#francisco morales x f!reader

[vivwritescrappythings]

never have i ever

frankie morales x fem!reader

your childhood best friend Ben takes you on a beach trip with him and his friends from the army. you and Frankie seem to get along like a house fire.

a/n: Written for @yxtkiwiyxt Kiwi’s Never Have I Ever challenge (open til March 1). Thank you so much for tagging me in this, it brought me out of my writing slump!

tw: fem reader, afab reader, drinking, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, dubcon, poor excuse for including he speaks Spanish, reader has hair long enough to grab, first Frankie fic so he may be poorly written, not proofread.

word count: 5.5k

MDNI

masterlist

—

The cool breeze carried the briny scent of the ocean, making the fire flicker as you stared into it. The bright light felt like it was burned into your corneas, but you couldn’t look away as it twisted and danced before you. You were already more than a few drinks in, your body warm and languid as you settled into the patio chair. 

You blinked, your gaze swept over the thinning circle of people before you landed on the man next to you. Francisco… or Frankie… or Catfish–you weren’t exactly sure. You tended to settle on Frankie.

Ben had brought you along to a get-together with his army friends and respective plus ones in Saint Pete: they’d rented a house that was just a ten minute walk from the beach. You had an extra pull-out couch with your name on it for just the price of some food and alcohol. It was a no-brainer to tag along.

“Hey, nena, it’s your turn.” 

His brown eyes looked like caramel in the firelight, his body angled toward yours as he spoke. You’d only met him yesterday, but he seemed nice enough. Definitely more of the drinking type, so you were peas in a pod.

“Sorry,” you breathed, wiping the excess hard cider off your bottom lip as you crossed a leg underneath yourself. You’d taken one of the blankets from inside with you, draping it over your shoulders like a cloak. All eyes were on you, reminding you of the hands that were held up, various amounts of fingers remaining. You still had all five. 

Never Have I Ever was a stupid game anyways.

“Um, well...” you tried to think of something that wasn’t pathetically uptight. You took a deep breath, your cheeks warm as you stared at the fire. “Never have I ever… been in a helicopter.”

You already knew the reaction you would get.

“Oh come on,” Ben sighed, his third finger folding over his palm.

“I’m literally a fucking helicopter pilot, s’not fair,” Frankie complained, chugging the rest of his drink as his last finger went down—hand in a loose fist for a moment.

The rules were shaky when it came to what to do when you reached the end of your allotted fingers, everyone had just settled on finishing their drink. Frankie grabbed a new beer from the cooler next to him, twisting the cap off and taking a sip before stretching his hand open again.

It was just the three of you left, the others having gone to bed but leaving their patio chairs and empty drinks like sentinels in their absence.

“Never have I ever banged a football player,” Ben said as soon as Frankie had his new drink open. 

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Now that is a low blow,” you said, putting your thumb down. Playing games like that with Ben was never fun–the two of you had known each other since you were kids. You could exchange pointed shots all night at one another if you wanted to. “And I hardly call losing your virginity to a benchwarmer banging a football player.”

The laughs at your expense made you scoff. You took a drink of your cider to hide the flash of embarrassment on your face. “None of us even knew he was talking to you,” Ben said, snorting softly, “we didn’t think the kid had enough fire in him to handle you.”

“Well, I was stupidly waiting for another guy but settled for the first boy who was nice to me,” you mumbled in a sorry attempt to defend yourself, your face warm from more than just the alcohol.

Ben hummed his acknowledgement, eyebrows lifting. “Oh yeah, this super secret high school crush that you refuse to tell us about.”

You could feel Frankie cast a knowing look in your direction, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Yeah because even though I’m over it you would make a big deal out of it because you know the guy,” you said, finishing your drink. You got up to get one from the cooler next to Frankie, hoping he would decide to take his turn already and change the subject of discussion.

Ben snorted, crushing his empty cup in a hand as he stood. “Whatever you say,” he acquiesced, stretching. Your gaze found the strip of skin that revealed itself as his shirt rode up, staring for a bit too long before you got a hold of yourself. 

“Well, crazy kids, I’m going to bed.” Ben crushed you in a side hug, ruffling your hair despite your sound of annoyance. “Don’t let Fish keep you up all night, he’s a bad influence,” he said, hand rubbing over the cap of your shoulder as he stuck his tongue out at the other man.

“Psh. Don’t listen to him, nena, I’ll take good care of you,” Frankie protested, his lip twitched into a smirk as he gulped his beer.

“I think I’m plenty capable of handling myself,” you murmured, waving them both off with a hand. “Goodnight, Bennie.”

He wished you both a goodnight before disappearing into the house, you could hear the squeal of the sliding glass door closing behind him.

You lowered yourself into your deck chair, shifting it so you better faced Frankie at an angle. He still had his baseball cap on, strands of his dark hair curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. His cheeks were rosy from drinking, his smile a bit broader now.

“Whaddya say we keep playing?” Frankie suggested, watching you open your bottle. The condensation wet your fingertips, your nail picking at the softening label.

You were still too wired to go to bed. If you turned in you’d just be restless and on your phone until you finally passed out.

“Alright, fine,” you said, tapping your fingertips on the metal armrest of the chair. A smile found its way to your face, your five fingers stretching out. Frankie did the same, you could see the calluses on his fingers and palm.

“Never have I ever… skinny dipped.”

Of course Ben had told the story—your group of friends had decided to go skinny dipping in the nearby lake. But the moon wasn’t even out and no one could see much of anything. “I was in high school and it was dark,” you defended, putting your thumb down. 

Frankie looked like he was the cat that caught the canary, drinking with you even though he didn’t have to. 

“Okay, never have I ever played strip poker.” 

He put a finger down. “Well I know what I’m making everyone play for tomorrow’s entertainment,” he said, taking a long gulp of his beer. “You’ve gotta let loose a little.”

Your face was hot, part of you wishing the ground opened beneath you and swallowed you whole. He loved to tease, his sarcastic tone making your stomach flip every time you heard it.

You gently shoved his chair with your foot, making it scrape over the paving stones. “I am loose enough,” you argued. 

—

A snort pulled from you, morphing into a too-loud laugh. The empty bottles were nearly overflowing the side table you and Frankie were discarding them on. Both of you had finished your drinks of choice and resorted to passing a cheap bottle of wine back and forth, staining your lips purple.

“It was only one time, and you have to understand that I was so damn exhausted,” Frankie explained, leaning toward you as he spoke. His laugh belied his attempt at seriousness, his dimple showing as he snickered.

“You fell asleep during sex!” You let your head fall back against the chair, looking at the stars above you. They swam a bit. “That is kind of hard to do.”

“It’ll happen to you someday, nena, and you’ll think of this conversation.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you snatched the wine bottle from him, bringing it to your lips. The glass was cool against your mouth as you drank a swallow, just enough to warm your belly and keep your buzz. More than a buzz if you were honest with yourself.

“Never have I ever had sex with someone to make someone else jealous,” you countered, a knowing smirk on your face.

Frankie rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I didn’t realize that Ben was telling you all of our secrets.” He pulled his hat off his head for a moment, running his hand through his hair before replacing it. “Gonna kick his ass as soon as he wakes up.”

You wet your lips, trying to cover your giggles. “In his defense, he never thought we would meet,” you muttered, leaning against the armrest of the chair. 

The fire was dwindling in the pit, casting tangerine-colored light across the two of you. Frankie said he’d put more wood on twenty minutes ago, but neither of you cared enough to actually do it. 

“Well, it wasn’t my proudest moment,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This girl I was kind of seeing had been flirting with this other guy the whole fucking time we were out and I just lost it. Got a different girl to very publicly go to the bathroom with me.”

“So not only were you disgusting—you were disgusting in the bathroom of some bar?” 

“Hey, hey, no need to judge me so hard,” he said, putting both hands up like he was pretending to be innocent.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating him. He had a similar relaxed posture, slumped against his chair in his white shirt and gray sweatpants. It was a miracle that he hadn’t spilled any wine on himself yet.

“I’ve just never been so desperate for someone’s attention,” you said, sitting mightily on your high horse.

That made Frankie guffaw, sitting up suddenly. “Oh yeah? Never have I ever had a crush on my childhood neighbor,” he said, a shit eating grin on his face as he scratched at the patchy beard on his jaw.

You could feel yourself stiffen, giving yourself away without meaning to. “I… I do not have a crush on Ben,” you protested, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Oh sure you don’t, nena,” he said, making you want to reach out and smack him. “Oh Bennie this and oh Bennie that, the only way it would be more obvious is if you had big fucking hearts in your eyes… well obvious to everyone except him.”

Apparently your embarrassment was loud and clear anyways, your attempts to be nonchalant failing miserably.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Frankie said, trying to placate you.

You scoffed, standing up as you drank a bit too much wine from the bottle, the excess dripping down the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed? I just found out that everyone has been watching me be a huge fucking idiot this whole time!”

He stood with you, hands smoothing over your shoulders as he crowded into your space. “I’ve got an idea if you’re game,” he said, catching your attention again.

“What?”

“Well… we could kill two birds with one stone, ya know?” It must have been clear that you didn’t know what he meant. “We can make Ben jealous… and cross something off your ‘Never Have I Ever’ bucket list.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered what he was saying. His hands rubbed down your arms, gently pulling the wine bottle from your fingers. He took a swig before setting it with the empty bottles, making them clink against one another.

Then it all clicked.

“You want to have sex?” 

Frankie laughed, his big hands finding the flare of your hips. “I thought Ben said you were smart,” he teased, his forehead bumping against yours as he shuffled in closer.

You clicked your teeth at him. “I’m drunk… so what’s in it for you then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, a smile lifting his lip. “I get to have sex, that’s more than enough reason for me to want to do it.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking hour head as you lightly smacked his chest. “Men are ridiculous,” you mumbled, grinning softly as you looked up at him.

Frankie was smiling, showing off his straight white teeth in the light of the dying fire and blue glow coming from the in-ground pool. He moved closer, his aquiline nose nudging against yours. You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, smell the wine he just drank.

“Just tonight?” you asked, one eyebrow arched.

He nodded obligingly, grin growing impossibly wider. “I don’t catch feelings.”

You were drunk enough to think it was a brilliant plan—it would be impossible for Ben not to jealous if he heard you and Frankie next door. The idea was foolproof. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

—

Frankie’s room was just next to Ben’s, the two of you giggling with bottles of wine in hand as you followed after him. He’d grabbed an additional bottle from the kitchen when you snuck back inside to have on standby, the remaining quarter of the first bottle still sloshing around in yours.

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him as you opened his bedroom door. He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you inside, slamming the door shut behind you both. “Frankie!” you scolded between kisses, mortified that you were being loud.

“Waking him up is the point, nena,” he said, half carrying you to the bed. You rolled your eyes, holding the bottle for him to drink from before he confiscated both and set them on the nightstand. “C’mon, loosen up for me.”

He leaned down to capture your lips, messily licking into your mouth. You could taste the wine on his tongue, making you hum as you returned the gesture. 

“Get this stupid thing off,” you muttered against his lips, knocking his hat off and foraging your fingers in his thick curls. You gently tugged at his roots, making him groan as he smashed you into the mattress with his weight.

“Thought you liked the hat,” he said with a chuckle deep in his chest, pushing the offending accessory the rest of the way off the bed.

You desperately pulled him back to you, hitching one leg around his hip as his arm flattened near your head for support. “Fancy restaurant rules. Definitely not allowed in the bedroom,” you said with a smirk. He huffed his disagreement against your jaw, shaking his head as his blunt teeth scraped over the thin skin. 

It was messy. Tongues meeting and teeth clashing and nails scratching over fabric and skin alike. Playfully suggestive hums and giggles filled the quiet of the room. You were sure you were disrupting the rest of the house, Frankie’s bedroom right in the center of it.

The alcohol made everything so easy, whisking away your shirt and sweatpants before you even realized. You took Frankie’s shirt along with them, tossing it somewhere in his room. 

He nudged your chin up with his nose, his tongue flattening over your windpipe. Your breath tripped, eyes squeezing shut. Admittedly, it had been a while for you. Everything he was doing was making your head spin. 

The kiss turned sloppy with tongue as he traced his thumb beneath the waistband of your panties. Your manicured nails traveled over the expanse of his bare chest, following the soft ridges of the lean muscle and stray scars to the line of dark hairs beneath his navel. It was your guiding beacon, your fingers following it to the elastic waist of his sweatpants.

“Off,” you asked softly, snapping the elastic against the thin layer of pudge on his belly. “Please.”

He obliged quickly, pulling you up with him as he got off the bed to ungracefully shove them down his legs and kicked them somewhere into the room. Tight black boxer briefs hugged his quads, stretching as he knelt onto the mattress.

“C’mere, nena,” he practically growled, grabbing your thighs as he yanked you up onto his lap. You yelped, giggling as your legs bent at the knee and toes anchored against the duvet. His fingers sunk into your ass, dimpling the soft flesh as he held you close.

One hand skated up your spine, unlatching your bra easily. You cackled, leaning back as he pulled the straps down your arms and tossed it aside. “Didn’t know you were such a slut, Frankie,” you murmured, smirking as he palmed at your freed tits. Your nipples were pinched between his forefinger and thumb, making you arch toward him. “Unhooking a girl’s bra with one hand?” 

He muffled your words with more kisses, stamping his lips over yours. “That takes some practice–should I be impressed or disgusted?”

“You never fucking shut up, do you?” Frankie asked good-naturedly, nipping at your lower lip as one hand smoothed against the small of your back. He pulled you close, squeezing your ass as he leaned forward to devour you further. You tittered, your forearm pressed against the nape of his neck as the scoop of your palm found the patchy beard at his jaw. Your hips rolled into his, nose pressing against his cheek as you smacked wet kisses on him.

“I’m not well-known for being quiet.”

The world spun around you before your back hit the mattress, the memory foam absorbing most of the impact. His rough fingers pulled your panties off in a smooth motion, his palms finding the insides of your thighs and pressing them apart. 

“I’m counting on that,” he murmured as he kissed his way to the echo of your heartbeat, sucking small welts into the flesh of your inner thighs. 

You were stunned into breathlessness, propped on one elbow as you watched him map closer and closer to the ache between your legs. He breathed in deep as he hovered just above your cunt–something that would have mortified you if you were any less drunk, but it only made you moan.

The tip of his nose brushed your clit, making your pelvis jump toward his face. “You have a gorgeous pussy,” he said dreamily, the drunken slur finally making itself apparent in his voice. He parted your slit with his strong tongue, making your eyes roll back in your skull before he fully dove in. 

Your fingers clutched desperately at his hair, your breaths choking in your throat as your brows knit together. He made out with your cunt, a soft rumble in his chest making his mouth vibrate against you. 

Infatuation and desire consumed you, leaving you dizzy. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair ruffled as his hands splayed wide across your thighs. You eagerly lifted your hips to his mouth as much as you could, whining as he lapped up the entirety of your sex, suckling at your clit each time before repeating the motion.

You found yourself thanking the attention to detail he was taught in the military: he picked up on every time your breath hitched or your voice became a whine and he made it happen again. And again. And again. To the point that you could feel just how soaked you were, not even the pace of Frankie’s tongue fast enough to keep your slick arousal from dripping to the duvet. 

You’d never been so turned on in your life.

“Fuck,” you keened, the word tight in your chest as the oxygen left the room. You gripped his hair tighter, hips twitching. The tip of his finger pressed at your entrance, making your cunt flutter around the temptation of being full. His groan was muffled, met by your own grateful whimpers.

His jaw went slack, framing the entirety of your cunt as he pressed all of his weight into eating you out. The swirl of his tongue churning his saliva with each motion made you want to die. 

Brown eyes met your half-lidded gaze from between your thighs. You were shocked to see just how pleased he looked, feasting upon you with the desperation of a starving man. Frankie had seemed like a lot of things, but a munch was not high on your list. Thank god you were wrong.

“You’re going to make me come so fast,” you gasped, almost embarrassed by how quickly you felt like your whole body was buzzing. Almost pathetically fast.

Steady presses of his tongue devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. You pressed the curls of his hair back from his forehead, a few beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. Soft lips wrapped around your swollen clit and sucked, bringing you to rapture as the tip of his tongue batted the sensitive bud.

It took one wet swirl around your clit to shatter you, your orgasm ripping through you. A wail escaped you before you clapped a hand over your mouth–even if you wanted Ben to know, you didn’t want to wake up the rest of the house. 

Frankie grabbed the fat of your ass with both hands, pulling your cunt to his mouth as he licked you into oversensitivity. He didn’t stop until you were twitching with discomfort, pushing his forehead away.

He sat back, his facial hair shining wetly in the moonlight before he wiped it off on the back of his hand. 

You were a panting mess, hardly able to think as he moved toward you. He massaged your buzzing skin with his big, warm hands, coaxing your soul back into your body. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmured quietly, his gaze steady as he watched you tremble. 

The compliment split you open, endless hunger spilling out as you reached for him. You knew you wouldn’t be satisfied without having him inside you.

You could see the outline of his hard cock in his underwear, your free hand rubbing over it as he settled between your bent legs. The feeling of his weight above you helped your lungs find their rhythm as you pressed your thumb to the wet spot at his tip.

“So I’m that good, huh?” he teased, his voice unsteady as he started to grind himself against your hand. 

Your laugh was breathless, your face on fire as you looked up at him. “I think all the booze helped, made me sensitive,” you said, your tone raspy and soft as your hand slipped into his boxer briefs. 

The way his expression crumpled as your fingers curled around his shaft was delightful. A self-satisfied grin bloomed on your face as you started to stroke him, watching him through your lashes. His hips bunched into your hand, his forehead dropping to yours as he let out a groan. 

“Shit,” he panted, one hand fisting in the white duvet. You relished in the way he already sounded wrecked. “I’ve gotta fuck you before you make me come in my boxers like some teenager.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from him before clumsily removing his underwear. The sight of his cock made your throat go dry, tip red and leaking. He looked painfully hard, curved up toward his stomach and a little to the left from a trimmed patch of dark, curly hair. 

“Hands and knees, nena,” Frankie murmured, playfully swatting the outside of your thigh. “Wanna see that fat ass of yours–been staring at it ever since you got here.”

Your face was hot as you rolled over, spine arching like a cat’s as you settled on your forearms and knees. He grabbed you by the hips, yanking you where he wanted you: facing the arched mirror on the dresser. The sight of yourself made your arch deepen, your chest pressed to the bed as you presented yourself to him like a gift.

“Jesus,” he groaned, softly smacking your ass before he grabbed a handful of the soft flesh, shaking it. There was something close to reverence in his expression as you watched him spread your cheeks, dark eyes focused on your pussy. His thumb gently ghosted over your slit in a way that made you whine.

“Frankie, stop teasing,” you said impatiently, glaring at him in the mirror.

“Fine, fine, calm down,” he breathed, his knees finding their place between yours as his cock notched in the cleft of your ass. He rocked there for a moment before pulling back enough to ease into you with careful rolls of his hips. One hand planted between your scapulae, the other clutching your hip as you both exhaled your satisfaction with every inch of delicious friction.

It took you both a few moments to adjust, your went cunt finally relaxing enough to let Frankie fit entirely inside of you. He shushed you softly as you whined, barely fucking his cock into you as he rubbed circles over your vertebrae.

You rocked back against his thrusts, falling into a steady rhythm as the sound of your sweat-dampened skin smacking together filled the room. His hand moved from your back to the nape of your neck, grabbing a handful of your hair and tilting your head to make you look at him through the reflection of the mirror. The grip at your scalp was almost comforting as you melted into the sensation.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured low in his throat, his gaze taking in every detail of your reflection. Your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your lidded eyes. Your hair was twisted around his fist, ass jiggling with every connection of your hips. 

It was hard to keep your eyes open, moaning wantonly as you kept your gaze on Frankie. Your expression was pornographic–enamored and thoroughly pleased as he stretched you open on his cock.

He curled his body over yours, meeting you at his waist and shoulders as his lips found the back of your neck and shoulders. “Ben must be a damn idiot to not see how pretty you are,” he murmured, sucking marks into your neck. You were too lost in the pleasure of the head of his cock carving deep into you to respond. 

“Squeezing me so tight, nena,” he grunted into your ear, his hot breath making shivers prickle up your spine. His hold on your hair kept you in place. “This is the sweet little pussy of my dreams, milking me so good.”

Frankie kept running his mouth, spewing filth and praise that made you melt into a puddle beneath him. You were possessed with pleasure, almost drooling as you whimpered and moaned.

His hand left your hip, weight pressing you even deeper into the mattress as his arm wrapped around you. You sobbed as his fingers skated over your belly, pressing against your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles against it.

“Frankie, right there,” you gasped, fingers bunching up the duvet as you tried to breathe through the sensitivity, still tingling from your last orgasm. 

“Greedy girl…” he chastised, chuckling into your ear as he kept working your clit without mercy. 

Your cunt was fluttering around his cock, your sounds becoming louder and more wanton. He exhaled through his teeth with each thrust, his breaths sharp and punctuated in your ear. “Frankie,” you moaned–his name being one of the few words you could even think of. 

“That’s it, let ‘im know who’s giving it to you so good.”

Oh yeah. 

You were still trying to make Ben jealous. The thought had slipped your mind entirely as you felt Frankie’s cock press over every slippery ridge inside your cunt, setting your body alight. 

Who knew if Ben was even listening, if he was even awake.

You repeated Frankie’s name like a prayer on your lips, further and further gone the closer you got to your orgasm. He yanked your hair gently, making your eyes flutter open again to look up at him through the reflection. 

His lips were moving, cursing in Spanish as his jaw clenched so hard you could see it flex beneath his beard. You could tell he was close, too, starting to lose his steady rhythm as he sped up. Bruising kisses were pressed to your neck and shoulder, his cock splitting you open with frantic thrusts.

Then he started to beg, almost making you black out. “Come for me, nena. Come all over my cock. I wanna feel you come all over me, squeezing me so damn tight.”

His thick fingers were still rubbing your clit, coaxing you further and further to the edge. Spanglish filled your ears as he grunted and groaned, clearly holding back until you finished first. 

“Frankie! Oh my god!”

Euphoria left you strung out, ripping at the seams of your sanity as your pussy spasmed hard around his cock. Frankie turned your head by tugging on your hair, contorting you so he could smash his lips to yours as his hips started to stutter. You felt him pulse inside you, groans muffled between your mouths as his come spilled inside your cunt like lava.

You wilted together, exhaustion and drunkenness catching up to you as you collapsed to the bed in a heap of limbs and sweat and come. It would be smart to get up, to clean yourself up and go sleep on the couch. But you were already so comfortable, Frankie nestled close to your back as he started to softened inside you. 

“M’I sleeping here?” you asked, already yawning as you and Frankie lay on your sides. He reached for the throw on the end of the bed, yanking the fuzzy blanket up and over the two of you.

He kissed your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck.

“Of course, nena, you gotta come out of my room in the morning for this to work,” he muttered against your skin, yawning in response to you.

This. The plan. You could hardly consider it as sleep pulled you under.

–

The morning light woke you up, making you groan as you rolled over to bury your face in Frankie’s neck. He stirred as you did, a hand running over your hip to placate you as he pulled you closer. “Morning, nena,” he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

You hid from the sun in his clavicle, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. “What does nena even mean?” you asked after a few moments, voice sounding muffled.

Frankie’s hand ran up and down your side, clipped nails making goosebumps lift on your arms. “Means baby.”

It was simple enough. Just a normal nickname.

But you felt your cheeks warm, a thrill running through you anyway. “Yeah? You’ve been calling me baby this whole time?” There was a kernel of bashfulness in your voice.

He let out a huff of air, still too tired to laugh fully. “Yeah, I have.”

Silence lapsed between you two, your breaths even and slow as neither of you tried to move away. It was too comfortable for you to want to get up.

“You gonna go find Ben today?” Frankie asked, a twinge of something in his voice making you lift your head up. 

You squinted in the sunlight, rubbing one eye with the heel of your hand as you fixed Frankie with your gaze. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, lips pursing to one side as you chewed the inside of your cheek. “Unless you wanted me to, of course.”

His tired smile soothed you, the hand running up and down your side inching closer and closer to your breast as he looked at you. “Nah, you should stay,” he said, thumb stroking over your nipple. He swirled it to hardness, heat already starting to pool in your lower belly despite your exhaustion.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

–

Ben and Will drank coffee in the kitchen in the morning, nursing their hangovers just like everyone else. Most of the group was awake and in various levels of pain, Santi cooking breakfast and Tom still wearing sunglasses. Their girlfriends were laying on the couches in the living room, curtains drawn as they sipped cups of water.

A giggle could be heard from Frankie’s room, the creak of a bedframe. No one understood how you two still had energy after going to bed at three in the morning. But, lucky for them, Frankie was resilient.

“Did they keep you up last night?” Will asked his brother, a hint of a smile on his face.

Ben nodded, blue eyes focused on his coffee. “Oh yeah, and you owe me twenty bucks.”

Will rolled his eyes–betting that Frankie would wait until the end of the trip to hook up with you had been the stupidest thing he’d done in a while.

[ak-vintage]

Sweet As

Pairing: Francisco Morales/f! babysitter reader

Summary: Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave.

Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, 6 years post-Triple Frontier, single dad Frankie, flight instructor Frankie, babysitter reader, dual POV, age gap (not specified, but reader is a grad student), minimal descriptors of reader character, no use of y/n, domestic, sweet, mutual pining, food as foreplay, frottage, pussy pronouns, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), trying to keep quiet, trying not to get caught, undefined but hopeful ending

Word Count: 7.5K

Written for the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Board Challenge.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

You had always been a summer girl, but even you had your limits.

It was week three of the most severe heatwave the south had seen in a decade, and even with the Morales’s air conditioner running at full capacity, you still couldn’t help but park yourself directly under the ceiling fan with a sweating glass of iced tea. Mila, thankfully, hadn’t fought you during bedtime tonight, the six-year-old nearly dead on her feet after a full day of summer activities – a bike ride around the block before the heat of the day had set in, a dance party after lunch, hours in her swimsuit weaving in and out of the sprinkler in the back yard. You had done your best to keep up with her sunscreen, but she still sported a little flush on her round, tan cheeks as she crawled into bed, making little snuffling snores before you had even finished telling her goodnight.

There was a part of you that envied it, the way she could just collapse into sleep, not a care in the world, while you were stuck at the kitchen table late into the night, your laptop and textbooks strewn across its surface. The perils of holding down a full-time babysitting gig while also taking summer classes, you supposed.

It was worth it, though. Mila was a sweet girl, a total social butterfly, full of giggles and sweetness, easily the most fun kid you had ever cared for. And Frankie, her father…

Mr. Morales, you reminded yourself with a quick shake of your head.

Mr. Morales was a dream to work for. Respectful, pleasant, communicative, fair. A great parent to his daughter – a single dad, the only one in your regular client rotation. He paid you well for your time, and he was generous with his recreation budget, always making sure to leave cash in the top kitchen drawer for ice cream treats, trips to the pool, matinee movies. You really couldn’t have asked for a better job for the summer.

It didn’t hurt that he was absurdly handsome, in a rugged, lived-in sort of way. Not that it mattered, of course; he was your boss, more than a decade your senior, and you were, above all else, a professional. Hitting on the kids’ dads? The biggest babysitting faux pas. You liked to think you had more class than that.

However, class or not, you were still just a woman, and Francisco Morales? He was all man.

A blue-collar, ex-military guy in his mid-forties, he was tall and impossibly broad in the shoulders with long, muscular arms, a soft tummy that peaked out over the waistband of his jeans, and a head full of dark brown curls that were constantly just a little squished by a dark, well-worn ballcap bearing the Standard Oil logo. He started out a bit reserved in the beginning, not at all unfriendly but certainly someone who took some time to open up to new people, but in the months since you had started working for him, the two of you had developed a comfortable rapport.

So, if you dragged yourself out of bed an hour early just so you could get to his house in time enough to share a cup of coffee with him before he left for work, well…that was just relationship building with a client, wasn’t it? If you found yourself lingering in the driveway every time he walked you out to your car at the end of the day, extending the conversation more and more, delaying your departure as long as you could manage, that was just…friendship, right? Comradery.

And if, on nights like tonight, you received a series of clunky, unpunctuated texts asking you to stay late on short notice and you agreed without question, that was just going above and beyond. That was you being a good employee.

It definitely wasn’t you genuinely wanting to help out the struggling single father, not because you were being paid to do so, but because he deserved it. And you definitely didn’t take a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he trusted you, knowing that he relied on you.

It was all above board. All friendly. All completely and totally normal.

These were the things you told yourself, anyway. It helped you to keep your traitorous heart in check.

It was nearing 10:00 PM by the time Frankie finally pulled into his driveway, his eyelids heavy, his limbs leaden and slicked with sweat. One of the ‘copters at the flight school where he worked had required some major repairs after a clumsy takeoff by one of the students earlier that afternoon had resulted in damage to the rotor blades, and he had volunteered to stay behind after hours and help with the effort so the thing wouldn’t have to spend the entire next day grounded. He was an instructor these days, but his assistance had still been welcomed. In the years he had spent attempting to earn back his pilot’s license after his…indiscretions, he had spent a fair amount of time working as an aviation mechanic to make ends meet.

Even then, at the lowest point of his life, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away from a hangar.

It had been back-breaking work, and Frankie hated having to ask you to stay late when he knew you had your own life, your own friends, your own dreams outside of babysitting his kid, but the repairs were complete now, which meant that none of the instructors would need to cancel any of their lessons for the following day. And when the flight school’s students were, more often than not, rich old men and their trust fund sons who didn’t take well to being told “no,” the extra effort would not go unnoticed.

Now, however, as he shifted his pickup truck into park next to your beat-up old Ford Focus, all he could think about was getting into the air conditioning, taking off his boots, and sitting down at the kitchen table under the ceiling fan with you.

It was the only advantage, really, of these late nights. Infrequent though they were, Frankie couldn’t deny that there was something special about coming home to find his daughter tucked up in bed, happy and tired and well-fed, and you at the table with your schoolwork strewn out in front of you. There was something peaceful and almost painfully domestic about it, something that had his chest swelling with a feeling that he couldn’t quite identify but that he knew for certain was not something one was meant to feel for one’s babysitter.

It was the same feeling he got when you started accepting his offers of coffee in the mornings before he left for work, or when you noticed that he had started purchasing the sugary-sweet creamer you preferred when he had only ever drunk his coffee black. It was the same feeling he got when he came home on one of the first nights of this fucking wretched heatwave to find you chasing his daughter around the back yard with an armful of water balloons, the both of you soaked to the skin and giggling as you pelted each other relentlessly.

It was the same feeling he got when he walked you out to your car and he watched you grip the driver’s door handle so tight your knuckles turned pale, watched you glance down at his lips one too many times to be proper. Soft mouth parted, long lashes casting shadows across your sun-kissed cheeks, perfect breasts rising and falling with your quickened breath –

Frankie brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard, scrubbing across his face to banish the thought. He had no business thinking of you like that, noticing you like that, and he needed to get it together before he walked through the front door and found you precisely where he had imagined you. This might have been his home, but it was your place of work, and he refused to be one of those skeevy dads who made the babysitter uncomfortable.

Gathering himself, Frankie hopped down out of the truck and jogged up the front porch steps. Slipping his keyring from his front pocket, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and kicked his well-worn boots off onto the mat inside the entryway.

Before he could announce his arrival, however, your voice called out to him, hushed and warm.

“Welcome home, Mr. Morales,” you said sweetly, glancing up at him from your favorite chair at his table. He could see you there through the kitchen doorway, hair piled haphazardly on top of your head, eyes tired but soft, happy. You had gotten even more sun today, your cheeks, nose, and forehead tinged with pink, and you wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of almost sinfully short shorts, the kind with the elastic waist that looked soft to the touch. Frankie tried and failed not to trace the length of your legs with his eyes, not to imagine the plush softness of your thighs, the suppleness of your calves.

Dragging his gaze back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t caught the trajectory of his traitor eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find you studying him, as well. Rather intently, as a matter of fact. He squinted down at himself, puzzled, and noticed for the first time what you must be staring at: he was a mess.

He was smudged with grease from head to toe, dark streaks of the oily substance arcing across his jeans, his uniform polo, his bare forearms, the backs of his hands. His skin, where it was visible, shone with sweat in the dim entryway light, and his shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin from the heat (moisture-wicking fabric, his ass). The weather would have been enough to have him in a state, but the late night combined with the manual labor had clearly taken its toll.

He watched the long column of your throat bob as you swallowed thickly.

“Rough day?” you asked after a beat of tense silence, keeping your voice low so as not to wake Mila.

Frankie felt his lips lift at the corner, offering you a fatigued half-smile. “A bit, yeah. But better now.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line as though smothering a grin. “Glad to hear it.” Gesturing at the chair opposite you, you added, “Why don’t you come have a seat, and I’ll heat up some leftovers for you? You have to be starving.”

Fuck, now that you mentioned it, he was starving. He and the small crew of mechanics had taken a brief snack break while they worked, partaking of whatever hodgepodge of junk they had been able to liberate from the vending machine in the office, but that bag of chips and stale granola bar had left his system hours ago now. Still, even as his stomach growled with hunger, he couldn’t help but protest, “You don’t need to do that, cariño. It’s not your job to cook for me on top of everything else you do around here.”

You waved his words away with a flippant flick of your wrist, already on your feet and heading for the refrigerator. “I’ve told you, it’s not a problem. I cook anyway for me and Mila. Why wouldn’t I make a little extra for you while I’m at it?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”

As the container of leftover pasta rotated in the pale yellow light of the microwave, you took a moment to gather yourself, to reign in the surge of want that had pulsed through you at the sight of your employer hovering in the entryway.

Miles of golden tan skin shining with sweat, pooling in the little hollow at the base of his neck. His uniform polo unbuttoned as far down as it would go, showing a sliver of gray ribbed undershirt. Grease smudged across one high cheekbone, streaked across his hands. You needed those hands on you, needed him to transfer those dark marks onto your skin, your clothes, to leave a trail across your body so you could remember everywhere he had touched you, so you could see it when you looked in the mirror.

“How was Mila today? She behave herself all right?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, quickly schooling your face into what you hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression before turning back around to face him. “Oh, yeah, she was great. We had a good day today.”

Frankie – Mr. Morales – smiled fondly at that. “Good, that’s good. No more, uh, meltdowns in the afternoon?”

“No, things have been pretty smooth since we started digging through that article I found. ‘30 Activities to Keep Kids Cool in the Summer’ or whatever. It’s been a huge help.” You chuckled wryly. “Once I figured out a way to let her be outside in the afternoons without running the risk of heatstroke, she’s been great.”

“Right, right.” He settled himself in the chair across from yours, running the side of his fingers across his patchy stubble in thought. “That’s what gave you the idea for the water balloons that one day, right?”

The microwave beeped twice, the golden light inside flickering off, and you grabbed the steaming leftover container as you spoke. “Yeah, exactly. And the sprinkler, and turning paint into ice cubes and using it like chalk.” Snagging a fork from the silverware drawer, you handed both to the exhausted man and slid back into your seat.

He tossed you a grateful smile and dug into the meal with gusto, loosing a quiet groan at the first bite. “Shit, that’s good,” he sighed, dark eyes fluttering closed in a way that had your heartrate spiking. “Thank you for this, cariño. You’re a lifesaver.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course, it’s my pleasure.”

Shoving a few more bites into his mouth, he asked, “Didn’t you freeze her Barbies one day, too?”

“Yeah, I did!” It had been one of Mila’s favorites so far of the heatwave-proof activities you had planned for her, and the memory of it had you chuckling. “I took a couple of her dolls and a bunch of their accessories, put them in a few of those sand buckets you guys have in the garage, filled those with water, and then froze them overnight. It took her hours to dig them all out, but hey. It kept her busy, and she didn’t overheat in the process, so I’ll take it.”

Mr. Morales grinned at that, plucking a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, scrubbing it across his sauce-stained moustache. “Incredible. You know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the extra effort you’ve been going to with her lately. I know it’s a lot, just looking after her eight hours a day, every day. But with this heat, I know she’s going stir-crazy.” He glanced down at his meal, something almost bashful creeping into his expression. “Pretty sure she gets that from me. Never been real good at sitting still, being stuck indoors.”

“It’s really nothing, Mr. Morales,” you insisted, brushing away the praise with a swipe of your hand.

“No. S’not nothing.” His low voice had gone serious now, and when he glanced back up at you, his eyes were wide, dark, and earnest. “The way you take care of her? The way you always seem to just…know what she needs? That’s everything.” You swore you saw his cheeks darken, swore you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “And I told you. S’okay if you call me Frankie. That Mr. Morales stuff makes me feel old.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, gaze flicking down to your hands as the intensity of the eye contact became too much to handle. “If you’re sure,” you agreed after a moment. “I don’t want to…presume.”

“Not presuming,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “We’re…friends, right, cariño? Friends can call each other by their first names.”

Something in your stomach ached at his words, but he sounded so genuine, so hopeful that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. “Suppose that’s true… Frankie.”

Fucking Christ.

Maybe that hadn’t been the right call, Frankie thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested you call him that, not when your voice sounded so sweet wrapped around his name, not when the hour was so late, the house so silent, like you were the only two people awake in the world. That kind of intimacy, it was going to give him…ideas.

Eager to distract himself from the moment, he plowed onward. “Well, what was the activity today?” he asked, stabbing another selection of pasta and vegetables with his fork.

You appeared to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Actually, it’s more of ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ thing, so if you don’t mind holding that thought for a minute, I’ll show you after you’re finished eating.”

Frankie arched an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “Okay, sure. I can wait. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on then instead? Something for school, I assume?” He gestured at the impressive spread of textbooks, printed articles, and your open laptop taking up most of the surface of the kitchen table.

Immediately, you launched into a detailed explanation of your current project, a research proposal for your graduate program that would serve as the capstone of this session of summer classes. He would freely admit that he only understood bits and pieces of it, his formal education having ended with his high school graduation, but he always enjoyed asking you about your schoolwork. The way you lit up when you talked about the subjects you were passionate about, your animated gestures, your wide, sparkling eyes, all of it was deeply endearing to him. He loved how passionate you were, the way you chased after your goals with fire and focus. It was one of his favorite things about you, and he felt as though that list might be growing longer by the day.

Your monologue about your research proposal gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his meal, so that by the time you had come to the end of your explanation, Frankie was dropping his fork into the now-empty container and leaning back in his chair, pleasantly full and satisfied.

“Oh,” you gasped, seeming to come back to yourself as you took in his relaxed posture, the little smile on his face. “Wow, I really just went on and on there, huh? Sorry about that, I guess I get a little overexcited about my research.”

“Don’t apologize. I like how fired up about it you get, it’s cute.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a little too honest, a little too real, and Frankie braced himself for the shift in your demeanor that was sure to follow. The awkwardness, the clear discomfort at the too-personal words from your employer. But it never came. Instead, your cheeks darkened under his gaze, a flush spreading down your neck and disappearing into the neckline of your oversized T-shirt.

“You…you think I’m cute?” you stammered, voice a bit breathless in a way that had him shifting in his seat, and he felt a fresh flush of sweat bead up on his forehead, just under the brim of his ballcap, at the sound.

He needed to blow you off, he knew. He needed to make an excuse for the comment, turn it into something mindless, something shallow and impersonal, if he wanted to point this conversation back in the right direction.

“‘Course, cariño,” he said instead. “Who wouldn’t? Might be an old man these days, but I’m not dead yet.”

What was wrong with him?

You blinked back at him for a moment, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in surprise at the confession, but then you were smiling, something almost…flirtatious in the curve of your lip as you said, “You’re not an old man, Frankie. You’re…experienced.”

Oh, fuck him.

This was a dangerous path the two of you were walking, and in that moment, Frankie wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the eventual destination or the fact that you seemed more than willing to travel it with him.

If he was ever going to make it back to safety, he needed to switch gears. Now.

“How about that activity?” he said quickly. “You gonna show me what you and Mila got up to all day?”

Drawing back from where you had started to lean toward him across the table, you shook your head a bit, as though the question had brought you back to yourself. He watched as the softness and the want in your eyes dissipated, and though he mourned it, he knew it was for the best. The two of you had come too close to crossing that line tonight. You both needed to regain your footing a bit.

“Sure. Actually, it should make for a good dessert.” Getting to your feet once more, you crossed to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, pulling three medium-sized plastic containers from its depths. The clear plastic fogged up the moment it hit the outside air, obscuring their contents, but Frankie didn’t have to wait for long to see what was inside. A moment later, you spread the three containers out on the kitchen table in front of him and began removing their lids.

Inside the containers was a selection of perfectly chopped, completely frozen fruit. The two of you had clearly used some creatively-shaped cutters to prepare the fruit, as some of the chunks were shaped like little hearts, others looked like tiny stars, and still others looked as though a cutter in the shape of a bunny head had been used. One container held little hunks of bright red watermelon in a full assortment of unique shapes, another boasted chunks of pineapple, also uniquely prepared, and in the last container, a medley of green and red grapes had been halved down the center for easy eating.

“What tastes better on a hot day than fresh fruit?” you asked cheerily. “We cut it up together out on the patio first thing this morning so it would have time to freeze. Mila wanted me to tell you that she did the watermelon because it’s pink and that’s her favorite.”

Frankie glanced up at you, meeting your eyes over the frosty containers. “That sounds about right,” he chuckled.

“I ended up having to hose down the concrete by the time we were done, but it made a great snack when it got miserable out. She was going back and forth between the sprinkler and her bowl on the patio all afternoon.”

He grinned at the image you painted, thinking of his little girl in her pink bathing suit, wild brown ringlets wet and clinging to her scalp, grass sticking to her feet as she danced through the spray of the sprinkler, darting back to grab a hunk of watermelon or a frozen grape, the juice dripping from her little fingers.

“Help yourself,” you encouraged, sitting back down across from him. “I’ll have some with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Shouldn’t I…grab us some forks?”

You shrugged, that fucking grin making its way back onto your face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

And with that, you fluttered your fingertips over the container of frozen grapes, plucked one from the pile, and slipped it into your mouth with a satisfied sigh. You might have started chatting then, might have begun asking him if he had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend and offered a summary of yours in return, but Frankie hardly heard a word of it. He was too preoccupied with your…snacking.

The plushness of your lips, the little peek of your slick, pink tongue each time you opened them, the way you seemed to allow the fruit to linger in your mouth as it defrosted. Heart-shaped watermelon had pale pink juice spilling out of the corner of your mouth, making it halfway down your chin before you delicately swiped it away with the tip of your middle finger. A pineapple star had you smiling softly as you enjoyed the burst of tartness over your tastebuds.

And those grapes.

Those goddamn fucking grapes, with their slick, frosty skin and their subtle, gentle sweetness – those you softly, almost absently traced over the seam of your lips before slipping them inside. Like you were savoring the sensation unconsciously, like the cool wetness of them quenched something in you that you weren’t even aware required attention. They made your mouth glisten in the low light, the shine of it so tempting he was certain that he hadn’t looked away from it in several minutes now.

In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to get ahold of himself. There was no way you hadn’t noticed; he had to be making you uncomfortable by now. But he just…couldn’t. God, you looked good enough to eat, with your messy hair and your sun-pinked cheeks and your bright eyes and your soft, bare legs.

A droplet of sweat traveled down the side of his face, streaking down his temple, his jaw, his neck.

Your mouth looked cool, and it looked sweet.

“…Frankie?”

Frankie startled at the sound of his name on your tongue, and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes instantly, a wicked flush blazing up the back of his neck and over his skull in mortification. Shit, you had noticed him staring, this was such a major fuck-up –

“Hm? What’s that, cariño?” His voice came out weak and raspy, like his throat had gone dry, and he cleared it loudly.

“I was saying, you don’t want any of the fruit?” You looked him over with wide, innocent eyes, and for the first time, Frankie realized that he hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Uh. A-Actually, I think I might be too full at the moment,” he stammered, bringing a hand up to pat himself across the belly in excuse.

The little confused quirk of your head told him immediately that you didn’t believe him. Scooting your chair across the hardwood floor, you came to sit directly next to him and gently scolded, “Frankie, you’ve been out working in this heat all night. You need to rehydrate. Here, you have room for a few pieces. Open up, okay?”

One of those slick, dewy grape halves appeared between your thumb and forefinger then, and the next thing he knew, you were holding it out to him. Not to take with his own hand, but to eat. It was a mere hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

Unable to formulate a suitable protest, his brain suddenly feeling rather detached from his body, all Frankie could do was drop his jaw and allow you to slip the fruit inside.

The pads of your fingers touched the soft, sensitive skin of his lower lip, and that was when he was certain that not only had his brain seemingly walked away on its own, it had turned fully off. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why the moment he registered the delicate touch, he immediately seized your wrist in one of his fists, dragging your fingers fully into his mouth.

A loud, feminine gasp met his ears as he swiped his tongue between your fingertips, stealing the frozen fruit from your grasp, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth to squash it, and quickly swallowing it down. His tongue returned to your skin, lapping at the frost and the condensation and the delicate, sweet juices coating your fingertips, and he watched as your eyes glazed over at the sensation. Your wrist went limp in his grasp, your fingers pliant, never once attempting to withdraw, and the ball of heat that had been brewing in his gut all night suddenly reached a fever pitch as he realized that you liked this.

Cock twitching in his jeans, he drew your fingers from his mouth. Both his eyes and yours followed the fine trail of saliva that stretched from his lip to the tip of your index finger, and he heard your swallow heavily at the sight.

“Frankie,” you whispered weakly.

And then his restraint abandoned him just as his mind had, and before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping your face and dragging you bodily to meet him in a hard, messy kiss.

Francisco Morales kissed like he did everything else – with intention, with competence, and with a raw, simmering fire that lingered just below the surface just waiting to be unveiled. To be stoked. To be nurtured.

The presence of that fire had your squirming in your seat, had your neck bending back on your shoulders in submission to the intensity of his assault. His thumbs, long and thick, pressed into your jaw from either side, wrenching you open, and his tongue slipped inside, immediately seeking your own with a desperation that drew a soft, muffled moan from your throat. Your own hands flew to the sweat-damp collar of his polo, and you dug your fingers into the fabric, holding him, keeping him just as fiercely as he kept you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, pulsed between your thighs, growing sensitive and tender there when wetness bloomed.

With a low, rasping groan, Frankie broke the kiss and began tracing his prominent nose across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, down your bare neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet, querida. Cold and…delicious and…perfect.”

Punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his voice rough and raw and sounding like the confession had been dragged from his chest against his will, it was enough to have sweat breaking out on the back of your neck, behind your knees, at the base of your spine.

“Frankie,” you breathed, threading your grip into his hair, curling his dark brown locks around your fingers, scraping along his scalp. “Please – ”

His hands dropped from your jaw then, sweeping around the width of your hips and hauling you into his lap. Instinctually, your thighs spread to bracket his waist, the weight of you coming to rest on his spread-legged lap, and you couldn’t help but moan at the thick, hard press of him against the softness of your cunt.

“This okay, baby?” he murmured against your skin, nuzzling against the neckline of your shirt, broad palms dragging down over your ass to hold you down, press you to him.

You whimpered and felt your body going soft, warm, and pliant beneath his touch. “Mm hm!” Hips hitching, grinding against him of their own accord, you pulled his face back up to meet yours, smothering your own gasps and whines in his mouth.

It didn’t last long, however. After a few quick licks against your tongue, Frankie pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and knocking his Standard Oil cap to the floor.

“Uh uh, need to hear the words, cariño. Won’t do anything you don’t want me doing.” Wrapping his fingers around your messy bun, he angled your face down so that your heavy-lidded eyes met his. “I’ll ask you again. You want me touching you? You want me to make you feel good?”

Your eyes drifted shut, your mind gone warm and hazy. God, the things this man did to you. Did he know how long you had wanted this? How hard you had fought against it? He couldn’t know. If he did, he would never ask such a question.

“Yes, please, Frankie,” you gasped, nodding against his hold, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yes, please, what, bebita?” You could hear a smirk in his voice now, and the sound had you flushing down to the tips of your toes, a fresh rush of wetness soaking your panties as you squirmed against him.

Tucking your face against his sweaty neck, you whispered, “Please…please make me feel good.”

Frankie was on his feet in an instant, boosting you into his arms in a move that had your stomach dropping down through your abdomen both in shock and in arousal. He backed you into the table, your hips bumping into the wooden edge, and the snap of pain had a brief flash of clarity flying through your lust-filled brain fog.

“Frankie, my books – ”

The older man swore under his breath – “fuck, right” – before changing course, bringing you instead over to the arm of the peninsula that extended out into the room from the edge of the kitchen. Kicking one of the two barstools out of the way, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the countertop before dragging you down for another kiss.

He ate at your mouth like a man starved, sucking on your lips, dragging his teeth across your skin, licking against the roof of your mouth. It was wet, sloppy, and so hot, his desperation contagious, encouraging you to match him caress for caress. No one had ever kissed you like this, like the kissing was the main event rather than a means to an end. Frankie kissed like that was the entire point, and it had you melting against the counter. You were dripping through your shorts now, you were sure of it.

“Can taste all that fruit on your tongue. Sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “But I can think of at least one other thing that might be even sweeter.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your boss was going to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

“Lean back, bebita.” The words were spoken against your cheeks, brushed into your skin by the suddenly tender touch of his lips, the rasp of his whiskers, the press of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, releasing your hold on his broad shoulders and sinking back onto your elbows. The granite was cool to the touch, sending goosebumps along your arms and down your spine, but the sensation was a welcome one after the oppressive heat of the day, the heat of his body on yours.

His palms snaked beneath the hem of your T-shirt, bunching it up onto your belly to reveal the waistband of your shorts. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic without preamble, he murmured, “Lift your hips a bit for me, baby.” Again, you obeyed without question, and with a few short tugs, Frankie pulled both your shorts and your slick-stained panties down your legs to drop to the hardwood floor.

You felt a fierce blush flare in your cheeks, spreading down your neck and chest with a speed that had you gasping for air. The ceiling fan over the kitchen table – you could feel its breeze from here, the cool rush of air instantly pulling a shiver from you as it hit your wet, swollen pussy. You kept yourself bare in the summer, finding it easier and less stressful whenever you wanted to wear a swimsuit, and laid out like this on display, thighs spread around Frankie’s broad body, the cold fan hitting your most vulnerable skin, you couldn’t help but feel a bit…overexposed. The reality of your situation hit you like a freight train, and you found yourself fighting the urge to snap your legs closed against the eyes of your boss.

It was as though Frankie could read your mind. Not a moment after the thought occurred to you, you felt his big hands clamp onto your thighs and pull them apart even wider.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he tutted, and you risked a glance at his face only to find him staring intently down at your cunt. “You been walking around my house with a naked pussy like this all summer, baby? Dirty girl.” His dark brown eyes had gone almost black with lust, his irises only a faint ring around his wide pupils, and in a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious, he darted the tip of his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. He looked utterly fascinated. Entranced. Hungry. The sight had your walls clenching around nothing, and you watched him watch that happen with an eagerness that had you moaning aloud.

When he spoke again, he was a man in thrall. “‘M gonna eat this pretty pussy now, querida. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? Don’t wanna wake Mila.”

You nodded, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth preemptively. This man was going to have you screaming, you just knew it. Flicking his gaze up to yours for just a moment, he grinned wickedly at the sight.

“That’s a good girl, baby,” he whispered, and then his face was in your cunt, and you felt your every coherent thought fly out the window.

If Frankie had thought that your mouth tasted sweet, your tongue like candy, then your pussy was fruit on the vine, straight from the vineyard, drenched in sunshine. It was hot, deep, and rich, earthy and tangy and drugging, like a late summer afternoon, like a hazy day in August. This had always been one of his favorite things to do with women, one of his favorite ways to please them, and never – not once – had it ever been like this. From the moment his tongue touched your delicate, dripping folds, he knew – there would be no going back from this. Not for him. He couldn’t experience something like this and not crave it every day for the rest of his life.

He started with soft, light strokes with tip of his tongue, tracing just the very edges of your lips from down near your entrance all the way to the top of your mound. Then again, slowly pressing deeper but never with any more than the faintest pressure. Even so, you responded instantly, a panting, high-pitched whine sounding behind the press of your palm over your mouth. Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, to draw him further into you, but he had one of his arms bracketing the span of your hips before you could make much progress.

Driving you firmly into the countertop, he held your knees open with the breadth of his shoulders and boldly dragged the flat of his tongue through your folds. “Keep quiet, now, bebita. I’m gonna take care of you.”

With that, Frankie felt himself begin to disappear, to melt into you from his position between your legs. Your soft thighs bracketing his shoulders, your heels digging into his back, your pussy, so soft, so hot, so sweet as you dissolved beneath his tongue. You were drooling for him, your clenching, grasping hole fluttering against his tongue every time he passed over it, your clit swollen and throbbing under the suction of his lips. You had collapsed back against the countertop now, one hand still pressed firmly over your mouth, the other burying itself in his hair, anchoring him to your body with a strength he found both surprising and wildly attractive. And with every lick, every suck, every vibration of a moan that spilled from his mouth into your flesh, he could feel you drawing higher, tighter, deeper.

He knew what you needed. He knew what would get you there.

Tucking his free hand beneath his chin, Frankie slipped one, then two thick fingers into the tight, velvety clutch of your cunt.

You shot up off the counter, your torso curling around his head, your hand in his hair fisting the strands roughly in your overwhelm. Sharp bolts of pain erupted across his scalp, but it was a welcome sensation, somehow grounding in its intensity. He smirked against your folds, sealing his lips around your puffy clit and rolling the little nub around with his tongue. At the same time, he pressed gently, insistently against the front wall of your cunt, applying steady friction and pressure with both fingertips.

A faint whimper slipped from you at that, muffled by your palm but not silent, and Frankie felt himself preen. God, he loved this. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna let me feel her gush around my fingers? On my tongue? Hm?”

The hand on your mouth fell away, joining the one in his hair as you began to tremble beneath him. “Frankie,” you whined. “‘M gonna – you’re gonna make me – ”

“I know, baby, I know.” He kept his fingers right where they were, shallow thrusts, firm pressure right where you needed it most. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Ducking his head back down to your clit, he resumed the combination of gentle suction and firm, long strokes that had driven you wild.

And just like clockwork, your thighs began to shake against his shoulders. Your abdomen clenched beneath his forearm. Your slick, soft walls clamped down around his fingers. A weak, breathless sound – “ah” – burst from your throat, and then you were coming. A rush of your wetness dripped down his fingers, coating his hand, pooling in the cup of his palm as you pulsed and fluttered around him, and Frankie could feel your poor, abused little clit twitching against his tongue. He worked you through it, slowing down a bit but not stopping, prolonging the torment just a bit longer. Only when your two hands buried in his hair started to shove against him, pushing him away, did he relent, and even then, it took him an extra few seconds to be willing to slip his fingers from your body.

Looking up into your face, Frankie felt a wash of joy and contentment pass over him. You were positively glowing – your skin flushed and ever-so-slightly sweaty, your hair wild and mussed, your T-shirt bunched up above your belly button, so much of your perfect softness on display. And you were grinning like a fool, your eyes showing your fatigue but your smile brighter than he had ever seen. You looked at him with a gentleness, an affection that had his heart clenching in his chest, and he was certain that his expression was much the same.

It had been years since he had felt this way about anyone, and even then, he wasn’t certain it could compare.

When you sat up and slipped from the counter, it was a slow and lazy affair, assisted by his firm grip and his steady arms to help keep you upright. The moment your feet hit the floor, you reached for his belt with a question in your eyes, to which Frankie responded, “Not tonight, querida. Tonight was about you.” You seemed somewhat disappointed by that response, but you didn’t push it. Instead, you simply pulled his head down for a kiss, which he gladly obliged. You sighed into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to take back what he had just said, to drag your hands back down to his belt buckle and allow you to proceed as you wished.

But no.

It was late. You needed to get home and get to sleep, and he needed to wash off the heat of the day before passing out in his own bed. There would be a little girl busting down his door at 7:00 AM tomorrow whether he was ready for her or not, and you would be back in this very kitchen by 8:00 eager to share a cup of coffee with too-sweet creamer before he left for work.

So, like the gentleman that he wasn’t certain that he was, Frankie helped you slip back into your little shorts, pack your overflowing bookbag, and carry your things out to your car.

You turned to him one last time before you slipped into the driver’s seat, a soft if uncertain smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Mr. Morales – Frankie, I…” You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “Thank you. For tonight.”

His heart melted at your words, the quiet, hesitating way you said them. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to from you, you who always seemed to have it all together, you who matched his advances beat for beat, never wavering. “Don’t need to thank me, baby. I wanted to. You take such good care of me, of Mila. You deserved it.” Releasing a deep, trembling breath, he added, “And…I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’ll let me.”

“That depends,” you replied.

“Yeah? On what?”

Your soft, sweet smile morphed into something sharper then, something with more intent. “On if you’ll let me return the favor. It’s like you said…I want to.”

Frankie couldn’t have reigned in the grin that split his face then if he tried. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, he said, “‘Course, cariño. I’m not done with your sweetness just yet.”

[foli-vora]

FOLI!!! CONGRATS!! you deserve the world and all the followers, you’re the one writer who has kept me reading on here!! i’m honored to be a part of your readers. thank you for sharing your talent and words with the world. i hope your inbox is full of prompts but i also love a good restful break for you haha. i would love a FLUFFY #16 (“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”) and i’ll let you pick with who! preferably frankie, din or ezra! or maybe frank or matt!

Hey sweet angel, thanks for your request! We're totally ignoring how long this took me, ok?? God I'm so sorry. Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate you! And I hope you enjoy your fluff-fest xo

attention seeker

frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 1.4k  warnings: no use of y/n, swearing, alcohol consumption, brief fainting spell, fluff and sweet drunken declarations, i have missed this man

The night is comfortable and warm, the buzz of the occasional mosquito flying by your ear as you recline into the cheap camping chair Benny had unfolded for you.

It'd been a while since he had successfully pried you out of your weekly take-out and true crime routine, but as he sits next to you now, yelling some shit at his brother across the table and spilling half of his beer in the process, you realise how much you've missed his drunken shenanigans.

And his hot friend pilot friend that you've been crushing on for an embarrassing amount of time that you've also struggled to say more than a few words to all night.

Maybe that's why you keep accepting the shots of tequila Benny keeps pouring. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe tonight's the night you'll go further than 'so how have you been?'.

“You’re wrong. Angel, tell him he’s wrong.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” you grin around your beer, shrugging loosely when Benny throws you a playful glare.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Leave the poor girl alone and just admit you’re wrong, you piece of shit,” Fish pipes up from beside Will, grinning widely at the way the younger Miller turns his gaze of betrayal on him.

He turns that smile on you and you swear you feel it in your damn bones.

"No, fuck the lot of you."

"Oh, Benny boo."

"No. Pope, fuckin' Google it."

"Man, let it go."

The urge for more snacks brings you to your feet and you laugh as the argument continues as you leave the table, the warm familiar rush of alcohol running along your limbs as you all but stumble your way into the humid air of the kitchen.

You hunt through the treasure trove of sweet and savoury treats in the cupboard before reaching for a bag of Doritos, groaning softly when they slip through your loose fingers and land with a light slap at your feet.

Life is too hard sometimes.

Your head spins as you bend to reach them, and you’ve either had too much to drink, or you stand back up too fast, because the last thing you remember is the dizzy spell that assaults your brain and the sudden blackness taking over your vision.

Vaguely you hear someone call out to you through the ringing in your ears, and you don’t quite know whether the arms that suddenly cradle you are real or just a figment of your imagination until you come to.

Sure enough someone’s there, sprawled out on the floor with you and pressed up hard against your back. 

“Hey, you good?” Fish asks, his voice tinged with concern rumbling into your ear. 

Oh, God. Of course it had to be him. It couldn’t have been Benny, or one of the other guys that you felt comfortably at ease around, no. No, it had to be the one that managed to get your stomach flipping and twisting if he so much as glanced your way. 

“I think so,” you mumble, raising a hand to rub along your forehead as the room swims in your vision before slowly coming into focus. “What happened?”

“You fainted—straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He’s teasing you. A heat bites at the tips of your ears as you smile, and you weakly slap at the arm curled around your waist. You swear it tightens for just the slightest second. Or maybe that's just the tequila swimming in your mind.

“Stop it. I’m so sorry—”

He chuckles, the jump of his chest against your back and your heart warms from the deepness of it. “Don’t be. I’m just glad I was here—don’t want you hitting your head.”

“You're my hero,” you sing quietly as he starts to untangle himself from you, backing away just enough to give you room to sit up on your own.

“Seriously though, are you okay?”

He’s frowning when you look at him over your shoulder, the concern back and twisting the edges of his features. He lifts a hand, the roughened pads of his finger tips dragging across your forehead and leaving butterflies in their wake.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good," you say, smiling as he pulls his hand away and gives you another grin. "Thank you for not letting me hit my head.”

"Happy to help," he shrugs, fixing the ever present hat on his head as he stands before offering you a hand. “You need help getting up?"

You take it gratefully, enjoying the slightest squeeze of his fingers around yours. "I think this might be my safest option."

The shots must be catching up on you all at once, because even with Frankie's hand holding yours, you struggle to stand steadily on two feet let alone find the strength to stand completely with the sudden knock of intoxication assaulting you from all angles.

“Maybe you should sit down for a few more minutes,” he laughs along with you quietly, both hands now steadying as you shakily sink back to the floor. You miss the heat of his hands as soon as they leave your skin.

Humming softly as you shuffle to lean against the kitchen cabinets, your head rolls and threatens to drop as the alcohol continues to swim through your bloodstream but you fight to blink up at him, smiling when you find him watching you with the shadow of concern lingering at the edges of his expression.

“You good?” he asks again, brows coming together.

“Yup,” you hiccup, grinning. “Can you keep me company, Frankie?”

He seems to soften at your question, the concern melting away the longer you manage to stay awake and upright where you’re propped up. He gives you a small smile, something softer, sweeter. 

“I will if you want me to.”

You tap the floor next to you, watching through slightly blurry eyes as he slowly drops into the designated spot and stretches his legs out with a long tired sigh. He must feel you watching him, and he meets your gaze from the corner of his eyes with a slight shine of hesitancy.

“What?”

“This is nice,” you murmur softly, warming when his eyes meet yours fully. “I never get you all to myself—Benny’s always in the way.”

His smile returns, and he dips his head somewhat shyly. “Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? You’re cute as hell.”

He chuckles, hands smoothing along his jeans as he makes himself more comfortable beside you. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Nope, I’ve had just enough. I needed the courage.”

His eyes find you again, this time swimming with obvious curiosity as he studies your expression. “What do you need courage for?”

“God, to just talk to you. You make me all nervous.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know—you’re a nice guy,” you breathe, cheeks aching from your tired smile. “You’re a really nice, really hot guy.”

“Cut it out.”

He laughs again, his shoulder softly bumping into your own and you can’t help the drunken giggle that the small show of playfulness pries from you.

“No, that’s why I have a bit of a crush on you.”

The alcohol has the little confession falling from your lips before your mind even knows what's happening. You don't have time to regret it, though. You don't even think about regretting it. You'll worry about it in the morning.

But he doesn't seem to take the news badly, and it doesn't seem to make him uncomfortable. He merely makes a low noise of thought, the smile now wide along his lips as his head rests back against the cabinet door.

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have a bit of a crush on you, too.”

The alcohol burns beneath your skin and you scoff in disbelief, unable to get rid of the smile still tugging away at your lips. Maybe you did hit your head on the way down.

“You do not.”

“I do. Just ask the guys, they give me shit about it all the time.”

“We need to address this in the morning when my brain isn’t so wobbly,” you murmur, your head finally giving in to the heaviness weighing it down as it settles softly on his shoulder.

The tell tale feel of lips press against your head before the soft reassuring warmth of his cheek follows.

“We can do that."

[jolapeno]

after the strings attach masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader*

summary: months have passed since the confessions, and now, Frankie and Blue are navigating the complexities of being in a relationship. From the challenges of their individual worlds to learning to balance love with the realities of life.

THE SEQUEL TO WITH NO STRINGS ATTACHED

pairing: delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader* rating: smut. 18+ for all chapters. series warnings: smut. (OFC has a name - and a nickname from frankie: blue - has a personality and backstory, but is physically a blank slate). nickname is given to reader by frankie: blue. established relationship dual POV. THIS IS A COLLECTION OF ONESHOTS OF THEM POST-THE-SERIES. SO WE MAY BOUNCE AROUND THE TIMELINE.

i. A WEDDING, A BLUE DRESS AND AN IMPORTANT QUESTION

Livvie and Frankie navigate changes. From house hunting to attending a wedding.

ii. PAINTING WITH A TWIST

A special name, a date night and a moment for Queen Celine.

iii. TOO MANY BOXES, TO MANY THINGS WARNINGS: TBC 

TBC

iv. SIT PRETTY ON ME - FACE RIDING/CAMERA

TBC

v. COMING SOON  

vi. COMING SOON  - PHONE SEX

vii. COMING SOON  

+ MORE.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

PREVIOUS GIFTS & THINGS

x the prettiest by @almostfoxglove

x marriage by me

x hallow-ghosts by me

an: WELCOME TO SEASON TWO- AKA THE COLLECTION OF ONESHOTS OF THEM POST-THE-SERIES. huge thanks to @goodwithcheese who told me it's okay to have fun and keep writing these, to @thelightsandtheroses and @polaroidpascal for convincing me this option is fine and to the gorgeous @luxurychristmaspudding who checks the spice is spicy @pedgito for giving me the strength to write them to begin with and to @almostfoxglove for listening to me.

[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. 

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[naptimepng]

drive in

frankie morales x f!reader | 3.1k

warnings/tags: date night, drive in movie, making out, domestic, they’re so in love your honour, frankie in that denim shirt. (cont. under the cut)

cont. warnings/tags: brief daddy kink, pregnancy kink??, pregnant sex, missionary, breast play, biting, hair pulling, pwp, praise kink, creampies for the win, aftercare. disclaimer: ive never done the do while pregnant so my apologies if there are any inaccuracies!!! summary: Maybe he’s just in love, but he thinks pregnancy has made you even more beautiful.  a/n: i love him he’s the bestest 

Sunday night. Date night. Frankie had suggested the local drive-in as he nosed along your hairline - murmuring the words into your hair as your hand stroked the bare skin of his shoulder in the early hours of that morning. The warm width of his hand splayed across the curve of your swollen tummy. His nose nestled in the crook of your shoulder as he mouthed gently at the soft, warm skin beneath your ear. Pressing a firm kiss there and grinning at the happy sound you made as you nodded sleepily to his question. 

***

You’re curled into his shoulder, your head resting in the crook of his neck. Frankie licks his lips - tasting the sugar on the air. Sweet and thick. Candy floss and beer - sticky sugared popcorn and caramel apples. His hand grips the soft flesh of your thigh, thumb absentmindedly stroking gently at your skin. 

They’re playing some old black and white movie tonight - the woman in pearls and black silk and he with his dark hair and dark eyes and charming smile. 

You glance over at Frankie - a small smile tugging at your lips and he looks back at you. Returns the smile and leans over to kiss you, his big hand cupping the soft curve of your cheek. Your mouth is sticky and sweet with candied apple and syrup and he licks his lips when he pulls away and pecks your nose. A swell of love blooms warm in your chest and you grin at him - a giggle rising in your chest - soft and girlish and altogether adorable. 

He’s lovely tonight. In his worn denim shirt, his Standard Oil cap pulled low over the dark mess of his curls. Flecks of yellow and white paint still stubbornly clinging to the worn material despite the two washes he’d put it through after painting the baby’s room. He scrapes a hand over his beard and reaches over to squeeze your hand. 

“How’s the movie?” He smiles, watching you watch him from the corner of his eye. You blink at him. 

There’s a soft chuckle and you blink. Quietly reply, “Good. Great. It’s… um. Very nice.”

It pulls a laugh from him and he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a tickly kiss to your knuckles. 

***

There’s the low timbre of Sinatra crackling through the radio as Frankie drives home, one hand loosely wrapped around the wheel, while the other is curled around your fingers, absentmindedly thumbing the gold band around your ring finger. 

When he glances at you from the corner of his eye, you’re glowing. 

Maybe he’s just in love, but he thinks pregnancy has made you even more beautiful. It’s a full moon and the liquid silver light of it clings to your skin - the apples of your cheeks - and has moonlight lingering at the edges of your lashes. It’s like the moon herself has seeped into you, there in your smile and the irises of your eyes, your laughter, each touch of your fingertips to his skin. 

Then you turn your head to catch the North Star peeking between the trees, and his breath catches in his throat. His hand tightens around the wheel. 

The sleeve of your sundress has slipped down your shoulder. Your bare skin revealed to him and he can’t look away. The peaks at the soft swell of your breasts pebbling at the breeze through the rolled down window because you’d complained you were too sore to wear a bra, the plush of your lips still swollen with sour lemonade and the salt of popcorn, your pregnant tummy - swollen and soft and warm when he reaches over without a thought and rests his palm atop it, smoothing his thumb over your skin. 

Your hand wraps around the thick of his forearm and you stroke gently at the soft skin of his inner wrist with your thumb. Still looking at the stars, you make a soft, pleased sound at his touch and he has to breathe out hard through his nose to focus on the road. 

***

Frankie waits for the shape of their home to come into view before the engine rumbles slowly to quiet and he reaches for you - his eyes hooded and soft. His hand cradles the curve of your jaw as he brings you to him, opening his mouth over yours and licking into the wet cup of your mouth. 

It’s apple pie and sugar and the sweet bite of peaches. He groans low and pleased into your mouth and nips at the plush of your lower lip. It pulls a keening sound from your throat and you exhale slowly into his neck before pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his pulse and whispering softly in his ear, “Frankie,” like you don’t know what’s made him so hot and bothered. 

He closes his teeth lightly around your bottom lip and groans. Swipes his thumb over his spit shining there and whispers, “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

You blink up at him, resting a hand on his cheek. Your lashes lower and you close your teeth gently around his thumb. “Why don’t you show me?” You ask him, a smile on your lips. You bring your mouth to his ear, your voice going low and suggestive as you whisper. “Make me feel good, baby. Show me what I do to you.” 

Frankie makes a flustered little noise in the back of his throat and grips the soft weight of your aching breasts in his hands - dragging his lips over your cheek and down your neck. Opening the wet heat of his mouth over your hot skin to suck in soft, slow pulses - a cheeky nip of his teeth before he’s drawing back and running his tongue over his lips. His mouth splitting in a grin as he looks up at you from beneath the dark fan of his lashes - at the dazed sheen across your eyes. Your eyes are caught on the soft plush of his pink lips when he smiles up at you - languid and lazy and slow. 

“Inside, baby.”

***

He kicks the door closed behind him and presses you up against it, mouthing at your neck and nipping at the swell of your breasts, your hip and thighs. Gripping the edge of your panties between his teeth and letting them snap against your skin - just to hear the shocked little gasp of his name. He grins to himself and cradles your thigh, kissing your bare skin then standing again to bring you to him in a slow kiss. 

He toes off his boots and kicks them to where the door must be. Lets you tug him to the bedroom as he tosses the car keys over his shoulder, not waiting to hear the clink of them landing on the kitchen island before you grin back at him, over your shoulder and making him trip over his feet. 

On the bed, it’s all wandering hands and slow hips until your sundress is on the floor with his jeans and boxers, and his shirt is half unbuttoned, your fingers fumbling with the buttons while Frankie tries to distract you with his mouth. Impatience and need thrum inside him and he gently nudges your hands away with a fond smile. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs and tugs you close with a big hand gripping your ass and the other curling around the soft curve of your hip. He settles you across his thighs - on top baby c’mon - tips his chin up to kiss you again, licking into your mouth - lemme taste you honey. 

He spreads the soft of your thighs around his hips and settles a hand underneath the swell of your breast, the other splayed across your spine to guide the slow, rolling movements of your hips as you grind against him. 

He’s sliding against you, the head of his cock bumping your clit and it makes you throw your head back, whining at the back of your throat. You look so beautiful Frankie’s having a hard time thinking straight between the soft noises you’re making and each slick pass of his cock through your legs. 

He grips the back of your neck, pulling your face to him to murmur into your mouth. “Lie back, babe. Wanna be inside you, feel that tight little pussy ‘round my cock.” 

He says it with a smirk, knowing how it’ll affect you and it does. 

A hot exhale of air leaves your mouth and he swallows your startled yelp as he pushes you onto your back, hooking his hands under your knees and fitting his hips between your legs. It makes you smile, his triumphant little snicker, and you kiss him, straining your neck to meet his mouth. 

He pulls back too soon, hushing your whine with a soft smile. “Here, lemme get a pillow under you. Read somewhere it’s meant to help. Make it better for you.” 

It makes you smile. Resting a hand on his chest as he reaches for a spare pillow, fluffing it up before he sits back to ease it underneath you. “You’ve been reading up on how to have good sex while pregnant?”

He chuckles. “Of course, can’t leave my beautiful woman unsatisfied, can I?” He adjusts the pillow a little, checking with you to make sure it feels right. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good, babe,” you murmur. “So hot of you to research this, by the way. Might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me.” 

“Oh yeah?” He teases, grinning down at you as he settles himself between your legs again, smoothing a hand up your thigh. “Can’t think of anything else?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, distracted as you reach for him.

Your hand circles his cock in your palm and you tug slow and tight, touching at his slit and hooking a leg around his waist to bring him closer when he groans and covers your hand in his. He bows his head and drags his nose across your cheek before his mouth is by your ear. 

“Fuck, babe. You want it?” He breathes, his voice tinged with desperation. “Yeah? Want daddy’s cock?” 

It makes heat lick down your spine and your mouth falls open on a low moan, lips brushing his. 

“Fuck - yes, Frankie - please, please—” 

He hooks your thigh over his hip, squeezing there gently. Reaching down to guide his cock into you, eyes locked on your face to watch your expression pinch with a whine. He draws back then pushes forward again, his chest heaving when you whimper, a hand knotted in his curls. 

It’s slow, but he’s patient - pulling back an inch then giving you two - thrusting in slow, steady movements that work his cock into the tight, sucking clutch of your cunt. He keeps your mouth against his the entire time - his hand on the back of your neck, cradling your cheek in his palm - breathing hot, low moans into you every time your hips meet. 

Your nails scrape down the nape of his neck, digging into the collar of his shirt. Tugging gently at his dark curls and drawing back to watch his brows pinch - your eyes hooded and soft and it’s so unbearably lovely that the words die in his throat. All he can do is sigh into your mouth, his tongue thrusting behind your teeth until he can taste sugar and the sweet bite of apple pie. 

He could kiss you forever. Feels his chest swell with peace knowing that he can when he feels the smooth metal of your ring against his cheek as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. 

He makes love to you slow, guiding your arms around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, the other beside your head, his fingers threaded through yours. 

His pelvis grinds against your clit like this, with the deep, steady thrusts of his hips. It makes pleasure spark in your belly, twisting into something hot and delicious. Has your toes curling and your eyes at half-mast, brows pinching at a particularly deep thrust. 

Frankie feels the air shift, feels the breathless uh uh uh of your moans climb higher. He feels your back beginning to arch, your moans becoming incoherent, and changes his rhythm, hearing the schlap schlap schlap of his hips meeting the backs of your thighs with how wet you are. 

Every punch of his cock sends lightning down your spine. You’re sweating, your skin slick against Frankie’s when he leans over your belly to kiss you, his hips still keeping their urgent rhythm. 

His arms are burning from holding himself up to kiss you and sweat is gathering at the small of his back, soaking his shirt but he can barely think beyond the sound you make when he shifts his weight to one arm to pinch at your nipple, soothing the ache with the wet heat of his mouth, his beard scraping your sensitive skin. 

His hips shift a little to hit the spot that makes you whimper into his ear, has your fingers tightening in his hair. His hand leaves your hip to squeeze between your bodies. He finds your clit and rubs in time with the thrust of his hips, and it takes everything in him not to come when you gasp his name, a hand gripping his shirt collar in the tight clutch of your fist while the other tugs hard at his hair. 

The pain lights a line of gunpowder down his spine, has his hips faltering despite your cries of just like that frankie that’s so good baby. 

“Like that?” He asks, his voice gone thick. “Want you to feel so good, baby, want you to cum for me, yeah?” 

You’re nodding frantically, eyes wide like you don’t want to miss a second of watching him fuck you, dark hair falling over his face, brown eyes burning with love, his lips bitten pink and slick with spit. 

He’s gorgeous. You can’t take your eyes off him, even as your orgasm begins to crest. 

“Gonna - fuck - gonna cum, Frankie, so close - feels so good, baby—”

It hits you just as his mouth crashes into yours, his tongue licking into you, swallowing your broken cry as you cum. Your body flushes warm with heat, pleasure tingling down to the tips of your fingers, exploding in your belly. 

Frankie grunts, faltering at the pressure of your cunt locking up around him, huffing, “‘M close, ‘m gonna - gonna cum inside, baby - fill you up,” through gritted teeth. 

“Yes,” you gasp, locking your legs around him as best you can, trying to draw him in even closer. “Want you inside, Frankie - give it to me, fuck—” 

His hand splays across your tummy and he shoves his face into your neck, trying to muffle the breathless whine of your name that leaves him when you squeeze around his cock. 

His blunt fingernails are digging into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you to him as his cock twitches, spilling hot cum inside you that you can already feel leaking out around him. He shudders as he cums, shoulders drawn tight and teeth scraping your neck as he gasps your name, breathless. 

He lingers there a while. Panting softly into the balmy skin of your shoulder, brushing his mouth over your chest in light, distracted kisses as he comes down. He rests his forehead against your sternum, his soft hair tickling under your chin as you curl your hand around the back of his neck, rubbing lightly with the pads of your fingers. He hums, pleased, the sound long and slow before beginning to extricate himself from you, releasing your hips, smoothing the backs of his fingers over them as he lifts his head, giving you a quick kiss. 

You’re reluctant to let him go, making a soft noise of discomfort when he pulls out to grab a towel and run it under the tap. He cleans you quietly, wiping the sweat and his cum from your body with gentle motions, the cool cotton soothing your heated skin. 

Frankie pecks your cheek when he leaves to toss it, smoothing a hand over your forehead to brush back the baby hairs plastered to your skin. He brings you one of his old t-shirts, helping you tug it over your head and slipping a pair of his boxers up your legs as your eyelids begin to droop. He pulls on a pair himself, tossing his socks at the foot of the bed. 

The bed dips and creaks a little as he crawls to you, pulling some other worn band t-shirt over his head and smiling fondly when you reach for him. Curling close and fitting a leg between his. 

The window next to his side of the bed is cracked open an inch, letting in warm, summer air that catches on the sweat at the back of his neck where his hair has gone curly and thick. You tug your fingers through it fondly, smiling at him with emotion shining in your eyes. Shuffling forward an inch to kiss him. 

“Love you,” you whisper quietly, like you don’t want to break the quiet that has settled around the two of you. He murmurs it back to you; slow and breathless like he’s forgotten how to speak and smiles tiredly at your soft, endeared giggle - a hand reaching up to push a few strands of hair from your cheek. 

You run the backs of your fingers over his shoulder, kneading gently as his eyes flutter closed for a moment. Feeling any tension still locked in his spine release at the slow, steady movements of your hand. 

He brings it to his cheek, nuzzling your palm and feeling your thumb stroke down his cheekbone. Covers your hand in his and rubs his thumb over the gold band around your finger, raising your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to it, devotion shining in his eyes as he looks up at you, at the naked emotion on your face that feels infinitely more intimate than the sex. 

He tucks his head into your neck, gone shy at the adoration burning in your eyes, pressing a tickly kiss there and murmuring, “Sleep, baby. I got you.”

You close your eyes, breathing in and exhaling deeply, soothed to sleep by his steady heartbeat against your cheek and the slow rhythm of his thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

[polaroidpascal]

morning brew || joel & frankie

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader x joel miller

summary : when you and Frankie wake up, you find that joel is missing from bed.

tags : fluff but allusions to smut, no use of y/n, frankie being sweet, joel being a goofy menace, all love and silly jokes with these three, fic cover is for vibes only, reader is you babe!!

WC : 619

a/n : this might be the stupidest little thing i've ever spat out, and i wrote it in all of like 15 minutes, maybe, simply bc i saw one of those "passed out a couple times but your dessert is ready!" memes. also bc i haven't been able to stop thinking about frankie or being in a throuple with him and joel 🫠 so enjoy this stupid nonsense ig 💀

Joel’s not in bed when you wake up.

Frankie has his arms wrapped around you, the two men having sandwiched you in the bed late last night as the three of you drifted to sleep. His hot breath fans across your skin, slow and sleepy as he dreams.

You turn in his hold to face him and he tries to nuzzle his face into your neck. You pepper kisses onto his forehead, his cheek, and wake him up with a kiss.

“Good morning, hermosa,” he says, voice hoarse with slumber as it rumbles through your ribcage.

“Good morning,” you say, planting another deep, slow kiss to his plush lips. His hands roam sweetly and gently against your soft, warm skin. And you let him, the sweet boy, caress every inch of your body he can find just because he loves you so much.

You pull away from the kiss and he meets you with a small protesting whine. “Joel’s not here…”

“Hm?” he mutters, eyes barely open. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, I think we should go find him,” you say with a smile, a small one. One he meets as his eyes fully open and he throws the covers off of you.

The smell of coffee meets you before the image of him does. You walk down the hallway with Frankie trailing close behind you, his hand locked in yours. You round the corner and see Joel standing at his coffee pot donning nothing but a robe and his slippers, three mugs sitting on the counter before him.

He hears the floor shift beneath you and looks up, a smile blossoming on his face. “G’mornin’, sleepyheads. Made y’all some coffee.”

You and Frankie sit at the island together and cradle the mugs in your hands. You both sip and hum at the bitter bite of the coffee and the sweetness that lingers after.

“Mmm… so good, Joel. Thank you,” Frankie says with a sparkle in his eye and Joel winks at him. He smirks at that, then asks, “This tastes different... but good different. Did you use a different milk or something? Like, a new creamer?”

“Sure did,” he says with a nod. “Passed out, like, six times though.”

You both choke mid-sip and Joel stifles back a laugh.

“Y— you what?” you ask, nearly setting the mug down.

“Yeah, got up early ‘n everything to make it perfect for my two angels.” A positively shit-eating grin explodes across his face as he takes another slow, audible sip of his coffee.

You and Frankie turn to each other wide-eyed, then back to Joel before he erupts with laughter.

“Darlin’, relax. I’m just teasin’,” Joel manages between giggles. “Yes, I bought a new creamer.” He holds a hand over his stomach while he laughs some more.

The two of you let go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding, shoulders slumping and looking down into the cups in your hands. Frankie starts to chuckle first, looking at Joel and shaking his head before laughing harder.

It’s not long before the three of you are in a laughing fit in the kitchen, coffee abandoned as laughter and giggles fill the kitchen.

“Well, today is off to an interesting start,” you say, catching your breath.

“That’s one way to put it,” Frankie chimes in before nudging your arm.

“Yeah, sure is,” Joel agrees, pressing a hand to his stomach while he exhales deep. “Man, almighty. ‘M not gonna have enough energy left.”

You breathe a laugh out of your nose. “Yeah? Energy for what?”

He looks up again, unable to hide his goofy smile like he did before. “For the dessert I was gonna fix for y’all later.”

[gracie7209]

Mood board by the lovely, wonderful, and insanely talented @wildemaven

Complete!

Amaryllis Masterlist

Triple Frontier AU

Pairings: Frankie x f!reader, Tom x wife!Reader

A/N: (Reader is of Hispanic descent and is originally from Cuba, but moved at a fairly young age. There are mentions of some ethnic traditions/customs as well etc) This started as a Waitress AU that I completely lost control of and it has now become THIS lol I’ve posted snippets, but have been working on this for the better part of 2 years and I was determined to see it through. Originally had Ana De Armas as a face claim for Reader which is why the character is Cuban. No physical descriptions other than Reader has a light accent.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, fluff, heavy angst, drinking, there are some heavy topics here so please heed chapter warnings, domestic violence, Tom is a piece of SHIT, cheating, infidelity, oral (f & m receiving), pregnancy, pregnant sex, maybe slight lactation kink?? fingering, unprotected PIV sex, therapy mentions, childbirth mentioned (no description), first time (with Tom 🤢 but necessary to the story), Tom is just literally the fucking worst, but Frankie is here to make it all better, leaving out some things so as not to completely spoil the plot. Will update each chapter with more specific warnings

Description:

As a sheltered wife to an emotionally abusive husband, you find yourself in an impossible situation when you learn that you’re pregnant. Up until now, you were content with the way things were, but a child didn’t deserve this life that had been chosen for you. What little outlook you had on life was as good as gone; But then a chance meeting in an unlikely place finds you potentially looking toward a very different future.

That is, until it’s all ripped away from you.

How far are you willing to go to keep a promise you made as a child? And how much are you willing to sacrifice to protect the ones you love most?

A/N: This fic is complete, just doing some finishing touches. There are 12 chapters and an epilogue. Chapter lengths range any where from 1k-9k words. Also, I just have to give my thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment Who basically held my hand and guided me throughout this entire process. I genuinely mean it that I don’t believe I ever would’ve finished this story if it wasn’t for her. Claire you are a Godsend and I appreciate you more than you know!

*******

*Chapters containing smut will be labeled with 🔥

Drabble

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Wednesday

Chapter 3 - It’s a…!

Chapter 4 - Tom

Chapter 5 - It’s Been Awhile

Chapter 6 - Want 🔥

Chapter 7 - The Mission

Chapter 8 - The Call

Chapter 9 - The Return 🔥

Chapter 10 - Safe House

Chapter 11 - Stay 🔥

Chapter 12 - Home

Epilogue

A/N: I don’t have an official tag list, but if you would like to be tagged, just let me know!

[prolix-yuy]

Bangathon 2024 Masterlist

Thank you to everyone that participated! Please enjoy the banging below.

Submissions are always open! Please tag @prolix-yuy and use the hashtag #bangathon2024 so I can add yours to the list!

Bangathon Homepage

Bear & Bee by @mabelisapunk (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

track 9 - the prophecy by @pedrito-friskito (Din Djarin x Fem!Reader)

Quite the Reunion by @crowandmousewritingco (Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x transmasc!reader)

Phoenix Playing in a Red Cave by @boliv-jenta (Dieter Bravo x F!Reader)

Trying Something New by @missredherring (Lucien Flores x Fat F!Reader)

Bangathon prize fic coming soon!

[davnittbraes]

A Study in Feminism

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7190 (I’m sorry)

Warnings, tags etc: mention of addiction and recovery, very brief unwanted physical restraint, reader technically commits assault and runs from the cops, mentions of past relationships, arguing, angst (of course, because it’s me,) rage at the patriarchy, explicit smut, oral f!receiving (of course, because it’s Frankie,) unprotected p in the v action with previously given consent and present but not mentioned birth control, c-spot orgasm (DONE RIGHT, none of that blindly stabbing at things nonsense) and some fluffy silliness to top it off

Notes: this is my first true one-shot, as in I have no intention of developing this into a series. We’ll see how long that lasts lol. No mention of Frankie’s kid(s?) here, the word count is bad enough without diving into that

Objectively, it’s a shitty bar. 

But it’s the only one in the area that won’t be packed tonight - it’s lack of television screens eliminates the chance of rowdy, drunk crowds packing in to watch the big game, and really, the last thing you want is to be around a bunch of obnoxious people right now. 

Today was… A Day. 

Your morning sucked. Work sucked. Your commute sucked. Everything just. Sucked. 

The type of exhaustion born from dealing with too much bullshit is setting into your muscles and all you want to do is close this day out with an ending that isn’t as terrible as the rest of it. 

So. The bar is shitty, but it’s quiet, and it has food and alcohol. Three out of the four things you need right now. 

And the last thing just texted you to say he’s on his way. 

You smile as you type out a quick reply to Frankie. Funny, you’ve been doing that a lot lately. 

Smiling, about Frankie. 

It’s only been a few months, and you’ve both got enough relationship baggage that neither of you are rushing into anything. So it’s a little early for you to be confident in saying it’s going to be a long-term thing. 

But you’re still smiling when you lock your phone and the wallpaper photo lights up your screen - you and Frankie, kissing in the middle of a mutually enabled giggle fit. 

Not an unusual scene, in your relationship. 

He makes you laugh, often, those dry one-liners that come out of nowhere, spoken in that quiet, almost always gentle voice. A voice that belies his strength and determination, a focused drive that got him through his military career and earned him a place on elite task forces. 

The same focus that pulled him out of the pit of addiction and led him to be five years clean this year. 

Now, he’s the reason why your exhaustion is already starting to slough off your shoulders, just the anticipation of his presence enough to set your heart racing and turn your thoughts away from the events of the day. 

He’s the reason why you had the energy to shower after work, throw on a pretty sundress and some makeup instead of sulking alone at home on the sofa. 

He’s the reason why you wanted to end the day on a positive note, because since Frankie came along, you know what it’s like to be happy and you want to stay that way. 

Shifting on your bar stool, you set your phone down and reach for the glass in front of you, taking a sip. The unoccupied seat beside you suddenly fills, a guy wearing a bit too much cologne sliding into it.

Internal alarm bells go off immediately, skin on the back of your neck prickling in warning. There are plenty of empty seats that aren’t right next to you. But then again, this isn’t the first time some guy has invited himself into your evening unwanted. You can handle this. 

Glancing around, you pick out an empty table for two toward the back. You’ll just move over there -

“Hey.”

You look at the man who just sat next to you, silently praying to whatever the patron saint of women drinking in bars is. Please let him not be a creep. “Hey, I was just moving -“

“Come on, now, you’re the reason why I sat here in the first place.” He turns to face you, smile too forced, gaze drifting down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink, we’ll get to know each other.”

Nope. Not a chance. 

Keeping your tone neutral, you move to slide off the barstool. “I’m good, thanks.”

He stands up suddenly, stepping too close, expression shifting to something dark. 

You inhale sharply, startled, and his cologne catches in the back of your throat, stinging your eyes and almost making you cough and you blink rapidly to clear your vision. 

Gotta get away, where -

“Hey, dude. She said no.”

An unfamiliar voice drifts over your shoulder, a tall, broad man stepping up to your side, placing himself just a bit in front of you.

You can’t help but frown at him - who is this guy? - but the creep with the cologne scoffs, gives him a onceover, then slinks away. 

The guy turns to smile at you, and your frown fades. He’s instantly charming, warm and friendly. And he did just scare off what was going to be a problem for you.

Clearing your throat, you reach for your drink to get rid of the lingering scent of strong cologne. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, settling into the now-empty stool. “I see a girl in trouble, I have to step in. It’s the right thing to do.”

Those internal alarm bells sound off again, quieter this time, unsure. He seems friendly, but he moved right into that stool the creep had just left far too easily for your comfort. 

Time to go. 

You grab your phone, slip it into your purse. “Well, I wasn’t really in trouble, but I appreciate that you want to help other people.”

“Guys like him are assholes. They should be put in their place more often.” He shakes his head, leaning an elbow against the bar, charming smile dimming as if he’s upset even talking about it. “Might not have seemed like it to you, but men like him can flip pretty quickly. He definitely would have taken advantage of you.”

A flash of surprise makes you freeze, staring at him. He assumes you were completely blind to how obviously dangerous that guy was? 

A hard note slips into your voice, despite your efforts to keep it light. “I was leaving when you showed up. I would have been fine.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze running down your frame in an echo of the other guy’s. “I’m sure you would have. But girls like you are always safer when you have a man to look after for you.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice rises, anger rushing through your veins. “I don’t need ‘a man to look after me.’ I can do that myself. Watch me.”

You shove off the barstool, spinning around to -

His hand grabs your arm, grips tight, pulls you back. 

Shock rips through anger and you yank hard to free your arm -

His fingers dig in, bruise -

It doesn’t budge he’s too strong -

You struggle to pull free, managing to glare at him, anger flaring bright at the smug look on his face. “Let me go.”

He grins, gaze dark with something that curls into your stomach and makes you sick. Makes your heartbeat waver and your lungs clench with panic. 

You hate this feeling. 

This feeling of helplessness.

It’s one you’ve felt too many times in situations too similar to this, when you’ve had to cautiously navigate a conversation with a strange man who was coming on to you, always aware of the fact that they were usually bigger and stronger than you, that many people would be on his side if it came to a fight. 

That society would have you “give him a chance,” no matter what you wanted. 

Frustration sweeps through shock and panic.

No. 

You’ve had enough of men making you feel this way. 

Like you’re powerless.

You shove him with your free hand, pushing all your body weight into the motion. 

He jerks backward, thrown off balance, letting go of your arm as he stands up. “Hey! Watch it -“

“What’s going on?”

The quiet, gentle words seep into the tension in the air, dull the harsh beat of your pulse in your ears. 

You look over your shoulder, voice rushed, high with too much emotion. “Frankie.”

He’s eyeing the stranger, jaw set in a tight line as he moves to stand by you, placing himself between you and the guy. 

A thrill of something primal squeezes the air from your lungs - the way Frankie moves, with the confident grace of someone who has fought similar fights countless times, and won. 

With the absolute certainty that he will do whatever is necessary in order to protect you.

Your heartbeat races for a different reason, another kind of heat flooding your system. 

Seeing Frankie stand up for you is… unfairly sexy. 

The stranger scoffs, looking at you over Frankie’s shoulder, sneer twisting his features. “For someone who doesn’t need a man, you sure are quick to hide behind one.”

You freeze. 

Shame pours ice-hot down your back. 

No. You will not let him make you feel like this. 

Powerless. 

Anger boils, irrational and unstoppable - 

You’re moving, slipping around Frankie and pushing out all your anger and frustration at this asshole and all the world’s assholes and -

Ow. 

The stranger is shouting, slumping, holding his hands to his nose. 

Why does your hand hurt?

You’re moving again, surging toward the stranger, but someone grabs you and -

Instinct shoves you back, a grunt as your elbow hits something soft -

Rage dims enough for a sliver of awareness to sink back in. 

Frankie wraps an arm around your waist again, pulling you back, his voice finally registering to your anger-haze mind. “Stop, come on, we have to get out of here -“

A patron sitting at the bar a few seats away is on his phone, talking frantically, you catch words drifting through the rush of blood in your ears -

Police -

Assault -

Broke his nose -

You push Frankie away and find your feet, grabbing your purse and moving quickly toward the back door.

The cool night air hits your skin and you gasp, the contrast to the heat boiling in your chest sharp and disorienting. 

Frankie’s right behind you, pulling the door shut and striding quickly toward the street. “Come on, I parked this way. We’ll go to my place, it’s closer.”

Instinct more than anything pushes you to follow him, your mind too chaotic with adrenaline and anger to think. The guy’s sneering smirk replays in your head over and over, that smug superiority of someone who thinks they hold power over another person. 

Your teeth hurt as you clench your jaw. 

Worse, that he did hold power over you. That he was stronger than you. 

That he proved his point. 

Because Frankie -

Was only trying to help you -

The rational thought burns to ash as soon as it crosses your mind, caught in a whirlwind of rage echoing with the words of the asshole back at the bar. 

Because Frankie shoved his way in. 

Frankie opens the passenger side door to his truck, gesturing for you to get in. The gesture reminds you of when he’d stepped between you and that asshole and shame ripples through you again. 

You liked it -

No, he interfered, he didn’t think you could hold your own -

You shake your head sharply, trying to knock the irrational, anger-fuelled thoughts back as you slide into the seat and he closes the door. 

Deep breath. Let it out. Try to calm down. 

The silence is heavy as he drives, vibrating with tension, hanging between you just waiting to crack and spill out all the words you’re trying so hard not to say, but that tiny sliver of rationality is growing harder and harder to hold on to, worn away by the memory of that smug smile and that slimy glance down your body and those words -

“Wanna tell me what happened?” 

Frankie’s quiet voice is jarring to the noise in your head, just enough for your tenuous hold on your temper to finally snap. 

You shift roughly in your seat, struck with the urge to move but annoyingly stuck where you are for now. “What ‘happened’ was you got in the way.”

He glances at you, a movement you see out of the corner of your eye. “How did I get in the way?”

Ignoring the heat of frustration in his voice, you power through, holding tight to your own anger. “You shoved yourself into a situation that I was handling just fine without you.”

“Really.” The sarcasm is a low blow, it stokes your anger perfectly. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to go to jail tonight. Sorry I stopped that from happening.”

You throw up your hands, let them fall to your lap with a loud slap to emphasize your frustration. “Don’t be dramatic. I would have been fine. I didn’t need you to get involved.”

A moment of silence, and you risk a glance in his direction - the green glow of a traffic light illuminates him as the truck passes underneath it, catching the faint movement of his index finger tapping slowly against the steering wheel. 

Great. He’s using that anger management technique he learned in therapy. 

Next he’ll be trying to walk you through it too, count steadily to ten, so you can both calm down and talk about this. 

Yet another thing you don’t need from him right now. 

Right now, you want to rage, at him, at the asshole in the bar, at the entire world, for making you feel like you aren’t enough. 

Frankie clears his throat. “Obviously not. That punch was perfect.”

The words throw you for a loop, not what you were expecting, but not enough to quench your anger. “Yeah, well, I’m no spec ops but I can throw a punch. Which is why I didn’t need you to step in.”

He looks at you again as he turns onto his street, but it’s too dark to see his expression. “Look, I saw you were in trouble -“

“I was handling it.” You cut him off quick but he keeps going. 

“- and I care about you, so yes, I stepped in -“

“- I didn’t ask you to -“

“You don’t have to, that’s just what you do for people you care about.”

An undefinable emotion flood your veins, hot and cold at the same time. “Oh, so that guy cares about me?”

A pause. “What?”

You scoff, fold your arms across your chest, suddenly hyperaware of your body and uncomfortable about it. “He stepped in when another creep was being too pushy, so he must care about me, too, right? I should have been grateful to him, let him buy me a drink?” Rage chokes your throat. “Should I have let him take me home and fuck me because he stood up for me?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying -“

“Then what are you saying, Frankie?” You twist in your seat, look at him without even seeing him. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re no different than that guy.”

Frankie stills, turns off the ignition, sits back in his seat. 

You hadn’t even realized he’d parked in his driveway. 

Blinking, you finally look at him. 

The outside light is on, casting his features in a dull orange, deepening the shadows around his eyes from the bill of his baseball cap. You can’t see them, but it doesn’t matter - you can tell by the slump of his shoulders, the downturned corners of his mouth. 

Your words echo in your thoughts. 

Guilt spikes through your anger. 

You hadn’t -

You didn’t mean -

What you said last still hangs in the air, unable to be taken back. 

Frankie moves, breaking the stillness. Opens the truck door and steps out. Closes it behind him. 

You watch him walk up to the front door of his house, unlock it, disappear inside. 

The dull thud of the door closing behind him is like a final toll of a bell. 

Your voice cracks in the silence of the truck cab. “Fuck.”

The worn hinge of the truck door creaks as you scramble out, slam it behind you with a little more force than you meant to. The buzz of anger in your chest shifts, turns toward yourself too, and how you treated the one man who was kind to you tonight. 

You’re such an idiot, why would you say that -

He’s not -

A growl of frustration chokes in your throat as you push through the front door. 

The house is quiet, dark, only the entryway light left on. And empty, no sign of Frankie -

He comes out of the kitchen, a bag of frozen green peas in his hands. 

Your heart stutters hard enough to hurt, and you lean back against the door as if it could give you strength.

Frankie stops in front of you, gaze on the bag of peas as he holds it out to you. “To keep the swelling down.”

A huff gets stuck in your tight throat, comes out more like a cry, and you blink back the blur of tears, look up, around, anywhere but at him. “How dare you be so thoughtful and sweet after I said the worst things to you.”

He gently takes your hand and turns it over to rest your sore knuckles on the bag of peas. “Still care about you.”

You can’t even look at him, can’t see the hurt that you know is obvious in those warm, brown eyes. Instead, you focus on his hands, on the large palm cupping the pack of frozen peas to your scraped knuckles, the long fingers of his other hand loosely curling around your wrist. 

All the fire and heat and fury that burned in your chest moments ago suddenly sputters, flickers. Dies. 

A heavy sigh loosens the tightness in your lungs. “I’m not mad at you.”

His fingers flex on your wrist, his low hum of disbelief vibrating over your skin. 

Fuck, you really screwed this up, didn’t you. 

Letting your head fall back against the door, you force yourself to look at him. He needs to see it, that you’re telling the truth. “I mean it. I’m not.”

That warm gaze meets yours - yeah, just as you thought, it’s there, hurt tinged with anger and now doubt. 

That stings more than the hurt, actually. 

The knowledge that he’s doubting you, your honesty. Maybe even how you feel about him. 

Fuck your pride, girl. Just tell him. 

Shifting your wrist in his grip, you take his hand, squeeze it tight. “Look, I liked it, okay? And I’m angry with myself and I took it out on you and that’s not fair, and I’m so sorry, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

A frown forms between his brows, his gaze flickering over your features in confusion. “Liked what?”

Oh god, just say it, get it over with. “When you showed up and like immediately stepped in to defend me, physically put yourself between me and the threat with no hesitation, then stood there with your stupidly broad shoulders and strong arms and testosterone and this whole aura of “don’t fuck with my girl” and god, Frankie, it was so hot. “

His mouth twitches, lips curving at the corners and his frown melts away, hurt in his eyes replaced by fond amusement. “Oh yeah? You liked that?”

Your nose wrinkles as embarrassment tries to push you away from him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna know what was really hot?” 

His voice dips low, rasping down your spine, pulling it into an arch that curves your hips toward him, a movement tracked by his gaze. 

He definitely catches the clench of your thighs, too. 

His thumb glides over your bruised knuckles. “What was really hot was watching you clock a guy with at least six inches and fifty pounds on you, staring him down like you were gonna castrate him right there in the bar.”

Biting back a grin, you twine your fingers in his, cocking your head to the side. “If only I had a knife.”

He chuckles - why is that so hot - and lets go of your hand, tugs you toward him, pushing into your space, his chest brushing your breasts through your dress. Anticipation catches in your throat, arousal you’ve been holding back for so long pulsing to life. 

Then his expression turns serious, thoughtful, his free hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back with casual intimacy. “That’s what I was thinking, you know.”

Your thoughts are already sluggish with a pleasant haze, it takes a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. “That you wanted me to cut his balls off?”

“I was thinking don’t fuck with my girl, because she’ll make you wish you’d never laid a hand on her, and leaving with your balls still attached is the least of your worries.”

The absolute certainty, the pride in his voice - some emotion you’re not ready to name twists behind your ribs, trembles through your veins. 

God, what you wouldn’t do for this man. 

Lifting your free hand, you let it trail down his chest, the slight swell of his stomach, brush over the bulge of his jeans. His breath hitches as you press your palm there, lean in to murmur against his lips. 

“Don’t worry, your balls are safe with me.”

You catch the glint of his answering smile before he’s taking the sliver of distance between you and swallowing it in a searing kiss that pulls a moan from your throat. 

He echoes the sound back when you flex your hand, fingernails scratching lightly against denim, palm grinding over his cloth-covered cock. Arousal warms between your thighs as you feel him twitch, already starting to strain against the fabric.

Need swarms over your skin, your thoughts, dizzying. 

Fuck, everything about him feels so good, the way his body presses to yours, his hand glides up your back, his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, how his breath stutters against your cheek when your fingers curl over his length and squeeze -

Crash -

You startle, hands flying to grasp at Frankie’s shoulders as you whirl toward the source of the sound -

Tiny, cold balls ping off your legs -

What -

Frankie huffs, looking down at the floor by your feet, mouth twisting up in a sheepish smile. “Dropped the peas.”

You glance down at the bag, split open, a few random peas still rolling away, and a surprised laugh bursts from your chest. He looks at you, gaze sparking, and your laugh gets stuck in your throat, a wave of intense affection flooding warm through your veins. 

It amazes you, sometimes, how much you want him. 

He obviously sees it, expression shifting to something similar, darker and sweeter at the same time. 

Then he’s pulling you to him, hand curling around the back of your neck as he kisses you firmly, thumb pressing at the hinge of your jaw until you open for him.

Yes -

His tongue slips into your mouth to glide along yours and a rush of heat floods your core and you clutch at his shoulders, sweep his cap off those soft curls to sink your fingers into them, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

Something shifts, you can feel it under your palms, an energy that flares to life deep within him. 

Your own body responds, moulding to his, silently pleading for more. 

He gives it, kiss turning into something more desperate, all lips and tongue and panting breath and hands roaming your body, catching on the fabric of your dress, slipping underneath. 

The heat of his large hands on the swell of your ass makes you gasp, break the kiss, and he groans. 

“Need you -“

The pleading tone of his voice brings your lips right back to his, your hips arching into his grip, shivers of pleasure racing along your skin when his fingertips dig in just enough to sting. 

Then you’re moving, feet stumbling to follow him, senses too focused on how his lips move against yours and his hands sweep over your hips and his thumbs trace the waistband of your underwear -

Something soft but solid bumps against your thigh  and then he’s turning you, guiding you back to lean on it - the arm of the sofa, you’re in the living room now. 

He pulls away enough to look at you, dark gaze flitting over your features as if taking you in, every sign of your arousal that’s painted on your face. The corner of his mouth ticks up, as if he likes what he sees. 

There’s something almost cocky about his expression and it feeds the heat growing in your core, cunt throbbing for friction. Your hands fly to his belt, start to open the buckle but he takes your wrists, stills your motion. 

You hesitate, confused. “Frankie?”

“It’s okay.” He brings your hands to his lips, kisses them lightly before setting them palms down on either side of you, resting on the arm of the sofa. “I just wanna taste that perfect pussy of yours first.”

A moan falls from your lips, and his smile grows as he sinks to his knees. 

Holy shit -

Seeing him like this, knelt before you with that goddamn knowing smile, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he pulls the skirt of your dress to your waist. It’s exhilarating in some way, shoving your need for him even higher. 

But residual guilt suddenly tamps down on your arousal. “Frankie, I’m supposed to be making you feel good -“

“This does make me feel good.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down your legs, glancing up at you as he leans in. “Hold that pretty dress up for me, baby.”

You just manage to grab the skirt of your dress to keep it out of his way when he flicks his tongue out and swipes it over your clit. 

Oh fuck -

Pleasure sparks through your core, your thighs falling open, and he hums in approval as he shifts closer, large hands gliding up your legs, warm and steady, plush lips pressing a wet kiss to your clit before lifting his gaze to look up at you. 

A moment, and you’re pinned by that dark brown, those beautiful eyes that glow with some kind of warmth, some sort of emotion that’s stronger than any you’re ready to name yet.

You swallow against a suddenly dry throat, a mirroring emotion swelling in your chest, his name falling from your lips in a hushed whimper. “Frankie…”

He blinks once, a slow sweep of his lashes, the last moment he gives you to breathe. 

Then he truly begins.

Fuck it’s so good -

The flat of his tongue warm and slick against your folds -

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, so tight it hurts. 

Scrape of his moustache over your clit sends shivers of pleasure through your body - 

Lungs ache for air, you struggle to breathe, swept up in a wave of hot-wet-heat that sears your skin. 

It’s intense and all-consuming, how he pulls pleasure from you body with his mouth, knowing exactly what makes you fall apart, a combination of experience and intuition you’ve never been the focus of before him. 

You can’t stop watching him, mesmerized by the sight of his tongue slipping through your folds, swirling around your clit, dipping down to lave over your entrance. Pleasure builds steadily, a throbbing pulse that radiates through your veins in time with your rapid heartbeat, and you finally break, gasp for breath, a sharp inhale that cracks with his name -

“Frankie oh god -“

He groans in response, dark gaze growing darker, hand gripping your thigh to haul it over his shoulder and -

Your head falls back, a cry cracking free from your aching chest. 

The angle brings him closer, lets your hips roll into the heat of his mouth, and you chase it, shudder as he follows the movement, flattens his tongue so you can grind your cunt along its length. 

Pleasure spirals through your veins, voice tight with it. “Yes oh god just like that -“

You try to find a rhythm but can’t, a steady tremble growing in your thighs as your pleasure swirls higher and you whine in frustration. 

He pulls back, words deep and rasping against your sensitive skin. “Come on, baby, ride my tongue until you come, I wanna taste it.”

His hand grabs your hip, guides your movements, pulls your folds along the slick of his tongue and catches your clit with a flick at the end and it’s perfect so perfect and -

Again and again -

Heat grows, swirls through your core, pushing higher and higher. 

Yes you can feel it right there right there -

He nudges deeper and his tongue grinds over your entrance on the next roll of your hips and you cry out, muscles tensing, so close -

Again -

A burst of wet heat -

Swell of pleasure and it bursts -

You sway with the force of it, scrambling for purchase, a hand diving into his hair to hold him there as your cunt pulses with each wave. 

Finally it breaks -

Air rushes into your lungs, blood pounds in your ears, your entire body shivers with the release. 

He groans long and low, tongue pressing to your entrance, long fingers gripping your hip so hard it stings. The wet sound of him swallowing your pleasure down pulls a trembling aftershock from your core. 

Fuck he’s so fucking sexy and incredible and perfect -

Need you need him now -

Thoughts still scattered, a tug on his curls is all you can manage. 

And he’s there, rising to kiss you, fill your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. You melt into him, wanting more, slip a hand between your bodies to cup his cloth-covered cock.

He grunts, a sharp exhale that shoots straight to your core and sparks renewed arousal, and you squeeze as best you can through the denim of his jeans. 

You find your voice, murmur against his mouth. “Are you gonna let me apologize to you now?”

His hands curve around your waist. “Apology accepted.”

Suddenly he grips and flips you around -

A whirl of motion and -

His hands press firmly between your shoulderblades, pushing you down until you’re bent over the arm of the sofa. 

You moan into the sofa cushion as a shiver of primal need runs down your back - so fucking hot when he manhandles you like that - arches your hips up, seeking. 

He tosses the skirt of your dress up over your waist, the clink of metal telling you he’s unbuckling his belt. “You like that? When I move you around however I want?”

A frisson of embarrassment stills your movements, and you huff into the cushion. “Shut up.”

The sound of a zipper as his words drift down over you, gentling and teasing at the same time. “Come on, baby. Say it. For me, I wanna hear it.”

Leaning up enough to throw a mock-glare at him over your shoulder, you bite your lower lip to stop from moaning again - just the sight of him, all broad shoulders and mussed hair and dark eyes, towering over you, enough to send a rush of want through your body. 

And that playful, knowing look in those dark eyes tells you he’s not going to oblige you until you give him what he’s asking for. 

Sighing dramatically, you flop back down, burying your face in the sofa cushion to muffle your words. “Yes, I like it.”

“Like what?”

Damn him. Whining, you wiggle your hips to tempt him into moving on from this but hands on your hips still your movement. “Fine. I like it when you move me around like that. During sex.”

He chuckles, one hand leaving you while the other grips your hip tight. “Distinction noted.”

Then he’s sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, notching into your entrance and -

Oh fuck this angle -

The stretch -

You gasp for breath, fingers curling into the sofa cushion -

Pleasure pulses bright through your core -

He groans as he works his cock in. “Fuck, this pussy, so fucking perfect  -“

The wet squelch of each slow, grinding thrust echoes in your ears, ripples through the rising heat spiralling out from where your body clenches around the thick of his cock. 

Spikes of white-hot pleasure shoot through your hips and legs, tremble in your lungs, and you can’t think, only want more -

A pause, he stills, hips pressed against your ass, head of his cock tight to a spot deep inside you that sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. 

“Gotta breathe for me, baby.”

His rasping words sink into the pleasure-haze, the ache in your lungs burning enough to finally get your attention, and you inhale sharp, voice cracking. “Oh my god, Frankie, feels so good -“

“I know, I know, just breathe.” A warm hand glides up your back and down again, in time with a gentle thrust of his hips that grinds his cock against your cervix. 

Oh fuck -

An intense burst of pleasure rips through your body, flashing white at the edges of your vision. 

Again -

It’s so much it’s overwhelming it’s incredible and you’re floating -

Over and over -

Your fingernails scrape at the sofa cushion, hands desperate to anchor yourself, spit out gasping words. “Right there just like that oh g-“

He grunts as your cunt pulses around him. “Holy shit, you’re gonna come already - fuck -“

The shudder runs through your entire body, clenches his cock tight, and you feel it, building so fast - too fast - it’s so much how -

A high-pitched whine of his name is all you can manage. “Frankie -“

“Come for me, come on -“

Again - 

Strong hands on your waist, holding you in place -

Again - 

Bright hot heat -

Bursts -

Every nerve ending in your body alight, blood rushing in your ears -

The drop and -

You gasp for air, like you haven’t taken a breath in centuries, throat aching with a sharp throb and you swallow against it - did you scream? Fuck. Probably. 

Strong hands caress your lower back. “That was a good one, huh?”

Senses scattered, you blink to try and clear your vision, your head, find your words. “Yeah.”

An amused chuckle, a gentle shift of his hips that drags his cock along your sensitive inner walls, sends a shiver up your spine. “Want me to give you another one?”

Your cunt clenches instinctively as he seats himself deep again, pleasure once again spiral outward through your limbs. “Yes, make me come again, please.”

“Yeah? I want to, baby. Love watching you fall apart on my cock.” Another slow thrust that curls your toes. “Wanna give you what you want, always.”

You moan into the sofa cushion, his words slipping beneath the haze on your thoughts to someplace deeper, something that tightens around your heart. 

Then strong arms are slipping underneath you, hauling you upright, hands are pressing you back against a broad chest and -

The sharp thrust of his cock rips through your body but his hands hold you firm, pin you in place as he starts up a rhythm that shoves pleasure through your veins. 

Your fingers curl around his forearms, nails digging, strangled moan falling from your lips. “Holy sh-shit-“

“Yeah, I know.” He groans into the crook of your neck, tongue flicking out to taste your heated skin. 

His hand slips down to where his cock pulls slick from your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips finding your aching clit instantly. 

Fuck -

Your legs waver and his free hand shifts, arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as his fingers match pace with the snap of his hips. 

Pleasure rises, hot, swirls out from your core and fills every corner of your being -

Frankie -

So perfect so good feels so good -

His free hand finds your breast, dives into the neckline of your dress to cup it firmly, grinds his palm over your peaked nipple and tiny sparks of pleasure join the flood, sweeping you away -

The first pulse of your orgasm looms, pulls a cry from your throat. 

He picks up his pace, voice rasping in your ear, words stifled by the rhythm of his thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna come, come with me, baby, please come with me I need it -“

Yes yes yes -

Up higher and higher until it’s a tidal wave of bright heat -

Your slick spatters on your inner thighs, squelches around his cock -

There -

Your head falls back, body shudders against his. “Frankie -“

His pace stutters, once, a cracked groan rumbling in your ear -

Everything pulls tight then releases and -

A flood of wet heat against the pulse of his cock deep in your pussy -

He thrusts again, again, slows, again -

Pleasure finally dims, moves to overstimulation, his fingers leave your clit to help hold you steady, his cock slowly slipping free of the clutch of your cunt. 

You take a deep breath, try to find your body again. There’s a certain disorientation, soaked in spent pleasure, tilting your thoughts and skewing your senses, making everything seem so far away yet close at the same time. 

The urge to find an anchor, to root yourself, pulls to the forefront. 

Lifting a shaking hand, you sift your fingers through his hair. “Frankie?”

His sigh against your neck is full of contentment, lips pressing soft kisses to the space just below your jaw. “Yeah, baby?”

Somehow, that’s enough, and your own contented sigh shifts the air. “Frankie.”

“Is that the only word you know now?” 

His chest vibrates with laughter against your back, enough of a physical sensation to bring you down into your body even more, become aware of his teasing tone. 

You lightly tug on his curls. “Fuck you.”

“That’s three, at least.”

Huffing a laugh at his obvious display of male pride, you pull out of his embrace to lean over the couch and take more weight off your trembling legs. “What did you do to me? I can barely stand.”

“What did I do to you? What did you do to me, I thought I was gonna pass out, you were choking my cock so hard.”

“Well, that was your own fault.” You arch your back slightly, stretching sore muscles. 

His hands cups the curves of your ass, groaning when you instinctively spread your legs and bend lower. “You’re killing me, baby. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

You shiver as his thumbs spread your pussy open, glide through your combined pleasure. “Hmm, well, that’s also your fault.”

“I see how it is, everything’s my fault all of a sudden.” 

His playful, grumpy tone makes you grin, break character, straightening to turn around and kiss him firmly. He leans into it, arms coming around your back to hold you tight, his soft moan dusting over your cheek.

A few moments pass, moments that feel like forever and are gone too quickly at the same time, and when you pull away and meet his gaze, that beautiful, soft brown so warm with affection - for you - emotion stings the back of your throat.

Gently cupping his cheek, you stroke your thumb over one of those bare patches along his chin that his beard never grows into. “I mean it, Frankie. I’m sorry. I was angry at the world and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to -“

“Please, listen.” You hate to interrupt him but you need to get this out. He pauses, nods once, and you take a breath before you continue. “You’re what I want at the end of a bad day. I’ve had more fun with you than anyone else in my entire life. And I know I can trust you to always have my back, even if I don’t think I need the support. I know you’ll be there for me.”

Swallowing back against a suddenly tight throat, you give voice to the emotions that were boiling under the surface of your anger earlier in the evening. “It’s frustrating, being a woman. Sometimes it feels like society expects this impossible balance, like we’re supposed to be ladylike, pretty and soft and gentle and also strong but not too strong, like we’re supposed suck it up but also withstand the pressure.” 

Sighing, you let your hands rest on his chest, drawing strength from the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. “I just… tonight I felt that, and I hate it so much. I don’t want to feel like that. I wanted to prove to those guys - to everyone - that I am strong enough. Even more. That I’m stronger than they want me to be.”

He looks at you, tiny crease forming between his brows. “I can’t say that I understand, not exactly. But I get that feeling of not being enough, of needing to prove yourself but hating that you feel like you need to at the same time.”

Right. Of course he does. 

Everything he’s been through in the last few years, he probably understands better than most. 

You lift a hand, press that crease between his brows flat with the pad of your thumb. “I know you do. But you don’t need to prove anything with me. You know that, right?”

His features soften, smile pulling at his lips. “I know. Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Even if I forget it sometimes.” Biting your bottom lip, you weigh your words, settle on what you hope is enough. “You make me happy, Frankie. Really, actually happy.”

He smiles for real, gaze warm and bright. “You make me happy, too.”

You pull him in for another kiss, trying to push everything you’re feeling into how your lips move with his, your hands curl into his hair and over his shoulders and down his sides and around his back. 

It’s enough. Maybe more than. 

A stronger tremble shivers down your legs and your knees buckle, pulling you and Frankie apart. 

He deftly catches you around the waist, grinning. “I was that good, huh?”

Laughing, you shove his chest playfully and lean back against the arm of the sofa. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” A brief kiss to your forehead, then he’s stepping back, straightening his clothes and turning to walk out of the room. “Stay here, I’ll grab something to clean you up.”

Wrinkling your nose, you try to stand, fail and settle back on the sofa. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

“I know, and I support that.” He calls back over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner. “I’m a proud feminist, baby.”

You bite your bottom lip, giggling to yourself. 

“Shit!”

His startled shout instantly wipes the smile off your face. 

You pitch your voice so he can hear you. “What happened?”

A sigh that shakes with laughter. “Stepped on the peas.”

Your snorting laugh echoes as it drifts down the hallway, and you don’t really care how unladylike it sounds. 

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look. 

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent. 

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news. 

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade. 

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands. 

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility. 

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt. 

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups. 

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that. 

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon. 

If ever. 

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault. 

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job. 

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another. 

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie. 

“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.” 

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular. 

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.” 

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?” 

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far. 

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal. 

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded. 

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.” 

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time. 

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace. 

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day. 

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak. 

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine. 

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived. 

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast. 

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in. 

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school. 

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual. 

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago. 

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle. 

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs. 

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat. 

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers. 

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation. 

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?” 

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.” 

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee. 

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away. 

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling. 

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled. 

Frankie swallowed – shrugged. 

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-” 

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted. 

“For the most part.” 

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.” 

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion. 

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?” 

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom. 

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was. 

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel. 

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave. 

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place. 

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise. 

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit! 

And even worse, he won 90% of the time. 

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again. 

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it. 

What did you do? What have you done? 

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself. 

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies. 

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor. 

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice. 

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase. 

That night, he hung around longer than usual. 

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it. 

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep. 

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work. 

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view. 

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight. 

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture. 

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances. 

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you. 

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.” 

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe. 

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night. 

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery. 

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom. 

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him. 

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you. 

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive. 

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask. 

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps. 

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality. 

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.” 

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid. 

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago. 

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training. 

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off. 

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up. 

Shit. 

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands. 

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close. 

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door. 

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season. 

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring. 

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops. 

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants. 

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show. 

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap. 

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.” 

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?” 

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head. 

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it. 

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.” 

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.” 

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts. 

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door. 

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.” 

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid. 

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance. 

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you. 

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him. 

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you. 

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.” 

Santi? 

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith. 

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged. 

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop. 

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top. 

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone. 

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.” 

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?” 

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?” 

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean? 

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?” 

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship. 

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him. 

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.” 

“Same with Will and Curie?” 

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along. 

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good. 

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head. 

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.” 

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended. 

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries. 

“Order 43!” 

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. 

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?” 

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue. 

She swallowed. 

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything. 

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.” 

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.” 

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.  

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?” 

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.” 

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions. 

Dogs or Cats: dogs. 

Favorite Holiday: Christmas. 

Birthday: August 23rd. 

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water. 

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?” 

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little. 

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself. 

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket. 

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public. 

But soon. 

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip. 

[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. 

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[gracie7209]

Amaryllis Epilogue

Pairing: Frankie x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluffy-fluff, reflection- (of more than one sort? I’m on one today. Don’t mind me lol), happiness, loved ones, we get to meet Reader’s momma! (Her English isn’t great so we will see her and Reader speaking Spanish) tiny sliver of angst? Lemme know if I forgot anything!

Summary: Just before your lives are set to change yet again, you and Frankie each get a moment alone to reflect on how life has brought you to where you are now. Santi saves the day yet again!

A/N: Guys…… This is it! We have officially officially reached the end of this story and I’m a whole mess of emotions. The has been such a labor of love and learning for me. It’s my very first fic and also the very first piece of writing I have ever shared with anyone. As previously mentioned, I have several new WIPs and I cannot WAIT to get to work on them! For everyone who has commented, liked, reblogged, asked questions or shown even the tiniest bit of love for my little story, I just want to thank you with everything I have. I have wanted to write since I was little, but could never put pen to paper until I forced myself to write a little 100 word Drabble, which literally turned into this series. The Pedro fandom alone has literally changed my life in so many ways and I will forever be grateful. So anyways....... Thank you all so much!!!!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When he sees himself in the mirror, Frankie is all nerves.

Checking and rechecking his hair, making sure his tie isn’t crooked… worrying the little patch in his scruffy beard that refuses to fill in.

His palms are sweating and his stomach is doing flips, but he’s unbelievably HAPPY.

He never thought he would be here. Never thought he would ever want to be doing this, but you had changed his way of thinking in more ways than one.

It had always terrified him to feel as though he were tied to something. Or so he thought…

In reality, he never felt he was worth enough for someone to ever want to be tied to him. The things he had done, the horrors he’d seen? The nightmares he still endured would run off anyone who might be even the slightest bit interested. Damaged…

Valid.

He was damaged. There was no way to come out from that other side and not be. But to those who weren’t there? Ones who could never understand what he’d been through? They would only pity him and he didn’t want that.

He just wanted understanding. Wanted someone to accept him as he was, without trying to fix him.

And then there was you. You never looked at him like he was damaged. You knew about things and yet you never held anything against him. You knew the atrocities he’d seen and those he had committed, yet you never backed away from him or looked down on him.

From the beginning, Frankie felt a connection to you. He didn’t know what you’d been through at the time, but there was an understanding there - “We’re not defined by our experiences Frankie,” you’d tell him.

“We simply learn from our mistakes, grow into better people, and if we are genuine, that’s all that really matters. —You yourself told me something similar at one time, remember?”

Frankie smirks at the memory. Shaking his head, as he gets back to the task at hand.

...

He doesn’t think he can tie it any better, so he takes one final look, takes a deep breath and smiles at himself in the oversized mirror. Just a small half smile, knowing that what he was about to do was going to change his life forever….

And he was ready.

—

It doesn’t start to sink in until about ten minutes beforehand that you are actually going to marry Frankie today. You’re in the small guest room, waiting for your mother to stop fussing over you already and to let you look in the mirror. “Mija, todo tiene que ser perfecta!” (Everything has to be perfect)

“Mamà, está bien... ¿puedo mirar ahora? Ya casi es hora de irse..." (It’s ok….. can I look now? It’s almost time to go…)” There’s no malice in your tone as your mouth turns up into a silly smile that you just can’t seem to hold back.

“Ah, si mi hermosa luz, creo que estes lista. Ven agora, and a y mira.”(Ah yes my beautiful light, I believe you are ready. Come now, go ahead and look.)

You stand up and slowly walk over to the full length mirror. The look on your face doesn’t at all match the sheer joy you feel in your chest. The initial shock wears off, but the weight of the moment hits you then; You’re marrying Frankie today. This incredible man who barreled his way into your life and decided he wanted to stay.

To see yourself in your mother’s wedding gown and jewelry, knowing that Frankie was waiting for you had your eyes welling up with tears. You silently prayed they stayed put as your mother had fussed with your makeup for a small eternity and Lord help you if you messed it up. So, you forced the tears back, albeit they were happy, joyous, singing to the choir tears that would surely fall once everything was said and done. You were more certain now in this choice, in Frankie, than at any other time in your life..

You gave yourself one final look in the mirror before turning back to your mother. Grabbing her small hands in yours and kissing her forehead, you silently thanked her for everything she had done for you; today and everyday.

“Ok Mija?”

“Si Mamà, Estoy lista.” (Yes, I’m ready.)

—

The ceremony was modest, with only close family and friends in attendance, but you were blessed beyond reason.

Those in attendance included your mother, who had brought along your Aunt and your two little cousins all the way from Cuba. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and this was the first time you’d gotten the chance to meet the little ones.

Frankie’s Mom and Step-Dad had flown in from Texas along with his older sister, which had been a surprise to the both of you, having never gotten to meet them prior. They welcomed you with nothing but warmth and love. Your previous apprehension at making a good impression, falling away the moment his mother wrapped you in her arms as she introduced herself.

She also took little to no time in latching onto your and soon-to-be Frankie’s son, her Grandson. Who she happily spoiled rotten from the get go and volunteered to be in charge of during the ceremony, giving your own mother a well deserved break as she had been deemed (by herself) as the primary babysitter.

And of course, Santi, Will and Benny were front and center. They would’ve all been groomsmen if you and Frankie had decided to have a wedding party. Instead you both opted for just a simple service. Santi would still supply the rings, but aside from the preacher, it would only be you and Frankie standing at the altar.

—

It was time.

You took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly as you turned the small corner to make your way to Frankie.

As you slowly made your way down the aisle, you didn’t expect to become breathless at the sight before you.

The expectation was that, the Bride-to-be would walk in and a hush would wash itself throughout the room. All eyes on her as she made her way to alter to join her fiancé.

You were sure your anxiety would rear its ugly head at being the center of attention, and had tried to give yourself a pep talk before walking inside. However, the moment you laid eyes on Frankie, you nearly stopped in your tracks.

You realized at that moment that you had never seen Frankie wear anything remotely resembling dress attire, let alone a suit and tie.

It was always jeans and a t-shirt, jacket when necessary and work boots… always work boots. He looked good on any given day and there had never been an occasion up until that point for him to “dress up.” But, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him…

His hair was still a disheveled mess of curls that you loved to run your fingers through. Not too long, but long enough that the ends would curl behind his ears. He just wouldn’t be Frankie without them, so you were grateful he didn’t try to tame them back. He was also wearing his glasses, which he had been trying to wear more and more these days as he couldn’t stand to wear his contacts after having gone without them for so long.

His tux was your normal coat and pants, but completely white, with a black bowtie and shoes with a shine that could blind a person if they got too close. You don’t think you have ever seen someone so beautiful in your life and he was yours.

You had managed to keep your pace steady all the way to the alter, even though you had half a mind to just run and get yourself there that much faster. Your mother was waiting up front to take your bouquet and give you over to the man you truly wanted to spend your life with. She kissed your cheek before turning to Frankie and offering him your hand. As he took it she wrapped both yours and Frankie’s hands in hers, saying she loved you both and giving a firm squeeze before letting you go and sitting back down at her seat in the front.

Frankie took both of your hands and whispered from under his messy bangs, “Are you ready?”

You couldn’t speak so you just nodded, trying not to cry before the preacher even had a chance to talk.

You tried to concentrate on the words being said, the prayer being read to the audience, but you could only focus on Frankie’s smile and his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into your hands. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. Frankie was sure as stone and after you both repeated your vows and placed the rings on each others’ fingers, Frankie lifted your veil, seeing your lips quirk up into a smile and he kissed you. In front of all of the people who mattered to you the most in this world.

His kiss was equal parts strong and soft with his hand coming to your cheek while the other wrapped around your waist. You didn’t dip, but he held almost all of your weight as he put his entire life into that kiss. Letting you and everyone else know that you were it for him.

—

When you both came up for air, there was nothing but big smiles and happy tears from everyone around. Benny was hooping and hollering, and even Will had his hand to his mouth letting out a piercing whistle that echoed throughout the church. Santi was clapping along with the others, with an almost forlorn expression that seamlessly slipped back into a playful smile once Benny clapped him on the shoulder, joining in with everyone else in raining congratulations on the happy couple. Frankie took your hand and raised them both entwined up toward the sky as you walked back down the aisle, side by side, as husband and wife. The both of you more than ready to begin this new chapter in your lives.

Together.

—

—

Two hours earlier -

“Rings, rings…. Uh, shit!” Santi is looking around frantically, shuffling papers and patting down his pockets, seemingly having misplaced the rings he was in charge of.

“Haha, very funny pendejo…. Now’s really not the time to be fuckin’ around…” Frankie’s voice is playful, but when he looks over at Santi, he sees the panic starting to set in.

“Fuck man, seriously? You had one job… !” Frankie is pacing now alongside Santi as they both desperately search for the missing rings.

“Wait!! Wait, oh! Shit haha, we’re good, we’re good, man. We're fine, everything's fine... I just left them on the kitchen table after I grabbed the mail this morning. I only live like ten minutes away from here, I’ll be right back!”

“Jesus Pope! I about lost my goddamn ass over here man… Shit, just go grab them and come straight back, ok?”

“Alright, alright…. You need anything else while I’m out?”

“For fucks sake Pope! Just go!”

“Yep, yep on it!” At that, Santi runs out the door, leaving Frankie to his thoughts for the moment.

He sits down on the little couch in the sitting area and puts his head in his hands. He’s nervous and he wants this day to go perfectly, but he actually starts to laugh when he thinks about the circumstances.

All of this fuss over rings, when in reality, they were just a symbol. A token to show the world that you were his person, and he was yours. And even if Pope had lost them, it honestly wouldn’t change a thing. He was marrying you today, with or without a ring, and he could hardly wait.

—

It only takes Santi about eight minutes to get to his place. Possibly breaking a few speed limits to do so, but he did not want to be the cause of something ruining this day for either of you.

He goes inside and sees the ring boxes sitting right there on the table next to the untouched pile of mail. He lets out a deep breath, muttering under his breath, "Thank you, God!" Checking inside each box, making absolutely sure he had everything before putting them safely in his jacket pocket. Picking up the stack of mail, he quickly skims through it out of habit. Finding an envelope in the mix with only his name and address handwritten on the front with no return address.

He carefully opens it, revealing a small slip of folded paper. On the inside is a jumbled set of numbers and symbols…

Ones that he recognizes instantly—

—

—

Coordinates.

Coordinates to the money stolen out of the walls of Lorea’s house before it was burned to the ground. Money that was dumped in a ravine to get rid of extra weight that made flying too dangerous. Coordinates that only he, Will, and Benny knew about. Aside from one other person.

Tom.

Tom had found the money.

—

—

Taglist: @boliv-jenta @just-here-for-the-moment @quica-quica-quica @heythere-mel @sunnysidekit @dashavau @queridopascal @queridopascal-main @hnt-escape @rhoorl @readingiskeepingmegoing @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @bitchwitch1981 @jb2856 @mymo-n @littlemisspascal @tanzthompson @luciferiorbxtch @spookyxsam @imaswellkid @harriedandharassed @autumnleaves1991-blog @wildemaven @pastelnap @pimosworld @alwaysdjarin

A/N: Whoops!

*But seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for reading. It absolutely means the world to me 🥹

[prolix-yuy]

Hi LJ! Loved the bangathon idea!!! I got cowgirl, so I would love to see that with brat tamer Dave York or maybe they were roommates! Frankie. Pick your poison! I'll love it either way

Oh man, as much as Dave York would be fun...I can never resist Frankie, especially they were roommates!Frankie? I'm in!

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Position: Cowgirl

Word Count: 1009

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex, breast play, an M Night Shyamalan twist, too many feelings for our own good.

Notes: This is a little bit different from the previous asks, but I really liked how it turned out and I'm making it all your problem.

You can’t have heard that right.

You’re walking in the door of your apartment, maybe a little earlier than usual, when you hear a low groan. Body freezing, you wait for a signal that it’s just the old building creaking again.

Nope. Another sigh, a thin moan, all coming from the living room. Not a pained one, at least not in the way that would send you running to investigate. And not an unfamiliar one. It’s definitely from your roommate Frankie.

The problem now is what to do with the image of Frankie probably jacking it in your shared living room. What his hand might look like down his pants, head tossed back on the couch. Did he have porn on, turned low enough that only he could hear it? Or were his eyes squeezed shut to an image only he can see?

It wasn’t the first time you’d accidentally listened in on Frankie. You’d been living together for over a year, and the apartment was clean and comfortable, but not soundproofed. Frankie was respectful about privacy, but he was also a man who brought women home sometimes. You’d seen the pillows stuffed behind the headboard to keep it from knocking against the wall, but the muffled pleasure wasn’t always so quiet.

You wished on more than one occasion for one of the men you brought home to fuck you good enough to let Frankie hear, but it had been woefully quiet on that front. Catching Frankie making coffee in his sleep shorts, sardonic smile over the top of his coffee mug, made most of them leave in a hurry. If you cared it would have annoyed you, the chest-puffing territorial nature of these moments, but deep down you were just as glad for them to leave. 

Creeping down the hall, you wonder why the hell Frankie is having a solo session so out in the open. The man is private almost to a fault, most things you know about him dragged out over months. Why place himself in such a vulnerable position, where you could find him?

Your stomach drops briefly considering if it’s on purpose. There had been some playful banter between you before. He’d complimented your outfits, you’d told him he looked good in his new jeans. There were shared interests, nights spent in watching the new HBO movie and eating popcorn out of the same bowl. 

Could he want you to catch him? If you turned into the living room right now would he be thrusting up into his hand, your name on his lips? Hands trembling ever so slightly, you put down your bag and silently pad to the source of the sound. 

Frankie’s soft mop of curls is visible over the top of the couch, spilling onto the gray fabric. Many times your fingers had itched to weave into those curls, see if he likes his hair being pulled or if just carding them through would make him moan. He hasn’t moved, your approach silent. Nothing on the TV, but another whimper brings you closer.

A fantasy you’d never admitted to having pulls to the forefront - 

Frankie sitting on the couch, giving you a sultry look after a few drinks. You catch him looking at your ass, gather up your courage between the walk to the kitchen and back.

“Like something you see?” you ask, electricity in the air.

“You,” is all Frankie says before you’re on his lap, straddling him as he pulls your lips to his. He tastes like the cheap beer he prefers, one chaste kiss deepening until he’s swiping his tongue into your mouth and tangling it with yours. He’s rucking your shirt off next, latching his plush lips on your aching nipple. Working the button of his jeans open, you both frantically discard your pants and meet again with nothing between you.

“Wanted to do this for so long,” Frankie whispers into your mouth as he lines himself up. 

“Me too,” you say before the thick slide of his cock inside you dashes all words from your mind. Large hands on your hips guide you on his lap, instinct taking over as you ride him. He clutches onto your back, alternating between panting open-mouthed kisses and suckling down your neck. You bury your fingers in his curls, whines becoming fervent shrieks as he thumbs your clit and thrusts up into pure bliss…

- which is interrupted when your last steps bring Frankie into sight. 

No hand down his pants, or cock out. Instead his head is lolled to the side, eyes squeezed shut with a painful wrinkle between his brows. His hands are clenching on the couch, thighs tensing over and over. The whimpers fall from half-parted lips, and you snap from your fantasy to the sharp reality of the moment. Frankie never told you he had nightmares, you assumed a by-product of his military career, but you’d heard him once or twice. The next morning he’d pretend he was fine, but you could see the toll it took. 

Now there was a small chance you could help.

“Frankie, you’re dreaming,” you say quietly, pressing both hands into his biceps to pin him against the couch. When he doesn’t respond you say it again, louder this time. It takes a tighter squeeze and a third try before his eyes blink open, surprised and flinching against your hold before you soothe him with, “It’s okay, it’s just me, you’re okay, you were sleeping.” The terror slowly recedes, his eyes casting down as he mumbles some sort of apology you can’t make out. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you say, and you do the unthinkable; you sit beside Frankie and pull his head to the crook of your neck. He balks at first, then goes down, pressing his face in and letting his arms wrap loosely around you. You let his breathing slow, small reassurances passing between long stretches of silence. Something swells in your chest, surprising and complicated but warm. 

And this is when you know you’ve fallen for Francisco Morales.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[pimosworld]

Santa’s a home wrecker

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Summary- A little kiss leads to a Christmas morning misunderstanding.

CW-18+, Fluff, so much fluff, Kissing Santa, Pregnancy hormones, tf boys being great parents, polyamorous relationship, navigating a mixed family.

WK-1.6K

A/N- Set in the story of us universe but obviously in the future. We jumped way ahead here folks but I hope you love this fluffy snippet into their future lives.

Not beta read

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

It’s a little easier now since they let you sleep on the end, but it’s still a chore to roll out of bed with your heavily pregnant belly in tow. You sit on the edge for a moment trying to soothe yourself as the kicks come in quick succession. 

  You try as quietly as you can to make your way out of the bedroom, stealing a glance at Ben’s large form sprawled across Frankie in the most uncomfortable way. 

  You're wrapped up in your fluffy red robe, an early Christmas gift from the boys that you’ve been living in for the last month or so while you grow out of everything else you own. 

  The house is quiet and warm as you shuffle down the hallway and smells like cinnamon apples from the pies you made for Christmas Day. 

  A peek into the spare bedroom shows you a glimpse into most of your nights when it's Santiago’s turn to put the kids down for bed. 

  He’s snoring in the chair that sits between Camila and little Santiago’s beds. Both children slumbering away as they dream about the most exciting day of the year. 

  Some rustling is coming from the living room and you round the corner to a site that will never cease to make you smile. The boys take turns being Santa every year and they never do anything halfway. Your arms are crossed as you lean against the wall staring at the rich, dark red velvet material bent over in front of the tree. Deliberately placing gifts from the giant red bag in various spots. 

  You let out a low whistle as you make your way towards the bearded man. “Santa has a nice ass.” 

  He chuckles and stands gesturing with his arms for you to come to him. It’s a bit of a struggle now to be held but he still makes you feel all warm and fuzzy as you sway in the living room in front of the lowlights of the tree. You humm as he rubs your belly, somehow the kicking stops as if the baby taking up home inside knows whose hands are caressing you. 

  “How’s mama doing?” He asks as he kisses your neck, the fluff from his beard tickling you slightly. 

  “I’m tired…someone keeps kicking me.” You sigh into his touch as he drops to his knees, his fingers kneading that spot in your back that he knows pains you throughout the day. 

  “Hey little guy.” He speaks so softly in some adorable voice he’s made up. 

  “He’s a big guy, Will…a very big guy.” You know well enough having been told ad nauseum Miller babies are big.

  “Hey big guy…I need you to give your momma a rest so she can enjoy tomorrow okay?” He holds his ear to your belly and nods. When he looks up at you all you can make out is those piercing blue eyes nestled between the red hat and white beard. “He said okay.” 

  A small tear escapes as he kisses your belly and stands again. You can’t even blame it on the hormones. 

  “Go lay down, I’ll bring you some tea when I finish here.” One last kiss to your lips and he’s shooing you away so he can complete his Santa duties and enjoy his peanut butter cookies special request. 

  ****

  Frankie stacks the pancakes high on the plate next to the stove, as he moves on to the eggs and bacon. 

  Ben hasn’t said a word just eyeing the food as you enjoy your morning tea, surprised the kids haven’t graced you with their presence yet. 

  Santi’s creaking bones enter the kitchen before he’s seen as he cracks his back in the hallway. Frankie laughs from the stove as he flips the bacon perfectly somehow never burning it. 

  “Laugh it up hermano.” He leans down and kisses your forehead before heading over to the fresh coffee pot. 

  “I’m not the one that keeps falling asleep in the chair.” 

  You hear the sound of hurried footsteps down the hallway as Camila quickly emerges into the kitchen beaming from ear to ear. She barrels into Frankie hugging him from behind as he reaches around and ruffles her long black curls. “Buenos Días papá.” 

  “Buenos Días mi amor.” 

  Frankie kisses her forehead and she makes her way over to you and Santi to say her good mornings and receive hugs and kisses. 

  She climbs into Ben’s lap forgoing an open seat as she waits for breakfast to finish. The way the two of them could eat you were worried about welcoming another Miller into the household for lack of food resources. 

  “Good Morning daddy.” She wraps her little arms around him and it’s a feeling he’ll never get used to. 

  “Good morning honey.” She stole your nickname early on when she could look so sweet at them and instantly get her way. 

  There was a rule from the beginning that there would be no distinction unless medically necessary between the fathers. They were all fathers and that’s all that mattered. 

  “Sweetie, where's Santiago?” She looks slightly uncomfortable as she leans in and whispers something in Ben’s ear. 

  “He’s not coming?” Ben looks over to you as Santi looks to Frankie now done cooking breakfast. 

  She leans in again whispering something as Ben’s eyes widen. He has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at the situation that he knows will need to be handled swiftly. 

  “He doesn’t want to open presents from a home wrecker.” 

  You’re grateful you hadn’t taken a sip of your tea or it would’ve been all over your new robe. 

  Frankie flicks off the stove and heads over to the table. “How do you even know that word, young lady?”  

  Ben leans in whispering something in her ear and she relaxes slightly. 

  “Well…ugh.” She’s in the hot seat by way of Santi much like her father often does to other people. You lay your hand on hers and wince slightly cursing this baby for picking the most opportune moments to make himself known. 

  “Camila it’s okay, you can tell me…you’re not in trouble.” 

  “Tia Marí said Tio John kissed a homewrecker and that’s why they’re not together anymore.” It comes out all rushed and flustered and you're trying not to giggle at her panicked confession. 

  Frankie points at Santi while he still looks on confused. “Your sister is off babysitting duty for a while.”

  Santi scrubs his hand down his face. “I'm still not following.” 

  Ben places his hands over her ears so she can’t hear. “Will was Santa last night.” He grits out as she giggles.

Santiago must have woken up and seen you kissing “Santa”.

  “Daddy I can’t hear anything.” He starts tickling her as she squeals in delight. 

  “Good because if you did, you wouldn’t get any presents.” They continue their giggles as you let out a long sigh. 

  “We’re gonna eat breakfast while you two go handle that.” Frankie starts serving up plates as Ben and Camila clap in excitement. 

  ****

  Santiago is face down in the blankets when you enter his room. He was a deep sleeper so it was pretty obvious when he was pretending. His little breaths are coming in shallow like he just ran here and plopped himself down. 

  You have a seat on the edge as Santi sits in the chair beside him. 

  Santi rubs his back hoping to calm him a little before he speaks. “Hey bud, you want to tell me what’s wrong?” 

  Inaudible mumbles come from the pillow and you bite down on your tongue at the mirror image. Payback for all the time Santi made someone chase him for a simple misunderstanding coming back ten fold. 

  “I didn’t hear you mijo, que pasó.” He slowly rolls him over as Santiago rubs his red eyes. 

  “I…don’t want…I don’t want.” He’s sniffling and Santi tries to calm him so he can catch his breath. 

  “Deep breaths bud.” 

  He shakily inhales and wipes his little hands on the blanket. “I don’t want Santa to break up our home.” 

  You could kill Maria for almost ruining Christmas morning, but you know one day you’ll get to tell this hilarious story to your children when they’re all grown up. You let Santiago take the reins even though you did kiss Santa. This was not your mess to clean up. 

  “Santiago, no one is breaking up our home. I love your mama very much.” Santiago crawls over to you as you wrap him up in your arms, kissing his unruly brown locks. 

  “You promise?” Your heart breaks a little as those little puppy dog eyes look up at you. 

  “Yes we promise.” He exhales as he relaxes in your arms and you look up at Santi incredulously. 

  “Santa is my friend…he’s allowed to kiss your mama.” Santiago looks up at his dad with pure shock written all over his face. 

  “WHAT!” He balks at him as you burst into a fit of laughter. 

  “HO, HO,HO…” The boisterous sound echoes down the hallway from the living room. 

  Santiago scrambles off your lap as you fall back with an oomph. Your belly won’t allow anymore movements like that so you succumb to the comfort of his tiny car bed, as his father chases after him. 

  ****

  Camila is standing in front of the tree as Santa hands her the first gift. 

  “Well hello little boy, would you like a gift from Santa?” 

  He runs up to him with his hands on his hips as he pokes him in the surprisingly hard belly. “Next time just drop off the gifts and go.” 

  Will looks up confused by his son's words as Frankie and Benny are losing it in the kitchen. 

  Santi stands there in the same stance. 

  “Don’t worry I’ll explain later.” 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

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