done,” nods Frankie, encouragingly.

This is the first time since the disastrous catamaran trampoline that anyone has asked you to do anything with them during the day, and you’re surprised by how touched you are by the simple gesture.  Unable to find the words to express how appreciative you feel, you simply nod.

Frankie pushes the old tin boat that you saw him sealing and painting on the beach yesterday partway into the water, helping you in first before pushing the boat all the way in then jumping in himself, two big wooden oars under his arm.  He sits across from you, locks the oars into the oarlocks and starts rowing; his powerful arms rotating the paddles with ease, slicing them through the clear, calm water and gently gliding the boat across the lake.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, and you look over the side of the boat in wonder as the sand bed below slowly disappears and the water gets darker and deeper.  Sighing, you contently breathe in the fresh, crisp Fall air and enjoy the picturesque view of the far off shores and mountains before settling your gaze on the handsome man in front of you.  The ripples and flex of Frankie’s bulging muscles under his shirt as he expertly rows are near mesmerizing, every hypnotic stroke powerful and purposeful.

“You’re not having fun, are you?”

You look up, ashamed.  You've been trying so hard to hide that you're not 100% comfortable being here, it's embarrassing to get confirmation that you've failed in this regard.  Even if the others could tell you weren’t having fun, you hope you haven’t come off as an ungrateful guest or made any of your hosts feel bad.  You’re about to say so and apologize, but something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, kind and soft and not at all judgmental or accusatory, gives you pause.  It’s like he’s genuinely extending an opportunity for you to let go of what you’ve been bottling up since you got here – maybe that’s why he brought you out to the middle of the lake?  Frankie's sincere eyes bore into your own and his gentle demeanor invites you to let down your guard; deflating, you burst into tears, “I’m not!! I’m so sorry, Frankie!!”

Hurriedly, you try to compensate, “Goodness, please don’t think I’m complaining – it’s so beautiful and peaceful here, and Benny told me how much effort you guys have put into this place!  Honestly, your care and hard work really shows – everything is so nice.  It’s just really, really different from the one other cottage experience I’ve had – so I didn’t even pack right.  And I thought there would be a lot more relaxing and lazing around – I really don't know what to do with myself here.”

“Where did you cottage before?”

“The Muskokas?”

Frankie lets out such a loud, belly-shaking laugh that shakes the whole boat; you actually hold onto the sides afraid you might tip over, but find yourself beaming at having drawn out this melodic sound from the normally stoic man.

“Well, City Girl, no wonder this place was a shock to you!  The Muskokas is a very particular cottaging experience – real pretty and real glamourous.  But the rest of us?  What we have aren’t even cottages.  They’re cabins.  This is cabin country,” he laughs good naturedly.

“Right - cabins!” you grin.

“Sorry to disappoint you, City Girl.”

“No, no! Please don’t think that - I’m not disappointed at all! I just came in with the wrong expectations, that’s all.  That’s all on me, Frankie.  Really, the cabin is lovely – I was just expecting a more… cashmere sweaters and brandy snifters around the fireplace kind of a vibe.”  You hope Frankie won’t take your joke the wrong way.

Luckily, Frankie gives you another easy smile, one that reveals an adorable dimple in his right cheek you haven’t had a chance to notice before, “Yeah, we’re more of a bats in the ceiling, on-going maintenance kind of vibe.”

At this, your face falls and your own shortcomings to contribute when everyone else is working so hard claws at your chest painfully.

Frankie immediately clocks the change in your demeanor, “Hey, pretty girl, it’s okay.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes, too distressed to notice the new nickname, “No it’s not, Frankie.  You’re right – everyone is chipping in, helping out to keep this place beautiful and running smoothly, except me.  I’m not used to this kind work, so I don’t really know what needs to get done… and even if I did… I mean you saw with the catamaran?  I’m not strong or skilled enough to do any of it.  I thought I could help out with some of the indoor stuff, like cooking and cleaning up, but I don’t know where anything is and everyone is so busy, I feel like such a nuisance bothering them even more in order to show me.  So… I don’t know what I’m doing here – it doesn’t feel right to be sitting around and reading like I’m some kind of pampered houseguest while everyone around me is working, but I also don’t think I can add value anywhere.  I just don’t think I belong out here with you guys.  And I thought I was at least hiding it well, but it's obviously noticeable how much I don’t fit in because you rowed me out here to confront me about it.  I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Frankie.”

You take a deep breath after your long speech and look down at your lap, more embarrassed than ever.

Frankie leans over from his seat, causing the boat to rock slightly and tilts your face up to his with two of his thick fingers, “You’re no trouble at all, pretty girl.  It’s okay if this place is too rustic for ya.  It’s really rustic… and that’s by design.”  He smiles reassuringly, keen to comfort you, “I know Benny told you that this cabin is sort of therapy for us guys?  We saw some... less-than-ideal things on a lot of our missions.  All our missions, actually.  The VA counsellors suggested that we try and work through having seen so much that’s been broken, and maybe even having done some of the breaking ourselves, by getting a project where we come together as a team to focus on improving and building.  It’s meant to need constant ongoing maintenance and have a never-ending list of chores so we can put our energy into building up instead of what we used to do… tearing down.  For the most part, the cabin has been good for us – working with our hands, being responsible for something that isn’t life or death, working towards a common goal where we can be together and enjoy each other’s company in a setting that’s not… exploding.”

Frankie chuckles at his little joke so not to scare you off with the intensity of the topic.  He’s relieved to see that your expression is one of sympathy and understanding, your eyes warm and gentle.  He thinks your eyes are beautiful, deep, kind – he might easily get lost in them if he didn’t remember that he’s supposed to be comforting you, “It really is meant for the five of us to be putting in the work, but I know what you’re saying, it’s not a great feeling to be left out, even if you know no one’s doing it on purpose.  I’m sorry – we should be better hosts.  You’re our guest.”

You start to shake your head in protest at this, but Frankie stops you when he picks up the oars and dips them back in the water to start rowing again, “Tell you what, it’s my turn to make lunch today - why don’t you come and help me.  I’ll show you where we keep everything so you’ll know in case you ever want to… help out in the kitchen again.  I promise you can ask me any questions you want and it won’t bother me at all.”

Perking up at Frankie’s generous offer, you nod happily, “Okay! Thank you, Frankie – that’s really sweet of you.”  It’s probably the first truly joyful smile you’ve smiled since you got here and Frankie thinks you look radiant.

The two of you glide slowly across the still lake in comfortable silence, Frankie purposefully not putting too much power into his oar strokes.  Trying to discreetly wipe your cheeks, you feel their warmth as you spy on the handsome man across from you through your tear dotted lashes.  You feel so safe and cared for - your heart grateful that Frankie noticed you were out of sorts despite having only met you a few days ago and was considerate enough to ask after you.

His teasing voice cuts through your thoughts, “Is there anything else, City Girl?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Is there anything else that's been bothering you while you’re out here?”

You bite your lip and shake your head; Frankie has been so kind, you don’t want to push it and appear to complain.

“Come on, I know there is.  Go on, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl – there’s that term of endearment again.  This time when you hear it, your heart swells and your face flushes – and maybe your thighs press together a little, too.  To try and cover up your reaction, you spill your last embarrassing grievance, “Ummmm… it’s kind of spooky at night.”

Frankie booms another side-splitting, deep rumble of a laugh and you instantly feel better, “It’s just sooooo quiet and everyone is so far from one another.  I guess I’m used to background city noises and the feeling of people being around.  It's been a bit unsettling laying in the dark in silence, hearing every little twig snap.” You cover your eyes, “Plus I packed so poorly for the trip because I thought it was going to be a… cottage.  I definitely didn’t bring warm enough clothes.  I brought a TON of self-care stuff though – maybe I should try layering some face masks.” It feels so good to be able to lightheartedly make fun of yourself again.

Frankie laughs with you, then looks thoughtful, “Ok, ok, the chilliness I think I can help you out with.  The spookiness… got to circle back to that.”

“Thanks, Frankie.”  You mean it sincerely.  Even having been able to talk to him about your unease makes you dread the upcoming night a lot less.

Back at the beach, Frankie hops out of the boat and reaches in to help you out - when your fingers touch his, a little spark lingers and your heartbeat picks up a bit.  Hand in hand, the two of you walk back to the Main Cabin together, not letting go until you enter the kitchen.

---

After Frankie patiently shows you the pantry, the freezers, and where all the kitchen items are, he makes sure you have a passing familiarity with everything before the two of you make wraps for everyone.  You find him to be endearingly funny, terribly sweet, and a wonderful conversationalist – Frankie tells you about his work and adventures as a charter pilot, and listens intently as you answer his questions about your work and life in the city.  You almost regret calling everyone in for lunch, but the feeling of being able to offer people something after their morning of hard work has brightened your spirits significantly - it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You don’t know that the obvious change in your countenance fills Frankie with pride and joy, nor do you see the way he gazes at you with fondness as you cheerfully hand out the wraps or when you jump up after lunch is over and hurry to clear the table.

The next day, you’re returning from a solo walk along the trail that runs behind the cabins on the bay, when you come upon an unfamiliar noise as you approach the boys’ property. 

It sounds like a loud and sharp sudden crack accompanied by a low manly grunt, then followed by a couple of softer thuds.  The echoing combination repeats it self at slightly varying intervals and gets progressively louder until you come upon its source.

From behind a large Spruce tree, you see that it’s Frankie chopping wood.

Frankie repeatedly brings his axe down on the log pieces he’s set up on the chopping block with precision and power.  His sweat soaked shirt is stretched taut across his broad back, the damp fabric doing nothing but accentuate the thick muscles that flex and contract with every burly movement.

Though Frankie’s breathing is heavy, you can tell he isn’t even close to being winded - his strength and rugged athleticism evident by the way he relentlessly labours on, splitting log after log.

Every subsequent swing of the axe captivates you further; a wetness pools in your mouth that you have to force yourself to swallow, lest it spill over and you get caught drooling.

"Wanna give me a hand, City Girl?"

Shit.

Emerging from behind what you now realize looks like a hiding spot, you give Frankie a sheepish smile, “Oh, ummm… you look like you have it pretty well handled.  Not sure if I could even make a dent in one of those logs.”

Frankie takes off his signature cap and uses the back of the same hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead - he chuckles and his eyes twinkle, “Could you help me gather and stack the wood I split onto that rack over there?  And bring me new logs to chop from that other pile there?”

You nod enthusiastically.  Frankie’s making work for you and you’re so thankful and excited to help.

For the next hour, you run around gathering the firewood that Frankie splinters and set him up with fresh logs.  When you apologize that it takes you so long to carry the larger rounds to him, he tells you not to worry – it gives him a chance to catch his breath and take a much-needed rest.  You don’t tell Frankie that he doesn’t look like he needs any rest at all – your own quickened breaths have very little to do with physical exertion and more to do with ogling Frankie’s broad and brawny frame, and the way the entirety of his strapping body is thrown into each axe swing, every muscle engaged, tensed.  It’s similar to the way he looked when he effortlessly rowed the two of you in the tin boat across the lake, but like… a hundred times more burly.

You try to distract yourself from openly drooling at Frankie’s sweat soaked torso by expertly arranging the firewood on the rack so that it fits perfectly together like a Tetris puzzle.  When the last piece has been placed on top, Frankie marvels that the firewood storage has never looked more organized and with one hand still holding on to his axe, he takes your soft hand in his other and leads you down to lunch.

Over the next couple of days, you notice that Frankie goes out of his way to make sure you’re not alone or hiding out in any of the cabins.

He takes you out in Benny’s truck to run in-town errands like picking up additional groceries or getting gas for the boat.  These trips are always filled with fun and easy conversation and end with a treat at the ice cream shop on the main road.  Frankie teases you on how you always flit from freezer to freezer, determined to try a flavour you’ve never had, and you groan at how he sticks to his tried-and-true mint chocolate chip.

You’re getting bolder at offering to do the indoor, more domestic tasks and chores that you know you have the skills to handle like making meals and cleaning up; more often than not, without you asking, Frankie will join you in the kitchen.  Even though you tell him to relax and that he deserves rest after his physical exertions of the day, Frankie stays and hangs out - casually drying dishes, tasting your sauces, leaning his massive figure against the counter and discreetly pointing to various cabinets and drawers when you forget where things go.

Frankie makes you laugh with his quippy jokes and clever little observations, and he makes your cheeks warm with his subtle and sweet flirting.  But mostly, he makes you feel so included, relaxed and accepted – his kindness at having taken you under his wing and giving priority to your comfort and enjoyment at the cabin makes your heart positively sing. 

Since the day he took you out on the rowboat, Frankie has come to visit you in the Screened-In Veranda cabin every night.  The first night, it’s to bring you extra blankets and one of his thick hoodies – all of it you accept gratefully; he also brings a pack of playing cards and the two of you play Big Two until you can barely keep your eyes open. Making sure you're bundled up in his hoodie, Frankie leaves you to sleep under a comically thick stack of blankets and happily swathed in his manly musk.

The next night, he brings you an old worn box of Rummy-O, explaining that he and the boys try to buy old games from garage sales to bring up to the cabin, even ones they’ve never played before.  You’ve never played either, and for the next few nights, you and Frankie spread the tiles over your bedspread and become Rummy-O experts, stopping only when you’re too tired to keep playing - then and only then does Frankie leave you before traipsing back to his own cabin.

Embarrassingly, it takes you until tonight to figure out what he's up to.

“I know what you’re doing,” you grin in the dimly lit cabin as Frankie dons a Korean face mask and lets you give him a cuticle oil treatment.

“I’m getting pampered,” Frankie murmurs from where he lays, careful not to move his face lest the sheet mask slips.

“You’ve been keeping me company every night until I get sleepy so I don’t have to lie here in the dark and be scared,” you look at him warmly, in awe of this tender-hearted man’s goodness.

You see one eye open in the eye hole cut-out of the mask and the corners of the one for the mouth tug up a little, “Has it been working?”

“Yes and thank you.  And I think your hoodie and the blankets you brought really helped too – the nights feels way cozier now.”

“Good.  I’m glad.  Now do you have anything that’s going to help with these bags under my eyes?”

You cackle, sure that the sound of your and Frankie’s joint laughter must carry clear across the lake.

It’s the last night at the cabin and the whole group is out tonight for another bonfire.  You’re nice and snug in Frankie’s hoodie, giggling with Jenny, who you feel like you’ve barely seen this whole week – she fills you in on all eight hundred of the adorable things Benny has done for her this week and you’re over the moon seeing her so completely in love.  The entire group is in great spirits, toasting to another successful season at the cottage, all the shared memories, new and old stories to tell, and the delicious food eaten over this week.  Your dinners for the latter half of the week are praised, and when you bury your face in the oversized sleeves of Frankie's hoodie in embarrassment, you feel his strong arm curl proudly around your shoulders and you positively kvell. 

The drinks flow liberally tonight with no one needing to wake up early and the only chore on anyone’s list being packing.  About halfway through tonight’s bonfire, Frankie slips away from the group; everyone is too caught up in their own conversations to notice it, but you immediately miss having his comforting presence close by.  You’re just about to ask Jenny for the tea on why Tom’s sisters seemed to be giving Will the cold shoulder when you hear Frankie’s dulcet baritone low in your ear, “Hey, City Girl, can I show you something?”

Getting up, you leave the others at the bonfire and follow Frankie back into the Main Cabin.  He ushers you towards the main living room and when you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks with a gasp.  The darkened room is lit bright and warm from the fire that Frankie’s laid in the fireplace, the flames crackling slow and calm – he must have been stoking it for a while.  In front of the glowing fire is a little carpeted area with cushions arranged purposefully to create a makeshift sitting area.  In the middle sits two brandy snifters filled with an amber gold liquid.

“Frankie, what’s all this?” you exclaim, eyes bright as you turn to look at the handsome, affectionate man who brought you here.

Gesturing for you to sit down in front of the gently roaring fire and handing you one of the glasses as you settle in, Franke shyly explains, “Wasn’t able to swing any cashmere sweaters, but I wanted to give you your brandy by the fireplace cottage experience.”

Rendered speechless by how cute and thoughtful Frankie is - all you can do is give him a doe-eyed look of awe as you sip the liquor he managed to procure.  For you.

“Thank you, Frankie.  This is perfect.  But if I’m being honest, I’ve quite warmed up to the cabin experience,” you tease.

“Good,” the tenor of Frankie’s voice is warm with the undercurrent of what’s not yet been spoken out loud.

As you both enjoy your fireside libations, you joke and flirt, keeping the conversation light - somehow tip-toeing around what’s happening between the two of you.  Your bodies, though, pay your shyness no mind, inching closer and closer until you’re practically in Frankie’s lap.  The conversation grows quieter as words are replaced by looks of longing and want until all you seem to be doing is studying the dark and rough lines of Frankie’s face, the plushness of his lips, the adorable heart shaped patch in his facial scruff.

With one final sip of brandy, the soothing burn of the liquor down your throat gives you that final push of liquid courage and you drop your gaze from Frankie’s soft chocolate brown eyes down to his waiting mouth.  Not so innocently, you lick you lips at the sight.

Then Frankie is on you, crashing his lips to yours – the empty snifters rolling away on the carpet as you pour yourself into his mouth, open wide and inviting.  This first kiss is nothing short of sensual and desperate, the feelings that have been simmering over the past week boiling over until you’re both a mess of tongues, moans and clashing teeth.

“Oh Frankie,” your soft whimpers a welcomed song to his ears, Frankie returns your sentiments by licking behind your teeth, exploring and stroking into your receptive mouth with a fiery passion.  His hands maneuver you to straddle him so that he can better feel you, roaming your back until one hand comes to a rest at the nape of your neck, the other under one of the pert globes of your ass, using them as leverage to press you flush against his chest.

As your hands go to run through Frankie’s soft waves, you knock his favourite cap onto the ground and you giggle loudly when it lands near the now forgotten brandy snifters with a little thud.  Frankie feels himself harden at the melodic sound.

You make out like teenagers, tongues dancing and teeth nibbling until you both run out of air and have no choice to break apart, panting.

“Been wanting to do that since I saw you your first day here, City Girl,” admits Frankie, eyes tender and sincere as he rests his forehead against yours.

Leaning in to lightly peck his lips, you’re surprised but can’t help teasing, “What took you so long, Morales?”

Frankie chuckles, though his eyes flash with a bolt of insecurity, “Wasn’t sure you would want to.  Benny said something about how he wanted to try and set you up with Will.”

Your face scrunches up with astonishment - so Jenny wasn’t just being facetious!  But you quickly cup Frankie’s face and run your thumbs reassuringly through his adorable scruff, “I don’t know anything about that.  But what I do know is that I can’t resist a kind hearted, handsome man who goes out of his way to take care of me, never judges me and makes me feel comfortable without pushing me to be someone I’m not.  You, Frankie – I can’t imagine wanting anyone but you to kiss me.”

Taking this as the invitation it is, Frankie slots his mouth over yours once more.  This second kiss is slower, deeper, and full of promise.  You sigh as Frankie’s tongue slides over yours in a slow and intimate waltz and his lips find yours again and again and again.

“Querida,” he murmurs, “when we get back to the city, can I take you out to dinner?”

Grinning at having earned yourself another nickname, you tuck yourself into the nook under Frankie’s chin and press one, two, three soft kisses to his neck while nodding, “I’d love that, Frankie.”

The next morning you wake up well rested, with a strong arm banded over your body and Frankie’s hard chest pressed up against your back.  Slipping slowly back to consciousness, you can’t help but smile as the memories of the previous night come flooding back.  Frankie came back up to your cabin with you and stayed to keep you company as he had the previous nights, but instead of games or spa treatments, he kept you awake with the hard and soft kisses of his expert mouth and innocent touches that by the end of the night, didn’t feel quite so innocent anymore.  Lips swollen after hours of making out, Frankie had tucked in with you under the covers and held you close, lulling you to sleep with evenness of his breathing and the soothing rise and fall of his chest.  Rolling over, you find Frankie already slowly blinking awake, “Good morning, City Girl.  Did you sleep okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Slept perfect, Frankie.  Coziest night here with my own personal furnace.”

Frankie chuckles, “I like waking up with you like this, pretty girl.  Like seeing you wearing my clothes, too.”

Shyly, you gaze into Frankie’s eyes, heart beating faster at his look of adoration, “I like it too, Frankie.  Waking up with you, wearing your clothes.”

After some tender and sweet kisses under the covers, the two of you manage to get out of bed so you can pack and get ready for the trip home.

Right before he closes the door to the Screened-In Veranda Cabin, Frankie turns around, “Wanna ride with me on the way back, City Girl?”

“Sure!  What about Santi and Will?”  You can’t help but get excited about the prospect of a long road trip with Frankie.

“They can go with Benny.  Or Tom.  Well at least Santi can ride with Tom.  Don’t think Tom’s sisters will let Will into Tom’s truck,” Frankie looks genuinely amused and you once again spot that cute dimple make an appearance in his right cheek.

“Omigod!  I meant to ask Jenny about that – what happened??”

Frankie throws you a heart-stopping wink, one that nearly sends your knees buckling, “Tell you on the way home, querida.”

---

A few hours later, everyone’s packed bags are stowed in their respective cars, the cabins locked, boats put away for the winter, and sheets and laundry stripped to go back to the city to be cleaned.

“Ready to go, City Girl?” grins Frankie, “Bet you can’t wait to get home.”

Buckling your seatbelt and looking fondly at the sweet man who made sure you felt seen and cared for this week, you say, almost wistfully, “It’s not that bad here.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, Frankie nuzzles your nose affectionately with his before putting the car in reverse.  Steering the wheel one-handedly with his other big paw cupping the back of your headrest, he winks, “Cottage country ain’t got nothing on cabin country, am I right, querida?”

You giggle as he straightens out the car and take the hand that Frankie’s holds out to you over the centre console, “Only the cashmere sweaters, but other than that, nothing.”

Frankie brings your hand up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles as he starts down the windy dirt road in the direction of the city, “An easy fix for next time, City Girl.” 

Biting your lip to keep from smiling too much, you nod happily in agreement.  Next time.

[pedrorascal]

[moodstabilizr]

FIC RECS ㅤ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

𐚁 joel miller ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

❂- sweet child o’mine @macfrog

❂- sex on fire @macfrog

❂- roommates @punkshort

❂- helen @kiwisbell

❂- on strawberries and masonry @hellowoolf

❂- so much to lose @auteurdelabre

❂- i know who you are @punkshort

❂- just and just as @familyvideostevie

❂- the meaning of it all @familyvideostevie

❂- talking body @joelsdagger

❂- jet & ghost @macfrog

❂- all the things i would do @joelsdagger

❂- pretty baby @mrsmando

❂- garter @softlyspector

❂- meet me in the back @atticrissfinch

❂- meet me in the woods @pedgito

❂- i know it when i see it @bageldaddy

❂- fwb!joel @hier--soir

❂- under the night sky @hier--soir

❂- patrols @pedgito

❂- dilf!joel @notjustjavierpena

❂- sundown @bageldaddy

❂- mechanic!joel @alltheirdamn

❂- nicest thing @schnarfer

❂- the way we were @punkshort (my comfort fic :,))

❂- every breath you take @freelancearsonist

𖤓 frankie morales 𖤓

•- on call @luxurychristmaspudding

•- table for two @hellishjoel

•- do me yourself @undercoverpena

•- acts of service @swiftispunk

•- emergency contact @javiscigarette

•- i like the way you @undercoverpena

•- freckle confessions @rocketrhap3000

•- the weekend getaway @absurdthirst

•- endurance @schnarfer

♱ javier pena ♱

✦- javi&wife @notjustjavierpena

✦- go your own way @schnarfer

✦- accident @promisingyounglady

🕸️ aegon ii targaryen🕸️

✦- fell into love like a sword

✦- the rats @nebulaafterdark

✦- dinner and diatribes @officialaemondtargaryen

✦- the heavenly ivory touch of your hand @thekinslayed

✦- aegons bday social media au (not a fic but these are so cute) @axelsagewrites

☾ 𖥔 ݁ ellie williams ☾.𖥔 ݁

•- affinity @whore-era

•- invisible string theory @total-dxmure

•- marley & me @total-dxmure

•- dare to be stupid @undressrehearsal

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ abby anderson ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

•- high strung @hier--soir

•- the waters warm @ilovepedro

•- good luck, babe! @studioghibelli

i am going to add more im just lazy

♡

pls send me some of ur favs too:)

[pedgito]

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

[almostempty]

omg

WHAT A DREAM! I need my doctor to prescribe one Frankie for my insomnia, I just KNOW he’d cure it 🫠

^ me, but somehow every single day

I neeeeeed him! Lemme wake that man up and hear is extra deep morning voice holyyy shit

When he’s finally lucid and takes charge??!! 🙌🫠😭

AN OBSERVANT AND CONSIDERATE MAN??? WHERE CAN I ORDER ONE

She is meeeeee!! Channel that energy heheheh

Ummmmmm, I love those two!! I love their dynamic. He’s so patient and tender and knows how to use that mouth 🫡 I need him in my bed, like right now!

tag me in everything pls 💗

Give me more.

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 2527 Rating: +18, MDNI

Summary: You're ovulating and can't calm down, just the night before Frankie leaves for a two-day camping trip with the boys for Santi's birthday... luckily Frankie is willing to help you... too much, even.

Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, a lot of kissing, female masturbation (on Frankie's leg hehehe), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), overstimulation, aftercare, reader has breasts and vagina, wears a baby doll and a thong, she's able body, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described and she has no other description, brief reader’s thought insert, marked in italics. Pussy pronouns. Pet names (baby, honey, good girl). Frankie is our PEK on a mission 🫡

A/N: This Frankie is the same as You look like a fun place to sit, but it can be read as a stand alone, there are only some mild references to the previous ff. (If you haven't read it yet though, I hope you do 👀♥️) I have a couple more ideas in mind for these two, I hope to have something out for the Christmas holidays at least. Thank you so much for loving these two in the previous story, especially to @harriedandharassed who read it and shared it like 3 times if I'm not mistaken, I'm so flattered and grateful. I hope this one works just as well as the first one. English is not my first language, I have no beta, I hope there aren't too many mistakes, please forgive me if there are. I'm open to any advice you want to give me to improve but please be kind. (you always are, tbh). Comments and reblogs are always welcome, you would make me so happy 🥹 I started a tag list, if you want to be added leave a comment. If you'd prefer to be tagged only on something specific I can definitely do that, just let me know.

Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you enjoy.

“Frankie...” you whisper in the dark.

“Yes?” he answers you in a thick sleepy voice

“Are you asleep?”

“Actually yes.”

“You're answering me, though.”

“Sweetheart...” he picks up his phone from the nightstand ”It's 3:00 a.m. What's wrong?”

“I can't sleep” you groan

“Come here, come on” you shift on his part of the bed and he holds you tightly against his body, you rest your head on his chest and surrender to his comforting embrace and the scent of his skin.

You hum “thank you”

He places a kiss on your forehead “sleep now”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sense of peace you feel wrapped in his strong arms, clasped to his body as warm as a furnace, one leg crossed over his, one arm wrapped around his waist.

It's amazing, really, so amazing that soon you begin to feel something else. a little shiver that runs under your skin, a little electric shock that goes through you all, and then a crescendo of wetness between your thighs.

You’re ovulating and you’re feral, simple as that.

You try not to mind it, to let it pass, not to be too demanding after he has already made you come twice tonight, once on the couch while you were watching a movie - well at least you tried, but you actually have no idea what the movie was about because you were too busy bouncing on his cock, which when you think back on it, it makes you laugh because it seems like a constant in your dating that you can't finish watching a movie without jumping on each other - and once as soon as you got into bed when he saw you coming out of the bathroom in a new babydoll and thong you bought especially for him.

Only two months ago neither of you could stand the other but now, as much as it still bothers you to admit it since he was the last person you thought you would end up with, you are completely and hopelessly smitten with him.

“Frankie,” you whisper, hoping he won't tell you off “can we kiss for a while? Just a little bit?”

It’s so early in the morning that he doesn't have the energy to be sarcastic as usual, he just replies “of course, baby”

He lowers himself on your face and kisses you on the lips, in a very tender but rather chaste way, he still looks half asleep. After a couple of minutes he stops and you sigh, resting your head back on his chest. 

I must let him sleep, you tell yourself. This man is tired, he has already fucked me twice, that should be enough for now. Yet no, it's not enough, you still crave more.

“Frankie.." you mumble on his chest.

“Mmm what is it again?” his voice is even deeper and rougher than usual, which literally sends you into raptures.

"I..." a glimpse of him between your legs as he eats your pussy flashes past your eyes, you squeeze them hard and admit "I want you"

“Still?” he doesn't have an angry tone, nor an irritated one, he's calm, quiet, definitely awake at this point because you feel his hands roam over your back, all the way down to your ass “you insatiable little minx. You know I have to get up in three hours.” 

“I know...but it's not fair, it's Saturday” 

‘You were there when I promised to go camping and fishing with the guys, right?’ You leverage your arms to reach his neck, resting your lips on his soft, amber skin ”mmmm yes” you groan.

He chuckles, as he squeezes your butt cheeks “you know I have to, it's Santi's birthday” 

You continue your run up his neck, slipping your hands under his shirt, caressing his back.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper in his ear, burying a hand in his dark curls, your leg tightening around him brushing your barely covered pussy on his leg. Frankie gasps at the sensation, as you begin to grind against his thigh. “It’s only for two days. Jesus, you really are a menace, you know that?” 

“Yeah, you like that about me” You coo.

He puts a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing your ear while his other fingers wrap around the base of your skull. “I sure do. Go ahead, honey, make a mess on me”

You’re grinding hard, the texture of your brand new thong is adding a delicious scratch between your clit and his skin. 

Ridiculous desperate moans escape your lips and he kisses you, letting them vibrate into his mouth. 

He’s wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, which allows you to feel his warm skin, your clit throbbing against him, your dripping pussy heating from the contact.

You feel the tingle of your orgasm mount inside you, your mouth is wide open for him, your tongue feverishly entwined with his in a sweet struggle that leaves you breathless.

And you come, wave after wave, quivering against him, one of his strong arms keeps you in place while his other hand is still wrapped around your neck squeezing lightly on your pulse point.

Your breath is short and ragged, your body hot and tested and yet you feel like it’s not enough.

As soon as your breathing returns to normal you mutter “gosh...I want more” into his slightly sweaty t-shirt.

His voice comes out more high pitched than he would like, he opens his eyes wide and exclaims, "Baby, do you want to wreck even the last bit of me tonight?”

You giggle softly and coo “She’s aching, you know…”

You feel one of his hands kneading one of your ass cheeks and then sliding down to your pussy, massaging your folds from behind, wetting his fingers with your juices.

“Mmm that’s good” you whisper “but I still want more”

Frankie grunts, flipping you onto your back on the bed and getting on top of you. 

His eyes scan you in the dim light of your room, reading the lust on your face. “How much is she aching?” 

You whine, tighten your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer but Frankie doesn't budge an inch, he's too strong for you.

“Use your words, baby, I know you can.” His gaze is no longer clouded by sleep, it’s alert and authoritative and he pins you down. 

“A lot.” 

“Yeah? Does this wet pussy need me?” he goes down your chest kissing your skin left uncovered by the thin straps of your baby-doll. You moan again, you don't know how to do anything else, your head feels light and confused. 

"Answer me" he says leaving a bite on your shoulder. 

You squirm and a breathy "Yes" comes out of your throat.

You feel his cock swell against your thigh, A trickle of desire runs down between your legs, wetting the thong you're wearing underneath. It’s basically drenched at this point.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me what your naughty pussy needs" 

“Your tongue, your fingers…” you whine “Please, Frankie” 

One thing you learned right away about Frankie is that he really enjoys eating his girl out. 

He's not one of those men who do it just to get a blowjob in return. He's dedicated. He uses his tongue, his lips, his nose even, he compliments how you taste, how pretty your cunt is, how wet and warm she is under his tongue, he doesn't stop until you're left shaking and breathless beneath him, until he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you. 

He really is a force of nature and blows your mind every single time. And not only at doing that, he is experienced and passionate in every field.

“Greedy”

He pulls back the duvet and the cool air hardens your nipples as he reaches between your legs, his lustful, tantalizing eyes peering down at you. 

His mouth brushes your inner thigh, slowly moving up from your knee to your groin, his beard tickling you deliciously, “is that what you want huh?” 

“Yes” you murmur ”yes, please.” 

His plump lips settle on your opening, he sticks out his tongue and licks from above the fabric. You moan, sinking a hand into his raven curls, pressing him against your cunt. 

He chuckles against your folds, sending an exquisite vibration through your body, slips his fingers into the elastic of your thong and slowly pulls it down. 

Your cunt throbs in anticipation as his tongue travels up your slit and you emit a deep “Fuck, yes” as soon as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking away the last bit of reasoning you had left. 

“Oh God, Frankie” 

He goes down again and comes back up, tongue flat out sliding over your wetness, once, twice, three, four times as an irrepressible heat spreads inside you again and then the tip of his tongue stops under your clit and he begins to jerk it quickly with close flicks.

His hand is open on your thigh, he slows down a bit when he feels your body tenses, goes back to teasing your opening and then starts tickling your bundle of nerves again.

You tug his hair, spreading your legs even wider to take in all that he wants to give you, melting under his ministration.

“Fuck, you’re so good, don’t stop” you whine and you see him grinning as he replies “I won’t, baby, I’m going to have a damn fucking meal out of this pussy”

His touch is careful, long laps and sucks on your clit, he knows how to alternate them, he seems to know your body and the way it reacts inside out.

Another thing you discovered about him is that he is great at listening and observing and very often guesses your needs and reactions before you express them. He immediately learned how you take your coffee, how you frown when something is bothering you, he knows that you need a particularly tight hug on Monday nights, and that on Friday nights you like to treat yourself to a drink to celebrate getting to the end of another work week.

Frankie is good, really good, you even start to really like quarreling with him, you like the way he stands up to you, the thrill of it and the amazing sex that usually comes right after. 

He brings you almost to the edge with his tongue without taking his eyes off your face, and then you feel two of his fingers nudging at your entrance “you want them huh?” 

“Yes” you breathe, almost on the verge of delirium and he teases “ask nicely baby, I haven’t heard that little magic word yet” 

You would roll your eyes if you were able to do that but right now all you feel is desire, desire to be full again with his fingers, desire to be fucked just like the way you like, desire to be his and only his. 

“Pl-please” you mutter and he whispers “here she is, my good girl” 

His index and middle finger start to stretch you, it seems like he’s taking all the time in the world while you’re trembling and begging to be satiated.

“Almost there pleasepleaseplease”you plead and he sinks a little bit more, up to half fingers, his other hand gripping on the soft skin on your tummy, keeping you in place while your back feels like a guitar’s string ready to snap.  

Your walls are clenching desperately around his fingers, impatient to have all but instead of giving you your long awaited release he comes out completely. 

"Fuck" you hiss. 

His lips are curved into a mocking smirk.

Your clit is swollen, your hole empty and the almost release is tingling all over your body like a latent fire that cannot be extinguished.

“Did you think I would make this easy for you?” He asks ironically.

You scoff “Goddamn,Frankie!” 

You don't know how he finds strength but he's making you pay for be so demanding, your pussy won't stop throbbing as he barely caresses you, feather light touches on your folds, deliberately ignoring your clit. 

You try to breathe deeply to calm down, but as soon as Frankie feels your body relax he returns to licking you, two fingers on your clit moving in circles. 

You're almost on the verge of tears when he brings you back to within an inch of your brink.

“Frankie, please” you cry “I can’t- fuck- I just can’t”

“Oh yes, you can. You wanted more? I’m going to give you exactly this so now shut up and let me do my job” he’s commanding now.

He’s slow and steady over your bundles of nerves and when you impossibly tense again his mouth is back on it, sucking and teasing with his tongue.

When he gives you your second orgasm he doesn't stop stimulating you as it washes over you, your back arches sharply, you’re gushing in his mouth and all over his face, your hand in his hair tugs to try to pull him away from you but he doesn't move, his lips stubbornly latched onto your clit, his hand firmly on your tummy while the other grips your thigh. 

He doesn't stop as you anchor yourself to the edge of the mattress trying to lift yourself up, your body twitching unbearably, he pulls you by your legs and brings you right back to where he wants you without taking his face off you, in fact sinking even more. “Frankie please, please, I can't” you feel tears stinging your eyes. 

You feel so sensitive it’s almost impossible to handle. 

“Ssssh you’re good” he says, detaching from you just long enough to say it, his beard and mustache glistening and soaked in your essence.

You squeeze your eyes, cover your mouth with your hand as you wail so gravelly it almost doesn’t sound your voice anymore. 

You're overstimulated, your body is sore, you murmur a tearful “please” again, and Frankie finally decides you've had enough. He pulls away from you and takes you in his arms as he whispers, “You're okay, honey,” caressing your back. Your labored breathing slowly returns to normal, giving way to a deep, dense feeling of gratification. 

Frankie definitely reached another level of dedication tonight. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks as he lifts your chin, inviting you to look at him. "Yes," you murmur, and he kisses you tenderly, "do you think I've given you enough to deal with my absence for two days?”

You giggle “I think it's enough to endure a week” and ruffle his hair kissing him again, lingering on his lower lip “But let me tell you something, though, someone they call Catfish who goes fishing… it's really odd”

The sound of his thunderous laugh vibrates against you “I hadn't thought about it but I must admit that you are right. Now let me sleep for...I don't even know what time it is anymore” He reaches out an arm to retrieve the phone on the nightstand and realizes that it is already five o'clock.

“Oh, fuck”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter 🌹

[mdawgswizzleinthehizzle]

curls curls curls curls

[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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