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604to647 · 4 months ago

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Strawberry Shortcake (part 2 of 2)

13.4K / Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Summary: How are you supposed to avoid Frankie when your son and his daughter are becoming best friends?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Angssssst and mutual pining. Single parenthood, mention of the death of a spouse, divorce (no detail). Mention of f!masturbation, slow burn, nicknames (Shortcake, baby, hermosa), minor appearance by TF boys. Everyone is a dummy. Wee bit of spice for these dummies at the end (no spoilers but let’s just say Frankie may be a dad, but he's also daddy).

A/N: Uhhhh sorry for the word count 🫣 Thank you so much for the lovely reception to Part 1 🥹🍓🍰The feel of this part is very different than the first; due to the setting of Part 1, it was a lot more sensual. This part is more domestic, almost a friends-to-lovers slow burn - I hope people who liked the first part will still find it enjoyable 🫣 Unfortunately, Frankie does not get 🍴😺 in this part (spoiler) which is honestly just a darn shame, so I wrote an Epilogue that I will post together with Part 2, which is a bit more of mixed vibe of the two previous parts. Thank you for reading!

Part 1 / Epilogue / Series Masterlist 🍓🍰

Strawberry dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘🍓

It could be two seconds. Possibly a whole minute. Maybe even ten.

You honestly can’t tell how long you and Francisco stand outside the kindergarten class room staring at each other.

At a loss for words, you don’t even know how to begin a conversation that you couldn’t have imagined ever having. You never thought you’d see Francisco again, and certainly not under these circumstances – that he has a daughter is entirely news to you, though not unfair. Afterall, he didn’t know you have a son. During your time together, you had omitted certain personal details out of self preservation and it would seem, so did he.

After you had left the club, Francisco remained an ever-present figure in your fantasies: your handsome and courteous gentle giant who made you feel safe and desired, and whose touch you only knew once – a first and last kiss that still makes your body strum just to recall. His soft looks and soulful expressions dominated your nighttime dreams and sometimes even your daytime ones. He wasn’t supposed to come to life.

And yet, here he is, standing in front of you looking even more striking than you remember. Your memories failed to capture the way his brown eyes fleck with gold, or the way the facial scruff you loved running your fingers through is adorably patchy in that one spot along his left jawline. His hair is slightly longer than you remember, but the curls that peek out from beneath his familiar Standard Oil cap look to be just as touchable as the ones you’d twist around your fingers in that private room at the club.

Your fingers itch as if recalling some latent muscle memory, but it’s Francisco who moves first.

Stepping forward, he approaches you with his hand out to shake yours, “Hi, I’m Frankie. Valentina’s dad.”

Oh.

That’s what you’re doing. You’re pretending you’ve never met before.

Your heart constricts painfully in your chest as you reciprocate his gesture and introduce yourself as your son’s mother. Francisco’s smile at your name is kind, but you see nothing more to it behind his eyes.

It’s not lost on you that this is the first time Francisco has reached out and touched you of his own volition. Unless you counted that soft kiss you had felt on your back after he helped you redress on your last night together; in this moment, you think you must have imagined it – perhaps it would be best not to count it at all.

Frankie’s warm, firm hand lets go of your softer one as quickly as he had grasped it, darting past you to shake the hands of the other parents standing in the same hallway. You turn and smile, introducing yourself as well, and for the next several minutes your small group of parents makes small talk about your children and continue to sneak peeks into the kindergarten classroom until the teacher comes to close the door with a reassuring smile.

Once the remaining parents have said their polite goodbyes, you turn to look for Francisco but find that he’s already left the building. You see his retreating figure halfway down the path to the parents’ parking lot, walking hurriedly.

He can’t get away from you fast enough, you realize, devastated.

You manage to hold your tears in until you park outside of work. Sitting in your car, you sob stupidly. You had thought of Francisco every day since you left The Midnight Palace. Wondered if he had been hurt when he had come back and found out you had left. Thought about what he might be doing and if work at the hangar was less stressful these days. Fantasized about where your relationship might be if you had met and dated like regular people. Heard his soft voice in your head while in bed, guiding your hand between your legs and bringing you to a thundering climax to images of his handsome face, playful smirk and lustful gaze. But never in your wildest imagination did you think he would pretend not to know you.

The rest of your work day is filled with free floating thoughts about Francisco popping up to distract you from your work - all depressing.

Could he be married? You suppose you had never asked, just assumed he wasn’t from the lack of ring. With some distress, you allow that you didn’t know he had a child - a hidden wife wouldn’t be too farfetched.

Suddenly ashamed, you realized that while there had definitely been some kind of connection, due to the nature of how you met, every physical advance had been made by you. You were the one who had pushed forward your physical relationship, taking every next step that he had never asked for.

No. You can’t bring yourself to believe it. The Francisco you had met didn’t seem like the type to cheat – he had been honourable, respectful, kind. But then again, it’s possible you didn’t know him at all, you concede sadly.

Maybe his reaction this morning’s reaction had been due to shock. You had felt it as well, and you suppose everyone processes the unexpected differently. Perhaps after school you’ll get a chance to speak with Francisco, or rather Frankie, and the two of you can figure this out together.

But pick-up goes much the same as drop-off. You see Frankie among the other parents waiting in the hall, amiably chatting, and though he acknowledges you with a small nod when he sees you join the conversation, he otherwise ignores you. You’re grateful for when the bell rings, not sure how much longer you can maintain a neutral expression and keep the tears prickling the corners of your eyes at bay.

The children stream out of the room in a sudden burst of activity, each ramming themselves into a waiting parent, excitedly chatting about their day. Your full attention happily turns to Raynor, and you don’t even realize that Frankie has left until you see him drive by on the way to your car, Valentina’s smiling face pressed up against the back window waving wildly to your son.

And it’s the same every day after: simple salutations and impersonal small talk at drop-off and pick-up. More often than not, Frankie barely looks at you - he’s never rude or unkind, but disappointingly detached and uninterested. It’s as if those summer nights in that private room never happened, or worse, they did but didn’t mean to him what they had meant to you. It becomes painfully clear to you that they didn’t.

Some time during the third week of school, an epiphany hits you like a ton of bricks: he’s embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. And while you don’t think it’s warranted, you can empathize. Maybe he’s embarrassed to have seen the mother of his daughter’s friend half naked. Or maybe he’s embarrassed that someone outside his army buddies knows how often he frequents a strip club. As far as you could tell, he had been candid and honest with what he did choose to share with you in that room, and perhaps he hadn’t expected those raw and vulnerable feelings to be known by someone he would see nearly every day. Maybe he was just embarrassed by it all, you. It crushes you that what are cherished memories for you would cause Frankie any distress, but you’re not so unfeeling that you would want to force him to feel any more discomfort than he already does.

So, you don’t push and you don’t engage; you let Frankie ignore you and even though your heart is broken, you can’t find it within you to harbour any malice towards this man who was once the source of so much comfort and desire.

This works as well as it can until Raynor starts asking if he can have a playdate with Valentina.

“Just call her.”

Completely useless advice. His friends are full of absolute nonsense suggestions.

Frankie has no idea what to do. You’re slipping away again and he has no clue how to coax you back to him. And neither do Santi, Will or Benny, apparently.

Every recommendation they make is predicated on Frankie having not made a total ass of himself since the start of school. So absolutely useless. Frankie presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and groans in frustration. You’re an idiot, Morales.

On that first day of school, he had been so preoccupied with comforting Valentina that he hadn’t noticed you until you turned around in that hallway. It was you – in a much more covered up state of dress, hair and face softer in the light of day that he had been used to, but it was you.

A million emotions race through his very soul the second he recognizes your face: shock, disbelief, relief, desire being the most prominent. Frankie’s immediate instinct is to pull you into his arms and cup your pretty face in his hands – to trace every slope and line with his fingers (and maybe his lips) to make sure you were real.

Fuck. He had missed you so much.

Returning to The Midnight Palace two weeks after that unforgettable kiss, Frankie had been confused, then worried when you weren’t there. He knew you were planning on going back to your lab assistant job at the end of the summer, but that wasn’t supposed to be for a few more weeks. Your unexpected absence left him hallow and worried, realizing that he actually knew very little about your life – something could have happened to you and he would never know. He had sat stage side with the boys, fidgeting and anxious the whole night; eyes darting to the employee entrance every time there was movement - thinking, hoping you might walk in and flash him that drop-dead gorgeous smile of yours that he took comfort in every day.

But you never showed.

And two weeks later you still weren’t there. After Frankie had sulked for hours, terrifying the new cocktail waitress with his scowl, Will had taken pity on him and asked Sasha, the dancer from whom you borrowed the strawberry scented glitter gel that he loved so much, and that’s when he finally learned that you had left three weeks ago.

Frankie was despondent. He hadn’t felt the way he felt about you in a really long time and he had harboured secret hopes that the two of you might try take what you shared in the private room out of the club, into the real world. After one too many pep talks from his friends, he finally worked up the courage to ask you out only to discover you gone for good, leaving him no way to find you. The boys tried to cheer him up by offering to buy him a lap dance, but Frankie had refused – he didn’t want it. He wanted you. He had cut the night short and hadn’t joined his friends at The Midnight Palace since; he didn’t need your absence thrown in his face on a regular basis.

He dreams of you constantly. Hazy, dimly lit dreams illuminated by that smile he can’t forget; flashes of soft curves and barely-there wisps of fabric that laid snug overtop. Your lithe fingers dance into his mind’s eye until his sensory memory kicks in and his skin prickles while he sleeps, remembering how it felt when you would touch him – silky soft caresses along the worn lines of his face, lips, hands that always made him long for more of you. He wakes up hard and missing you more than when he went to sleep, deflating when he remembers that he’ll never feel your touch again.

Now here you are and it’s not a dream. You’re here. Close enough to touch.

But just as Frankie is about to reach for you, two things happen simultaneously. The first is he realizes the two of you aren’t alone and that a few other kindergarten parents stand behind you. He suspects that you might not want to share your reunion with strangers or field any potential questions about how the two of you might know each other.

The second is that he’s hit with a wave of crippling doubt. What if you weren’t happy to see him? Maybe you hadn’t thought and dreamt of him every day since that last, incredible encounter together like he did you. Afterall, you hadn’t left him a note or any way to contact you; perhaps you had put him out of your mind and left him behind as a memory of the summer, much like you did the club.

So, at the very last second Frankie pivots and shakes your hand, introducing himself then immediately does the same with the other parents, not wanting to single you out in front of them.

The look of hurt on your face flashes for only a millisecond, but Frankie sees it. He immediately regrets his actions, but as the subsequent minutes tick by, filled with inconsequential small talk among the parent group, he can’t think of a way to recover and like a coward, he runs.

Frankie meant to start over with you at pick-up, but once more the two of you aren’t alone so he again opts for a polite interaction over an overly familiar one. And then his priority is Valentina, as yours was your son, and the chance to reconnect once again slips through his fingers.

It’s same the next day and the next, and the following week and the one after that, until it’s been so long and the list of things left unsaid between the two of you grows overwhelming, that even if you had missed him and wanted to rekindle something, you most certainly didn’t anymore. Maybe you even hated him a little.

So, Frankie resigns himself to having what he can of you without crossing any lines, just like it was for him back at the club. He steals glances at you at school when you’re not looking and catches up on your life based on what he overhears you sharing with other parents or when he’s lucky enough to be part of the group you’re addressing. The more he learns about you, the more he admires you – you make juggling parenthood and an impressive career look easy. You were still the sweet and gentle creature he had fallen for over the summer, but now he knows you to be whip smart and a wonderful mom. He didn’t think you could be any sexier or more beautiful than how he remembered you, but he’s happily proven wrong day after day.

And you still smell like strawberries.

Sometimes it takes all of Frankie’s self control not pull you into his embrace and spill out his feelings right there in front of your children’s hung artwork, so he tries not to look at you too much.

His heart calls for you. But you aren’t his to have. Maybe you never were.

It’s possible that Frankie may have just gone on living with this ever-present dull ache in his heart, resigned to being near but so terribly far away from you, if it weren't for his darling precocious daughter who insisted on being best friends with your son.

Fed up with her father’s evasive answers and non-committal promises of talking to you about a playdate, young Valentina Morales decides that she’s going to try her hand at those “good decisions” her teacher is always talking about. She and her best friend Raynor whisper secretly as they exit their classroom at the end of the day, looking up in tandem when they’ve stopped right in front of you.

“Raynor’s mom? Could Raynor and I have a playdate?” Valentina smiles sweetly.

“Oh!” they’ve surprised you but not really - Raynor has been ask for the same for the past two weeks. Your son and his best friend look up expectantly at you, eyes full of hope and excitement – manipulative little buggers, you chuckle to yourself. Valentina’s little smile is especially beguiling; Francisco must never be able to say no to this face.

Francisco. Right. You look up to see Frankie looking at his daughter with a mortified expression – you almost laugh out loud. Yep, it’s clear who the boss in the Morales household is.

You kneel down to get to the kids’ level, “Alright. How about this, girly-pop? I’m taking to Ray-ray to the aquarium this weekend and if,” you pause here for effect and reiterate again, “if your father says it’s okay, you should definitely come with us and we can get lunch, and catch the walrus show, and stick our hands in the touch pools until they tell us to stop. What do you think?”

Valentina and your son nod their little heads eagerly. You smile at them and then up at Frankie, the two of you exchanging soft, familiar smiles.

“What about right now?”

Your head snaps back to your son and his friend, the two of them now smiling conspiratorially.

“Mama, Valentina says her and her dad are going to the park right now. Can we go too?”

Ohhhh… you had underestimated these two. Completely unable to come up with an excuse on the spot, you open and close your mouth two or three times, “Well… um… I’m sure that… uh…”

Frankie saves you, “If you’re free, we’d love for you and Raynor to join us at the park. It’s the one a few blocks from here and we were just going to walk.”

You look at Francisco, wide-eyed. This might be the most he’s spoken to you since the start of school; this smidgen of attention shouldn’t make your heart beat the way it does, but you feel nervous and maybe even excited about spending some time with Frankie after all this time. Dumbly, you nod. The children cheer and high-five each other.

The walk to the park is short and easy, the children happily skipping hand in hand ahead of you and Frankie – but between the two of you, there is a vague undercurrent of tension that settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk. This is the first time since the club that you’ve been alone with Frankie – it’s funny, in the private room you wore nothing but your underwear and never felt as exposed as you do now.

The children run straight to the playground as you and Frankie settle on a nearby bench, sitting on opposite ends with snacks for the kids laid out between you.

Frankie opens a Tupperware container full of cut vegetables and unscrews a little container of ranch dip, sucking his fingers clean of any overspill; you can’t help but stare, practically drooling at the sight of him popping his thick, meaty fingers between his plush lips. When Frankie catches you looking, he chuckles and you avert your eyes quickly with a smile.

To save face, you say the first thing that comes to mind, “That’s a lot of snacks.”

The two of you share an easy laugh while Frankie offers you the container and you gladly select a few cucumber slices.

“Gotta have all the options,” explains Frankie, “Valentina changes her mind about food constantly. Never know if this is the week she decides grapes are evil.”

“Oh, Raynor is the same way. Some days I feel like the lunch I pack him is just performance art for the teacher.”

There’s a pause of quiet after you both chortle at the ridiculousness of your children’s eating preferences. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is palpable.

You find yourself obliged to fill the unaddressed divide between you and Frankie; you’re almost loathed to broach this topic, but you can’t be sure this new pleasantry isn’t a one-time thing so tentatively you ask, “Does Valentina’s mom ever do drop-off or pick-up? I work at home at night as part of my flexible hours arrangement so I can do both, but it can’t be easy as a mechanic and pilot.”

It’s the first time either of you has made even the slightest allusion to having known each other previously, and though you look nervous to have done it, Frankie finds it a relief that you broke the ice.

“Twice a month I work weekends to make up the hours, but the boss isn’t that strict – it’s Pope,” he grins, and you do too, having forgotten that his friend helped run the hangar Frankie worked at.

“Oh my goodness! How is he? How are Will and Benny?” you ask amiably.

“They’re all great – I don’t see Will and Ben as much as I do Santi, but at least once a week, they come by for tea time with Valentina,” Frankie grins.

Your giggles at this image are so pure and unadulterated, Frankie feels his heart lighten just from the sound. You seem to have forgotten the part of your original question about Valentina’s mom, but Frankie hasn’t, “… and Valentina stays every second weekend with her mom. Friday night to Sunday afternoon… so no school stuff.” He flits his eyes to the playground to check on the kids who are playing some type of pirate ship pretend, and mouths the word ‘Divorce’.

“Oh,” you nod, sympathetically, “I’m sorry.” You realize this explains why Frankie would only come in to the club every second Friday.

“It’s okay,” says Frankie, matter-of-factly, “it’s better this way. We’re both happier. And I think that’s a good thing for Valentina.”

You nod because you vehemently agree. From what you’ve seen of some of your friends’ marriages, divorce is hard on kids, but an unhappy household is worse. You follow Frankie’s lead and watch the kids for a bit too before you hear him hesitantly clear his throat, “And Raynor’s dad? He isn’t one for pick-up and drop-off?”

Eyes shiny, your tone is gentle, “Raynor’s dad passed when he was just a baby. He never knew him.” It’s been over five years and your grief still comes and goes, sometimes sharp, other times dull. Sometimes Raynor will do something that reminds you so much of your late husband, you find yourself locking yourself in the bathroom and sobbing. Other times, the resemblance will fill you with nostalgia and joy, and you’ll startle your son with your seemingly sudden burst of affection – you never really know how it will go, but you’ve learned to let it come in whatever form it chooses; just feel it and ride it out. Today, here with Frankie, it’s a small tug to your heart that prickles just a little so that tears mist your eyes but don’t spill over. You glance over at Frankie who’s looking at you with such a kind and loving expression that you have to turn away, afraid your naïve heart will misinterpret his look for feelings that don’t exist; you finish softly, “It was a car accident.”

Frankie feels his heart clench upon learning that you’re a widow. He would have never guessed. At the club, and during the limited time he’s spent with you at the school, you always seem to carry yourself with such an unflappable grace - voice gentle and laughter ready and light. That you do so having suffered such tragedy in your life makes him admire you more than he already does; Frankie’s heart is bursting with emotion and his hands itch to pull you in for a hug. Instead, he clenches his fists and says with as much tenderness as he can, “I’m sorry for your and Raynor’s loss.”

“Thank you,” you say softly; you don’t detect any pity in Frankie’s voice – only sympathy and compassion. You’re grateful for him.

You wouldn’t have predicted it, but this small moment of vulnerability seems to wash away all the awkwardness and hesitancy that you and Frankie never even acknowledged. Your conversation flows easily afterwards, much like it did back in that private room when you would sit in his lap and the two of you would just talk. Talking to Frankie now is as easy as it was then - he’s as good of a listener as you remember and his own stories and comments are shared with an infectious light humour, engaging and inviting. In fact, you end up so engrossed in the conversation, you absentmindedly eat half of Valentina’s snacks – for which Frankie teases you mercilessly. In response, you pull secret snack bags out of your purse and he doubles over in laughter, “You’ve been holding out on me!”

When the kids have had their fill of play and snack, your foursome starts on the walk back to the cars. During this time, you easily pull from Valentina that she prefers your snacks over her fathers; you mockingly pat Frankie on the shoulder and declare that it’s about variety. When Valentina pointedly says to you she hasn’t forgotten about the aquarium playdate, Frankie leans over and whispers, “Now we know why she said your snacks are better,” and you giggle uncontrollably. Frankie thinks his heart might burst out of his chest.

And that’s how your friendship with Frankie Morales begins.

He comes to aquarium on Sunday and the visit is beyond pleasant, all the more so due to the company – you and Frankie hang back while the kids walk hand and hand from exhibit to exhibit, only being called forth when they need an adult to read from info cards about the exotic marine life. The two of you chat animatedly with no awkward pauses, the only breaks coming from gentle looks exchanged when you pause to take in the happiness and joy of your children.

You have to admit, in the darkness of the aquarium, Frankie looks exceptionally handsome – reminding you a little of how he looked in the dim lighting at the club. The shadows cast by the watery tanks accentuate his strong jaw line and aquiline nose, making Frankie’s already striking profile all the more breathtaking. When you unexpectedly see him through the jelly fish tank, a gasp escapes on the soft exhale of your breath at how his expressive eyes catch the light reflecting off the water; he’s really so beautiful. You quickly look away so not to be caught in your ogling – the two of you have only begun to reconnect as friends; you don’t want things to go back to being awkward and stilted just because you can’t keep things appropriate.

The walrus and seal lion show put Raynor and Valentina in such high spirits, that you can’t bear to separate them so soon after; all agree to extend the playdate longer to a fun and lively dinner, where you and Frankie show off your crayon colouring skills on the restaurant placemats. The children declare your masterpieces to be a tie.

Your renewed ease with one another and Raynor and Valentina’s fast blooming friendship lead to more afterschool park playdates with Frankie during the week and you hosting playdates at your house on the weekends. Every so often, Frankie’s friends will organize an activity for the kids; it might be a small cookout, some mini sports game for the kids (t-ball, soccer, touch football), or even one of those famous tea parties that Benny likes so much – but Uncle Santi, Uncle Will and Uncle Ben welcome your son with open arms and you couldn’t be more grateful.

You don’t have any brothers, and one thing you’ve always felt a little insecure about is the lack of male figures in Raynor’s life – you don’t think it means anything’s missing, but the truth is you don’t know how what you can’t provide impacts your young son. You’re thankful for the positive male camaraderie energy and filial love that Frankie and his friends demonstrate and shower upon your son; when you tell Frankie this, his heart shatters and soars at the same time. He finds single fatherhood to be more challenging that he’s sometimes willing to admit, but in some ways, he chose it with open eyes – he can’t imagine what it must have been like to have Raynor’s father, your partner, ripped from you, and have to carry forth taking on both parental roles. Frankie thinks you’re doing a more than admirable job and when he tells you so, you cry a little.

You’ve watched Frankie as a father: he’s kind and doting, gentle and patient when he needs to be, and models for Valentina how to be selfless and considerate. Ever aware of his own and his daughter’s limits and boundaries, he keeps her safe while encouraging her in the most energetic and supportive way in all her endeavours. You find Valentina to be a charming, smart and forthright child, capable of a wonderful mix of compassion, sweetness and playfulness – her outgoing personality is such a welcomed compliment to your son’s sometimes more cautious nature; Raynor’s own strong confidence often tempering her impulsiveness. She’s such a lovely friend to Raynor and you find that you love her very much. You attribute so much of what you love about to Valentina to her fantastic father; for him to compliment your own parenting means the world.

As the months go on, the children’s ever more frequent playdates tie you and Frankie together for most days and even some nights. Daytime play easily extends to include dinners at your respective houses, and somehow dinners start to transition into movie nights on your couch that are spent with the four of you under blankets and passing the popcorn back and forth. On that first night of many where the kids fall asleep before the movie ends, you agree with Frankie that it would be a potential disaster to move Valentina too much when transporting her home and risk a full out melt down – you offer the guest bedroom as a much more amenable option. A relieved Frankie sleeps on the couch.

The next morning, the two of you wake before the children and meet in your kitchen, already bright with sunlight streaming in through the big bay window that overlooks your backyard. You realize with an ache that Francisco does smile at you in the morning light the way he used to in the club: soft and disbelieving. You hope he can’t hear the loud beating of your heart as you make coffee, and try to settle the racing of your heart before the two of your sit at your kitchen counter and enjoy the luxury of a warm cup of coffee in the quiet, a rare respite from needing to cater to the needs of your small children. The quiet conversation during what becomes a regular weekend morning occurrence is always comforting and comfortable; it confirms what you’ve always known: Frankie Morales is a catch.

During these tranquil mornings, there’s always a moment when you have to catch yourself from falling into the dangerous trap of admitting just how attracted to Frankie you are. Sometimes you do deep breathing exercises while you rinse out the coffee cups, other times, you’ll have to step away to ignore how sweet Frankie is when he draws smiley faces on the kids’ waffles with the whipped cream. But you always have to do something. You can’t let yourself fall for Frankie.

As your children grow closer, so naturally do you and Frankie, but neither of you ever bring up your past together at the club. Not a word about how you met or what you shared those months in the summer, and certainly no mention of that last night where you bared your body to him and the two of you shared a kiss that still haunts your dreams. Any time one of you alludes to something about the other that you could have only learned during your time together in the private room, you carry on without acknowledging how you might be privy to that tidbit. It’s as if it never happened. And while those summer months live in your memory as a time when you had felt special and desired, you accept it doesn’t hold the same sentiment for Frankie.

Frankie. Always Frankie. You never ever call or think of him as Francisco. Francisco is a man who only exists in your dreams – a fantasy who openly desired a you who was sexy, in control and mysterious. He was kind, respectful, and made you feel gorgeous and wanted. For your own sanity, you force yourself to separate him from Frankie. Frankie is the father of your son’s best friend. You’re no mystery to him: he sees you at your most frazzled, tired - when you forget it’s pizza day or when you’re so late for drop-off that you’re still tucking your shirt into your skirt while rushing Raynor down the path to school. He’s kind and respectful as well, but about different things – he understands your struggles as a single mom and knows just how to lift your spirits and encourage you when you need it the most or lends a helping hand with the kids and household tasks before you even had to ask. He makes your life happier, lighter.

Francisco had been yours for a short time, and for that you remain grateful, but he wasn’t someone you would ever hold or kiss; you’d never know him like you had known him for those sweet summer months. He was gone.

Frankie is your friend. He’s here now and you don’t ever want to lose him.

You don’t conflate the two men because you can’t – it’s too dangerous to want something that isn’t meant for you. So, you mourn Francisco and you cherish Frankie, always holding yourself back from loving him, except perhaps in the deepest, most secret chambers of your heart.

Raynor’s birthday party is in full swing. You found one of those bouncy castle rental places that set-up inflatables in people’s backyards for a totally reasonable price and now your backyard is full of happy, bouncy kids having the times of their lives tumbling and scrambling through giant blow up houses and castles; there’s even a maze that ends in a massive ball pit. There are kids from school, kids from the neighbourhood, a few of your friends and co-workers’ kids, and even some kids whose moms have moms that play mahjong with yours. Raynor is over the moon and as far as you’re concerned, the more the merrier.

Frankie and Valentina had come over before the party started; Valentina wanting to give her best friend his present early and maybe sneak in some extra bouncy castle time. While the kids bounced, Frankie helped you set-up tables and chairs and inquired if he could run the BBQ for you; you had protested, saying that you would be able to handle it, but Frankie insisted. Now that the party is underway, you have to admit that between greeting all the kids and parents, supervising the bouncy castles and making sure that drinks and snacks are readily available, you would have struggled to cook lunch as well. As a bonus, you admit, grinning to yourself, Frankie is looking pretty good at the grill.

Getting an early start on dishes before prepping the cake, you have the perfect view of Frankie through your kitchen window; turning over hotdogs with his tongs and plating cooked hamburger patties in an adorable blue apron, Frankie looks positively delicious. His tan face brightened by his good mood and sweat from the heat of the grill dotting his rugged neck, he’s smiling a smile that reveals his elusive dimple as he takes pride and joy in his domestic responsibility.

Maybe, you think, just maybe you can allow yourself just one moment of fantasy where the food Frankie’s currently grilling is the main course to a side salad you’re preparing in the kitchen of the house the two of you share. And he’ll come in when the meat’s done the way he knows you like and wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing sweet, but hungry kisses to your neck before murmuring cheekily that he really could eat. In your daydream, you squeal when he spins you around with blinding speed before sighing into the slow, tender kiss pressed to your lips.

And perhaps your imagination might even take your make believe even further if at that exact moment you didn’t see Amanda, your mom’s mahjong friend’s daughter sauntering up to the grill flirtatiously. The happy illusion you conjured dissolves as you watch her chat up Frankie and put her arm on his bulging bicep just before his piercing brown eyes crinkle and he throws his head back in a loud laugh at her touch.

Immediately, your eyes fill with tears and the devastating scene in front of you blurs. Unable to stop them from spilling over, you strip off your dishwashing gloves and run to the bathroom as quickly as you can; locking the door behind you, you lean over the sink and sob.

Stupid. Stupid. Why are you crying? Frankie isn’t yours.

If anything – he’s less likely to be yours than anyone else’s; the two of you forever separated by your shared past at the club that embarrasses him so. And yet, you can’t help wanting him, and not even Francisco, but Frankie – the considerate man who derives simple joy from helping others, whose unwavering support has made you a more lighthearted, joyful parent, and who has readily taken up the mantle of being a calm and stable presence in your son’s life. It seems this same Frankie can also be flirty and coy, but that was for other women. Not you.

Stupid. Stupid. He doesn’t want you.

But you still wanted him. Gosh, you wanted him so much. But he isn’t yours to have.

It's so dumb to cry over a boy, you tell the tear-stained you in the mirror. You grin, imaging yourself saying that to an older Valentina one day; but even that small comfort is ripped from you as you realize with sadness that it may not be your place. No. Frankie will meet someone, it’s inevitable. He’s sweet, smart, funny and kind, and stupidly gorgeous – one day, there will be a woman who captures his heart and then you’ll have to give up your friendship for fear of succumbing to a broken heart.

Wiping away your tears and cleaning up the best you can, you tell mirror you to get it together. It’s your son’s birthday – today is about him and not your pathetic pining over his best friend’s father. The comically accusatory look you give yourself galvanizes you enough to exit the bathroom, and you walk back to the kitchen ready to finish your chores and check in on the party. Instead, you find the object of all your desires and the source of your current distress waiting for you in the kitchen.

---

Frankie’s sweating – the BBQ is hot and the party guests are gobbling up everything he cooks before he even has a chance to put more on the grill. As sweltering as it is, he’s very glad to play grill master if it means one less thing for you to have to do. He’s spent most of the party watching you juggle your multiple roles with hurried grace: mom, party host, snack fetcher, drink refiller, clean-up crew, boo-boo fixer. When he saw you bravely dive into the ball pit to help a child find her lost shoe, he had grinned to himself so goofily he almost burned the chicken wings. He didn’t think he could be more hopelessly in love with you, but he should have known you would prove him wrong, as you often did with matters of his heart. The only downside to being stationed at the BBQ is that he hasn’t spent any time with you today. He thinks he saw you duck back into the house with a stack of dirty dishes – have you eaten today? He closes up the grill and does a quick check on Valentina and Raynor before plating you some food and heading in.

He's just been standing in the kitchen wondering where you were for a few minutes when you emerge looking a bit off coloured and somewhat startled to see him.

In what has now practically become second nature, Frankie forces his body to ignore the near constant urge to reach out to you – his immediate impulse being to hold you close and stroke your face with his fingers to soothe and comfort you. You wouldn’t want that, though.

Instead, he shows his concern another way; holding out the plate of food in front of him, he looks at you with some tenderness, “Have you eaten, Shortcake?”

Heart racing upon hearing this long lost term of endearment, you’re too stunned speak, able only to silently shake your head in response.

Frankie knows that you’ll come up with some excuse to put your needs behind that of the party goers, so he puts the plate down on and guides you to sit before you can do so, “You have to eat. I’ll keep an eye out on things from here.”

Admittedly, you’re starving and the food Frankie’s brought you smells mouth watering good; with a small nod of thanks, you acquiesce. For several minutes there’s a comfortable silence while you eat and Frankie looks out the window to keep watch on the party. Between bites, you gaze adoringly at the handsome profile of the sweet man before you - he knew you hadn’t eaten and he came to take care of you, feed you with food he cooked himself. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness and quietly you say, “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

Frankie looks back at you. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, “I didn’t think I should. Not in front of the other parents.”

You nod, understanding, “I guess it would be rather embarrassing to have to explain.”

Brows furrowing, Frankie looks at you for a beat before turning to face you fully, trying to keep his voice even, “I want you to know, I would never tell anyone about the club… please know, I’m not embarrassed by it and I don’t think you should be either… not saying you are, just that you don’t have any reason to be… but some people can be weird and judgemental about that kind of thing… I want you to rest assured that I won’t ever put you in a position like that.”

It’s the first time since the start of the school year that Frankie’s acknowledged how the two of you met or even mentioned the club – it never occurred to you that his avoidance of the topic was to protect you. For the billionth time since you met him, you’re touched by the considerate nature of this man, “Thank you, Frankie. I wasn’t worried that you would, but I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Always, Shortcake.”

The two of you exchange a soft smile, not unlike the ones you used to share back at The Midnight Palace, as if you’re each thinking back to your time together there. Afraid of becoming too wistful, Frankie jokes lamely, “Plus, I would be outing myself as a loser who has to pay a beautiful woman to talk to me every two weeks.”

Even if he’s saying it like a joke, there’s an undercurrent of melancholy to Frankie’s tone that you don’t understand – but you try to reassure him anyways, “No, no - don’t say that, Frankie. I could never think you’re a loser. And it was never about the money for me – I wanted to talk to you, really.”

Lifting his cap and running his hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck, Frankie chuckles softly, “Ok, thanks… that’s good to hear.”

It strikes you that he may be looking for some similar reassurance that you won’t “out” him, the way he had assured you, “And same here. I would never share that about you. You’re right, you never know how people might react to that kind of thing. I look back at the time we spend together so fondly and I’m so very appreciative of how well you treated me… I could never forgive myself if how we met somehow caused you any problems, or got in the way of anything you wanted. So, please don’t worry about me telling anyone either.”

Your wording choice seems a bit odd to Frankie, but still, his heart perks up a little to hear you say that your memories of your time together at the club are pleasant, and he simply says, “Ok, thank you.”

You didn’t realize that having this unspoken thing between you and Frankie had been like an albatross around your neck, but suddenly you feel a lot happier and cheery. Having finished your food, you clean up after yourself and head to the fridge, chirping, “Do you mind helping me with the cake?”

You know Frankie’s answer without even seeing him nod; this generous man has never turned down an opportunity to help you. When you place the cake in front of him, he beams, “Oooh! Strawberry shortcake! My favourite.”

Smiling, you say somewhat shyly, “I remember.” Your mind immediately travels back to sitting in Frankie’s lap, scantily clad, the very glitter gel that inspired him to tell you this fact about himself spread generously over the ample curve of your breasts. Frankie’s mind goes straight to the same memory and his face reddens.

Practically stuttering, you try to explain, “… but that’s not why I made it! Raynor requested the cake!”

Your flustering doing nothing but endearing you to him further, Frankie can’t help but tease, “Sure, sure.”

You swat at his arm, playfully, “He did!”

Grinning, Frankie lets you off the hook, “Okay, okay - lil’ dude has good taste in cake then.”

And though your heart is still far from healed, this is the best you’ve ever felt around Frankie, so reminiscent of how he and you would flirt and tease back when you first met, easy laughter always coming naturally to the two of you. You smile gratefully at him and pretend not to notice when he steals two strawberries off the top of the cake while you go to get the candles.

---

“Hey, come look.” Frankie calls to you softly from the kitchen doorway that leads to the living room. Putting down the containers of leftover food you were trying to fit into the fridge, you wander over to be greeted by the sight of Raynor and Valentina completely passed out on the couch.

A smile comes over your face when you hear their peaceful snores and you whisper to Frankie, “Can I admit something to you? It’s been ages since Raynor dropped his nap, but sometimes I really miss it.”

“Oh, I know. Sometimes I want to say to Valentina that she might be willing to give up naps, but I never agreed to forgo MY nap.” The two of you chuckle heartily.

If it were Friday or Saturday, you would offer to let them sleep and then stay up for a late sleepover, but tomorrow is the start of the school week, “What do you say we let them sleep for… an hour? Enough to burn off today’s sugar, but not too long to ruin bedtime?”

“Sounds good. I can help you clean up.”

You try to protest, Frankie has already helped so much with the party today, “Oh! Don’t feel like you need to at all! You’ve already helped me so much today, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You really can just put on some TV or something. Sit and relax, I’ll bring you a drink.”

Frankie cocks his eyebrow at you, and it takes you a minute to realize the humour in you offering to serve him a drink.

“No! That’s not what I was… shut up!” you laugh, spinning to return to the kitchen with Frankie following, snickering.

The two of you in good moods start to do the dishes, you washing and him drying – him knowing where to put things away, having done this with you many times over the last several months. It’s quiet and comfortable. You hum to yourself a little, and while you seem content – the party having gone off without a hitch, Frankie can’t help but remember the sad look on your face from when he had come into the kitchen earlier to bring you food. He could have sworn you had been crying.

“You had an okay day, Shortcake?”

You nod, “Just a little tired, maybe? But it was so worth it. The kids all had so much fun!”

It was just like you to put others before yourself, Frankie thinks; he finds it to be one of your sweetest traits, but wishes you would take care of yourself too. Maybe let someone take care of you. He tries to push down the plea from his heart that wishes he could be that someone.

He’d like to think he’s gotten rather good at reading you after all this time together and is sure that there’s something still bothering you. While he dries the dishes, he thinks back to your conversation earlier; it had a been a long time coming and he’s glad the two of you finally ripped the band aid off the one topic you never seemed to talk about. He didn’t know how heavily your opinion of the time you shared in the private room mattered to him until he heard you say that you looked back upon it fondly. Upon him fondly. That you hadn’t thought him a total creep. He had felt a weight lifted off him immediately, and in truth, a little hope started to burrow into his heart that maybe that time had meant something to you the way it did him. He suddenly recalls something you said that he remembers puzzling over, but hadn’t asked you about at the time.

“What did you mean earlier when you said you didn’t want how we met to ‘get in the way’? Get in the way of what? You said something I wanted.”

“Oh,” you look down, embarrassed at the tears that are starting to form at just the thought of Frankie dating, “I just meant… like you said, sometimes people get weird and judgmental about strip clubs… and if you were interested in someone… like that girl, Amanda? I wouldn’t… I mean…” You’re tripping over your words. The last thing you want to talk about is Frankie being interested in someone else, the whole concept feels like a vice around your heart. “… you shouldn’t be judged for something like how you and I met before they get a chance to know you. You’re so sweet and respectful, and just kind and such a good father… but… I… any girl would be lucky to date you. And I would never want to get in the way of that,” you finish lamely.

“Is that what you want, hermosa?” Frankie takes a step forward, causing you to look up.

There’s a look in Frankie’s eye that you haven’t seen before. No, wait – that isn’t exactly true. You’ve seen it before but on Francisco’s face. It was the expression he had sometimes when you would just look at each other, no words exchanged – one filled with longing and desperation.

“You want me to date other girls?” he practically spits out the words, as if they don’t belong anywhere near his mouth.

You don’t know how to answer, except honestly. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say quietly.

Frankie looks at your fallen face and thinks he might have to walk back his earlier self assessment that he knows how to read you. You seemed sad, disappointed – but why? A big part of him just wants to comfort you and make you feel better, regardless of the cause of your unhappiness; but another part of him, the part where hope had been planted earlier and is starting to grow at a rapid pace, watered by the mere idea that you might care at all who he dated, has to know if you feel something for him. His selfishness wins out and he decides to go for broke, “It matters to me what you want.”

Your eyes soften at this declaration, and the downturn of your mouth rights itself slightly into a quizzical ‘O’, but still you say nothing so Frankie presses on.

“It matters because I’ve thought about you every single day since I met you. The whole summer, all I thought about your sweet laugh and the way you always smiled at me like what I was saying mattered to you. And how those pretty eyes of yours would light up every time you said something you already knew was really funny and you were just waiting to see if I would catch on and laugh. I thought about what it would be like to take you out, court you, treat you like you deserve. Hold you without a time limit,” the look Frankie gives you at this confession is of both despair and relief, as a dam has broken and now nothing can stop his words from overflowing.

“And since that first day of school when I found you again, I’ve only thought of you more. I think of the way you’re so full of patience and compassion, and that your son is so kind and considerate because of you. And that my daughter and I are so lucky to have you both in our lives. I think about how Valentina told you once that she liked those cheese biscuits you made, and now every time you bring her a snack, there’s always at least one included. I think about how you always take of others and how everyone around you is happier for being in your presence. I think about how I want to take care of you too. I think about how I used to think you were beautiful in that club, but now you blow me away time I see you at school, or in the park, or when we’re just hanging out with the kids. I think the way you look in the kitchen on those mornings when it’s just you and me before the kids wake up is the most gorgeous a person has ever looked. It makes me think about how much I wish I was waking up next to you instead of just meeting you in the kitchen. I think about what it would be like to fall asleep holding you. I think about making you feel good, the way you deserve to feel good. I think about what it would be like to take you to bed and make you scream my name.” You’ve never heard Frankie talk like this before and your breath hitches in your throat – this is everything and more that you’ve always dreamed of hearing him say; you’re afraid to interrupt, for fear he might say it’s a mistake and take it all back.

Frankie seems to collect himself, calming, “Did you know the night I went to the club and you were gone, I was going to ask you out?” You shake your head, you didn’t know – you had harboured your own hopes, of course, that you and Francisco might see each other outside of the club, but the possibility seemed so slim and laughable, you had never even spoken them out loud.

“The guys finally hyped me enough to convince me you might say yes. I wasn’t sure, you know? I only saw you every two weeks, and I thought I was probably making more of our time together than it really was… it would have been perfectly within your rights if you were… just doing your job, you know?” Frankie is miserable at the thought. In truth, he still harbours this insecurity – since the two of you have reconnected, you haven’t given him any indication that you had thought him as more than just some patron you had to entertain every two weeks. Then again, the two of you never spoke of the time at the club at all; he had worried that this was a sent message in and of itself. Moreover, you haven’t said anything since he started his confession and he’s starting to think he might just be humiliating himself and ruining your friendship at the same time.

You shake your head violently. No, no, no. This won’t do at all! You really don’t know how Frankie could have ever thought that, but then again, you had thought he was ashamed of your time together – you can’t let another minute go by without him knowing how you felt, how he made you feel, “No, please, Frankie – don’t ever think that please. It wasn’t my job – I never went to the room with anyone but you. I never wanted to go with anyone but you. I only wanted you. I looked forward to out time together and every two weeks never felt like enough. You were so sweet and respectful, and you made me feel so perfect and desired, and so very cherished. I wanted you more than you know, Frankie. Everything that happened in that room, everything I said, everything we did – I loved it all. It was real to me.”

“Yeah?” Frankie’s feels hope he’s never felt before when he sees you smile and nod, “When you weren’t there, I was so confused. You didn’t say goodbye, so I didn’t know if something had happened to you, or if you were sick, or… I don’t know. Then I realized, you didn’t owe me a goodbye – I was just some guy whose lap you sat in…”

“Oh baby,” you reach out to touch his face. Baby. Frankie closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“I’m so sorry! I wanted to leave you a message, but I… didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what was okay to ask from you. Maybe I was just a girl who sat in your lap, you know?”

Eyes still closed, Frankie nuzzles deeper into your palm, “No, hermosa… you weren’t. You’re so much more than that. You’re everything to me.”

Tears now prick at the corners of your eyes for a much happier reason and you cup Frankie’s face fully in your hands and soothe him by scratching his scruff, hoping he’ll recall the affectionate gesture as you say sincerely, “I would have said yes.”

“Hmmm?” Frankie revels in the feel of your soft strokes on his face – this simple but loving gesture taking him back to the club when he had you to himself, when his want for you always simmered close to the surface but where he wasn’t allowed to let it boil over. But he’s not at the club now.

Smiling wide, your heart bursts with joy and affection for this sweet man in front of you that you’ve wanted for so long - you never want him to be unsure of your feelings for him ever again, “I would have said yes, if you had asked me out.”

“Yeah?” Finally allowing himself to believe that you return his affections, that you’ve always felt the same for him as he did you, Frankie opens his eyes and allows his grin to overtake his face.

He’s so cute and boyish when he smiles like this – you spy that cute dimple making its appearance again and you beam back, “Yeah.”

Happy emotions spilling over, Frankie breathes out the question that he’s wished to ask since the first night he laid eyes on you, “Can I touch you, Shortcake?”

Voice husky and so full of need you’re practically vibrating, you nod with conviction, “Yes please, Francisco.”

Upon hearing his full name roll so sweetly off your tongue, the only name you ever called him back at the club, Frankie closes the remaining distance and is on you in an instant - lips crashing to yours with a force that nearly knocks you off your feet. His hands immediately encircle your waist to catch you just as you throw your arms around his neck and pull him close.

It’s another first kiss of sorts, this one needy and expressive and full of emotions previously thought unrequited. You kiss Frankie like you can’t quite believe you are, part of you still can’t - by some miracle of a second chance, he’s here: Francisco is here and he’s real. And he’s also Frankie, who knows you in the real world and still wants you. The very thought makes you dizzy and you take off his worn cap so you can thread your fingers through his soft curls for something to ground yourself.

Your mouths clash and tangle, every brush of your lips is frenzied, desperate, greedy. Frankie urges you to open your mouth to his and when you welcome him, he licks in, over and over, exploring and claiming every soft moan you emit as his own. His tongue slides alongside yours reassuringly and lets itself be captured by your teeth; you teasingly tug and suck on the muscle before letting it invade your mouth once more.

You’ve dreamt about your and Francisco’s first kiss a hundred times, but this, this first kiss with Frankie is something for the books. He can touch you – his hands won’t stop touching you and it makes your entire body sing. Frankie cradles you head in his big hands and lightly tugs your hair back so that you arch into to him. Once he’s satisfied, his hands roam your back, stroking up and down your spine with that just right pressure that toes the line between relaxing and electrifying; you want to melt into his touch and let him caress you with this type of reverence everywhere. Then when his hands wander down over the plush globes of your ass with feather light touches, you giggle from the ticklish feel only to dissolve into a puddle when he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and kneads – his hands so big that the tips of his fingers nearly graze the core of you that’s already warm and clenching just from all this kissing. And throughout all this touching, as if to make up for lost time, Frankie never stops kissing you. He kisses you like he’s been starving for your touch, because he has – and now that he’s been given the go ahead to satiate his hunger, he positively devours you. You think you might pass out from the way Frankie kisses.

As he continues to overwhelm your senses, Frankie slowly walks you backwards towards the dining table and helps you hop on top; without being asked, you spread your legs to accommodate his width as he presses himself against your centre; unable to help from grinding against him, you’re sure Frankie can feel how wet you are through your leggings. You lean back, putting yourself on display and he takes the invitation readily, kissing down your neck sensually and teasing you slowly - a marked contrast from how greedy he’s been with your mouth. First, he lets loose breathy groans by your ear right before lightly nibbling your earlobe and leaving you shivering. Then, Frankie places fluttering kisses that alternate with the nuzzling from his strong nose below your ear; the subsequent transition to open mouth kisses, all nips and sucks, down your neck that ending in the laving of his tongue across your collar bones has you gasping for air.

Lightheaded and giddy, all you can do is take and whimper words of praise that have Frankie moaning against your skin:

“Oh god, Frankie, that feels so good.”

“Fuck, baby, right there… yes, oh god, right there.”

“Never stop, please. Please, Francisco, I’ve wanted this for so long, I – OH!”

Frankie’s hands have found your chest, groping and palming – somehow managing to zero in on your nipples even through the layers of your shirt and lingerie. He pinches and twists, tugs and rolls as you throw your head back and positively whine. Chuckling into the sweet spot at the bottom of your neck, he murmurs, “Can’t wait to see you in some slutty lacy thing again, Shortcake.”

You’re practically bucking into him now - wet and throbbing, all the build up to this moment has the waves of your desire and arousal cresting shamefully quick; you’re starting to feel the telltale coil below your belly tighten when you realize with a start - “Frankie! We can’t! The children!”

Frankie looks like he wants to say something else as he pauses in his efforts, but he stops and presses his forehead to yours, panting, “Right, the children.” And mutters something about how this might be worse than the no touching rule.

You giggle.

Looking at you with a mixture of unadulterated joy and devotion, Frankie finally asks, months in the making, “Next weekend when Valentina’s at her mom’s, can I take you out, Shortcake? Like a real date? Dinner?”

Shyly, you nod, “It’s a date, Francisco.” And you press your lips hard to the giant grin that spreads across Frankie’s face, catching a glimpse of that dimple you love so much before closing your eyes and sighing in happiness.

---

*Bzzzz*Bzzzz*

“Hey Frankie!” Already laying into bed, you answer your phone - giddy when you see the caller ID.

“Hey Shortcake.” You can hear Frankie’s smile.

“I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, baby.”

“Did everything go okay with bedtime?”

“Uhhhhhhhh….”

“Same here. Valentina fought sleep like it was her job.”

“Raynor tried to bribe me with a ‘it’s my birthday’.”

“Little devils,” Frankie chuckles good naturedly, unable to hide his affection for your children.

“Totally. We can’t ever let them gang up on us! It would be the end, I fear.”

“Can’t be the end, baby. It’s only the beginning for us.”

“I’m so excited for our date, Frankie.”

“Me, too hermosa. I’m going to wine and dine you like you deserve.”

“What about the other thing you said you wanted to do, Francisco?” You’re feeling cheeky.

“The other thing?”

“Something about making me scream your name?”

Immediately, he’s stuttering, “Oh… fuck, sorry. I- that was out of line. I promise, I don’t expect anything like that…”

“Frankie.”

“I would never put any pressure on you for sex or for anythin-“

“Frankie.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you might like to make me scream your name right now?” Suddenly shy, you cover your face even though Frankie can’t see you.

His head spins, “Wh- oh, fuck. Yes, baby.”

Your voice breathy and low, “You want to know what I’m wearing, Francisco?”

“More than anything.”

“I’m wearing that black lacy bra and panty set from the club,” you had put it on after getting ready for bed, inspired to set the mood for a solo session starring Frankie, but then he had called.

“The one from our last night together?”

“Mmmmhmmmm…. Do you remember, baby?”

Frankie groans, picturing you and the lace set so perfectly in his mind, “Remember? I can’t get the image out of my mind. You know what it felt like to see you at school everyday in your pretty work clothes and know that underneath is the sexiest, hottest body I’ve ever seen?”

“Tell me what you liked about it, please.”

“So polite, baby. Such a good girl.”

You actually whimper. “Thank you, Frankie.”

“Love your pretty mouth, Shortcake. And love how that pretty lace sits on those curves of yours. Your ass bouncing just right, peeking out below the fabric. Love how those gorgeous tits of yours look, ready to spill over the tops of your bra.”

“Ohhh… Frankie baby. If we were back in that room and you could touch me, what would you do to me?”

“Holy shit, hermosa. So many things…”

“Tell me, please.”

“First I’d ask you to dance and touch yourself like you did the last time, but over your bra.”

“Nghhh-huhhhh.” You feel a warmth spread over your skin, remembering how sexy and desired Francisco always made you feel.

“Are you touching yourself right now, baby?”

Fingers tingling from just his voice, you run your hands over your breasts, softly rubbing and massaging, imagining your small hands are his. “Yes, Frankie.”

“Good girl, baby. Feel those pretty tits for me, ‘kay? I want you to grab them, be a little rough with them.”

“Oh god, yes…”

“How do they feel, hermosa?”

“The lace is smooth but the edges tickle my fingers. My tits feel so soft and full, but Francisco, baby… they’re aching for you.”

“I’m right here, Shortcake. Hook those little fingers of yours in your bra and think about me pulling those lace cups down and playing with your pretty nipples when they pop out.”

“Please, yes… daddy.” The honorific just falls from your mouth, wrapped around a soft moan that emanates from the very chest you’ve now uncovered. Yes, he may be a dad, but right now, as you arch your tits up towards the ceiling towards his imagined touch, Frankie is also your daddy.

No one has ever called him that before, but fuck if Frankie’s dick didn’t just twitch. “Oh fuck, baby… Daddy’s going to take real good care of you.”

“Feels so good… they’re so hard for you.”

“If I we were at the club, I’d roll them in between my fingers, pinching and pulling on them until you cried out, hermosa.”

You tug a little harder on your nipples at his words, before letting them drop, letting your breasts jiggle, “It hurts… but it hurts so good, daddy.”

“Let daddy kiss it better, Shortcake. You’ll feel even better when I suck on your pretty tits, baby, don’t you think?”

“Ohhhh goddddd, yes please, daddy. Want you sucking on my nipples and flicking them with your tongue.”

“Holy sh-. Run your thumbs over them gently, ‘kay? I wanna suck on those pretty peaks until you cry. I still remember them from that night, so perky and pointy. Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Francisco. I love being your pretty girl.”

“You are my pretty girl. Tell me what my pretty girl wants now.”

“I wish you were here to touch me, baby.” Your voice comes out needy, bratty.

“Need your words, hermosa. Where? Tell me where you want my fingers and daddy will give you what you want.”

“My pussy, please. I want you to touch my cunt, daddy.”

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth on you, baby.”

“I’m going to keep my lips and tongue on those gorgeous tits of yours and start to drag my hands down your sexy body. Think I’ll take my time tickling your stomach and hips.”

“Then when you’re squirming and begging for more, that’s when I’ll dip my hand down the front of those lacy black panties.”

You follow the guidance of his words and goosebumps rise on your skin in the wake of everywhere you drag your fingers. “Ohhhhh... baby. You’re making feel so good. I’m so wet, Francisco.”

“Want you to tell me, baby - are you touching that pussy the way you want to be touched?”

“Yes, daddy. I’m petting my pussy so slow and gentle and I love it, but I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“I know, Shortcake, and I’m not going be. Waited too long for this to be gentle. Tell daddy how wet you are.”

“I’m so wet, daddy – I’ve soaked through these panties and I’m dripping out of my needy hole.”

“Can you hear how I’m spreading it everywhere, even all over my swollen clit?”

“Holy fucking shit, Shortcake, the mouth on you.”

“I’m your dirty girl, Francisco. My dirty mouth is all yours. Wish I could take your cock in this mouth.”

“Jesus. Baby, I’m supposed to be making you scream, not the other way around. Slip a finger into that slutty little cunt for me, hermosa.”

“Ohhhh god yes, baby, I’m tight. My pussy is hugging my finger so close. Wish it was yours.”

“Oh, Shortcake, if you wanted it to be me, you would need to add a finger or two.”

You hiss at the stretch, “Gahhhhhhh – oh fuck, Frankie! It’s too much.”

“How many, baby? How many did you add while you were thinking of my thick fingers?”

“Two more, daddy. It’s too much, please.” Whining now, you feel stuffed and full, the slight sting turning you on even more and a fresh wave of arousal coats your hand.

“No, don’t take them out. Need you to stretch out your pretty hole for me.” Frankie’s tone is dark and stern, and it makes you clench down on your slippery fingers.

“Uhhhh... Fuckkk. Francisco, I can take it. Please.”

“Baby, your fingers are no match for this dick. This dick is going to ruin you.”

“I can feel my pussy gushing and dripping down my wrist.”

“If we were back in the club, I’d take your hand and lick those fingers until you were clean.”

“Frankie. Mhhmmmhhhhmhhh.” You make sure Frankie can hear you stuff you glistening fingers in your mouth and every single slurping and smacking noise you make as you lick them clean of your own juices.

“So fucking dirty. Fuck, I’m so hard for you baby. Need to get you ready so I can feed you my cock. You want that, Shortcake?”

“Yes, oh yes please daddy. All I ever wanted back in the club was to sink down on your thick cock. Wanted you to fuck me till I was cock drunk and dumb.”

“I’ll give you everything you want, baby but we have to prep that greedy cunt of yours, okay? If you want my cock, put three fingers back in baby.”

“So big, daddy.” Sighing, you ease your wet fingers back in; the squelching sound of your fingers sliding through your slick makes you quiver with anticipation.

“Do you know now much I wanted to taste you when we were in the club?”

“Oh god, Francisco. Please.”

“Wanted to run my tongue over that pussy of yours. I knew it would be the prettiest pussy I ever saw.”

“Your pussy, baby. This pussy is only yours.” You sigh at the simple truth of your words as you work your fingers in and out of your cunt, pretending they’re Frankie’s.

“You still have my pussy stuffed full of your fingers, Shortcake?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl. Now use your other hand to rub your little clit and pretend it’s me stroking it with my tongue.”

“Uhhhhhhh, nghhhh, fuckkkkkkk, Frankie… your tongue feels so good against my slippery clit. Are you touching yourself, baby?”

“Got my cock out the minute you told me you were wearing that same slutty lingerie you wore at the club, hermosa.”

“Did you like what I wore at the club, Francisco?”

“Hell yes, sweetheart. Everything you wore made me so hard. You made me so fucking hard. Made me want to rip those skimpy outfits off of you with my teeth.”

“I wish you did. Wish you were here to do that right now.” You look down and see your tits, having spilled over the band of your bra, bouncing while both of your hands are stuffed in your panties, and you visualize looking down past your feet and seeing Frankie’s gaze upon you with his big dick in his meaty hand, “Stroke yourself for me, daddy.”

“Stroking my cock right now, imagining what it would feel like in your tight little pussy, Shortcake.” His hands glide over his length, throbbing just from thinking about the way you’re stretching out your cunt so that you can take him.

“Wanna feel your thick cock in my pussy, Francisco. Can’t wait for you to ruin me.”

“Going to wreck that little hole of yours, hermosa.”

“Need you so bad, daddy. Can you hear how wet you’re making me? I’m going to come so soon.” The wet sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy fill your bedroom - an obscene percussive beat to the song of your moans and cries; your arousal leaking down your ass and making a mess of your sheets underneath. Frankie can hear it all and your whorish symphony urges him thrust into his fist faster to keep up.

“Keep rubbing that clit for me, Shortcake.”

“Wish I could see you, baby. Wish I could see what your pretty face looks like right now, imagining my fingers curling deep inside that sweet pussy.”

“Can’t wait until you give me that dripping wet cunt and I show you what I want do to you.”

“Please!! Francisco. I’m close! Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I’m going to lick your clit until it’s swollen and puffy then I’m going to suck and nibble it with my teeth until you push my head away.”

“Gonna pound into that pretty pussy until your walls are stretched and bruised.”

“You won’t be able to breath. I’ll punch every breath out of your lungs.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you scream that this is my pussy.”

“My pussy.”

“To fuck.”

“To ruin.”

“To wreck so no other man will ever be able to fill you the way I do.”

“Fuck you the way that I do.”

“Fuck you stupid like I do.”

“Fuck you until you don’t know your own name.”

“Fuck you until you’re just a cock drunk slut who isn’t good for anything other cock.”

“My cock.”

“Frankieeee! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…. Frankie I’m coming…. I’m coming, daddy, I’m coming!” You seize and cry out to his name, chanting it over and over like a prayer as your orgasm overtakes all your limbs and you arch off your bed, practically pushing out your fingers from how hard you’re clenching down.

“Ohhhh fuck, hermosa.” Frankie’s grunts are followed by heavy panting, his uneven breaths as he comes down from his high like music to your ears.

“Daddy, I came so hard.” You giggle as you wipe your cum covered fingers on your stomach.

“Me too, Shortcake.” You can hear him grinning through the receiver.

“Really? I made you feel good, Frankie?” You wish so much that he was next to you right now.

“Always, baby. You always make me feel good. The best.”

“Good. You made me ruin my sheets.”

“And I made you scream my name.”

“Just like you promised.”

“I always keep my promises, Shortcake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I promise I’m always going to take care of you, baby. Never letting you go again.”

“Oh, Frankie… how did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one, hermosa. My perfect woman, screaming my name while she comes. I’m living in a dream, I swear.”

“I always come so hard when it’s you, Frankie. But it’s never been like this.”

“Yeah? You touch yourself to the thought of me a lot?”

“Yes, daddy. Always you.”

“I think of you all the time too, hermosa. Always make such a mess, just like I did tonight.”

“If we were together right now, I would clean you up with my tongue.”

“Fuck… baby, you’re going to make me hard again.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Francisco.”

“That’s what I’m going to make sure of, Shortcake. You’re always going to have a good time with me. Going to make sure you come every time.”

“I believe you, daddy.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. The moment I met you in that club, I knew you would make me feel so good with your hands. And your tongue. And your cock.”

“Jesus... Baby, what did I say? Don’t start what you can’t stop, because if you keep talking like that I’m going to be hard again really soon.”

“Well, I’m still sloppy and wet, daddy. Ready to scream your name again.”

“You’re a dream, Shortcake. I’m going to make sure you come harder than you ever have. Tonight, tomorrow, every day after.”

“Promise, Francisco?”

“Promise. And I don’t break my promises.”

“Ok, daddy. Show me what you got. Just remember, tomorrow is a school day, so we can’t be up too late.”

“I also don’t make promises I know I can’t keep, Shortcake. Now be a good girl and take off those messy panties.”

Epilogue

Tagging a few people who commented on Part 1 they were interested in Part 2 (thank you! 🥹): @aurorawritestoescape @magpiepills @pastelpinkflowerlife @southernbe @heareball

@mermaidxatxheart @nandan11 @mellymbee @jessthebaker @milla-frenchy

@littlemissoblivious @tuquoquebrute @inept-the-magnificent @posting-my-time

#frankie morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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unangelic-thoughts · 11 months ago

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Forgive me...I want you. (Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: After a drunken mistake where you expose yourself to your aunt's boyfriend, you unknowingly start something between you beyond your wildest dreams…

Warnings: NSFW smut 18+, infidelity, age gap, masturbating while being watched, phone sex (sorta?? but more like window sex??)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s note: A specific part in this is loosely inspired by taylor swift's 'you belong with me' scene where they see each other through their bedroom windows…hehe…;)

Reblogs and interactions are most appreciated <333

I walk as quietly as I can up the stairs of the house I currently live in with my parents so as to not wake them at one thirty in the morning. Although I'm in my mid twenties and would love nothing more but to have my own place, rent is ridiculously expensive and I'd rather save up for as long as I can. Thankfully for me, I get along with them both and we respect each other's privacy - so it works.

I shut the door to my bedroom quietly, extending my hand to the wall beside me to switch the light on. I take my cross-body bag off over my head and throw it on my bed with a sigh. Running my hands through my hair, I think back to today's unfortunate events. From deciding to surprise my girlfriend on our six month anniversary, to catching her in bed with my best friend, to going from bar to bar with my sweet Angel of a cousin to try and forget it all; I am completely and utterly emotionally and physically exhausted.

The makeup I put on earlier today is patchy and smudged but I feel too numb to care. Walking into my on-suite bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror while my arms rest on either side of the sink. Black streaks of mascara cover my cheeks from where I'd been crying. I take a deep breath, grabbing a makeup wipe and take it all off.

Once I'm done with skincare, I walk back into my bedroom and pick out a clean pair of undies and oversized tee from my closet, setting them out at the end of my bed. I begin stripping from my clothes, starting with my top, then my skirt and tights. I stand up straight, my hands reaching behind my back to take my bra off when I lock eyes with Joel and I freeze.

Joel is my next door neighbour. He is also my dad's sister's husband. In my current messy state, I completely forgot to pull my curtains shut and that Joel's office literally faces my bedroom. In my defence, I wasn't expecting him to be up this late.

The initial state of shock begins to subside but neither of us has attempted to look away first. I'm reminded of the very innocent crush I've had on him since the day my aunt introduced us to him five years ago. Of course, I knew it was futile - considering the whole Joel-is-now-technically-my-uncle thing as well as the age gap thing. I never let myself think about it too seriously except for the times late at night whenever I've struggled to fall asleep. Thoughts of him laying on top of me, kissing down my neck while his hands caress my body intrude my mind more often than I'd like to admit and I feel so guilty, but I can't help it.

It feels like I've been standing there half-naked in front of my window for hours when in reality it's only been a second or two. I spot my dressing gown draped over my swivel chair in the corner of my eye and I quickly grab it to cover myself as best as I can.

When I look back at him, his eyes have fallen to the laptop in front of him and I instantly feel the loss of his intense stare. A pang of disappointment hits me, missing the feel of his eyes on me and the way it ignited a fire in my lower belly.

Desperate to get his attention, I loosen the grip I have on my dressing gown and let it fall in front me, exposing me once more. His dark brown eyes instantly meet mine again and it makes my insides flip.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, deciding to ignore the warning lights and sirens going off in my head that are telling me how terrible of an idea this is. But in this moment, I couldn't care less. I just want to feel wanted.

My hands find their way to my bra for a second time and unclasp it. I hold the cups of my bra against my breasts, a moment of hesitation washing over me but I shake that feeling away as I shake off my bra.

Joel goes very still and it feels good to know I'm having an effect on him, so I continue. My hands drop to my panties, my thumbs hooking on either side as I slowly slide them down my legs and step out of them.

I feel so empowered and in full control of the situation, which is exactly what I need right now. I turn around, grabbing my clean undies and slipping them on followed by my oversized tee. I walk to my window, wishing I could reach out to touch him but instead, I pull the curtains shut knowing I've already gone too far and put an end to whatever this is.

***

I've avoided Joel for two whole weeks since that night; not that it has been hard to do since he's definitely been avoiding me too. He hasn't even spared me a glance when we've passed by each other in our adjacent driveaways, oftentimes me going out and him coming home at the same time.

The anxiety of what I'd done was eating me up the first few days, worried that he'd tell my aunt about it. But the longer it's been, the more confident I feel that he's not planning on telling a soul. God, if anyone found out about my drunken mistake, it would completely destroy our family.

I've thought of countless of ways I could apologize to him but none seem good enough, worried it'll just make things more awkward; if that's even possible. Sometimes it's better to pretend like nothing ever happened and things will eventually fix by themselves with time. Yes...I just have to give it some time and it'll soon be a distant memory...

***

The chime of the doorbell distracts me from my current seated position on the sofa, one hand holding the book I've been reading and the other stroking my cat, Felix. I place the book next to me and cradle Felix in my arms like the little baby that he is and head to the door.

It's my aunt, Tess. "Hi hun, are you enjoying your weekend alone?" She extends an arm to rub Felix under his chin.

"Yeah, it's been nice having the house all to myself. Mum and dad won't be back until late Monday evening so I still have a couple of days of peace." I say, chuckling.

"That's great! Although I'm about to disturb that peace, but not for long. I promise! I just need a small favour." She cautiously smiles at me.

"As long as it doesn't involve screaming kids or maths, I'm happy to help." I respond lightheartedly.

"So, I ordered a couple of new sculptures of Athena and the delivery driver just dropped them off outside our door. He ran off before I could get the chance to ask him to help bring them in." She sighs.

"Oh my God, more Greek sculptures? You're obsessed! Don't you already have like 50? How do they all fit in the house?!" I say half-serious, half-laughing while I shake my head. For the past year, Tess has developed a fascination for Greek mythology and the house has basically turned into a museum of Ancient Greece.

"I know, I know." Tess replies, swinging her hands back and forth to dismiss my accusation. "Anyway, I've hurt my back so I can't lift anything and Joel needs another person to help him. Would you mind lending him a hand?"

"Yeah, sure." I somehow manage to say nonchalantly even though inside I'm screaming. The last thing I want to do is be near Joel but I can't tell Tess that. "I'll be out in a minute" I say, forcing a smile and nod my head as I step back into the house to slip into something more appropriate.

Once I've pulled my shit together and reassured myself that this isn't a big deal, I make the short walk over to their place. The door opens before I reach the steps, both Tess and Joel coming out at the same time. She places a quick peck on his lips before making her way to her car. "Just going to do some grocery shopping, I won't be long. And be careful with my sculptures!" She calls out as she shuts the car door after her.

I notice the silence between us immediately, fiddling my hands nervously. "Where do these need to go?" I ask as I point to the sculptures in front of me, desperate to be done with this as quickly as possible.

Joel doesn't hold my gaze however, and it makes me think that what happened is still bothering him. "One in the living room and one in the bedroom."

Once we've figured out how to carry the first one, we manage to place it in the living room with relative ease. The second one however is much trickier, needing to be carried all the way to the upstairs bedroom. I can feel myself building up a sweat but I try my best to keep my breathing steady. Once we reach the room, we set it down in its new spot. Not even a second later and I trip over my own foot, falling towards the direction of the sculpture. Joel is there before I know it, one hand holding Athena and the other steadying me. The feel of his arm around me feels different to any other time we've hugged, I notice.

"That was close." He says, pulling back once I've got both feet on the ground.

"It was. Thank you. Tess would kill me if anything happened to it." I exhale, widening my eyes in horror at the thought of breaking the sculpture.

"And I'd be right there with you too. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be." He jokes, an uneasy smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out as I fix my gaze on the sculpture rather than Joel.

"Don't worry about it, nothin' broke so we get to live another day." He shrugs his shoulders as his hands rest on his hips and laughs.

"Not about that...I'm sorry about what happened that night. I was drunk and it was wrong of me." I find myself saying before I can stop myself, the guilt finally getting to me.

The grin on his face immediately drops and I brace myself for what he has to say.

"It was a fucked up thing to do and it's best that we forget about it." He says, his tone razor sharp.

"I know and for that, I sincerely apologize." His words sting even though I know they shouldn't. I mean, he didn't look away either. It can't just be all on me, he could've easily left. He had plenty of opportunity to do so.

"You put me in a really uncomfortable position. What would Tess say if she found out? What would your parents think?" His brows are furrowed together in anger and I regret ever bringing it up.

"I-I wasn't in a good place mentally and I definitely wasn't sober but I don't think it's fair to put all the blame on me." I defend, shaking my head.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "And who should share the blame? Me?"

It's my turn to furrow my brows, not liking where this conversation is going. "Well, yeah. You clearly didn't dislike what you saw. You could've left at any time."

"I think you should leave." He responds firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to tell me twice." I scowl. Turning on my heal, I strut out of the room and slam the door shut behind me. Regret fills my chest, not for my drunken striptease, but for my stupid attempt at apologising to that asshole.

*** He tries to apologise to me twice this week but I blank him both times. He tells me that Tess noticed something has been off with us and confronted him about it. He told her it's because he yelled at me when I almost broke one of her statues and now I'm mad at him. That's the only reason he wants to apologise, so that everything seems normal in front of everyone else; not because he's genuinely sorry. So no, I'm not ready to forgive him that easily.

***

I'm having one of those late night closet clear outs, deciding whether my denim midi skirt is staying in the keep pile or the donation pile when my phone rings.

My breath hitches as the name of last person I thought would be calling me right now pops up on the screen. At first I think it might be a mistake, but as it rings for the fourth time, I have to decide whether to answer or ignore it.

He's never called me this late before and the curiosity takes over, so I swipe the green button on the screen and put the phone to my ear.

"Joel?" I ask hesitantly, even though I know it's him calling.

"Can we talk?" His voice low on the other end of the line.

"I'm busy right now." I reply, finally tossing the skirt I've been holding to the keep pile.

"No, you're not. I can literally see you in your bedroom." With that, I turn around and look up. Lo and behold, Joel is standing in front of his office's french doors and he's looking right at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, my heartbeat increasing tenfold.

I watch as his hand trails up his shirt, his fingers starting to unbutton it from the top.

"Tell me to stop at anytime, and I will." He whispers as I stand there completely dumbfounded.

Once his shirt is unbuttoned, he shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor behind him. It exposes his soft chest and belly, and I can't take my eyes off of him.

His hands move on to his belt, swiftly removing it from his jeans and popping open the button. He stops just before he pulls his zipper down and I feel a pang of disappointment until I hear his voice once more.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks simply, as if he hasn't just asked me such an incongruous question.

I shake my head from side to side ever so slightly, it's barely noticeable.

"I need you to use your words darlin'" He's looking at me intently and it makes me feel lightheaded.

I don't want to say it out loud but if I-

"Don't. Don't stop." I surprise myself at how sure I sound, not realising how badly I've wanted this since I exposed myself to him until this very moment.

I notice his chest contract as he exhales in relief; Like he was hoping I'd want this just as much as he does.

He continues then, removing his jeans completely and takes a seat on the chair behind him while still facing me.

"Your turn." It takes me a minute to process what he's saying. He wants to see me naked. Again. Part of me questions whether this is a prank but the part of me that has secretely wanted to do this since forever decides to push the doubts aside.

I hesitate only for a second before I remember that I've done this before and he's already seen my exposed body, and then I strip down to my underwear - just like he has.

His hand reaches inside his boxers and he begins to stroke himself. My panties are soaked within seconds. His breathing becomes shallow as he increases the speed of his hand on his member. My hand is on my breast, squeezing it hard as my thumb and index finger stroke my nipple.

"Touch yourself." He orders and I immediately oblige, my hand gliding from my breast to my soft tummy and finally underneath my panties. I hiss as my fingers touch my bundle of nerves, making circular motions. I'm already so wet at the sight in front of me that it doesn't take long for me to slide my fingers through my contracting walls. I pump my fingers with the same rhythm that he strokes his cock as I close my eyes to imagine that it's him inside of me. It feels so good and yet it's not enough, but I know that this is going to be as good as it's ever going to get. This won't ever happen again. I shake those thoughts away and decide to savour the present moment.

Opening up my eyes again, my gaze is back on Joel. His mouth is parted lightly and his eyes are half shut as his head rests on the back of his chair. His movements under his boxers become more frantic and I know he's close. It drives me to go faster and I yelp as I unexpectedly hit a sweet spot, "Fuck!"

"Keep going baby." He urges me on as he grunts in pleasure. My eyes shut tightly and I bite my lower lip, fastening my pace which causes squelching sounds from my dripping pussy.

"Atta girl." He praises, seemingly satisfied by the sounds travelling through the phone.

I whimper in pleasure as I feel the orgasm build inside of me. I stare back at Joel who lets out a "Fuck" at the same moment that I do. We both come apart together, moaning and whimpering in unison; creating a sweet melody of pleasure.

I never, in a million years, thought that I would ever get the chance to see and hear him coming undone but it's the most mesmerizing thing I've ever witnessed.

"Am I forgiven?" He asks once his breathing has returned to normal.

"I think you already know the answer to that." I say, as a smile creeps up on my damp face.

--------

Thank you for reading! I'd love it if you let me know your throughts <3 (Uuumm personally, I would jump straight through that goddamn window and onto his lap...fuckkkk)

Lots of love, Elki xoxo

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1u11ablues · 25 days ago

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Two Negatives Make a Positive (Simon Riley x Reader)

Wordcount: 1k Warnings/tags: Blood (slight cut), slight pining if you squint, injured Simon, tender because this man deserved it

There were no two people who’s together but not together like you and Ghost were. At every moment that your relationship was questioned, there was an unspoken deal that you’d both had to deny everything; that you were both just pain in each other’s asses and it was a competition to see which one would give up first; that at most it was a reluctant friendship borne out of trauma.

“You’re covering my light,” Ghost complained as you hovered over him on the ward bed, pulling his mask down nice and snug so he could sleep easily. He’d asked you to bring his spare over since he’d be bed-bound for a while. Eager for any chance to get to know him, you happily accepted the chance to look through his stuff while making sure his needs were met.

“I’ll leave you to your birdwatching after I’m satisfied you’re comfortable.”

You knew he didn’t like depending on someone, even if he was just shot. In battle. Almost dying of blood loss, but pretending like it was just a graze. Your strategy was just to pretend like you don’t like doing it—taking care of him—either.

Neither of you were bold enough to ask the other to stay, or insist on staying.

This was the routine. You’ll come in at exactly 10 a.m. — after your training and shower—to see if Ghost needed anything, he’ll say no grumpily but tell you that he ‘needs to have something done’ , and you’ll say “Well, you need to get your ass better faster then, they’re not going to be done with you in bed.”

And then you’ll go and do what he was ‘not asking you to do’ anyway.

Yesterday the task was to find his fresh spare balaclava. Today, probably washed his used one.

After checking the temperatures, his comfort, whether he’d eaten his breakfast, you say your line and start to move, only to have your wrists captured in his hand.

This wasn’t what usually happens. It was enough grounds for concern.

“Ghost?” You called him softly, eyes wandering all over his form to make out if he was in pain or needed an extra dose of morphine or something.

He pulled the bottom of his mask off, just slightly. You know he has that thing with his face, and you respected him not to push for anything. But earlier, while putting on his fresh balaclava with your eyes closed, your hands grazed over his skin, the coarse patchy stubble lengthening under in the days that he was stuck at the base’s ward.

You can see the light brown hairs now where he’d shown you, the skin around his jaw pinkened by sensitivity.

“I need to get my stubble shaved,” he said, as if to himself. The tone, familiar. Your task for the day.

“My hands, or should I ask for someone else?”

“Yours. Only yours.”

Pretending like those words—the steadfastness of it spoken—was not affecting you. You hunted for a shaving razor and an oil to do this one thing for him.

Upon returning, you wait for him as he gazes outside the window, not knowing how to proceed.

He pulled up his balaclava, stopping just before his eyes.

Even though you couldn’t see all of his face, you could make out with enough information to know that he’s not as bad looking as you assumed he was.

Okay, what are you kidding? He’s pretty.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you say, pouring some oil onto your hands. He snorted.

“I’m going to take that as consent.”

You warmed the oil in your hands before spreading them all over his face. His eyes shut down.

Involuntary? Or was this proximity as tough to deal with to him as it was to you? Either way, you didn’t mind not having to stare into his eyes while you were this close to him.

The glide of razor was smooth over some patches of skin, bumpy on others. Of course, there were scars on his face, too.

You steadied your hands. Can’t have the trembling leave nicks on his face. The soothing scent of the shaving oil calmed you both as you gently smoothed your hands over his stubbled jawline, feeling the coarse hair yielding under your touch.

Eventually, your focus overtook the initial nerves. Bit by bit, his stubble was removed, until only a small patch of it left.

You made the mistake of looking up. Found out he had been staring. At your lips.

Your hands lost their momentum. He hissed as blood seeped out of the cut.

“Shit!” You looked around for a towel, a tissue paper, but there was none, so you did the only thing you could think of; you pressed your thumb firmly over the cut to staunch the minor bleeding.

Ghost leaned into your hands.

“Press harder,” he says, leaning further until you have his entire cheek in your hand.

“Sorry, lieutenant, didn’t mean to cut you.”

“You’re incompetent in and out of the field,” he complained, even as he had his head turned until his lips were touching your palm.

Your heart was banging in your ribcage.

This was.. this was not how it goes. You’re both supposed to be negatives on polarized magnets, pushing each other away every time you meet.

Still, you kept touching him, despite the conflicting emotions, and soon you found that there was no conflict at all. It’s not like you never had any feelings for him.

“I’m not sure I can deny anything if you keep doing this,” you say.

Your denial had always stemmed from respect for his boundaries. No one would take well to having their walls ignored. So you watch, from afar, leaving trinkets by his gate to let him know that you don’t want the distance.

Was the gate opened?

“I never asked you to do that, soldier. I denied because you denied.”

You weren’t magnets, after all. Perhaps integers, a couple of numbers adding and subtracting; mixed messages resulting in convoluted equations.

But one thing you know? Two negatives equals positive.

“I am not denying anymore.”

He kissed your palm again, this time more than just a touch of his lips.

“Neither am I.”

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #art #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #digital fanart #cod fanart #cod fanfic #queued post

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covid-safer-hotties · 2 months ago

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Alopecia on the Rise After COVID, Study Suggests - Published Jan 10, 2024

by Shannon Firth

The incidence of alopecia areata significantly increased after COVID-19, a nationwide study involving more than half a million South Koreans found.

In a propensity score-matched analysis, incidence of the autoimmune form of hair loss was 82% higher for individuals with versus those without a prior COVID infection (43.19 vs 23.61 per 10,000 person-years; adjusted HR 1.82, 95% CI 1.60-2.07), reported Jin Park, MD, PhD, of Jeonbuk National University Medical School in Jeonju, South Korea, and colleagues.

Higher incidence was seen in all groups older than 20 years, with a greater risk observed both in women and men, they detailed in a JAMA Dermatologyopens in a new tab or window research letter.

The study also revealed an increased incidence of telogen effluvium -- rapid hair loss triggered by stress or other changes to the body -- among the cohort with COVID compared with the control group (adjusted HR 6.40, 95% CI 4.92-8.33).

"These findings support the possible role of COVID-19 in AA [alopecia areata] occurrence and exacerbation, although other environmental factors, such as psychological stress, may have also contributed to AA development during the pandemic," Park and co-authors added. "Plausible mechanismsopens in a new tab or window of AA following COVID-19 include antigenic molecular mimicry between SARS-CoV-2 and hair follicle autoantigens, cytokine shifting, and bystander activation."

Alopecia areata "occurs in susceptible individuals by environmental triggers, such as viruses, vaccinations, and psychological stress," the researchers said, adding that while reports ofopens in a new tab or window documented new onset, exacerbation, and recurrence of alopecia areata after COVID have been increasing, evidence linking alopecia areata to COVID has been limited. Danilo Del Campo, MD, a dermatologist with the Chicago Skin Clinic, described the study findings as "more confirmatory" than "surprising."

"Anything that can stimulate the immune system can trigger other problems, and alopecia areata, in particular, stems from a strong immune reaction," he told MedPage Today.

He likened the immune system to a web of "secret spies," constantly "on the hunt" for infiltrators. Sometimes it simply has the wrong target -- in this case hair stem cells instead of virus cells -- which is known as antigenic molecular mimicry.

Another explanation is that COVID infection leads to a "huge influx of cytokines," which has other downstream effects. Alternatively, it may be that hair stem cells are too close to infected cells or to "helper cells" trying to clean the infected cells, and are inadvertently targeted, known as bystander activation.

Shoshana Marmon, MD, PhD, of New York Medical College in New York City, told MedPage Today in an email that while the "plausible mechanisms" described by Park and his team are "theoretically sound, their specific roles in the context of COVID-19 and alopecia areata require further empirical validation through research and clinical studies."

For their propensity score-matched study, the authors used data from the Korea Disease Control and Prevention Agency-COVID-19-National Health Insurance Service cohort from October 2020 through September 2021. The cohort included 259,369 patients with COVID and 259,369 patients without COVID. Patients were matched along demographic characteristics and comorbidities.

Looking at clinical subtypes, incidence of patchy alopecia areata or alopecia totalis and alopecia universalis (AT/AU) were higher in patients with COVID, at 35.94 and 7.24 per 10,000 person-years, respectively, as compared with 19.43 and 4.18 per 10,000 person-years among controls. Meanwhile, the prevalence of alopecia areata and AT/AU was 70.53 and 12.39 per 10,000 person-years in the COVID group versus 52.37 and 8.97 per 10,000 person-years in controls.

"During the study period, the age- and sex-adjusted incidence and prevalence of AA [alopecia areata] and AT/AU in COVID-19-infected patients were considerably higher than in the prepandemic period in Korea, in which incidence and prevalence of AA and AT/AU remained constant from 2006 to 2015," they wrote.

Park and team acknowledged "potential detection or misclassification bias" in their study, despite using validated sensitivity analyses with several matching variables. They said that "further studies are necessary to validate the association between different populations and elucidate the causal relationship between the two conditions."

Study Link: jamanetwork.com/journals/jamadermatology/article-abstract/2813824 (PAYWALLED)

#mask up #covid #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #public health #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #wear a respirator

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thedragonagelesbian · 3 months ago

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deciding that dru starts losing their hair after coming to the surface but goes to exorbitant lengths to maintain their beard despite the transformation has also done immense things for their design and my sense of their character

i think it would be pretty cool & sexy for dru to have already contracted blight sickness when duncan recruited them &, with their own academic curiosity leading them to push this connection to the darkspawn further than advisable, ultimately embody a lot of cool & sexy headcanons about grey warden monstrosity

#her discovering the hair loss initially thinking it's no big deal/a fascinating symptom of something larger at work within her body #the long curly hair she wore as the princeps always got in the way of her experiments anyway lets just shave it all off #but looking in the mirror one day to see how patchy and unkempt her beard has become #this precious and proud symbol of a heritage and a home she doesnt want to miss...#good shit #dru posting

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dontneedhair · 6 months ago

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Using An Epilator On My Head (Part Two) - The Scalp

Sometimes I get the question how I managed to epilate all of my head, and how I have kept it that way. The short version and my inspiration for doing it the way I did can be found here.

Unlike others who seem to be able to get through the entire process during one weekend, starting from what I'd see as a considerable hair length (half a centimetre maybe), I needed several weeks to complete it. Shaving, then waiting maybe half a day before letting the epilator grab the very first stubble. Waiting more time, epilating again, this time with more stubble being ripped out, and repeating this process till it hurt so much that I shaved again, starting the cycle all over again.

One thing I had to deal with relatively soon were pimples/small ingrown hairs.

Not the end of the world, but not the best look, either. There are different methods for dealing with this, all of them basically some kind of peeling to enable the newly growing hair to find its way to the surface and stop the pores from clogging. What worked really well for me was a spray against ingrown hairs after epilating - a chemical peeling of some sort. To this day, I tend to apply it once a day, mostly in the evening before going to bed. On the day of a tweezing session applying it can sting, but it is bearable and a good sign that it does its work. Even if a pimple is already there, it will go away much quicker with this extra help.

Another thing I had to live with for a short time was a certain patchiness on my scalp. I'm talking about the small-scale level here, you can see some of it on the picture above. No-one ever commented on it, from a certain distance it wasn't even noticeable, neither was it under little light. Or maybe everyone just thought I hadn't done a good job shaving?

In any case, it went away after having tweezed every hair at least once, which took some time because of the different phases of the growing cycle the individual hairs were in. Once that was done, things got much better very quickly in every respect. The hair that did grow back was finer, which made it a lot less painful to epilate. Since I kept on tweezing twice a week (always in the evening), there was also not that much to remove in an individual session any longer. And regrowth has kept getting less over time.

The MPB zones were the first one where the hair seemed to give up, my natural hairline for example never really returned after going over it with the epilator a couple of times, the same is true for the stretch that goes from there to the crown. The hair more to the sides is also getting less dense now as far as I can tell; to be sure, I would have to stop epilating for a while, and I don't want to do that.

What I still do after every tweezing session on my scalp is a wet shave. Especially in the beginning, and even after having epilated every hair at least once as explained above, just tweezing wouldn't give the totally smooth feeling yet. The shave is extremely quick and effortless, and after that my scalp has almost a glass-like feel to it. Over time, the smoothness I achieve just by tweezing has improved considerably as well. Being consistent in using the epilator definitely has had its rewards.

(Another photo from last summer, not even a year after starting the scalp tweezing, but the work I had to put into maintenance was already so much less than at the beginning of the process, and while there was some regrowth after one or two days, I was shadow-free one hundred percent of the time.)

For those who consider venturing into this as well, I would like to stress (as Tom did on http://scalptweezing.com) that using the epilator on your scalp is likely to lead to noticeable permanent hair loss pretty soon. So that should be something that you want or at least accept in exchange for the benefits. It can also be part of the thrill to know you are changing your appearance in a way that cannot be undone, at least that was my case. Just don't forget that the point of no return can come really early.

#epilator #scalp tweezing #hairless #bald head

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mindblowingscience · 1 year ago

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A recent randomized, double-blind clinical trial on the medication has shown such promising results, the United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has just approved its use for patients 12 years and older. Alopecia is marked by hair loss on the scalp, face, or body. It occurs when the immune system begins attacking a person's own hair follicles, and while most patients are otherwise healthy, patchy or complete losses of hair can have serious mental and emotional impacts. Some patients with severe forms of the disease lose all of their scalp hair, eyelashes, eyebrows, and all the rest of their body hair as well, a condition known as alopecia universalis. Such severe cases tend to be especially resistant to available treatments, but a new drug called ritlecitinib could help change that. In stage two and three clinical trials, the oral medicine reversed up to 80 percent of hair loss on the scalp for close to a quarter of all patients, and so far appears to be one of the only treatments for severe alopecia that is both effective and well-tolerated by a significant number of people. Its approval also makes it the only treatment available for children.

#science #stem #medicine #health #alopecia #hair loss

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theorphicangel · 1 year ago

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𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 (𝐛𝐮𝐭) 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 | Levi Ackerman.

pulvis et umbra sumus - we are (but) dust and shadow

Summary: Wandering aimlessly at night, Levi stumbles upon a bar. Finding it to be closed, a woman sits inside with nothing but a cup of tea to offer. In exchange for it, Levi is forced to relive his past.

Whether he likes it or not.

cw/tw; death, death of a parent, loss, grief, childhood trauma , childhood memories, manipulation, mind manipulation, levi coping with death of his mother, modern au!, in Paris?, cigarettes, smoking, gaslighting, levi blames himself, based on the tea scene in ‘get out’, emotional manipulation, angst,

If I’ve missed anything please let me know!

A/N: this is very different from what I write, not an x reader, but a series I’ve started based on just Levi and coping with grief.

word count: 3k

The smell of cigarettes linger in the apartment. Heavy clouds of smoke reach the ceiling, covered in a patchy coat of beige paint that’s beginning to peel.

It’s a terrible habit that he told himself to quit months ago but as they say, bad habits are the hardest to die from.

The smoke alarm’s a dud. He removed the batteries a couple days ago. Reckless, but it’s a risk that he’s willing to take. He’s not planning to stay in this city for long.

Lungs relaxing, smoke forcefully escapes from his lips, the distinct kick of nicotine dead to his taste buds. It does nothing to him now. Stubbing it in the ashtray, it joins the unfinished pair he smoked earlier.

The old and used legs of his wooden chair screech in a low manner, awkwardly scraping against the hardware floor. Levi grabs his black suit jacket from the back of a chair sat opposite him, no longer in its freshly ironed state but wrinkled.

Grabbing his keys off the counter, he slips through the front door without a second thought.

A loud slam vibrates through the walls, reaching above and beyond the halls, the noise bouncing off the concrete walls of the apartment building. His footsteps echo loudly, a dull melody in his descent; the only soul awake in the whole vicinity.

He doesn’t know where he’s going but his brisk pace wouldn’t offer that sort of perspective. Once again the sound of his footsteps powerfully echo between the concrete buildings, the soles of his feet rushing over the cobbled pavements.

The gates leading to the metro station are now closed as well as all of the shops on the sideline. Passing by glazed windows of dark and empty shops, his reflection is barely visible, the image of his figure flows at a quick pace before disappearing into the night.

Inside, his body remains unsatisfied. An ache stirs in his lower gut; a hunger, a deep longing for something. Anything.

Levi’s now looking for a bar and during his search he comes to realize that he’s not the only one wandering wordlessly on the banks of Paris late at night.

Streetlights flicker above him, some brighter than others, some newly fixed and some which are never promised to come alive again. Continuing on, he follows the stream of lights on a path that will eventually take him to the main street, where hopefully, there’s some sort of salvage waiting for him there.

For a cold November night, this bar is surprisingly warmer than expected.

Hands which seeked a deep refuge in the pockets of his jacket are now easily tempted to come out. As he walks in he notices that there’s nobody currently at the bar, making him realize that it’s closed.

Until Levi becomes startled at the sight of the figure sitting in a chair who had watched him arrive wordlessly. A dark-haired woman sits near the front window, older than him but there’s still a youthful gaze in her eyes. A blue china cup sits on a matching saucer on a little table positioned in front of her.

“The bar’s closed.” She says in french.

Levi makes no response. His first immediate thought is to leave.

“But you can have tea.” She offers. “Is chamomile alright?” Her tone is soft yet decisive, he hadn’t even given her an answer before she stood, making her way through a curtain which led to the back room.

It’s better than nothing, Levi thinks. Again, his footsteps echo on the wooden floorboards, making his way to sit in a crimson red armchair placed in front of her own seat.

Her tea sits in a blue china cup with intricate designs. It sits on a matching saucer with a silver spoon on the side. If he squints he can just about see an endless string of smoke evaporate into the deadened air of the bar.

It’s not long before Levi hears her return and in hand, his own set of china cup and saucer, white and plain of any design. She says nothing to him before placing it down and taking her own seat, her cup in hand.

He wonders where she got the set but makes no attempt to ask. Staring down at his cup, Levi’s fingertips latch onto the rim of his cup, lifting it up to his lips. He inhales the rising smoke but the liquid fails to meet his tongue as he pauses.

“You smell like cigarettes.” The woman says in english.

It’s only for a moment that he pauses before continuing his action. The hot liquid nearly burns his tongue before he swallows it down, the warmth awakening his body with satisfaction, curing his earlier ache.

He makes no reply, Levi’s not even fazed that she’s switched to english, planning to make no conversation whatsoever. His hand steadily places the cup down on its identical white cup. He’s a little bothered that he was given a plain one but refuses to entertain the thought.

Leaning back into the armchair, arms draped on both sides, he realizes that the woman hasn’t taken her eyes off him. She’s older, he guesses forties but remains unconfident in his answer. She doesn’t take a sip of her tea, instead choosing to study the man in front of him.

“Do you smoke?” She questions again in english, no sign of an accent. In a silent response, his eyes meet hers. Bored and exhausted.

Turning his head, he has the full view of the street in front of him through the large glazed window. Streetlights continue to flicker as a tall figure passes underneath in a large coat, quickly disappearing from Levi’s view. His eyes remain stuck to the landscape outside before he nods slightly, quick enough for anyone to miss it. Anyone who wasn’t studying him like this woman was.

For some reason he’s not uncomfortable in her gaze. Allowing her to freely scrutinize him in any means. He’ll never see her again after this.

She clears her throat for a moment, which causes him to look back at her, before she grabs the handle of her cup and takes a slow sip. The clatter of china when the cup reunites with the saucer is the only sharp sound heard in the bar.

“What brought you here?” She asks.

Now it’s Levi’s turn to clear his throat as his shoulders shrug. “I needed to clear my head.”

She hums in thought as if his answer sparked interest in her.

“Bored? Tired?” She switched to French all of a sudden. “You look like both.” She states. “When was the last time you slept?”

His eyes are drawn to the darkened visuals of the outside world again. Nothing has changed. A streetlight that stands directly across the bar across the road still flickers and the street remains empty, all the other businesses now closed for the night.

Levi inhales before speaking, “Can’t remember.” He responds in English, his tone heavy.

The woman tuts softly. “A man like you needs sleep, didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Levi refrains a laugh. Instead he lets a pause pass by before bringing his eyes back to the woman.

“I wish she could tell me that.”

The expression on the woman’s face changes slightly, his answer clearly unexpected. She picks up the silver spoon on the side of the saucer and begins to stir her tea.

“She’s– not alive?” The woman smoothly switches to English based on Levi’s replies. The only sound that’s heard in the bar is the softly repeated clink of metal hitting the china as it stirs. Levi picks up his cup once again with his right hand and takes a sip. Placing it back on the saucer, his arm returns back to resting on the arm of the chair.

“She– she died when I was young.”

This is the part that everyone sympathized with. The part where he becomes burdened with pity that he never asked for. The part where he deeply regrets talking about her. The part where the memories resurface and he remembers it all for a brief period.

Yet strangely, the woman doesn't offer her condolences.

“How young?”

Her tone is unchanged, still quiet without any added sympathy and Levi’s immediately thrown off guard. He blinks multiple times, his mind trying to quickly uncover the past that he’s buried deep inside himself for so long.

He frowns, “Uhm– eight, I think.”

“You think?” She repeats, suddenly making him feel some sort of guilt for not remembering. Levi quickly speaks up again, like he has something to prove.

“Or nine, I can’t remember.” He admits. “It was a long time ago.”

She merely slowly nods at his correction whilst continuing to stare at him. Her fingertips are clasped on the handle of the spoon, drawing little circles in the teacup.

Levi swallows thickly as if something’s lodged in his throat. It’s uncomfortable all of a sudden and the pains of uncovering that memory makes him start to sweat a little. He’d take off his jacket or even take a sip of tea to relieve himself but there’s something in his body that refuses to do so.

Something that tells him not to.

Instead, his fingers fiddle with each other, each arm still glued to the chair, tracing his thumbs over his index fingers

“What happened? How did she die?”

Levi stares at her, narrowing his eyes. Her question was unmissable, it rang loudly in his ears. He couldn’t ignore it. In his body there grew a deep desire to look away, to turn away from her and look back at the view of the street.

His head is heavy as he changes his glance towards the street.. The flickering streetlight across the street has switched off completely.

“Levi.” She snaps. And at the tap of the spoon against the rim of the china cup he finds his eyes on hers again.

He frowns, fingertips now resting on the arm of the chair heavily. “How do you know my name?”

“Answer the question. How did your mother die?”

The tone of her voice was inviting, it lured him in whilst his eyes grew hazy at recalling the memory. For a second, he forgot, his mind drowsy. His mind blank until the image of him sitting in front of the tv came into mind. The nostalgia of the front room of his old house rushed through his body suddenly, like a sharp pain he couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t sit too long in front of the tv.” his mother said. “Or your eyes will go square.”

Those were her last words before a hand reached down onto his head and ruffled his locks. No.

Perhaps she told him she loved him before leaving, or that she’ll be back home soon. No.

Maybe he didn’t even see her leave. Maybe she left before he ever woke up that morning.

“I–I can’t- I can’t remember.” he stammered, an uncomfortable pain in his throat stopped him from getting his words out properly, like a small bone was lodged in it. His nose scrunched up and his eyes began to water suddenly, searching the room as if the answer would appear somewhere on the walls.

No, no, no how could he forget?! How could he–

“You remember Levi.” she spoke, her hand stirring. “You remember the weather.”

His eyes widened, lips parting slightly. As soon as the words left her mouth, a vivid image hit him. Levi suddenly remembered the sound of rain hitting the window pane, water rushing down violently, teardrops smacking against the glazed glass.

“It was raining.” He mumbled, lips barely moving.

She hummed, nodding slightly. “Do you hear it?” His eyes became so blurred, he could barely see her in front of him.

Blink, blink, blink! His mind screamed at him. He could only just about force his eyelids to move.

A teardrop now solidified on his cheek, hearing the sound of raindrops battering against the window beside him. He longed to check, to see if it was visibly raining. But his head remained glued to her. He couldn’t pull away.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” he swallowed, mouth now becoming dry. “Watching tv.”

“Watching tv?”

Levi hummed deeply, only managing to tilt his head slightly. He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering at the painful memory, now so vivid and so real. “She went to work and I was waiting for her to come home.”

“Did she come home?”

Levi hesitated. The weight on his chest increases by each and every second. “No.”

“Why?”

Again, his throat was painfully dry, sound struggling to come out. His fingertips began scratching at the velvet of the armchair. “I don’t know.” He whispered.

The woman hummed deeply. “I’m sure you know why. Why didn’t you call anyone?”

Levi inhales deeply, trying to regain his composure. His hands urged to wipe his tear stained cheeks but yet again his body refused to move. “Because then… it would make it real.”

“So you sat there doing nothing as your mother died?”

“I couldn’t–”

“You could’ve saved her.”

“I didn’t know.”

“But you sat there…waiting and waiting…doing nothing?”

His nails scratched roughly at the fabric of the armchair repeatedly, anxiety began to crawl into the pit of his stomach. Infiltrating his mind. Just like it did that night. Sat in his mother’s favorite chair, he stared at the endless glow of the television screen. A show he didn’t even like was on but he watched it anyway. He watched that episode and the episode after that and the episode after that.

“You let her die. You did nothing to save her.”

Her voice ringed in his ears, more heavy and thick with confrontational yet her tone wasn’t louder than a whisper. Move, move, move! Get up and get out! His mind screamed repeatedly, his body frozen in response, barely able to do anything but continue to scratch at the arms of the chair.

He had sat there that night in the same position he was sitting now. Waiting and waiting. Hands glued to each side of her chair, fingernails dug deep into the form of the chair. He waited for the sound of the steps on the porch to creak, for the jingle of keys to reach his eyes, for the front door to open and to visibly see his mother walk through.

Everytime he wanted to get up, his mind told him to stay put. ‘She’ll be here in five minutes. And if not then I’ll go out.’

Those five minutes easily passed away into ten minutes which quickly turned into an hour. An hour transitioned into two which then again doubled. And hours later he was still stuck in the same position, the glow of the tv penetrating his eyes, his skin.

Absorbing it all, he did nothing.

She was out there, dying and he knew. But he did nothing. He knew it was unusual, that something was wrong. His gut was coated in nausea and anxiety. Levi still did nothing.

Tears began to flow from his eyes, one after the another, following the trail down his cheeks.

“Why–why can’t I move?” Levi’s tone was panicked, rich in apprehension.“You can’t move.”

She merely repeats it as a dull fact although he thought she said it as a question.

“I– I–can’t, why can’t–” His fingernails dug painfully into the arms of the chair, close enough to start ripping the material, his muscles tensing violently.

“You’re paralyzed. Just like the day you did nothing. You did nothing.”

“You’re going to sink into the floor Levi–”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait–”

“Sink.”

Everything all seemed to happen at once. All of his senses were lost immediately. It was exactly as she said, he sunk. Body pulled down by an invisible force, he lost complete control as he submerged.

All of the darkness and sound merged into one, dragging him deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit.

He seemed to be falling in slow motion. His arms waved through the air, hands desperate to clasp something as he continued to fall.

A large cinema-like screen is positioned in front of him, where he could still see the woman. She had now placed down her tea and sat staring at him. To her, his mouth agape, eyes drastically widened with continuous teardrops that rolled down the side of his face. Paralyzed.

There was no amount of air in his lungs that he could use to scream or to shout. He felt no sense of control over his body. Fear consumed everything, every single part of him, drowning his body, saltwater filling his lungs in a void ocean. Questions ran through his mind, new ones appearing with every second it took for him to fall. What was happening to him? Why? Where? How? When would he hit the ground?

“You’re in the sunken place now, Levi .”

All of a sudden Levi found that his shirt feet were on the ground. He was surrounded by water and his body felt heavy. With each step he felt like there was something pulling him back.

The woman moves to stand and leans over the small table. Levi attempts to trail through the water. His lungs bursting, his body, his soul, his skin on fire with anger. Just as it was when he fell, his body is slow as he tries to run. No matter how much force or how much strength he imposes on his muscles, he continues to be weighed down by something.

He screams but there’s no sound. Every step he takes in the water is soundless. His body weighs down along with a magnetic force that holds him back, making every step he takes sluggish and uncontrollable. He wants to run and catch up to the screen but it’s near impossible.

Mouth agape, he tries to shout again, to no avail.

The woman holds out her index finger, closing the eyelid of Levi’s left eye.

Dark infiltrates half of the screen, light fading away. His throat is raw and tight, unable to shout even if he wanted to. Fear no longer surrounds him but is now within him.

He can do nothing.

She now moves to shut his right eye and Levi falls to his knees in surrender as the shadows envelop him whole.

Entire soul, body and mind. Everything.

Everything turns to dust.

Part of “don’t take my baby boy. don’t take my and joy.” series.

reblogs and comments are appreciated.

#tw: smoking #tw: cigarettes #tw: death #angel writes #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #attack on titan #levi aot #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #snk levi #aot #attack on titan levi #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman imagines #aot angst #attack on titan angst

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 1 year ago

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Trying

bbf!Frankie Morales x F!Reader ficlet

playlist

masterlist

based off 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. summary: Family friend Frankie Morales coming home for good gets the news of the death of his childhood and military best friend. He sees how broken the girl who he always thought as a little sister and tries to bring her back to herself.

wc: 4.5K

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, brother's best friend, OC BROTHER, talk about addiction and suicide, mention of killing in the military, alcohol, drugs, survivor guilt!, sibling loss, grief, reader calls Frankie 'Frank' a lot, mutual pining, mention of disordered eating due to alcohol, vomit, a lot of crying, PTSD, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, kissing, smut, mental health decline due to grief, frankie becoming a real man, parents, quiet love

The Morales family was your family's first friend when your parents moved out to the suburbs of Florida. You were just born and your big brother, Ethan was merely 3 years old. Frankie met his best friend at a young age. You were always around them, playing soldiers or playing on the gaming console. Frankie was always the one to make sure you were involved since it was just you and your brother. His kindness made you develop a crush on him.

Your parents thought it was cute that you had a crush on Frankie, it just showed how well his parents raised him. As you got older, the crush became something more but you would deny ever having a crush on him because he was another brother to you. Always so bad at lying.

You fell hard for Frankie when he showed up to your graduation with your brother since they had joined the military together.

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't show up to yours since you showed up to mine, bebita" Frankie jokes while you sit in the backyard together looking at the stars hiding away from your family at your graduation party.

"I think I wouldn't be able to survive today if you weren't here, Frank," You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask, Frankie looks at you and nods.

"Keep Ethan alive and yourself too," Your words rattled in his brain every single day of deployment.

Frankie felt his heart try to crawl out of his chest when you looked at him that night. He had to keep his promise. He didn't want to let you down, he kept wondering why was he doing this. He kept such a big promise that could blow up in his face. He wanted nothing more than to keep you smiling and not worrying about what goes on when they leave the country again. When Frankie left your life once again.

You wrote letters to Ethan and Frankie, but letters stopped returning when your brother was medically discharged and Frankie was in the Delta force. You felt relieved that your brother was home but still filled with anxiety not ever hearing from Frankie. His parents seemed fine and content with hearing so little from Frankie. They knew that on a random Wednesday night, Frankie would call and ask to hear about home. Hearing about Ethan is once again in rehab in the psych ward. You graduated college and now working for a large marketing company and you still haven't found a husband. Always the dramatics with them.

A couple more years of radio silence gets interrupted when Ethan takes his life. You moved back home with your parents. Frankie comes home for the final time and he's there to stay. Your family and you shut out the world for months, trying to process the death of a son, of a brother. You were completely torn apart and had nothing left in you. Nearing 30 and having to be the adult while your parents grieve over the loss of their firstborn. Your emotions are being pushed aside.

The silence was officially over when you walked out of the liquor store with a bottle of whiskey and almost dropped it when you bumped into a man entering the store.

"I'm so sorry-Frank?" Your blood ran cold and your body froze when Frankie's gaze met yours. His hair is grown out, facial hair all over but patchy in some spots, the beard graying at his sideburns but his hair still a dark brown curling over his beloved cap.

"Bebita!" Frankie shakes his head and does a double-take.

"How are-"

"Ethan is dead,"

"you?" Your and Frankie's words overlap and both of you stop talking for a second.

Frankie felt the wind knocked out of him as he stared at you. Your eyes are just dead and not sparkling like they usually are. Your face breaking out from not caring about self-care, your hair thrown up in a ponytail, your cheeks a bit hallow, heavy under eye bags from crying and not sleeping. Grief has become you. You feel like you walk around with half of your identity gone. A part of you is dead.

"I-I'm sorry for your loss," Frankie comes to and could feel the tears threatening to escape his eyes. You saw how the news broke him, the change in his face, his eyes fell dull. You thought you drained the life out of him. Guilty. Plaguing everyone you talk to.

"Frank...don't shut down like that," You touch his arm, both of you still standing in the doorway.

"You lost him too," you sniffled not realizing you had been crying since the moment you looked into Frankie's eyes. He drops his head down and quickly wipes his tears with the sleeve of that tan jacket he's had forever.

"How did he?"

"Overdosed...purposely," You said it like it was so normal, always trying to stay strong even around those whom you can be vulnerable with.

A deep 'excuse me' comes up behind you, Frankie takes your hand and pulls out of the liquor store and to his truck. A swing of the passenger door and Frankie helps you into the cab of the truck. He quickly runs to the driver's side and gets in.

You could hear Frankie breathing heavily and deeply. You watched him fist the steering wheel and a sob breaks from his lips. You slide along the bench and softly rub his back.

"I should be the one comforting you, bebita," Frankie leans back and takes your hand off of him, intertwining your fingers with his. Your heart rate kicked up, something you haven't felt in years since the last time you saw Frankie.

"Frank, he's childhood best friend, a family friend, you grew up with him, don't minimize your relationship with him-"

"I failed you..."

Frankie cuts you off, your forehead scrunched in confusion and you look at him.

"I tried so hard to keep him from ever doing drugs...I tried so hard but what's fucked up is that he only started because he found my stash of coke...I tried!" Frankie wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You knew what was happening overseas Ethan didn't sugarcoat anything when he would tell you things.

You know of the people he's killed, that Frankie has killed, how drugs were quite accessible in other countries.

"Frank...his addiction was not your fault. Not his fault either." You never saw Ethan as his addiction, you always looked at him like the little boy you grew up with.

You were the only person who didn't blame his addiction for the way he led his life. You were always there to get him to help, going through the many detoxes, the many nights of him doped out and pissing himself, but it drained you, you can only help so much. That is the harsh truth, you can only help those who want the help to get clean and stay clean.

"I was stupid and in my 20s thinking, I could stop anytime...I did but he kept going..." Frankie continued to spit out whatever came to his mind. Not thinking about what came out of his mouth.

"You asked me to do one thing...to keep Ethan and myself alive..." Frankie could still your words from that night. You remembered what he was talking about, your heart fluttered at the fact that he did keep his word. Frankie did it just for you.

"That was selfish for me to ask...life doesn't like to play in anyone's favor," You laughed at how naive you used to be. How you painted Frankie as this strong and self-assured military man, your soldier, the knight in shining armor.

"It wasn't selfish," Frankie tucks the piece of hair that refused to join the ponytail. You wanted to melt into his touch, how his touch feels different. It was charged. Magnetic to your skin.

"You should hate me..." Frankie's voice cracks, You never thought you see the day that Frankie cries. He was always so stoic.

"I don't. No one does. Because it's not your fault." Your tone made Frankie tense up, your honeyed voice was turned to ice. You didn't want someone else to feel any guilt. You already take on so much of it, you might as well take it all on. Frankie cleared his throat and saw how your eyes were still soft.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Frank...come by the house tomorrow...I miss you," You softly whisper, you wrapped your arms around his right arm and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt his head nod in response. You sat up and kissed the tears staining Frankie's cheek. His body shudders when your lips graze his skin.

"Noon, I'll make us lunch and we can talk with my parents." You forced a smile while you gathered your purse and the whiskey bottle for the night.

You drove home and thought you were selfish for grieving in front of Frankie who just got the news about the person who truly knew who he was. You parked the car in the driveway that getting overcrowded by the weeds that Ethan has taken care of since your father has gotten older with you.

Another thing to add to the list of many things you have to do before moving back to the city, get a landscaper. You reached for the bottle and opened it. You bring the whiskey to your lips and let the burning amber liquid sit on your tongue before you open the door and spit it out on the asphalt then bile comes up and burns your throat. Your nose running from crying and vomiting all over the ground like you were 8 years old again and getting extreme motion sickness.

You walk into the tomb of your childhood and the living room TV playing some infomercial, your parents still having cable whilst having almost every streaming service. Your mom is asleep on the recliner seat of the couch, your father in his big recliner that was the perfect size for him,

You would always sit in it with Ethan on Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating the bowl of Lucky Charms that opened poorly and you both know your mom is going scold for opening the box of cereal wrong. Working as a team to get the bowls down from the cabinets and helping to pour the milk so it doesn't spill all over the countertops.

You search for the remote and click off the TV then walk to your old bedroom that only had a full-size bed, walls decorated with movie posters, pictures of friends, and your old vanity mirror that had a Polaroid of you standing between Frankie and Ethan at your graduation. You picked the picture to study it again for the thousandth time.

Frankie and Ethan dressed in their ceremony uniforms, you remembered your breathing taken away seeing Frankie in uniform for the first time, thinking 'It's true, everyone loves a man in uniform'. You felt your face twitch noticing how you were smiling at how Frankie's clean-shaven look was the awkward stage he never went through as a teenager.

The smile on his face was everything, just a smirk curling up the left side of his face. You thought it was so boyish and charming. You sat the picture down and went to the bathroom to wash out your mouth before falling asleep. A dreamless sleep beside flashes of memories of you and Ethan as little kids. The flashbacks are always when you are both kids never as teenagers or young adults.

You wake up with your heart racing, shot up in bed with your hand on your chest panicking more over the fast heartbeat. You glanced at your phone and it was 6 am. You're wide awake and you can hear your father's snore downstairs. The door to your room is pushed wide open and your eyes land on the furball of a culprit.

Ethan's cat 'Prince', because Ethan said he is royalty and should be treated as such. The cat sits at the foot of your bed with a mouse made from an old army shirt that Ethan wore all the time you special ordered for the cat because of how sick he got when Ethan passed away. You thought if you could help a cat process grief you could forget about yours. Always running from it, but grief and love to loom around corners you don't turn down often.

The cat drops the mouse for you on the bed and walks out of the bedroom. He thinks you can't feed yourself. You laughed in your head but started to think about the last meal you ate that wasn't on a drunken binged that would puke out your guts an hour later. You stuff towels at the bottom of the door to muffle your cries and gags. Stuffing the towels at the bottom of the door that isn't to keep the smoke from weed you had in high school.

You get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to feed Prince. As you prepared his lavish breakfast your body and mind were instantly drained. You needed to shower and start to clean this house before Frankie arrived, that meant getting my parents up and about. You had no energy to do anything for yourself, if it's not for Ethan why even do it?

You sat in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before you started cleaning up the whole house as if Frankie was going to be in every single room. Your parents left for the store to buy lunch and dinner for the weekend at 10 AM meaning they won't be back until 11. Your sweat drips down your forehead and goes into your eyes making them sting. Your ears roar with blood rushing to your head, clenching your jaw and not breathing.

Your fingernails were bleeding while you scrubbed the bathroom sink. You yelp as the cleaning product gets between your nails, and you scold yourself for not putting on the rubber gloves. You started to cough when you took too deep of breath. Quickly turning on the water to wash away the cleaner from the sink and your skin. The tips of your fingers slightly burned, you could feel the tenderness.

A small fit of laughter came from the hallway, you wiped your hands on the sweats you had put on to clean in. You entered the living room and saw Frankie sitting with your parents in the dining room adjacent. You gazed at the clock on the cable box, at 12:15 p.m. Did you blackout while cleaning?

"Mama, Frankie is here..." Your mother sees you with bloodshot eyes and sweating all over your face and body. Frankie turns around in his chair and looks at the mess you become. You could feel your face get even hotter as he gave you his stupid smile but it was strained a bit maybe forced.

Frankie looked at you and saw how wrecked you were. His heart could feel tendrils of the beating muscle tear apart when he finally saw you completely exposed by emotion.

"I'll be back, I need to clean up," You mumbled wiping away the sweat mix with tears off your face and heading to the shower. Turning it all the way to icy cold water comes out, and chilling your entire body. You looked up at the running water practically washing your eyes out.

You pull yourself away from the shower and put yourself back together. You walked back downstairs in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, your hair wet and pulled back into a ponytail. Frankie saw how fresh-faced you looked. He could still your baby face in your drained adult face. Your eyes are still always so wide and big making him swim in the chocolate waves. You took a seat across from Frankie while your parents rambled on about what they were making for lunch. You adverted your gaze from Frankie. You were embarrassed about how he's seen your grief.

"I showed up and no one answered the door, I went around back and saw that the backdoor was wide open and the cat was meowing. I was worried that something happened to you. I followed the damn cat and saw you heaving over the bathroom sink. I called your name several times. Your parents came home and they were happy to see me and I lied to them and said you let me in while you finished cleaning,"

Frankie whispers after he turns to look to see if your parents were out of earshot. Frankie reached across the table to hold your hand. But you flinched as your tender fingers touched his calloused hands. You winced while he examined your hand.

"I blackout too when I start a task. End up always overdoing it." Frankie says, softly holding your hand, trying to somehow heal you, skin to skin. You nodded not knowing what to say because you don't trust your voice to sound like you've been crying. "I'm trying to pick up everything and put it back together," You cleared your voice still laced with uneven breaths.

Lunch was served with a Long Island iced tea and talking about Ethan. Laughing with tears in your eyes. Your parents retire to their bedroom not hungry enough for dinner, just proud that they ate at least lunch. You and Frankie went to your bedroom, he loved how it was still set in the past with a mix of your office set up to work from home. "I never thought I would ever be allowed in here," Frankie said picking up a stack of CDs from the 90s and a mix of early 2000s.

You giggled thinking back on how the 'no boys allowed' sign made a big impression on Frankie.

"You are an exception," You continued to watch Frankie look at your room, he made note of the different movie posters and even an HBO show poster, 'Band of Brothers' Ethan's favorite show.

"Has that always been the case, Bebita?" Frankie smirks at you, moving the bed and sliding next to you. The tension in the air hit the air when you could feel Frankie's body heat radiating off his body. The sun was just setting and the natural light hit the light pink walls giving the room a romantic hue.

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

"I know you used to have a crush on me,"

"Jesus Frank-"

"I thought it was adorable." Frankie chuckles, sitting up against the headboard to wrap his arms around you. The feeling of his sturdy body against yours made your skin hot and break out in goosebumps.

"I thought you were cute but you know best friend's sister is off limits," Frankie sighed, thinking about when you entered high school and he was just barely a junior. You grew up overnight to him. You started to really put time into your appearance. To Frankie, you just highlighted your beauty. But Ethan told Frankie when they started middle school that his sister was off limits.

But now here you are both adults, both have jobs, and both secretly in love with each other. Was the rule only when you were all horny teenagers?

"Are you saying you had a crush on me too, Frankie?" When his name fell off your lips it made him forget the looming grief over the both of you.

"Never stopped," Frankie was being bold, life is too short to not say anything after years of wasting time. You looked up at Frankie and couldn't believe anything he was saying. Was it just to make you feel better since you know your brother is dead?

"Nooo...that's not true Frank," Deny, deny, deny. How could he ever love you? There's nothing left in you anymore.

"Bebita, why do you think I stuck up for you when we were kids? Because I needed to protect you and care for you because I've loved you for a long time," Frankie cups your face, and his thumb runs across your bottom lip. You swear you were on cloud 9, the warmth of your love for him and his love for you radiating through the lightest touch.

"Frank I think that you have been feeling a lot of emotions the past day. I'll let you say whatever you want and not hold it against you." You wanted to believe him. You know he's being truthful.

"I meant what I said, I want us to try, try to be there for each other," Frankie rests his forehead against yours, his finger brushing through your hair. It was nice to be held. Especially with Frankie.

"I'm trying," You sobbed out, fisting Frankies t-shirt and pulling him closer to your body. His words opened the floodgates and you couldn't stop the tears overflowing from the waterline. Frankie lays down holds your head to his chest and lets you cry.

Frankie came to your house every single after that. He started to do yard work with your father, you would bring something to drink and eat. The funeral happened after months of arguing with the VA about where Ethan could lay to rest. Your parents wanted him at the family plot but the VA said he had to be buried at the fort, that it was clearly stated in his will when he joined the army, so everything would be simple and easy, and not anyone would spend a dime but the government it's money.

Your parents started to go back to their normal lives enjoying retirement. You and Frankie started to see each other every Friday night, going out for dinner and getting tipsy. You would go home with him and spend the weekend at his apartment, enjoying living without your parents walking around.

The first hookup was when he came over to work on the mow the lawn for your parents since they were going to be out of town. You had completely forgotten about Frankie coming over when you walked out the backdoor in just a thong and t-shirt letting the cat out for the day. He was opening the shed in the backyard when he heard you murmur 'Oh my god' and quickly turned on your heels and ran upstairs. Frankie blushed deeply not remembering what he was doing for a second.

You tried to pretend that Frankie didn't see you half-naked until he was at your bedroom door, rushing you and pinning you against the mattress. His lips hungrily locking with your soft lips. His mustache and beard rub against your soft skin. Tasting the lemonade you had made for him to go with his lunch.

"You're just too pretty, bebita," Frankie grunts as you bucked your hips to grind against his growing bulge. You loved how your clothed cunt rub against the denim jeans.

"Frankieeee, t-touch me, please," the sweetest whine left your lips, Frankie looks down your chest, he pushed the shirt up toward your collarbone to admire your plump perky breasts and how they swayed with each grind of your hips.

Frankie propped himself next to you and traced the outline of your body, not missing caressing your breast, and lightly tracing your nipples making them harden. You were whimpering at the teasing touch. Frankie pushes aside the thong and dips his finger down your folds to your entrance.

"So wet, is that all for me, sweetheart?" Frankie deepens his voice an octave. You nodded and bit your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

"Words, bebita" Frankie purs, you gasped as his fingers slide inside your cunt and curling them, hitting the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

"F-fuck, yes Frankie! All for youu" You cry out as his thumb rolls your clit while fucking his finger into you, curling them every few thrusts. Your pussy clenches tightly around his digits.

"I-i'm closeee" you whimpered, Frankie lowers his head and takes in a nipple into his mouth, first licking it then sucking as hard as he could. His mouth on your body and his hands doing magic on your wet cunt.

You felt your release gush out of you and coat his hand. Your moans were coming out without any hesitation.

"Fuck me, Frankie," your hands undo his belt and going straight towards the zipper and doing the button very last. You dip under the waistband of his briefs. Your hand cups his hard cock and strokes him until he is fully hard.

Frankie rolls on top of you pushing down his jeans and underwear just enough to free himself then kicks off the rest of the jeans while you pull off his shirt. He pins your hands above your head as he thrusts into you in one go. You screamed out the pleasure that you got from the stinging stretch of his thick hard cock sliding along your velvet walls. Frankie moans in your ears as he drops his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how wet and warm you feel around him. Taking him so perfectly.

"You feel so good, babyy," Frankie bottoms out and grinds into you, his cock hitting your cervix.

"So big, Frankie, fuck you feel so fucking good," You gritted through your teeth when Frankie bends you in half and drilling into your aching pussy.

"I-I need you! I need you!" Frankie chants, and you could see the tears falling down his face, and you couldn't help but cry yourself. You wanted Frankie to feel whole. He's always been the one. Took care of you when you hit rock bottom with grief. He helped bathe you and helped you brush your teeth and brushed your hair when you dried your hair. Getting you dressed every day.

You didn't put up a fight. You needed him. He needs you. You're falling in love.

"I'm yours! Ah-all yours, Frank," You grunted as his harsh thrust became harder when you proclaimed that you are his. You fell into the pillowy high of orgasm number 2.

"All mine, and I am yours, amor" Frankie moans as he flips you on your stomach, hiking your hips just enough for his cock to fuck your aching hole.

"I love you, Frankie!" You cry out as another wave of bliss warms your body down to your toes.

"I love you, bebita!" Frankie gives the same passion back, while he paints your walls with his load. Your eyes rolled back from being so full with his cock and his cum dripping out of you and making your thighs sticky.

You both lay there, touching each other, exploring each other bodies. Years of messing around to make up for. Allowing grief to bring you to your person. You can't be mad anymore because now to you life is worth living again. Frankie had the world around you make sense again.

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