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green-socks · 3 years ago

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AHHHH oh my hearttttttt😩😩 these two!! Oh my heart aches for them, all the insecurity and doubt🥺

This is so good I'm practically vibrating with excitement. Can't wait for more!!🤩

He desperately wanted to go back to the easy place where he felt good about being around her, where he could just bask in her glow even if nothing was ever going to materialize between them. Frankie tried to reconcile his heartache with this current sincerity, her insistence that he was good enough and smart enough to tackle the challenges ahead. For a split second the warring feelings were in perfect balance, and then Frankie’s heart did what it always did: tumble down the slope toward whichever feeling was warmest. He let his chest expand at her praise.

This was a gorgeous view into Frankie, and especially that second to last sentence blew me away!!! What an interesting description of how he works, and I really liked it! Like yeah I can totally see it!! Well put.

Basic Training - Chapter 2

Basic Training Series Masterlist JHFTM Main Masterlist

Word count: 5700

Rating: Mature/Explicit for eventual smut, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x “You” (female reader, no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: It’s 1997 and Frankie is 22 years old; older woman/younger man dynamic; former teacher dynamic; mutual pining; mega amounts of inner self-doubt and insecurity for both characters; curse words and vulgar language; 10+ year age gap but everyone is legally an adult; story switches back and forth between Frankie’s POV and Reader’s POV

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You spent Sunday anxiously cleaning your apartment. You weren’t sure why, until a little mental flash popped up - Frankie’s face during your awkward reach for a hug at the grocery store, and oh yeah, that’s why you had an excess of nervous energy.

Why had you said yes to his offer? The answer tickled in the back of your brain, too horrific to face directly. Because he’s handsome and kind, and you wanted to spend more time with him, you idiot. Which was correct, but definitely wrong in so many ways.

You struggled to push and squash your thoughts around, to form them into some kind of acceptable shape, rather than the current form they were in: a misshapen mash of horny nonsense studded with awkward pain points. You knew that you hadn’t actually done anything shameful, that your only sin so far had been to harbor some very sexual thoughts about a handsome and sweet younger man, who happened to have been your student ages ago.

But he was an adult now, and you hadn’t done anything like in that horrifying case that was all over the news. You hadn’t groomed him or abused him, or done something creepy like waiting until the day of his 18th birthday to proposition him, nothing even remotely close to it… so why did you feel like you were dabbling with something treacherous? Why was there an undercurrent of danger under the feelings you were experiencing for Frankie?

You shook your head and resolved to get him out of your mind. There wasn’t anything there, anyway. He was a nice guy, you were just hard up lately, that’s all.

By the time Monday rolled around, you were half-convinced Frankie wouldn’t even show up anyway. Weren’t college kids notoriously unreliable? Something more fun would probably materialize, like a beach trip with some girls his age. He would call the school’s front office and leave a message that he couldn’t make it after all, or he would just not bother to come. And then you could spend the afternoon cleaning and shifting the classroom furniture around. Tire yourself out, sweat out the lurid ideas that had been bouncing around in your head since Saturday night. You could try to forget all about those big brown eyes and the dimple, or the way his jeans hugged his hips.

You threw on jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers, something that wouldn't get ruined by dust and activity. Perfectly fine to dress down for the staff meeting and the hard work of clearing a school year's worth of crap out of your classroom. The staff meeting wrapped at noon on the dot, and by 12:10 you were standing on a chair, trying to reach for the poster of Einstein on the wall above your desk.

A tentative little knock on the doorjamb startled you.

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Frankie's mouth went dry the moment he saw her. Her back was to the door and she was standing on a chair, reaching high for a poster that was taped to the wall above her desk. Her jeans clung to her ass and thighs just right, delicious curves on display below the hem of a cute little T-shirt that was pulled up from her reach. Jesus. Frankie wanted to turn and run, save himself from the inevitable embarrassment of... well, he wasn't sure what exactly. He just knew he was going to fuck this up. A little ache, like a balloon inflating behind his sternum, stole all the breath in his lungs.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the metal door jamb. She jumped and Frankie immediately felt his face heat up. He hadn't meant to scare her. But as she turned and caught sight of him, a wide smile spread across her face.

"Frankie! Hi, I wasn't sure if you were going to make it." She brushed her hands down the front of her hips and hopped off the chair. "Thought something more exciting might come up."

Frankie caught himself staring at her, at the way the thin cotton of her shirt skimmed her breasts, the deep V neck giving him a hint of her cleavage. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look only at her eyes. Don't be a pervert, he thought to himself.

"No. I'm all caught up on The Young & the Restless and Days of Our Lives, and The Price is Right was a rerun today, so I'm all yours." Frankie grinned, hoping she would think he was funny, clever, something, anything. Anything positive.

She laughed, and Frankie felt elated. He found his gaze fixed on her eyes, sparkling at him and pulling him in deep like she’d done in the grocery store. Like he was worth something, worth spending her time and attention on.

Frankie cleared his throat and nodded up at the poster. "You want me to hop up and get that down for you?"

She nodded, fixed him with her bright smile again, "Thanks. That would be great."

Frankie felt his heart expand, and even though he knew how silly it was to feel this good just from being around her, from her finding him even the tiniest bit helpful, he couldn't find it in himself to care. He shoved down everything that felt weird about being in too deep, everything that was screaming at him that he was just a dumb kid, that she was too good for him. He decided to bask in whatever glow she was giving off, as long as he could be nearby.

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You watched Frankie step up on the chair with ease and reach his long arms up to gently peel the poster off the wall. You tried to keep your eyes somewhere chaste, but as his T-shirt lifted up you found your gaze drifting down to his ass. He looked good. Same jeans as he’d been wearing at the grocery store, a worn and comfy black T-shirt, and a black baseball cap, the local oil company logo centered above the brim.

You tore yourself away and turned your back on Frankie, focusing your attention on the tall bookshelf beside the doorway. You scanned the shelves, trying to decide which books to pack up for next year's class, and which to donate.

Just then, Monica appeared. "Hey, you left your lunch bag in the meeting room and I-" She stopped, fixing her eyes on Frankie, then flicking them back to you with an unspoken question.

You took your insulated lunch bag from her and made the introductions. "Monica, this is Frankie Morales. Frankie, this is my friend Monica. She's the new college and career counselor."

Frankie waved from his perch on the chair, and Monica smiled at him. "Hey. Nice to meet you." She flicked her eyes to you, "So, are you two friends, or...?"

“Frankie’s a former student. Graduated in ‘93.” You hoped that would be the end of it, but you saw a glimmer in Monica’s eye as she arched one eyebrow at you.

Drop it, drop it, drop it. You glared at Monica, and hoped she would be able to read your mind, as she so often seemed to be able to. Instead, she pressed on.

“So, Frankie, is she paying you, or is this some kind of court-ordered community service?” Monica guffawed at her own joke, and you were envious (as always) of how it seemed to draw everyone into laughing along with her.

Frankie chuckled as he hopped off the chair and walked over. “No, ma’am. Just thought I would help out. I’m back in town to take care of some business before I ship out to basic. I’ve been accepted for helo training for the Army.”

Monica looked impressed. “That’s great! Where did you get your degree?”

You narrowed your eyes at Monica and then turned back to the bookcase, sighing as you took a few books off the shelf and placed them into cardboard boxes. You listened to Frankie tell Monica all about his degree, his upcoming training, and his plans for the next few weeks. You felt itchy and annoyed, and then irritated on top of that because those feelings were irrational.

You let the sounds of their chat wash over you, enjoying the deep, soft timbre of Frankie’s voice while you tried to identify where your feelings were coming from. It’s not like Monica was interrupting a date or anything. And in her own words she was a “boring old married lady” with five kids, happily married for the past 15 years. She wasn’t competition for Frankie’s romantic attention… and for crying out loud, it’s not like there even was any romantic attention in the first place! You were just harboring a little crush on the man, unrequited and foolish as it was. So why were you so annoyed that they kept talking?

After ten minutes you had cleared nearly the entire bookcase, save for the top two shelves that you couldn’t quite reach. You turned toward them and cleared your throat, sounding far more irritated than you had meant to. Frankie looked sheepish, and you felt a twinge of guilt.

"Sorry, I just need to get going on this or we'll be here all day."

Monica caught on and made her excuses. "Sorry to interrupt your cleaning party. Nice to meet you, Frankie. You come and tell me if she works you too hard this afternoon."

Frankie smiled and shook Monica's hand. "It was very nice to meet you." He turned and crossed the room again, mounting the chair to take the next poster down.

Monica took advantage of Frankie's back being turned to goad you. She made wide eyes at you, and inclined her head toward Frankie as she mouthed an exaggerated and silent, "Wow!"

You glared at her and clenched your jaw, shaking your head no. A clear signal to stop.

Monica nodded her head and mouthed a silent, "Yes. Go for it!" You closed your eyes and sighed in irritation, turning your attention back to the dusty shelves. Monica left, and you hoped that would be the end of it.

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Frankie tried to make himself useful in taking down every poster in the classroom, all the while kicking himself at how irritating his behavior must be. She had worked hard at cleaning off the bookshelf, all while he was chattering to her friend like an idiot. He vowed to stop talking so much.

She had probably been irritated because she had heard it all before at the grocery store. And then on top of that, he was supposed to be helping her like he had offered to, not standing around talking all day. He was never going to get anywhere if... wait, get where exactly?

Frankie shook his head and reminded himself that she wasn't a conquest, wasn't some girl at a bar or a university classmate. She wasn't anyone who might return his affections if he played his cards right. She was just his kindly former math teacher. At best she was humoring his need to get out of the house for the afternoon and appreciative of the extra set of hands. And at worst- well, he didn't want to think about 'worst' but it probably involved him being an annoying kid that she had to put up with in order to get some badly needed help cleaning the classroom.

Frankie let his mind wander as he continued pulling the chair along the floor, stepping up to remove each poster, then laying it carefully on her desk before moving the chair along to hop up and remove the next one. He imagined her on the phone with her friend that evening, maybe drinking a glass of wine while she laughed about how pitiful he was. "Poor kid, boring everyone with his enlistment bullshit."

Frankie envisioned her giggling while she sipped her wine, probably wearing a satin bathrobe with nothing under it-

"Frankie?" Her voice broke into his head before he could go too far and turn the dull ache of a self-pity daydream into the heat of a dirty one.

"Shit, sorry. Must've zoned out. What's up?" He stepped off the chair and turned to face her, placing the final poster on her desk gently.

"I asked if you were hungry? I can split my sandwich and chips with you if you want." Her face was bright, her eyes warm and her smile sincere.

Frankie thought of maybe lying, brushing it off because he didn't want to inconvenience her, but at the word "sandwich" he realized he was pretty hungry. And then, too, it would be a chance to talk with her, maybe make her laugh again, sit close and have an excuse to make eye contact.

"Yeah, thank you. Sorry I didn't think to bring anything." He bit his lip. "You sure you don't mind?"

She shook her head, that damn delicious perfume wafting over him again. "Not at all. Why don't you go wash up. I'll see if I can find a paper cup somewhere and I'll pour you some of my soda, too."

Frankie smiled. "Thank you, I'll go do that."

He walked out the door and turned left, running on autopilot to the boys restroom at the end of the hall, even after four long years of not stepping foot in the building. Frankie had to stop himself from leaping up to slap the crossbeam above the hallway. He couldn't even quantify why he wanted to perform what was basically a celebratory gesture. Because she was sharing her lunch with him? Because she was letting him stay near her? Asking him to come even marginally closer and share a meal with her? It was the blandest possible gesture of kindness, but for some reason Frankie felt elation, as if she had said yes to an actual date or something.

"Fuck it," he muttered to himself. "Doesn't matter." As long as he could stay close to her.

Frankie finished up and washed his hands, smirking at himself in the same scratched mirror outlined with the same type of hastily scribbled graffiti that had graced the painted cinder block walls when he was a student. Kids marking their territory in between janitors painting it over, layer after layer, probably since the school had been built. Boner wuz here... Kimmy G sucks dick... For a good time call Miguel's mom...

Frankie recognized the sentiments, even if the names had changed. But then he also recognized that there was a gulf between himself and the kids who had most recently made their marks here. He was a college graduate now, about to step off into a new adventure and be trusted to fly sophisticated machines that cost millions of taxpayer dollars.

As much as he felt like a stupid kid whenever he was near her, he wasn't actually that same seventeen-year-old boy anymore. Maybe he had a chance? Maybe he could ask her to get a drink with him when they were done cleaning? Maybe she would say yes? Maybe... maybe that was too much to hope for this soon. Maybe he could just get another hug, another trace of her perfume clinging to his shirt for the next few hours, another smile.

He wadded up his paper towel and made a jump shot toward the trash can. The paper towel banked off the wall and dropped in. Frankie took that as a good sign, and ambled back down the hall toward her classroom. As he got closer to the door, he heard her talking to someone.

Frankie knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but the lure of learning any new information about her was too enticing. He stilled his footsteps just outside the door, hugging the wall out of the line of sight.

"...student, that's why."

Frankie recognized Monica's voice as she replied, "Former student, and not bad looking at that."

"No, absolutely not. Are you trying to get me fired?" Her voice dropped in volume, and Frankie could only make out a few disconnected words. "And then... does matter... same age... old."

Frankie felt his heart squeeze before it dropped into his shoes with a thud. Was Monica trying to talk her into asking him out? And she thought he was too young for her, and a threat to her job, given their former relationship. She sounded angry that Monica had even suggested it in the first place.

Monica piped up, "It's been a really long time since you had a decent date, that's all. And even longer since you-"

She cut Monica off with a hard tone of voice, the one he recognized from years ago, the one she used on kids who were acting up in class. "No. End of discussion."

Frankie silently backed up ten steps, then purposely squeaked the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum floor to alert them of his approach. He rounded the corner of the classroom and saw Monica's face whip towards him, looking guilty.

Monica covered pretty well, "Hey, Frankie! I was just going to see if you guys wanted to go out and get some lunch, but I see you have a little picnic set up, so I'll be going."

"Oh, yeah..." Frankie trailed off, unsure of what to say next. The air between the two women felt heavy. He had clearly walked in on something serious, and he didn't want to make it worse.

He scooted past Monica and took a seat next to the big desk, crouching low in the little student chair that he had been using as a step stool to reach the posters. She had cleared all the posters off the desk and set out paper towels with a half sandwich laid on each, a little pile of Cool Ranch Doritos, and some baby carrots. A small, bright pink paper cup held some of her can of Diet Coke that she had poured out for him.

Frankie suddenly felt for all the world like a kid who was in trouble with his best friend's mom, saddled with the disapproval of someone he respected who abruptly had no patience for him. She wasn't exactly angry at him, but she clearly didn't want him around. He was thankful that at least he hadn’t actually tried to ask her out, that he hadn’t hit on her or otherwise attempted to cross that line. Thank God.

Frankie gulped down his discomfort and decided to just get through the afternoon. He would finish helping her with the cleanup he had committed to, and then get out of her way... and stay away.

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You watched Frankie walk out the door, trying to keep your eyes somewhere appropriate. After he left, you cleaned your hands with a wet wipe and then placed the food on paper towels, hoping Frankie wouldn't think you were dull. PB&J with chips and carrots didn't exactly scream "sophisticated adult," but then again, what would you have packed if you were trying to impress him? Lasagna, you decided, or something equally comforting. Poor guy was about to spend the next few years experiencing the world of industrial-scale military cuisine; he could probably use a few homemade meals before then.

You let yourself envision that scenario for a moment, imagined inviting Frankie to your apartment, basking in his appreciation for your cooking and the way you took care of him, his smile as you set down a plate in front of him, leaning down to kiss him as he slipped a large hand around your waist-

"Where's Mr. Handsome?" Monica's playful tease broke your reverie.

You wheeled around and scowled at her. "In the bathroom. He could come back any minute, so behave yourself."

"Are you going to ask him out?" She grinned, the mischievous one that usually signaled you were going to have a good time with her, engaging in whatever shenanigans she had cooked up. But not this time.

"No fucking way." You shook your head for emphasis.

"Why not? Because he's twenty-two?"

"Because he's a student, that's why."

Monica pounced on that. "Former student, and not bad looking at that."

"No, absolutely not. Are you trying to get me fired?" Your voice had climbed, and you realized you should lower it, in case Frankie was on his way back. "And then on top of that, the age thing does matter. Even though I do find him very attractive, I'm practically the same age as his mom. He probably just thinks I'm old."

"It's been a really long time since you had a decent date, that's all. And even longer since you-"

You put your foot down. "No. End of discussion."

Just then you heard the squeak of a shoe on linoleum, and Frankie's footsteps approached the door. You crossed your arms and glared at Monica. She turned to Frankie and you tried not to look at him, you didn't want him to think that your irritation was meant for him. But Frankie wasn't stupid, he looked uncomfortable at the tension in the room.

Monica made a dumb excuse and departed, and you were left alone with Frankie, who was slumped in the side chair at your desk, picking at his chips. You took a deep breath and sat down. You picked up your sandwich and tried to keep your voice light.

"Sorry about that. We were just having a disagreement. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

Frankie flicked his big brown eyes to yours, and he looked almost worried. Before you could process his expression, he blinked and looked away. "No, it's okay. No big deal, it happens."

You wondered if Frankie had overheard you, had caught you saying you were attracted to him. Fuck. And now he was probably extremely uncomfortable in your presence. He probably viewed you as some kind of pervert, a dirty old lady who hit on young men because she couldn't find someone her own age. You decided to give him an out.

"I can probably get the rest of this done by myself, if you need to take off. You got the high posters down, I can toss out old paperwork and deal with the rest on my own." You tried to smile at him, make it not a big deal, give him an escape hatch.

Frankie's eyes flicked to yours for a moment and you couldn't quite read him. If you hadn't known better, you would have described his expression as wounded, like a kicked puppy. He shook his head and shifted into a neutral expression, covering it all with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"No, I don't have anywhere to be, and you need help with the high shelves." He tipped his head toward the tall bookshelf as he inserted a whole chip into his mouth.

You nodded in agreement and picked up your soda can to take a sip. An awkward silence descended over the both of you as you ate, and you sighed inwardly at yourself. How had you managed to fuck this up already? You had gotten one hug and a few kind smiles from Frankie, and now you had almost completely scared him off. He probably had overheard you telling Monica that he was hot. Fantastic.

You decided to at least try to salvage the meal, turning the conversation to something safer. You looked at the oil company logo on the front of his cap. "So, your dad still works at the same place?"

"Yeah, same old, same old. I'll probably end up there, too, if I'm not careful." Frankie took his hat off and considered the Standard Heating Oil logo for a moment before he tossed it on the nearest student desk. He ruffled his fingers through his hair, and you fought the urge to crawl into his lap and do the same.

"Why do you say that?" You were puzzled. Frankie was about to go fly helicopters, get paid to do something amazing. Not that his dad's job at the refinery was disgraceful, but it was an entirely different world than specialized training and military service.

Frankie sighed and folded his arms on the desktop, "I'm pretty sure I'm the same fu- sorry." He grimaced briefly at the almost-swear before he spoke again, eyes fixed on his sandwich. "I'm probably just the same loser I've always been. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this, so I'll probably screw it up and have to come back home."

Your throat closed up and you suddenly had to swallow hard in order to keep breathing. Never in a million years would you have described Frankie as a "loser" or anything close to it. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable, didn't want him to think you were hitting on him, but he had to know-

You reached your hand out and wrapped your fingers over his arm, just above his wrist.

For a split second you regretted the contact, until his deep chocolate eyes met yours, a little furrow of confusion making an appearance between his brows.

"You're not a loser." You looked at him and leaned closer to make it clear that you were serious. Frankie's face relaxed from worry into something softer. "Far from it, Frankie. You were one of my brightest students, and I think you have what it takes to make a success of this."

You squeezed his arm for emphasis and then let go, turning your attention back to your lunch. If nothing else, at least he had to know that.

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Frankie's breath stopped when her hand touched his arm. The feel of her soft skin against his was thrilling, and he relished the way her fingers wrapped over his wrist and held him firmly. He didn't want to do anything that might break the tenuous contact. But there was still a dull ache at the base of his throat, the sting of her rejection from earlier - complicated by the fact that his knowledge had been gained by eavesdropping.

"You're not a loser. Far from it, Frankie." She inclined her head closer, and if Frankie hadn't been freshly kicked, he would have been tempted to close the distance and kiss her. Instead, all he could do was look deeply into her eyes, feeling his worries spin away.

She continued, "You were one of my brightest students, and I think you have what it takes to make a success of this." She gave his arm a brief squeeze and then let go, giving him a nod of finality, as if that were the end of the matter.

Frankie didn't think she was lying right now, but he also had trouble believing her. Years and years of being the quiet kid - the one who absorbed the majority of schoolyard abuse just because he never got into the fray to dole it back out - had given Frankie a base layer of insecurity. He wore it under everything else, close to his heart, even when adolescent bravado was layered over it for camouflage.

"Uh, thank you." He smiled at her, hoping she knew just how much he appreciated it. He felt warm all over, the rejection and the eavesdropping instantly brushed aside.

She smiled at him and popped a carrot in her mouth, and they finished their lunch in companionable silence. Frankie tried several times to think of something conversational to say, but everything seemed inconsequential. Maybe silence was better anyway; he didn't want to break something that had just barely mended. When they finished, Frankie cleared everything away and walked it to the trash can.

Her soft voice wafted from the other side of the room. "Do you want to listen to some music?"

Frankie turned and saw her by the window, shuffling through a stack of jewel cases that were stacked next to her classroom CD player on a low table.

Frankie laughed and walked over. "Do you still torture kids with Pachelbel during tests?"

She wrinkled her nose at him and gave him a begrudging smile, "Yes. It helps!"

"Nah, nothing can help. Your tests were always really hard. Torture, in fact."

She shot him a frown, "They are not!"

Frankie laughed. "They were! If I hadn't studied my ass off, music wouldn't have helped."

Frankie took the stack of CDs from her, trying to ignore the way her fingers brushed his, and the little butterflies that scattered in his stomach at the brief contact and the scent of her perfume when he stood this close. He flipped through the stack, pulling out a bright orange one with a blurry bear's face on the cover.

"Oh, shit. This one, definitely."

"R.E.M., huh? That's what they have you listening to at that college of yours?" She giggled at Frankie's mock hurt expression and popped the lid of the boombox open. "Okay, but after this we're listening to Weezer."

The opening riff of "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" started, and the mood in the room lightened. Frankie felt like he had salvaged the afternoon, smoothing over the earlier discomfort. Even if nothing more could ever happen between them, Frankie decided he could live with this level of camaraderie.

Frankie helped her finish packing up the books, dusted shelves and swept, and emptied filing drawers and cabinets. He filled two large trash bags with broken rubber bands, old worksheets, dead ballpoint pens, and the mummified husk of a banana peel that he found on the very top of the bookshelf. When he got back from the dumpster, he shifted all of the furniture away from the walls toward the center of the room, so that the maintenance team could come in during the break and apply a fresh coat of industrial mint blue paint. The awful hue permeated the entire school building and clashed horribly with any decorations that featured the school colors of maroon and silver.

When everything was finished, Frankie felt a little wistful. This was probably it, he thought. The last chance I'll ever have to see her. He wondered if he should try to invent something else he could help with, but other than carrying the last few boxes of books to her car, there wasn't anything left to do.

The sun was low and bathed her in golden light as Frankie slammed her car trunk shut. He fixed her with a tight smile and shrugged. "All done."

She nodded and smiled at him. "I really appreciate it. It went much faster with you here." Frankie almost ached at how her eyes sparkled at him again. He wished he had a reason, any reason, to stay.

Instead, he waved a goodbye and tried not to look at her in the rearview mirror of his truck as he drove away.

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You sighed and wrapped your arms around yourself as you watched Frankie drive away. You felt wistful, like you had missed a chance at something, lost the opportunity to make a new friend. You knew without a doubt that Frankie was a sweet man, and that you had probably completely scared him off and creeped him out with your comments to Monica.

You were certain that Frankie had overheard you and was probably really glad to be rid of you. He had only finished helping because he was the kind of man who stuck to his word. You opened your door and glanced at the front seat of your car. Your purse was missing, and you realized that you had only grabbed your keys when you picked up the final box of books. Shit.

You jogged back to the school's front door and opened it, coming face to face with Monica.

"Anything happen with Mr. Handsome?" She grinned.

You rolled your eyes. "Monica, I told you to drop it." You walked past her, and she followed you through the halls back to your classroom.

"I know, but he's cute! And it's been like a hundred years since you got laid, and Frankie seems like he would be really good in bed."

"Monica!"

"What? I'm right." She pressed on. "He's warm, he's intelligent, he's very thoughtful, he has a nice smile. And not every hot-shot future pilot guy would devote an afternoon to helping their old math teacher clean out her classroom."

You unlocked your classroom door and spun to face her. "What, so I'm supposed to just walk up to him and say, 'Hey, I know I'm a million years older than you and I used to be your teacher, and please ignore how creepy that is, and by the way I'd like to thank you for your hard work by opening my legs.' Yeah, that would go over real well, especially when the parents of my current students get wind of it."

Monica opened her mouth, and you raised a hand to shush her.

"And besides, I'm never going to see him again anyway. I'm fairly certain he overheard me saying that I think he's attractive and it scared him off. He was behaving very awkwardly when he left today, and practically squealed his tires to get out of here. I'm pretty sure that even if I wanted to try and fuck him, he's long gone."

Monica pouted sympathetically and hugged you. "Sorry, babe. Maybe you'll see him again, who knows."

You smiled wanly at her and nodded, "Sure, maybe. Now please go home to your husband and have sex, so that I know at least one of us is getting some action."

Monica waved a saucy goodbye and threw back over her shoulder, "Can do!"

You laughed in spite of yourself and shook your head. Monica meant well, always, she was just a little bit brash and pushy in how she went about it. You flipped the classroom lights on and found your purse sitting in the seat of the rolling chair next to your desk. You put the strap over your shoulder and turned-

And saw that Frankie's black Standard Oil baseball cap was still sitting on the student desk where he had tossed it during lunch.

"Fuck."

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“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @castleamc @coreychick @whataperfectwasteoftime @bunniesofsteel @katareyoudrilling @furious-rogue-stuff @green-socks

#fic rec #frankie morales x reader #i'm obsessed with this #these two idiots!!#excited to see what happens next!#can't wait for more #i'm screaming

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