#francisco catfish morales angst

[intheorangebedroom]

The corner deli

Summary: You take a night trip to the corner deli and meet this handsome guy, but shit turns out weird.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

A/N:  This is what happens when I can't sleep. Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡

Word count: 1.8k

The corner deli

And here you are, another Friday night on your own, reading a book you can barely focus on, scrolling mindlessly in between chapters, slouched in your couch and feeling sorry for yourself. Those stupid, evil thoughts starting to whisper some nasty shit in the back of your mind, and you’re letting it happen. 

It’s on you, though, because some of your coworkers, the younger ones, offered you to go out with them but you said no. You’re too much of an introvert, but not enough that you don’t feel miserable now, sitting here alone while the city’s buoyant life unfolds without you behind your closed windows. What difference does it make, anyway. It goes on, whether you decide to join or not. No one misses you, so there.

Fuck it. Tonight, you’re gonna eat your feelings. You slip on your jeans and your shoes and go out to the deli on the corner, it’s open all night. You’ll get some Pringles or ice cream, whatever comes first. 

You’re walking down an aisle, hesitating between two flavors of Chex Mix, when you catch sight of THE most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

He’s tall. And so fucking broad. His denim shirt is working hard containing the breadth of his solid shoulders, his jeans are tight on his thighs. He’s got a scruffy, patchy beard and strands of brown hair curling at his ears underneath his trucker hat. He’s all sharp profile, solid features, plush lips, oh! his lips are just… generous, and his eyes… god his eyes are dark, deep and soulful. Wait, did you just use the word soulful? Well, he’s that fucking handsome. There’s a stern crease splitting his brow, but it’s tempered by the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind you get from laughing often. 

You look down at yourself and… fuck. Your mascara has run off because yeah, maybe you cried a little, earlier. Your hair is dirty, pulled together in a messy bun that looks nothing like those supposedly effortless hairdos thrown at you in Instagram reels. The ones that make you feel unworthy of the air you’re breathing. You're wearing a dirty pair of 501 with your pajama shirt tucked in, there’s no way you're getting anywhere near him, even if you had any self-confidence to boot. 

You walk over to the back of the store. Not that it’s a good hiding spot, it’s just where the fridges are. And of course, they’re out of the one ice cream flavor you like. Wow. It really ain’t your day, is it? Craning your neck to scan the empty top shelf, you spot the very last Netflix and Chill’d all the way to the back. Opening the door, you stand on tiptoes, fingers scrambling over the icy shelf to grab it, but you can’t reach that high. 

That’s when you feel him. His chest barely brushing at your back. You get a whiff of his scent and you swallow a gasp. He smells like leather and warm skin and laundry and you can’t even move anymore, you just stand there like a Roman statue in a museum, with one arm up. Your gaze follows his arm as it extends toward the shelf, reaching it with ease. As his large hand grabs the last tub, the whole sequence of movements completely effortless and well, graceful.  

He takes a step away from you, and your body’s responding again. Your heels meet the ground, and you turn to face him. There’s the promise of a smile curling his lips, fuck he is stupidly handsome, Jesus fucking Christ, are you still breathing? He hands you the tub and all you can think of is how thick his fingers look around it, and how they would feel buried inside you, or wrapped around your throat, and… oh wow. That escalated quickly. 

You swallow hard, blinking the filthy thoughts away. There’s something in the way he looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes. You feel… warm. He flexes his jaw to the side, he’s smiling at you, still holding that goddamn ice cream, you gotta say or do something, but your body has bailed on you, yet again.

Eventually, you take the cold tub, careful not to touch his fingers. But he’s not letting go. Your breathing turns shallow, you can barely hold his gaze. Why does he keep looking at you with those soft brown eyes, why is he smiling like that? He can’t possibly be… what? Interested in you? No one can. No one ever is. That’s why you’re in this deli, alone, in the middle of the night, wearing last week's dirty laundry. 

Oh. Of course. He’s waiting for you to thank him. Jesus you’re stupid.

“Thanks. You. I mean, thank you.” Oh, great, that went well. 

There’s a beat before he releases his grip and lets go of the tub. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, and of course, his voice is velvet. Round and husky and low. 

There’s an easy confidence about him, like quiet assertiveness, is that a thing? Like he knows his worth, but he doesn’t need to step all over people’s toes to show it. 

You’re raking your brain for some smart quip you know will come to you tomorrow morning in the shower, when you hear a commotion at the cashier. Somebody’s shouting orders, a dude holding up something in his hand, pointing it at the employee behind the plexiglass. Holding a fucking handgun, Jesus fuck the place is getting robbed.

Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. There’s pressure around your elbow and you’re yanked down onto the dirty tiles. 

The man in the trucker hat is crouching next to you. He holds his index finger pressed to his lips. His face looks different, his jaw tensed, a deep frown darkening his face. His eyes are pitch black, is it even the same man? A minute ago, he looked like the friendly next-door neighbor you’re daydreaming about fucking in the basement laundry room, and now he looks like someone who’s about to shoot you in the face.  

“Be quiet,” he mouthes under the noises coming from the front of the store, “stay here, everything’s gonna be ok.”

You don’t want him to leave you here on your own, no matter how threatening he looks, but he’s already moving toward the front and anyway, it’s not like you can move.  

Shouldn’t you call 911? He told you to be quiet, what the hell are you supposed to do?

It all happens so fast, and you’re so scared. You’ve never been this scared in your entire life. You hear a thud, followed by a gunshot. You clasp your hand to your mouth, you’re sure you’re gonna die. You hear the sounds of a struggle, a loud, piercing yelp, and another, louder thud. There are a few more noises, fabrics rustling, muffled groans and nothing. Deafening silence. 

You can’t feel your legs and your heart is beating in your throat when you finally hear him, the guy in the trucker hat. His voice is firm and his tone commanding as he addresses the deli employee. 

“Hey, hey look at me, you’re ok. Can you call 911? Hey! Call 911. You’re ok.”

Your legs won’t carry you. You have to crawl to the front of the store on your hands and knees, and your eyes grow wide at the scene you find there. A tall, young man with a shaved head is lying on the floor, wrists in a zip tie, he’s passed out, or dead, you’re not sure and you don’t wanna know. And anyway, you don’t have time to see more. He’s here, in front of you, the guy in the trucker hat, blocking the view with his massive silhouette, helping you get up and walking you outside. 

“You ok?” he asks you. 

He’s got one hand in the small of your back, the other one is gripping your arm. They’re warm, and that’s how you register how cold you are. In fact, you’re shivering in the warm city night, teeth chattering and all. 

“It’s over, I got you,” he says, cupping your face and you look up at him, nodding, mumbling, “I’m ok, yeah, I’m ok,” trying to focus on his warmth radiating through your cheeks. 

When they arrive, the cops instruct you to stay to make a deposition. Uncomfortable doesn’t cut it to describe your state of mind throughout the entire process, but he stands near you the whole time, his shoulder against yours, and you don’t think you could stand straight without it. 

Eventually, the place clears up. The perp came to, they handcuffed him and took him away. As he passed near you, you saw a purple bruise blooming on his neck. 

You’re told you’re free to go, and there’s really no reason for you to stay. 

Except there is. 

“So um… you’re a cop, or something?” you ask, looking intently at the fascinating tip of your Van’s, bumping against the curb. 

He shakes his head. 

“No. US Air Force. I’m a pilot.”

Your head shoots up, mouth falling open into a silent oh. 

His smile is so fucking soft you want to kick the curb and break all your toes. 

“Well, thank you, anyway. That was really scary. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now, there really isn’t any reason for you to linger. But he’s not moving, standing tall and broad and solid before you, hands propped on his hips, with that easy confidence about him. And that thing happens again, that thing where he looks at you with those gentle brown eyes and that promise of a smile, and you feel like you’re the center of the goddamn universe. 

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, offering you his hand. 

From all the scary shits that went down tonight, this one has got to be the scariest, by far, because you know that if you take his hand, you’re not gonna let go. 

You hear your name coming out of your mouth, and it’s too late. You’re done for. Your small hand slides into his larger one, and he gives it a strong squeeze. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to tell you everything you need to know. 

And he’s not letting go. And you’re not letting go. You expect fucking fireworks, at this point, but it’s just… right. Like you don’t have to be scared. Like you don’t have to torture yourself anymore with mean-ass questions about how to behave or what to say next. Like you can simply be you, and it’ll be enough. 

“So,” he starts, and he’s downright grinning now, a dimpled smile that lights up his entire face, “d’you think we can consider this as our first date?”

****

Part 2

[berryispunk]

Love Cracks Through Tiny Spaces

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

summary : It’s you and Frankie’s second anniversary. You are all excited, except Frankie forgets what day it is.

warnings: explicit ! 18+, angst and more angst, argument, mention of alcohol, established relationship, reader’s mad, Frankie being a cute boy, but also not, unprotected PiV (wrap it up folks!), creampie, make up sex, kinda public, a bit of fluff, hardly any physical description of the reader, tiny sprinkles of Spanish, use of nicknames

word count: ~ 2,9 k

You haven’t said anything.

The whole evening you have been silent, hoping that this was all just a part of his surprise. That he had let the boys know, let them swear they wouldn’t say a word to you to not ruin the surprise.

But as the evening goes on and it has become clear that he actually, really, forgot about your anniversary, you feel the anger creeping up.

So much so that it hazes your brain and your blood boils. Your eyes narrow as he laughs with the boys like nothing happened while you are in the mood to cry in anger.

He’s painfully unaware of it. Slightly tipsy, making his tongue loose and, as always, bolder.

Tipsy Frankie never holds back. He has to touch you at all times and even more so when he’s drunk. Her touches you more inappropriately the more drunk he gets. Usually you don’t mind. In fact you love that Frankie always shows public displays of affection and never cares for the looks of others. He never makes you question his love for you.

But for today.

Today his hand on your thigh under the table feels like hot iron and the only one being aware of your seething body seems to be Santiago.

His kind hazel eyes burn into yours. Out of all the boys he’s the one you are closest to and he’s quickly become your best friend too. His eyes are questioning, wanting to coax something out of you but you just shake your head and lower your gaze which causes Santiago to speak up. He doesn’t know what is causing your anger exactly, but he knows you have to go home so he clears his throat and says, “Hey, Fish, I think your girl is tired. Maybe it’s time for y’all to go home?”

Causing all eyes on him and then on you, making you sink further into the booth.

“Is that true, mi amor?” Frankie asks softly, his dark brown eyes so full of warmth you forget your anger for a tiny moment.

You just nod and Frankie doesn’t hesitate. He pushes you to stand up from the booth, his warm hand on your ass, giving it a slight pinch. A small gesture he often does which usually causes you to squeak, but not today.

“That’s my sign, boys. Good night!” he hollers over the table and the boys just nod, laugh and say their goodbyes. Only Santi stands up to hug you as well.

“If you need anything, call me alright, hermosa?” he whispers gently, which makes your heart twist painfully and almost, just almost, makes you spill your beans to him. Frankie quickly drapes his arm around your shoulder and gives Santiago his usual cocky wink before the two of you step out into the cold night air.

As you slip behind the steering wheel you hope that the cold night air has sobered Frankie up enough to come to his senses but it hasn’t. Instead he slumps into the passenger seat with a loud sigh and turns on the heater.

When you start driving you turn on the radio, ironically enough it plays one of the songs in your shared playlist and it makes you grimace.

“Oh!” Frankie blurts out. “It’s one of our songs!” And he turns up the volume, thrumming the beat of it on his jeans-clad thigh.

If you weren’t so angry right now this would make you happy. Because music is something both of you really enjoy. Something you bonded over really quickly.

But right now it only adds to the fire pit of rage boiling beneath the surface.

“Great,” you finally say threateningly calmly., “You remember this, huh ?”

His eyes are on you in an instant. Big innocent puppy eyes.

”Qué?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you angry at me?” he asks, puzzled.

“I am,” you murmur.

“Is it because I’m tipsy ? I am sorry I didn’t mean…”

“No,” you interrupt.

“Please talk to me, princesita,” he pleads and it tucks at your heart strings.

Usually his soft voice will calm you down, at least take some of the edge off. But not today. The ugly side of anger has you in a chokehold.

“You know which day it is today ?”

“Friday,” he says immediately and it causes you to laugh bitterly.

“The date.”

“It’s the 13th…” he drifts off a little questioningly. And then it hits him. You can feel it without even looking at him.

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “It’s our two year anniversary”

Bingo.

You say nothing in return, the only sound being the steady rhythm of the engine and the music on the radio which faded into the background.

“Mi amor, listen… I…” he stutters but stops quickly.

“For the majority of the evening I thought that was all part of your plan. Nobody said anything, because you had a big surprise but it pretty quickly dawned on me that you forgot about it all together.”

He stays silent for a few seconds as he contemplates his next words carefully.

“I forgot that it’s the 13th already, because there was so much going on. With the last mission and… it took longer than I wanted and...” he sighs. “I’m a dickhead, I am sorry. I know no matter what I say now changes that.”

At least he’s not dumb.

As the traffic light goes red you hit the break harder than you yourself anticipated, causing you both to nod.

“Sorry,” you say beneath gritted teeth.

He snorts and it causes you to smile for a fragment. You dare to look over at him for just a second and his brows are furrowed, his navy cap causing a dark shadow on his face in the dimly-lit car. He looks tired and defeated, all the remorse evident in his slumped appearance.

“Was it not important enough for you to remember?” you ask painfully and hit the accelerator as the traffic light turns green.

“That’s so far from the truth and you know it…” he retorts.

“Do I? Because the way I see it right now everything else is more important. Your job, your friends… Not that I don’t love them, you know I do. I love hanging out with the boys. But you were away for weeks and I didn’t see or talk to you at all. I thought you missed me…”

“I missed you every damn minute I was gone,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

You don’t know what to answer so you focus back on the road, the tension between the two of you rising.

When you finally reach his apartment and kill the engine the tension has reached a boiling point.

You feel his big hand on your thigh. It’s warm and a stark contrast to the cold of the car because the warmth of the heater slowly fades.

“Hey, mi amor… Can you at least look at me? Yell at me or hit me? Please, do something, anything. The silence is killing me,” he whispers into the cold night air of the car.

“I am really disappointed, Frankie. That's all.”

“That’s all? I think that’s a pretty big deal. And I’m sorry you feel like that, really. But please, never doubt my love or your importance in my life. You’re… you’re everything to me,” he says pleadingly, caressing your thigh through the thin fabric of your leggings.

“I need more Frankie. I need more than a few hours with you before we meet your friends. I need more than only these stolen moments between the bar and you being gone for weeks,” you admit.The emotions it stirs are threatening to swallow you whole. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for a while now but you never dared to say it out loud.

You still don’t look at him. Instead you stare out of the front window and grab the steering wheel tightly as if it’s your anchor.

“I get that. It’s hard and probably not the life you signed up for… But you know how it is. It’s the only thing I’m good at, the only thing I know how to do. I can’t just quit it.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that already,” you whine and feel like the load is only getting heavier on your shoulders.

You love this man with everything you are but god damn, it’s also so tiring.

Squeezing a whole life into the little cracks that open before he gets called in for another mission. He never made a secret out of his job or that it’s quite unconventional but you never imagined it to cause so much strain.

“Listen, I… Is that what you want? For me to find another job so I can be with you?”

You shake your head. Something in your gut tells you that his job is the sole reason he’s still alive, as ironic as it sounds, because you know it’s dangerous. His job is his baby…. but you are too.

“I know you love your job and I never would want you to quit it because of me. But I also…” You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath, searching for courage.

“I also don’t know if I can continue like that.” you say bluntly and it causes Frankie to swallow heavily.

“God damn,” he curses and it’s not anger that speaks out of him.It's hurt, it’s confusion, it's… disappointment. The same ugly thing that caused this whole situation in the first place.

“So you… want to break up?”

“No,” you answer quickly and it’s the truth.

”Then what do you want?”

“You,” you say truthfully as your voice betrays your real feelings. He tilts your head with his hand under your chin so you finally look at him and it feels like there’s no air in your lungs.

You suppress a sob as his sad soulful eyes hold your gaze.

“I want you, too and I would choose you over any damn job in this world, mi vida. Everytime. Believe me, please,” he begs. For your understanding, for your love, for you.

“Fuck this damn job. Fuck the money. If it means I lose you it’s not worth it.”

Your eyes fill with hot tears, blurring your vision. “Frankie, I….”

He shakes his head. “I am serious. Say a word and I quit. I want a life with you. A domesticated one. Coming home to you every night, eating together, going to the cinema. All that stuff… I even do the damn laundry and the dishes as well if that means I can have you.” His words are euphoric, overflowing with emotion and it causes you to laugh and cry at the same time.

This is it, you think. This is what you wanted. But why does it feel so bad? Is it because you are scared?

“And if we don’t work out? For real, I mean. Like a real couple on a daily basis and not just in these little bits we have now.”

“Then, at least we tried. I would never forgive myself if I let go of that one good thing in my life. The one thing that keeps me going and the one thing I really believe in.”

His words are like daggers and with every single one the vice around your heart tightens.

“I want you to be happy,” you whimper

“I am happy with you,” he answers and there’s not a single fiber of doubt.

You look at him for a long moment, studying his face, waiting for him to take it back. But he doesn’t. He means it. He’s honest.

So you do the only thing you can think of and climb over the middle console on top of him on the passenger seat, his wide eyes on you as you straddle his lap. His hands automatically find your thighs, grounding you as you lean forward to kiss him, deeply, hungrily as your hands hold his head. Pouring all the emotions you don’t have the words for into the kiss.

He groans into your dancing tongues, not holding back in the slightest. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you even closer to him like he wants to merge your bodies together.

As he starts to kiss your jaw with hot, open mouthed kisses, his tongue darting out continuing its assault down your neck it causes you to gasp softly and grip his soft locks in the ape of his neck. He sucks gently at that sensitive spot behind your ear and you start to grind over his already hardened bulge in his jeans as your sounds get more needy by the second.

You want more, you need more. You need all of him.

It doesn’t matter that you’re still in his truck, the windows all fogged up by both of your bodies’ heat. You’re too far gone.

“Frankie…” you mewl and you feel his smile against your neck. He knows you well. Better than anyone before him even if the two of you spent less time together than you’d have liked. The hours you spent exploring each other's bodies and him worshipping every inch of you is his love language. Every time words were needed he showed it to you in the way he kisses you, the way he takes his time and basks in your pleasure.

“I know princesita,” he purrs in your ear and you don’t know if he means the heat pooling in your lower stomach or all the feelings stirring inside. What you do know is that he snakes a hand between your legs and his lap and starts slow strokes above the thin fabric of your leggings. You’re painfully aware that you’re already dripping wet at this point and he feels it too because he smirks as he leans his head against your shoulder and you start fucking yourself on his fingers, seeking the friction you so desperately need as you hold onto his shoulders, bunching up the fabric of his Henley underneath it.

You moan and he doubles his efforts.

You impatiently fumble with the zipper of his jeans and lift yourself up just enough so you can open it fully and he lifts his hips as well so you can free his aching cock, while you pull down the jeans and his boxers simultaneously.

He helps you pull down your leggings and underwear just enough so he has access. He grabs his hard cock with one hand while the other helps steady you as you sink down slowly, taking him in and even if this is the hundredth time you’re doing this it never fails to amaze you that pain and pleasure are equals. The way he stretches you out, the sting you feel for the first few moments before you get used to him never gets easier.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he feels you clenching around him desperately. “You’re so tight, mi amor. I can’t… I can’t move like that…” He looks up from your joined bodies to your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. As he sees your slight nod,he grabs both your hips, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh as he bucks his hips to sink a tiny bit deeper. It coaxes a moan out of you as you lean forward to kiss him, swallowing each other's sounds of pleasure as you are finally able to move. Your movements are slow and steady at first. He makes a home for himself there in the deepest parts of you.

But as your need grows you’re pulling at his hair and riding him desperately, seeking the connection you both share in the most feral way.

He watches you in both awe and pleasure as you move on top of him and you are certain you will never tire of this view.

It doesn’t take long until you reach your breaking point, the pent-up emotions doing the rest. He feels it, because he digs deeper into your flesh and his own movement stills for a moment.

“Come for me, mi vida. I need you to… fuck…” He stutters and his words are all you need to reach your climax, clenching around him and he follows you seconds later. His cum paints your inner walls, hot and sticky while his damp forehead rests against your shoulder before he presses some feathery kisses against your pulse point.

It takes a moment for the both of you to be able to form any coherent words, being utterly spent and satisfied. Still breathless you ask, “Were you serious about quitting your job?” Your breath is creating clouds in the small space of the car.

“Sí.”

“But what if you wake up and realize it was a mistake and I wake up and realize the same?”

“Won’t happen,” he answers truthfully.

“Why are you so sure?”

He bucks his hips so you can feel his softening cock still buried inside of you.

“Because of our connection. And I don’t just mean that one,” he chuckles and you giggle too.

“Alright. Because I really want that with you… A life, a shared home. You, doing the laundry,” you whisper as you lean your forehead against his.

“So be it then. Happy anniversary, baby. And sorry again,” he purrs as he kisses your forehead gently and just like that you’re not mad anymore

[pimosworld]

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Chapter Summary-You and Frankie have your first official date.

Chapter Warnings- 18+, MDNI, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, first date jitters, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, Frankie is a gentleman

WC-6.7k

A/N- These two are so sickeningly sweet I can’t stand it. Reader and Frankie have a long way to go but it almost always starts with butterflies. @toobusyshrimping Thank you for the help with the “foot in mouth” line.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 2. Composite

For some people, one slip up means disaster. There is a huge emphasis on not taking that first drink. That first drink can trigger the obsession, the compulsion. The need for more and more. 

  It took Frankie awhile to find an NA meeting not focused on shame, but healing. A place that didn’t ask you to share something about your week like you were a child. A place that didn’t tell you to be comfortable all the while making you sit on hard metal folding chairs in a cold dingey room. 

  Soft ambient lighting strategically placed to help you relax, instead of the harsh fluorescent lights like you were being interrogated. 

  It’s a weekly routine. 

  One Frankie has grown used to over the last year. From that first day feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin to now being a regular face amongst the crowd. 

  His knee no longer bounces nervously as he listens to others talk about their battles with addiction. His hands are steady resting along his thighs instead of worrying at the frayed lines on his shirt.

  He’s seated facing the door so he sees Jones enter. The older man looked a little more gray than usual. The worry lines deeper and more evident on his face. His clothes could use an iron and he looks on the tail end of a three day bender…but he’s here. 

  He gravitates towards him and Frankie offers the open seat. 

  “Look, I’m sorry about…”

  Frankie waves him off, not wanting to do the awkward song and dance. Offers him an easy out and a curt don’t let it happen again. 

  “I hope your lady wasn’t too upset.” 

  Thankfully the moderator enters the room to save him from an explanation. His lady. A statement he hadn’t heard in awhile. Obviously way too soon to call you that, but he doesn’t feel like correcting him. He may be getting ahead of himself but he hopes he won’t have to correct him. 

  Frankie hasn’t felt this way about anyone since her. Somewhere deep down where he shoves every ounce of guilt he thinks he may have never felt this way about her at all. 

  Bonded by trauma and addiction, he somehow thought what they had was love. He thought they were meant for each other because who could possibly love him and all his fucked up past. He started coming to these meetings with her and then she made excuses as to why she didn’t need them anymore. That was the beginning of the end, when he finally realized that maybe they weren’t as compatible as he thought. Each day he healed his trauma, each day he stayed sober they grew further and further apart. 

  And then Colombia. 

  Frankie returned with the boys and no Tom. No amount of money could fix the damage they had all done. Fractured and barely holding on, when he needed her the most she came to him so strung out he didn’t recognize her. The woman he used to love, the woman who had laid her life on the line for them so many times he lost count. He’s glad for her sake that Santi couldn’t find her before Colombia or she might not have made it home. 

  “Francisco, do you want to share anything new about your week?”

  All eyes are on him and he’s not sure how long she’s been trying to get his attention. Judging by the sly way Jones tries to hide his smile behind his hands it’s been a second. 

He adjusts his cap on his head, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “Umm, not much to share about this week.”

  “That’s okay, we don’t always have to share. I’m just glad to see your face.” 

  He’s not sure where it comes from as she goes to address the next person. As though he has no control over his body when he begins to clear his throat and she redirects her attention back to him. 

  “Actually.” 

  He straightens up a little in his seat, squaring his shoulders back. 

  “I met someone this week.” He’s met with her pleased smile and a few low whistles. “We have a date this Saturday.” 

  He lets out a sigh of relief, not usually one to share during meetings but never being pushed too. Something makes him want to open up more. Perhaps it’s you. 

  “I’m proud of you Francisco. For sharing and for putting yourself out there.” 

  He knows she’s the only one who keeps track of everyone’s recovery process. He brushed it off six months ago when she informed him that he’s been coming in consistently for a year. 

  The silent understanding that he’d reached a milestone. 

  He memorized the pamphlet his first time coming in. The only thing he could focus on while his hands shook and his back sweat. 

  He scoffed when he first read the part about dating.

Dating too soon can be detrimental to mental health and well-being, and increase the risk of relapse. During early recovery, people are still learning to navigate their new sober lives, and dating can be a distraction or replacement addiction. It can also be difficult to maintain sobriety while dating. 

He ignored the advice that first month when Benny needed him as a wingman for a double date. He nearly had a panic attack at the restaurant when his date wouldn’t stop pestering him about his time in the military, what he did for work, does he have any siblings. All the monotonous first date conversations that he should be able to answer but her wine stained lips and suffocating perfume were making it all too much. 

For what it was worth Benny felt bad when Frankie ditched the date and drove straight to Will’s house because he didn’t trust himself to be alone. 

A year and a half later and you come along. A breath of fresh air

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of introductions, confessions and thoughts of you as he makes his way out to his truck. 

****

“I’m not entirely sure why you think I’m gonna be able to help you pick an outfit.” 

Your phone is propped up on top of your mirror with a little FaceTime image of your sister in the corner as you twirl around. 

“You used to help me pick outfits all the time Dom.” 

“Yes but I have no sense of style now. I spend most days in sweats.” 

You step out of frame not satisfied with the third outfit you’d tried as you add to the growing pile of clothes on the bed. 

“Tell me more about the date and I might be able to help you.” She yells knowing you’ve gone to your closet.You’ve spent the better part of the last hour hoping to find something that doesn’t remind you of him. You really needed to get some new clothes but that would require money you did not have at the moment. 

You pull out your dress from your college graduation. A red satin wrap with a low neckline and a flowy skirt. You may have worn it a thousand times but it’s never done you wrong. 

“He said we’re going to dinner, he’s picking me up at seven.Those are all the details I have.” You smooth your hands along the soft fabric as you stand in front of the mirror once more. Standing on your tip toes to get a better look you hear a tiny gasp. 

“Auntie you look so pwetty.” You can see the top of your nephew's dark curls just peeking out in the frame as your sister props him on her knee. 

“Well I think that’s a winner.” Dom says as she tickles her son and he lets out an excited squeal. “Don’t you think so buddy?” 

He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. 

“I love red!” He yells and you both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Red is his favorite color.” She ruffles his hair as he  slides off her lap, bored with the adults' conversation. “Red is bold?”

“Too bold?” 

She holds up her hands as she senses the nervousness in your voice. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing to see this side of you again.” 

You fix her with a look already knowing where this conversation is heading. A direction you don’t even want to follow right before a date. 

“Don’t think I don’t recognize that dress, I haven’t seen you wear it since that party.”

“Dom.” Your voice in a low warning. 

“I hated the way he spoke to you and then you never wore it again.” 

“Please don’t start.” Your voice trembles as you move out of frame, hastily untying the knot in the dress. 

“Come back please, I’m not trying to start a fight!” 

You know deep down she’s just being a concerned sister. You’ve been working on this particular trigger with your therapist. Not being able to sense when someone is helping and when someone is judging. 

You let out a shaky breath as you grab the phone from the mirror, plopping down amongst the clothes on your bed. A stray tear rolling down your cheek as you see her moving through her house to a quiet room. 

“Listen please….I love you and I just want what’s best for you. Don’t shut me out again because it nearly killed us both last time.” 

You close your eyes as you listen intently to your sister's words. Trying desperately to shove down the thoughts you’ve kept at bay for the better part of a year. 

“I’m not mom okay. I’m not judging you, I just want my sister back. I want that person back who wore the red dress. I want the person back who snuck out with me and got a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday.” She’s crying now and it’s just occurred to you that it’s been ages since you’ve seen her cry. “I want the sister who forged moms signature so she could go skydiving.” 

You both let out a guttural laugh when you remember how livid she was at the both of you. 

“I saw a glimpse of her the other day when you called me to talk about the job…and just now when you put on that dress.” 

You're grateful you still have hours to go before Frankie comes to get you as you wipe the mess on your face and smile back at your sister. 

“Jesus Dom, I’ll wear the damn dress. You didn’t need to make me cry.” 

She’s smiling ear to ear as she wipes the tears from her face and you both let out wet laughs. 

“Call me when you get home please.” 

“You know I will. Tell Elise I said hi and tell Casey I love him and thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

You hang up the phone and lay in your pile of clothes a little while longer just thinking about what your sister said. She was right. She was always right. 

****

6:45 pm

Frankie sits outside your quaint apartment building not wanting to head up too early. 

You live on the top floor, which is definitely the safer option for someone like you living alone. The complex isn’t gated and that makes him uneasy. 

Anyone can just walk up to your doorstep. 

He did notice security driving around which is nice, but security guards are a dime a dozen and they can’t really protect you from much.

It is one of the nicer neighborhoods in town, close to schools and a police station just down the road. 

But when do the police ever show up in time. 

He can tell he’s obsessing but he can’t really help himself. He is not really sure why he’s even so concerned about these things when it comes to you. He just met you and you’ve lived on your own successfully without him. He doesn’t need to swoop in and save you. In the words of his therapist, you don’t have to be in protective mode all the time.

Easier said than done. 

In the time he’s spent scoping out your living situation five minutes have passed. He figures that should give him enough time to head upstairs and only arrive five minutes early. He checks his hair once more in the rear view mirror not totally loving how it looks without his hat but deciding not to fidget with it anymore. He grabs the bouquet of red roses that he thought too hard over at the florist thinking maybe it was too cliche but at her insistence on how romantic of a gesture it was decided to go for it. 

****

6:45 pm

You’ve been standing in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom for the last ten minutes trying to decide on a shoe. You texted your sister and she was no help telling you to go for something wild yet sensible. Those two things could not be more opposite. You didn’t want to go too fancy just in case this was a casual restaurant, but what if it was a really nice restaurant and you decided on a sandal? 

You were definitely overthinking this. 

You silently curse to yourself knowing you were running out of time and you can’t really go on a date barefoot when you remember some strappy low heels you bought for a wedding awhile ago. Perfectly cute and sensible all at once. 

You throw them on and give yourself one last look before you glance at your vanity table. The red lipstick you went back and forth over practically mocking you with the cap off. 

I want the person back who wore the red dress. 

Your sister's words echoing in the back of your mind. 

Fuck it. 

You hold the tube in your hand as your fingers tremble slightly. You stare down at the vibrant, fiery hue in stark contrast to your normal understated palette. With a deep breath you carefully apply, the texture smooth and crisp against your lips. When you first take a step back and look, the color is so striking it feels foreign. 

It’s also exhilarating and cliche that some red lipstick is giving you this huge boost of confidence. 

You grab a black leather purse hanging from your closet door opting to forgo your usual tote bag for something a little nicer. You tuck the lipstick, your phone and a little wallet inside leaving just enough room for Andy. Your sister would probably have your neck for bringing your camera on a date but it was your comfort blanket at the moment and you weren’t ready to let go of it. 

A heavy knock on your door and you take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. 

****

6:55 pm

He knocks once and winces at the loud sound that echoes against the cheap wood. His hands are sweating against the plastic wrapped around the flowers and he hopes he’s not this rusty the rest of the night. 

When you greet him at the door he’s sure his heart stops for a few seconds. It’s entirely unexpected, his reaction and his complete underestimation of what he thought you would look like. He knew you were beautiful when he first saw you in the gym but this. This has him questioning everything. 

The red. 

Your dress and your lips. It’s Pavlovian the way he wants to sink his teeth into them. If this is you then he’s a goner. 

“Frankie…do you want to come in?”

“Oh shit…sorry. Ya, these are for you.” He practically shoves the roses at you and thankfully you laugh at his fumbling. He’s not sure how long he stood there gawking at you. 

“Why don’t you come in so I can put these in some water.” He’s following the scent of you like a cartoon Pepe le pew through your quaint apartment. 

You fumble around the kitchen cabinets looking for a vase as he takes in the space. It already feels a lot more warm and inviting than his five bedroom house that seems like a void of endless drab furniture. 

Little hints of you everywhere, a shelf with vintage cameras lined up. An odd shaped purple suede couch in the middle of the room, your coffee table looks like an old door with legs on it,  plants hung in any available window. A picture of you with a little baby on the wall along with some of the most vivid scenery shots he’s ever seen. Another picture with a woman who closely resembles you and an older man on what looks like your graduation day, wearing this dress. 

“I know I have a lot of…eclectic things.” You say as he turns to you. You’ve somehow trimmed and arranged the roses in the time it’s taken him to inspect your space. 

“Is that a pitcher?” 

“I mean…technically yes, but it’s serving as my vase since I don’t receive flowers much.” 

He hums in disbelief because how could a woman like you not receive flowers just for merely existing. 

He doesn’t even know if you realize you’re smiling behind the bouquet. A perfect blend of red that you serve as the backdrop. He takes out his phone and boldly takes a picture. 

You squint your eyes at him because he has his sound on. 

“Francisco.” Your voice drops an octave dripping all syrupy sweet. 

He surely won’t make it with you saying his name like that. 

“Yes, that is my name.” 

“Did you take my picture?” Hands on your hips and your tongue on your canine. 

“Maybe? I get the feeling you’re behind the camera too much.” 

You laugh as though it’s some inside joke because it is really. Your sister is always pestering you to be in the photo. But that leaves someone out and it might as well be you. 

“Can I see?” You move towards him and place your hand on his arm and he’s tempted to let you. He could read lips if they were yours as he repeats them back to himself. 

He places his phone in his pocket and watches as your eyes flit briefly to where it disappeared. 

“Not tonight.” 

Some other time 

You’re not so bold to reach in and see for yourself. You’re so close to him now you can feel his body heat and if this is what weak in the knees feels like then you’re certainly that. It takes every fiber of your being to remove your hand from his arm. 

He misses the warmth immediately as you step back but the look on your face shows a sign of that shy girl from the other night. 

“Should we?” You gesture to the door. “I don’t want to miss a reservation.” 

“No reservations needed. I know the owner of the restaurant.” 

You raise your eyebrows and he didn’t mean for it to come out so cocky. “I hope you like Italian.” He changes the subject hoping to avoid the awkwardness that he’s let fall over the room. 

“Points for you since that’s my favorite.” You reach for his hand as he leads you out and as you lock up your apartment you have to remind yourself that he’s not your ex. The man who knows the owner, the man who decides what you eat and drink, the man who didn’t care less what you wanted as long as you didn’t embarrass him. 

****

If he notices your shift in demeanor he says nothing. It’s easy to relax around Frankie and you notice yourself slipping into a peaceful routine with him. When he opens your door and helps you into the truck. When he instinctively grabs your hand as he drives, you notice his signature cap left at home for your date as his hair blows in the wind. 

This doesn’t feel like a first date. 

This feels like something you do all the time. Like you fit right into some imaginary puzzle piece in his life. He’s humming some tune under his breath and you’re feeling a little more bold as your fingers lace with his. 

You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye as you look out the window at the familiar surroundings. He likes the way you look next to him, in his truck and something bubbles to the surface that he has to push down to not scare you away too soon. 

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.” You glance over at him as his large hand grips the steering wheel. “I was thinking it real hard but the words never came out.” 

“I was thinking something similar myself.” 

He notes that low timber in your voice when you compliment him. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the road. 

“I was hoping I wasn’t too overdressed.” You say apprehensively as he pulls into a small parking lot. 

“Baby for where we’re going you’re perfectly dressed.” 

You don’t have time to even react to the pet name when you see the restaurant come into view as he parks directly in front. 

“Frankie, this place is impossible to get a reservation. Trust me I tried and failed when my sister was in town visiting me.” 

He smirks as he opens and closes the drivers side door leaving you momentarily to saunter around and open yours. 

He holds his hand out to help you down and gently grabs your waist in the other. “Make sure to let me know next time she’s in town.” 

“Okay.” You say a little breathlessly as his large hand engulfs yours and he guides you towards the entrance. 

****

“Morales for two.” 

“Right this way Mr. Morales.” The Maitre d’ leads the way dressed in a tailored suit with a vest and small black bow tie. 

The interior is breathtaking as you make your way through the ornate hallway. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the crisp white linens. There’s plush, crushed velvet and intricate woodwork furniture throughout.The walls are adorned with tapestries and the scent of fresh herbs and garlic wafts from the kitchen. 

You’ve noticed the entire night Frankie has been sure to walk behind you or beside you. Something you didn’t even realize in your previous relationship was a courtesy you weren’t afforded. Always being pulled along or left behind. His hand is warm, placed gently on your back as you pass by other well-dressed couples engaged in intimate conversations. Their voices a soft murmur against the backdrop of classical music playing somewhere in the distance. 

You’re both ushered toward a secluded corner of the restaurant, away from the bustling dining room. Your breath catches as you take in the scene before you. A small path opens up to a hidden courtyard, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight. Ivy climbs gracefully up the old stonewalls. A table set for two is adorned with empire candles and one single rose. 

Frankie’s eyes are on you, a mix of nervousness and pride etched across his face. He’s clearly pleased with your reaction and he chuckles to himself as he takes in the romantic setting his friend arranged just for this moment. 

“I hoped you’d like it.” Frankie says, his voice a soft murmur as he pulls out your chair. 

“Like it! Frankie, are you serious? This is incredible.” 

He smiles at your reaction as he takes his place across from you. The tenderness in his gesture, the thoughtfulness of the setting-it all makes your heart flutter. This isn’t just a date. It’s a memory in the making, and his effort to impress you is overwhelming in the best way possible. 

****

“Frankie I have to say the website photos do not do this place justice.” 

The laugh that erupts from his chest catches you off guard briefly. “The owner was being cheap-.” 

“Cheap!” A familiar voice sounds from behind you as the gorgeous man you recognize from Benny's fight strolls over to your table. His hair is slicked back showing off his perfect bone structure. Slight salt and pepper stubble across his face. Dressed in all black and the first two buttons undone to show off his tan chest. 

Frankie stands from the table and embraces the man in a tight hug. He whispers something you don’t quite catch before turning to you with a wide smile. 

“Hi, I’m Santiago.” He holds out his hand for you and to your surprise kisses the top of your outstretched hand. “Fish whisked you away before I had a chance to introduce myself the other day.” 

“Fish?” 

“That is exactly why I whisked her away.” Frankie says through gritted teeth. 

Santiago holds his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I mean Francisco.” 

The waiter appears with a pitcher of water and pours for the table as Santiago instructs him to bring a bottle of sparkling when he returns with the bread. 

“So I hear you’re quite the photographer, I could use your help.” 

“Pope.” Frankie eyes him in warning. 

You reach across the table and take Frankie’s hand in yours. “It’s fine really.” 

Santiago’s eyes on your joined hands and a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I would love to take some photos for your website. They really are quite awful.” You say honestly. 

“Well I took them myself so…”

You unconsciously grimace and it’s equal parts comical and painful to look at as you palm your face. “I’m so sorry.” 

Both men are laughing before you can continue your apology. 

“No hard feelings, cariño. I’m a big boy and can take some criticism. This guy on the other hand.” He pats Frankie on the back. “Go easy on him for me.” 

A look of gratitude passes between them and Santiago steps back as the waiter reappears. 

He claps his hands. “I’ll leave you two love birds to enjoy. I have a very special meal planned for the evening so I hope you’re hungry.” 

He turns to leave but not before Frankie speaks. 

“Gracias hermano realmente aprecio todo.” 

“Para ti cualquier cosa.”

****

The conversation between you and Frankie flowed easily as each course was presented to you. Per Santiago’s instruction the waiter presented each dish to you in great detail. 

First Course: Antipasti Deliziosi

The evening begins with an elegant spread of antipasti, served on a polished wooden platter. The colorful assortment included thinly sliced prosciutto, delicate burrata cheese drizzled with balsamic reduction, and an array of marinated olives, artichoke hearts, and sun-dried tomatoes. 

Frankie tells you a little about his time in the military with the boys. After a brief explanation that because of some private government contracts they all did very well for themselves after the service. Of course your curiosity was peaked at the thought of Benny and Will owning their own gym and Santiago owning the most popular restaurant in town. Frankie had casually mentioned at your first encounter that he owned a private helicopter business. None of these men came off as self centered or what you would consider avaricious so it was refreshing to see such successful men be so humble. 

Albeit very intimidating that you struggled most months to pay your bills and your savings was almost at nothing after a year of being here. You quickly steered the conversation away from that topic which made you uncomfortable because of your previous relationship. You didn’t want to come off as some kind of gold digger. 

Second Course: Risotto ai Frutti di Mare

The second course featured a luxurious risotto with a medley of seafood—plump shrimp, tender scallops, and mussels. The creamy, saffron-infused risotto, complemented by a hint of lemon zest. Between forkfuls, Frankie shares anecdotes about his most memorable helicopter flights, while you told him( sparing some of the not so pretty details) of your spontaneous move just a year ago. 

He listens intently to you talk about trying to work when you first arrived but it being too overwhelming. You briefly mention therapy and for that he’s grateful he doesn’t have to be ashamed to talk about his struggles after leaving the military. There’s no judgment in your eyes when he talks about those meetings that saved his life. 

First date feels inappropriate and a little too heavy to mention ex’s so you both stay far away from that topic. 

You don’t mention your sobriety so he doesn’t push. 

You talk about finally taking that step and reaching out to Will for the shoot and he can’t help but shake his head on the timing of it all. 

Third Course: Filetto di Manzo con Salsa 

For the third course, the table is graced with a perfectly cooked filet mignon, its tender surface glazed with butter and rich red tomato purée . Accompanied by truffle mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus.

You’re beaming when you open up to him about some future projects you want to work on and the need to get back into weddings since those were your favorite. 

He may know some people that are seeking you out for just that but he won’t spoil the surprise. 

All of the normal first date questions that would usually bore him to death seem to feel different when he’s with you. The way you look in his eyes makes him feel like he’s floating. He’s sure you don’t notice the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking or the way you moan after trying the first bite of each course. 

Your knee keeps brushing his under the table but it’s comforting when you don’t pull away. 

Dessert: Tiramisu Classico

The evening concludes with a classic tiramisu—layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, creamy mascarpone, and a dusting of cocoa powder. 

Once the waiter disappears, and since he’s feeling a little bold he takes your fork and a small piece. Holding it out for you as you wrap your still red lips around it and let out the most sinful sound he’s ever heard. 

Worth it. 

You take his fork and serve up a slightly larger piece and do your best to lean as he meets you halfway. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when he takes a bite. 

Without thinking you reach across with your finger. “You’ve got.” And swipe the cream from the corner of his lip. Boldly licking the remnants as you watch something flash in his eyes. 

“Frankie. I don’t know how you’re gonna top this.” 

He watches you take another bite. “Oh I’m sure I can think of a few things.” He finally managed to say after he composed himself. “In fact, if you’re not afraid of heights I definitely have some ideas.” 

You sit back and clutch your chest. “Oh I would love to meet Lucy.” 

He chuckles as he looks at you and wonders where the hell you’ve been hiding. 

****

Santiago of course waited until you were finished to get your opinion and say his goodbyes. Frankie suggested you walk in the small park across from the restaurant. With a little push from Santi, the name he preferred you call him since Santiago was my father as he put it. 

It was a short walk to the park. 

You and Frankie strolled along the winding path encircling a small pond. The sun was already set but the sky still had those remnants of dusty pink and purple as the last rays bounced off the surface of the water. 

You love the way he instinctively takes your hand and he thinks it’s almost too perfect the way it fits in his. Like they had been designed for each other. The both of you walk in a comfortable silence exchanging glances as you stare at his profile and laugh to yourself. 

“Something funny hermosa?” 

“You never told me about the nickname.” You say matter of factly and he just sighs. 

Instinctually rubbing his hands along his jaw as he stops walking and you face him. “It’s better now but. I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life.” You laugh and he crowds your space. “The guys said I had whiskers like a catfish.” 

He raises his eyebrows as you hide your smile behind your hand. “I like it.” You say softly as you reach out, grazing your finger over the small spaces still missing some hair. His eyes close for just a moment and he leans into your touch. 

He’s so close you can feel his breath fan across your face and it would be so perfect if he just-

“You wouldn’t happen to have Andy in your bag by chance?” 

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said instead of kissing you. 

“What? I mean yes…um ya I do. Why?” Sounding more flustered than you want as he places his hands on your shoulders and slowly turns you around. 

You stifle a gasp as you see a man across the pond getting down on one knee and the camera is out of your bag before you can blink. 

You can see the woman as she covers her mouth in shock. Her excited squeals echoing over the water and it couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop. 

Frankie’s hands haven’t left you as his thumbs rub circles on your shoulder and he steals peaks of the photos when you take a moment to make sure the shots are just right. Adjusting the zoom on a few and grateful you don’t need the flash with just enough natural light left over.

Frankie watches you work and he’s just in awe of how you can capture the moment so well. You’re quiet and methodical in your approach and the juxtaposition of you moments ago makes his head spin. It’s like when he’s flying and everything else just shuts off around him and he can only focus on the controls and the shifts. 

He watches as the couple embraces and for the first time he thinks that’s something he wants. He’d spent so much time with his ex and that thought never once crossed his mind. 

“We should head over before they leave so I can show them.” It’s all rushed out in a hurry as you grab his hand and pull him along the path. 

He can’t help but laugh at your pure joy as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. 

He hangs back a little as you show the couple the photos. Your hands animatedly flailing to match the woman’s as she jumps up and down. The man looks over to him briefly and Frankie flashes him a thumbs up in congratulations. A man not much younger than him and he has his whole life to look forward to with this woman. 

****

“Oh my god, she thought he hired me.” Your voice comes out louder than you expected. As he glances over to you in the passenger seat looking through the photos. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

He clears his throat but keeps his eyes on the road. “I love watching you work.” 

“It doesn’t feel like work for moments like that.” 

“Hmm…ya I know what you mean.” 

His free hand resting on your thigh, you don’t think he’s gone the entire night without touching you and you don’t mind at all. He’s so grounding in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

The soft glow of the street lights are filtering in through the window as he pulls into your parking lot. That familiar tension is starting to settle into your chest at the thought of saying goodbye or at the prospect of Frankie being disappointed that you’re not quite ready for that next step. 

Frankie notices you’ve gone quiet in the seat next to him as he puts the truck in park. “Everything okay hermosa?” Suddenly feeling a little apprehensive. 

“Oh ya it’s fine…everything is fine.” He could tell by your tone it was most certainly not and he was starting to wonder if he’d done something to make you uncomfortable. 

He turns towards you, his hand resting on the seat next to you now. “I had a really great time tonight.” Frankie says, his voice steady and sincere. 

Your cheeks grow hot as you avoid his intense gaze. “Me too. It’s been…really nice.”

There’s a brief pause and you can feel that unspoken question lingering in the air. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your dress trying to gauge his reaction. “So,um, would you like to come up for coffee or something?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly. 

Frankie’s expression softened as the realization set in. “You don’t have to invite me up if you’re not ready. I want you to feel comfortable.” He takes your hand again forcing you to meet his deep brown eyes. “Just because we had a great dinner doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Or anyone for that matter.”

You exhale a sigh of relief. “Are you sure? Frankie…I really like you, but it feels too soon.” You turn to look away but he gently grabs your chin. 

“Of course I’m sure. We can take things at your pace.” 

Your pace

His eyes flit to your lips briefly as he retreats his hand. You stop him and grab his wrist hoping you didn’t send the wrong message. Your heart flutters as he leans in and you meet him halfway. Your lips meet in a tender kiss. You could taste the sweet remnants of dessert and the warmth of his breath. It’s intoxicating as his hands drift to your waist and despite the awkward angle you find yourself impossibly closer to him. 

Frankie has never felt like this before. Your hands drift to his hair and a deep growl erupts from his chest and he’s starting to question what your pace is as the kiss starts to get intense. It’s one of those kisses that has him questioning every one that came before you. 

You break apart for a second and rest your forehead on his trying to catch your breath. You had to remind yourself for what felt like the hundredth time, that you needed to be patient.

“How about I walk you upstairs? Just to make sure you get there safely.” 

All you can manage is a nod. “That would be nice. Thank you.” 

You both exited the car in silence. Your fingers brushing occasionally, sending small sparks through you. When you finally make it to your door he turns you to face him. His hands around the back of your neck as he leans in for one more kiss. This one much softer as the last still lingers on your lips. 

“Tonight was really special.” His voice full of gratitude. 

“Thank you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips, unable to pull away. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” He says pulling back slightly, but keeping his hands on you. “I’ll call you soon okay?” 

If he doesn’t leave now he probably never will.

“Okay.” You laugh breathlessly as you wipe the evidence of lipstick from his face.

You have to let him go or you’ll end up eating your words and inviting him in. He’s backing away slowly as you turn to open your door. You can feel him watching you as you close the door behind you and lean against it, finally letting the breath out of your lungs. 

You can feel your phone buzzing in your purse. 

Glancing down to see Frankie’s name light up on the screen. 

“Have you even left the parking lot?” You hear his heavy breathing and a huff of laughter. 

“I told you I'd call you soon.” He teased as the sound of his truck door closing echoes in your ear. 

“A man of his word.” You reply as you walk through your apartment stripping yourself of your shoes and untying your dress. 

“So…what are you doing?” A hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Frankie.” 

“I’m just kidding.” He pauses briefly as you hear the truck roar to life wishing you were still sitting passenger. “If you’re free this Friday-“

“I am!” You hold the phone away cursing under your breath for sounding so eager. 

“Good, it’s a date.” 

You hang up and take in your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your lips stained a pretty hue of pink now that the red has been kissed off. Your fingers brush them slightly and you know that Francisco Morales has your heart in his hands. 

Hopefully for your sake he treats it with care. 

Prev/Next

Taglist- @sawymredfox @morallyinept @ak-vintage @romanarose @avastrasposts

@lizzie-cakes @yopossum @sirendyes

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[tightjeansjavi]

Catfish | Chapter 1

🫧Filet O’Frankie🫧

A/N: this is my first ever Frankie fic and while I’m excited, I’m also a little nervous since I have never written for him before 😭 be prepared for lot of corny ocean/fish innuendo’s and Frankie being an ass because why would he just admit to the reader that he’s attracted to her? Nah, that would be too easy!

~word count: 3.0k~

Summary: a fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

Pairing | fisherman!Frankie Morales x bartender f!reader

Warnings: fluff ,teasing, banter, reader has thoughts of jealousy and feelings of insecurity, language, sexual tension, mutual pining, implied smut (not with the reader) mentions of alcohol, ouid, mean!frankie, grumpy!frankie, is really just a big ole softy!frankie, close proximity, no fish fingers..I swear, no age gap, readers nickname is Starfish, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni

A fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

You’ve been working at the town bar right along the harbor where fishermen and tourists would parade down the wooden docks like a flock of seagulls.

Instead of throwing yourself head first into figuring out your career after graduating with your masters in publishing, you decided to take a year off and return to your roots. You grew up in this little beach town, and it would always be your home.

Then there was him; Frankie Morales. A local fisherman that you used to attend highschool with..except, you lived in two completely different worlds. Frankie’s parents owned a small fishing business that Frankie attended to. And once his father could no longer hold down the business on his own, Frankie took over the business entirely.

Now, here’s where your two worlds finally meet. The bar you work at? It’s owned by your parents who gratefully hired you to be a bartender. The catch? (literally). Frankie gets drinks and food on the house simply for the fact that he supplies fish to the bar. It’s a fair trade, and even though he frowns upon some of the trendier menu items, business is good so he really has no room to complain.

Unless..that complaint is directly rooted back to you.

Frankie Morales can’t stand you, and those stupid little multi-colored umbrellas that you insistently put in his beer, every. Goddamn. Time.

Other than those stupid little umbrellas, you’re an alright person. Pretty, bubbly, chatty with everyone that crosses paths with you. Your infectious energy can be described to be similar to a Golden Retriever or a Husky. Whereas for Frankie? Well, he’d agree that he has black cat energy, and not an ounce of Golden. (You’d beg to disagree).

Sure, he’s a bit offstandish, mean at times, but man, is he handsome. Handsome to the point where you want to giggle and kick your feet anytime you see him. He’s mean, but you can’t help the way that you feel. Maybe he’s so grumpy all the time because he’s out at sea from morning to evening, and he smells a bit, well, fishy.

You remind me of a starfish. He said completely out of the blue on one particularly hot summer day while you were pouring his first beer after a long day out at sea. Just down the dock, the water was glistening under the bright sunlight, shimmering like a million diamonds.

Because they’re pretty? You set his glass down between his hands where they were resting along the bartop. Before he could take a sip, you placed a hot pink umbrella stick into his glass.

He grumbled, like he always did, before he adjusted his usual baseball cap on his mess of curls. Sometimes you wondered if he ever washed that damn hat.

No. Not because they’re pretty, but because they suction themselves to everything. He said casually while gingerly plucking the umbrella from his glass and tossing it to the side.

You glare at him while you feel your heart clench inwards like a tight fist. “Well, if I’m a Starfish, then I’m going to start calling you..Fish Filet.”

His brow raises in mock amusement at your little nickname for him. “Fish Filet?” He scoffs, “how original.”

You want to stomp your foot and tell him that he’s really being an ass, but that voice inside of your head reminds you to refrain from stooping to his level. “It’s either that, or Catfish. So, I suggest you pick one, Morales.” You quip.

He grimaces as soon as the words “Catfish” leave your lips. His face scrunches inwards like he has just gotten a taste of something sour, revolting. You can’t see his deep brown eyes as they’re hidden from your view by his sunglasses, but you imagine he’s glaring at you now too. “Do not call me Catfish ever. Call me Fish Filet or whatever, but not Catfish.” His words are firm, straight to the point as he brings the rim of his glass to his lips and takes a large sip.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Fish Filet.” your middle finger slowly rises upwards, but before it can be fully extended, he reaches over the bartop and swiftly interjects with his hand.

His palm is warm, and albeit, a tad sweaty, but that doesn’t stop the sparks from shooting up through your arm from his sudden contact.

He says nothing, scoffs, assumably rolls his eyes before he retracts his hand.

He’s so mean, but your heart skips a beat whenever he’s near.

“I don’t get what you see in him honestly. Sure, he’s a good looking guy, but he’s such fucking dick to you during every interaction i’ve seen.” Your coworker, and close friend says to you while fixing up another drink. It’s happy hour at the bar and the tourists are in full swing tonight.

You laugh, because you know she’s right, why continuously bat your lashes at a man who wants nothing to do with you? Is it the chase that excites you? The coursing adrenaline firing through your veins. The close proximity?

There was that one time that you believed Frankie almost was attracted to you. It was during a little beach bash that ended up with you and a few friends making a drunk decision to skinny dip in the ocean. You caught Frankie trying to inconspicuously sneak a peek, but you caught him in the act, and you had never seen a man’s face turn so red.

“Yeah, he’s mean, he’s an asshole.” You agree, “but, June, look at him. He’s a dreamboat, literally. I think he’s just a big fat grump all the time because he’s forgetting to wear his sunscreen, and he faintly smells of fish. I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty pissed if I kept getting nasty sunburns and smelled..fishy.”

You know that Juniper is just looking out for your well-being and just wants the best for you. But she just can’t seem to grasp why you were so attracted to a man who seemed like he could frankly give two-shits about you, and your existence in his life.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Frankie Morales a dreamboat in my books, but I just think you’re a total catch, and any guy would be lucky to just breathe the same air as you.” Juniper said while she expertly lifted a tray of freshly made shots to deliver to her table.

When she walks away, that's when you notice the devil himself with another tourist who’s wrapped tightly around his finger like a worm on a fishing wire. Frankie doesn’t have to try very hard to get his dick wet practically every night. He just has to smile, run his fingers through his curls, and look in their direction before they’re ensnared. You used to think he was like a shark, swimming in the depths of the ocean, targeting his prey when they least expect it. But now, he reminded you of a Barracuda. Calculated, precise, and almost always successful in his ‘hunts.’

You never considered yourself to be jealous in nature. Not even in past friendships or fizzled out relationships with mediocre guys that you spent your college days with. These feelings didn’t begin to breach the surface until Frankie Fucking Morales showed up on your radar

Your fist clenched tightly around the little paper umbrella in your grasp while you watched Frankie work his magic. He made a point to freshen up before heading to the bar. He’s wearing a clean shirt, and that same stupid baseball cap. His jeans fit snugly on his waist and thighs. What you wouldn’t give to slip your hands into the stitched back pockets of his jeans.

He leans in close, whispering something into the female tourist's ear that elicits her to throw her head back a little and giggle. Her hand slides up the expanse of his chest where he’s left two buttons purposely undone for this exact reason.

You can see the sliver of exposed skin glistening under the fairy lights strung along one of the wooden beams. His skin is tanned, bronzed, and you imagine dragging your tongue between his pecs, tasting the tang of the sea, and of him all in one swipe.

His hand rests along the lower back of the woman, fingers sliding down further to rest along the curve of her ass. She’s wearing a flowy sundress, one that you’ve seen in a boutique in town. She looks beautiful, and even though you know you shouldn’t compare yourself to others, you can’t help but feel like you look frumpy next to this stranger.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the scene that is unfolding in front of you even if you tried. It reminds you of the feeling while watching a really bad movie or tv show, and feeling like you probably should stop, but the small part of you is dying to know what happens next. You watch closely as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of the woman’s ear in a teasing fashion. You wonder if he popped in a few breath mints, and spritzed on some cologne. You were so used to him wearing the sea on his skin, that it was hard to picture him smelling any different.

Wanna get out of here, beautiful?

She nods, and he reels her in, just like he did with the last one, and the one before that. He was the enticing bait on a hook, and they were the unsuspecting, curious fish that just had to go in for a taste.

You hear his warm laughter that echoes through the hot summer night air as he entwines his fingers through the woman’s hand and leads her to the bartop with nothing short of enthusiasm in his step.

“Evening, Starfish. Mind hooking up my lady friend and I here with a couple shots of tequila?” He’s dropped her hand now and rests his bare tanned elbow along the sea glass countertop. His other arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His small grin is enticing, tantalizing and sending the butterflies swarming in the pit of your stomach. On the outside, you remain calm, collected, and professional.

“Good evening, Fish Filet. Sure, you want salt and lime on the side as well?” You smile politely at him and his catch of the evening.

“Fish Filet?” The woman giggles, dragging her nails across his bicep as she leans into his strong grip around her waist. “Is that your nickname, Frankie?”

He chuckles, ignoring her for a moment to focus all of his attention on you while he pulls out a five dollar bill and places it in the tip jar. “Salt and lime on the side as well. Thank you, Starfish.”

He usually never bothers to tip you, and it’s not expected given the arrangement, but you think that maybe he’s just doing it all for show so that his lady friend believes him to be a chivalrous man.

“You got it, Catfish.” You shoot him a wink before he even has the chance to open his mouth to spit something back.

Your face heats up at the realization of what you just called him while you turn your back swiftly and grab the nearest bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

Yeah, dollface. It’s my nickname because y’know, I’m a fisherman. He’s leaned in close again that the woman can feel his hot breath fanning her cheeks and parted lips.

Well, you don’t smell like a fisherman, Frankie.

His hand moves from her waist and slowly ascends upwards, drifting across her exposed cleavage before settling at the base of her throat, feeling her pulsepoint quicken and jump from his lingering touch. He presses a hidden kiss to the spot where the base of her ear connects with her jaw. His patchy, uneven beard tickles her skin as she lurches forward for even closer contact.

No, I don’t. He agrees, But I fuck like one.

Her knees nearly buckle in on themselves from the tone of his voice and the way that every word drips from his lips like warm, sticky, sugary sweet, syrup.

“Two shots of tequila on the house.” You announce, breaking through the building, palpable tension like a hot knife on a pad of butter. You can hear the sizzling sound now.

“Thanks, Starfish. You wanna take one too?” He offers, knowing that you’ll decline his invitation.

“Can’t drink on the job, Frankie.” You think about saying thank you, but for what? You don’t really owe him that either.

He shrugs, unfazed by your immediate choice to decline him as he returns his attention back to the woman beside him.

“You ever taken a tequila shot before, cariño? Goes down nice and smooth with a bit of salt and lime.” He slides the shot glass of shelf Tequila to her with ease while he grabs the two lime wedges and the salt shaker.

“No, I'm afraid I've been taking tequila shots wrong this entire time.” She might be lying, but you can’t really tell just based on her tone.

“That’s alright, beautiful.” He reassures her. “I’ll show ya how to do it properly.” He licks the back of his left hand before sprinkling a bit of salt on it. “Licking the salt before you take the shot really minimizes the burn on its way down.” He explains.

“Care to do the honors?” She asks while holding her hand out towards him.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the scene playing out in front of you, but that would give yourself away. And you’d be damned if Frankie ever knew how you really felt, so you busied yourself with wiping down the same glasses you had cleaned off earlier in the evening.

In your peripheral you see Frankie drag his tongue across the back of her left hand, his eyes flit upwards towards her face so she can get a mental image of exactly what he’ll look like when his face is buried between her thighs–

He pours a trail of salt granules on the outside of her hand and his own. “Now, we lick the salt, cariño, then immediately take the shot, and finish with the lime. It really brings the flavor of the tequila out.” He grabs his own shot glass and lightly taps it with hers before he licks the back of his hand, throws the shot down his throat, and grabs the lime wedge. He sucks the citrus juice from the fruit expertly just as she’s taking her own shot. Before she reaches for her own lime wedge, his hand drops to her waist, pulling her flush against his chest before he kisses her deeply. She’s surprised, but eager as her arms loop around his neck in the heated kiss. She can taste the salt, tequila and the lime juice on his tongue as he licks greedily into her mouth.

Get a fucking room, Morales. You say to yourself internally. The jealousy burns deep and is stoked at with a hot iron that scorches your insides.

That’s how a real man kisses, and I'll never know what it's like.

He pulls away from the bruising kiss just for a lick of air. His lips are slightly swollen, and now coated in a light pink shimmer from her pretty lipgloss. Her fingers are toying with curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him back in for another kiss. “I see what you mean about the salt and lime now, Frankie.” She purrs.

His eyes meet yours across the bartop, brow raised as he waits to see if this will be the night that you finally snap and show him that his attraction to you hasn’t gone blindly unnoticed. That maybe you’ll stop him from taking this woman back to his boat, stop him from fucking her till her legs shake, and the only name she’ll remember on her vacation is his; Frankie Morales, the fisherman. Whereas come morning, she’ll be gone, and he won’t even remember her name, just like the rest of them.

Instead, you stand there, eyes meeting him in an even-toned gaze. There’s no indication given on how you feel towards him, or that you wish it was you he was taking back to his boat. You simply smile, give him a small nod before you return to wiping down the glasses.

Only when his back is turned towards you, and you hear the scraping of the bar stool, and the light jingling of his keys being pulled from his pocket does your face finally fall, and your mask loses its place like loosened strings on a violin that hasn’t been properly tuned in a very, very long time.

His arm stays wrapped around his catch of the night as he leads her down the dock where his boat is gently bobbing with the evening current. He kisses her again, calloused hands from tugging coarse rope, and fastening fishing lines, now bunches up the fabric of her dress in a haste.

Through the open window at the stern of his ship, you can hear her breathy high-pitched moans, and his deeper, more prominent groans as he drills his hips into her pelvis over and over again, imagining it was you instead.

It’s an hour past closing time for the bar when his catch of the night finally stumbles from his boat, heels clutched in one hand as she wobbles up the dock. She’s close enough that you can see her face, and her wild mess of hair and swollen lips, and that post-fuck glow to her skin as she passes by you without a glance.

Frankie emerges minutes later, shirtless, boxers hung low on his lips, baseball cap on his mess of curls. In one hand he holds a cheap beer, and in the other, a joint and a lighter held between his middle and forefinger. He sits along the bow of his boat, sparks up the joint, before he lays on his back and gazes up at the starry night sky longingly.

banners made by the lovely @saradika

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and fic notifications!

[theoraekenslover]

I lost a fic again

This one is a (past) Joel Miller x reader then (present) Frankie Morales x reader

It starts off with a small series (I think it’s a two parter) of Joel x reader where they’re neighbors and they’ve been together for (I think) seven years, but never officially, Joel never lets her stay the night, always kicks her out right after they’re done, but she’s always doing everything for Joel and Sarah, neither of them ever really showing any sort of appreciation.

Reader lives right next door with her mom so her mom (and their neighbors) all see how Joel treats her

Then Sarah’s mom shows up and he breaks up (? Idk he was an asshole and after seven years never made it official) with her to be with Sarah’s mom, and Sarah also leaves her, even though reader raised her, and so reader and her mother leave and move to the city. Incidentally, the night they leave is the same night that Sarah’s mom finally had enough and left Joel and Sarah again after using his money and being drunk all of the time, she left him with this man she was cheating on him with (they got back together to try and “work things out,” hence why he left reader) and Sarah and Joel are left distraught because now there’s nobody to do everything for them, cleaning, cooking, just doing everything.

This is where the next series starts (the Frankie one, it's way longer than the other one)

Reader moves to city with mom and meets Frankie, they’re together and she’s friends with his boys and their wives/girlfriends

A little bit into their relationship, they run into Tommy and Maria (at a diner I think while reader is on the phone (FaceTime I think) with Frankie) and they’re (mostly just Tommy, if Maria at all) trying to convince her to go back to Joel, Frankie sees the discomfort and stuff on her face and comes to the diner (I think he was on his way there when they were talking) and when they see Frankie they (Tommy) keeps making comments about how she’s obviously not over Joel because Frankie looks just like him, and eventually they leave and Tommy was going to tell Joel about seeing her but Maria talks some sense into him and when they get back, (maybe it’s a few days later, idk) Joel, Sarah, Tommy, and Maria are sitting down eating when Joel says that he’s gonna go looking for her but Tommy stops him saying like "Why should she come back? You guys treated her like shit, remember that time she was in the hospital for breaking her [whatever] (arm, ankle? idk) and you only called her twice, to ask her what's for dinner and where Sarah's soccer stuff was" that's the gist.

They also mention how Sarah also treated her like shit and abandoned the woman who raised her for the woman who abandoned raising her (does that make sense?), Sarah is crying asking them to stop. A couple times Maria says (either in her head or to Tommy in the car earlier) how she would give Sarah a piece of her mind if she wasn't a child/teenager).

There's stuff that happens in between but I mostly remember what happens between reader/Frankie/Joel/Sarah

Cut to the next time we see Joel and Sarah: Sarah is in the city for a job (I think) and runs into reader and asks her to meet with them, so they arrange a meeting at a diner or something where reader meets up with Sarah and Joel. Joel and Sarah are there first and they sit down next to this man (Frankie) with a baby in a stroller, Joel talks to Frankie and Sarah is just cooing at the baby. Reader eventually shows up, they talk, and when she goes to leave Sarah calls her "mom" and asks her not to leave, then reader goes "Don't call me that. I am not that." Then she stands up, they notice she's pregnant (I can't remember if they notice as soon as she enters the diner/cafe or when she leaves with Frankie) and then she leaves with Frankie and their baby.

Cut to after the baby is born (I think), reader and Frankie are at a grocery store with their baby (at least the newborn, maybe the other one too) and Joel spots them, he doesn't interact with them and reader doesn't notice him, but Frankie does, and I can't remember exactly what happens next but it's passive, like nothing really happened I think.

I feel like the original the series sprouted from was a one-shot where it shows Joel and Sarah abandoning reader, then she runs into Sarah in the city then they meet up with Joel at some diner and after talking for a little she goes to leave and Sarah calls her "mom" and she says "Don't call me that. I am not that." Then leaves with the man (Frankie) with the baby sitting in/at the booth/table next to them.

Lost Fic: Frankie Morales x reader [past/ex!Joel Miller x reader]

[beefrobeefcal]

coming soon...

[joelalorian]

Beacon of Hope

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 2.5k words | 18+ MDNI

Welcome to my contribution to @almostfoxglove's angst challenge. I was given the character Frankie Morales, this moodboard made by Freya, and the song Siren by Kailee Morgue. I went outside my comfort zone in both genre and style with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Rough weather leads to a helicopter crash. Is it real or all delirium?

Warnings: None really. Just some cursing, angst, and confusion. My blog as a whole is still 18+ mdni. No use of y/n. Little to no description of reader.

The weather turned on a dime. Rotor blades sliced through the rain and wind as Frankie fought to keep the collective and cyclic controls steady, feet working the pedals for the rear rotor. Lightning flashed ahead and the helicopter dropped altitude.

“What the fuck were they thinking?” he shouted above the ruckus just to hear himself think. His new boss was an asshole, never accounting for weather in his need to keep business going. Hence, Frankie found himself sweating bullets, flying solo through a sudden squall to transport cargo. He’d be shocked if he made it through. Shame, too. He’d been looking forward to a night out with the boys for one of Benny’s fights.

Various thoughts flashed in Frankie’s mind as he squinted through the rain-beaten windshield. He worked hard to get his life back on track after that debacle in South America. He never told the boys, but he kept just a bit of his share of the money, needing it for a fresh start. He paid fines to clear his name and get his pilot’s license back, finding a job with an only slightly shady transport company.

Frankie got to fly everyday and that was all he really cared about, especially after he returned from South America and found out his woman had lied and cheated, their baby wasn’t actually his. She left him for the baby’s birth father and Frankie hit rock bottom before scraping himself off the floor.

All that he’d been through, and now he might die in a helicopter crash over the middle of the god damned ocean, and no one would even know where to look for him.

Fuck.

He should try to land, but where?

A flash of lightning lit up the world around him, and Frankie scanned the horizon. Aha! A small peak ahead looking like an oasis to a dying man, he adjusted course to head toward the island. Wind buffeted the aircraft; thunder cracking so loud Frankie could hear it over the noise of the rotors.

Another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Oh fuck.

“Mayday, mayday!” he shouted into the mic of his headset, calling out the aircraft’s tail number and coordinates to anyone listening on the other side.

The next thing Frankie knew, the instruments were fried. No amount of punching or yanking would get the aircraft to respond, and it spun, plummeting until Frankie could see the rough seas rising to meet it. Without thought, Frankie undid his harness and fled the pilot’s seat. Wrenching the door open, he jumped into the raging sea with the helicopter merely twenty feet above the cresting waves.

Seconds became minutes became hours while Frankie fought against the waves, gulping water and swimming toward the glimmer of the island ahead. At some point, the storm waned, waves settling, and Frankie let the tide carry him to shore where he collapsed on the wet sand in exhaustion.

The sun beating down on the back of his head, water lapping at his bare feet, roused Frankie back to consciousness. The grainy, damp sand worked its way into his scruff and stuck to his dewy skin, causing it to itch relentlessly. He sat up, scratching at his chin, and took in his surroundings.

Nothing but water before him for miles.

Well, that was not encouraging, at all.

Turning his head with effort, his body having taken a beating during the crash and subsequent fight for his life, Frankie assessed the empty beach and hilly forest beyond. Not a soul in sight.

Where the fuck was he?

Frankie stood on shaky legs, toes digging into the gritty sand to find balance. Only then did he realize his bare feet.

“What the hell happened to my shoes?” Running his fingers through tangled locks, he realized his beloved hat was gone, too. Mouth dry and brain fuzzy, Frankie felt ill prepared for this particular situation.

With a downtrodden sigh, he walked along the water line, the wet sand making it easier, and scanned the area. A quarter of a mile into his journey, Frankie came across footprints in the wet sand. Noticeably smaller than his own, his heart leapt in his chest.

Was someone else out there?

Or was he hallucinating?

It could go either way, Frankie guessed. He was slowly dehydrating.

With little else left to do, he followed the footprints, searching for any other signs of human life along the way. Oddly, there was no other sound on the island other than the gentle crash of the waves on shore. No birdsong. No rustling of little critters in the brush. Nothing.

Strange, that.

Rounding the tip of the island, Frankie froze.

A lighthouse stood before him, just taller than the trees behind it.

He ran towards it, desperate and eager to find someone, anyone, on this godforsaken island. Or at least a way to call for help. His feet padded up the dilapidated steps, careful to avoid any jagged edges, and wrestled open the weather-beaten door.

“Hello?” Frankie called, voice echoing between the concrete walls as it carried upwards. When no response came, he climbed the winding staircase to the top, the metal steps painful beneath his bare feet.

His breath left him when he reached the pinnacle. A panoramic view of nothing but water for miles and miles in every direction met his weary eyes. Caught up in the view, it was an afterthought to glance at the light fixture occupying much of the space, and the ethereal woman standing next to it.

Beauty incarnate in ways Frankie could not even try to describe, like a siren beckoning him. He merely stared at you in wonder.

“’Lo,” he greeted when you smiled at him.

“Hello,” you replied, voice like angelic music, a cool breeze in the heat of summer, a breath of fresh air.

The edges of Frankie’s vision went blurry, and he stumbled, falling back against the wall where he sank to the ground. The image of you approaching him with furrowed brows, lips moving but no sound hitting his ears, was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

Days passed and Frankie lost track of them. His waking hours spent learning everything he could about you – what you were doing on the island all alone, your name, your favorite color – all the important things.

He kept losing consciousness in the middle of conversations, which worried him, but not you. A constant smile alight on your face, you greeted him every time he opened his eyes. You didn’t talk much, but always answered his questions. You never asked any of him, which he should have found beyond strange, but his brain still wasn’t working fully. Come to think of it, you spoke in riddles a lot, which confused him.

“Would you ever leave here?” Frankie asked while you gave him a tour of the far side of the island. The sun still rising, morning sky a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges which didn’t bode well for them. A storm was coming.

“To where would you have me go? This is where I reside. This is my beginning and my end.”

There you went again, confusing the hell out of him with your answers and dazzling him with your beauty. Frankie’s brows pinched together as he tried to figure out what to say next. Finally, he settled on, “You could come with me, back to Florida.”

“If only the fates would allow.”

On and on it went like that for days. Belly aching with emptiness, and mouth dry with overwhelming thirst, Frankie lost focus of everything but you. He would have jumped from the top of the lighthouse had you asked him to. Instead, you talked him through fixing the mechanism preventing the lighthouse from serving its purpose. The rest of the instruments, including the radio controls, were a loss, though.

You handed him tools just when he needed them, all the parts necessary to get the light working again ready and waiting in your hands before he could even voice the need. It should have weirded him out, but it didn’t. Nothing weirded him out or worried him with you at his side.

Storms battered the reinforced walls of the lighthouse as he worked. Finally, the light blinked, spinning its circle to shine brightly out to sea. Frankie stood with pride for a few moments before lightheadedness kicked in and he slumped down to the ground.

Your siren song roused him a solid day later.

“The time is nigh. The winds of change are upon us.”

“Wuh?” Frankie questioned groggily. You were making even less sense than you normally did. “What are you talking about?”

Your hand ghosted against his cheek, the lightest brush against the grown in scruff. He could only imagine how haggard he looked. “It’s time, Frankie. You must go.”

His eyes widened and he bolted to his feet at the high-pitched whine of a boat engine in the distance. Pressing his face to the glass on the western side, Frankie gulped at the sight of a Zodiac boat barreling toward the island, three men onboard. He watched the boat bounce along the water for a minute before turning back to you.

“Come with me,” Frankie said, voice pitched low. “Come with me, please. You saved me. I can’t leave you behind. Let me save you.”

You smiled warmly, eyes shining with emotion. “Could that I would, my Frankie. My place is here,” you replied, arms spreading wide in a gesture to encompass the island. “My soul is linked to this place and it’s a link that cannot be broken. There is nothing left of me to save.”

Frankie’s vision swam, your form going blurry and blinking in and out of existence. Certain he was about to lose consciousness again; he slid down to the floor. “Please,” he tried again in a choked voice before his vision went black.

“Fish! Come on, man!” 

Someone jostled his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. Frankie blinked his big brown eyes open.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Santi heaved a sigh and helped Frankie sit upright. “You okay?”

Blinking rapidly to jumpstart his brain, Frankie shrugged. “I dunno.” His voice sounded different to his own ears, and by the way Santi flinched at the raspy sound, Frankie knew he was in rough shape.

“We’ve been searching for you for days.” Santi glanced around at the roughshod condition of the aged lighthouse. “We spotted the light, finally. I’m shocked this thing is even working. Everything else is fried.”

“We spent days getting it to work,” Frankie replied groggily, not catching the confused expression on Santi’s face.

“We? Who, you and the mouse in your pocket?”

Frowning at Santi’s joke, Frankie shot to his feet and glanced around frantically. “Where is she? Where did she go?” Fighting off the lightheaded feeling, Frankie bolted down the stairs.

“Who? Francisco! Who the fuck are you talking about?” Santiago chased after his friend, catching him at the base of the lighthouse where Will waited, watching his brother root around in the sand.

“Where’s the fire, Fish?” Will asked when Frankie burst through the creaking door.

“God damnit, Frankie!” Santi grunted, catching the dark-haired man as he slumped to the ground. “Based on the looks of it, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in days. You can’t be running off like that.”

Dark coffee eyes rolled around in his head, fighting to meet his friend’s gaze. “I need to find her, Pope. Help me find her.”

The others shared confused looks. “Who is he talking about?” Will asked.

“I have no idea,” Santi replied. “He just keeps asking where ‘she’ is.”

Shaking his head, Will bent a knee to be closer to Frankie. “There’s no one else here, Fish. Benny and I scoured the island. Everything here has been long abandoned.”

“No, no, that’s not possible! She was here with me. She helped me get the light working,” Frankie begged them to believe him, but even he was starting to doubt himself.

“Hey! Check this out!” Benny stepped back from where he wandered off, an aged glass bottle in his hand. Holding it up, he popped the top open and removed a rolled paper. “It’s like a message in a bottle.”

The four friends gathered around to read the letter.

To my dearest love,

As the waves crash against the rocks and the wind whispers through the lighthouse, my heart aches for you. Each passing day feels like an eternity without your touch, your laughter echoing through these empty halls.

I watch the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ship returning to me, carrying you back into my arms. The beacon of this lighthouse remains lit, a testament to my undying hope that our love will guide you home.

I have written endless messages, casting them into the sea, praying that one day, they will find you and bring you back to me. But my hope is growing dim, as is my life. I can feel the despair taking me apart, bit by bit, and soon, there will be nothing left of me but flesh and bone, and then nothing.

I will haunt this lighthouse for an eternity waiting for you.

Forever yours.

Frankie sucked in a shocked breath. Your name was signed at the bottom… and the date was marked as fifty years ago, to the day, according to Santi’s watch.

He reached for the letter, almost ripping it in his haste. You were but a ghost, a figment of his delirious imagination. He couldn’t believe it. He hallucinated and nearly fell in love with a ghost.

“Come on, let’s get outta here. We need to get Fish to a doctor,” Will said.

“Yeah, lesgo…” Frankie said absently, words blending as darkness swept him under again.

When he next came to it was in a hospital bed, an IV attached to his arm, with a woman who looked just like you checking his vitals.

“Hello, Frankie, it’s nice to see you awake,” you said with a bright smile. At the way he squinted his eyes, you added, “Does your head hurt?”

Frankie shook his head, unable to wrench his eyes away from yours.

“Do you feel any discomfort or pain?”

Again, he shook his head.

“So, what do you feel?” you asked with a cheeky wink.

“Hungry,” he grunted in return, pouty lips curving upwards at your tinkling laughter.

When Santi visited later that day, Frankie recounted his harrowing tale, including the parts about you. He listened quietly, brows furrowing for much of it. Once the story ended, Santi shook his head.

“Fish, we found you unconscious on a small, uninhabited island two days after the crash. It looked like you hadn’t moved from where you washed ashore. There was no lighthouse.” Santi broke the news gently, knowing Frankie was still out of it. “You must have dreamt it all.”

“No, that can’t be…” his voice faded to nothing.

fin

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 14

I'm sorry. Please feel free to yell at me.

Warnings Contain spoilers

Word count: 5.7k Chapter 15

You start pulling on your clothes as you come back from the bathroom, Frankie is already wrapped up in the bed sheets, half asleep as he pries open an eye to look at you. 

“I was thinking we should maybe not both sleep at the same time,” you say, reaching down for your boots. Frankie loses his sleepy look almost immediately and shoots up in bed, but you’re already holding your palm up to him.

“I’m taking the first watch, Frankie, no arguments. You didn’t sleep last night, I did, albeit behind the couch, but still. You need to sleep because to be frank, we’re gonna need you alert tomorrow more than me.”

“Cariño…” he starts to protest but you physically push him down onto the bed with your hands on his shoulders, and he lets you topple him over.

“Sleep, Frankie, I’m going to be outside the door, you’ll hear me shout if anything happens.” 

He looks up at you, trying to find an argument for taking the whole watch himself, but his brain is scrambled by adrenaline and sleep deprivation. The post-orgasm hormones don’t help either. 

“Leave the door open, wake me at three,” is all he manages before you kiss his lips and stroke his cheek, you swear he’s already asleep by the time you leave the room. 

Staying awake was harder than you thought, sitting on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter stops you from dozing off, but you still feel like your jaw is going to pop as you yawn widely. Your gun is on the counter in front of you as you study the ring Frankie slipped onto your finger. The delicate gold band is thin, three simple diamonds set in a row, with room, you notice, for more diamonds along the band. You know Frankie isn’t the kind of guy to spend three months pay on a ring just so that it’s as big as possible, he would pick the ring that meant something to him and make it mean something to you too. You run your fingers over the diamonds, three in a row, you’ll have to ask him tomorrow. 

At three am you gently walk into the bedroom to wake Frankie, but he sleeps too lightly, your footsteps wake him up and he shoots up in bed. 

“It’s ok, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, “It’s three am.” 

“Ok,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep as he rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. You pull off your boots and crawl into bed with your clothes on next to Frankie. He catches your chin between his thumb and fingers, giving you a slow kiss, before letting go. 

When you wake up a few hours later daylight is starting to slip through the shutters of the window. Frankie’s hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you. 

“Hermosa, time to wake up,” he murmurs as he bends and presses his lips to your temple. “The night was quiet and I made coffee.”

“Thank you,” you mumble and push the covers back, sitting up as Frankie hands you a mug. 

You drink it while you get ready, which only means you put your boots back on and stick the gun into the back of your trousers. Frankie’s heated up another can of stew from Denny’s supplies and you both eat it in silence. You’re apprehensive about leaving the safety and quiet of the cabin and move back into populated areas, but you can see Frankie’s nerves too. His jaw is clenched as he goes through both your packs, swapping out some of the food for Denny’s supplies. As soon as you put down your spoon into the empty bowl he grabs it from you and starts readying up to leave. 

“We should leave a note for Pope or anyone else who comes here,” you say and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, I did already,” he points to a folded piece of paper on the dining room table, “Read it and tell me if it makes sense.” 

You pick it up and flip it open, reading Frankie’s neat handwriting; 

September 29th 

To anyone of the guys

My girl and I are safe up here for now. We’re heading to L’s place today. Pope was here on the 27th, also went for L but hasn’t returned yet. 

We’ll return here when we have L, hope to see you all safe. 

Catfish

You fold it up and put it back on the table, “Looks good to me, I really hope they’re all here when we get back,” you say, looking over at Frankie who’s picked up your backpack and walked over to you with it.  

“Yeah, I really hope so too,” he replies as he helps you on with the pack, turning you around and adjusting the straps before he pulls your gun from behind your back. 

“I made you this while I was keeping watch,” he holds up a makeshift leg holster. “You can’t wear a regular holster with a backpack on and you won’t be able to get the gun from behind the pack, and I don’t want you walking around with the gun in your hand.” 

He kneels down and straps it to your thigh, using a snap-link to attach it to your belt. “Denny had a couple of old holsters for his hunting gear so I repurposed them.” He’s got a similar holster on his leg, his gun already in it and now he slides your gun into yours. 

“Feel good?” he asks, looking up at you from the floor, tugging on the holster, making sure it’s not too tight. 

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, Frankie, I’ve never even fired a gun.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have to but I can’t show you, I don’t know when we’ll get more bullets,” he gets up and gives your backpack a final look over, “Denny didn’t keep any guns or ammo up here so we’ll have to grab any that we find.” 

Once outside the cabin, Frankie locks up and puts the key back into the lock box before turning towards the lake. 

“There are a couple of canoes down by the small boat house,” he says, “we can use one of them to get across the lake, saves us walking around it, we’re heading in that direction.” 

You nod and follow him down the gentle slope to the lake, the morning is calm and quiet, and again you’re struck by how normal everything feels. If it wasn’t for the slightly heavy feeling in your stomach, a small hot ball of anxiety, you’d think it was just Frankie and you heading out for a couple of days camping. 

The trip over the lake is smooth and when you get to the other side, about a mile from the cabin, you get the packs out before Frankie paddles the canoe into some thick, tall reeds to camouflage it as much as possible. Luckily it’s an old wood canoe and it all but disappears into the reeds. 

Frankie glances down at his compass, attached to his belt, and motion for you to follow him. You’ve agreed to speak as little as possible and move quietly. There probably won’t be any infected out here but Frankie doesn’t want to take any chances. So in silence you walk behind him for three hours, stopping when he holds up his hand, checking his direction or listening intently. At one point he signals for you to stop and crouch and as you sink down behind a bush, you hear rustling in the shrubs ahead. Your skin goes cold as you mimic Frankie’s movement and pull out your gun, moving it slowly out of your leg holster. The rustling continues, coming closer until, finally, you see the source of the sound, a white tail deer, slowly ambling through the forest, nibbling at leaves here and there as it goes. You let your breath out slowly, as Frankie stands up, startling the deer enough to make it prance away into the underbrush. 

At the three hour mark Frankie finds a good spot for a break, a small stream that lets you refill your water bottles. Stretching out your legs on the ground, your back against a large boulder, you try to savor your lunch sandwich. Frankie sinks down next to you and gives you a little nudge with his shoulder. 

“How you holding up, cariño?” he asks in a low voice. 

“I’m alright, just jumpy,” you reply, leaning your head on his solid shoulder for a little bit. He caresses your cheek with his warm palm and you feel his lips press into the top of your head before he begins to unwrap his sandwich. 

After lunch you get even jumpier, you’re still following hiking trails through the forest but every now and then you have to cross main roads, you start seeing houses, you even skirt around a small town. In the distance you see a group of people, you can’t tell if they’re infected or not, but as Frankie leads the two of you in a wide circle around the group, you keep watching them. They don’t move and you think they’re too unnaturally still for humans. 

Just as you’ve managed to clear a small ridge and put some distance between yourself and them, a loud collective shriek goes up from the group of people. Frankie immediately grabs you and pulls you down into the tall grass next to the trail. It feels like your heart is going to claw itself out of your chest as you feel Frankie’s weight on top of you, he’s half covered you with his body. You glance up at his face and you see him carefully lift his head out of the tall grass. 

“It’s ok, they’re running, but in the other direction,” he whispers and pulls you up. In a crouch Frankie starts to jog down the other side of the ridge, holding on to your hand as you run to keep up with him. You continue running until your lungs are about to give up and Frankie slows down but starts walking next to you, keeping a brutal pace, still holding onto your hand. 

“We need to get away from them as fast as possible, we can’t fight that many on foot,” he pants, giving your hand another squeeze. 

Not until you’ve covered about three miles does he slow down to a regular pace, you’re drenched in sweat and breathing hard, your legs aching. He pulls you off the side of the trail you’ve been following, into the forest and behind a thick shrub. 

“Sit down,” he motions, pointing to the ground, “catch your breath and drink some water.” 

You gratefully sink down and pull out your water bottle while Frankie remains standing. 

“We’re about half a mile from the bridge and the river crossing,” he says, looking at the map. “We need to be extra careful as we approach, if people in this area were trying to get away from any towns they’d probably have to cross there which means a potential traffic jam and potentially infected.” 

You nod and sip the water, offering Frankie your bottle when you’re done. He gratefully takes a long swig while you get back to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the sprint but you want to keep moving. The countryside around you makes you nervous, there are small farms dotted across it, three days ago you would’ve thought it looked quaint and rural, now the sight of every farm house makes you edgy. 

Putting away your water bottle, you follow Frankie back to the trail and after a short time it emerges from the forest onto a large country road, up ahead you can see the bridge. As Frankie had feared, it’s jammed with cars. You can walk between them, but the thought of what might be hiding among them makes panic claw its way up your throat and you take a tight hold of Frankie’s hand. He looks back and sees the fear in your eyes. Pulling you back into the trees he wraps his arms around you. Holding you tight to his chest for a minute, he pulls back and cups your cheeks, his large hands are warm and dry on your skin, as he kisses you deeply before he looks down at you and traces his fingers over your lips. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, it’s the only way forward.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s committing it to memory and you suddenly realize what he’s doing. 

“Don’t say goodbye, Frankie,” you croak, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Just in case, mi amor,” he says in a low voice, pressing his lips to yours again. When he pulls back he turns and takes your hand, leading you back to the road where he lets go of it. 

“Stay six feet behind me, gun out, safety off, but keep it pointed to the ground. If you have to fire, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.” He gives you a final look, a small smile, before turning back to the road. 

It’s slow going, following Frankie’s lead you move carefully in his footsteps, trying to make as little noise as possible. Frankie stops and surveys the cars in front of you regularly but nothing seems out of the ordinary, you see no humans, only open car doors, luggage that’s been left behind. 

As you’ve crossed about two thirds of the bridge a dog suddenly launches itself at the cage door keeping it shut in, barking loudly from inside a large SUV. Frankie and you both drop into a crouch, trying to see if the loud noise will draw in any infected, but the dog quietens down and the landscape around the bridge remains silent. You breathe a sigh of relief as Frankie carefully stands up again and motions for you to follow him. He carefully approaches the dog in the cage, a golden retriever you think, mumbling soft words to it, calming it down. Soon the dog is licking his fingers through the bars of the cage and Frankie slides back the lock, opening the door. The dog jumps down, its tail happily wagging as you scratch its ears. 

“Good boy,” you mumble, patting its flank as Frankie starts moving forward again. You give the dog a final scratch before you follow him towards the end of the bridge. The dog trails behind you for a while before it falls behind, going back to the SUV. 

As you get to the end of the bridge Frankie holds his hand up, signaling for you to stop. He points to the last pillar of the bridge, written on it, in what looks like black magic marker, are the letters SOF, underneath is a rectangle with a single line through the middle and the number 1 just outside the box. 

“Special Operations Force,” Frankie says, “Pope’s been through here but he’s alone. The rectangle means he’s motorized.” He walks over to the pillar, pulling a marker from his side pocket and crouching down he writes SOF underneath Pope’s message, but he adds an odd looking cross underneath, two sides are flat and two are rounded. Then he writes ‘2’ next to it. 

“Special Operations Aviation,” he explains while he stands up and puts the marker away. “I don’t think any of the other guys will come past here but if Pope comes back the same way he’ll see that we’ve been here.” 

You continue down the road, it’s still about an hour's walk to Lucía’s house and you’re forced to stay on the road, there are no hiking trails leading in the right direction. Frankie’s head is on a swivel, his gun drawn as you both walk off to the side of the road, creating some distance between  yourselves and the cars. There are less of them now, and up ahead you can see an almost clear road. You crest a hill in the road, carefully trying to see over to the other side before you’re too exposed, when a pickup truck just ahead rumbles to life and barrels towards you with a screech of tires. Frankie grabs your hand and pulls you behind one of the few cars on the road, his gun aimed at the truck. “They’ve got to be ok, right Frankie?” you say, his hand still holding you down behind the car. “Infected can’t drive!”

“Stay down, cariño,” he snaps, his eyes focused on the truck. You hear it come to a stop and the engine goes silent as the doors are opened. Frankie lets go of you and grabs his gun with both hands. You turn and peek over the bonnet of the car and see two men get out, staying behind the doors of the truck, as another two jump down from the flatbed. 

“You know how to use that gun, sonny?” the oldest man calls from behind the driver’s door. He’s big and burly looking, a cowboy hat squashed down on a very round head. 

“Sure,” Frankie calls back, shifting his stance. 

“Why don’t you lower it and toss it over here. And any gun your cute girl might be carrying.” The man’s voice is saccharine and makes your neck hairs stand on end, you glance up at Frankie and see the muscle in his jaw working. 

“We’re just passing through, trying to get to some friends, we don’t want any trouble.” 

“Then why you pointing a gun at me, son?” The older man looks over his shoulder and nods at the two men who got off the truck and they slowly move to the sides, circling the two of you. 

“Cariño, get your gun up and stand behind me, aim at the man on the left,” Frankie says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the older man. You do as he says, trying to have a steady grip on the gun to keep your hands from shaking. Copying Frankie’s stance, you hold your gun in both hands, your feet apart and steady, aiming at the man on the left. With a thumb you flick the safety off and draw a deep breath. 

“Steady there, girlie,” the old man drawls, as he sees you move, holding up a hand to stop the two men. “Son, you don’t want to do anything stupid and get your girl in trouble here.” He moves out from behind the car door, and from the corner of your eye you see the rifle he’s holding low in his hands. “We’re just out here making sure no one’s looting these cars, especially of any guns they might find.” 

“These guns are mine, like I said, we’re just passing through.” Frankie calls back through gritted teeth. You can hear the sharp tone in his voice as his eyes flick from the man in the cowboy hat and the man still standing behind the passenger side door. 

“You’re outnumbered, pal,” the man on the right calls out with a chuckle, “just hand over the guns and any supplies, and we’ll let you pass.” 

“Might keep your girl though,” the man on your left drawls, the man you’ve got your gun aimed at, he’s eyeing you with a smirk on his face that makes your skin crawl. “She’s shaking like a leaf but I bet she’d put up a nice little fight.” 

Frankie glances over at the man on the left, before he looks back at the man in the cowboy hat, he’s got a crooked smile on his lips as he shoulders the rifle. 

“C’mon, sonny, the guns and the girl, and then you can walk away.” 

Frankie’s gun is loud on the silent road, and the man in the cowboy hat crumples over, his shot going wide as the rifle hits the ground. The man on the left throws himself forward and you feel the recoil in your arms as you fire, you don’t even know if your bullets hit, you can hear several shots from Frankie’s gun and your own, and Frankie’s hand on your shoulder as he pushes you to the ground. Two more shots ring out and Frankie ducks behind the car, his gun raised, listening. When nothing stirs he quickly glances over the bonnet before he stands up. Three of the men are dead on the ground, the fourth one, the one behind the passenger door, is scrabbling for something and with a few long steps, Frankie is on him, kicking the gun out of his reach. 

He’s on the ground, you can see him beneath the door, Frankie towering above him, his gun aimed at the man. As you watch, the man lifts his palms up, pleading, but the shot rings out and the man slumps back. Frankie bends down and picks up the man’s gun, quickly patting him down and fishing an ammo box from his pants. When he straightens up and walks back towards you his face is impassive, blank and you remember when you last saw that look; the bar that night you thought Frankie was a violent man. Now you know, he is violent, but only when he needs to and for now, you’re very grateful for his skills.  

You put your hands out to push yourself off the ground and a burning pain shoots through your shoulder, wincing you get to your feet and look at your torn shirt. Blood is seeping through and you suddenly feel faint. Frankie is on you in two fast steps, grabbing your arm and pulling back your shirt. 

“You’re hit,” his voice suddenly sharp with worry, as his gentle fingers push at the fabric, making you wince again. He unbuttons your shirt and pulls it over your shoulder. “Thank god,” he breathes out as he sees the shallow gash, “you’ve been grazed, it didn’t go in.” He pulls up his arm as if he’s about to pull his backpack off but changes his mind. 

“Come here, get in the truck,” he guides you over to the passenger side, “close your eyes, don’t look,” he mumbles as you have to step over the corpse.  You breathe in deeply and keep your eyes closed until Frankie closes the door. He bends down to pick up the other man’s rifle, putting it behind the bench seat, before he gets in and starts up the engine. It rumbles to life and Frankie turns it around, heading back down the almost empty road, and as soon as he sees a secluded spot he pulls over and kills the engine. 

“I’ve got to clean your arm, cariño,” says, opening up his backpack for the first aid kit. “Does it hurt?” He looks over at you, his eyes are worried and you shake your head to calm him. 

“Only a little, it stings more than anything.” 

“Ok, just keep breathing in and out while I do this.” 

The iodine solution makes you whimper but Frankie is fast and efficient, when the compress is on your shoulder the pain is already subsiding. He pulls your shirt back on, gives you a soft kiss, cradling the back of your head with his large hand. 

“You ok?” he asks in a low voice, “not just the injury, with what just happened too?” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you allow yourself to think about the situation, “I’m very glad you used to be a soldier, Frankie,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, “I think that’s the fourth time you’ve saved my life in twenty four hours.” 

“Me too,” he breathes, his thumb is caressing your cheek as he looks at you. His deep brown eyes are strained, but calm, “Things are going to get worse before they get better, cariño. I’ve seen it before, when society crumbles, it brings out the worst in people and they become very dangerous. I need you and Lucía safe at the cabin until we know things are getting back to normal, whenever that might be.” 

You nod and he turns back to the wheel and starts up the truck, “At least we got a truck out of it, this will make things easier as long as we have gas.” 

The truck rumbles through the landscape, in the distance you see a group of infected running towards something but the road curves and you move away from them. Frankie has driven this road hundreds of times, every time he came to pick up or drop off Lucía, and now he wonders at how eerily still it is. There are no people as the truck drives past the first few houses of the small town, cars line the main street but they’ve been pushed to the side. The dents and scrapes on them indicate that something big came through and shoved them out of the way. 

Frankie turns down a smaller side street, and then another small street, coming to the end of town. There are a few cars still parked outside the houses but most are gone. You glance over at him, his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel as his restless eyes bounce around the street, looking for infected, people, anything. He’s grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flexing and when he pulls up outside a small bungalow you hear his white knuckles make the steering wheel creak. 

“This is their place,” he says in a low voice, “the car is still here.” He opens the truck door and steps down, listening for any movement as you follow him out. Pulling his gun he moves carefully up the porch and tests the handle on the door, it’s locked. 

“Stay by the truck,” he says to you, “if anything happens, if anyone comes, fire once in the air, ok?” 

You nod and do as he says. Frankie carefully walks down the side of the house, easily scaling the wooden fence that closes off the backyard. He disappears from view and you nervously wait, looking around the quiet neighborhood. When he opens the door to the house from the inside you jump but he holds up his hand in a placating sign, signaling for you to stay where you are. He disappears into the house again, you guess this means Lucía isn’t here, and neither is anyone else. 

You hear him walking through the house and before long he comes back out, a note in his hand. 

“They’ve been evacuated,” he says, showing you the note from Lucía’s mom. It’s dated the day before yesterday, Saturday, the note says the soldiers came at night and gave them fifteen minutes to pack up essentials. 

“She says they told her they’re going to a quarantine zone in Franklin. I’ve got to see if I can get them out of there.” He breathes a sigh of relief, “At least they’re safe for now.” he says, getting back into the truck and starting it up. 

As the truck rumbles through town you start seeing more infected, they stumble out of a few of the shops, attracted to the sound of the truck. At one intersection you see a large number of them fallen into a pile, bullet wounds to their heads, and you quickly look away. Their pallid skin, starting to show strange looking lesions, no longer looks human, but their clothes are still bright and colorful, reminds you terribly of the people who would’ve put them on, maybe on Friday morning, expecting just another day. 

Frankie speeds up, leaving town, and the shrieking infected behind, heading for Franklin. It’s less than an hour away, the nearest big city, and like before you see the cars pushed to the side of the road. Frankie’s fingers are drumming on the steering wheel again, his grip tight, his jaw clenched. He’s getting closer to Lucía, now he knows she’s safe, he just needs to get to her. 

“When we get to the quarantine zone, do you think we should stay there?” you ask him. “It doesn’t sound like a ‘quarantine zone’ is somewhere they’ll let you in and out of. Maybe it’ll be safer for us there too?” 

“I don’t know,” Frankie says, glancing over at you, “I need to see it first, how are they quarantining people? Keeping them separate enough so that if someone is already infected, they can’t attack and infect more people?” His fingers drum faster against the wheel, “I just need to see her, see her safe.” 

You put your hand on his leg and give it a squeeze and he drops his hand, curling his fingers around yours. 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Still stings a bit, but it’s dulled, hurts when I move it.” You test moving your arm up and down, feeling the pull of the compress.

“It’ll give you gnarly looking scar,” he grins, “match some of mine.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and gives it a kiss, his eyes leaving the road for a second. When he looks back again he sees birds circling up ahead. 

“Buzzards,” he points them out to you. “Looks like they’re circling just over the road.” He slows down the truck as you come around a bend, clearing a small group of trees. The rumble of the truck startles the birds and you see more of them rise into the sky from the field bordering the road. Frankie stops the truck, leaving it in neutral, watching the birds circle, waiting to see if something moves. When nothing stirs he opens the door, signaling for you to stay put, and he steps on to the instep of the truck, hoisting himself up so that he can look over the door of the truck. 

“Oh fuck…” you hear him breathe out. 

“What, Frankie, what is it?” you ask but he doesn’t answer so you open your own door and swing yourself up on the instep. Frankie glances back at you and motions for you to get back inside. 

“Cariño, don’t, you don’t wanna- “

It’s too late, you look over the field, it looks like almost a hundred people are lying in it, none of them moving. The buzzards are settling back down, walking across the still bodies. 

“Oh my god…” you gasp, your hand going over your mouth as your eyes widen in horror. “What killed them?” you whisper, “are they infected?” 

“Get into the driver’s seat,” he says, “I’m going closer but I need you to be ready to drive if they are infected.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Frankie!” you say in a hard voice, as you slide over the bench seat and get behind the wheel.

“I’m counting on it, cariño,” he grips your hand before jumping down onto the ground. Grabbing the rifle from the back he loads it before he starts moving slowly towards the field. 

You step up onto the instep on the driver’s side, watching Frankie’s back as he makes his way across the road and into the field. As he reaches the first body he crouches down and seems to inspect them. Nothing moves, none of the bodies are jerking, they’re just dead. He stands up again and walks around the outskirts of where they’ve fallen. Suddenly he stops, slinging the rifle onto his back, before he steps into the mass of bodies, he must be stepping on them as he bends down and pulls at one of them, turning it over to face him. He stumbles back, losing his footing and falls onto his back among the bodies. 

Without thinking you jump down from the truck and run to him, grabbing hold of his arm as he scrambles to stand up, getting away from the bodies. 

“It’s Helena, she’s the mom of Lucía’s best friend,” he pants, standing up. You look over at the blonde woman, her open eyes looking sightless to the sky. Her torso has at least three bullet holes in the pale blue shirt she’s wearing, blood staining the light fabric dark. 

“They lived across the street from Lucía,” Frankie croaks and you suddenly realize what he’s saying, gripping his arm hard. 

He tears himself away from you as he starts circling around the bodies, crouching down, looking under those who have fallen on top of others, his eyes desperately scanning every face, every piece of visible clothing, looking for something he recognizes, praying he doesn’t. His heart is racing, his vision narrows into one long tunnel, focused on the bodies, praying, cursing, he can’t hear you call after him. 

And then he sees it. 

The hem of a dress he’d know anywhere because her abuela made it for her. 

With a shout he steps into the mass of bodies. You rush up behind him, tears are welling up into  your eyes, as you watch him scramble over to the small body. Skinny little legs in sneakers you bought for her birthday, you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from wailing. 

The dress is sticking out from underneath a woman, and as he gets closer he realizes it’s his ex-girlfriend, her arms hugging her daughter tight, even in death. The back of her tan coat is dark with coagulated blood that sticks to his hands as he bends back her arms to release her grip. As he shoves her aside a strangled cry goes up from the small body underneath, Lucia’s head moves as a rattled breath escapes her lungs and Frankie cries out in relief, grabbing hold of her waist to gently turn her over, scanning her body for injuries, he sees no blood on her. 

“Mija, I’m here, I’m here,” he gasps, “daddy’s here, Lucía, I’m here.” 

He’s holding out his arms to lift her up when he sees it. 

Trailing under the skin of her small throat. 

Up under the pallid skin of her cheeks, spreading out in a fine net. 

Tendrils reaching out from her small mouth. 

“Frankie!” you cry as the small body shrieks and reaches for him. He almost takes her hand, almost takes the small hand that’s grasping after his. You can see it, even from behind him, you can see the empty eyes, the twitching movement. 

Infected. 

His hand is still in the air, halfway to reaching out for her, his Lucía, her hand outstretched to him. As she screams, his hand drops to his gun. 

You turn your head when the gunshot rings out.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories

[maximoff-forevermore]

Memories

Summary: You and your fiancé, Frankie "Catfish" Morales, get into a car accident.

Warnings: No use of Y/N, mentions of SA, child abuse, child SA, mentions of abusive relationship (not between Frankie and reader), mentions of drug use, allusions to murder (self-defence), mentions of military, mentions of divorce, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of anxiety, drugs, no happy ending, barely edited, I think that's all? If I've missed something, let me know

A/N: I kind of stole this idea from a friend of mine, @/ramblers-let's-get-ramblin. She said she sort of dumped all of her trauma into a google doc and made it a fic, and I did the same thing. This is kind of a mopefest, and I've never written anything and posted it before, so I hope you enjoy, as much as you can, anyway.

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

You remember sitting in front of a fireplace.

Winter had come in the lashing of wind on the windows, glass shaking and a roof made of heartbreak and filth barely withstanding the cold it had withstood many times before.

You had held your sister close, your blood, your only love, to your chest, whispering in her ear as she cried over her first breakup.

When her sobs had eased, and the spot of your skin her shoulder dug into had grown numb, you whispered, “You will find the right one.”

You whispered those words a lot.

Whispered them into your pillow, into the mirror, into your own hand to muffle your cries as the second, then third and fourth stepfather took what he wanted from you.

You needed to remember those words.

If you were being completely honest, the first time you let a man put a ring on your finger, you knew he had not been the right one.

You knew because you did not know him.

All you knew was that he had a house without the echo of your mother’s vicious screams and a bed for you to sleep in that would not be tainted with the hands of men who never asked.

At least marrying him was something akin to permission.

At least a wedding ring would stave anyone else off.

And so, you married him.

The man you did not know, the man who believed to love you but truly wanted to possess you, you married him.

With time, you came to love him.

Professionals would have called it something like Stockholm Syndrome, but for you, then, it had been love.

You never left the house—simply were not allowed to.

You studied online, but only in the dark, hiding your laptop screen from the man you loved.

You justified it, merely saying he would support you when the time came.

He worked, he slept, he ate, he fucked, though not always you, and it hurt when it wasn’t you, but in the darker part of your mind, you knew it was best.

You forgot what it was like to leave the house, to live under a sun and to live with love and laughter and friends.

Your sister stayed in touch, but she was the only one.

Eventually, through a sequence of unspeakable events, of bruises all over your body and blood on a nightgown that barely fit, you would sit in a courtroom for months, and, finally, listen to the judge call it “self-defence”.

The judge said a lot of things, as did the lawyers.

You didn’t listen to any of them.

There was this harrowing silence within you, it drew in the things of everyone around you, melting them, turning them into puddles of distance, where their faces blurred and their words, sometimes accusations and sometimes comforts, fell on ears that weren’t yours because surely if they were yours you would be able to use them?

You had thought, during those months, that perhaps no pain or silence would ever live up to that.

You had been wrong.

Now, you lie in a hospital bed, a few years later.

Years spent healing, loving, learning, studying, and now, finally, dying.

Your sister had said it with such relief.

“You won’t die. You’re going to be fine.”

No. Lie.

You were dying. That’s what this feeling was.

It had to be death.

You had not answered, staring ahead, waiting for one person to step into your line of vision.

Frankie. Your Frankie.

It was a coma.

Your Frankie locked in a coma.

How he would hate to ever be such a thing.

You knew it, because you knew him.

Loved him, as he knew and loved you.

You had healed together, learned together, loved together, grown together.

You had met when he and a horrid, filthy drug pierced his system, and he needed it to.

You had “cut right through his bullshit”, as he always said when he told the story, refusing to go out with him.

He always said he changed because you didn’t ask him to.

You had not given him conditions, you had not asked him to grow or be someone new, you had looked at him, seen him for what he was, and denied him.

You had needed him to be someone he wasn’t, so you had said no, instead of asking him to be different.

And thus, he had changed.

Changed because he had needed you, exactly as you were, and would not stop until you could be his as much as he was already yours.

He joked in the years after the first kiss, joked that his heart had buried itself behind your ear the first time his fingers had brushed yours as he handed you a drink.

For Halloween, you had asked to go as Morticia and Gomez Addams.

“It fits us,” you said, grinning broadly, wooden spoon in your hand as you stirred his favourite.

You always made his favourite, he always whispered that anything you made was his favourite, so maybe you were cheating.

But still, it was his favourite.

That was all that mattered.

Frankie shook his head. “No.”

You were dumbfounded. He never said no to you.

The first few months you’d scolded him for it, telling him he needed to tell you when he wasn’t okay, when he needed to say no.

He promised he would, but he never said no.

This might have been the first time, so you nodded. “Okay. Sure.”

He shrugged, moving around the kitchen island, coming up behind you, his arms like puzzle pieces fitting around your waist.

Perfect.

The two of you were perfect together.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your head. “I just think we should save Morticia and Gomez for when we get married.”

You leaned back into his words, smiling a smile you thought your lips would never be capable of. “When we get married?”

“When,” he promised into your scalp, smile matching yours.

The ring wasn’t on your finger now.

Someone else was keeping it, you weren’t sure who, but it wouldn’t fit on your left hand, aching and swollen and bandaged.

The doctors would not say anything to you at first, then they said he was in a coma.

When they finally told you his condition, you had screamed.

Screamed so loud you knew the sleep of some of the other patients had been disturbed.

You had sobbed and wailed and one of the nurses had tried to calm you, explaining that the vicious pain all throughout your torso was from your injuries, but you deserved it.

Deserved the cuts and scrapes and stabs and stitches because you were here and he was not and there was nothing that could right that wrong but the pain of your body was a step.

Eventually, they called your sister, and your other sister who was not yours by blood but yours all the same and they had held you.

Flowers sat at your bedside table, flowers for the wounds, oh, but the wounds meant nothing.

Nothing next to the pain inside.

The injuries, you supposed, were a happy coincidence.

Because they kept you bedridden, and the only thing that had kept you from suicide was the fact that you simply had not the muscles nor movement to do so.

The nurse had come in later, when the tears had stopped but not dried, when the screaming had stopped coming from your mouth but still echoed in your mind, and told you to sleep.

You didn’t.

Your eyelids were so heavy, your body so stiff, your head aching.

You didn’t close your eyes, lest you miss it.

People talked about hallucinations, about losing a loved one and seeing them afterwards.

So you kept your eyes open.

Waiting. Looking. Watching.

You needed to see him.

You needed it.

Craved it.

But he wasn’t there.

And that wasn’t fair.

You had been through so much, so many hands, so many locked doors, so many tears, surely you were insane?

Surely you saw things that weren’t there?

He wasn’t here.

So you had to see him.

You didn’t, though.

You didn’t see anyone.

Your sisters came again the following morning, with soft smiles and softer words and the softest hands.

They said your mother wanted to visit.

Your chest was too tight to say anything, but your sister who shared your soul and not your blood touched your hand—not gripped it, for fear of broken bones and split skin—and promised she would never let that happen.

Frankie’s brothers, his military brothers, came to visit you, too.

You cried when you saw them, they cried with you.

Santiago had sat next to you as everyone else began to filter out.

He’d opened his mouth, and you knew what he’d been about to say.

“Don’t,” you whispered, tears burning their way up your throat. “I don’t care. I just—I can’t, please. Not—not right now.”

He had nodded, tears in his own eyes, holding you to his shoulder carefully as sobs so violent they ripped stitches wracked your broken body.

Santiago had gone with Frankie that day, many days ago, now, to change his will and leave everything to you.

Frankie and Santiago had both thought it a secret, but Frankie’s beautiful, little girl had come running to you, and you had known for months.

You didn’t want to hear about the will. Not now.

Not ever.

You talked about it often, the money Frankie had come into when his absent, Scrooge McDuck–type of father had died, and, for some unknown reason, left it all to Frankie.

It was a running joke; the rich, older man you’d swindled, the money you’d ultimately have because of the ring he was always planning to put on your finger.

Truthfully, the money had always meant shit to you.

Growing up poor as dirt, money had been a luxury, and you would never take it for granted.

But around Frankie?

Money meant nothing.

There was no richness to compare to the richness of the laughter he gave you when you cracked a foul joke, no amount of swimming in pools of gold to compare to swimming in pools of water with his arms around you and your legs around him.

Money was four letters short of happiness, because you needed nine letters to spell Francisco.

When Santiago left, Frankie’s ex trundled in, having stayed good friends with Frankie after the divorce and hitting it off with you.

There had been something special about it, exchanging stories and tears and memories with her, while Frankie’s daughter napped with her head painfully digging into the ruin the car had left of your thigh.

Then the nurse had ushered them out, and you’d asked if your sister could come back.

The nurse couldn’t say no, not to you, not with a ruined body and a worse heart, so your sister had come back briefly.

You had asked her to bring your laptop.

“You can barely type,” she had said.

You shook your head. “I need to. Please. Please let me put this somewhere.”

Your words slurred, either from the drugs coming through the IV in your hand or the cuts on your face.

Your sister had nodded, kissing your forehead, avoiding your damage, and the nurse handed you the laptop about an hour later.

She was right.

You could barely type.

Still, you had to write something.

Something broken. Something unfinished. Something sad. Something lonely.

Something like you.

Writing was never your thing, it was just something you did.

In your room, in between school and homework and nights you didn’t speak of, you wrote.

You wrote a lot in the time you spent locked in a house with a ring on your finger and not a soul who knew you but a sister you couldn’t see.

You’d lost it, getting out, turning to studies that consumed your time, turning to Frankie.

You found it again now, with hands that can barely type, a body in pain but barely noticeable.

You know you don’t really feel it.

Not yet.

The realising will come later.

You doubt you’ll survive.

You won’t have to leave the hospital, not for a good long while, and that’s the biggest relief you could possibly get.

You don’t have to eat. You don’t have to think.

You can just lie here, pain eating away at every muscle you own, half-curled into yourself as your tears refuse to let your pillow dry, thinking about Frankie.

Every memory you have, every smile he gave you, every moment, you lie there and stare at nothing while you think about him.

You may never think about anything else ever again.

You don’t know if you have the strength.

Everyone around you is waiting for you to snap. For the ball to drop and for you to start screaming and throwing blame.

You can’t.

Anger takes energy, anger requires for there to be something within you.

There’s nothing left.

You’re a hollow shell of a creature, the only thing you’re capable of doing is remembering.

You messaged a few friends online. You’re grateful for all of them. There’s this understanding between you, that you’re going to act like a normal person with a normal life, and they’re going to let you. They don’t avoid it, but they don’t mention it, not unless you do.

That means more than they think. For them to let you pretend, for them to pretend with you.

Sometimes they help bring you back to reality, telling you it’s going to suck and nothing will feel right.

That helps.

You don’t know what else could possibly help you, but you think you might have a suspicion.

So you get someone to bring you a pillow, put it on your lap and place your laptop on top, like a makeshift desk.

You start typing.

Stories, memories, Frankie.

You’ve heard of people who avoid the names of their spouses but you can’t. Won’t.

You can’t stop saying it, writing it.

He needs to be alive, he has to be, or else whatever remains of you will fade into nothing.

He has to be alive somewhere.

So you write.

Tomorrow, you don’t think you’ll have the energy to do such a thing.

You find you don’t have much energy, not anymore.

For now, you write.

It’s all you can do.

Someday, what’s left of your resolve will drip away into the hollowness of where Frankie should be.

Then you’ll wither away into a shadow, into a broken doll forgotten under the bed.

Either that shadow will regrow into a person, or it won’t.

You have no idea which it might be, and you’re scared.

You wrap yourself in memories and tears so you might continue to feel, but wrapping yourself is so tiring.

You’re so tired.

You’ve been hospitalised for four days, awake for two, maybe three.

You have no idea how you’re supposed to live past midnight tonight.

Maybe you won’t.

Maybe your injuries and your hurt and your hollowness will carry you away in the night, never to be seen again.

Maybe all that’s left of you will be the words on paper that you give to Frankie.

Maybe that’s all you want.

To be with Frankie.

Whether in his arms, or two words on a page, or in the ground, you just want to be with him.

Maybe you’ll live.

Maybe you won’t.

The doctors had come into your room three times.

The first, they refused to tell you anything.

The second, they said he was in a coma.

The third time—

True happiness was nine letters long, while death only four.

But four had been enough.

Tags: @planet-marz1 @catchallfangirl @pamasaur @janaispunk

[astrid-sorensen]

Haven | Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

Word Count - 1,201

Genre - Fluff, Thriller

Warnings - Break ins, weapons, injury, mention of smut, no use of y/n

MASTERLIST

"Hmmm, what's wrong cariño?" His low voice grumbled out, deep eyes opening. He could hear the terror in your voice.

"I heard something, I think someone's here."

You'd be staying in Frankies house for a few months now, still not establishing what was exactly between you two. Any time you'd spend out with him and the boys you'd always go back home to Frankies, it was like a second home by now.

Delicate snores reverberated across the skin of your neck, Frankies dark course facial hair brushed up against your flesh. His head tucked neatly into your neck from behind. His brazen arms were trapped you firmly against him, his form heavy, signally he was fast asleep.

You loved when he was like this, so soft and loving, it was beginning to become less rare. After a few mojitos with Santi, Benny and will you'd gone back to Fish's. Barely being able to get through the door before his toned arms had curled around you waist and up to the bedroom. The brunette was amazing in bed, that's for sure.

But his lovemaking was also like nothing else you've had before. Sometimes gentle, sometimes rough. Sometimes sloppy, sometimes purposeful and accurate. But it was always doting, his feverish kisses and romance there from the very first time.

Now you lay in his sheets, your bare forms curled up together. You'd woken in the night, a deep feeling weighing in the bottom of your stomach.

Thump

Your heart jumped in your chest, eyes opening and fully awake. You felt your heart pulsating in your breast bone, painful pendulum crashing forward and back.

"Frankie! Frankie!" You whispered sitting up out of his grasp and shaking him firmly with the hand closest to you. His chocolate curls loose from the confines of his hat.

"Hmmm, what's wrong cariño?" His low voice grumbled out, deep eyes opening. He could hear the terror in your voice.

"I heard something, I think someone's here."

He cut your eye contact as he listened harder waiting for a noise. It was deathly silent, until another clunk was heard. Frankie shot up from the bed, ripping away the covers and shoving his arm underneath the bed to find his gun safe. He smashed in the code, finding the weapon and loading it before holding it down at his side. Your eyebrows sewed together as you watched him move over to your side, pulling on a pair of boxers.

Tears brimmed sorely at your corners, threatening to spill. His eyes were strong, adrenaline pumping through his arteries.

"Stay right fuckin' here." He said firmly in a low voice. Your pulled the sheets over your bare form, shielding you from the breeze that flowed through the winter air.

He bent down to kiss your forehead with a hand gently layed to your cheek. He stepped quietly out the door, closing it til it was almost completely shut but not letting the handle move to make any more noise. The whole house was silent til you heard another crash, then Frankie voice raised in anger.

"Motherfucker!" More crashes. "What the fuck you doin in my house!" You heard the stranger moan out, Frankie must've hit him.

There were more loud noises and you couldn't hear his voice anymore.

What was going on?

Is he hurt?

You couldn't sit still and longer and pulled on one of Frankies skirts, going to investigate. You tiptoed down the steps before nearly coming to the bottom and seeing Frankie straddling the man. Dressed all in black, a single knitted ski mask on the floor beside them.

The man beneath him was beaten badly, his right eye beginning to swell as the blood rushed to it. Frankies head turned 90 degrees when he saw you. You stood onlooking the scene, unable to see a weapon at hand other than Frankies. He must have it under control.

He face flushed with annoyance before he turned back to the intruder.

"Baby, pass me the phone."

111 what's your emergency?

Frankie ordered you upstairs, whilst officers came in escorting the intruder out, hands in cuffs. The mans heavy feet crunched along the floorboards, reaching his bedroom.

"What did he want?" You asked nervously, the breeze scanning over your bare legs.

"Why the fuck you come down here!" He shot back angrily. Anger burning through his widened veins.

“W-What?" You asked nervously.

“I told you to stay there!" He was exasperated and stressed. You only now noticing a small cut along his brow bone, it would stop bleeding soon.

“I thought something happened to you." You mumbled, hands twisting together in an awkward knot.

"It doesn't matter if somin happened to me, if I tell you to stay there, you stay there! Got it?” He seethed out into the air, locking up his weapon before turning to stand in front of you.

"I'm sorry, I was scared." Frankie sighed exasperated, he settled down into calmness.

"I shouldn't have shouted." You still stood there defeated and lost, looking for reconciliation. Frankie noticed straight away. He was good like that.

"C'mere." He said holding his muscles limbs out and you gratefully walked into them, squeezing his middle.

"Don't worry, nothings gonna happen to you baby." You breathed in his scent, your face crushed into his bare shoulder. "Or me." He added at the end. You exhaled out as you stood there in the middle of the room, swaying ever so slightly.

"Who was he?" You quizzed.

"Don't worry about him."

"Tell me, Frankie."

"He was some drug lords sicario, from a raid a few jobs back." You stared back, mouth falling open in shock. Reality of what the guy was after setting in.

You instantly nuzzled into the warmth of his neck, the sparse trimmed hairs of the thinned skin pinned against you. Your arms clutched around his neck, pulling him down into you. Tears dropping from your cheeks. His heavy hands grabbed your ass pulling you as close as possible as you cried into his skin.

"Shhhhh, It's alright." Frankie pulled at your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his tanned waist. He rocked you both side to side, his nose tickling at your ear. "I love you mi amor, don't be scared."

You treasured the second. The loving words spilling from his lips and into the brisk atmosphere. You lifted up your head, slightly looking down upon the male from where you had him in his clutches. Thick branches like a wild oak trapping you around him.

“You do?” You asked, watching as his large cocoa orbs fell to your lips. His dark lashes hitting against his cheeks. His sparkling pupils met yours again, a tiny smile blooming on his lips. He nods firmly.

“Love you too.” You offered, eyebrows raised with the confession.

He laughs softly, like a deep giggle and then folds in. His small pink lips pressing against yours with passion. You let him take the lead, which he always does, moulding your lips to match his before coming back for more. There softer than you first thought before you’d kissed him, a spiced caramel taste laced them.

His tongue swiped your lip, massaging the spot with his tongue, over and over.

Before too long he’d pulled back, pecking you a few times to soothe the chafe.

“Let’s get back into bed.”

[berryispunk]

10 Minutes

summary: 10 Minutes is all it takes to spiral. tags: (former) drug addiction, Frankie being his pathetic puppy self, struggling Frankie, inner turmoil, angst and more angst, a little sprinkle of fluff, Frankie's POV, established relationship, no smut notes: If you're uncomfortable with heavy topics like addiction this may not be for you and it's absolutely fine. Just be aware of possibly triggering topics.

Word count 1,1 k

After my warning, enjoy reading 🤍

He’s wandering restlessly through his dark apartment. He doesn’t need any lights for trailing up and down like a caged animal.

The walls of his apartment suddenly threaten to crush him any minute.

Ten minutes. She said she needs ten minutes to get here.

The cravings were bad, hitting him out of nowhere.

He fidgets with the keychain she gifted him a while ago. A photo of them, smiling and in love.

Happier times.

Something to hold onto.

10 minutes feel like a lifetime if all you can think about is your next fix.

He looks at the keychain again, tilting it in his hand. Pressing its plastic edges hard into his palm.

It hurts, a sharp sting. But he needs that, needs the distraction.

His mind is clouded, his throat dry.

As he musters the photo again he sighs.

She’s his everything. She is everything he dreamed of. He can’t fuck this up.

He promised to stay clean.

For a while he didn’t even think about their promise because the cravings weren’t strong enough to notice.

9 minutes and the world around him keeps spinning, the addiction screaming his name.

He was so caught up in her orbit, her presence grounding him, pulling him into the light when he had been in the shadows for so long, that he forgot the ugly side of being a recovering addict.

8 minutes and the monster extends its claws to drag him down. Down into the abyss she had finally found him in.

He had been happy. God damn, so happy.

He can’t remember the last time he genuinely laughed like he did in the last months.

She is his everything. His reason to show up. His reason to be better. She deserves nothing less than the best version of him.

7 minutes and his leg bounces restlessly while he sits on the sofa.

But how is he supposed to be his best version right now?

6 minutes and he’s contemplating if just one line would be that bad.

No, it would be.

He couldn’t stand the disappointment seeping out of her.

5 minutes and he starts sweating, his breath coming out in short bursts, his hands too slippery to hold onto the keychain any longer so he throws it onto the couch table. He can’t stand looking at the photo anymore, either.

Happier times reminding him of what he is about to lose. What he could lose if he fucks up.

4 minutes and he’s standing again, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a fucking loser Frankie. She deserves better.”

3 minutes and he’s punching the wall, gritting his teeth.

What does it even matter? She will move on quickly, find someone who’s not this big of a mess.

2 minutes and he can’t see straight. The call for the next high is too loud to ignore.

Everything is screaming at him. His body is aching and he feels like he’s about to vomit any minute.

What kind of sick joke is this? Is this the universe's way of telling him to stop believing that finally everything will fall into place?

That he’s worthy of a happy life? That he deserves to be loved exactly like he is, flaws and all?

1 minute and he’s a bundle of pain and self-pity on the ground.

He’s so pathetic.

He knows exactly where he hid his emergency stash. If she hasn’t found it yet.

Being high would fix this, he decides. Being high washes away all his self doubt and anger. A high Frankie is the best Frankie. He’s on top of the world. He is the version he so desperately wishes to be when he’s sober.

But he isn’t.

He is weak, so weak.

How can she even love him like this?

Finally his front door flies open, bringing in some light from outside, illuminating the dark room.

“Frankie?” Her voice echoes through the walls. It's soft and comforting. It’s his favorite sound.

“Here,” he whimpers from the ground, still bundled up.

“Oh my god, baby…” Her voice is laced with panic immediately as she leans down next to him, pulling his head into her lap.

Soft and warm. A stark contrast to the cold he’s feeling inside.

“Are you okay?” she asks, gently brushing some damp strands of locks out of his face. She’s handling him with so much care, almost as if he could shatter any minute.

Which he might have, if she wouldn’t have made it in time.

“I am okay,” he murmurs, his voice strained and hardly more than a whisper.

She scoffs, her hands still caressing his tousled hair.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks as if she doesn’t know the answer already. But he doesn’t even know what else to say.

“I am sorry…” he whispers and the words hang heavily in the air.

“No need to be,” she assures him.

His eyes are filled with tears.

He’s too weak to hold them back. Too weary to pretend.

So he just cries it out, silently. But the sobs shake his whole body and all she does is hold him, kissing his temple and his hair repeatedly. Comforting him without saying any words.

When the tears subside he feels lighter but still dizzy in his mind. The feeling of impending doom not quite shaken off.

“I would understand if you leave me now,” he finally breaks the heavy silence.

“Why should I?” she asks. He feels her questioning eyes on him even if his own are closed.

“Because I am a mess. You deserve better than this,” and he means every word.

He wants her to be happy, even if that means she breaks up with him.

Even if it’s breaking his own heart.

She is all that matters to him.

"I'm a mess too, Francisco. I am far from perfect myself. But you… you bring out the best in me.” Her tone is sincere. Even in his broken state her love is unwavering, he can feel it.

He finally lifts his head from her lap, his eyes finding hers. He swallows, his throat is dry.

He laughs sarcastically.

“Whatever I did to deserve someone like you in this life. Because hell, we know I did enough shit to be damned to eternity.”

She laughs softly.

He leans forward, her head in his hands now as their lips meet in a gentle kiss, filled with all the love and devotion for each other.

And maybe this is all the reassurance he needs to believe that, despite everything, she’s chosen him.

Feedback highly appreciated 🤍

Thanks so much for reading !!

[pimosworld]

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales × flreader

Chapter Summary- You and Frankie have your second date and things get tense for both of you after Benny’s fight.

Chapter Warning- 18+, MDNI, Smut, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, fingering, hint of exhibitionism, protective reader, unprotected piv, soft dom Frankie. (No longer a slow burn)

WC-9.6k

A/N- I’m officially obsessed with these two, cue the Frankie Friday show because he certainly puts on one this chapter.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 3. Flash

Casual, 7 pm. 

  A pattern you recognized with Frankie that he didn’t offer many details when it came to your dates so far. Maybe it was the military in him that kept things concise and to the point. Or it could be that he likes surprises, craves spontaneity to keep things exciting. 

  You hope he knows that it doesn’t always have to be like this. With him you could be doing absolutely nothing and still have an amazing time. 

  It was starting to scare you how much your sleeping and waking thoughts were consumed by Frankie. His good morning calls or texts. His sweet messages throughout the day. The way he didn’t mind you falling asleep at night while you were on the phone only to wake up and hear him snoring on the other end. 

  You had some boring shoot for a law firm in the middle of the week. Not your favorite gigs but it paid the bills. One of those sleazy law firms that would take anyone’s money, their faces plastered on every bus and billboard they could get their hands on. This was not an aesthetic shot-but you respected yourself more than that to phone it in. 

  Of course these men could care less that you were trying to do the job they paid you for and instead insisted on wasting your time but trying to flirt with you in between shots. Literally and figuratively speaking, you would have to do your best to hide the blood shot eyes as they sipped on cheap whiskey in fancy glasses. You finished the job and hastily  wrapped it up to say your goodbyes as you made your way out to the parking lot when you noticed one of the lawyers following you. Afraid you’d left something important you waited for him to approach your car but to your dismay with the liquor flowing through his veins you could see he wanted nothing more than to ruin your day. He leaned on your car, his eyes half lidded slurring something about calling you. The pungent smell of his breath taking you to a place you didn’t want to think about.

  You had texted Frankie the location of the law firm and just like a knight in shining armor you hear his truck roar into the parking lot. 

  A look you’re certain would make your worst enemy shit their pants was on his face when he hopped out the drivers side and made his way around to you both. 

  “Just in time to take you to lunch.” His voice is so sweet to you as he leans in and kisses your cheek. 

  “Francisco Morales.” He grits out as he takes the man’s hand. 

  “Walters…John Walters.”He grimaces under his intense grip and you have to hide your smile behind your hand. 

  Frankie releases his grip not wanting to touch him any longer. He can smell the alcohol coming out of his pores and it makes his skin crawl. He turns to you not wanting to waste another moment and hoping this guy gets the hint and takes a hike. 

  “You okay baby?” His thumb grazes your cheek where his lips just were and you swallow thick. 

  “I am now.” 

  Nothing happened and really you were fine, but the look in his eyes is so sincere that you wonder what happened to make him this way. 

  “Come on, let’s get you some lunch and then I’ll follow you home.” The switch has your head spinning as he guides you into the passenger seat. 

  And he does just that. 

  You have a quick lunch and he takes you home, ever the gentleman. Right now you were wishing he would lay off the routine and be a little bolder. Your pace. You asked for this and he’s respecting your wishes. 

  ****

  6:55 pm 

  There’s a light knock on your door and you have to slow down to not seem like you were waiting next to it. Your heart thumps hard in your chest when you open it and see him standing there. 

  His wet curls poking out under his cap. The long line of his neck and the way his tee shirt hugs all the right places. The worn, faded jeans sitting low on his hips and the small gold belt buckle just barely showing. 

  There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t gauge. His hands fidget at his side as he hovers in the doorway. He looks a little flustered as he takes you in. 

  You somehow make casual look like the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. The cotton black dress that hits mid thigh, your light oversized denim shirt hanging just a little lower than the dress. That familiar smell of something that you’re always shrouded in that leaves him feeling at home. The way you cling to his clothes long after he’s gone from you. 

  Your soft hand taking his to lead him inside and this is dangerous territory when he’s trying to go at your pace. The way he instinctively pulls you into him as your other hand wraps around his neck and pulls him into a kiss that lasts almost too long to call it a hello. 

  You drop your bag as he backs you up against the couch and you can feel the hard press in his jeans at the thought of you. The way his hands grip your waist like you’re going to vanish into thin air. 

  It would be so easy to let him take you down your hall into your bedroom and let him bring down those walls you’ve built up over the last year. As he pulls away with a groan when you take his bottom lip between your teeth you know you’re being unfair. 

  Because he’s being a gentleman and you’re being a tease. 

  But the build up is the best part. The anticipation of waiting and waiting for the right moment. 

  “Hi.” It’s the innocent way you say it, like you didn’t almost just have him committing several sins. 

  He takes off his cap, his cheeks flushed and his face distressed as he runs his fingers deliriously through his hair. “Hi.” He huffs out. “I missed you.” 

  I missed you so much it scares me. 

  “Me too.” 

  The most simple task is daunting because I can’t focus on anything else. 

  You can tell now that normal introductions are in the past. Gone are the days where you can give him a brief hug or a kiss on the cheek. 

  Frankie knows if he doesn’t get a grip he runs the risk of making you his new high. You deserve much better than that. You’re not a quick fix or an impulsive decision. You are the only person that makes him feel good. Good in a way that he’s never felt. 

  “You ready for our second date?” He smiles at the way you can’t meet his eyes when he mentions it. 

  “Of course. Where are we going?” He fits your hand in his as he leads you to the door. 

  “You’ll find out when we get there.” 

  ****

  His hand has found a home in what you’ve coined his normal spot on your thigh. The innocent reassuring gesture of his thumb grazing back and forth is making goosebumps rise on your skin. 

  Your eyes follow the trail of his hand, the thick veins on his arm up the path to his large biceps. He stretches his neck and you watch his throat bob when he swallows and you want to trace your tongue alongside it. 

  Fuck. You need a distraction, anything besides looking at his gorgeous face. 

  You try to focus on the road, the trees passing you by. The town in the rearview as you approach the outskirts and you glance back into the cab of his truck to see a pile of-

  “Eyes forward missy.” He fixes you with a look and then averts his gaze back to the road. Something about the command in his tone is not making your situation any better. “Don’t want you to ruin the surprise.” 

  You laugh and shake your head. “I’m gonna start calling you Mr. Surprise.” 

  “You can call me Mr. Morales if you’d like.” His voice dropping to an octave you almost don’t register. 

  You raise your eyebrows at that. Taking his hand off your thigh to kiss his palm. Feeling his pulse thrum against your lips when you trail a little higher. Your teeth graze his vein and you hear a low growl emit from his chest. 

  It seems you’ve decided to pick up your pace a little and Frankie isn’t going to stop whatever this is. The energy in his truck has changed to something feverish. The feel of your soft lips on his arm and his hairs stand up as you graze your teeth along his pulse point. 

  “You’re playing a dangerous game baby.” No real sense of seriousness in his tone. 

  You drop his hand and place it a little higher than its original position and he squeezes. Not missing the way your legs adjust to let him in. 

  “Too dangerous?” 

  He just shakes his head. “Lucky for you I can handle heavy machinery under pressure.” His eyes back on the road as to not watch where it’s disappearing under your dress. 

  But thankful or not so when he hears your breath catch in your throat at the sight of reaching the destination. 

  Your excited squeals as the large screens come into view and his chest swells with pride because he’s planned yet another successful surprise for you. 

  ****

  He had to contain himself for now. 

  He’s excited to get the date underway as you sit in the cab of the truck waiting patiently for him to set up the pillows and blankets in the bed. He found the perfect spot in the middle-back, just enough privacy to have you all to himself. 

  You haven’t been to the drive-ins in ages. Not since you were a teenager, hormones raging and nervousness thrumming deep in your bones. Not much different than tonight except your date is exceedingly more handsome and capable than the brace faced junior that spent so long trying to unclasp your bra that you both gave up and sat in silence for the remainder of fast and the furious. 

  A veteran pilot that’s maneuvered in live fire and the likes will undeniably have more practiced hands when it comes to you. 

  You gently work open the truck slider window to observe his meticulous set up for the night. He lays out a navy blue fleece blanket that looks so velvety. Next he spreads a large knitted throw in a burnt orange shade. He places a few oversized pillows with flannel covers along the back and tucks a few into the sides. 

  Frankie’s attention to detail was so evident as he fluffs each pillow and smooths out the blankets, despite knowing you were going to mess them up once you laid out. Finally he sets out a few decorative throw pillows at the bed of the truck. He claps his hands, sitting back on his haunches signaling he’s done. 

  He catches your eyes when he hears you laugh at his scrupulous preparation. 

  “I told you no peeking.” He points at you as he crawls toward the open window. 

  You shrug as you bite your bottom lip. “I didn’t have anything to look at.” 

  He shifts his hat to the back and before you have time to process what that does to you he’s kissing you. You lean into it to meet him as his broad shoulders push against the frame. He pulls away all too soon leaving you a little breathless. 

  “So, what do you think?” You sense some sad apprehension in his eyes that you want to wipe away. 

  He watches your eyes roam over him, stopping somewhere near his throat. “I think I want to join you on the other side of this window.” 

  ****

  Outside the sky is deepening into twilight, you’re nestled under the blankets with Frankie. His sturdy legs bracketing you in as you lean against his chest. The calmness of his breathing lulling you into some waking daydream. 

  “Do I get to know what we’re seeing?” Your head back in time to see the dimple creasing his face. 

  “Have you not learned by now hermosa?” Sarcasm dripping from his tone. 

  You huff out in frustration, fixing your eyes to the blank white screen. “Surprises, surprises.” 

  His laugh moves you quite literally and figuratively. 

  He cranes his neck at the sound of crunching gravel and a young man probably high school age approaches with a tray of food. He adjusts to take the tray from him as he sends you a nervous smile. Frankie hands him a wad of cash and the boy's eyes go wide as saucers as he goes to protest and Frankie just tells him to keep it. 

  He glances into the truck bed and shakes his head in disbelief. “Thanks sir, I really appreciate this.” He holds the tip up before depositing it into his front pocket. 

  “That was very kind of you Frankie.” You say sincerely as you turn to face him. 

  He blushes as he lays out the tray of hotdogs and popcorn. “I was young once….I remember needing some extra money to help my family.” He doesn’t finish his thought and you let the moment pass between you in understanding, not wanting to delve deeper into that part of yourselves yet. 

  As you both eat in contented silence the familiar crackle of the speakers sound from the cab of the truck. The screen flickers to life showing a sun soaked beach as the waves crash against the rocks. Danny and Sandy walk hand in hand and you pause mid bite as the opening chords of ‘summer nights’ start to play. 

  “No way.” You exclaim softly as a delighted grin speaks across your face. “I love Grease.”

  Frankie’s watching you closely. “I thought you’d like that.” His tone filled with a quiet satisfaction. 

  “It’s like we’re having our own little grease moment.” 

  He hums as he sets the trays out of the way and pulls you back into his embrace. “I guess you could say that. Just missing a convertible and our own summer romance soundtrack.” 

  You laugh and someone shushes you nearby causing you both to chuckle before he presses a kiss to your temple. He mumbles something unintelligible but along the lines of ‘behave’ and his tone has you wanting to do anything but. 

  You manage to settle down and watch the movie, Frankie loves when you sing along as you sway in his arms. If he had known he would have to wait a lifetime to have this with you he’d wait a thousand. All the bullshit and failed relationships somehow has led him here. He knows he’s starting to sound like his therapist but doesn’t that mean the shit is actually doing what it’s supposed to? 

  The drive in scene comes on and you groan slightly as you tilt your head back. The screen illuminates him  just enough for you to see the smirk on his face. 

  “This is so cliche.” 

  “I know, it’s almost as if I planned it this way.” You squirm a little in his hold as he grips you tighter. You’ve inadvertently been grinding against him this entire movie and he’s been doing his best to be a gentleman. “I promise not to pull a fast one on you like our boy Danny.” He nods at the screen just as Sandy jumps out of the car and slams the door. 

  You can feel the hard press of his cock straining on his jeans against your back. You’ve been quite the tease this whole time hoping he’d take a hint but he’s letting you take the lead. “What if I wanted you to?” 

  You think for a moment that maybe he didn’t hear you and you can just avoid the embarrassment of having to repeat yourself. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your back as his grip on you tightens. The way the scruff of his beard hair barely brushes your cheek as he leans close to your ear. 

  “Hermosa?” He lets out a deep exhale against your skin. “I need you to show me…exactly what it is…that you want me to do.” 

  You tentatively grab his hand and he releases the hold he has on your hip to let you guide him. It starts just above your stomach. He sucks in a breath as you slide it further over the soft lace of your panties. 

  You stop there. Your eyes fixated on the screen but you aren’t watching the movie. He nuzzles the back of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “You want me to touch you here?” His fingers tap once and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you. 

  He doesn’t miss the way you say ‘please’ breathlessly as he watches your chest rise and fall. 

  His hand is hot, the heat seeps through the thin material making the wetness of your arousal known to both of you. 

  He swiftly moves your panties to the side, his calloused fingers making you shiver as he runs a single digit up and down your slit. 

  You bite back the moan trying to escape your throat. He shushes you gently as he adjusts to lower you both out of prying eyes. “I’m gonna need you to be quiet for me hermosa. Do you think you can do that for me?”

  You manage a nod as his fingers dip in before briefly pulling them back. He presses his thumb against your clit and your hips buck up as he continues his ministrations. You can feel the low rumble in his chest when you let out a squeak. His breathing is coming out in puffs and small grunts as his fingers slide in and out of you. 

  You can feel how hard he is as he grinds against the curve of your ass, each thrust and twist bringing a new wave of arousal. “Jesus Christ you’re soaking my hand baby.” 

  You don’t know how he does it but his expert hands are bringing you to the edge so fast you can’t keep up with your thoughts. 

  You nearly bite your tongue to keep in the whine as you pant his name. You turn into him as he presses his lips against yours, he’s sweet and slightly salty from the lingering taste of the buttery popcorn. 

  He can tell you’re close as you tense up and your back bows when he presses down hard on your clit and swirls. The pleasure is overwhelming and he growls as you bite down on his lip, your pussy clenching tight as you gush around his fingers.

  He swallows the moans of his name, ghosted across his lips as you come down from your high. “You did so good.” He kisses and sucks along your jawline as you literally come down from the stars. His mouth works down the column of your neck and you can feel the prickle of his beard and the sting of his teeth against your skin. 

  “Frankie that was…” you take a moment to catch your breath. You’re boneless as you dro

  You can hear him sucking his fingers and the sound makes you throb. “Fucking tastes like heaven.” 

  This man is gonna be the death of you. 

  He reaches up to cup your chin. You can barely make out his features with your vision still clouded. There's a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his lips. 

  He kisses you again as he pulls the blankets up a little higher and fluffs the pillows around you. 

  The juxtaposition has your head spinning as he turns your attention back to the screen. (Scene in the movie.) 

  “Is that what you had in mind?” He says, pulling you back into his chest. 

  You chuckle as you reach between your bodies. “Something like that.” He grabs your wrist gently to stop you. 

  “But.” 

  “No need.” He cuts you off with a kiss. 

  You shift in his hold to look at him as he looks down at you apprehensively. “Francisco, no you did not!” 

  “Oh yes, I did.” You snort as he squeezes your ass in his palm. “That’s a problem for future me. Now hush and watch the rest of the movie.” 

  You feel his heartbeat against you. The warmth of his breath against your neck. 

  He presses a kiss to your temple when you’re asleep just as the credits roll. 

  ****

  You wake up with the sound of the car door closing and a cool breeze on your face. It takes you a moment to register as you watch Frankie round the front of the truck. 

  “Hello sleepyhead.” He looks at you fondly as he helps you down from the seat. He looks up and down the street, always assessing his surroundings. 

  “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.” 

  He pulls you into him. “I’m not, you look really cute when you’re sleeping. Also when you’re snoring.” 

  You gasp as you try to wriggle free from his hold. “I do not snore.” 

  You can feel the rumble of his laughter as you rest your head on his chest. You really want to ask him to stay but you’re not sure where his head is at. 

  “Do-“

  “I-“ 

  You laugh as he clears his throat. “I had a nice time tonight.” He holds his hands out palms up as you place yours in his. “You don’t have to say anything, we can still take this slow.” 

  You certainly weren’t taking things slow at the drive ins but you don’t want to pressure him either. 

“Okay.” If he senses the disappointment in your tone he says nothing as he starts to lead you toward your apartment. 

  Frankie steals a quick glance at your legs peeking out under your dress as you climb the stairs. He’s still in a state of shock that things got as far as they did. He doesn’t want to spook you so he’ll go home happy with whatever you’re willing to give him. 

  “Frankie, you’re awfully quiet back there.” You tease as you throw a look to him over your shoulder. 

  “I’m just committing you to memory.” That soft smirk on his face and the adorable dimple in his cheek. 

  He crowds your space as you fumble with your keys but you don’t seem to mind as he presses himself into you. Inhaling your scent like you’re going to evaporate into thin air. 

  You turn in his arms, his lips insistent on yours as he murmurs goodbyes against them. You’re finding it incredibly hard to keep your composure around Francisco Morales. 

  “So, tomorrow Ben has another fight.” He states as he pulls back. 

  “Oh I know he invited me again. This time as a guest, no need for pictures.” 

  He plants another kiss on your cheek. “Good, I’ll pick you up at 7.” He opens your door, inspecting the entryway for surprise intruders and you can’t help but laugh at his authoritative nature. 

  “Good night Francisco.” You wave him off as he throws one more glance at you and descends your stairs. 

  ****

  True to his word Frankie was ready to pick you up sharply at 7 with his charming smile. This was technically your third date and you were determined to ask Frankie to stay over after Ben’s match. You both seemed to buzz with a nervous excitement all night. You relished in the way his hands never left you all night. 

  His hand on your knee on the drive over. His arm wrapped around you when you arrived at the gym, the protective way he pulls you into him when someone glances at you. You find Santiago immediately ringside and he pulls you both into a tight hug. You don’t miss the way he eyes Frankie’s hand in yours and winks at him earning him a small shove. 

  Amber sends you an excited wave across the ring with Will and you can’t wait to catch up with her after. You don’t want to get too ahead of yourself but it feels nice to be a part of such a tight knit group of friends. 

  “Are you nervous?” Frankie leans in close to your ear and you nod against the scruff of his beard. “I know it’s a lot but Ben is something else when he’s in the ring.” 

  “Plus it never lasts long enough for him to sustain any real damage.” Santiago chimes in from beside Frankie. 

  The whistles and cheers start as the men enter the ring. Benny bouncing up and down with his arms raised in the air, those signature blue eyes piercing into his opponent. The man is a little shorter than him but looks to have some weight on him. You can see Will and the guys exchange nervous glances to each other and you’re hoping you’re not about to witness Benny’s first loss. 

  The ref signals the start of the fight and the men dance around each other briefly before Ben takes a hard hit to the ribs, you wince noticing his pain but he quickly recovers as the opponent leans too far into his reach. Benny lands a swift blow to his right eye and it’s almost instantaneous the way it swells up and the man stumbles back. 

  You turn slightly in Frankie’s hold half way looking at the fight and halfway watching the muscles in his jaw work as they tense up in anticipation of each hit. His hands rub up and down your arms to comfort you as he keeps his eyes trained on the fight. Santiago notices you’re not quite watching so he starts offering his charming commentary to let you know Ben is winning, with your complete lack of knowledge in the sport it’s thoughtful of him. Plus you can tell he just loves the sound of his own voice. 

  Frankie spins you around to face the ring while Ben stands albeit exhausted but mostly unscathed next to the referee. The other man is knelt over in his corner and you can’t focus on what used to resemble a face for too long. Red and purple bruises are forming already and the coach looks more disgusted at his own fighter than he does at Ben. 

  “I think they’re gonna call it.” Santi leans in and nudges you while he watches on. 

  You glance back at Frankie with a bemused look on your face. “And that means….”

  Both men just laugh as the ref raises Ben’s arm in triumph and the crowd erupts in a roar of cheers. 

  “It’s a technical knockout. They usually call this when they’re concerned about the other fighter's safety.” Frankie yells over the noise of the crowd. 

  You just hum to yourself and send one more glance to the poor man. “That’s definitely for the best.” You reach down and rifle around in your bag before your hands land on your prized possession. 

  You promptly start taking photos of Ben as he runs around the ring, sweat and grime rolling off his body as he cheers victorious. Frankie eyes you suspiciously as Santiago looks on in delight. 

  “You’re supposed to be taking the night off.” 

  “I am.” Ben bounds over to you with his signature pose, wide grin on his face and you snap a photo. “This is for fun.” 

  “Flash can’t resist taking photos of my beautiful face.” He teases as he leans over the ropes. 

  “Flash?” 

  Frankie groans and scrubs his hands down his face. 

  “It’s your nickname sweetheart, everyone gets one when they’re part of the crew.” Ben tips his head to your camera. “You’re either flashing that thing at me or your gorgeous smile.” He winks at you as a hearty laugh echoes from Santiago. 

  Frankie points at him and arches a disapproving brow. “I’m gonna need you to quit flirting with my girlfriend.” 

  “Can’t hear you!” Ben jumps over the ropes and heads towards the lockers with Santiago in tow. 

  The nickname, Santiago being so nice to you, the admission that you’re part of the crew. Now Frankie is just casually calling you his girlfriend. You’re trying to contain your emotions but it’s mind blowing how fast this is all happening. 

  Amber and Will join you on the other side as the rest of the crowd starts to disperse. Will eyes Frankie and they walk off to the side as Amber pulls you into a heartfelt hug. She smells like Lemon and Jasmine and you can’t help but wonder if it’s her hair or just her natural scent. 

  “I hope this doesn’t come off weird but you smell really good.”

   She laughs and waves you off. “Not weird at all hon’. I’m glad you said something.” She leans in close, glancing over at Will and Frankie before she continues. “I’ve been running a little experiment the last few weeks, testing different perfumes for the wedding. So far this one has received the most compliments.”

  You remember Will mentioning they were engaged but you don’t really have many details about how soon they were planning on tying the knot. 

  “If I’m being honest.” She bites her lip and mumbles. “We were almost late because of this perfume.” 

  You try to school your face as she laughs at your obvious awkwardness and you can’t help but join in, delighted in how comfortable she already is with you. 

  “What are you ladies over here giggling about?” Of course Will chimes in while Frankie trails behind with a mischievous look on his face. 

  She shrugs as your eyes flick to hers and you both burst into a fit of laughter. You’ll just have to let them wonder as Frankie comes up behind you leaning down to your ear. “We’re going to celebrate, if you don’t want to come-“ 

  “Of course I do!” You exclaim and your excitement catches him off guard a little. 

  He plants a soft kiss on your cheek and you can hear the teasing from Ben as he reappears freshly changed from the locker rooms. 

  Amber bumps your hip and takes your hand in hers as you all make your way toward the exit. “I’m glad you’re coming. We have lots to talk about.”

  ****

  Frankie could tell you were nervous on the way to the bar, your fingers tapping gently against the worn leather seats in his truck. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss to your palm to let you know it would be alright and that he would be right by your side. He had to get used to being in this sort of environment early on in his sobriety. The guys had already sacrificed so much for him and he didn’t want them to give up their regular hang out just because he needed to get his shit together. Despite him knowing they would do anything for him, he adjusted fairly easily. The booze never did him any good and only served as a gateway for his other addictions. 

  If you were being honest you didn’t expect much of a place called Bar None going in. The neon sign flickered outside casting a warm, welcome glow. Amber takes your hand leading you away from the main bar to head towards their usual spot they’ve claimed as their own. You’re greeted by the comforting, familiar aroma of old wood and faint hints of spilled beer. Not all your memories of alcohol reminded you of your mom thankfully. The distinct smell of beer brought back fond memories of lazy sundays with your dad while you sat and watched football. 

  The room is a tapestry of rich, deep hues-cherry red bar stools and polished mahogany tables glimmer under the vintage hanging lanterns. As you both settle into the booth you can’t help but feel this odd sense of nostalgia. The space feels like a perfect sanctuary from the outside world. 

  “Better than you expected?” Her voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and you nod in approval. 

  The bar is bustling tonight with patrons in various states of disarray. Couples on the makeshift dance floor, others deep in boisterous conversations. And Frankie, looking effortlessly handsome as he approaches with a Diet Coke and a glass of ice balanced precariously in one hand and Amber’s drink in the other. He slides into the booth beside you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I hope this is fine.” His voice a soft rumble that you can’t help but smile at as he cracks the can and pours it into the glass. 

  “Of course it is.” 

  “I’ll be over at the pool table with the guys. Call me if you need anything.” He gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze as he slides out of the booth. 

  You catch Amber’s eye as she raises an eyebrow suggestively, but you’re too engrossed in Frankie’s retreating form, his shirt pulled tight against his back and his jeans hug low on his hips. 

  “You know.” You start, taking a sip of your cold beverage. “I often wonder how that man is single.”

  She laughs as she takes a sip of her drink, her gaze flitting briefly to the guys all taking turns shoving Benny, as if he wasn’t just beat up enough. “I used to wonder the same thing about Will.” A brief pause before she focuses her attention on you. “It takes a special kind of person to handle all of their baggage. It was hard at first but, in the end it all worked out.” 

  She’s considering you at the moment, how much do you really know? To be fair everything is so new that you expect you know as much as you should. You haven’t really divulged too much into your private life yet, both of you wanting to keep things light and fun. You can tell by the way she’s surveying you that it’s a conscious effort to not overstep her boundaries when it comes to Frankie and his personal life. There’s no bit of jealousy or envy when it comes to the fact that she was simply around when their lives were harder and you may not have been offered this opportunity with Frankie if you’d met him any sooner than you did. 

“How do you think things are going?” She asks with an inquisitive tone. 

  “Honestly.” You sigh and she nods awaiting your reply. “Don’t make fun of me, but I think it’s going in the right direction. He’s so genuine, and even when we hang out like this, it feels…right.”

  She takes your hand in hers that you didn’t even realize you were tapping against the table. “ It felt like that when I met Will, so I’m really happy for you…for both of you.”

  Just then Will eyes her from across the bar and calls his shot, sending the guys into a fit of laughter when he misses by a mile. You turn to her and she’s already looking at you apprehensively when she clears her throat. “ Speaking of Will and I.” Her voice taking on an uncharacteristic nervous tone. “ You can say no if you want, I’ve been dragging my feet on all this wedding stuff. I know it’s a few months away.” Her hands are sweating and she’s taken on a shade of pale you don’t recognize. “ Frankie told me it would be fine, but I know you’re probably really busy with other things.” 

  “Amber, spit it out.” You said with a nervous laugh. 

  “Will you be the photographer for our wedding?” It’s all rushed out and she’s most certainly holding her breath as you let out an excited squeal that has most of this side of the bar sending concerned looks. 

  “Of course, of course.” You embrace her in an awkward hug squeezed into the booth. “ What made you think I would say no?”

  She lets out a deep sigh as she relaxes back into the booth sending Will a thumbs up. “ I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you and the Frankie situation.” She says honestly. 

  “Well, he called me his girlfriend earlier so I think it’s definitely more than a situation.” 

  Now it was her turn to shriek and you both send apologetic looks over to the pool table. 

  “You girls are having too much fun over there, I should join you.” Ben’s voice booms across the bar and he flashes that bright smile,  he starts to make his way over but is swiftly pulled back by Frankie and Will. 

  It’s nice to see Frankie laughing and enjoying time with his friends, you and Amber watch them fondly for a few moments while she provides silent commentary about what she thinks is going on. 

  “Santiago is likely making some bet that he knows he’ll win.” 

  You laugh as you both watch him animatedly pointing at Frankie with the pool stick. 

  “Ben’s probably making fun of his height at this point because that’s all he has.” 

  Ben pats Santi on the head eliciting a small scuffle between the two before Frankie inevitably breaks it up. 

  It’s so interesting how she has all the inner workings of the group down to a tee and even so she can still see the way Frankie can’t keep his eyes off you. It makes your face warm when he finds your eyes across the room, assessing you to make sure you’re still comfortable. 

  Frankie’s so focused on you he doesn’t notice the woman approaching the pool table. She’s about Frankie’s height, long brunette hair and an athletic build. The guys all give her tentative hugs before Frankie’s attention is turned away from you. You notice how he freezes, his shoulders tense and Amber’s narration has long stopped. 

  “Shit.” She curses under her breath and you look at her and notice her wide-eyed stare. Cautiously gauging the situation unfolding in front of her. 

  “Amber.” You place your hand on her arm to grab her attention. “Who’s that?” 

  ****

  “Marissa.” Frankie says through gritted teeth as the guys all slink away to the table. “Funny seeing you here.” 

  Will sends him one last look to make sure he’s good and Frankie waves him off. He just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

  “What’s so funny about me being here? It’s a public place Fish.” The sarcasm drips from her tone as she steps closer to him. He can smell the liquor on her breath and it makes his stomach turn. She’s got a glossy stare that lets on she’s done more than drink tonight. “I used to be a part of this remember.” 

  “You’ve been drinking.” He avoids her mention of their past. 

  “Oh, Francisco’s on his high horse now that he’s sober.” She mocks him and he can feel the anger bubbling under the surface. The way she clutches her chest and the lipstick smeared across her teeth. This isn’t the woman he used to love, the woman that the guys could count on to have their six.

  “You’ve been doing a lot more than drinking, I can tell that much.” She scoffs and looks away, rolling one of the balls into a hole with her hand. She’s got dirt under her fingernails and she’s definitely lost some weight. “Listen….I know we’re not together anymore but I care about you. I think you should start going to meetings ag-“

  “Don’t you fucking do that Frankie.” Her finger in his face as she spits out her insults. “I wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for you and my so called friends.” 

  “Goddamit Marissa!” Frankie rips his cap off, blowing out through his nose. He feels like he could breathe fire. “I don’t do this anymore. I don’t have outbursts or feel like my skin is crawling. I don’t have panic attacks or spend my last dime on a bag of coke.” He punctuates each point with his finger on the pool table beside him. 

  She rolls her eyes and clicks her teeth. “Oh we know you’ve got more than a few dimes to spend now.” 

  “Don’t.” 

  She holds her hands up in surrender. Doing her best to look like a petulant child. That used to work on him but now it just makes his gut churn. “Frankie, honey. I’ll go to meetings if you go with me.” 

  Her hand settles on top of his and he’s frozen to the spot. He feels like a bucket of water has been dumped on his head. Her clammy hand on top of his and all he can do is stare. 

  There’s a firm pressure on his back, it starts slowly creeping up his spine until it settles on the back of his neck. It’s soft and grounding like he’s being consumed by the warmth of the sun. He lets out a deep breath as the nails scratch his scalp sending shivers through his body. He can smell the lavender and vanilla and the way it’s Pavlovian to react to the comforting scent that is you. 

  “Frankie.” 

  He looks a little like a wild animal when his eyes meet yours, they soften a bit at your touch and you could care less at how the woman is feeling. 

  “Are you okay?” 

  He does his best to convey that he’s fine now that you’re here. His lips find yours and he prys his hand away from the one that’s trying to claw its way back into his life. 

  You turn your attention to the woman, her lips in a tight line and her eyebrows raised as if she’s being inconvenienced by your presence. You assess her for a second, you want to make her squirm. Make her feel as uncomfortable as Frankie looks, and it seems she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself. 

  Amber gave you a quick rundown when she noticed her from across the bar. When the guys retreated and exchanged glances as the conversation started to get heated Benny offered to break it up. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you exited the booth and told him you’d handle it. A tinge of jealousy and disgust gave you the boost of confidence you needed to confront the situation. Something totally out of your norm but the way the guys looked at you with a sense of pride made you put one foot in front of the other to save your boyfriend from the demons in his past. 

  She clears her throat. “Hi I’m Marissa, Frankie’s-“

  “Ex.” You cut her off with a pleased smile as she looks a little wide eyed. 

  You can feel Frankie’s eyes on you but you keep your attention on her. 

  Her extended hand to shake yours hangs awkwardly between you. “So, he’s mentioned me then?” Her arms cross as she leans against the table and Frankie huffs a laugh next to you. 

  “No actually he hasn’t.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were prepared to say to her when you approached until you saw her hand on top of his and now it’s as if the words are tumbling out before you can stop them. 

  “I could just tell by the way you felt so comfortable scolding him in a public place.” You gesture to the bar and notice a few eyes on you and the boys watching you from afar. Amber has the most delighted look on her face. “Also by the way you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself I figured there was some history there.” 

  She tries and fails to school her stunned expression at your boldness, unwilling to back down and dare you say stake your claim. 

  “You know…I didn’t get your name.” She says and your reply is cut short when Frankie laces his fingers with yours. 

  “You won’t.” His voice drops dangerously low as he pulls you away from her. “Take care of yourself Marissa.” He means it and telling her it was nice to see her would have been a lie. One last glance over his shoulder and she’s already turned on her heel storming off to the bar. 

  The guys are quiet when you return, likely waiting for you to tell them what the hell happened, Amber sitting next to Will nervously tapping her fingers on the table. 

  For your sake Frankie doesn’t let you flounder when he tells them you guys are leaving. 

  They say their goodbyes and Amber tells you to call her to set up details about the wedding. Frankie looks down at you and relaxes a little. You’re practically beaming at the prospect and he hopes he didn’t completely ruin the night. 

  ****

  He’s eerily quiet as he drives to your apartment. Both hands on the wheel, no hand on your thigh. 

  He’s rattled, a deep scowl on his face as he stares at the lights ahead. You want nothing more than to brush your hand across it, tell him that everything is okay. He lets out a deep sigh every so often and for the first time you see this sad side of him, the side that he keeps locked away and you hope that he’d feel comfortable enough to let you in. 

  You want to ask him if he’s okay. 

  You want to tell him that you’d likely respond the same if you ran into your ex. Possibly run for the hills. 

  It feels weird in the silence of the car and you can only think to reach over and place your hand on his thigh. He tenses at first and glances down briefly, a small gesture that seems even greater to him when he looks over to see you just looking out the window. Knowing it would be too much to look you in the eyes. 

  He finally releases his white knuckle grip on the wheel to place his hand on top of yours, a quick squeeze to say ‘thank you’. 

  When your fingers lace with his he knows that everything is fine…he can finally take a full breath. 

  ****

  You can feel the apology on the tip of his tongue as he walks you to your doorstep. You can see it in the way he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair. A nervous tell early on, even when he looks at you with those deep brown eyes. 

  A deep intake of breath from you both before you place your fingers gently on his lips, his eyes wide in surprise but you’re still feeling bold from the encounter at the bar. 

  “Frankie, you have three options.” He cocks his head to the side, intrigued. 

  “If you’re not feeling up to talking, we can end the night here. I go inside alone. You go home alone.” 

  “I’m gonna say no to that option before I hear the rest.” He murmurs against your fingers still placed on his lips and you can’t help but laugh. A glimpse of your Frankie peeking through the cloud Marissa shrouded over the night. 

  “Option two…you can come inside and we can talk about what just happened. Only if you want.” You didn’t want to automatically assume that he did or did not want to talk about running into his ex and the conversation they had. 

  He shakes his head, taking a step toward you backing you up against your front door. “Behind door number three?” 

  “We can go inside…and do something else.” Your voice comes out a little shaky at his close proximity. 

  His dark eyes drinking you in as he leans down close to your ear. “You gonna tell me what something else means?” 

  “It means whatever you want.” You practically purr at him. If you were more attentive you’d see the switch. 

  His hands find your hips, turning you to face your door. “Are you sure you want me to have that much control baby?” 

  You nod as a slow building desire starts in your core and he doesn’t miss the way you fidget. Rocking slightly to relieve the ache between your thighs. 

  “I need words hermosa.” His tone demanding the more worked up he’s getting. 

  The pet names only serving the fan the flames from the previous night. A soft breathy ‘yes’ leaves your lips and before you can wonder how he knows which one he’s taking your keys and unlocking your door. His chest pressed against you walking you inside. 

  The door slams as Frankie shoves you against it, you can feel how hard he is pressing into your thigh. Your hands slide under his shirt and your mouth is on his neck. 

  He grabs your wrists in both hands as he tsks under his tongue. Slowly lowering them to your sides with a look on his face of your first and only warning. 

  He rids you of your shirt and his deft hands make quick work of the button on your jeans as he pulls them down along with your panties. Dropping to his knees along with them as he gently guides you out of them. 

  You’re shivering at the thought of him being so close, his face level with the slick dripping out of you as he picks up your thigh settling it over his shoulder. 

  “Fuck, you are soaking wet.” You gasp as his tongue slips through your folds. You moan as he circles your clit and the growl that reverberates through your core when you knock his hat to tug on his hair.  

  He’s practiced 

  His tongue dips inside you and the way you say his name he could commit to memory. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” He rasps against your core as you feel that familiar cool tightening so fast. 

  “How long Frankie?” Your question comes out in short gasps as you drop your head against the door. 

  He can feel how close you are and his answer is on the tip of his tongue as you break. Your knees threateningly close to giving out until his large palm keeps you pressed upright. 

  His hand skates up your back, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as he flicks the clasp on your bra. 

  His mouth trailing hot kisses up your stomach, his tongue circling your nipple to stiff peaks as his hand caresses the other. His lips are on you, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip and you can taste yourself on him. Soft breathy moans as he drowns in you. 

  You feel exposed as he takes a step back to really look at you. Your body of work of art on display for him as you try to catch your breath. 

  He’s painfully hard and fully clothed. 

  “Bedroom.” It’s not a question as you brush by him. 

  He’s on your heels as you walk down the short hall to your bedroom. The sound of his shirt being tossed to the ground and the clink of his belt buckle as he strips down. 

  He spins you with one hand and a smirk on his face as your legs hit the bed. It’s slow the way he draws down his boxers and mixture of pride and concern at the look on your face when you see the size of him. 

  “Fuck me.” A little breathless and louder than you intended. The heat creeps up his neck and spreads to his face when he stalks towards you on the bed. 

  “You still want this?” 

  “Yes please.” 

  His cock twitches at the way you say please. The way you’re so ready to do whatever he says. His mind races to other things he thinks you’ll let him do. 

  He litters kisses up your body, you feel so good against his palms as he glides them over you, like he can never get enough of just touching you. Every bit of skin is exposed to the soft light in your room. 

  A soft curse under his breath has you pausing. “I don’t have a condom.” 

  “I’m on birth control, and it’s been awhile for me.” The nerves starting to build below the surface. 

  “Me too.” He says honestly and your hand wraps around his neck to pull him into a kiss. 

  His hands are everywhere and you can’t think straight, all you can focus on is him. How much you need him. How you finally feel needed by someone and not just a toy to be used. 

  He wants to do this differently. He wants to take his time with you. Savor you and all the sweet noises you make. He wills his hands to slow as you pant against his neck. Reveling in the way he’s already got you so worked up. You’re so sensitive to his touch, the way your nipples perk up at just the slightest touch. The goosebumps on your skin when he trails his lips over your stomach and down your thighs. 

You smell like vanilla mixed with him and he wants to bury himself in it, drown in it until he has no more room in his lungs. 

You can tell he’s taking his time with you, in a slow almost torturous way. His hands grip your thigh as he raises up, his face level with yours and his eyes are asking for permission or forgiveness you can’t tell the difference in this moment. 

You can feel his cock throb where it’s pressed against your stomach, precum leaking from the tip as you reach down to stroke him and he lets out a curse as he lets himself feel you for a moment. Your soft hand wrapped around him as you pump him slowly, deliberately. 

“Fuck.” He stills your hand. “I can’t let you keep doing that querida.” 

You giggle and it makes his heart swell. Even now how desperate you are for each other and still there’s a playfulness to you. Something he’s always wanted, not just sex but -this.

Your hands fall back beside your head as your hips chase him impatiently. You’re beautiful like this, laid out for him. If he were a more patient man he’d snap a photo for him to keep. His mind could never forget the image of you anyway. 

“Frankie.” You whine. “I need you.” 

He leans down over you, his lips pressed to yours as he lines himself up. He can feel you tense briefly as he sinks into you on a soft exhale. “You have me.” 

His hips start to move slowly as he trails kisses down your jaw to your neck and chest. The stretch of him is a lot at first, you whimper as he waits for you to relax into it. Your legs wrapped around his waist and your hands fisted in his hair as he steadily picks up the pace. 

It’s the only sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. His name leaving your lips in short gasps as he pounds into you. Trying to pour every feeling of those words that are too soon to say yet he wants to so badly. The way you arch your back, your skin on his as tears spring in your eyes. 

“Frankie please.” 

“Please what baby.” His voice gravelly with desire because he already knows what you need. 

His hands work their way between your bodies as he circles your clit in swift motions. You didn’t think it possible to come this many times in one night. No one has ever cared to meet your needs the way Frankie is. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?” 

“Yes, Frankie so close.” You pant out 

“Good girl, come for me and then I’m gonna fill you up.” 

He nips at your jaw as you spread your hands down the length of his back, pulling him closer to you. 

His filthy words  and the steady drag of him send you over the edge. Your whole body tenses and shudders as you cry out coming undone at his skilled touch. You’re clenching around him so tight he doesn’t know how he can even move. A few short thrusts and he’s spilling into you, moaning your name. 

It’s blinding the way he feels as he collapses into you, he’s trying to fill his lungs with air as your hands work through his hair and your lips meet his temple. You don’t seem in any rush to stop this feeling, his grounding weight on your body as you both lay tangled in each other. 

“Thank you.” He says sincerely. He chokes on the words he really wants to say. 

“I should be thanking you Frankie.” You brush his damp hair away from his face. “That was amazing.” You bite your lip not wanting to say more and ruin the moment. 

His lips meet yours in a chaste kiss before he rolls off you. Thankful for the light still on in your room so you can really get a good look at him. Your eyes flutter closed as you hear the sound of water running and the ringing of the towel. 

Your heart cracks open a little more at the thought of never having someone take care of you like this. When he returns to wipe you down and place a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing back in. Pulling you close to him as you bury your face in his chest. 

It’s not long before he can hear your light snores, he reaches over to flick off the lamp as he murmurs ‘I love you.’ To the crown of your head. 

Prev/Next

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @sawymredfox @morallyinept @ak-vintage @romanarose @avastrasposts

@yopossum @syd-djarin @anoverwhelmingdin @sirendyes @lizzie-cakes

@casa-boiardi @southernbe @harriedandharassed @darkheartgatita @sunnytuliptime

@jessthebaker @scarletthefierce

[tightjeansjavi]

Jeany! Congrats on one year, baby!

What can I bring to the sleepover? I have punch and pie at the ready.

You know I’m a Frankie girl thru and thru… but what if he was… drunk and handsy (in the best way possible) and maybe we’re not an item yet… but he’s hella interested and the alcohol makes him brave…

Love a little friends to lovers…

Beefro👌🥩💜

BEEFRO!! my darling, mi vida, thank you for sending this in! I hope it’s okay that we didn’t get smutty with it, and the reader was the one who was a lil drunk 🥺

-

mi vida

~word count: 2.0k~

Summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend and the love of your life.

Pairing | best friend!frankie morales x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, no age gap, language, mentions of drinking and smoking, right person wrong time, best friend!frankie, assumed unrequited love, frankie and the reader are bi, Santi, Will, and Benny exist in this universe but fuck Tom. Me and my homies hate a motherfucker named Tom, happy ending, reader can understand and speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Translations:

mi vida- my life

querida- darling

hermano- brother

nada de eso- none of that

estoy en camino- I’m on my way

no te vayas de ahí- don’t move

voy a intentarlo- I’m going to try

vamos a salir de aquí- let’s get out of here

The bass in the nightclub is booming, pulsing in your ears and rattling your brain in your skull. Your vodka lemonade has practically watered down to nothing—great. To make matters even worse, your favorite pair of metallic heels keep sticking to the floor—gross. There’s too many people packed in this club, too many bodies, and you realize then that this was a terrible idea.

It all started with your stupid boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. He broke up with you over the phone, babbling pathetically about how he met someone else and how sorry he was. Bullshit. You sucked in your tears, and the remaining threads of your dignity and packed his shit up into a cardboard box and tossed it right down the garbage shoot.

Fuck him.

You weren’t even the least bit sad, no—you were furious. You should have known that he was a tool, just another asshole hiding under a ‘nice guy’ persona.

Did I even really love him? You questioned yourself in the mirror while applying a glitter shadow to your eyelids.

You did, but he’s not— You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection and the smudge mascara streaks under your eyes.

Frankie is too good for me. He deserves better.

Francisco—Catfish, Morales had been your best friend, your ride or die—your Clyde to your Bonnie, since you were kids.

You grew up on the same block and you remember the first day you met Frankie like it was just yesterday.

His mom sent him over to your house, with fresh tamales in a well loved container held between two clammy palms.

“Hey, I’m Frankie. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He said with a small, boyish grin.

He had the warmest brown eyes you had ever seen, and soon enough your diary was no longer doodles of unicorns, butterflies, princesses and dragons, it was Frankie Morales, and those brown eyes of his.

You walked to school together everyday and soon your duo turned into a little group consisting of three other kids that had become like brothers to Frankie and you.

There was Benny, Will, and Santi; the five of you shared your own stomping ground: the neighborhood playground. And as you grew older…your feelings towards your friends shifted.

You had a minor crush on Santi who found out through Benny and that’s how you ended up going to the movies together one weekend. Santi was a total gentleman, and while you were attracted to him, the butterflies weren’t there. The spark that you dreamed about feeling—was nonexistent. And when he kissed you, your foot didn’t pop up like it did in the Princess Diaries!

Get a room! You’d recognize that voice from anywhere—Frankie.

And low and behold, Frankie, Benny, and Will were all sitting a few seats behind you and Santi who wasted no time to grab a handful of popcorn and toss it at the three of them.

You and Santi decided afterwards that you were better off as friends. Will took you out to dinner once, and the two of you also quickly realized that you were better off as friends.

Benny ended up being your date to the junior prom. It was hard to not be attracted to a guy like Benny. He was smart, funny, and a total goober. He couldn’t dance for shit, but you had fun, and it was definitely going to be a night for the books.

Maybe you and Benny would have ended up together if you hadn’t slow-danced under a shimmering disco ball with Frankie after Benny took a break from dancing. Maybe your heart strings wouldn’t have tugged you in the direction of your best friend, and those big brown eyes of his.

“Are you going home with him, mi vida?” His words whispered against the shell of your ear while one hand rested along your lower back, and the other around your waist.

“Probably” You whispered softly.

You tried to pretend that you didn’t see the way his face fell, and his lips curve into a set frown.

“Good. He’ll take care of you. You deserve to have fun, querida.”

And when the song ended, and Benny returned, you watched your best friend walk away, his arm wrapped around Santi’s shoulders.

It was half-past 5 in the morning when you told Benny about your feelings for Frankie. You were tangled up in his sheets, passing a cigarette back and forth. Benny wasn’t even surprised, he just had this knowing grin on his face.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We all know how you feel about catfish. It ain’t a secret.” He winked at you reassuringly.

-

On graduation night you had built up enough courage to finally tell Frankie how you felt, and after downing a few glasses of champagne for some extra liquid courage, you were ready—until you saw Frankie leaned in close to another girl in your grade, and your heart sank to the very pits of your stomach.

You told Santi how you felt about Frankie later that night while sharing a bottle of champagne on the old rusted swings of the neighborhood playground.

He confessed to you that he felt the same way about Frankie, but he was afraid of ruining their friendship and how Frankie would react.

You reached over, gently grabbing his hand in yours and told him, you should tell him how you feel, Santi.

-

When you went off to college, your four friends enlisted in the military and you weren’t sure if you would ever see them again. Life continued on for you, until you found yourself right back to your roots, and feeling the same way for your best friend as you did years ago. You just did a real damn good job of hiding it from your boyfriend.

So, that’s how you found yourself outside of the women’s bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, the bottom of your favorite heels sticking to the floor, and your thumbnail bleeding because you had ripped out a nasty hangnail with your teeth.

The dial tone rang, and rang and you thought that maybe this was a sign that you and Frankie were never meant to be. That it was all made up in your head, and scribbled in your diary. Maybe Frankie never felt the same way about you as you did for him.

“Mi vida?” his voice crackled on the other line and you imagined he had his hand cupped over his phone so that he could hear you better.

“Francisco,” you breathed, taking a pause as you gathered your thoughts. “I—I need you, Frankie.”

He nearly dropped his phone, lurching forward in his chair from your words. His erratic movements caught the attention of Santi who was sitting across from him in the booth and he raised his brows, mouthing, you okay, hermano?

Frankie was too caught up in the pounding of his heart in his chest, and his pulse racing in his eardrums to even notice Santi or Benny and Will now looking at him.

“Where are you, querida? Are you—safe? I can barely hear you.” Frankie uttered, bringing his thumb to his lips and gnawed on the side of the nail nervously with his teeth.

“I’m at some shitty club. Boyfriend broke up with me—and I ended up here. You don’t have to come, I just—I thought maybe…” you trailed off.

“Nada de eso, mi vida. Is it that same club we tried sneaking into back in highschool? The seedy one?”

“Yeah. The one where the floor is always sticky, and you can still smoke cigarettes.” You stifled a giggle.

“Estoy en camino, querida. Hang tight, okay? No te vayas de ahí.” He said in an urgent tone, gathering up his wallet and keys before he downed the last sip of his beer.

“I’m not going anywhere, Frankie.” You reassured him.

“I know, mi vida. I’ll stay on the line with you, ‘Kay?” He slipped out of the booth just as Santi stood up.

Frankie pulled his phone away from his ear momentarily, holding it against his shoulder as their eyes met.

Santi gave him a knowing a grin, slapping him on the shoulder gently in a half hug, “go get your girl, hermano.”

Frankie hugged him back, wrapping both arms around him before pulling back slightly with a grin slowly tugging over his lips, “Voy a intentarlo, hermano.”

And then there was Benny in the background yelling, “HELL YEAH, CATFISH! GO GET YOUR LADY!”

-

Frankie stayed on the phone with you the entire walk to the club which evidently was only a few blocks away. You were babbling on about how watered down your vodka lemonade was when Frankie had pushed himself through the mass of bodies all sweaty and sticking together. His eyes locked on your familiar face, right where you said you would be.

“I’m here, mi vida.” He whispered into the receiver before ending the call. He didn’t even have a chance to slip his phone into his back pocket when he felt your arms wound around his neck, pulling him into a hug. You smelled like cheap vodka, and flowery perfume that burned the sensitive hairs in his nostrils but he didn’t care.

“I missed you, Francisco.” You breathed into the bare patch of exposed skin on his neck, hugging yourself to him tightly. “I—there’s so much I want to say—and tell you, Frankie.”

“I missed you more than you can imagine, querida. I never—I’m so sorry…about your boyfriend.” He pulled back slowly so that he could get a good look at your face. He expected you to be a heartbroken wreck, but he was met with the complete opposite.

“Don’t be. He was a jackass, and I don’t think he and I were ever compatible.” You shrugged, eyes never leaving his. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I came out here to clear my head, but then I thought about you, Frankie. “Fuck it!” You laughed, choking back an on-coming sob that you weren’t expecting, “I should have just grown a pair all those years ago and told you how I felt! Fuck—do you have any idea just how in love with you I am, Francisco?”

“Mi vida, you’re drunk—you—just went through a break up, and you’ve had a lot to drink—”

She’s in love with me?

“I should have broken up with him a long time ago, Frankie. There’s a lot of things I wish I could have done differently, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it’s always been you, Francisco, mi vida.”

She is in love with me.

Frankie brought his hands up to your face then, gently cradling your cheekbones in his palms. “Hey, hey, querida. It’s okay. Shit, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for any of that. You and I—we’ve always danced around the subject, haven’t we?”

You nodded and brought your hands up to rest along his.

“Santi told me after we enlisted that you were going to tell me how you felt on graduation night and then never did because—the timing wasn’t right then, mi vida. I thought about writing you a letter at some point, but I never did because the last thing I ever wanted to do was hold you back from the life you deserved, querida. All these years I’ve wanted to tell you—”

You cut him off, pulling his face close to yours, “I love you, Frankie” you brushed your thumb across the heart shaped patch in his beard.

“Fuck—I love you so much, mi vida.”

And then you were both surging forward, accidentally smacking one another in the forehead, letting out a synchronized groan of pain before your lips finally met in a bruising kiss. Your foot popped up behind you as drunk club-goers stumbled past yours and Frankie’s passionate embrace.

You came up for air a few minutes later, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck once more and he held you close, swaying with you as if there was a slow song playing.

“Vamos a salir de aquí, Frankie.” You said breathlessly, carding your fingers through the back of his hair having half the temptation to rip off his baseball cap just so you could mess his hair up even more.

He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it down to his face and pressed his lips to the outside of your hand, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I’ll go anywhere with you, mi vida.”

banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💗

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

[nerdieforpedro]

Give up the bagel

Frankie Morales x reader

Fanfiction (all ages)

Masterlist

Summary: It's been rough as of late. The toaster is the last straw. Frankie comforts you.

Warnings: damage to toasters, angst, mentions of mental illness, mainly supportive fluff

Notes: I had a weird day today when I wrote this and I wanted a hug. I feel like Frankie gives good hugs. Reach out when you need help and check in with people close to you. I used prompt #18 from @sirowsky

It was fun. 🤗

“What happened to the toaster?”

You stood with a hammer, over the kitchen counter, crumbs on the floor and an unsuspecting toaster that had three dents in it. 

You were in your sleep shorts and tank. Nothing had gone right this week. The office was drowning in requests at work, you often came home late and couldn’t eat dinner with your husband who picked up your daughter from aftercare and put together the dinner that you weren’t home for. At night, you could only shower, kiss your little starlight as you tucked her in at least and became the big spoon to your sleepy husband’s little spoon. You were careful not to wake him up but you wanted to at least touch him beside your goodbye kiss in the morning. Just to hold him, feel his back, put your face in the crook of his neck. Take in his fresh scent, slightly musky since he showered before bed but all his.

Frankie scratched his head at the sight. He had seen you stressed before, but you both were similar in the regard, normally calm and composted but internally panicking. There are times when you didn’t make any sense to be sure, but eventually you worked out whatever issue you were having. Frankie was your biggest cheerleader thought it, he had learned that sometimes your problem solving would be ruled by emotions instead of logic. At times it worked and other times you found yourself to be self-loathing about your failings despite also telling Frankie that he was doing great when he knew he wasn’t. Your edges had been started to fray as of the last few months. The powers at be had seen your work and loved it so the put you in charge of your own team along with a pay increase. He was so proud of you but it now meant hours would be longer at times and you weren’t laughing as much when you came home. He knew before you went to bed, you were still making adjustments on starlight’s costume. She insisted that the family dress up like Super Mario characters, she had seen the movie and wanted to be Bowser so Frankie would be Mario and you Peach. Those spikes on Bowser were proving to be a challenge but this, how did the toaster fit into the picture? The pilot took a wider look at the kitchen, there were two pans, butter, eggs a bowl, some juice.

Ah…you were making breakfast. Maybe?

“The toaster and I had a disagreement about if the bagel should come out of it. I will have the bagel.” You stated, not in a joking manor. Frankie’s concern grew. This was not something he was familiar with, how can he fix this, is it even fixable? 

“Cariño, put down the hammer and come here.” He walked toward you as you slowly lowered the hammer but did not put it down. His arms wrapped around you and then you set it on the counter. Feeling his warm embrace calmed you down and your eyes watered, tears began to fall. Your shoulders shook with your sobs as Frankie held you, rubbing your back with his broad hands. “It’s okay. I’m right here. What happened before the toaster got on your bad side?” He asked. It was just like him to take you seriously with your madness, to treat you as if you were the most normal person when you often felt far from it. You looked up at him and shook your head. 

“I just wanted to make breakfast for the two of you. I feel like I haven’t seen either of you much and there’s still so much to be done. I shouldn’t have broken the toaster. That was stupid.” Barely above a whisper, you placed your forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. When’s the last time you heard it? “I think I should tell them I want to go back to my old job. I had regular hours and I want to eat dinner that my husband makes for me with him.” Frankie ran his fingers through your hair.

“Are you sure? It’s only been a week. We’ll work it out. We always do, don’t we?” He kissed your forehead. You sniffle but smile. This man.

“You just want me to keep working so we can put more money in starlight’s college fund.” You joked, feeling a bit more like yourself. Frankie chuckled.

“You caught me. We gotta start early. She’ll be off before we know it, though can she stay six for a while longer?” Frankie started rocking you softly, soothing you further. Your smile grew, a few strands of your hair stuck to your cheek from the tears. “Te amo mi amor.”

“I love you to. Te amo Fransciso.”

Tag list: @fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back To You - Part 2

Part Two - Run Boy Run

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4143

Masterlist

Read Part One Here

Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: Part two is here!! I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! PS, there is a missing scene here and if anyone figures out what it is and sends me an ask, I will post it :)

23 years ago

The grass was soft beneath you, your body laying against Frankie’s in the field. You’d found the spot the night before, just a few hundred feet from your family’s campsite. The glow of the fire showed over Frankie’s features, highlighting his cheekbones and nose. 

You were sitting quietly together, admiring the stars above you that you couldn’t see in the heart of civilization. Frankie had been explaining the various constellations to you, but he’d gone quiet a few minutes ago, basking in the calm atmosphere. 

But you couldn’t stay quiet for long. 

“If we got married, we’d be together forever.” You looked over at Frankie, tearing your eyes from the stars in the sky above. 

Frankie laughed a little, turning his head toward you. “Girasol, we can’t get married. We’re too young.”

“In Mexico we could,” you grinned mischievously at him. “In Mexico, you’re a legal adult already.” You scooted closer to him on the grass, leaning into his touch.

Frankie shook his head at you. “You’re 13. We’re not getting married, and we’re definitely not going to Mexico any time soon.” He paused, wrapping his arms around you. “Besides, you’ll find someone much better than me, someone your age, and you’ll forget all about me.”

You huffed. “Well I guess we’ll have to wait until I’m in college then. And don’t say that about yourself, Francisco. There’s no one out there better than you…Except Santiago maybe.” You smirked against his chest.

Frankie pinched your side, making you squirm under his touch. “Those are fighting words, hermosa.” 

“Well Santiago said he would be my first kiss if you ever…wait how did he say it…” you paused, trying to remember his words. “Oh yeah, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Sunflower. If Frankie won’t get off his ass and kiss you, I’ll do it myself.’” 

Almost immediately, Frankie had you rolled underneath him, his body pinning you into the grass. His face was close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“Are you sure about this,” he mumbled. 

You pushed your hands into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. “More sure than anything I’ve ever done in my life.”

Frankie slowly closed the distance between you, brushing his lips against yours cautiously. As he pulled away, you groaned. “Frankie, kiss me.”

He chuckled, complying with more confidence than before. His lips met yours, and you held him there for a long moment, hands still wrapped in his hair. 

When he pulled away again, his eyes opened to your smile, bright and full of love. “I love you, girasol.”

“And I love you, Francisco,” you replied, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Now

Halfway through dinner at your favorite restaurant, Santiago laid it on you. He set the folder in front of you gently, Frankie having stepped away to the bathroom. 

“I’m taking the guys on a mission, on Thursday. It’s a three day trip to Colombia, a recon mission to gather some intel.” You gripped the table, anger already flashing on your face as he spoke. “No live fire, I promise.”

“How dare you,” you whispered, shoving the folder back into his hands. “You come here, under false pretenses, and tell me on WEDNESDAY? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve seen how broken he is! You do this without him. Don’t you dare take him with you, he can’t handle it.”

“Fish is a big boy, he can handle it. And besides, I need a pilot and he said yes.” Santi crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against his chair. 

Angry tears pooled in your eyes, your appetite gone. “God, the only person you care about is yourself. I can’t believe this.” You scoffed, eyes falling on Frankie as he walked back to the table. 

He could see the anger on your face, the tears threatening to spill. Santi had done it, told you everything. Your eyes softened as you looked at him, but disappointment corroded your expression. 

“When were you going to tell me?” You asked as he slid into the chair next to you. “Tonight? Tomorrow morning as you crawled out of my bed? Or were you just going to leave a note and not wake me?”

Frankie hung his head at your words, hands rubbing up and down his thighs anxiously. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he whispered. 

“Okay,” you nodded, going silent. The only other time you spoke at the restaurant was to ask for a box and the check, which you paid without protest from either of the men. Everyone sat quietly, unsure of what to say. 

Frankie’s anxiety was through the roof. There was a ringing in his ears he couldn’t shake, his socks were suddenly too tight on his feet, and he could barely get a breath in. He thought he would be alright once he got outside and got to breathe in fresh air.

He became dizzier as he walked behind you and Santi, chest heaving. He couldn’t feel his legs, stumbling on nothing as he went. He tugged on the top buttons of his shirt, pulling them open. 

Somehow he made it to the truck, Breath ragged. He grabbed the side mirror tightly, trying to stabilize himself. His eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on making sure his legs didn’t give out. 

Suddenly, your hand was on his abdomen, body flush against his. “Frankie, hey,” you said softly. “Take a deep breath, in through your nose and out your mouth.” 

He shook his head at you, chest still heaving. “C-can’t,” he muttered. 

“You can, baby. One breath for me, we’ll do it together.” You took a deep breath at the same time, nodding encouragingly at him. “That’s it, now again.”

Santi watched silently from the rear end of the truck as you helped him, eyebrows furrowed. He’d heard you say something about Frankie’s panic attacks earlier in his visit, but he never took it seriously. Yet here he was, watching you coax Frankie from the most intense panic attack he had ever seen. Had this happened before and he never noticed?

You took hold of one of Frankie’s hands and squeezed tightly. “Okay, baby. What’s the first thing you do when you get in the cockpit?”

Frankie took a shaky breath, squeezing your hand back. “S-Seatbelt.”

“Good, good. Then what?” Your other hand moved to his back then, rubbing circles into the taut muscles. 

“H-headset.” You nodded, encouraging him to continue. After a few minutes of his recitation of pilot protocols, Frankie’s breathing improved, his grip on your hand looser and less intense. 

He dug his keys out of his pocket after a few more moments and handed them to you. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drive right now,” he whispered, head resting on the glass of the driver’s door. 

His hat sat backwards on his head - something he hated doing and nearly always teased Ben about - the glass cool against his skin. 

“Okay, baby. Let’s get you in the back seat, yeah?” You unlocked the doors and helped him up and into the truck before you turned to Pope and tossed the keys at him. “Drive. See what you did?” You didn’t spare him a second glance before you climbed into the truck and shut the door behind you. 

—

Once you got Frankie settled in bed and promised to return soon with some water, you marched into the living room in search of Pope. He was sitting silently on your couch, readying himself for bed. He could hear you coming, preparing himself for the worst. 

You opened your mouth before you even rounded the corner of the couch. “Do you really think he can handle going into the jungle right now? Huh? This is a fucking joke, Santiago. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

The older man sighed, shaking his head at you. “How often does this happen?”

“The panic attacks?” He nodded. “They haven’t been that intense in a couple of months. He used to get two or three a day, especially at the beginning.” When he gave you a confused look, you continued. “As he was getting sober, the panic attacks were worse. They’ve gotten better over time, but they’re still going to happen. Benny has them too, sometimes.”

“And you think he’ll have another one while we’re down there,” Santi offered, running a hand through his hair.

“I know he will, especially after tonight. He needs rest, not a combat zone. It’ll take days to recover from this, let alone the consequences of not taking his medication while he’s gone. You didn’t think of anyone else when you planned this; it’s clear as day. Frankie is going to pay the consequences of your dumbass actions, Santiago. And I’m not going to be in the jungle to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart.”

You turned your back on him and headed to the kitchen before he could respond, filling a glass of water before you returned to your bedroom as quietly as you could.

Frankie was sitting up in bed, a pillow behind his back. He was in deep concentration on his phone, likely playing one of those color sorting games you had downloaded for him a few weeks previous. You set the glass of water on the side table and climbed into bed next to him, sliding an arm between his back and the pillow.

“Hi,” you said softly. “How come you’re not laying down?” You pressed your cheek into his bicep, eyes watching his phone as he sorted the colors.

“I owe you an explanation and I uh, I didn’t want to fall asleep without talking to you.” 

You nodded against his skin, sighing lightly. “I appreciate that.” 

Frankie set his phone down then, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he gathered his thoughts. “Pope is paying us 17 thousand just to go down and make a plan. It’s…it’s a lot of money and I want to give it to you for your student loans…” He trailed off, not making eye contact with you.

“Oh Frankie,” you frowned, sitting up to look at him properly. 

“I want to do something good for you, after everything you’ve done for me. I know it’s stupid, reckless even. But, this is the only skill I can use right now. Who knows when I’ll get my license back, if I ever will.” He paused, eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started speaking. “I have to do this, for me.”

You nodded after a moment, soaking in the words. Your eyes stared at the bedding on your lap, processing everything he had said. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. The fact that you hadn’t screamed at him was a good sign, but he wasn’t counting it out just yet.

“Can you just…” You hesitated, taking a shaky breath. “Come back in one piece, please.” You grabbed his hand then, squeezing tightly. When you wouldn’t meet his eyes, he hooked a thumb under your chin and tilted your head upwards to face him. 

“I’m coming back to you, promise.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into his chest. 

You enveloped him in your own arms, resting your head flush against his chest so you could hear his heartbeat. Frankie was always so warm, a furnace of comfort and kindness. You relaxed in his hold, barely feeling his hand as he rubbed circles into your lower back. Your eyes closed, a soft hum coming from your lips as you relaxed. 

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled in your ear, words rumbling his chest as he spoke. His presence was soothing, lulling you toward an irresistible sleep. 

When you awoke several hours later, the other side of the bed was cold, a sliver of light cascading through the slightly ajar bathroom door. You sat up slowly, inching your way out of bed when Frankie dropped something in the bathroom and cursed. The bang made you jump, but it was Frankie’s string of profanities that had you laughing as you walked.

“Frankie?” You called out softly, pushing the door open further. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he looked over at you from under his hat, the bill pulled low over his eyes. He was already dressed to leave, boots tightly tied to his feet, backpack resting on the top of the toilet. 

“No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?” You walked over to him as he flicked his wrist to check the time, watching as he grimaced. “Too early.”

You nodded slightly, hand coming up to rest on his chest. “Do you have everything you need?”

He rested his hand over yours, nodding. “I think so. Pope didn’t really give us a packing list, but I did my best. I have to leave my wallet here, and my phone. Use my card to get groceries on Sunday, okay?”

You gave him a small smile, nodding. “Okay, if you insist.”

“The uh…the pin is your birthday…in case you need that…” Frankie trailed off, crimson blush moving up his neck and into his cheeks. 

“That’s-“ your skin heated in return, eyes falling to your feet. “Frankie…” 

“Listen, when we get back-” Pope’s car horn suddenly rang out, cutting off Frankie’s thoughts. He sighed, shaking his head. “I told that asshole not to wake you.” Hesitantly, he pulled away from your warmth and grabbed his backpack, slinging it onto his shoulder. 

You followed him out to the front door, grabbing his hand as he leaned forward for the door handle. “Wait,” you started. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, uh…” he paused, turning to face you. “I was just saying that we should do something fun..” I’m in love with you. “When we get back, just the two of us. Maybe a camping trip, like when we were kids.” Marry me.

“Okay,” you smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.” You stood up on your tip toes then and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then another to the patch in his beard on the right side. “Come back to me, soldier.” 

Frankie pressed a kiss of his own to your forehead, hand squeezing yours. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Day three without Girasol

Frankie couldn’t sleep. He tried, he really had, but the minute they stepped foot in Colombia the nightmares came with a vengeance. The sheets on the hotel bed were scratchy, irritating his skin and making him increasingly uncomfortable each night. 

He vaguely remembered he was supposed to share a room with Pope, but at the end of the first day it was Benny who slept in the bed next to his, who woke him from his nightmares each night. 

“Sunny asked me to look after you,” he had whispered that first night as he helped Fish into the shower. 

But three days in, Frankie was even worse for wear. Seeing the kids at Lorea’s house set him on edge, making him more irritable than he already was.

You had warned him about the withdrawal symptoms of his medication, how he might feel dizzy, irritable, or extremely anxious. He couldn’t tell if his anxiety was heightened from the environment, the lack of your presence, or from his lack of medication but he couldn’t shake the feeling. It was as if he had a brick pressing down on his chest as he breathed, another one added each day they remained in the jungle. 

Day five without Girasol

Every time he closed his eyes, Frankie saw the crash. He still felt it in his bones, body aching as he moved, a headache clouding his senses. He was sure he had a concussion on top of his withdrawal and dehydration. 

He longed for a shower, for your arms. Frankie didn’t care about the money at this point, his only objective was making it back to you. He had Pope’s $17,000 and that was enough for him. 

He could hear your voice in his head, scolding him for this reckless mission but worried sick about him. You’d pull him into your arms, cradling him against you for hours. 

He would kiss you, savoring the moment for as long as he could. He hoped you would kiss him back, say yes when he asked you for your hand. 

He’d pull you to the shower with him, lathering each other in that lavender soap you love so much. 

He’d take you to bed then. Lay you out on the mattress, legs spread open for him. He’d tease you for a few minutes, placing kisses up and down your body. You’d squirm in anticipation, begging him to touch you. 

He’d do it then, when you’re a begging and writhing mess under him. He’d-

“Fish!” Benny kicked his leg gently, pulling him from his thoughts. “You good?”

Frankie blinked a few times, nodding slightly. “Yeah just…yeah.”

Day eight without Girasol

The first panic attack happened on the boat twenty minutes after they’d gotten settled. He tried to hide it from the other men at first, keeping his eyes down, body turned away from them. But Benny saw right through the charade.

Somehow he ended up on the floor in the other room. He could barely register Benny in front of him on the floor, certainly couldn’t hear his voice with the ringing in his ears. 

Benny had his hands on Frankie’s knees, trying to get his attention. Frankie was looking at him, but he wasn’t seeing him. When he couldn’t get him to budge on pilot protocols, Benny tried something different. 

“Fish, when is Sunny’s birthday?” 

Frankie blinked, chest heaving. He opened his mouth a few times, but eventually he choked out, “J-July 9th.”

Benny smiled, nodding. “That’s right. What’s her address?”

Frankie took a little longer with that answer, his breath still heavy though the ringing in his ears was slowly going away. Benny asked for your phone number next, followed by other details only Frankie and close friends would have known. 

“When we get to our hotel tomorrow, I want you to call her. You got it?” Benny said, his hand squeezing Frankie’s gently. 

Frankie nodded slightly, finally looking Benny in the eye. 

After that, Benny offered him a bottle of water and found an old blanket to wrap around his friend. He helped Frankie settle onto a makeshift cot and sat there until he had successfully fallen asleep. Benny kept watch all night, fighting off his own sleep to keep Frankie safe until he could see you again.

Will came to check on them a few times, but Pope avoided the room until they arrived on the coast of Mexico the next morning. 

Benny stayed close to Frankie until he was settled in his own hotel room. He promised to take a short nap and then go with Fish to get some fresh clothes and toiletries, leaving the older man to his own devices.

He thought about calling you, like Benny had suggested, but the idea terrified him. 

Would you pick up? Would you want to hear from him? What would you think of the things he’d done?

No. He would avoid the phone. 

He wanted to shower but he didn’t have any clean clothes, so that was out. 

His next idea was to sleep, but he knew the demons from his nightmares would claw at him, making him more restless than he already was. 

What Frankie really wanted was coke. The thought ached in him, rising closer to the surface each additional second he thought about it. He had some cash in his pack, a couple thousand maybe. All he needed was a gram or two, just to get him through the rest of the trip. 

Before he could think twice, he grabbed his room key and stuffed some bills in his pants pocket, heading out the door. 

But just as he reached the elevator, Will called out to him from down the hall. “Fish? You good?”

Frankie turned, seeing the concern on the man’s face. He knew exactly what Frankie was about to do. 

“Yeah, just hungry. Do you want anything?” He pressed the down button, hoping the elevator would arrive as quickly as possible.

“Mind if I join you? I could use some fresh air.” Will jogged over and followed Frankie into the arriving elevator. The two men stood quietly as they descended, the air thick between them.

As they exited, Will grabbed Frankie’s shoulder lightly, but firm, and gave him a stern look. “That’s not one that you come back from, Fish. We’re almost home. You can do this.”

Frankie ducked his head, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. “I..I know that, objectively.”

“What do you need? Tell me how I can help, brother.” 

Frankie looked at him then, knowing Will saw the ghosts in his expression. He needed to forget.

Will nodded gently. “Well, let’s get you ready to see your girl, yeah? Lunch first, then clothes and showers. And then I’m going to sit there while you call her.”

Frankie gave the man a small smile and nodded, letting Will take the lead on lunch. 

——

“Hello?” You held the phone up to your ear, using your other hand to place the bookmark in your book and toss it aside.

Frankie sighed over the line, mumbling “Thank god you picked up.”

“Frankie,” you let out a breath you hadn’t known your were holding. “Where are you? Are you okay? How are the others?”

“I’m, uh. I’m in Mexico City right now. We’re all okay. I just… I needed to hear your voice.” 

“What happened?” You crawled your way out of your bed, grabbing your laptop from your desk in the living room. You opened it immediately, searching for flights to Mexico City.

“It was bad. Too bad. You…you don’t want to know.” Frankie sighed over the line. You imagined he probably kept running his hand through his hair. 

“I’m coming to get you, okay? Do you need anything? Clean clothes?” You clicked buy on the ticket you’d found for that evening, running back to the bedroom to pack some clothes. 

“Cariño you don’t-“

You cut Frankie off. “Too late, I already booked my ticket. Meet at the airport at 11. Now, tell me what you need.”

—

With only a backpack and your passport, you hiked it to the airport as quickly as you could, catching the last flight of the evening. You’d packed three outfits, a few shirts of Frankie’s, toiletries, and all of his medication. He’d been off of it for too long.

You tried to read a book during the five and a half hour flight, but you couldn’t concentrate on the words. Then you tried to watch a movie, but that didn’t work either. You couldn’t think about anything except Frankie. 

Was he hurt? Was he sleeping? How many panic attacks had he had?

When the flight finally landed, your own anxiety skyrocketed. Would he want to see you? What if he didn’t come to the airport? 

Security and customs were a blur, your thoughts clouding every step. You passed a few bars as you walked toward baggage claim and considered stopping. God knows you could use some liquid courage. You kept going though, eager to find Frankie and make sure he was okay.

You reached the top of the escalator down to the luggage carousels and it was then that you saw him.

You caught Frankie’s eye automatically, a smile immediately covering your face. He looked different, younger almost. He’d shaved his beard, which he hadn’t done in years. His hat was missing too, his hair loose and curling around his ears. 

You pushed past everyone in front of you and ran down the moving stairs, determined to reach him

You hit the bottom of the escalator and went running, dropping your backpack as you jumped into his arms. Frankie wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you off the ground as you curled your legs around his waist. 

You breathed in his scent, a mix of hotel soap and whatever cologne he had picked up during his outing with Will. 

You pulled back slightly, hands gravitating to his jaw. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him then, hands moving into his hair as he met your lips with equal force. It felt like coming up for air, a feeling you’d been chasing for months since he had moved into your apartment. 

When you finally pulled away for a breath, you took a good look at him. His pupils were blown, lips bruised from your urgency. He smiled at you, nudging your nose with his own. 

“Frankie,” you whispered, lips just inches from your own.

“Yeah?” 

“Take me to bed, soldier.”

TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5 @fckinel @aruthlessblackthorn @angelseye @angstylittlepascal @bitchwitch1981 @spookyxsam

[mywordhaven]

The Road Ahead - ch 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Previous Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 6.9K (wut)

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Everything comes to a head after Tom's memorial.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you so much for the comments, likes and reblogs! I am really happy that this little story I had in the back of my mind is resonating with people! Also, sorry for the delay for this chapter, I got busy with dealines at work and essays to write for my summer semester at Uni. Hope you all love this one, these is some smut in this chapter but I've marked it down with asterixis so if it's not your vibe, feel free to skip it! Hope you all enjoy!!!!!

Ao3 link

Tangled Truths

The early morning sunlight pierces through the window, its bright rays assaulting your eyes and causing you to instinctively furrow your brow. You raise your arm to shield your eyes from the direct light. As your gaze slowly adjusts, you sit up and rest against the headboard. Automatically, you turn to the nearby clock which displays 8:30 am. Christ, you haven’t slept this late in forever!

A surge of adrenaline courses through you as the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning. 8:30 am!?! With no time to spare, you spring from the cozy confines of your bed, your feet carrying you quickly toward the bassinet where Ella sleeps. Yet, as you reach the crib, your heart sinks. The crib is empty. Panic seizes you, causing your hands to start trembling.

Frantically, you cast your gaze around the room and seize the robe laying on the back of the rocking chair. You hastily drape it over your shoulders and make a dash towards the door. Your sprint comes to an abrupt halt as you catch a glimpse of movement emanating from the kitchen. You cautiously approach the corridor, peering into the open space kitchen. And there, right before your eyes is Frankie effortlessly holding Ella in one arm while expertly flipping pancakes with his free hand.

You release a breath, the weight of recent events hanging heavy in the air. That’s right, Frankie had returned just three days ago you think to yourself, hardly believing it still. It still feels surreal to see him moving about the house as if nothing had happened. Whatever transpired during his absence, Frankie kept it tightly locked away within himself. And while you knew about Tom's death, as that would have been rather hard to hide, the rest of the story remained veiled in mystery.

Frankie's usual tendency for secrecy seemed amplified this time around, even compared to his previous tour. When he had first stepped foot in the door three days ago, you had resisted the urge to overwhelm him with questions, knowing he needed space to process and readjust. The sheer happiness and relief that flooded your heart at his homecoming had been so overwhelming that all you wanted was to hold him close and never let go. And, truth be told, that's precisely what you both did.

Seated together on the couch, abandoned Chinese takeout containers scattered on the table, you cradled Ella in your arms while Frankie enveloped both of you in his embrace. It was a moment frozen in time, his arm securely holding you close to his chest, creating a cocoon of love and comfort. The minutes and hours blurred together, fading into insignificance as you basked in the warmth and contentment of being together again.

The following day, however, had been fair game. Determined to unravel what happened during Frankie's time in Peru (Columbia?), you persisted with your questioning, probing deeper and repeating inquiries throughout the day. Yet, Frankie remained resolute, his responses akin to a redacted document, the black sharpie obscuring sentences and leaving only vague fragments of meaning visible. Anger coursed through your veins, an emotion that still lingered within you, but a single glance into Frankie's sorrowful puppy eyes caused you to falter. In the end, you relented.

However, there was one matter you refused to back down on. You had made it abundantly clear that Frankie must resume therapy as soon as an appointment would be available. This demand was non-negotiable. If Frankie was unwilling to seek professional help, then he could pack his belongings and go camping on Benny's couch. The ultimatum silenced Frankie and he reluctantly agreed to schedule a therapy session for the following week. And while you hoped this waiting period would encourage him to open up, deep down, you knew not to hold your breath.

Frankie seemed to think that money would cure all of the fresh wounds that had been inflicted and a deposit of $17,000 had been made into your shared account. But, this sum failed to justify the pain Frankie’s absence had wreaked in your marriage. Yes, you were now $17,000 richer financially, but your heart, once overflowing with love, now felt impoverished.

You cautiously step out from the corridor, crossing the threshold and entering the doorway. Almost immediately, Frankie whirls around, his sudden movement accompanied by a disconcertingly vacant expression in his eyes. It's a look that sends a shiver down your spine, a flicker of something unsettling that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. Frankie’s face transforms in an instant, the familiar contours rearranging into his usual kind and gentle smile.

As you observe him, a realization hits you. Despite Frankie's cheerful smile, something feels off – his eyes don't reflect the same brightness as usual. It's as if there's a mask, concealing a multitude of emotions he's keeping hidden. The air between you grows heavy with unspoken words as your eyes meet, creating an undeniable tension. “I think your pancake is burning,” you say after a beat.

“Mierda!” Frankie flips back towards the stove and moves the smoking pan from the stove. The sudden commotion startles little Ella, who responds with a piercing cry, her distress echoing through the kitchen. Reacting swiftly, Frankie brings his second hand to encircle his baby girl, attempting to soothe her with soft words, "Shhh muñequita, you're alright. Papa didn't mean to startle you. Shhh, you're all good, my little princesa." Despite his best efforts, Ella seems to be in one of her moods this morning, and she remains unrelenting in her growing cries. Panic creeps into Frankie's eyes, his plump bottom lip nervously caught between his teeth, as he watches his attempts at calming her go in vain.

“Give her here, you know she gets extra cranky when she is hungry. Just like someone I know.” It’s a feeble attempt at teasing, but it manages to pluck a small laugh from Frankie.

“I guess having a bottomless stomach is hereditary” Frankie quips as he starts cooing at the fussy baby. His smile slightly dips as his eyes lock back with yours, "I wanted you to sleep in and recover a bit, after all the time I’ve been gone and all the trouble I cause. I'm sorry you have to deal with a dumbass husband," Frankie says hoarsely.

You extend your arms towards Ella, gently reaching out to comfort her. "Don't say things like that, Frankie. You know I’ve never thought of you like that and if I am going to be honest, I am afraid that Benny got you beat in that department" you jokingly retort. You focus your eyes back on Ella, "We have a brand-new baby, and it's natural for babies to cry when things don't go exactly as they want. It's nothing personal; she does the same to me."

With care, you cradle Ella in your arms, your fluffy robe cascading open as you adjust your cami top. Slowly, you expose your breast and guide Ella towards your right nipple. After a few attempts, Ella finally latches on, her tiny mouth finding solace in your embrace. "Someone's a hungry little peanut," you whisper affectionately, observing her now peaceful expression as she feeds. "Good job, my love. You're doing so well," you softly coo.

As Frankie clears his throat, your gaze lifts, meeting his intense gaze directed towards you and Ella at your breast. In his eyes, a flicker of desire ignites, and something deep within you twists, causing your thighs to involuntarily clench. The realization of the tension between you two fills the air, and you can't ignore the fact that it has been a long time since you were last intimate. Between the demands of the birth and Frankie's absence, you had either been unable or unwilling to revisit that more carnal aspect of your relationship.

Yet amidst the difficulties of your current situation, there is an undeniable longing within you for Frankie. More than anything you yearn for him, you yearn for his words to ease the doubts and insecurities of motherhood, you yearn for his touch to bring you back to life. You yearn for the fire that would consume you whenever your lips met. When you kissed, it was a display of fireworks, an unstoppable blaze that burned bright.

As you reflect on everything that you miss, a warm sensation stirs within you, causing your tongue to instinctively glide over your lips. Memories flood your mind, vividly recalling the countless moments when Frankie would skillfully guide you to the height of pleasure, one that you had never been able to reach with anyone else. Frankie was always centred on you, deriving his own pleasure from your own. He was a man who revelled in pleasing you, never content until he knew you were fully fulfilled.

"Mi cielo..." Frankie's voice escapes as a raspy breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Your own breath becomes trapped within your lungs, and a small whimper escapes your lips. In an instant, Frankie crosses the distance, closing the gap between you. With utmost tenderness, he cradles your cheeks in his large, warm hand, his touch cautious and gentle, mindful of Estrella who continues to nurse at your breast, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere that envelops her parents.

"Dios mío, eres tan hermosa," Frankie whispers softly, his words filled with adoration. Carefully, he leans down and gently presses his lips against yours. In that moment, a burst of fireworks explodes within, engulfing you both in a passionate embrace. You melt into his touch, longing to run your fingers through his soft curls and deepen the kiss, but the presence of little Estrella reminds you to be cautious. As you part your lips to guide him further, Ella interrupts with a frustrated cry, likely displeased at no longer being the center of attention.

Frankie and you share a chuckle at Ella's adorable outrage. His smile lingers on your lips as he suggests, "After our little princess Estrelita has had her fill, maybe we should put her down for a nap. What do you say, mi cielo?"

"It's not even 9 am, Frankie," you giggle, playfully nudging his nose with yours.

With a longing gaze, Frankie whispers, "There is nothing I desire more right now than to hold you in my arms, in our bed. I've missed you so much, mi cielo, and I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself any longer.” As he speaks, each word is punctuated by a tender kiss to your lips. "You have no idea how incredibly" kiss. "irresistible" kiss. "And utterly perfect" kiss. “You truly are.” Frankie starts peppering your throat with affectionate kisses, you playfully guide him backward, gently interrupting “Let me put her to bed, my love, and then I'll let you show me just how much you've missed me."

As you enter the tiny nursery, you observe Ella, her eyes drooping and a serene expression adorning her face. It seems, for once, your little peanut's sleeping pattern is aligning with your needs. Carefully, you place her in the large bassinet, a gift from your mother who, upon hearing the news of your and Frankie's pregnancy, had sent it as your baby shower gift. That day, she had bragged how she knew what would be best for her first granddaughter. She had even gone further and declared how unsure she was that an ex-military man and a librarian could afford anything for a newborn like she could. Little did she know that you seldom use the overpriced cradle, opting instead to keep Ella close to you. During Frankie's absence, it was more convenient to have her in your room, and Frankie's mother had gifted you a cherished family heirloom—a cradle crafted by Frankie's grandfather. And since this gift held no ulterior motives, except for love, it had felt right for little Ella. So, your mother’s cradle remained for the most part, untouched in a nursery that also remained mostly untouched. However, today you were willing to make an exception.

As you gently lay Estrella down, you whisper, "Now, my love, be good for mama and papa." Planting a kiss on her tiny nose, you quietly retreat from the room, mindful not to disturb her. As the door softly shuts behind you, a hand suddenly grabs you from behind, gently pushing you against the opposite wall. Frankie's mouth hungrily seeks yours, and you feel yourself being enveloped in his embrace. His towering presence dwarfs your smaller frame, and you melt against him, surrendering to his large comforting presence.

***“Mie cielo, amor de mi vida” Frankie pants against your lips, his hands caressing up and down your sides before he eagerly grasps a handful of your breast. You instinctively hiss as your breasts remain tender from nursing.

Concern fills Frankie's eyes as he stops, asking, "Am I hurting you?" Shaking your head, you reassure him, "They're just a bit tender, that's all." A lazy smile spreads across Frankie's face as he murmurs, "I'll never tire of them." He bends his head toward your open cleavage, lavishing hungry, open-mouthed kisses upon them. "They were amazing before, but now they're simply breathtaking. I could spend a lifetime between them, and it would be a life well-lived."

A smile graces your lips as your head gently meets the wall behind you. Frankie's words wrap around you like a warm embrace. "You are a charmer, Mr. Morales," you remark with a hint of playfulness. In response, Frankie loudly releases your nipple with a loud pop and whispers against your now wet breast, "Only for you, Mrs. Morales.”

Frankie's lips caress your sensitive nipple with a gentle puff of air, eliciting a shiver of pleasure that courses through your body. His lips continue their tantalizing journey, gradually trailing down your front as he peppers your skin with tender kisses. Each touch ignites a fire within you.

You let yourself surrender to the intoxicating sensations of Frankie's lips. Every nerve ending awakens under his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His kisses create a symphony of desire, each one building upon the last until you're consumed by aching longing.

"Please, Frankie," you plead breathlessly, the urgency in your voice echoing your desire. Frankie pauses his ministrations, his face level with the apex of your thigh, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of longing and adoration. Despite the satin fabric of your pyjama shorts separating you, you know he can smell how wet you are right now.

“What is it mi cielo? Is this too much for you? Do you want me to stop?” Frankie teases as he grasps the waistband of your shorts with his teeth. Your breath hitches, caught between a gasp and a moan, as Frankie slowly lowers the fabric, revealing the mound of your sex. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, while his nose softly nuzzles against your soft flesh, his warm breath cascading over you.

"Don't you dare, Francisco," you shakily breathe out. The only response is Frankie's chuckle which resonates in the air. His eyes, filled with desire, never leave your face as he slowly drags your shorts down your trembling legs, exposing your most intimate self to his hungry gaze. Frankie’s steady hand moves toward your dripping sex, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal. Frankie brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, amplifying the raw intimacy of the moment. His lips part, and his tongue swirls around his own digits, sucking them in with an obscene sound that sends shivers of anticipation coursing through your entire being.

“You taste so good mi cielo. Even after all these years, there is nothing sweeter than you. Fuck you drive me crazy. I can’t escape you, you’re in my thoughts all the time; you haunt every corner of my mind. You consume me entirely, body and soul. I am nothing without you, and I don’t want to think about the kind of man I would be without you. I promise mi Cielo that It’ll never happen again. This is it, you, Ella and me. Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe me, I need to hear you say it.”

Your mind struggles to function properly as his lips explore every inch of your body, except the one place that aches with desire. The maddening anticipation builds as he teases you.

"Frankie, please," you whimper, your hands tangling in his soft curls, desperately trying to guide him to your dripping core. But Frankie remains steadfast. Instead, he positions himself at the junction of your thigh and gently implores once more, "Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe there is nothing I need more than to be with you until the end of time."

"IbelieveyouIbelieveyou. Ohhhhhhhh I believe you Frankie I swear!" you chant, and as soon as the words escape your lips, you sense Frankie's smile against your fevered skin. "I love you, mi vida" he whispers softly before finally burying his head between your thighs.

Frankie eagerly laps at your core like a man starved. With previous lovers, you had never encountered one who genuinely enjoyed giving oral, treating it as a burdensome chore. But Frankie was different. Expertly, he locates your engorged clit, playfully teasing it with a few licks, while slipping his index finger inside you. Your walls tighten around his finger, and you release a quivering breath of pleasure.

"That's it, buena chica," Frankie whispers. "You know I'll give you exactly what you want. You need to take it slow and steady. We can't rush this. Be a good girl and take it the way I give it to you. I want to savour every moment of this perfection." Frankie always enjoyed guiding you through sex. In another life, dirty talk would have felt embarrassing, but with Frankie, his words only intensified your craving for him.

Frankie steps back from your core, his face wet with your pleasure. A whine of discontent escapes your lips, but he quickly grabs your buttocks, lifting you slightly and positioning your legs over his shoulders. As he lifts you up, you feel the air being knocked out of your lungs, and Frankie resumes his work like a man on a mission. Using the wall for support, you feel weightless on Frankie's strong shoulder.

The most obscene sounds escape Frankie as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

"Frankie, I'm so close! Oh my God, Frankie!" you whine, still trying to stay quiet with the baby asleep literally next door.

"Buena, mi cielo! Come on, mi vida, you know what you need! You know what I need!" Frankie pants against your core. As he watches you helplessly thrash over him, the coil deep within you tightens. Frankie sneaks one of his hands up to your belly and presses hard, intensifying the coil even more.

"Oh my God! I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Your orgasm nearly knocks you out, and you feel yourself slump forward. But Frankie is there to catch you. He embraces you warmly, his patchy beard still wet from all the attention, and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

"Te amo, mi cielo. I've made so many mistakes in my life. I've wronged you and Ella. I wasn't there when I should have been, and I made choices that I'm not proud of. But now, I'll be here. I'll be a better man for you and Ella, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you both safe." He speaks these words into your ear, and you feel his warm tears landing on your shoulder.

You reach out and grab him by the neck. "I love you, Frankie, and nothing will ever change that." You softly pet his beard “Take me to bed my love.”

__________________________________________________________

3 weeks later

Black was never your colour, or so you once confided in Frankie. Every time you wore it, you felt like an old Matron from those black-and-white Italian movies you both love. Frankie had playfully quipped while nipping at your ear "If I start misbehaving are you going to punish me with a wooden spoon? Slap me right on the ass with it? That’s a scenario we could explore" You had been overheated the entire day after that.

But today was a different matter altogether. Laughter was absent from the scene. Frankie stood at the front of the room, wearing his most formal suit, sporting a distraught expression mirrored by the others in attendance. On either side of him stood the Miller brothers, Will with his arm resting on his shoulder and Benny standing solemnly to his left.

The sight of the typically strong and capable trio so devastated struck you deep in your gut. Particularly Benny, who had always been like an overexcited puppy—confident, golden and a touch cocky. You remember how Benny had been the one who approached you all those years ago at the bar while you were celebrating the final submission of your master's thesis with a friend. That night, Benny had confidently strutted over to your table and struck up a conversation. Although you could see that your friend had been drawn to him, Benny had gone all out to convince you to dance with him.

And even though he was one of the most handsome guys you had seen in a long while, Benny wasn’t really your type. You didn't feel that spark with him—the one they all speak of in movies or in magazines. So, you did the sensible thing and tried to gently let him down by using the classic excuse of not wanting to leave your friend alone. But Benny had been undeterred. He turned around and excitedly shouted, "Fish, get your ass over here!" Your eyes followed Benny's call, and your throat went dry. Frankie ambled over to your table with a shy smile on his face. Sporting his signature cap and a faded gray Henley shirt accentuating his broad shoulders. Frankie immediately captivated you. And as Benny grabbed Frankie by the neck and introduced him as his brother from another mother, you hadn’t been able to tear your eyes away from him.

Your gaze met Frankie's. Everything around you faded, and an electric volt charged the air. For the first time in your life, you decided to take control, disregarding anyone else. Turning to your friend, you suggested, "You love '80s pop. Why don't you go with Benny and take a turn on the dance floor? I'm still recovering from today’s excitement, so I think I'll sit back and grab another drink." Your friend needed no further encouragement and swiftly took Benny's arm, rushing to the dance floor before anyone could intervene.

Frankie looked at you, appearing somewhat dazed. "I think Benny wanted to dance with you. I'm usually the one on call when he needs someone to look after the friend of whomever he's interested in," he remarked. You smiled and replied, "Maybe, but Benny isn't the one I'm interested in.” You playfully played with the obnoxious parasol on the rim of your glass “I think Benny shouldn't use his handsome friend as his wingman. It kind of defeats the purpose of getting the girl, don’t you think?" Frankie bashfully smiled at your words, raised his glass, and clinked it with yours, his confident smile shining through. "To drinking with the most beautiful girl here." And from that moment, you became Frankie's, and he became yours.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you turn to Molly, who is tearfully expressing gratitude to the guests for attending the memorial. People offer their condolences and share kind words about Tom. Some of them you recognize from Frankie's time in the army, having crossed paths at various functions. Others are unfamiliar faces. Sensing that Molly was growing overwhelmed, you start rubbing comforting circles on her back.

When the latest person pays her their respects and leaves for Tom’s casket, you whisper in Molly's ear, asking if she needs a moment. She shakes her head, her voice filled subdued but resigned.

"I just want all of this to end. The girls need to start healing, and I know this is the first step. But it’s so hard and it won't get easier. It feels like the pain won’t ever end. I know I have to be strong for the girls, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together.” She quiets a moment “At least we got to say goodbye."

You offer a sad smile. "It’s ok to be sad Molly. No one expects you or the girls to bounce back after that. You need time to heal and if you ever need anything, you know I'm here, right? We are all here for you, don’t think for a minute that any of us will let you go through all of it, alone. If you need Frankie and me to take care of the girls for a little while, we'd be more than happy to."

Molly tearfully looks back at you, her voice filled with grief. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Honestly, you've cooked us enough food to sustain the three of us through a nuclear winter. You've done so much already."

"Don’t even think about that Molly. Right now, you and the girls are most important, and I am right here for whatever is to come. I am not going anywhere, I promise.”

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done without you, Frankie, Will, or Benny. You've all been so helpful. Are the boys still planning to go to Robinson’s Sport after the service?" She asks.

You let out a quiet snort. "Yeah, Frankie said it used to be their favourite spot to get drunk when they were back on leave. They thought it would be fitting to say their own goodbye to Tom in their own way. You're welcome to come if you want, you know. I'll be the DD, and I know they'd all be thrilled if you joined."

Molly shakes her head. "Tell them thank you, but after the day we've had, the girls and I will fall asleep the moment we get home."

You nod in understanding, but your conversation is interrupted by a distant relative offering their condolences to Molly. Your eyes search the sea of black until they find Frankie in a corner, fidgeting with his tie. When your eyes meet, he offers a sad smile that you return.

You really hope that tonight will bring some peace to him.

______________________________________________________________

You rub your temple tiredly, attempting to focus on the story Benny is telling at the table. The bar is unusually loud for a Wednesday evening, and after the day you've had, it's becoming increasingly challenging to concentrate.

Seated at the table are the five of you—the original trio, along with yourself and Will's new girlfriend, who has proven to be a delightful addition to your little group. Emmy had entered the picture barely 2 months before Will had left to do God knows what in Colombia. It hasn’t seemed to faze her as now, she sits quietly, attentively listening to Benny's tales from back in their army days while holding Will’s hand and sending loving looks his way.

"And then guess who the fuck came out of the barn with his pants around his ankle, getting chased down by a fucking chicken!" Benny paused for dramatic effect. "Fucking Will 'Ironhead' Miller! More like Leadhead, am I right?" Will could only shake his head affectionately. "What can I say? The chicken literally caught me with my dick out. Couldn't even take a piss in peace." Everyone starts laughing at the story, even Frankie, who had been quiet for most of the night, managed a smile.

"Tch, I'm pretty sure you were doing something else behind that barn." Benny accompanied his words with a crude hand gesture, eliciting audible groans from everyone at the table and a giggle from Will’s girlfriend. "Fuck, Redfly was pissed that day. Dumbass over here gave away our position and we had to hike through the fucking jungle for 10 days. No coms, no food, no prep time, N.A.D.A. Just because Will Miller wanted to rub one out."

Benny's words bring silence to the table. Frankie suddenly down his beer and speaks up. "I'm gonna get another one. This round is on me. Anyone want a refill?" Everyone at the table nodded in agreement, even Benny, who looked subdued after receiving a scathing look from Will. Frankie turned to you and asked, "Want anything, mi cielo?" You tap your empty glass with your finger and smile softly at him. "Another Shirley Temple, please, mi love." Frankie nodded and planted a kiss on your forehead before making his way toward the busy bar.

Silence stretched over the table as you absentmindedly fiddled with your paper straw. Will cleared his throat before offering you a smile. "Thank you again for being the DD tonight. We all really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Will. Today was tough for all of you, and you need to bid farewell to Tom properly. And there is no better way to say goodbye than by getting drunk out of your mind, then I am more than happy to provide my driving services.” You smile teasingly “I'm sure he would have loved tonight." While you hadn't been particularly close to Tom, you knew the man had at least loved two things: football and beer. And you think that yes, he would have definitely enjoyed getting drunk with his brothers (minus one) with ESP reruns in the background.

Benny flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming playfully. He then proceeded to toss one of the tiny napkin balls he had been crafting all night. With a quick reflex, you ducked to the side, evading the incoming projectile. You burst out laughing at Benny’s childlike antics.

As you regained your composure, you playfully pointed a finger at Benny. "Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that!"

Benny chuckled as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think you're quick, huh? Well, let's see if you can dodge this!" Swiftly, he crumpled another napkin into a ball, before launching it in your direction. The napkin ball connected with your face, eliciting laughter from everyone at the table. Playfully nodding your head at Benny, you vowed, "You might have gotten me this time, but I'll get you later!"

Benny grinned, proudly flexing his arms. "You can't beat this, baby! I'm the strongest and fastest one here!" Will interjected with a fond tone, "Sure you are, bro, sure you are."

A momentary lull descended upon the table as each person searched for something to say. Suddenly, Benny's expression turned serious. "I wanted to thank you too." Uncertain of his intent, you replied, "No worries, Benny. You know I never mind being the designated driver..."

"Not that," Benny interrupted, "I meant with Fish." Perplexed, you wondered where he was going with this. Benny continued, "Yeah. It was real hard for Fish, what happened to Tom and all that shit that went down in Colombia. He took it the hardest out of all of us. So, it was good to know that he has a woman like you to look after him."

Chewing on your lips, you say. "I love Frankie, Benny. I'll never stop loving him, and I'll always do my best to care for him when I can. You don't have to worry." Benny smiled back; his relief evident. "Yeah, I know you are. Fuck, we were real scared that you were gonna bounce on Fish after this one. But I'm so glad you didn't."

"Even if I wasn't 100% on board with him going with you guys, I respected his decision to go. It wouldn't have been fair to him or Ella to just leave. And anyway, I know you guys are a package deal. Wherever one of you goes, you all go," you replied, trying to sound confident.

"Yeah, but still, with the coke thing, I was sure that was going to be it, you know," Benny admitted, a tinge of guilt in his voice.

"Benny..." Will interjected, his tone urging caution.

You observed the silent conversation between the two brothers, sensing there was more to the story. "What are you talking about? You don't have to look so worried, Will. I know about the coke. You know I was the one who found him after his license got revoked." Discomfort settled in the air, and your gaze shifted to Will's girlfriend, who seemed determined to occupy herself with her now watered-down vodka soda.

"Yeah, that's what Benny meant. Don't pay attention to him," Will interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension that hung in the air as Benny looked guilt-stricken.

"Are you two lying to me?" you asked after a brief pause. "Is there something you guys are not telling me?"

"Look..." Benny started, but Will cut him off abruptly. "Shut up, Benny. It's not your place to involve yourself where you don't belong," Will said with displeasure.

"Bullshit! Fish told us he was going to tell her! How could I have known he wouldn't tell her? This ain't my fucking fault! She has a right to know!" Benny's frustration spilled out; his words laced with anger.

"This is none of your business, Catfish will talk when he is ready," Will interjected once again, his teeth clenched in frustration.

"SHE would really like to know what the fuck is going on!" Tears welled up in your eyes as you pleaded, "Benny... Will... You have to tell me what's going on. Is Frankie okay? What should he have told me that he hasn't?"

Will shook his head, but Benny appeared undeterred. "Fuck you, Will! You don't get to tell me what I can or can't tell her. She's my friend too, you know!" Benny's voice trembled with a mix of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, his expression softening, "After the mission was over, the day we were flying out, we found Frankie in his room. He was half passed out on coke. He completely lost the plot for a bit you know. We were real worried, but after we got him down his high he promised us he would tell you, that you would figure it all out together. He felt bad about it all, kept crying about you and Ella and shit. I know he didn't mean to take it, it's just... with Tom's death, he blames himself for what happened, and I guess it just got too hard for him, you know?

The world comes to a screeching halt. Your head spins incessantly, threatening to make you sick or collapse right there on the floor. Then, a comforting hand lands on your upper back, and Will's soothing voice cuts through the chaos, finding its way to your ears.

"I know Fish was planning to tell you. I apologize for Benny putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.” His words are accompanied by a glare in Benny’s direction who flinches “You know how difficult things can be for people like us, especially with everything that happened with Redfly’s death... It was just too much. But you know Frankie loves you more than anything in this world. He never intended to hurt you or Ella. It’s just sometimes, our inner demons overpower us and we are helpless against them."

Frankie promised.

"If he truly loved me, he wouldn't have done that," you manage to whisper. Breathing becomes a challenge—either too fast or barely happening at all. You refuse to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a bar on a Wednesday night! Hastily reaching into your purse, you snatch your keys and turn to face Will. "I have to leave. You guys can take an Uber, and I'll cover the cost. I'm really sorry, but I just can't stay."

Will gazes at you with a tinge of sadness. "It's all right. We'll be okay. I just think you should wait for Fish. I don't think you should drive in your current state."

Frankie lied.

"I'll be fine. I can't stay, Will. I can't," you repeat before abruptly rising from your seat. You offer a fleeting wave to the table before sprinting toward the exit, tears streaming down your face.

Frankie promised. Frankie lied.

"Nice going, Benny!"

"Shut up, Will! How was I supposed to know?!"

______________________________________________________________

Frankie impatiently taps his fingers against the countertop, frustration building as he watches the bartender cozy up to one of the girls at the bar, completely ignoring him for the past 15 minutes.

"Excuse me, how much longer is it going to take?" Frankie asks, trying to conceal his annoyance.

"Busy night, buddy. It'll take however long it takes. If you don't like it, find somewhere else to go," the bartender retorts, not tearing his eyes away from the seductive blonde perched on the barstool.

Frankie lets out a sigh, his fingers fidgeting restlessly. He starts to reach into his pocket but stops himself halfway through. He knows nothing good would come from that. "But no one would find out, just a quick one in the bathroom. Not enough to get fucked, but enough to survive today," Frankie's mind tempts him. Damn, today had been tough. Seeing Molly and the girls, seeing you trying to console them, knowing it was all his fault. Like always, his mind starts going down that bleak rabbit, telling him how he should have stood firm with Tom, how he knew that damn plane wouldn't make it. But he had been weak, spineless. Greed had clouded his judgment—the allure of money too strong to resist. Frankie takes a deep breath, counting backward from ten to calm himself.

Finally, the bartender sets the glasses down in front of Frankie, then turns back to the blonde, who appears to have unbuttoned even more of her shirt, if that's even possible.

Frankie makes his way back slowly, careful not to spill anything, maneuvering through the crowded sea of bodies until he reaches the table where everyone is seated—everyone except you. Probably in the bathroom, he thinks. Frankie places the drinks on the table, tension rising in his body as he gazes at his brothers. Will buries his face in his hands, his girlfriend rubbing his lower back, while Benny stares straight ahead, anger etched on his face.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Frankie asks, pushing Will's drink toward him.

"Ask Benny," Will replies curtly. Benny's scowl deepens, and Frankie raises an eyebrow.

"What's going on, man? Is everything alright?"

"You're such a fucking idiot, Fish!" Benny explodes.

"What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?"

"My problem is that out of all of us you have it all: a wife who loves you, a little girl who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, a nice place but you can't help to do everything to fuck it up!" Benny rages. Frankie feels himself grow pale.

"Where is she, Benny?"

"How was I supposed to know you didn't tell her anything?! You're always preaching about how open you are with her! About seeing a shrink and going to your meetings and all that bullshit! Were those all lies, Fish? Have you been lying to your own brothers like you’ve been lying to your wife?

"That's enough, Benny," Will interjects, attempting to diffuse the situation. "You've said enough."

"WHERE IS SHE!" Frankie's voice booms as his hands slam loudly on the table, causing drinks to topple and spill everywhere. The bar falls silent after Frankie's outburst.

"Go back to your drinks, there is nothing to see.” Comes Will’s voice filled with the authority of a man who spent years in active service. “She went home, Fish. I told her to wait for you, but she wouldn't listen. I'm sorry," Will tries to reach out, but Frankie shrugs him off.

"You always wanted her, didn't you, Benny? And now you thought that because we were going through a rough patch, you could just swoop in?! I have a child with her, you fucking bastard! I love her!"

"You TOLD us you were going to tell her! How was I supposed to know you were a lying asshole on top of a goddam deadbeat?"

Frankie springs out of his seat, grabbing Benny by the collar of his dress shirt. "Go fuck yourself, Benny." Frankie storms out of the bar and opens his phone. He finds your contact and hovers over your picture, where you're smiling widely, holding Ella in your arms, looking directly at the camera—directly at him. Frankie presses the call button, but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." As Frankie orders an Uber, he can only hope that you'll give him another chance, even though he knows he's far from deserving it. Far from deserving you.

After a 35-minute ride, Frankie arrives home, 15 minutes longer than he would have liked. He leaps out of the car and forcefully opens the door.

"Mi cielo?! Mi cielo?!" Frankie shouts frantically, searching around desperately. He doesn't have to look far though. You're sitting at the kitchen table, three small bags filled with white powder in front of you. Frankie's face drains of colour.

"I want you to explain whatever the hell this is, Frankie. And no lies this time."