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jennaispunk · 30 days ago

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Save Me

Summary: A professional rejection leads Dieter down a dark path. Can he find his way back?

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, worry, drug use, mentions of abusive childhood (Dieter), mention of Dieter being a bit of an asshole (but he loves reader), two people in love who are just trying to figure it out. Internal dialogue is in italics. No physical description of reader is given. The photos in the moodboard are for aesthetic only.

A/N: This is for @bitchesuntitled sober Dieter challenge. I’m so proud of you, bb!! 💜💜 This story was inspired by Save Me by Jelly Roll. If you haven’t heard it, go listen right now. It’s an amazing song that really captures the reality of addiction.

Somebody save me, me from myself

I’ve spent so long living in hell….

Dieter groans loudly and shields his eyes. Why is it so bright in here? Where the fuck am I? He didn’t even know what day it was or how long he’d been there. His throat feels like it’s been sandblasted. There’s no clear memory of how he ended up here. He falls off the couch and stumbles to the bathroom, his head still spinning. Swiping his hand down his face, he looks at his reflection. He doesn’t even recognize the person staring back at him. This must be what rock bottom feels like. He supposed this was bound to happen; he’d always been one for self-sabotage. He had the girl of his dreams, more money than he knew what to do with but somehow, he’d managed to fuck it all up. He’d been able to brush off rejection before, but this one felt personal. That role was going to make his career. His father’s words kept ringing in his head, taunting him. An actor? You can pretend all ya want…you’ll always be a loser, kid. Don’t come crawling back home when it doesn’t work out. He chuckled darkly. That lousy old man never believed in him, but he sure had his hand out when the first big check came in.

He thought he had it all under control. He’d managed to keep his drug use to a minimum for months. He’d been so determined to change, and you’d been such a big help with that. You were the supportive presence he needed, always there to talk him down off the ledge.

He whispers your name to his reflection. The acrid tang of bile hits the back of his throat. You must be worried sick. He’s surprised you weren’t blowing up his phone. Dead. Ah fuck, this is bad. He said some awful things to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you’d packed your shit and gotten as far away as you could. He deserves all that and more for what he’s done.

Three days…That’s how long it’s been since Dieter slammed the door as he walked out. The rattle still echoes in your head as you sit on the overstuffed couch in your shared penthouse apartment. You’d never seen him so angry. He wasn’t the type to yell or get overly upset about anything. You knew it was the drugs and depression talking, but that didn’t make his words hurt any less. You knew his demons; he’d shown you the parts of him he kept hidden from the rest of the world. He told you about his shitty childhood, how his father had been emotionally abusive to him and his mother, and how he struggled with depression. There had been times when he’d disappear for a day, but he always came back to you. He never left you overnight without a word.

You stare at your phone willing it to ring. God, please let him be okay. You can feel him slipping further away from you every minute he’s gone. All you need is to hear his voice, to know that he isn’t hurt or worse, but all you get is silence…and it’s deafening. You’ve called anyone that you think might know something. The answer is always the same: I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s fine. You know Dieter, don’t worry so much. The thing was, they didn’t really know Dieter at all. They knew the chaotic, free spirit who was always down for a good time. They didn’t know the parts of him he only let you see.

Looking back on it now, you should have seen it coming. This last rejection really hurt him. You knew how bad he wanted that part. It was going to be a game changer for him, his chance to prove to Hollywood that he was a serious actor and that was all torn to shreds when they went with another actor. At first, he been able to brush it off, but as the days wore on you could see how much it affected him.

It started with little things: sleeping in late, changes in his appetite. Then he started snapping at you. He’d yell at you for the littlest things. One time it was so bad that you hid in the bathroom and cried. It all culminated with his drug use getting out of control. He had been doing so well up until that point. He hadn’t touched any hard drugs in months, just the occasional smoke or edible, mostly when he was painting. When you came home three days ago to find cocaine sprinkled over the coffee table, you confronted him and that’s when everything went to hell. You argued, he screamed at you and then he left.

You were so worried about him that you’d barely eaten or slept. You drove around the streets of LA, stopping at some of his old hangouts hoping to find him. The only thing keeping you from calling the police is that you don’t want the press to somehow find out that he was missing. That would be a disaster for his career, and he would never forgive you for that.

Tears prick at your eyes as you check your phone for the millionth time. He hasn’t called or texted and no one has sent word that they’ve heard from him. Your chest feels tight, it’s harder to get air in your lungs. The longer he is gone, the more likely it is that something terrible has happened to him. You can’t take not knowing any longer and dial the number to the local police station, your shaking thumb hovering over the send button.

Your eyes snap up as the door to the apartment opens. Dieter walks in and you gasp softly.

“Dee!”

You rush to him and throw your arms around his neck. Tears leak from your eyes as you hold him close to you. He stands like a statue in your grip making no move to wrap his arms around you.

“I’m so glad you came home.” You whisper in his ear.

He’s shocked that you’re still here. His throat is dry, and he swallows hard. How does he even begin to apologize? Forgiveness isn’t something he deserves.

The sickly sweet mixture of vomit and whiskey hits your nostrils, and you slowly pull away from him. Your jaw drops, as you notice just how awful he looks. Disheveled clothing and extra messy hair make the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. A small cut adorns his forehead, the dried blood crusted to his skin.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he croaks through chapped lips. It’s weak, a piss poor apology for what he put you through, but that’s the best he can do right now.

Your heart felt like it was in a vice grip. Nothing would have prepared you for this. The stories that you heard of his past pale in comparison to reality. This is not the man you fell in love with. The man in front of you is broken and defeated. He’d never let himself get this down before, at least not since he’d met you. That was all in the past. What has he done to himself?

“It’s okay, baby.” You coo softly. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You take his hand and lead him to the bathroom. You simultaneously thank and curse every deity you can think of. The man you love has been reduced to a shell of himself and you’re not exactly sure how to help him. The last thing you want to do is make this worse, comforting him is your only goal now.

He’s completely silent as you turn on the shower. You strip him of his dirty clothes as the steam fills the room. The first thing you need to do is get him clean and get him some sleep. The serious conversation you need to have can wait until morning.

You undress yourself and guide him under the hot water. The water cascades over the two of you and you smile at him, hoping to assure him that everything is fine. You encourage him to tilt his head back to wet his hair. You scrub his hair, massaging his scalp with loving care. After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you scrub his scruffy beard to remove the bits of dried vomit stuck there. Next, you wash his body with slow, gentle strokes. You can only hope this shower is comforting for him, he’s devoid of emotion right now. The soapy suds slide down his body and onto the shower floor as you feel him start to finally relax just a bit. If it were only that easy to wash away his hurt and his pain. You bite back your tears as you turn off the water. He doesn’t need to see you cry right now; he needs you to be strong for him.

His jaw twitches as you guide him from the shower. I’ve royally fucked up; how can she forgive me for this? He really went off the deep end this time and he knows it. His last act of love will be to make you save yourself; to give you an out so he doesn’t ruin your life too. He’s done enough damage.

“You should go…” he says softly. “I’m a lost cause. I’m just going to drag you down with me.”

Your brow furrows. Leaving was not an option for you. You were in this for the long haul, and you weren’t going to let him push you away. There was no way in hell you were walking out.

“I’m not going anywhere, babe. You’re stuck with me.”

Tears well in his eyes and he crushes you to his chest. He holds onto you like his life depends on it, a desperate act of a drowning man.

You silently wrap your arms around his waist, your own feeble attempt to anchor him, to let him know that he’s not alone. You’ll be there every step of the way, but you can’t save him; He has to be the one to save himself.

His shoulders bounce as he silently sobs. He murmurs apologies into your hair over and over again, tears streaming down his face. “I need help… please help me. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You silently thank every God or spirit you can think of. He’s asking for help and you’re going to do everything in your power to get him whatever he needs.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” You whisper. “I’m going to help you, baby.”

You guide him to the bed and help him lay down, encouraging him to lay his head on your chest. Unshed tears prick your eyes as you try to find the right words to say to soothe him.

“Sleep now.” You murmur as you stroke his hair. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

The quiet hangs heavy between you; his occasional heavy breath punctuating the silence. His asking for help was only the first step of a long journey. Nothing was going to be fixed overnight; you couldn’t just snap your fingers and make all of this go away no matter how badly you wished you could.

He knew just how big of a mess he’d made of things. Storming out on you like that and going on a binge was a horrible mistake. It was going to take work to fix this, but he had to do it, for himself and for you.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

His whispered plea shatters your heart into a thousand pieces. You clear your throat to choke back your tears.

“I won’t ever give up on you, Dee.” you whisper as you wrap your arms around him even tighter.

“I love you too much to quit on you now. Don’t give up on yourself.”

He lets out a shaky breath. Too many people had given up on him in the past, written him off without giving him a chance, but not you. He’s so grateful that you want to stick around. He doesn’t know if he could do this without you.

“I love you, too.”

He had a long road ahead and it scared the shit out of him. Could he finally get sober after so many slip ups? Honestly, he didn’t know but he was going to try, whether that meant rehab or outpatient treatment, whatever it took. He was going to try like hell to be the man he wanted to be, for himself and for you.

#save me #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x fem. reader #tw: drug use #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #worry #love #tw:mentions of abuse

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ohforficsake · 6 months ago

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The Margay: Chapter 11

What Happens in the After

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Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard

Word Count: ~10.9K

WARNINGS: Triggers for discussion of childhood abandonment / absentee parents. Please read with care.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie / Minors DNI

A/N: And so we come to the end of this little story. Thank you to each and every one of you who have shown interest, shared, commented, and supported me in general throughout this little journey. I can't tell you how much I have looked forward to your comments on these, the beautifully phrased ones and the incoherent screaming ones alike. My inbox is always open for incoherent screaming about these two.

Chapter Moodboard

A note: This chapter takes place in Jamaica, which was impacted this week by Hurricane Beryl. I'm always hesitant to tell people what to do with and where to send their money, but if you are so inclined, I would urge you to make even a small donation to a reputable organization that aligns with your beliefs to help provide aid to Jamaica and the wider Caribbean in the wake of that storm.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

There’s a soft shave and a haircut knocked against the door to the hut.

She has a backpack slung over her shoulder and one hand stuffed into the pockets of cargo shorts.

The other hand’s wrapped around the dregs of her welcome drink.

And to Frankie’s grief-sore eyes, Audrey looks like hope dredged from the bottom of his chest and given a heartbeat.

He steps aside and allows her in and as she slips past she doesn’t reach for him.

“Hi,” he whispers when he shuts the door.

“Hi,” she echoes.

She reflexively twists to avoid his hand when he reaches to help her out of her backpack.

And it twists Frankie’s viscera.

“How was your flight?” He rakes a hand through his curls. He has the louvers shut and the hut is lit only by the faintest glow of sunlight through the cracks.

“Yeah, was good.”

“Where were you coming from?”

“Why am I here, Frankie?” Audrey asks gently.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I’m trying to show you that I mean it.”

“Why.”

Because I need you.

You keep me from using.

You remind me who I am.

It all rattles around his brain.

And yet none of it feels like it’s enough.

Because what about her…

What about her. What about him is worth anything to her. How could he ever be. The addict. The body.

She doesn’t need him to fix her car or make her come.

She doesn’t even need him to watch her six.

“Stay with me?” Is what he asks instead. “Here. For a few days.”

In the smallest voice she’s ever heard him use.

Not even languid words lazed across the velvet of her skin after she’s poured pleasure into his blood have ever reached this level of softness.

And she puts her backpack down on wood planks because she realizes he’s ready to apologize but hasn’t yet found the words.

She walks over to the doors that lead out to the balcony and flips both sets of louvers open. “You seen the beach yet?”

“Haven’t made it out.”

“It’s nice. Get changed,” she nods towards the bathroom door, stepping out of Frankie’s path.

His palms burn as he slips through to the bathroom.

She's no different with him as they laze in the sun.

No different except that she hasn't touched him, or reached out for him in kind.

Condensation drips from a chilled bottle of water and lands on her inner thigh, slipping because it’s pulled by gravity, and gravity taunts Frankie as his eyes follow the drop’s trajectory from behind dark lenses.

The dew of sweat highlights the curve of her breasts and Frankie catches a pale man who looks as though he considers mayonnaise a spice glare as he passes them on the sand.

Frankie taps on her chair to signal that he’s heading into the ocean and dives furiously the moment he makes it out far enough.

He can’t clear his head.

He can’t find the words.

Trevor, a benevolent bartender, attempts to give him a word of advice.

“You love that girl?”

And Frankie stares hard into his melting rum punch and then back up at kind, light brown eyes.

“I do.”

“Tell her, brother. Woman like that? Once in a lifetime and you’re gonna lose her.”

“She doesn’t need me.”

“No woman needs a man, brother.”

“She doesn’t love me.”

“She does.” He skates a rag over the bartop without looking up. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Audrey’s in the sea and doesn’t see Frankie staring with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

He tips Trevor treble for the drink.

The bartender’s words rattle around Frankie’s brain the rest of the day.

That night Audrey’s cradled in white cotton with her nose in a book when he emerges from having brushed his teeth.

Frankie fishes the spare comforter out of the closet and moves to the left side of the bed, pulling a pillow from next to her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

And she offers half a laugh.

“Frankie—“

“It’s fine, I—“

“Frankie you’re not sleeping on the floor, that’s insane,” she gazes at him incredulously through the gauze of the mosquito net.

“I wanna give you your space.”

“It’s a king sized bed, Francisco, we’ve slept on far smaller…”

They’ve slept on far smaller under friendlier circumstances. Frankie’s broad, heavy form draped over her back, his nose nuzzled in her hair.

It flashes through his brain.

“I’ll sleep on the day bed.”

“Frankie you’re gonna get eaten alive by every biting insect in Jamaica, you’re not sleeping outside. You’re gonna get fucking Dengue. If it bothers you that much I can go down to reception and book another hut it’s fine,” she peels back the comforter and moves to climb off the bed.

“No.” It rushes from his mouth. “No, no don’t leave.”

He puts the pillow back on the bed.

Lengthwise.

Between them.

And grabs another for his head.

It irritates her enough that she nearly forgets that he still hasn’t apologized. She nearly reaches over the physical barrier between them to pull it from behind his teeth with her tongue.

She closes her eyes and breathes in and out through her nose.

And turns back to her book.

The next day they barely speak but to coordinate showers, which beach they’re going to visit, what one wants to drink when the other is heading to the beach bar.

Audrey burns through her second book and Frankie just burns with the heat of regret.

He’s the one dragging this out.

That night after dinner, they walk back to their hut in silence, both just this side of drunk on rum. A bartender mistook Frankie’s trepidatious buzzing and Audrey’s carefree chat as him being nervous to propose and kept free drinks flowing. They’ve put down more together before but Frankie is a tequila man and although rum is Audrey’s ancestral drink, she hardly touches dark liquor anymore.

Frankie stuffs his fists into the pockets of his linen pants as they navigate shell-laced concrete and figures drunk isn’t the state of mind to do this but drunk also won't let him wait any longer.

“Audrey.”

She looks to him without saying his name, but her pace doesn’t falter. She spins on her heel and starts walking backwards as a reggae version of One More Night starts playing from some far-off speaker mounted in a tree.

There’s music in her step.

“Audrey, wait,” he reaches for her arm but thinks better of manhandling her again.

He replaces his fist in his pocket.

He kicks at a loose pebble.

He skates a hand through his hair.

“Audrey, I fucked up.”

Big green eyes meet his gaze.

“You did.”

“I was living in a fantasy that night and when I saw you. That night in DC.”

Her eyes soften now.

“You looked so beautiful. Perfect. So at ease in a place where I was so lost.”

“You always are. Beautiful.”

“Everything just hit me at once. And it’s not an excuse, but I’ve thought about that night in Honduras every night since.”

“When Benny was out there with us.”

“When I called you mine. And you hesitated and I know you told me to drop it but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Frankie,” she whispers as the ocean breeze whips through her curls.

“It got in my head, Aud.”

“And I didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t know how to just talk to you and I let it fester until I lashed out, like, like a fucking child.”

“It was wrong. I—I was wrong. I ripped at you because seeing you there—on someone else’s arm—someone smarter and richer and better than me tore me up even though you didn’t do anything. You didn’t do anything.”

She steps closer to him.

“You looked like a bride.”

It makes her heart drop from her chest.

“You felt precious and unattainable and I ripped you off of your pedestal and broke you because I finally realized that maybe everything you said is true.”

“I can’t have you so I broke you. Into the most beautiful shards I’ve ever seen.”

There are tears streaming down his face now.

“And I’ve regretted it every moment since because I’m not a sculptor and I don’t know how to put you back together. Us. I don’t know how to put us back together.”

“I was cruel.”

“And I’ve deserved to sit in it like this," he gestures broadly over his torso, "with this—this this weight crushing my chest.”

“And it’s okay if you’re done, Audrey. I’m not going to beg you to stay if you don’t want to.”

He wipes an angry hand across one cheek.

“I’d understand it if you’re done.”

And Audrey stares back at him through eyes as big as saucers before she speaks.

“Do you want to be done, Francisco?”

“No. This is me trying not to be done, Audrey.”

And she considers him more carefully than she ever has before.

Staring through him.

And when she blinks hard to clear it she must be satisfied with what she saw because she holds out her hand.

“Can we keep talking back in the room?” She asks him softly, because tears are still streaming down his cheeks and another couple is heading down the path.

“Yeah,” he whispers, swiping a palm down his face. But he doesn’t take her hand.

And it twists a piece of her heart.

She starts off again and when the gravel ends and the cement begins she can’t hear him following her anymore.

She’s doesn’t look back.

She stops to love on the petite tabby cat that roams the resort and she supposes Frankie stops somewhere behind her.

Audrey knows that Frankie loves cats and the fact that he’s not standing right beside her makes her stomach roil.

When they make it to their hut she heads straight for the ice bucket, scooping a clean glass through it and grabbing the unopened bottle of complimentary rum before she heads out onto the porch.

Frankie grabs a glass and flips on the porchlight.

It washes out color and bathes her in red.

His weight falls heavy into the chair across from her, heels of his palms scrubbing his eyes as she splits the ice and fills his glass before her own.

“Whatever happens,” she starts and Frankie's gaze falls heavy on her, “I want you to know. There is no one else. I wasn’t—“

The back of the chair creaks as she braces her form against teak.

“I wasn’t fucking anyone else before you and I haven’t fucked anyone else in the two years since Nicaragua.”

She meets his eyes now.

“I want you to know that. For you.”

And he offers the barest nod.

“I haven’t been able to think about anyone else since Nicaragua,” she tosses offhandedly.

“And frankly— I don’t really know what to do with that. But it’s the truth.”

Frankie doesn’t dare let himself hang on it, swallowing a mouthful of rum to singe the hope that curls around his heart.

“And I know I should have picked up the phone, it works two ways, right? I shouldn’t have run the way I did, and I should have said something to you but—“

A ragged breath.

“I was scared. You deserved better than that, Frankie. And I’m sorry.”

They’re quiet for a long time. Each working up the courage to take this where it needs to go.

And it’s Audrey who finds it first.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, babe,” he says weakly as he meets her gaze.

“What does ‘not being done’ look like to you?”

His glassy gaze doesn’t leave hers.

“You. Us? Some kind of future.”

“What is a future, Frankie?”

“Everything.”

“There is no white picket fence, barefoot and pregnant dream with me, Francisco. I’m not a nurturer. I can’t give you a normal life and a home and chi—”

“Where—why does this matter, Aud?”

“It’s what you deserve,” she murmurs.

“What?”

Her voice is monotone when she starts. “You deserve to return at the end of each day to a lovely warm home and a warm meal with your daughter and a beautiful wife who’s an amazing mother.” Rattling off what she believes to be fact as though it’s plain as day. “You deserve as many kids as you want because you’re an amazing dad. You deserve—a home that’s filled with laughter, Frankie. You deserve a safe home filled with love.”

“Is that what you think I want? Audrey, is that really your only blueprint for happiness? That suburban fuckin’ nightmare?”

“It’s what I thought I wanted,” she whispers in a voice so small that Frankie nearly reaches out to hold her before she shrinks into nothingness.

“Aud,” he coos.

“It’s what I thought I wanted as a girl. Something better than what I had.”

And he can tell she’s struggling against the lock that secures the box of her memories. The childhood hopes and dreams. The things she packed away to survive this long.

He can tell she’s struggling against tears.

“Tell me,” he whispers, leaning in across the small table. “You don’t have to carry it on your own anymore. I’m here. I’m going to be here. Talk to me, Aud.”

“I just wanted—a— a home.” She stutters. “With someone who loved me. Someone I could love. I didn’t— have that.”

“We moved a lot when I was a kid. Home was never anywhere for long. Didn’t really have time to make friends, stopped trying.”

“It always felt like no one ever wanted me around. And I mean, I was the perpetual new girl with the weird eyes and the frizzy hair, I can’t blame them.”

“Aud…”

“It doesn’t matter, Frankie,” she takes a rough sip of her rum. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It hurt you.”

She’s quiet for a beat, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep its tremor at bay.

And Francisco sits with her, listening to frogs sing a midnight hymn.

“I just remember feeling like everything was my fault. When we had to move. When my parents fought—and that was a lot. Like, wake up in the morning to them yelling at each other kind of a lot. Just, all of it. I took all of it on myself.” She sniffs hard and runs fingers through her curls. “I didn’t really understand what else adults could fight about at the time.” A dismissive gesture of her hand. “They became so distant. And it wasn’t always like that but life just got in the way., you know? They were doing their best with what they knew.”

“But I got in the way, I guess. I just grew up by myself,” she rubs at her nose with the back of her hand. “Told myself I didn’t need anyone because I never had anyone. Not for a long time. I didn’t have anyone because I wasn’t enough to keep them around.”

“That’s not true,” he whispers.

It’s a different kind of grief to know a lover’s pain.

“I made my friends up,” she offers a weak smile, “I made them up just so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“Because I was a person everyone abandoned.”

Audrey whispers, “and I just wanted to be loved so badly.”

And where she’s doing everything in her power to keep tears from breaking, they flow freely down Frankie’s cheeks.

She was a child. Frankie thinks. A child who needed love, needed to be held and told that she was someone’s whole world. And he can’t go back in time to change that but he wants so desperately to give it to her now.

“It’s why I ran. From you, that morning,” she meets his eyes now, “I fell back into a bad habit of running. I left you before you had a chance to leave me.”

And Frankie realizes the true weight of what he said all those weeks ago.

What he hissed into the face of a scared little girl.

He’d fuck you but he wouldn’t keep you. Yeah—I wouldn’t either.

She left because he said he would.

He has the briefest flash of his daughter’s face.

And it cracks him wide open.

“I wasn’t kind to you, Aud.”

He wants to reach out for her hand, but he isn’t sure if he can. If he’s allowed. “I wasn’t the safe place I should have been. But I want to be. I want to show you that everything you’ve felt isn’t true. I want to try.”

“I want to build a home that’s warm and safe. And I’m not talkin’ about having babies. I’m talking about us. A place that’s ours. Filled with laughter. Filled with love.”

“And I only want to do that—with you.”

“It’s not safe with me, Frankie. I don’t leave loose ends but I can’t—anywhere I am, anyone I’m with isn’t safe.”

“And you think I am? On my own, you think I am?”

He braces his elbows on his knees and leans in over the table.

“I made that choice a long time ago. Before you, Aud. I can’t unring that bell either.”

“Frankie,” she looks to him, eyes swimming with a gentle shake of her head, “I ca—I don’t. Know how.”

“Let’s figure it out together?"

“What do you want, Frankie?

“I want you.”

“You don’t know me, Frankie.”

Still she fights to push him away.

“You don’t know where my parents are from or the places that I lived. How many siblings I have. You don’t know what my favorite band is or or or my favorite fucking color. And I don’t know those things about you.”

He leans back in his chair, lips pressed into a hard line. “I know that you’re grasping at straws right now because these aren’t real questions, Audrey…”

“No, no of course they’re not. But that’s my point. We’ve known each other for two years in some fucked up, protracted honeymoon phase. Every few weeks we fly to a new country and fuck and maybe kill a few people in the process before we go our separate ways. I’ve never even slept in your bed, Francisco.”

“And I’ve barely slept in yours.”

He stares at her through wide eyes. Soft yet full of conviction.

“But I’ve cried in it.”

“I’ve seen you in crisis. I’ve seen the way you look when you’re lining up a shot. The pure determination on your face that one time you dragged Santi out of live fire because you had to get him somewhere safe. You were unshakable.”

He tips his head in an effort to catch her gaze where it’s locked on the floorboards.

“I’ve seen you look at me when you thought I was dying, Aud.”

“I’ve seen you.”

“You love in the sharpest corners of life. You love your people, Audrey. You care for their souls. You move the earth to keep them safe. To protect them. Because you care.”

“And there are people who care about you. People that love you. I love you.”

“You don’t even know my real name, Frankie.” She whispers low with glassy eyes, still trying to shake him from this delusion.

And what should have dropped as a bombshell barely causes a ripple.

“You’ve always said that you couldn’t give me anything more than what we’ve had, but I think it’s because you don’t allow yourself to try, Audrey. I don’t want a nine to five with you. I don’t want coming home to dinner and a martini, or or or soccer game pickups and ballet practice drop-offs in a minivan. I just want you.”

“I have laughter with you. I have love with you in my life. Anywhere you are feels like home to me, and I know I haven’t lived up to being the same for you yet…”

And he thinks he hears “you are” fall from her lips as he finishes, “but I want to. I want to—with you.”

“I want to know you’ll be there in the morning and I want to get to hold you at night. I want to see you smile in city lights and I want to hold your hand in the rain. I want to go on dates and meet your friends. I want to close down bars with you. I want to do this properly. For real. I want to love you. And I want you to let yourself be loved.”

“Because I love you, Audrey.”

“I LOVE you.”

Frankie’s eyes are wide with sincerity when she looks up.

And a sudden rake of anger chafes over him.

“Don’t react.”

Firmly but kindly.

With salt on his cheeks.

“Don’t mask your shit with the lies you tell yourself. You’re not that kid anymore, Aud. You don’t have to make it up. I’m here. And I love you. And I’m not fucking going anywhere. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“And I don’t think you do.”

“And don’t tell me that you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve love because of what you’ve done, either. I’ve done it too. And I know you don’t think I’m a monster even after what I’ve done to you, so that dog don’t hunt.”

“So don’t spit out a lie right here to my face.”

“Please.”

And Frankie knows this is it.

She can forsake it now and it would be over. Over because she doesn’t want any of it.

Whether out of fear.

Denial.

Overwhelm.

She could run again. Right in this moment. Leave knowing he loved her.

Leave because she can’t take it.

And that’s something Frankie can’t fix.

But he has one last plea.

“Whatever happens. Please don’t lie to me about that, Audrey.”

At least give me this to hold on to.

Something to remember you by.

The ghost in the trees.

“I don’t stick around after making a shot.”

Maybe just this once.

And for all Francisco Morales has seen of the woman he knows as Audrey Goddard.

He’s never seen her cry.

But the red porch light catches the wet streak making its way down her cheekbone to drip off of her chin when she turns her head to meet his eyes.

“I love you, Audrey,” he repeats, as firmly as he dares.

“And I think you’re crying because yo—”

“I love you too.”

And Frankie’s heart stops in his chest.

Trevor was right.

“I love you, Frankie. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

And the tears flow freely now. From both sets of eyes.

“And I’m sorry that I’m the one that loves you. Because I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what normal is, what that looks like. I don’t know how much longer I can do this job, but I don’t know how to leave. I don’t know where I go. I don’t know what it looks like. In the after.”

“It looks like whatever we want, Audrey.”

“I don’t know how to live, Frankie. I only know how to not die.”

“And I’m sorry that that’s all I have to give to you. But I want to. If you’ll take it. I want to.”

“Can we figure it out together?" He asks, "Would that be okay?”

“Because I want all of it. All of you. Everything that hurts. Everything you’re scared of. I want to do everything in my power never to hurt you again.”

Don’t run away from me again.

He finally takes her hand that’s resting on the table between two massive, gentle fists because he can’t hold back anymore.

“And can we stop all of this, pretending like we’re strangers? Please can I kiss you and touch you and hold you again?” He pleads with a squeeze of his fingers. “I’m dying without you.”

“I didn’t know if you still wanted to.”

“Audrey, of course I want to.”

And he catches her where she leaps to her feet, chair clattering against the deck.

The force of her knocks the wind from his lungs as he folds her into his arms.

Pressing her against his heart.

And Frankie breathes again for what feels like the first time in weeks.

And he feels Audrey breathe too.

Stuttering and damp against his collarbone.

And she pulls away, causing momentary panic before he feels her take his face in her hands.

One chaste kiss followed by one fervent one before she slips her tongue into his mouth.

Like she hasn’t tasted him in years.

“Frankie,” she sobs when she breaks the kiss, burying her nose against the thick column of his neck with her arms around his waist as the massive palm cupped at the base of her skull holds her tight there. “I love you."

“I love you, baby,” Frankie repeats as his eyes slip closed with the relief of reunion.

Of holding her right back here where she fits.

Of knowing he isn’t going to let her go again.

Audrey presses her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump against her skin.

And after a while she sniffles, “you taste like bug spray.”

And Frankie roars with laughter.

With relief.

“Come.”

He takes her hand and leads her through to the wet room-style bathroom. He starts up one of the shower heads, testing the temperature of the spray before shaking the drops from his hand.

“You can go first.”

She has one leg crossed in front of the other, one hand on the teak countertop. “Stay?” She whispers.

And a smile tugs at the corner of Frankie’s mouth as he kicks off his shoes and helps her from her sandals, shutting them on the outside of the bathroom door.

He cups her jaw gently, pressing his lips to hers once again as her fingers move under his collar, around to the buttons of his polo shirt as he does the same for her. Frankie’s eyes glitter in the low light as she slips fabric from her shoulders. They help each other undress, her hands at the hem of his shirt, his fingers carefully unfastening the zip at the back of her linen skirt.

Layer by layer they bare themselves to one another until Frankie takes her hand and leads her under the spray.

“Let me?” He asks with soft eyes.

He starts with her hair, lathering shampoo at her scalp with strong but deft fingers, hand at her hairline to shield her eyes on the rinse, before slicking conditioner through midway to the ends.

Audrey smiles at his intentional attention to detail.

His daughter has curly hair too.

The humidity of the shower chokes out the humidity of the night as he quickly tends to his own hair because he won’t let her.

He snatches shower gel from a corner shelf and a rolled washcloth from the sink, working up a lather before turning her to face him.

He holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing her slowly at first and then more deeply with an impatient tongue. Audrey’s hands soothe over a stomach that’s more toned since last she held him, a consequence of losing himself for hours with Benny and Will at the gym.

“May I?” Frankie whispers against her lips and she nods, giving him permission to take the washcloth over her skin.

And what began as a need to show care now turns to worship. Down her neck, over her arms and back, around her hips and thighs, down to her toes. She lets him, watching as he does the same for himself before flipping on the handheld shower head to rinse soap away.

It’s in this moment that he realizes he’s never actually seen the scars.

Because he’s never seen her until tonight.

He’s only ever seen her as perfect.

He’s never seen her pain.

He’s never actually seen her as fallible. As mortal.

He does now.

Frankie sees her skin anew.

And it makes her all the more precious.

Frankie slots the handheld showerhead back into its spot, pressing his chest to her back, taking the brunt of the main spray as he sweeps wet hair to curl around her shoulder. Lips fall against the symbol at the back of her neck. Over the lines of moose antlers.

The scars of her own making.

He kneads the feathery stretch marks at the flare of her hips and the meat of her thighs, humming contentedly.

Where she grew into herself.

He runs two fingers reverently over a thread of lighter brown skin on her right shoulder before pressing a kiss there.

“Dislocated shoulder. Torn rotator cuff. Gordon patched me up.” She offers.

Bits of things she’s said in the past begin to echo in his mind.

Frankie wants to ask what happened because he wants to know all of her stories.

And Frankie figures that he shouldn’t hold back anymore. So he does.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—“ he immediately apologizes.

She cranes her neck, asking for his mouth and he obliges, allowing her to press a kiss soft to his lips. “I want to.”

“Warehouse raid,” she runs her hands over his forearms where they’re locked around her waist. “Was up on a catwalk, a newbie tripped an alarm, concussion grenade went off and I fell, dislocated it. Slammed it back into the joint before I passed out. FBI managed the extraction, actually.”

Frankie hums his understanding, hands moving around her waist and down her spine.

“Here?” He asks of the faint echo of a slash just over the wings of her hip bones.

“Caught the blade of a knife, can’t remember when. Just lucky it wasn’t the pointy end. I’d be out a kidney.”

She turns to face him and meets his gaze, sweeps wet hair from his forehead and thumbs his cheek.

Warm dark eyes map her face, thumb settling on a scar at her temple, half hidden by her hairline as his other hand smooths over the panes of her back.

“This?” He murmurs, stomach churning preemptively.

“Assassination attempt.”

“You didn’t make your shot?”

“On me.”

And Frankie’s fingers stop their ministrations as his blood runs cold.

“Range Rover with a reinforced chassis smashed my car between itself and a tree at fifty miles an hour. On purpose. Shot the driver before he could finish the job.”

“This,” she holds her wet hair back off of the scar, “was some kind of mangled metal. My car or his, I’ve got no idea.”

She settles her hands at the small of his back, “but I uh,” she starts, eyes darting over his shoulder and back, “I wasn’t okay for a long while after that.”

Frankie pulls her tight to him, one palm holding the base of her skull, pressing her face to his neck.

“Brain was pretty scrambled,” she whispers against his collarbone.

Frankie lays a kiss to her hair, letting up the pressure on her head to press his lips against her neck.

Down her sternum.

Tongue laving over her skin as he sinks to his knees.

Water from the spray follows his path and he spits out what makes it into his mouth.

He only has a taste for her.

Her waist fits in the span of his hands as his lips find a round scar with rough margins just under her left breast.

He already knows what would have caused this.

“Bogotá.” She whispers.

And he presses his forehead to her stomach, drawing a rough breath through his nose.

“Audrey—” he whimpers on a ragged breath.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, carding a hand through his wet hair.

Thumbing one cheekbone.

Frankie asks now with touch.

His thumb fits against a lighter patch of skin just below her kneecap.

“Tripped on a sidewalk.”

He smiles and presses a kiss there.

His palm splays up over her thigh and the faint, stuttering smatter of marks there as she shower pelts his shoulders.

“Road rash. Controlled motorbike crash.”

His tongue traces them. Locking their taste away.

Thumbs skim over two small, identical scars just below each hipbone.

“Had my tubes removed.”

And Frankie has seen too many movies, because he stares up at her with a savagely protective look in his eyes.

She soothes a hand over his wet curls and reads him dead on when she answers, “my choice, Francisco.”

“Good,” he says firmly, pressing his lips to each before he takes the flat of his teeth and his tongue over one hipbone.

He presses her against the wall with his palms, the bridge of his nose catching against her slit before he presses a kiss to her mound.

“Fell in love with you,” Audrey breathes on a sigh as her head falls back.

Frankie hums low and it thrums straight through her.

He moves slowly despite his impatience.

A kiss at the swell of flesh just above her clit. His tongue against the crease of her thigh.

His nose against where she’s wet for him, catching her slick on his bottom lip.

Humming as his tongue darts out for a taste.

“Frankie,” Audrey lets go on a cracked sigh, both hands tangled in his curls.

“Baby,” he answers, palms settling on her hip bones as he holds her against the wall and guides one leg over his shoulder.

Finally his tongue slips through her folds and she gasps and moans. Giving him the breath from her lungs as his tongue dips inside of her and he lets slip a growl.

She tastes of salvation.

Of every dream he’s had for the past three months.

The past two years.

She tastes of the rest of his life.

And he drinks until his thirst is quenched by trembling muscles and full throated moans.

He doesn’t even attempt to touch his cock, desperate and obscene in its insistence between his thighs.

He gives her his fingers instead and her muscles clamp tight around them as her hands clutch at the roots of his hair and he brings her through with heaving lungs as she urges him back to her.

The tang of relief on her lips as he plunges his tongue into her mouth.

Frankie shuts the water off and lifts her up with legs quickly wrapped around his waist.

Mouth never leaving his.

He holds her firm, one hand to protect the crown of her head as he walks through to the bedroom.

“The net, Frankie,” she warns.

“Get it, babe,” he murmurs, waiting for her to find the gap in mosquito netting as he occupies her mouth with his tongue.

When finally she parts gauze he lays her backwards onto the mattress, grinding his hard length against her weeping core.

He cranes to trail his tongue over her abs. Sucking on her hipbone. Thumb brushing over her clit.

“Frankie,” she lets go on a ragged gasp, “wait, baby, wait.”

Immediately his heat leaves her, and mercifully she acts before panic can rise in his chest.

She sits up, hand coming to his jaw as the other snakes around his waist, sucking at the plush of his bottom lip. Frankie’s hands trail over her back as she lets out soft moans with each kiss.

They make his cock throb where its pressed to her stomach.

Audrey’s fingers wrapping around the thick base of him and he lets out a strangled groan. She gives him a few tentative strokes before he stops her in a hurry.

“Baby, don’t—I’m not—,” he traps her face between his palms, the tip of his nose brushing against hers. “I want—”

And she doesn’t need him to finish his half-panted thoughts, pressing a kiss to his lips and placing her hands over his own.

Frankie lets her go and she shifts further onto the bed. An invitation to join. He tracks her mouth, head spinning from having what he’s been so long without right within his grasp. He crawls over her form before he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder, urging him onto his back.

Frankie complies, leaned against pillows as he reaches for her.

His fingers have been too long without her skin. Every second away from it carries the burn of eternity.

Audrey gently straddles his hips, palms braced on broad shoulders as his hands settle in the curves of her waist.

There’s a gentle smile on Frankie’s flushed lips as he stares up at her though round, soft eyes.

“Is this okay?” She whispers, cradling his jaw.

“Yeah,” he sighs, lids fluttering closed as she presses her lips to his, tongue dipping inside his mouth. Frankie’s fingers skitter over her spine as she thumbs his cheek, head dropping back against the pillows. She traces the lines at the corners of his eyes. The smattering of freckles across his cheekbones called forth by the sun. One thumb fits gently against the divot in his bottom lip, pronounced as though hewn by the hand of something divine. She sees the grey at his temples that has caught in the scruff at his cheeks.

She sees him the moment that he opens his eyes.

Rich brown shot through with flecks of love.

She sees this man.

With a soul like water.

That bends and rushes. Freezes and thaws. That carves mountains jagged and soothes stone smooth.

That boils when left untended.

That envelops every inch of her.

And she kisses him with the beginnings of different tears in her eyes.

For this is water that’s found its own again.

“I love you Frankie,” she whispers into his mouth. She reaches back, giving his hard length a few strokes as Frankie’s breath hitches. His hips buck into her hand and she guides him inside of her.

Audrey gasps in the sigh that he exhales as her body adjusts to the stretch of him.

His forehead thumps against hers and she smiles.

“Hermosa,” he gives a tentative roll of his hips and she hums, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

“Cariño,” whispered against the column of her neck as she meets his thrusts.

“Mi amor,” he nips at her chin as she grips the wet curls at his nape.

Frankie cranes to pepper her throat with kisses as they find a rhythm like language.

The give of his hips and the eager pull of her cunt. His nose smashed against her cheek. Her tongue desperate for the salt of his skin.

And it is the greatest relief to be buried inside of her. To feel the flutter of her walls and the damp slip of her body against his.

But Frankie’s fingertips dig into the meat of her ass in an effort to gain some measure of composure. He wants to be delicate. To hold her with care.

To show her how much he needs her. Tenderly.

But Frankie’s brain starts to melt.

He wants this to last. For her. Desperately. Wants to make her fall apart one more time before he does.

Wants to feel her pleasure before his own.

But her hips render him useless. Drunk on the way she grips him.

He skates one hand up her sternum between her breasts before palming one and sucking on her flesh. The scratch of his beard sends a chill up her spine, drawing a moan from her throat. She shifts to brace her hands on his shoulders, slowing her pace.

One hand traces her vertebrae up to grip her hair and bring her mouth back to his. Frankie breathes hot and damp against her cheek, nipping at her jaw.

“Quiero cogerte,” he ghosts over her skin.

“Cógeme, Francisco,” she breathes and her answer in the same tongue doesn’t help his cause.

He moves at a speed she can’t register, twisting around and landing her on her back before he braces a hand on either side of her head.

He thrusts deep and sinks his teeth into her shoulder, holding there as he slowly starts to roll his hips.

Frankie catches the backs of her knees over the insides of his elbows, tongue slipping into her mouth as he sets a languid pace that has her arching with impatience beneath him.

“Te he extrañado,” he tucks against the shell of her ear before he sits up. Frankie trails his fingertips down her ribs and fits them to the curve of her waist, murmuring as he thrusts. “Tu piel y tu boca…”

“¿Solamente esas cosas?” She teases with closed eyes, tipping her face into the pillow to smother a moan.

“Hey,” he says, slowing for a moment to press his chest to hers, “all of you, baby,” offering a sincere kiss before his pace picks up again.

And as good as it feels to be filled like this.

Affirmed like this.

Something’s not quite right.

Their rhythm is off.

And Frankie, usually so exacting in how he pulls her apart, thread by thread, is uncoordinated. Lost in his own head.

“Francisco—” she calls out, twisting in his hold. “Wait. Wait wait wait, baby,” and he stops, panting as he runs a hand down his face.

There’s something incongruous here.

Perhaps it’s the weight they’ve unconsciously assigned to the reunion of flesh.

Maybe it's the frogs and the air and the rum.

Maybe it’s that Frankie hasn’t been able to come in three months.

And apart from their dalliance in the shower—

Neither has Audrey.

But she can tell that he’s strung out on desire. Ripped in too many directions.

She wants him to stop thinking.

She wants him back.

Frankie soothes a hand over her stomach and swallows hard, “what’s wrong, baby,” he pants, eyes suddenly round with concern, “what’s wrong?”

And he slips his dick from her heat and sits back on his haunches, swiping a hand down his face.

He catches how her gaze flicks down to his cock, glossed with her slick. Thick and straining against the confines of his skin.

“Frankie,” Audrey murmurs, voice dripping with mischief.

She makes an exaggerated show of stretching.

Rolls over onto her stomach, parts her legs, and tips her hips forward.

And Frankie’s eyes lock on her pussy, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

She tosses him a glance over her shoulder.

“I need you to stop being so sweet.”

And he groans, low and fractured, and falls forward.

Mouth latching to her cunt before he hollows his cheeks.

And Audrey lets out a small yelp, letting her head drop onto her forearms.

Frankie grips the globes of her ass in each palm, the flat of his tongue running the length of her slit before it dips inside of her.

She bucks away with sensitivity, but Frankie yanks her back against his face.

“Frankie—” she begins to whine but he lands his palm against one cheek to stop her squirming.

“Don’t give a man a meal and expect him not to eat,” he murmurs, muffled by her flesh and the shameless need in searing through him.

He’s back.

“Fuuuck, ” she buries her face in the sheets and he fucks her with his tongue until he hears her breath go shallow.

Frankie tears his mouth from her, skimming his tongue over his wet bottom lip, reaching down to pump his cock as he fits himself between her legs.

The slide of his foreskin made easy where he’s leaking precome.

He skates one hand down her spine, telegraphing what he’s about to do.

“¿Quieres mi verga, gatita?” he growls.

And Audrey lights him up.

Spitting profanity that chastises him for making her wait so long.

Frankie thrusts inside of her without pretense, blanketing her with the breadth of his form, tucking his nose just behind her ear.

“Nice girls don’t talk like that, gatita.”

She can feel his smile on her skin.

“If you wanted a nice girl,” she arches against his weight as best she can, tipping her mouth to meet his, “you shouldn’t have called.”

Frankie hums, sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck before kissing an apology against her skin as his hips rock against hers.

His lips laze over the curve of her shoulder. Up the side of her neck before teeth sink into her pulse, all the while hips picking up in speed.

He sits up, fingers flared over her back, heels of his palms pressing her hips into the mattress as her fingers claw at whatever fabric she can reach.

Frankie trails his tongue over her spine as he grunts with exertion before his hands palm her hips and pull, angling them to allow the head of his cock to slide against her g-spot. He spends a moment here, allowing pressure to build before he slams his hips hard against hers, pulling a cry from her throat.

He hums as he grinds deep, the baritone of his voice thrumming through the hollow spaces in her chest.

“So deep, Frankie,” she whispers.

And Frankie starts to litter her skin with filth.

“—tan mojada, gatita, ohh—fuck, baby.”

“Si, asi, asi, asi, así tal cual—” he pants as she bucks back against him.

“¿Quieres más duro, bebita?” He murmurs and she gasps.

“Tell me,” he grits out.

She’s breathless when she sighs into a pillow, “yes, Frankie.”

He grabs her by the upper arms, pulling her up off of the bed, pace punctuated by hard, deep strokes that bottom out. Frankie presses one hand low against her stomach and wraps the other over her shoulder as she scrambles to brace against the wide shelf of the headboard.

“Mira, gatita,” the hand on her stomach cups her chin, tipping it up to meet his eyes in the mirror that hangs above the headboard.

“Look at us.”

Still damp curls fall in her eyes. Jaw, nose, and chin reddened from the scrape of his beard. The whites of her top teeth flash in low light where her mouth has fallen open to fill her lungs with breath only for him to force it from between her ribs on a moan.

She thinks herself a disheveled, fucked-out mess and smiles.

But Frankie.

Frankie’s beautiful.

Eyes blown dark with adoration where they’re locked on her reflection. Sun-browned skin damp with a sheen of sweat that catches the low bedroom lights, bronzing the swell of muscle in his arms. Cheeks flush with heat and lips sucked plump.

Frankie that she pulls apart like this. Hissing through his teeth and grunting through the grip of her.

Frankie that hangs on her every word.

Frankie, buried deep, rocking against where her core molds to the shape of him.

The sight of her Frankie is pleasure unadulterated.

Audrey reaches back for him and he quickly obliges, tucking a kiss into the curve of her shoulder before burying his nose in her hair.

A particularly deep thrust makes her moan and her fingernails catch in the scruff of his beard before tangling in his hair and Frankie cups one breast and squeezes, making her buck back against him.

He can feel the slightest tremor in her limbs as her head falls into the crook of his shoulder as she gasps, “no te pares.”

“W– with me, baby,” he stutters as his hips snap against her flesh, the head of his cock nestled deep in her warmth, hammering against her favorite spot.

His spot.

“Fuck, ’m so close,” he presses against the curve of her shoulder, mouth falling open, tongue trailing up the tendons of her neck as she arches against his chest.

“You own this cock, baby—” he growls in her ear. “It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s y—ours.”

She takes the hand that’s gripping her hip and brings it to her clit where Frankie immediately starts winding circles against nearly over-sensitive flesh.

“God, I’ve missed you inside of me, Francisco,” tipping her face to breathe against his flushed cheek and he moans into the curve of her shoulder. He holds her fast and ruts against her without pulling out as his fingers speed up.

He watches in the mirror as her mouth falls open and her eyes fall shut, strands of wet hair clinging to her neck.

“Come for me, baby,” he purs against the shell of her ear even as his voice starts to crack with desperation. “Please, baby, please—”

Audrey can’t answer him through the sobs of pleasure.

“Baby—” he hisses as he feels his balls tighten, pace growing frantic now. “Ohfuuck—”

His fingers dig bruises into her flesh. “Come with me. Te ruego, hermosa.”

He pleads.

“Frankie,” she murmurs against his skin before she reaches back to curl fingers in his hair. “Frankie,” she repeats, tightening her grip as his lips find her jaw.

“Acábame adentro, Francisco.”

And Frankie sees white.

His hips slam against hers and hold there, growling and hissing with every pulse of his cock as as he floods her with his come. She answers with a sobbing keen as she clenches around him, jostled by every twitch of his hips and his heaving chest at her back.

Audrey finally lets out a stuttering breath and Frankie answers with something between a moan and a wail and smashes his nose against her cheek.

And this is something entirely new.

Frankie knows full well how to move to wring pleasure from her blood. Audrey knows how to hold him until she hears him.

But this is nothing that they know.

This makes her legs go numb.

Makes his ears ring.

Makes both hearts beat in rhythm.

Causes lips to crash together and stay there. Breathing each other in as his forehead falls against the back of her shoulder.

This is love.

He holds her tight to him until panting evens out into gentle moans before slipping his softening cock from her heat.

Warm palms curve to her waist and her breastbone as Frankie guides her down with him.

He wraps her in his arms, peppering her jaw and neck with kisses.

When she moves to shift off of the bed, Frankie’s arms lock around her waist.

“Don’t. Don’t leave.”

And she lets out a throaty laugh and reaches a hand back to soothe over his hair. “Frankie, I just have to run to the bathroom.”

“You always run away from me,” breath coming in deep huffs, kissing at her jaw, “when I’ve just been inside you.”

“Maybe you always hit the right spot, Francisco,” she twists to kiss his chin.

He grins and glances off the side of the bed.

“Alright, let me—” he helps her over with a groan, turning onto his stomach as she shifts to the edge of the bed, ready to help her down.

“Frankie, I can—”

“Yeah, no. Between this height and that netting you’re gonna—”

She braces a palm against his chest as she moves to climb from the bed.

And her leg gives out the minute it hits the floor.

But Frankie is quick with an arm around her middle and a laugh he tries to stifle.

“You always do that too,” he whispers as he parts the mosquito netting for her.

“Maybe you make my knees weak, Francisco,” she snarks and bends to kiss his nose.

He lightly smacks her on the butt with the back of his hand.

“Hurry up, Bambi.”

She returns to him in two minutes, shutting the lights off and crawling under where he holds the comforter up for her.

Arms wrapping her in a tight embrace as he folds her into the warmth of his form.

He can’t keep his hands from her skin. One pulls her thigh to drape over his hips and the other skips over the damp skin of her back.

She settles her nose against his neck.

And for a long while they just breathe.

Frankie lulled by the weight of her body and not of his grief.

Audrey soothed by the gentle rise and fall of his chest and his fingers over her spine.

She draws idle patterns over his chest as they listen to the singing of frogs in the night.

Before Frankie breaks the silence.

“The Caribbean.”

“Hmm?”

She shifts to prop herself up on one elbow, but Frankie’s hand over her skin doesn’t stray from its path.

“Where your parents are from. An English-speaking country in the Caribbean. You don’t have much French and you tend towards Central and South American Spanish. I never lose you in a crowd, but I did all the time when we were in Trinidad, and you understand local accents on different islands far better than either Santi or I do, even though everyone is speaking English.”

And it sends a prickle of fear up her spine.

To be known like this.

Even though it’s all she’s ever wanted.

“You grew up in the States though,” Frankie continues, “somewhere in the Southeast. It’s in the way you say ‘county’ and ‘nine, and ‘right quick.’” Frankie’s hand that rests on her thigh moves to cushion his head.

“You have one brother who’s married with two kids, and I’d love to meet him because I know you two are close.”

Audrey stares at the wall, biting the inside of her cheek.

He’s paid attention. For the last two years. Cobbled together half-fragments of information in the pursuit of pieces of her.

“Your favorite color is blue and your favorite band is Nine Inch Nails.”

“That’s only because I wore that—“

“You play them too loudly in your headphones sometimes,” Frankie interrupts, wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck, bringing her mouth back to his before he whispers, “and I’m absolutely going to fuck you to that song.”

She whispers against his mouth, “baby, I will make you a whole playlist.”

“Deal.” He releases his grip and she soothes one hand over the flare of his ribs and down across his stomach.

“And I know that you legally changed your name six years ago.”

Her fingers stop their path.

That’s not something he could have deduced from a ratty t-shirt or the color of a water bottle.

Someone had to have told him.

“You’ve been going by Audrey for longer than you went by the name you were born with. And maybe some part of you wanted to leave that behind. I don’t blame you for that.”

She looks down at him now, where he lies with a hand tucked behind his head, soft eyes canted in her direction.

“I found Spencer.” Frankie answers the question she hasn’t asked. “Well, Santi did. In Oklahoma.”

Audrey’s eyebrows briefly tick up towards her hairline before she chews on the inside of her lip.

“Gave me a pretty good dressing down. Which I fully deserved.”

“But I needed to ask him,” Frankie shifts to his side now. “I needed to know if—” he eyes flit over her shoulder and back to green.

“If I needed to let you go.”

He swallows hard.

“If it would have been cruel to ask you back,” Frankie trails his knuckles over her collarbone. “If you were really done, after…after everything I did.”

And Audrey meets his eyes with tears in her own.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want to hear from me again. If I was—fucking delusional to think that there was anything I could do to make it right. And once I started working through my shit, I didn’t know. I didn’t know—”

He swallows hard against the breaking of his own voice. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Aud.”

“But he said if I asked you here, you’d come. And one way or another, I’d get an answer.”

“Because he knows I love this place,” she whispers, shifting to lay on her back. “Because this place put me back together.”

Audrey fits her palm to his cheek, slanting her eyes up at him.

“I lived here for a month after—” she lets her hand fall from his skin but he catches it, wrapping it in the warmth of his own.

“This is where he and I called off our engagement. And I knew it was the right thing, but I just needed time on my own. To figure out—”

“—what happens in the after," she finishes.

“What happens?” Frankie murmurs. “In the after?”

“You.”

And Frankie settles down into the sheets and curls into her, palm running over her stomach and down her hip.

“That’s why he sent you here.”

“He understands you, Aud.” His hand soothes over her ribs now. “The way that I want to.”

It travels up to brush softly at her jaw.

“He’s known me since I was nineteen, he knows all of my shit,” she swipes a fingertip under one eye. “But I guess that means he also knows when I’m in love.”

“He wasn’t going to let either of us throw it away.” Frankie kisses at her shoulder before nuzzling at her skin. “He wants you to be happy, Aud.”

And she buries her nose in the fluffy tufts of Frankie’s curls as he kisses softly at her neck.

“He said if I can’t recognize how precious it is to have your love then I don’t deserve it,” he whispers in her ear.

And she hums.

“He’s right,” Frankie meets her eyes again.

She kisses his forehead.

“He also made it clear that if I fumble you again—“

“He’s gonna rip your eyes out,” she finishes.

“I believe him,” Frankie turns serious for a moment.

“You should. He isn’t kidding,” she smiles and Frankie rolls onto his back, pulling her tighter against his chest.

“And he said to tell you that Hannibal is still alive?”

And Audrey laughs and tucks her face into the curve of Frankie’s neck.

“A dog that I rescued off the streets of Havana. Went to a friend of his. God, that little thing must be fourteen by now.”

“‘I’m not a nurturer’ my ass,” Frankie teases and tips his lips to kiss her forehead as her eyes start to fall heavy.

They give in to the lull of sleep like this—tangled in each other.

They stroll down to the beach early the next morning.

Hands clasped.

Trevor is already parked at the beach bar and Frankie throws him a salute that he returns with a grin.

They push two chairs together, each trying not to lay right on the gap.

They kiss. Audrey with salt-spun curls. Frankie with red-tinged cheeks.

Audrey squints against the sun and Frankie slips his hat on her head, gently pulling her ponytail through the back of the cap, closing out the action with a kiss on her shoulder.

They share stories about their pasts.

About his daughter.

He thanks her for sending a gift.

They hold each other in the ocean. Frankie’s chest at Audrey’s back, folded around her as they watch a crab forage on the footing of a dock.

They wave from the water and thank Trevor for refreshing their drinks, moving closer to the beach to chat about the bonfire tonight.

“Trevor?” Audrey starts. “Could you take a picture for us?”

“Of course, sweetheart, of course.”

“You can use that one, right there,” Frankie tips his chin towards his phone where it rests on top of his towel.

“Alright now, smile,” Trevor says, holding the phone up.

Frankie puts his arm around Audrey’s shoulders and she slips hers around his back.

“Oh come on now, you love each other?” Trevor teases.

And Audrey looks up at Frankie, wrapping both arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he holds her against his chest.

“There you go,” Trevor says.

Audrey presses a kiss to Frankie’s cheek right as he snaps the picture.

A big grin plastered to Frankie’s face.

Three more days of bliss pass like this.

Filled with the press of humid, sleep-warm skin. The slick of sweat and the smell of sunscreen. The rich vanilla of rum on each others’ tongues.

One afternoon the man Frankie caught leering at Audrey on their first day spots her at the beach bar and sidles up far too close. She’s as polite as she needs to be. She can handle herself.

But Frankie will have none of it.

He springs from his lounger and jogs over to her, rumbling “baby” so as not to set her nerves firing.

And Frankie does the the only thing that Frankie can think to do.

He presses his chest to her back and lays a kiss at the nape of her neck.

And like a reflex, Audrey melts against him.

Brain shorted by the breadth of him.

By the safety of him.

“Hi,” she tips her head back with a grin.

“Hi, baby.”

“You two just meet or something?” The man quips. “A little vacation fling?”

“It’s our tenth wedding anniversary actually,” Audrey spins a yarn that Frankie tracks in an instant.

He holds up his bare left hand, “saltwater does a number on the rings, so…”

“Oh yeah? Congrats, then. Not feelin’ the itch as they say?”

“Not even a little bit,” Audrey cranes her head back and nips at Frankie’s chin as the arm around her middle tightens.

Frankie hums and slips her his tongue.

“Well, congrats again,” he holds up his drink in salute and heads off behind the bar.

The moment he’s out of earshot Audrey turns around, attempting to smother a snorted laugh with his chest and Frankie grins into her hair.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Mmm, maybe we should come back here on our tenth anniversary,” Frankie muses.

“Let’s make it to next year, yeah?”

“Deal.”

They again make use of the double shower in their room.

Frankie orders oxtail stew and Audrey falls all over again.

Frankie climbs a tree to pick her a mango, despite every one of her protests about his back. She peels it with a pocket knife that Frankie doesn’t ask how she took on a plane. They split it and pass the seed back and forth between them until it’s nearly bone-white.

They share cigarettes on the porch. Frankie refuses to let her light a single one.

They pet every resort cat that will let them.

A bug lands on Frankie's bare shoulder one night as he's brushing his teeth and he lets out a noise that has Audrey racing in before nearly collapsing with laughter.

They make love on the daybed as an afternoon thunderstorm rages, drowning out her cries that Frankie muffles with his palm and the moans that he smothers with her breast.

They live.

And for this brief moment, each of them surrenders to this possibility.

That there’s a chance.

That there’s life in the after.

The two of them.

Together.

When the valet knocks on their door that final morning, shouldering their bags and running them down the stairs to a waiting van, Frankie stops Audrey at the door to the hut, stealing one last moment for themselves.

“Aud? I want to tell you something.”

And she tips her head inquisitively, arms around his neck.

"My family is from—"

"Chile," she finishes. "You grew up in Texas and have two sisters."

He nods, finishing out her questions,"my favorite color is green, and my favorite band is the Rolling Stones."

And her eyes fill with the soft light that he's come to recognize as love.

"And moose have been my favorite animal since I was a kid."

Her smile drops.

“I’m serious.”

And he looks it.

“Frankie—”

His fingers trail nervously over the back of her shoulder.

Over the lines of moose antlers.

“Frankie,” she pulls back a fraction now with a hand on his chest.

She sounds exhausted.

“If we’re doing this—just—this doesn’t have to be a rom-com, it can just be. Please, just, don’t lie to me. Not for a cute story, not to make me feel better, not to smooth things over, please let’s be hon—“

Frankie stops her with gentle fingers over her lips. He slips his phone from his pocket and her hands drop to his waist as they both glance down at the screen. He navigates to his texts and taps on “Mamá,” scrolling up past a few messages before tapping on a picture and turning his phone to landscape.

It’s a picture of a picture.

Baby Frankie.

Buckled into the back seat of a car, thumb jammed into his mouth, mop of straight blonde hair falling in the same big brown eyes that stare back at her now.

Tiny arm clutching a stuffed moose to his chest.

He scrolls to another. Four-year-old Frankie on a beach, squinting against the sun.

Fingers wrapped around the stuffed moose’s antler.

And another.

He’s older in this one, maybe around eight or nine. Sitting on his bed, grinning with two of his front teeth missing.

And the same stuffed moose, now tired and tattered, resting on his lap.

“Mr. Bear was a moose,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Mr. Bear,” he kisses her cheek, “the most important thing I had as a child,” he presses a kiss to her lips and tucks his phone back into his pocket, “was a moose.”

And she stares up at him. Incredulous.

“Weird coincidence I guess,” he pulls his cap from where it was tucked into his back pocket and fits it back onto his head.

“Frankie,” she whispers as his hands fit to her waist. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

And he grins.

“I don’t either,” he holds her tight to his form, burying his nose in her hair. “Aside from Lucia,” his arm wraps around her shoulders now, “the most important thing I have is still a Moose.”

He kisses her forehead.

Audrey looks up at him through huge green eyes.

And bursts with contagious laughter that fills his cheeks and calls forth the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Corny,” she whispers against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she kisses him. Long and slow. With all the time in the world. “But I like it.”

“Well, then,” he hums, taking her hand, lacing thick fingers with hers.

“Let’s go, Moose.”

She stares up at him with a smile.

“Let’s go, Frankie.”

“Let’s go.”

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam

@bloviating-vy @pimosworld

And tagging some of the lovely folks who keep me going on here and have left lovely comments (some of you from the very beginning of this series when I had no idea what this would become. 💚 As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:

@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked

@jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub

@76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @jeewrites

Thank you all so very much for reading.

And as a little bonus: The Picture that Trevor Took

#the margay #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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laurfilijames · 1 year ago

Text

Like My Dreams

Part 4

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Nudity. Fingering. Hand job. Cum play. Oral sex (M and F receiving). Squirting.

Summary: Things continue to progress between you and Pete, indulging in the slow buildup and all the fun that comes before sex, falling deeper in love with each other as each day passes.

A/N: I am so addicted to writing all these sweet moments between them that gives glimpses of how they are falling in love. There is so much more to come for this story and I am still so excited to share it!

*reader is not described other than having hair despite the photo used in the moodboard. And yes that's Jay and not Pete but LOOK AT HIM. It is so Pete coded I had to.

Intro Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pete Dunham Masterlist

---

You had to pull your phone away from your ear the moment the call picked up, the volume of Fiona shouting at you and going on about how worried she was too loud to keep it close, her annoyance at you not having answered her numerous calls not allowed to go unnoticed.

“Nothing happened!” you stressed, your grin splitting your face as you trotted down the sidewalk, listening to her accuse you of being too blissfully fucked out to communicate with your best friend and flatmate.

“Oh, my ass!”

“We kissed. All night.”

“Sure you did…”

“And talked…” you trailed off as you recalled every word and kiss shared, remembering each moment as if it had happened a hundred times over, his lips and voice ingrained in your memory forever. “Fi, I swear this can’t be real.”

“I can hear your grin through the phone. It’s making me ill,” she scoffed, but you could tell without seeing her face that it was in a lovingly teasing way. “And it’s real, so enjoy it, babes, you deserve it.”

Your smile grew even more as you made your way down the steps into the underground, not caring that strangers were noticing your blatant joy and staring at you as they passed.

“Put the kettle on, I’m on my way home.”

The lack of a vehicle was beginning to throw more of a wrench in your daily routine than you could have imaged, the difficulty of getting yourself to and from work let alone Jack to school and back turning into many inconvenient favours owed to Fiona and even Swill, and with neither one of them available to help today, you were relying on your very own knight in shining armour.

You yawned, your day having started earlier than you would’ve liked due to having to take the tube to your sister’s from Fiona’s in order to get there just as she was rushing out the door to work, praying you would get another coffee in your system soon.

“He’s here, Jack! Get a move on!” you called up the stairs, grabbing your purse and Jack’s cleats as he bounded down excitedly while sliding his arms through the straps of his backpack.

“Morning, Mr. Dunham!” Jack bellowed, practically skipping to Pete’s car as you locked the door to your sister's place.

“Morning, mate,” Pete greeted, his smile beaming as he stood in the open door of his car. He ruffled Jack’s hair as he flew past him and scooted into the backseat, tossing his things in unceremoniously as if getting into his teacher’s car was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Pete winked at you over the roof of his perfectly maintained, claret red Volkswagen, his hands tapping on it enthusiastically as his cheeks stretched even more on his face at seeing your own beautiful grin dress yours.

“Right,” he started, shutting his door after sitting back down in the driver’s seat. “Seatbelts on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, then at you, his expression somewhat stern.

You looked at Jack to make sure he was doing as instructed as you fastened your own, giggling when Pete gave a pleased nod and leaned across the console to get close to you.

“You’re precious cargo,” he murmured, kissing you quickly, laughing as he pulled away when Jack began complaining about it.

For the first morning ever, you didn’t mind the commute from your sister’s house to your office, content with spending time with Pete before your workday, getting to admire him as he focused on driving while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat.

He sang pretty much the entire time, listening to a mixed CD he had burned, and it surprised and warmed your heart to see your nephew singing along to what words he knew, remembering Jack telling you how Pete often played music during class while they were working.

Stopping at a red light, Pete took your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it as many times as he could before the light turned again, checking in his rearview mirror to see Jack looking out the window smiling.

“How uncool do you reckon it is to show up at school with your teacher?” Pete asked, his question serious even though it initially made you laugh, seeing his brows knitted together as he stroked his thumb over his lower lip.

You looked back at Jack who was still in his glory, nodding his head along to “Supersonic” by Oasis, and then back at Pete, recognizing just how important his reputation and influence was not only to his firm and all the others in England, but also to his students.

You reached for his hand, rubbing your thumb across it before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think it’s different when your teacher is your idol.”

Pete couldn’t hide his smile even though he tried, licking his lips as he concentrated on the road again, his happiness making you wish the repairs on your car took longer than anticipated so you could do this for many mornings to come.

“Fucking hell,” Pete panted, his head knocking against the wall as you trailed your mouth down his neck, your hands slipping under his jumper to feel his abdomen expand and contract wildly under your touch, the desperation to have each other growing each time you were alone.

You had just returned to his flat after going out for a meal with Dave and Clair, unable to keep your hands to yourselves even in their company, the feel of Pete’s hand resting on your thigh all night in a confidently claiming way driving you insane.

It had been a mutual decision to take things slowly, carefully and progressively building up to the inevitable, the anticipation adding to the excitement of it all and making every moment with Pete feel that much more special.

It had been two days since your sleepover, the brief time spent together since without being able to be physical making you curious to know where things were going to take you now, but the way he had been kissing you in the back of the taxi told you he wasn’t going to ever leave you unsatisfied.

Your lips found his again after assaulting his neck and chest until it was made red from your attention, his blush spreading up onto his cheeks as he became more worked up, sweat starting to appear on his skin that allowed your hands to glide easily along it.

He pulled your lip with his teeth out of restraint as you ran your palm over the bulge in his jeans, stroking him through the material until his cock was pressing against it almost painfully, your fervor increasing as you appreciated his size.

Jackets were torn off and left abandoned on the floor wherever they fell, your shirt, and then his, following suit as you blindly stumbled away from the door and into the living room, Pete laughing as he crashed into his foosball table.

“Sorry!” you giggled, the words you were going to use to ask if he was okay dying before they had the chance to pass your lips, feeling numb from the way Pete was looking at you, his crooked smile and hands clasping your face as he leaned in to kiss you again making you forget about anything else.

He pulled you along with him into his bedroom, not stopping in kissing you even when you both frantically worked to unfasten each other’s pants, only breaking when you had to rush to kick them off your feet and catch your breath.

Pete smiled and took a sharp inhale, taking a second to admire you in your bra and panties, watching your eyes cloud over with lust as you admired him in his burgundy boxers that were no longer leaving much to the imagination.

He closed the space between you and crashed against your lips again, his hands holding your neck and jawline to increase the depth of his tongue in your mouth, moaning when he felt your fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers and edge them down his legs.

Your own moans of approval rang out when you felt his cock spring free, your hand catching it and stroking his length base to tip, your thumb smoothing over his head.

Shivers rushed down your spine as Pete unhooked your bra and peeled it off of you, the sensation of his fingers and the lace delicately slipping along your arms and chest making you ache, your heart pounding when he pulled you closer to him so you were pressed together.

His lips traveled from yours and down your neck, peppering along your shoulder as he breathed you in, your head tipping back at how incredible something so simple felt.

Continuing his worship of you, he kissed down your upper arm and across your chest, sitting on the bed as he did, allowing for a better height for his mouth to line up to your breasts.

Forced to release his cock from your hold, you stood between his legs with the help of his guidance, whining as your nails dug into the flesh on his upper back when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, flicking and sucking it until it hardened to his attention.

“Pete…” you breathed, both a praise and plea.

He didn’t stop, repeating the same on your other breast, his hands gently slipping down your waist until they caught on the lace of your panties and slowly peeled them down your hips and thighs until they pooled on the floor.

Once you were naked, he wrapped his arm around your legs and bum and tugged you forward, forcing you onto the bed with him where you landed wrapped together in his unmade sheets, his smile bright as he shifted and looked at you lovingly. He ran his hand over your hair, dipping his face down so his smile met the one you returned to him, your hands squeezing his body as you held him close to you.

You smiled as you reached up to trace his lips, his soft laugh making your heart soar as he placed his forehead against yours and nudged your nose back and forth, both of your smiles fading as the weight of this moment settled in.

Pete’s hand slowly trailed down your side and onto your hip, scooping your thigh to sling it over his waist, your breath pausing in your lungs as you waited for him to touch you, his fingers carefully gliding between your bodies until he landed home.

You gasped, releasing the air you had been holding in, the sensation of him swiping through your slick folds before pushing his middle and index finger inside you making you moan and grip his shoulder without regard to how your nails were leaving half-moon indentations in his skin.

The groan that tumbled from his parted lips in appreciation of how wet you were for him made your arousal increase even more, unable to help yourself from grinding your hips against his hand for more friction where you needed it most.

“Fuck,” he swore as he exhaled, hooking his fingers to massage you as if he knew the very spot that would make your legs tremble, and while you indulged in his generosity of pleasuring you, it was impossible to forget about him, taking your hand and wrapping it around his cock again.

Spreading the precum that was leaking heavily from the tip, you stroked him up and down, feeling every vein pulse as his shaft flexed and twitched to your touch, his hips bucking forward slightly, causing him to work you with more fervor.

A breathy moan passed his lips before he brought them to yours, gently and almost to test it out as if he hadn’t kissed you a thousand times already, meeting your lips more confidently when you reciprocated eagerly.

You never stopped once, exchanging breaths and slow kisses the entire time your hands explored each other, the addicting sensation of Pete’s long fingers moving in and out of you expertly while his thumb circled your clit keeping you on the brink and ready to fall when he allowed for it.

“Are you gonna come for me, beautiful?” he uttered, his voice thick with lust, his eyes heavy-lidded when he parted from you enough to look at your swollen lips and the way you squirmed beside him.

“Fuck, Pete…” you whined, gyrating against his hand, prompting him to amp up his already-perfect efforts.

“That’s it, darling,” he groaned, his mouth hovering against yours as he felt you tighten around his fingers.

You somehow managed to continue pumping his cock even through the build-up of your climax, desperate to drag him along with you and to experience what you hoped would be the first of many simultaneous orgasms, but Pete had a determination that was unmatched.

He alternated between hitting your g-spot and rubbing your tingling clit, massaging both precisely, causing you to inadvertently halt your movements on him as your climax ripped through you violently.

“Good girl, fuck…” he hissed, watching you fall apart under his touch, your body so beautifully reacting to the pleasure he provided, the noises spilling from your lips sounding better than he could have imagined.

Stilling his fingers but not removing them from you, he kissed you until he felt your walls release the grip you had on them, growling into your mouth in discovering how much your creamy slick had coated his hand.

You wrapped the hand that wasn’t holding his throbbing cock around the back of his neck and pulled him closer to you, kissing him hard to show your gratitude as you resumed jerking him off.

“Hang on,” he murmured, his brow furrowed as he took his hand that was between your legs and gripped his cock with it, spreading your juices on himself, more curses coming out of his mouth as he did. Somewhat forcefully, he grabbed your hand and placed it back around him, guiding your pace for a moment before sliding his fingers between your legs again, swiping through your soaked and sensitive folds back and forth until your cries encouraged him to drive them inside your aching hole.

You kept the tempo he had set, not faltering even when occasionally adding a pass of your thumb over his head, feeling him begin to lose control with each second. His free hand moved to cup your face, the gold of his ring cold against your burning cheek, his tongue rolling with yours vigorously as he ground his body against yours.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural and primal, his lips breaking from yours briefly as he came harshly, his hot spend shooting out onto your lower belly and core where he didn’t let up on his ministrations.

His breathing was sharp and heaving, and you didn’t notice yours turning to be the same, focused on the feeling of his thumb smearing his cum over your clit that threw you into another shattering high.

He let you ride out your second climax, relishing in every blissful aftershock of it, your breaths gradually slowing together as your kisses became lazier and less hurried. Pete smiled against your lips as he gradually pulled away, his eyes bright and full of joy and promise of more.

“I’ll go get a towel, yeah?” he spoke softly and winked, looking at the mess he had made on your bodies, but thinking how fucking good you looked covered in his cum.

Pete tossed the soiled towel down on the floor and sighed as he lay back on his pillow, lifting his arm for you to slip underneath it, your head laying on his chest like you were made to fit in the space against his side.

Your fingers danced on his skin, tracing his West Ham crest adoringly, the happiness buzzing through you unlike anything else you had felt before.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice sounding tired and comfortably sleepy when he spoke.

“Are you going to stay the night?”

You beamed, relieved he couldn’t see your grin from his angle.

“I was considering it…”

Pete chuckled as he rolled over to cage you under his body, smiling down at you while giving you a playful look, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“You’re dreaming if you think I’m letting you leave.”

What felt like an explosion of nerves burst in your stomach the closer you came to Steve and Shannon’s home, and you found yourself appreciating the decent walk from Bank Station in the brisk evening air, filling your lungs with it with each breath to try to calm yourself.

Like he sensed your unease, Pete squeezed your hand that he held in his, glancing over at you as he walked with his usual certainty.

“They’re gonna love you,” he reassured, his smile making you believe him a little bit. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder as you continued taking strides together, smiling and returning his consolation by squeezing his hand back.

After a few more minutes of walking and being distracted by one of Pete’s insane fighting stories, he slowed and turned to lead you up the steps to the porch of a posh townhome, feeling yourself straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath as he hit the doorbell, the wink and smile he shot in your direction helping you steel yourself.

“Hi, bruv,” Pete greeted excitedly when Steve answered the door, walking through it when he stepped out of the way for you both to enter.

He introduced you with pride to Steve and Shannon, and as soon as the formalities were out of the way and Steve had taken your coats, you felt any unease about meeting them completely vanish.

“What’s this?” Steve asked when Pete handed him a bag before seeing himself through to the kitchen.

Pete scoffed, speaking over his shoulder, “Wine, a baguette, dessert…” he listed, like he was offended Steve was asking.

The look Steve gave him made you smirk, confusion written all over his face.

“Pete, when have you ever brought anything?”

“Bollocks!” Pete responded, his grin revealing the truth behind his brother’s accusation, giving you a look like you shouldn’t believe it as he opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to a beer.

“I see you’re already having a positive effect on him,” Steve said to you. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of wine would be great, thank you,” you smiled, already finding the relationship between the two Dunham brother’s endearing and ultimately entertaining.

Pete was on cloud nine, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates, hearing your infectious laugh sound through from the dining room, having hit it off with his brother and sister-in-law effortlessly.

He wanted to show you off to everyone he knew, so proud to be with someone as beautiful and incredible as you, and he knew his mum would love you to pieces when he eventually was able to introduce you to her as well.

“That’s going well then, is it?” Steve asked, coming in and grabbing another bottle of wine from the rack beside the fridge.

“Yeah, it is,” Pete nodded, half expecting a negative comment or some sort of warning to come out of Steve’s mouth next, bracing for it as he retrieved dessert plates out of the cupboard.

“She’s really great, Pete. You suit each other.”

Pete turned to look at him, his eyebrows hooked high in shock, and he became even more surprised to see the genuine expression on his brother’s face when he did.

“I mean it, you know,” Steve stressed, seeing Pete’s doubt. “I’m really pleased for ya, mate, so is Shan. It’s nice seeing you happy.”

“I was happy before,” Pete countered, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, not questioning that they adored you but rather that Steve was about to lecture him on something about life meaning more than how he had lived it up until now and suggesting for him to leave the firm and fighting behind.

“Yeah, but this is different, innit?”

Pete nodded as he glanced over at his brother again, smiling when he saw his honesty hadn’t faded.

Steve stepped forward and embraced Pete, a hug something that was very seldom shared between them, but Pete welcomed it gladly, patting Steve’s back aggressively and lifting him up slightly, making Steve curse and groan.

“Thanks, ya old geezer,” Pete laughed, refocusing on his task of setting out dessert while Steve uncorked the bottle of red, both brothers smiling out of appreciation and gratitude for how life was turning out after everything they had been through.

It was hard to peel your eyes away from him despite the pleasure he was providing you feeling so divine it was nearly impossible to keep them from closing, the half of his face that wasn’t currently obstructed looking heavenly as he indulged between your legs.

His brows were knitted together, his focus and pride in his work written out on his expression as he ate at you appreciatively, the way his hands dug into the flesh on your hips yet another signal of his enthusiasm in being able to taste you.

Your fingers carded languidly through his short hair, it feeling velvety against the inside of your trembling hand before his tongue hit that perfect spot he kept finding and teasing and made you grip his scalp with a plea for mercy, your hips lifting off the bed as your cries filled the air.

Pete was more than generous when it came to pleasuring you, having already made you come twice on his tongue and fingers that didn’t leave the intoxicating comforts at the apex of your thighs, his drive to coax another orgasm out of you something to be awarded.

His moans told you all you needed to know about how much he loved tasting you, although he was sure to utter the words between licking and eating up all you had to offer, his praise making you soar and feel like a goddess even though you were simply laying there and doing nothing but being spoiled.

You smiled, feeling yourself grow more deranged from ecstasy as you neared another climax, unable to believe how lucky you were to find a man who clearly loved the act of performing oral more than you had ever experienced, his talent and passion for it evident in each swipe and suck, your pleasure the only priority.

“Pete!” you wailed, trembling on the mattress as he drove his fingers in and out in the way he learned drove you insane, his lips sucking on your clit to make you reach your high once more.

It felt different, more intense than all the orgasms he’d given you already, a pressure coiling tightly at the base of your spine, your whole body tensing.

“Relax, love,” he encouraged, pausing only long enough to say the words before returning to his position, his fingertips brushing your g-spot a few more times before withdrawing them completely from you, his tongue flicking your clit to finish the job.

You screamed, your body convulsing as a rush of wet exploded from you, soaking his face that he kept buried in your cunt as he drank up all he lured out of you.

“Holy shit, Pete,” you panted, your chest heaving wildly as you fought to catch your breath and comprehend what just happened, every part of you tingling and alight from such an intense pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of experiencing.

Pete hummed against you, shifting slightly as he moved his lips from your over-sensitive folds onto your thigh, his eyes full of lust as he glanced up at you.

Licking his lips, he sat up on the bed, a deep breath filling his lungs as he tried to keep control of himself, his voice deep and gravelly when he spoke.

“I fucking knew you were going to taste that good.”

His continued praise left you breathless, and although you barely had any strength left in your limbs, you propped yourself up on your elbows and met him in a kiss that tasted of your tangy essence.

One of your hands pressed gently on his chest to encourage him to stand while your other found his cock that strained with a need for your attention that you were so desperate to give it, moving off the bed with him as you slowly rubbed his length.

You reluctantly broke your kiss as you sank to your knees in front of him, keeping eye contact as you did, your hand remaining on his cock as the other slid down his defined abs to his toned thigh. His muscles trembled when you pressed your lips on his groin, then a little further down on his leg, your nose brushing along his heated skin that smelled so incredible it made your mouth water.

You swallowed thickly, bringing your lips to his leaking tip, smoothing it across them before parting them enough to invite him into your mouth, still managing to hold his stare as you did.

“Fuck, babe,” he hissed, his eyes clouding with a hazy ecstasy.

Moaning as you took him fully in the heat of your mouth, you relished in his taste and smell, your nose landing in the wheat-coloured hairs at the base of his cock that held that musky scent you were now addicted to.

Your hand clawed into his quad as you brought your head as close to his body as you could, his cock slamming into the back of your throat as a result, a shiver running through you to make your nipples harden and you to shift your knees on the floor to spread your legs apart.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, your eyes closing as you relished in his praise, his words encouraging you to make him feel as good as he had made you.

You gave him all you had, sucking and swirling your tongue around from base to tip over and over, bobbing on and off of his size that made you gag, but you never let up, hearing his groans and curses falling from his parted lips that made you even more eager to taste his load.

Gently, you cupped his sack, massaging it at the same time you moved him in and out of your mouth vigorously, feeling him tense and throb to your efforts.

Glancing up to check his expression to be sure everything you were doing was feeling as mind-blowing as you hoped, you carefully rubbed your knuckles against the spot behind his balls, increasing the pressure when you saw his mouth slacken and his eyelids shut.

“That’s it, fuck!”

His hips began to match your tempo, his hand carefully landing on the back of your head to remind you what he could do if you dared to stop, his subtle demand for you to keep on exactly how you were making your own arousal leak from you and drip onto the floor.

Pete stopped moving, instead digging his fingers into your scalp, his breathy grunts and moans signaling his end that made you work with even more enthusiasm until you felt him pulse into your mouth in powerful spurts.

You moaned appreciatively as you swallowed his thick, hot cum, still swirling your tongue around his girth until a shaky laugh rang out above you.

“Fuck me,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you release him from your mouth with a pop as you sucked off the last bits seeping from his tip.

Pete held out his hand to help you up, nodding at the bed behind you, a mischievous look dressing his flushed face.

“Sit.”

It was exhilarating, wondering what he was planning now, trusting him completely while also indulging in the curious excitement mixing with nervousness that the look in his eyes gave you, and obediently, you did as you were told.

Pete kneeled between your legs, smiling proudly as he guided your feet to rest on the edge of the mattress, spreading you open wide for him to access all of your fresh slick that had accumulated in your folds.

“I’m not nearly done with you yet, darling.”

Pete woke up sometime in the early hours of the morning, having stayed up well past midnight due to the simple fact that neither of you could get enough of each other, indulging in discovering every bit of the other with your hands and mouths again and again until you eventually grew too weak and tired to tolerate anymore pleasure.

The window was open just as Pete had it any other night, the sounds of the other sleepless people of East London drifting into his bedroom along with the chilly air. A lazy smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, thinking how it couldn’t be possible to have ever been as comfortable in his bed as he was now, your presence beside him something he didn’t want to go without again.

He sighed as he shifted closer to you, moving his arm around your torso to tuck your back against his front even more, the warmth that was pouring off of you contrasting drastically to the cold clinging to the duvet. Nestling his nose into your neck, he searched for your hand in the dark, lacing your fingers together when he found it.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered, his voice sluggish, feeling you stir beside him as a soft whimper escaped you.

Sunday’s were already a favourite of his, a typical one spent down at The Abbey having pints with the boys or in the stadium cheering the Hammers on at home, but knowing he was going to wake up with you still in his arms had him looking even more forward to it.

If anyone had asked Pete a list of things he loved only a month or two ago he would’ve given his usual answer; football. West Ham United. The GSE. Scrapping other firms and the feeling that came with it. Teaching. Music and books. The soothing feeling of a pint on his hoarse throat after screaming through a match or the sting of a bruise on his face that reminded him of the minor injuries he had forgotten.

Never would he have considered the list changing to this.

You. Your smile and laugh. The way you looked at him. The way his heart jumped each time he saw your name on his phone or heard your sweet voice on the other end. The feel of your lips on his, or how supple your skin was against his palms whenever he touched you. Not to mention the way your quiet moans would grow whenever he did.

Pete inhaled deeply, drawing in your warm scent, knowing that if you weren’t wrapped up with him right now he would still have a difficult time believing this was real.

Something he never thought was possible. Something he never even considered as an option before his life had been completely turned upside down and nearly stolen from him.

Loving you was the best thing he had ever done in his life, and if it all vanished tomorrow with the rise of the sun, Pete would feel lucky to have experienced even half of what he had so far.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked from the back seat, noticing that you had deviated from your usual route to his house from his guitar practice.

“You’ll see!” you chimed, trying your best to relax as you drove, the anxiety you felt about being back behind the wheel ever-present, but knowing where you were headed was helping to keep you calm.

It was a relief to have your car out of the repair shop, no longer having to bum rides off of anyone or take the tube during the busiest parts of the day, but the convenience and gratitude you felt for having your independence again didn’t outshine the slight panic that lingered just below the surface, especially whenever Jack was with you.

The Stone Roses came on the radio, hearing the intro to “I Wanna Be Adored” bringing out your smile and making you turn the dial up, the lyrics allowing you to relax into your seat and loosen your grip on the steering wheel slightly.

Humming along, you felt your heart ache with that wonderful fullness that was becoming both familiar and craveable, the desire to chase it any time a thought of Pete came into your mind or a text from him came up on your phone a high you never wanted to end, the same feeling now related to songs you listened to together.

I don’t have to sell my soul,

He’s already in me.

The lyrics felt like a gospel, the words speaking the truth about how consumed by Pete you already were, the thought of having to sell your heart or soul laughable as you had handed it all over willingly and not once hesitated to do so.

You pulled up to the pitch where Pete and the other members of the GSE were playing a friendly game of football, seeing Jack’s face light up when you looked in the rearview mirror after putting the car in park.

“We’re only stopping for a bit,” you explained, not wanting him to think he was getting out of going home in time for tea and to do his homework.

The rain had been consistently falling all day, but that never stopped the love for the game, not minding being out in it now when you saw how happy they all were beneath the layers of mud and water.

Pete had just finished scoring a goal when he saw you and Jack standing at the sidelines, smiling brightly as he jogged over to you.

“Aye, aye!” he called, slowing before he crashed into you, his cold hands grabbing your cheeks as he planted an enthusiastic kiss on your lips.

“Hiya, love,” he murmured when he pulled away, sending you a wink before nodding over at Jack and ruffling his hair.

“Eh, Jack, you’re in, mate.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, go for it! You’ll be doing better than me,” he laughed. “My leg could do with a break, plus, these old geezers are all slowing down and getting tired so you’ll dodge around them no problem.”

Jack looked at you for permission to which you nodded and laughed, “Yes! Your cleats are still in my car from yesterday.”

“Yes!” Jack celebrated, jumping up and down on the spot before running back to the car to get his gear.

“You’ve just made his day,” you smiled, nudging Pete’s arm with your elbow as you swayed on the spot, wondering how they were all managing to stay warm when they were soaked through to their skin.

“Ah, he’s a good lad,” Pete complimented, both of you watching as he hurriedly changed his shoes and ran out onto the field where he was welcomed excitedly by Ned and Dave.

You couldn’t help but giggle, seeing Jack burst out laughing as Dave told him about Bovver’s bummed knee, explaining to him ways to twist him up and get around him fast enough he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Within a few minutes, the lads were all amping Jack up, calling him “Beckham” only to be corrected that he wanted to be like Ferdinand, and cheering and going on more than usual any time he got a goal, making the kid beam.

“Did you have a good day, darling?” Pete asked, taking your hand in his where he pulled you into him, his lips peppering over your forehead.

“It’s better now,” you sighed, allowing yourself to lean into him despite him being soaking wet.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You make everything better, Pete.”

You felt him hum, his chest rumbling with his approval at the same time his arms held you tighter, allowing you to inhale deeply to capture the mix of sweat, rain and fresh air as you nuzzled your face against him.

The tender moment lasted momentarily when Pete began shouting jeers at the boys, making you laugh the louder and more offensive his words became toward his mates, his body shaking as he began to crack up as well.

“Come on, Ned, the lad is almost taller than you!” Pete teased, promptly holding up his middle finger to Ned after being given one on each hand in response to his insult.

He chuckled and then kissed the top of your head before flicking your hood up to cover it, holding onto the edges to make sure it stayed up and shielded you as much as it could from the rain.

“I should get in there and put those idiots in their places,” he smiled, his blue eyes bright against the gloomy sky.

“Yeah, I need to get the little lad home,” you explained. “Thank you for this. You always make him feel like a star.”

Pete smirked, pulling out the creases around his mouth. “Ah, it’s all good, darling.”

Still holding onto your hood, he dipped in and kissed you, once and then again, unable to get enough, both of you losing focus on his return to the match and your departure.

“Why is it always impossible to say goodbye to you?” you accused, pulling your lip in your teeth until he kissed you again and forced you to release it.

“I get that a lot.”

He laughed when you squeezed him, the sound of it adding to the intoxication he had over you, and you melted even more when it quickly faded into a moan of desire when his lips met yours again, his kiss deepening with a sudden desperation.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Ike’s voice rang out through the mix of someone else shouting for you to get a room and Jack yelling “Gross!”.

“Lovebirds?” Pete asked, his amusement clear in his grin as he laughed again and kissed you through his smile.

“Yeah,” you spoke against his lips, happy to confirm the sentiment.

He pulled away from you with a groan after another intense kiss, biting his lip this time out of restraint, his head shaking back and forth while looking at you hungrily.

“Mm. I'll be getting my hands on you later.”

Warmth spread through you, your love and arousal blooming for him even more in anticipation of what was coming next for you, seeing promises of intense pleasure glowing in his eyes as he stepped backwards and turned to jog back onto the pitch.

---

Part 5

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