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whatthefishh · 2 years ago

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Feed Your Ego

I was going to name this 3 Is My Favourite Number but I thought that was too on the nose lol. Instead I listened to Ego by Raye one too many times while writing this so-

Possibly the sluttiest thing I've ever written. Inspired by that tiktok of Santi and Frankie walking to the beat and making eye contact - you know the one.

NSFW Warnings: PinV (x2), creampie(x2), poly(?), PWP like literally what fucking plot, M/F/M, reader is fem, use of the word 'daddy', slight edging

(My face while writing these warnings as if I wasn't the one who wrote this thing 0.0)

The drag of Santiago’s hard cock through your quivering channel is all you can feel, the rest of your nerves essentially numb to the way he’s hitting your cervix on each hard thrust. It doesn’t help that he’s spewing absolute filth at you while doing so, palms pressing on your thighs, bending you in half at the middle.

“Louder, baby, let me hear you, let him hear you,” Santi groans as your moans escalate past recognition. “Oh, you liked that? She liked that, Fish.”

You clench down on his dick again as he continues thrusting, Frankie’s face coming into view above you as you lay in the center of the bed.

“Wait your fuckin’ turn, Fish,” he growls at Frankie. You want to say something snarky back, something about how this was his idea to begin with and he can’t go acting all possessive now when you’re in the middle of coming for the third time that night. The first two times were on each of their faces; Frankie apparently had wanted to taste you the minute Santiago suggested this whole thing.

Frankie only smiled at Santi’s remark. His hands came up to pull yours down from their place on Santi’s biceps, where you were gripping him like a lifeline, his hands encircling your wrists to pin them down next to your head.

“You look so good like this, querida,” Frankie says quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear causing goosebumps to break out.

Your reaction wasn’t lost on Santiago, who seemed to have taken this as a motivator to start fucking you with increased vigor, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, his thumb finding its way to your clit as he pressed up against something wonderful inside you. Before you knew it, you were coming, eyes closing in the wake of the burning white ecstasy it left you shaking with, hands still pinned down. You felt a soft touch on your neck and shoulder, repeatedly pressing down, only realizing belatedly that it was Frankie leaving feather light kisses on you.

With a few more erratic thrusts, Santi’s hips stalled as he filled you up with his cum, groaning loudly with his head hanging back as he found his release. As he pulled out, Frankie let go of your hands, your body curling in on itself on instinct to keep him inside the way you know he likes.

The boys were talking as you slowly came back to yourself, their voices blending together in their low tones. Your eyes adjusted and focused on Frankie, his face coming closer as he cupped your cheek, lips moving in quiet praise.

“You okay, gorgeous? Still wanna continue?” he asked softly.

“Uh-huh,” you managed with a short nod.

It was clear enough for him, kissing your nose before flipping you over and adjusting your body to his liking. You landed on your knees, head resting on your folded arms with your ass in the air. Frankie’s hands came up to massage and pull at your cheeks, cupping them before spreading them to watch as Santi’s spend dribbled out of your puffy pussy.

“Jesus, Pope, this is a lot,” Frankie scoffed. He wasn’t going to need any extra lubrication it seemed.

When Frankie lined up his dick, after catching the bits that leaked out with his tip, he started to push in, only for you to moan and try to wiggle away from him. Putting pressure on your lower back to keep you in place, he continued to push forward slowly as you turned your head to moan into the sheets.

“What’s wrong, baby? Thought you couldn’t wait to have ‘Big Dick Morales’?” Santiago laughed at your attempts to escape, fingers twisting the bedding. Cooing at you, he lifts your chin up as Frankie bottoms out, placing soft kisses on your face. “How does he feel, hermosa? Tell me.”

“Yeah, tell him how good I’m stretching you out,” Frankie pulls all the way out, the drag of him still slightly burning but his thrusts back in pull out a punched out breath from you on every pass.

And even though you’re so wet and stretched from Santi, you find yourself still struggling to take Frankie. Santi continues to hold your face as you whimper and pant into his mouth, listening to your pleasure build.

He couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of desire once again at seeing you look so fucked out so soon by his best friend. The crinkle of your brow as you bit down on your bottom lip, the shaky breaths you were letting out, fingers grabbing, clenching, twisting the sheets tighter and tighter.

Kissing you again before letting go of your face, he leans back against the headboard, tired from his efforts. His cock sat between his outstretched legs, your face not too far from his as Frankie continued to fuck into you, his movements jostling you forward on each stroke.

Frankie slaps your ass to bring you back to the present, and you briefly remember his demand, calling out to Santi,”so good, he feels so good.”

Your eyes meet his even as you grip the bedding, Santiago’s eyes flicking back and forth between yours and behind you, likely meeting Frankie’s searing gaze, before settling on yours with his brows resting heavy on his face. His cock stirs at the sight again, slowly coming back to full mast at the way you keep eye contact.

Santi gets an idea.

“Look how pretty she is, Francisco, takes your cock so well-”

“Fuck, Pope-”

“No, keep fucking her Frank, but she has to keep her eyes on me, though, or else you stop, got it?”

Frankie groans at his words, gripping your hips a little tighter, thrusts a little harder, “Fuck!”

He starts pounding into you with wild abandon, your eyes threatening to close at the new wave of pleasure assaulting your senses but the commanding look in Santiago’s eyes as he raises his eyebrows challengingly at you keeps them open. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Santi’s spend mixed with your arousal being pushed out of you.

Frankie’s thrusts were hitting something deep inside you, the drag of his length making it hard for you to breathe and you felt yourself slipping, eyes shutting for the briefest of moments.

“Stop!”

The fucker.

Frankie grunts as he comes to a stop, pulling out of you begrudgingly. His iron grip on your body serves to show his restraint as your eyes fly open to glare at your beau.

“Please.” It doesn’t sound kind, or even remotely what you know he wants from you.

“Please what, bebita? You closed your eyes. What did you expect?”

Frankie is breathing harshly behind you, like an animal kept behind bars. His hands flex and he lets out the softest of whines.

“C’mon, gorgeous, be good for us,” he joins Santi in berating you.

They fuck you til you can’t see straight and expect you to comply? Insane. Ridiculous!

Whining out of frustration, you hang your head and mutter another please and I’ll be good.

Santi tuts. You lift your head to look at him and beg again. “I promise.”

He looks to Frankie and nods with a single brow raised, looking like the devil himself. Frankie’s hands flex again as he slips easily back inside your fluttering hole, groaning out expletives while doing so.

He picks up speed rather quickly, pounding into you just right, and this time you’re determined to keep your eyes on Santi, determined to prove him wrong, to rise to the challenge he set out for you. And maybe this is why you loved him so much, because he constantly challenged you, never backing down from a fight. You did, you loved him so much-

Santiago leans forwards to cup your breast, tweaking your nipple while he gently bites down on your bottom lip and tugs on it. Your eyes fall shut of their own accord, your body being played by his dirty tricks.

He doesn’t even say anything this time, just holds his palm up in the air and Frankie pulls out, falling into line behind Santi like a good soldier. Santi was always pulling the reins around the boys, whether it was intentional or not, but right now Frankie was as obedient as they come.

Whimpering and resting your forehead against his, the bastard laughs at you.

“I thought you wanted this, bebita. You promised you’d be good, don’t you want to come?”

Frankie leans down to press kisses between your shoulder blades, rubbing his hands up your sides soothingly while Santi gets on your last nerve. You had to swallow your pride if he was going to let you come tonight. Time to bring out the big guns.

“I-I’m sorry, daddy, I’ll be good,” you say in a soft voice, so sweet it could kill him. Opening your eyes to catch his, you watch as his eyes turn several shades darker. Cocking his head to the side, he smirks and nods at you, knowing you’ve matched his game with your own dirty play. You rarely called him ‘daddy’, only when you really wanted something and wanted to bypass his usual line of protests until he finally caved and gave in to you, as usual.

“Okay, pretty baby, let’s try this again, hmm?”

They must have some sort of silent communication going on because as soon as he finished speaking, Frankie rammed his cock back inside you and began a punishing pace, causing you to moan loudly. You were so pent up from before it didn’t take you any time for the coil to twist in your lower belly again at full force, Frankie’s thick girth and powerful thrusts hurtling you to the edge quickly.

In your periphery, you see Santi’s hand moving over his own hard length again, fist moving faster and faster - how long was he teasing himself for? Moaning louder at this realization, you started pushing your hips back against Frankie’s desperate to come before Santi was able to play you again.

“Keep your eyes on me, you look so good like this. My sweet, pretty baby.”

Your face is telling enough for him, he knows you’re close and so is Frankie by the way he’s pistoning in and out of you, gaze ultra-focused on where he’s disappearing inside you. Your moans are coming out uncontrollably now, bordering on pathetic and whiny.

“So well behaved now, you wanna come for me?”

Frantically, you nod. Somewhere, behind the rushing noise of your breaths and blood behind your ears, you hear Frankie groan out a fuck, please, Pope followed by a rush of rather harsh sounding Spanish, likely aimed at Santi.

“So close, daddy, please t-touch- fuck, touch me” you pant out desperately. You’re cock drunk at this point, willing to spew whatever nonsense he wants you to say for his little show, you just need to come. And by the way Frankie’s hips are stuttering, he’s waiting for the call, too.

“Fish seems to be doing just fine, whatdya need me for?” He’s smiling at you so smug, knowing he holds the power right now. All you can do is whine for him in response, eyes crinkling at the edges from the effort of holding off your looming orgasm.

He takes pity on you and begins graciously, generously, gloriously strumming your clit.

“Go ahead, baby, come for us,” Santi relents, fisting his own cock tighter to completion.

Finally, you think before letting go to the tidal wave of pleasure overtaking you, arms unable to keep you up, and you crumble to the mattress and wail into it. Your pussy clamps down tightly on Frankie’s cock as it stutters through the last few thrusts, some of your mixed slick dribbling out.

“Come on it, yeah, shit- ahhh,” Frankie growls, pushing his come deep into you as he collapses on your back, sweat slick curls stuck on his forehead.

In your tired daze you catch Frankie pulling out of you and laying your body down to rest comfortably while he went to get the wet wipes you had set aside for this exact scenario beforehand. While waiting for his return, you blindly pat on the bed next to you where you think Santiago is. A hand clasps yours and he brings it to his lips, kissing it languidly.

Frankie returns, smiling at the sweet display of affection and proceeds to clean your mess.

“So uhh… where do I sleep?” Frankie asks, a goofy grin on his face as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

#santiago garcia smut #santiago pope garcia smut #santiago garcia fic #frankie morales smut #frankie fish morales smut #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader #poly fic #triple frontier poly #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #mona writes???

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nervoushottee · 1 year ago

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Good Trouble | Frankie x Fem!Reader x Santiago Fic

Summary: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye??

WARNINGS: Have no military knowledge whatsoever so none of this accurate I’m sure. Really just writing for the boys. So please don’t take offense if any of it is wrong. Also bad parents

NOTE: This fic was 1000% inspired by @astroboots Homecoming Universe. I can’t explain how many times I’ve reread that ENTIRE series and I truly love it. I can’t picture Frankie without Santi now and vice versa. Truly a work of art. PLEASE READ IT

[2k? And some change] (Might make a Smut Part 2??)

NOT EDITED, We die like the horny sluts we are.

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You, Will and Benny were like three peas in the pod. Having grown up together in the same neighborhood, went to the same church when your family felt religious, even went to the same high school together. You and Benny were around the same age, graduated in the same year a few years after Will did.

You and Will were close, he was the brotherly comfort you always wanted and needed. He looked after you as if you were just another sibling. Always around, always here for you. Do you need a ride somewhere? He’s there. There’s a rat you found in your parents garage? Lock the door, scream into the phone about the small animal and he’s there with a bucket and a shovel.

You confided in him about things even Benny never knew and at times, he did too. You loved each other, a calm and quiet love that you would forever cherish.

You and Benny were an entirely different story. When Will brought out the peace and slowness out of you. Benny brought the fire and chaos. You had it in you always, especially with how strict your parents were growing up. Only allowing you to go to school and back or to Will and Benny’s. Fearful that their only daughter would get corrupted by the world and influenced by others. But what your parents didn’t know was that Benny was simply the amplifier of your chaos. The younger brother of sweet and calm Will had to be just like him right?

Going into high school, that’s when it finally snapped. Too many years of being obedient, too many years of being compliant. You were antsy and full of anger and energy. And Benny, he grew into a 6ft 3 firecracker who always got in trouble at school. One night, you told your parents you were going to a party and it didn’t end well. Involving in you slamming your bedroom door, locking it with a chair pushed against the knob. You sat on your bed legs shaking full of anxiety and frustration. You grab your phone and dial Will’s number. Will who had just got a car in his senior year.

You muttered words of wanting to get away from your parents for a bit, that he couldn’t use the front door. He told you he’d be there in 20. He got in there in 10.

You grabbed a small bag with a few clothes and toiletries having know idea what you were doing. All you knew is that you needed to get out of there.

Benny helped you out your bedroom window and the two of you run out to Will small sedan he had bought with a good hard working at multiple jobs and the leftover amount his dad and had helped pay.

That night was the first time of many were you finally let yourself loose. It was stupid to “runaway” over a party. But to be locked up away and feel like you can hardly breathe, that felt like the last straw.

Your late teens were filled with you and Benny being mischievous and chaotic. So many detentions, missing school, sneaking out. Will tried to intervene like his mom asked but he wanted you and his brother to have fun. For you two to be youthful and enjoy your times together.

But then, Will announced he was going to enlist. Wanting to follow off his dad’s footsteps and fight for his country. His mother didn’t agree with it from the start. You either. Their father was hesitant on his response, telling him it was his decision but to know and understand what he was going to do.

You hated him for it. You know you shouldn’t but it was better than feeling sad for Will to go. He told you Benny would still be here and he’d see the two of you graduate. But you knew, the minute after graduation Benny would take the first opportunity to join him.

Benny always looked up to his brother, always wanted to make him proud. More than his own father. And when graduation turned around, the two of you in royal blue caps and gowns with bright smiles on your face, Benny enlisted a week after.

You got accepted into the only college you applied for. The college you put all your cards on to get you out of your parents house as fast as you could. It was in another state, smack down in the city of Chicago. Ben and their parents helped you move. You went up many stairs, Benny’s hands full of overpriced college items that you wouldn’t need later on in the semester. Every opportunity May got she brought up the opportunity for Ben to just go to college instead of enlisting. But Ben was sure, once he set his mind on something he wouldn't do anything else.

That day was the last time you saw him in a while. You hugged him so tightly, tears staining his white t shirt. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder, he towered over you with his tall frame. From strangers the both of you looked like a couple. And if Ben ever had the courage to tell you, you probably could have been. But you held onto holding him tighter and hearing him whisper that he'd be back soon.

Throughout your years of college, Benny and Will would come home whenever they were able to. Will helped you and your roommate find an apartment to get you out of the college dorm rooms. You were done with doing communal showers. The apartment was okay? Decent enough and cheap enough to live in a good area and close to the school. But you spent most of your time working at the diner to pay for rent. The visits home to see the Miller family was sporadic. Getting letters from your boys writing on slips of paper you would read on your break.

You and Benny started to grow apart. Which wasn’t a surprise. Two of you were peas in a pod. From being close in age and close in general. From talking everyday to almost a few weeks to a month. You didn’t blame him either (you did a little), the military wasn’t a walk in the park.

Then one day, Benny calls you, saying him and Will were going to visit but he would bring a few of his friends. And that’s when you meet Frankie and Santiago.

Frankie. Who had such a quiet yet confident demeanor. A cap on his head, his brown curls peaking through beneath. Your eyes lit up at the sight of him and it couldn’t help but linger for a second before you were introduced to Santi.

Santiago. Who burned with smugness and confidence. Eyes low as he stared down at you with a smirk. His gray shirt emphasizing his toned muscles of his chest and arms. Wit and humor flowing off his tongue the minute he got into the diner.

“This is who you two are always running off too?” He say playfully as the four them sit at the booth bar. The two of you shake hands which turns into a hug as Santiago pulls you into a soft rocking embrace. ( You were happy for the extra blush you applied that morning).

You could feel Frankie’s eyes on the two of you after you released from the hug. And almost as if you could read the man in front of you (who you just met), he could tell too. Your body warmed at the feeling.

You asked them their names to make sure you got them correctly before taking their order. Frankie hesitated a few times, asking what certain dishes were made with what just to spend more time talking to you. You smiled and would tell him your eyes never leaving his.

Frankie was quiet, even with when he introduced himself. Giving you a small nod of his cap and a warm smile. He didn’t speak much but his eyes told you everything.

Santi (that’s what he told you to call him), would not let up on his flirtatious jokes. They were subtle and small. They were just enough for you to know that he was feeling something towards you.

Just enough that Benny and surprisingly Will didn’t catch up on it yet.

It was almost funny how quick you could read off of the two of them from simply your first meeting.

You felt it in your bones that the two of them was going to be trouble. A good trouble that you would want to continue getting into if they let you. You ignored Will’s ever so persistent eyes on you, you knew that he knew something was off but wouldn’t say it unless he was 100% sure and even then he still wouldn’t. That man never missed a beat of anything. Benny and Santiago chatting you up about something that happened back on base that has you chuckling a few times. Frankie keeping to himself, quiet and adding a few comments here and there.

You could see the small touches between Frankie and Santiago since the two of them sat down. They were very small and it was like looking through a magnifying glass to see them. But now it was clear as day to you. How all four of them sat at the diner stools in a row. The two of them are right next to each other. Arms brushing against one another in a way that felt more intimate than accident.

When the four men finished eating you had them the bill and expertly slipping your number into Frankie’s pocket. (He saw you writing the number down 5 minutes ago and let you put it in his locked without you knowing). Knowing if you just handed it to him for all eyes to see that you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Benny.

Benny hated all of your partners. And granted most of the time the people you got with werent that great and had a good amount of red flags. But Benny would always have something to say regardless and you hated it.

So of course he would throw more than just a fit if he saw you handing your number to not one but both of his friends he introduced to you only just that day.

Santiago was a bit more tricky. You couldn’t slip it to him secretly without alerting Benny so you failed to give it to him. The four of them waved goodbye before both Will and Benny gave you a hug and exited out the diner as it was about to close. Only one or two stragglers left in the whole building. You see Frankie and Santi talking amongst themselves outside the diner looking at you as the Miller brothers walked outside to join them.

You get to tidying up since it’s your turn to close, wiping tables and stacking up chairs. When you’re sweeping in the moonlit room is when you see it.

A black wallet on the black and white checkered floor. You pick up to expect the license and your heart stops when you see it’s Santiago’s.

You have no clue if he left here on purpose or on accident but you smile to yourself as you stuff it into your bag before locking up for the night.

Walking back to your apartment, your phone buzzes once your at your front door, keys in hand.

Frankie: Check your apron pocket.

You look at your phone confused at the message. Wondering why that is the first thing he texts you but reach into your pocket all the same. Your hand is met with a small receipt that you knew wasn’t in there before the start of your shift.

You pull your hand out to see a ripped piece of paper with both Santi and Frankie’s phone number on it.

You knew they were going to be trouble.

Good trouble.

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harryleatherfit · 1 year ago

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Upper East Side || A.U||

Frankie Morales

Chapter 5: Audition

word count: 4355

warnings: fat shaming (i’ve been bullied severely so i can write one pretty fucking mean bitch, middle school was not for the weak), alcohol consumption, age gap, mentions of student teacher relationship, anxiety, trauma, emotional parent abuse

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader, soulmates, slow burn, slight angst (maybe)

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

—-

You couldn’t believe him the other night. You didn’t want to hear him out. You felt drunk on him from the other night still it sickened you. It was so bad to the point you almost couldn’t go to your first shift, but you had to go. Money was the only thing that was going to keep you alive.

You walk into the bakery and Matilda is excited to see you, she preps you for the cash register and how to greet customers.

“It gets busy around noon,” she reassures you, “Don’t worry though, you’ll be fine. You’re a charmer honey.” As she walks into the kitchen to make the pastries.

“It’ll all be okay.” You reassure yourself. In the past you worked food jobs in high school, but that was a small town. This is a bakery that could get filled up for hours with no break, almost like starbucks but prettier.

A couple hours go by, you’re going steady and chatting with your customers. Occasionally having a few slip ups with orders. Getting tipped here and there.

As you're talking to a customer, you look behind him and see Mr. Miller. You give him a friendly smile.

“Hi Mr Miller! Nice to see you today.”

“My favorite student,” He looks a little shocked seeing you, “I can’t believe you work here!”

You guys have small talk about voice class and he asks, “Are you auditioning for Lady Macbeth? I’d only suppose so…”

“Yes I’ve prepared for it, I’m a little nervous but I’ve searched up on Shakespeare the best I could.”

“Well the only thing you can do is your best, I know you can do it, I see your work ethic in my class and it can only excel for the show, what role would you like?” He asks.

You haven't thought about that, were you even talented enough to get that kind of lead here? “I mean I’m shooting for an ensemble at the very most, there’s no way I’ll get Lady Mac.” You look down, handing him his food and coffee.

“Oh no, don’t say that, I’ve heard around how well you are at acting and seeing you as Sally in Cabaret made the whole department decide that we needed you, don’t tell yourself you won't get Lady Mac because you have a clear shot at getting it. And if you don't, you have the musicals in the Spring.” He finishes.

“Mr. Miller, the fact you went all the way to UNCSA just to see me perform is mind boggling, thank you for giving me a shot and just seeing the potential in me. I appreciate it so much and I’m beyond honored to be one of your students.” You say to him.

“No trust me it’s my honor, I’m very excited for this year, I promise we picked you for a reason. I’ll see you in class.” He finishes and gives you his regards to have a good day.

Maybe your first shift wasn’t going to be as bad as you expected.

------ +Frankie POV+

Benny walks out of Matilda’s and calls up Fish, “You’ll never guess who I ran into while getting breakfast.”

“Who,” Frankies rough voice says over the phone.

“I ran into Her. She works at Matildas, she just started working there. We talked about Lady Macbeth and my voice class, we never mentioned you though.”

“Well yeah because, she probably doesn’t think that most of her teachers know that we almost kissed, and that you guys are my best friends and I confide to you guys for everything.”

Ben could hear Fish stiffen in tone over the phone. Fish was tired from thinking about you all night. He's lost sleep and his body is weak from not being able to be near you. It physically pained him that you left him on that stage. If he was quicker with his words, you would've gone off with him to have a night together.

“How did she look? Did she look happy? Sad?” He asks.

“She looked fine, a little tired, probably stressed, but you need to fix this so she doesnt fuck up that audition you blistering idiot.”

The other night Frankie decided to call over all the boys for poker, and to ultimately tell them about you.

“Fish, who's about it now? You’ve never been like this. You’re acting weird and you’ve been off for weeks now” Pope says.

They all were a couple drinks and rounds into the game, Frankie masking the feeling of missing you.

“Yeah what’s got you dick all in a knot fish?” Ironhead yells out.

“You can tell us man, we're here for you.” Benny reassures.

“I’m afraid to say, it’s not gonna get the best reaction.” Fish mumbles.

“Ok so go on you old bloke, we can pretty much take anything.” Ironhead laughs, getting agreement from the rest of the guys.

“It’s the actor transfer from North Carolina.” Frankie finally says out loud.

Pope and Redfly both spit their beer out into the air, “What?”

“Guys I know,” He slurs his words.”This is really risky to even say, I don’t even know what I’m saying. But I saw her in that show in North Carolina and she was so pretty on stage I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. It was like I was suddenly tied to her and this constant reminder was this ticking bomb in my head until I finally got to be with her alone. And when we finally were alone, my head was silent from everything, she calmed it. And I fucking managed to mess it up like I always do.”

Fish was the technical director of the whole school, so he was the most respected and well known out of all 5 of them. He had an image to uphold, but at this moment he didn’t give a shit if he was fired for you.

“I know this is fucking dumb and I shouldn’t be doing this. But I don’t know how to replicate this feeling in my heart when I’m around her. I don’t know how to not be around her. We almost fucking kissed other day and I blew it. And I know I’m her teacher and were all her teachers, but fuck I get this feeling and it makes me sick, and she’s the only person that can calm it down.” He finishes.

“So please don’t tell me to not pursue her because I genuinely don’t think at this moment I can hear that. I went up to her after Cabaret and just introduced myself and met her. Without even knowing her guys… she hugged me and thanked me! for telling her a good job. She didn’t even remember me when I saw her again for the first time. I've been waiting for so long…” Fish trails.

“Fish, man, if you like her this much what can we say?” Pope asks. “If I’m talking for all of us, yes she’s a student but she's a senior, you're an old dick yeah, but we all collectively brought her to this school because she’s going to give our department that maturity and thinking that it needed.

“Yeah I mean, you know the risks that come with this, but if it’s been for this long and you feel this strong, don’t you think it’s worth it? And if you almost kissed, you can make it up to her, you can tell her how you feel, you know.” Redfly says.

“Yes but I was mean to her, I hurt her feelings, she performed for me and I was cruel to her and she ran off from me, I didn’t know I made her so nervous.” He chokes through his throat. Frankie proceeds to pour more whisky in his cup.

“I’ve worked so god damn hard for this school and I’ve worked my way up, am I really going to ruin that all for how I feel for someone.” Fish outwards his inner thoughts, he wanted to be realistic with himself. “What would happen to her if people found out? Would the dean make us both leave? Would she be hated on by everyone in this whole fucking school because I ‘played her a favorite’?”

“Dude get your shit together man, do you think people would care that much? If you love her that much you have to be there for her. Imagine how scared shitless she is right now? Almost kissing her teacher and technical director, you’re gonna make her leave this damn school before she graduates! Imagine how hard it’s been for her?” Iron head pests at Fish.

He was pondering in his head. If his friends were okay with him liking you, then are all his fears gone?

“Fish? You okay?” Benny says over the phone. Fish was thinking about that night and how he wants to talk to you next. Would he talk to you before your audition?

“Yeah man, thank you.”

“No problem, she’s a good one, so seriously fix this.”

———

Your audition was in a couple hours and you were prepping with Hannah, Rose and Laylah. You all woke up and had a beautiful breakfast in your suite, letting the windows open and playing Fleetwood Mac. It only felt right to set the vibe and ease your mind.

“What theater is your audition in?” Hannah asks.

“It’s in the Abe Burrows theater.” You reply.

“Ah that's a good one, it’s intimate and you’ll have enough space to creativity do your monologue, trust me you’ll be fine.”

“What do you feel like wearing? I’ll get it out for you and you can give us a little fashion show before we walk you there.” Laylah says with enthusiasm, trying to make you feel better.

“Something light, but professional, something appropriate for the judges but something that screams me.” You say.

“Ok give me a second.” Laylah disappears for a second and comes back with the most beautiful outfit, you've never thought of this combo.

The tanktop was a gift from Laylah, you only wore it on special occasions, as it cost a lot of money. It was longer, but dressy and cut down to a v perfectly above your chest for modesty. It was a meshy material with gold, dark blue and white beading patterns. It reminded you of going off to Greece and living there forever in the sun.

She paired it with tan linen shorts that weren’t too baggy or see through, the perfect material. The perfect outfit for the perfect day.

“You know me so fucking well Laylah.” You smile ridiculously.

You decided to not wear any jewelry, you didn’t want to stick out or draw attention to any areas of your body. Your shoes were simple free people wedges you had thrifted and you felt ready to go.

-----

You arrive at the theater with your friends, “We’ll be just outside once you're done, and you can tell us all about it, have a nice dinner somewhere and be distressed. Get ready for the rest of the school week, and worry about the cast list when it comes out, okay? Rose says. “One last group hug!”

“Thank you guys, I genuinely couldn't ask for better friends.” You couldn’t they've helped with everything through this process, helped you with your anxiety intermixed with your audition anxiety. “I’ll see you guys on the other side.” You smile with a wave as you walk in.

It's a big place, you look at signs to figure out where to go and there's a big audition line. You sign in your name and wait through the 30 minute line.

As you do, you go through the monologue in your head, what movements you want to do. Your pacing, what words to stress on more. How you want your face to look at certain parts, the scream.

Once it’s almost your turn to go into the theater, you see someone walk out. It’s Nina.

Once she sees you she immediately scoffs. So far so good, you think, you still have time to ditch and leave if you wanted to.

You angle your face down, pretending you’re picking your nails, leaving your phone with Laylah to take any distractions away from you, but of course she comes up to you.

“You think you’re getting Lady Mac country bumpkin?” She gives you a dirty look. “I’ve put my whole life into acting and singing and you come along thinking you’re gonna replace me? Good luck.” She looks you up and down. “You’re too fat for it anyways, you think you’re going anywhere with that face shape and nose? Please, you think you can make it without any plastic surgery, nothing to be ashamed of sweetie, you need it the most!” She laughs.

In this moment, you feel like shutting down, running into someone's arms and crying. You feel like heaving. You’ve never met someone as mean as your mom, and here you are, being taken back to the years of humiliation and crying.

You're reminded of the constant years of having pain in your chest and not being able to breathe. The thought of moving almost made you throw up. You couldn’t speak or stand up for yourself, you just had to take it and accept her words. If you tried to speak for yourself, she’d only find another crevice to bury herself inside of you.

“Oh honey you think this is bad, watch what happens if you get in my way, wanna be slore. Not will I only make your life hell, I’ll make sure you get kicked out of this school. I’ll go on every social media website, platform and podcast show, saying how you bullied me, and I’ll have every bitch in this school backing me up. I promise.” She glares at you with her slithering hazel eyes, yellow snake eyes. You have tears in your eyes, not sliding down your face, but your sockets so full you can’t see. You would not give Nina the satisfaction, “Maybe after this audition you should go run 5 miles, I’ll get you an equinox membership and maybe that will make you realize your not meant to-

“Ladies, ladies, is everything all right?” Mr. Garcia came out of the theater interrupting Nina mid sentence, realizing you still had an audition to go to.

“Yes Mr. Garcia, everything’s alright. I was just cheering her on, she’s gonna do amazing!” Nina pats you on the back and you wince, her walking away and you’re still frozen, you can’t move. Begging yourself not to have a panic attack right now.

“You can come in now if you’d like?” Mr Garcia says, “It’s okay if you’re a little nervous, it’s pretty frightening to perform somewhere like this, walk with me?” He offers his hands to you.

He was being so nice, when did he even come and interrupt Nina?

You follow him through the theater, “You can sit here for a second, I’m going to prep the judges and give you a second to calm yourself” He smiles. “I hope Nina wasn’t a distraction?”

“Oh not at all.” You gasp out to him. You felt like your chest was going to collapse on itself saying that.

You’re left alone and you burst into tears, holding your hands over your heart and mouth. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t embarrass yourself in front of those judges. You gasp for air and your heart is racing a million miles per second. You had to clear up the tears, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself.

And suddenly you hear Frankie's voice, you hear all your teachers voices and that immediately brings you back to reality.

Ground yourself, listen to his voice.

It almost made you more worried that he was there, he was going to be judging you and inspecting how you act, even when he’s already seen you perform this monologue, but now you needed to pretend no one else was in this room, you were still so unsure about everything after the other night with him but that didn’t matter. You are you, you are Lady Macbeth.

You hesitantly walk onto the stage and take in your surrounding, the judges are at their tables and you’re looking directly at all of them

Ms. Rolance, both Mr. Millers, Mr Garcia, Mr. Davis, Ms. Cheot, and finally Mr. Morales.

You give your best smile and give your slate. You give your name, year and what monologue you will be performing, they give you a second to start.

You look down and draw a star over your heart. You look up and start.

Immediately you start to quiver your voice and hands, feeling the blood all over your body again. “Yet here's a spot. Out, damned spot: out, I say.” You shout it across the theater, showing that you can project without a microphone.

"Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” You look around the stage, and your pacing, it feels like blood is pouring off your body for this imaginary old man, almost making this your body. You’re rubbing your hands together like a maniac.

“The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’that, my lord, no mo o’that. You mar all with this starting.” You feel like you are sleepwalking, with this gibberish Lady Mac is saying, you feel her pain and sorrow.

“Here the smell of blood is still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.” And you drop to the floor and scream until your head feels numb. You scream the pain of womanhood away, you scream for your lost childhood, and you scream for peace in your head. Not only for Lady Mac, you scream for yourself. You struggle to get up, tears are dropping at a rapid pace and snot coming down your throat.

“Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave.” You shiver and manipulate your head quickly,”To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand,” You read out, shaking violently hard,” What’s done cannot be undone,” You walk off dazed and pacing, “To bed, to bed, to bed.” And you finish.

A sudden applause erupts from all the judges and you snap back into yourself. You’re still crying so you wipe the tears and bow.

“Honey, can you walk over to us? We'd all like to ask you some questions.” Ms Roylance calls from her god mic.

You walk up to them, and they’re all heavily taking notes of your performance on their notepads, the things you would do to see what they were saying about your deliverance. You catch Frankie at the end, scribing down his thoughts.

“First off, are you okay?” Ms. Roylance asks. “Those tears kept rolling.”

He looks up from his note taking and looks at you.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” You respond.

“What made you scream like that?” Mr Miller looks up and asks.

“Huh?” You’re confused.

“I mean, something inside you made you scream like that,” He smiles. “What took it for you to scream like that?”

“Oh I guess there are many factors. If I can speak freely, just thinking of my mom and childhood.” You shrug. “Women suffrage for many years, I mean this show is for Lady Mac, not Macbeth.” You say Macbeth because why should a man's name be so important.

Frankie study’s how you respond, flinching when you talk about your mom.

They all take what you’re saying and write more.

“What was your focus point for your monologue?” Mr. Garcia asks.

“My hands, I vision them covered in blood as if I killed the king. I think the more crazy I feel inside, the more I can portray it on the outside. It takes mental preparation, but that part is easy.” You answer.

You think about his hands on yours, how strong he felt.

“How do you think Lady Mac would fill the space in this show?” Ms. Cheot asks.

They were going down the line, each asking you a question you’d guessed. Every answer was still a fast scribble, eating every word you had to say.

“With there being no dancing in the show, I think she would walk with correct posture, not because she wanted to but because she felt if she didn't her husband would have scolded her and hurt her. If I’m not mistaken the time period where women were killed if they didn’t obey their husbands. She’s quick with her decisions, as she’s quick with her feet. She’s not easy to please, but she can conceptually please people easily in her own way.

“Did that scream kill your voice?” Mr Miller, that’s your voice teacher, he asks in a humorous way.

You laugh, “No actually, I think screaming can make someone who sings, sing better actually. If you scream correctly from the chest, it won't damage the vocal cords.”

Mr Miller applauds you on your answer, because simply this is what was taught in musical theater for belting.

“When wearing makeup on stage, do you think this would affect your character no matter the drastics?” Mr Davis asks.

“Honestly, stage makeup is stage makeup. It has to be drastic. For Lady Macbeth, I think she would wear anything to show that she is slowly losing herself, if that means she has to look solemnly dead on stage, then so be it.”

“I don’t have any questions for you sweetheart, a great job seriously, Mr Morales, any questions or comments?” Ms. Roylacne says.

He looks up, and you meet those sweet deep set eyes.

He looks tired. You miss his lips. You miss his hands. You miss his smell. But he’s at a table in front of you and you can’t do anything about it. You forgot about everything on stage and finally being in front of him reminds you of everything you want in your life.

Him.

“I’d like to ask, what made you pick this monologue out of the selection you were given?” He asks. He leans forward an inch to watch you respond.

You think on it for a second, at this moment he’s your director and you have to be honest, “I picked this because it resonated with me the most. She feels guilty for the things that she wanted to do to make her husband more powerful than King Duncan. I don’t feel like she wanted to do it, she felt forced to do it by so many components. But in the end I think she killed herself because she couldn’t save herself. She could never live her own life because there was always going to be this burden weighing on her heart. Her husband was the cause of her death, now my interpretation is completely different but if I felt commanded in that way to kill a man for my husband, then I would have lost the will of life. I would have lost myself.”

Frankie just stares at you and the words are at loss from the both of you. You yourself can’t believe that you just said that to all the judges, but mostly to him.

Did he save this question for himself to ask you? This seemed too personal. It felt like it was only you 2 in the room and you couldn’t let yourself look away from him.

You didn’t feel violated by him, you only felt understood. You wanted to just kiss him and be held by him, after everything Nina said to you, you felt weak.

“I’ve never heard of that interpretation, I’ll take that in mind when I read it again.” He says.

You feel like if you look away, your oxygen will stop. You’ve barely had 5 conversations with him but you feel seen, an invisible string between you two.

“You’re free to go, excellent performance again.” Ms. Roylace says. “The cast will come out tomorrow, we had men audition earlier. You were our last performance of the day.”

You give them all your thanks and walk out to your friends. Before leaving the theater you check for any signs of Nina staying back, and she had thankfully left.

You couldn’t do anything about it, but the moment she jeopardizes your safety that’s when you would have someone interfere.

You walk out and your friends bombard you with hugs and cheers, they hand you a cute little muffin and you cheer, walking back to your dorm.

“I saw that girl Nina storming out of the theater about the time of the audition. Did she talk to you?” Laylah says.

“Yeah she threatened me before I walked in. She was saying if I replaced her she’d get me replaced.”

“That Nina girl? She’s fucking crazy, her freshman year she genuinly pulled a girl by her hair and it was all over social media. Before the dean could even talk to her, every video was wiped off the internet.” Hannah says.

“I’ve had a few classes with her and if you stayed out of her way you didn't have a problem but she is evil to the people that do. She’s degrading and will make your life hell. I don’t know how she still has friends.” Rose adds.

“I do, it’s because of daddy's money and he can pay for everything. He’s paid for her training when she was younger and now her way through this school. She just wants to make him proud.” Hanah replies.

“Who’s her dad?” You ask.

“This stock broker, real estate agent that has like a million assets. He’s a gazillionaire and Nina never fails to mention that she has money.” Hannah says. “Anything Nina does, gets covered up by her dad and no one has been brave enough to stand up against the both of them.

“We’ll see about that.” You end the Nina conversation.

She would not have power over you.

—-

previous || next

authors note: i promise they’re relationship is on the way. i honestly can’t believe i’ve written 5 chapters with no smut, i thought i would screw the story line and immediately jump in but. next few chapters are getting good 👀👀 happy mother’s day<333

let me know what you think!! anything i should add or what you’d like to see for this fic!!

16 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 1 month ago

Text

🥰 FINALLY

(Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

CW: Angst; talk of addiction; talk of failed relationships. Smut (PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 6734

AN: This was originally requested by @elegantmusicdragon, and it's a sequel to this!

There’s no pretending they don’t know.

Will saw it firsthand. Pope heard it, then got text confirmation from Will. Ben slept through all of it, but when he wakes early in the morning, he looks across the loft and sees his brother in the wan pre-dawn light, staring at the ceiling with a haunted look on his face.

A bit of prodding later, he finds out what he missed while he slept.

You and Fish, fucking. You and Fish, the two members of the team who squabble and irritate each other the most, who sometimes outright fight and sometimes require someone else—Will, usually—to referee.

You and Fish. You thought you were quiet, but by morning, everyone knows.

And worse, you and Fish know they know. After you finished, quiet as you could be, both of your cell phones pinged with a string of incoming messages. From Pope.

Pope: 👏👏👏👏

Pope: excellent work you two

Pope: 🍆 💦💦💦💦

Pope: seriously tho ur both gross

Pope: but congrats happy for u

You read the messages and felt a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, but when you glanced over at Frankie, he only raked his hand through his hair and muttered, “fuck.”

-----

Breakfast is a surreal affair. No one says anything at first, so the only sounds are forks and spoons clinking against dishes. Chewing. Benny, doing his usual gross early morning phlegm-clearing cough.

Your face burns in embarrassment. Frankie keeps his eyes fixed on his scrambled eggs, which he only pushes around with the tines of his fork. You can feel Pope’s eyes on you, Will’s eyes, and the cabin is full of anticipation.

Pope’s the one who breaks it. He clears his throat, asks in a tone that’s phony-casual, “everyone sleep okay?”

“I didn’t,” Will replies. “Thought I heard something last night.”

“Outside?” Again, Pope’s voice is fake, an edge of chipper teasing in it.

“Sounded like something got into the cabin.”

Pope pulls a thoughtful face. “Y’know, I think I heard something too. Kinda like a wounded animal? Two wounded animals, grunting and moaning—”

Frankie huffs out a heavy sigh, and you slouch lower in your chair. Benny grins around his mug of coffee and adds, “it is mating season, I think.”

Pope snaps his finger, a eureka sort of gesture. “That must be it! We must have come here during mating season and just didn’t realize it. Wild. Who knew?”

You chafe at the word mating, which makes it sound like you and Frankie are…well, mates, so you mutter, “it’s just hooking up,” which makes Frankie sigh again, because that launches Pope into a blistering lecture about responsibility and poor choices and Jesus Christ, you two, are you even using protection? Are you at least being safe, because you sure as shit aren’t being smart?

You mumble a defensive comment that it isn’t his business (though you’re on birth control, you sure as hell aren’t admitting it to the guys—Frankie knows, and that’s all that matters), and then you find the strength to stand up, announce that you’re going for a walk down to the lake, and if they care to speculate further on your reproductive health, they can do so without your presence.

*****

Frankie can’t remember the last time he has been so mortified.

No, scratch that. He can remember. It was when he was in the throes of his addiction, and you ambushed him with an intervention. Now, a full year after that, he sees the love and care that went into it, but at the time, he felt a furious blend of anger and frustration and mortification.

This is like that, albeit less strong…but incredibly fresh.

After you march off—abandoning him, naturally—he lets the guys get their shots in. He clenches his jaw and fixes his gaze somewhere over Pope’s head, at a pattern of knots in the wood paneling on the wall. He tries to let their ribbing wash over him, but he takes each comment personally.

And he’s embarrassed. It would be one thing to be caught with a random woman from, say, a bar or a party. You, though? It feels like a weakness, a failure of character, to be caught fucking someone he barely gets along with. Pathetic, like he can’t do better. Like he couldn’t find a woman who simpers for him, who is eager to impress him, who is impressed by him. Like he’s had to settle for someone who rolls her eyes at him, who snarks at him, who doesn't think that highly of him.

Someone who saw him at his weakest, when he was addicted to coke. Someone who rolled her eyes and marched in to save the day.

Weak. Pathetic.

Frankie stews. The guys wear themselves out, split up. Benny goes to find you on your march down to the lake. He says he’ll calm you down, soothe your chagrined soul and smooth you out. Pope disappears into his room to take a work call, since he has a new contract coming up in a few days.

It leaves Frankie and Will. Frankie stands up from the table and makes his way out to the front porch, and Will follows. Frankie heaves himself onto the porch swing, and he sets a rhythm of fast, jerky swinging. Back and forth. Back and forth. He swings in time to his pounding heart, the headache forming at the base of his skull.

Will settles on the step and stretches his leg out. He turns his face to the rising sun, and he’s silent for a long moment.

“You okay?” he finally asks. There’s no teasing in his voice. He sounds genuine.

“Great.” Frankie spits it out, sarcastic.

Will jerks his chin in the direction of the cabin door. “You know we’re just teasing.”

“Yeah.”

Will hesitates before he asks, “is it really just hooking up?”

Frankie sighs. “Obviously.”

Another beat of hesitation. “You don’t have feelings for her?”

That pulls a bitter laugh from Frankie. “Obviously not.”

“Thing is, it’s not so obvious.” Will turns his head and fixes Frankie with an appraising look that Frankie doesn’t like. He meets his eye for a beat, then slides his own gaze away, looks past Will to the clearing where the fire pit is. That first evening here seems a million years ago, though it was only a couple of days.

“It’s just that you two make a weird sort of sense,” Will continues. “You’re so similar—”

“We’re nothing alike.” Frankie cuts him off tersely. “We don’t have a damned thing in common other than a shared history.”

“You’re both stubborn. You’re both strong-willed people, and you both obviously care about each other—”

“No. Nope.” He cuts him off again, and all of those bad feelings—mortification being the strongest—bubble up in him.

“I don’t care about her. Are you kidding? It was just hooking up. She was available, and it was convenient, and that’s it.”

There’s venom behind his words, a force fed by his deep embarrassment to have been caught with you. It makes his voice carry just enough that you and Ben both hear it as you walk back from the lake. Will sees you first, makes a noise in the back of his throat as he catches your expression—the hurt there, the pain that Frankie’s words cause—and then Frankie sees you too.

“Hey,” he starts to say, but you wave him off, tell him it’s fine, you’re fine…and in all the years that Frankie has known you, this is the first time you lie to him.

-----

The weekend ends on a sour note.

There’s no fight between you and Frankie, and that hurts the most. For as much as you bicker, you go silent now. When you talk to him, you’re flat. Polite. Distant.

Pope needs to head back early to get back to Colombia, and you catch a ride with him.

“Got things I need to do,” you say, and everyone knows it’s a lie, but no one knows how to call you out on it. You’re hurt, Frankie has hurt you and the guys fed into the bad feelings that led to that hurt, and everyone parts in a low mood.

A hundred times Frankie’s finger hovers over your name on his phone. A hundred times he starts to craft a message in his head, only to toss the phone aside.

A hundred times he struggles to fall asleep because he cannot get your face out of his head. That look of surprise and hurt, and all his fault because he was an asshole who was embarrassed to be caught hooking up with you.

No, not was an asshole. Is an asshole. Because a hundred times he thinks he’ll summon the courage to reach out, but a hundred times, he fails.

-----

He doesn’t see you for six months. He don’t talk to you directly, and the best he gets is your short, clipped responses in the gang’s group chat. Even there, you tend to go silent.

He dare not ask one of the guys how you’re doing. He sees the Miller brothers the most, talks to Pope only sometimes, and maybe there’s a separate group chat because it seems as though the three of them have reached some agreement to never mention you around Frankie.

Six months. Half a year after the cabin by the lake. How does Frankie spend his time? Lonely, mostly. He goes to work, then goes home. He goes to meetings once a week, but he rarely has cravings and has less pressure to use. He started using before because he just had too much going on—work and married life, Pope’s scheming to make them all millionaires, Tom’s death. Now Frankie has very little. Just a job. Just a small apartment where he sits alone on his secondhand couch and eats microwaved leftovers while the TV plays at a low volume.

A hundred times he thinks to call you. A hundred times he thinks to drive to where you live—one town over, but only a fifteen minute drive. He could apologize; he could try to understand why you looked so hurt. Of course he cares for you, deep down, but it isn’t love…or was it?

A hundred times that question floats to the front of his mind, and a hundred times he shoves it down, ignores it, waits for it to recede from his thoughts.

-----

Six months after the cabin by the lake, Frankie sees you again. Pope is in town for his birthday. His latest contract has ended, the next one hasn’t begun, and he has a stretch of time to visit and gorge himself on all the things he can’t get overseas.

His birthday is held at Will and Benny’s place. When Frankie rolls up a solid half hour late, though, Will is outside waiting for him.

“How’s it going?” he asks, and the two exchange their usual handshake into a half-hug.

“Good. You?”

“Good.” Will jams his hands in his pockets and fixes Frankie with a curious look. “She’s in there, you know.”

It says a lot that the she in this case is you and not his ex-wife, who arguably would put the guys more on alert. How have you managed to reach such a dubious place of honor?

Frankie tries to sound casual. “Yeah, I figured.” A beat, and he adds, “don’t worry. I don’t plan on fighting with her. It’s Pope’s night.”

Will furrows his brow at that, shakes his head faintly. “Yeah, I know. But Frankie, she’s in there with someone else. Pope’s buddy, remember?”

-----

Fucking Paolo.

Fucking recently-divorced, recently-cheated on, sad piece of shit Paolo. Pope’s buddy that he tried—and apparently succeeded at—setting you up with at the cabin.

Thing is, the guy isn’t a sad piece of shit. Or a troll, as Frankie had teased you at the cabin. The man is handsome; an easy smile and warm eyes. Hair that looks great but like he didn’t try to make it look great. Clothing well-fitted and well-made, but not obnoxiously designer. Good handshake, when Frankie is introduced. A genuine ‘nice to meet you’ in accented English.

Frankie’s jealousy, as it turns out, is wide and deep and never-ending.

Because for fuck’s sake, you look happy. Relaxed. Paolo puts his hand on your lower back and leads you to get fresh drinks. He slings an arm around your waist as you stand and chat with Pope. He turns and whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle, and how is Frankie just now learning that you fucking giggle, and that it sounds cute on you, a musical little laugh that makes his stomach turn because he’s never drawn such a sound from you?

And Paolo must smooth out your rough edges because you gift Frankie a little smile and ask how he’s been, and there’s no venom behind the question. No lingering bad will.

You’ve moved on, it seems, and it hits Frankie harder than he thought it would. He ends up leaving after only a few hours, lies and says he’s coming down with something, but he takes one backwards glance at you before he goes.

You aren’t looking at him at all. You’re looking—gazing—at fucking Paolo’s handsome fucking face, and Frankie’s first thought is she never looked at me like that.

His second thought is maybe I never gave her a reason to look at me like that.

-----

Frankie sees you once a few months after Pope’s birthday, by accident at the grocery store. You’re alone and frowning slightly in the produce section, looking at the selection of apples on display. Paolo is nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t mean anything.

You don’t see Frankie. He stands by the cut flowers and studies you from under the brim of his hat, and he half-hopes you turn and see him. He half-hopes you don’t. He stands by a bucket of cheerful daisies and wonders if Paolo brings you flowers.

He half-hopes the man does, because you deserve flowers. He half-hopes he doesn’t, because Frankie is jealous and hates the thought that Paolo has only known you for a fraction of time—far less than Frankie has known you—and is still probably that much better for you than Frankie would have been.

Frankie doesn’t know what to do with himself. His thumb still hovers over your contact information in the still, quiet hours of the night.

He thinks of the intervention you staged for him. He had stormed out, furious to be so embarrassed and exposed, and you had followed.

He remembers you stopping him, your hands turning him to face you. Your hands gripping either side of his face as you stared deep into his eyes and pleaded with him to get his shit together.

It’s as good of advice now as it was then.

-----

A year after the cabin by the lake, and everyone returns to the cabin by the lake.

Frankie hesitates when Will calls for his confirmation. Will must guess why, because Will not-so-casually mentions that it’s just the core folks, you and Frankie and Pope and the Millers. No plus-ones.

“Just us,” Will reminds him. “To remember Tom.”

So fucking Paolo won’t be there with his nice smile and nice hair and his hand resting lightly on your back, and Frankie agrees to come.

When he arrives, it is just like the year before. Pope pulls rank and calls dibs on the lone single bedroom. The Miller brothers scamper up to the loft like children, poking at each other and laughing the whole way.

Which leaves you and Frankie exactly where you were a year ago. Awkwardly sharing the living room with the lumpy couch and a mattress on the floor. Frankie glances at you, opens his mouth to say something, but Pope—who tosses his bag into the bedroom, then strides back out—comes up to you and pulls you into a hug that kind of looks like a headlock.

“Sorry to hear about it,” he says, and Frankie is bewildered for a beat before Pope adds, “for the record, I told him he was being fucking stupid.”

His mind guesses that this is about Paolo, but his mouth, which often operates independently of his mind, blurts out, “did you break up?”

You peer out at him from where Pope has you tucked against him, and grumble, “how’d you say it last year? I’d only disappoint him.”

Frankie sucks in a breath, remembers the shot he took at you. He shakes his head, ashamed at the memory, but doesn’t say anything.

“No. No, no, no.” Pope adjusts his hold, puts you in an actual headlock. He glances over at Frankie and clarifies, “he got back together with his ex-wife.”

“She was better than me,” you chime in, and it sounds muffled.

“Nope again. She’s a cheater, and she’ll cheat again, and you’ll be off with someone far better.” Pope adjusts his hold as you struggle against him, and he adds, “now say something nice about yourself. No feeling sorry, so say something nice.”

“I’m a good cook.” It’s muffled again; your face is pressed against Pope’s side where he holds you fast.

“No good. I mean, you’re a good cook, yes, but you learned that. It’s not essential to who you are.”

“Pope, c’mon,” you whine. “Lemme go.”

“Not until you say it.”

Frankie smiles at the exchange, but he puzzles over it too. He wonders at the relationship you have with Pope, separate from him and the other guys. He supposes he’s never considered it—he always thought you and he had a separate thing, but never considered how you got on with Pope or Will or Ben independent of him, separate from the broader group.

But Paolo was Pope’s friend too, and Frankie wonders how much Pope hyped you up to Paolo and vice versa. And how much Pope has been there for you now that it’s ended, perhaps feeling guilty to have it go sideways on you.

Hence this little game that seems well-established: Pope holding you in a headlock, forcing you to speak well of yourself.

“I’m…loyal,” you finally concede.

Pope shoots Frankie a grin and replies, “yes, you are. You’re good as gold.”

But he doesn’t release you quick enough, and you get enough of an arm free to lightly sucker punch him low in the stomach, and Frankie smiles wider because that’s the you he recognizes best—the one who puts up with shit to a certain level, then comes out swinging.

-----

The first night this time is much the same as the last time. There’s a bonfire, a cooler of beers, laughter. Loons call across the water to each other, and sparks from the fire drift on the updraft to merge with the stars glimmering above them.

Frankie feels restless. He fiddles with his bottle of beer, rolls it between his palms, peels the label. He hasn’t seen you in so long, hasn’t talked to you for even longer, and now you’re sitting across the fire ring from him. Your face is gilded orange and gold in the flames, and while you laugh with them, you seem a touch sad. Quieter than usual.

When everyone finally turns in, he offers you the mattress on the floor. For the first time since you’ve arrived, you pause and look at him. Actually look at him: meet his eyes, study his face.

“The couch is lumpy,” you remind him. “Your back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Nah, I’m okay.” You turn away and shake out the folded blanket, and Frankie despairs at how polite and distant you are now. His own fault, but he loathes it. He wishes you’d squabble with him again, pick a fight, tease him until he huffs in frustration.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks. He watches you lie down. You punch at the pillow, turn on your side, then settle and sigh.

“I’d rather not, Fish.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry—”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “For Paolo? You kinda said it would go down the exact way it went down.”

He shakes his head. “No, but I should have never said that—”

“It’s fine.”

“I meant, I wanted to say I’m sorry for before.”

“Oh.”

“Here, last year.” He swallows and studies your expression, which gives nothing away. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was cruel, and—”

“I get it. I remember. It’s fine, Fish. Everything’s fine.”

He wants to add more, but you roll over to face the back of the couch, your back to him. It occurs a moment later that you’re still lying to him, because you’ve just said everything was fine at least four times in the past five minutes, and he gets the distinct impression that nothing is fine.

-----

The next day, you hike again. It’s a different route this time, and the summit is different but the view is the same, just a different angle: placid lake below, brilliant blue sky above, and a picnic lunch spread out on the rock.

Frankie has done a lot of work on himself. In the past months, he’s learned to stop thinking of himself as a fixed point. Life is not a ladder, as he always imagined. He can change and adapt and not think himself weak for backing up and taking a different route when the first route proves to be a dead end.

Case in point: you and your occasional balking as you hike down a mountain. There’s a stretch that is dicey, loose graveled and steep, and sure enough, you falter, then freeze.

Frankie from last year got impatient with you, and left you behind for Benny to rescue.

Frankie from this year recognizes that your fear isn’t a personal failing. It’s a quirk. It makes you you, and how he reacts now is what makes him him. The new and improved Frankie. Less of an asshole. Back up, try a new way.

“Take your time,” he tells you now. “There’s no rush.”

You don’t seem to hear him. You’re so used to him being frustrated that you say, plaintive, “just go around, Fish.”

A breath. New and improved Frankie. “No, I’ll wait for you. I’m here.”

You glance at him, and he sees the whites of your eyes: the fear there. He regrets that he wasn’t patient with you before. Another breath, like his therapist taught him. He feels the regret, then lets it go. He reminds himself that he can be better now.

Frankie reaches out a hand to you. “C’mon,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

Of course you stare at him a long moment like he’s grown two heads. Like he’s been replaced by some alien double who is kind instead of snappish.

You end up taking his hand, though, and he grips you firmly, takes you step by step out of the perilous stretch of the trail.

-----

Dinner is Pope on steaks, you on pasta and vegetables again. Benny, who took an internet wine course to impress a girl, pops the corks on a few bottles of middle shelf vintage. He explains about how it has to breathe, how it has to release the bouquet until Pope steps away from the steaks to smack him upside his head.

New and improved Frankie. When the dinner conversation touches on your breakup, he murmurs his consolations. When Pope gives the entire history of Paolo and his volatile ex-wife, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disgust.

New and improved Frankie. He tells you your contributions to the meal are delicious, and he misses the sly look that Will gives to Pope because Frankie is too focused on you. Your face twists in confusion at his praise, and you reply a beat later with a lilt of questioning, “thank you?”

-----

New and improved Frankie. He manages to beat you to the living room before bed, and he snags the couch while you’re brushing your teeth. You stop in your tracks when you see him, and you narrow your eyes.

“Take the mattress tonight,” he says. He ignores the spring in the couch digging into the left side of his ass. “Seriously.”

The guys are all already tucked into their own beds, so when you put your hands on your hips and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him, you keep your voice low.

“Nothing wrong with me.”

You don’t buy it, but your scowl softens. “Frankie, are you using again?”

He laughs. Of course you’d associate his attempts at niceness with drugs.

“Not at all. I’m at about eighteen months clean.”

That replaces your scowl with a smile. A genuine one. “Oh, Fish. Congratulations.”

“It’s thanks to you.”

“Nah. You’re the one who did the hard work.”

“You’re the one who saw I had a problem.”

“The guys noticed it too.”

“Yeah, but.” He takes a breath. “You’re the one who took action. You probably saved my life.”

You wave him off, and you kneel down on the mattress, then sit cross-legged and look at him. “You give me too much credit, Fish.”

That makes him shake his head. “No, I never gave you enough credit. I was married, remember. Sophie never noticed, and if she did, she didn’t set up an intervention. It was all you.”

Something about being so open makes you uncomfortable. You fold your hands in your lap and look down at them. “Where is all this coming from?” Your voice is quiet, and Frankie has to strain to hear you.

“What do you mean?”

A sigh. “I mean, I don’t want you to be nice because I got dumped. I hate pity.”

He sits up a bit, props himself on his elbow and watches you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then why are you being so nice? We haven’t argued once and it’s been over a day.” You glance over at him, your hands twisting in your lap restlessly.

He sits up completely and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I hated the way I left things with you before.” A pause. “Remember what you told me at my intervention? You said I had to get my shit together. I thought, ‘okay, I’m clean now, I have some clean months behind me. So why am I still so fucking miserable to be with?’”

“Fish, you aren’t miserable to be—”

“I am.” He cuts you off. “And I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be the man who makes you feel like shit because I’m embarrassed we got caught hooking up. You’re not something to be ashamed of, and I acted like a complete asshole.”

The corner of your mouth twitches in a sardonic smile. “The guys were being obnoxious.”

“And I should have been obnoxious back. I could have talked you up. Talked us up. Instead of being a dick, I could have said, ‘yeah, we’re hooking up, and it’s amazing, so be jealous about it because you’re all single with no prospects.’”

“We were technically single too.”

He nods, serious. “Yeah, we were, but maybe we shouldn’t have been.”

That makes you laugh; an honest-to-god belly laugh that has you wrapping your arms around your stomach. Frankie winces, glances up at the loft where the Miller brothers are theoretically sleeping, then he pushes the worry aside. Who gives a shit if they hear you laughing with him?

When he doesn’t laugh too, your laughter dies down. “Wait, you’re not joking?”

“No.”

A long pause with the two of you watching each other. “…and you’re sure you’re not using?”

“I’m sure. I had a piss test last week for work.”

“…okay.”

He sighs and holds his hands out to you, palms up. Entreating. “I’ve been seeing a therapist. Yes, it feels like bullshit, but it’s something, you know? Having a third party to bounce my bad memories against. My bad feelings. He’s helped me figure out some stuff.”

You blink at him in sincere surprise. “I’m proud of you, Fish.”

That makes a warm flush course through him, you being proud of him. “It’s a cliché, but there’s shit from childhood that really can fuck a person up as an adult, you know?”

“Oh, I know it. Eldest daughter, right here. Child of functional alcoholics.”

“I guess I always had this set idea in my head of how life was gonna be, and when it was not that, when it turned out to be something that I constantly had to work out, I didn’t know how to handle that,” he admits.

“I get that too.” You nod along, and you stop fiddling with your hands.

Frankie takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. He has to get it out, and he has your attention.

“And, you know, I had set ideas about relationships. Women. Marriage.”

The sardonic smile returns. “Here we go.”

“I was trying to recreate a perfect version of my parents’ marriage,” he admits. It took some deep work to realize it. Talking in therapy, dredging up memories he thought he had buried nice and deep. “I thought if I could do it like them, but better, I would have won.”

“Won what, exactly?” you ask softly.

“Life? I don’t even know. It sounds stupid to say it out loud, but I thought it would mean that I had succeeded as an adult. As a man. Like people would look at me and be impressed.”

He glances at you, and you nod encouragingly. He takes another deep breath, and he asks you to just listen to the next part, to not interrupt. To let him get it all out before you stop listening.

“Okay.” Another nod, and you settle your hands in your lap again and hold them there.

“So I tried to recreate my parents’ marriage, right? I found a woman a lot like my mom. Traditional, stay at home. Sophie wanted to be taken care of, you know. She didn’t want to work. She wanted someone to make the decisions for her on all the big adult stuff. She wanted to keep house and have kids and be a soccer mom. Make homemade Halloween costumes and throw elaborate birthday parties for our four or five children, and there was nothing wrong with that. I thought she’d be better than my mom, an actual mom, you know? Not someone to get bitter about her missed opportunities and tell her kids how she sacrificed everything for them. Because that’s what my childhood was like. My mom always couched everything in what she gave up, like me or my brothers asked to be born.”

He pauses, catches his breath. You’re watching him, expectant, so he continues.

“And meanwhile, I thought I’d be the best husband. The best dad. I had a military career, and they trained me to fly helicopters. I was so much further ahead than my own dad, who drove a tow truck. He worked hard all day, then came home to a bitter wife. The best thing in his life was drinking cheap beer in the garage and hiding from her, and here I was, married to Sophie with a good military job and benefits, and I should have been so happy to be winning.”

“But you weren’t,” you say gently. It isn’t a question.

He shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t. And I didn’t know why. I started to resent Soph for never making a decision. Mortgage went up because property taxes went up? Not her problem. Roof needed replaced? I had to figure it out. Car registration expired while I was overseas, and she got a ticket? Somehow I had to solve it from the middle of goddamned Afghanistan. We didn’t even have kids yet, and I was feeling all this pressure to be an adult for both of us. When I got back home on leave, she tells me that she’s stopped her birth control, and I just…cracked.”

“I get it, Fish. I mean, not being married, but I get how it feels to expect one thing in your life and have the opposite happen.”

He holds up a palm to remind you to let him get it all out, and you whisper “sorry. Go ‘head.”

“And then there was you. The complete opposite of Soph, you know? You were…are this super independent woman, and whenever we were stuck overseas and Soph was struggling with running a house stateside, you were just there, chirping about what she needed to do. Like it was nothing. And I got irritated with you because you are just so damned pulled together and even-keeled and…and easy. It’s so easy with you, and I hated it because I knew I made the wrong choice after all. I tried so hard to avoid my parents’ marriage’s pitfalls that I just fell into the same pattern even harder, and you were the one who showed me that.”

He watches to see how his words land. When you blink at him, he sees a film of tears there, so he plunges forward to get the rest out.

“I didn’t even realize that I loved you. That’s how fucked in the head I was. I picked fights with you and told the guys how irritating I thought you were, and you stuck to me anyway. I could never shake you off. We mustered out and you saw me drowning in my addiction, and I still told myself that I didn’t like you, didn’t care about you. I got divorced, and we started hooking up, and I swear to god, sweetheart, hand up to god: the first time we slept together, it felt like I was finally home, and I still couldn’t admit it to myself. I kept telling you each time that it was the last time but I kept coming back for more because you feel like home and I loved you, but I fucked it all up because I didn’t understand who I was or what I wanted.”

He stops there, spent. He feels like he’s been emptied out, and he stares down at his own clenched hands and waits for you to say something. Anything.

There’s a long, long moment of silence. He hears the loons on the lake and the wind rustling the trees outside, but you don’t say anything for so long.

Then you breathe out his name, an “oh, Frankie,” and when he looks up, he sees the tears streaming down your face.

“I mean it,” he adds softly. “I’m sorry, but I mean it. I love you. I’ve probably always loved you. Thinking back, I can’t remember a time I didn’t. I just didn’t realize it.”

You’re crying openly now, but you’re trying to be quiet. Frankie doesn’t even think of the guys nearby; he stands up and makes his way to where you sit on the mattress, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters against the side of your head, and he has no idea what you’re thinking—if you’re horrified or embarrassed or something else by his admission. It’s out now, though. He can’t take it back, and he doesn’t think he would want to take it back anyway.

It takes another long moment of him holding you awkwardly, you trying not to cry too loudly. But then you give a weak laugh, and whisper hoarsely, “I really thought you were on drugs again.”

“Therapy is sometimes harder than sobriety.”

You pull away a little and stare at him with eyes brilliant with tears. “Would you have said anything if I were still with Paolo?”

“Maybe. I might have changed the messaging. I wouldn’t have wanted to get in the middle of anything.”

You chuck him weakly on his bicep. “I’ve missed you, you asshole. And I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

He grins down at you. “If you feel too out of sorts, we could argue.”

“Yeah?”

“You pointed out that we haven’t argued once yet.”

“Feels weird.”

“It does. Want a big fight or just a little one?”

“Might as well go big. It’s been so long.”

Frankie chuckles. He releases you. He holds his hands up and makes a ‘gimme’ gesture with them. A ‘give me your best shot’ gesture.

“C’mon then. Let’s hear it,” he says.

You smile and swipe at your wet eyes. “Okay. You’re a real fucking piece of work, dropping all this heavy shit on me out of nowhere.”

“Maybe you’re a real fucking piece of work to have never guessed.”

A laugh of surprise erupts out of you. “How in the hell would I ever have guessed that?”

“You notice everything else. You noticed I was using before.”

“So you dropping a ton of weight and looking like shit from coke is the same as being in love?”

“With you?” he scoffs. “Absolutely. Can’t sleep, no appetite, can’t think straight ‘cos of you—”

“Fuck you, Fish,” you say, and then you’re on him, your mouth sliding over his, and it feels just as he said: you feel just like home. It stretches out, long and eager, the two of you obviously missing each other and making up for lost time. Too much lost time.

He breaks the kiss long enough to get you turned and under him, to get your thin cotton shorts down around your ankles, to get his own pajama pants down enough to free his hardening cock. He bullies himself between your thighs but you spread yourself wide eagerly. You grasp the back of his neck with one hand, but you reach down with your other hand, take him in hand, and stroke him to his full length. He touches you between your legs, feels you growing wet and slick for him, and it’s just like home when he kisses you, and it’s just like home when he notches himself against your entrance and then slides into you.

What’s new, though, is how he drops his head so his mouth is near your ear, and he whispers, “god, I love you so fucking much.”

It’s new, too, how you clench down at those words, then turn his head to make him look at you, so he can see your eyes when you whisper back, “I love you too, Frankie. Always.”

*****

In the past year, Pope has obtained a prescription for medication to help him sleep, so he misses the texts flying in the shadow group chat that is just him and Miller brothers. He only reads them when he wakes up to birdsong outside his window.

Will: u hearing this?

Will: Pope. POPE.

Benny: Wkae up, asshole.

Will: u will never guess what’s happening

Benny: 🍆🍑💦

Will: Fish told her he loved her.

Benny: bro, wake the fuck up. This is wild.

Will: HE SAID HE LOVES HER

Benny: disgusting but wild

Will: I think she said it back

It’s five in the morning when Pope wakes up and reads the texts. He grins, and he wonders if Benny realizes that the peach emoji usually is a stand-in for an ass, which means Benny was implying that you and Fish had anal sex while they all slept nearby, which seems unlikely.

Pope climbs out of bed quietly to use the bathroom, and it takes him through the living room where you and Frankie are asleep. Together, he notes. You’re both fully clothed—thank Christ for small miracles—but you’re together on the mattress on the floor. Frankie’s arm is over your waist, and your hand lightly circles his wrist.

Fucking gross.

But also fucking adorable.

Pope uses the bathroom, then tiptoes back to his bed. He re-reads the texts, then types out his reply to Will and Benny.

Pope: 🥰

Pope: FINALLY.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales imagine #triple frontier

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penvisions · 5 months ago

Text

one fish, two fish {chapter one}

Pairing: Local! Frankie Morales x Transplant! Reader

Summary: Setting up a new chapter of your life should be easy, but there's someone that keeps popping up and making it much harder than it needs to be...

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: mentions of past recovery, narcotics anonymous, mentions of past drug use, recreational drug use, consumption of alcohol, miscommunication up the wazoo, i think that's it for this one!

A/N: this is for the lovely @janaispunk and her 1500 kisses challenge / celebration! the kiss assigned to me was: goodnight kiss! wanted to write something a bit different and this helped to get some stuff tinkering again

ao3 link || series masterlist || frankie masterlist || ko-fi

You were new to the area, the city and the meeting. The mediocre coffee and the drab, stagnant air of the rented out room the only thing linking this new chapter of your life to the old one. Anonymous meetings always seemed to be held in the same types of places, outside in large parks too crowded and loud with other people or playgrounds off in the distance or errant rooms of old church buildings where they typically held their holiday social gatherings. The faces were always the same with washed out expressions, dull eyes, shaking hands all clamoring for the too bright amber liquid that barely passes for coffee and too sugary sweets for the snacks alongside it.

But there was something new about this scene you were all to familiar with, no matter the city you were in or the state of your recovery. A man was walking in through the doors, dressed in a simple pair of dark wash jeans and a heathered grey t-shirt. Atop his head was a worn and well loved hat, a patch over the front of it depicting some foreign to you oil company. But it wasn’t the nondescript clothes or hat that caught your attention, lord knows it wasn’t, it was the man who adorned them. He looked so different from the others in the room even as he shared greeting handshakes and close-lipped smiles with everyone milling about before he was standing in front of you.

He tilts his head to the side as confusion swirls in the brown depths of his wide eyes, so much more the embodiment of coffee more that the liquid in your little styrofoam cup. His full lips are pursing slightly as he begins to speak and there’s a large hand held out in front of him. Sound and awareness slam back into you and you realize he was repeating a greeting to you. His hand is lowering, going to mirror his other on his hip and you feel like you’re getting scolded as he stands tall over you.

“Oh, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Yes, hi, I’m-“

“New, haven’t seen you before. Most of the people here have been comin’ to this meeting for a long while. Sure you’re in the right place?” His eyes are tracing over the features of your face, heat pooling underneath the scrutiny as you realize the words he’s speaking to you. And it sounds a lot like you aren’t welcome. You swallow the lump quickly forming in your throat and try to tamp down the fluster of embarrassment at having chosen the one meeting that worked out for your schedule only for it to be wrong for everyone else.

“I-I can- go? If it’s not…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose, there’s just…this was the only one in the area and I don’t have a sponsor helping me figure out the lay of the land.” You’re turning from him, placing the little cup beside the coffee maker and wiping your hands on the sides of your jeans, palms sweaty and nerves alight. You feel foolish, for thinking that you could just pick a meeting even if the list had been published on an online forum. Your legs are twitching as you quickly stride across the room and out into the tepid evening air.

You barely muster up the courage to look over your shoulder as you cross the small path set into lush grass, the propped open doors to the room are blocked by the form of the man that had caught your attention. His figure is backlit by the fluorescents on inside, the evening dark as the sun had set over an hour ago. You can’t see his face for the silhouette his broad body is creating, though you don’t imagine it’s anything kind as he seems to be ensuring your departure with a survey of area. Your heart hammers in your chest at the sickening feeling of being unwelcome, of having been approached and explicitly asked if you were in the right place. And fuck if you weren’t sure.

The asphalt is still hot from the day as you cross over it to your car, the happy beeps of it unlocking doing nothing to improve the mood. The feeling of being completely out of your element consume you as you pilot your car through the half-full lot and onto one of the only roads you were familiar with in the city that is now your home.

A few days later and an hours long phone call with your old sponsor, you’re feeling a little better about the whole thing. An invitation to join your coworkers out for a drink helping to ease the transition of a new work place, one of paperwork to use the degree you had devoted yourself to finished through your recovery. Pieces of an easy life fell into place, new car, a new apartment, a trip to the shelter to look for a furry friend to keep you company. It was all so precious and new, equal parts exciting and daunting as you tried to create something for yourself that you never had before.

The chase of addiction long past, nothing more than an errant nightmare every so often or the twitch of a muscle as you recalled the feeling of endorphins and chemicals, now only a lingering phantom.

You decided to try and dress up a little, your favorite pair of jeans that fit just like a warm hug, a nice tank top lined with lace at the collar and hem, a pair of chunky heeled boots to make you appear a little taller. All of it paired with the scent of your summer perfume and gold jewelry to bring the whole look together and make you feel more like yourself than you had in years.

All of it came undone the second you settled your elbows on the bar top to wave down a worker for a beer when he sidled up beside you. Crackling tension douses the jovial, upbeat scene and you feel your entire body tense up and your thoughts scramble at the scent that seems to cling to his skin. It’s a combination of faint motor oil and something woodsy. It’s not a bad one, and the errant thought of catching it lingering on your sheets pulls your mouth down into an unfriendly frown as you turn to look at him as he clears his throat to speak in that deep, full voice.

“I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but-“

“You can’t kick me out of here too, this is a public space.” You find yourself saying roughly, annoyance and a little more boldness behind the words than you would normally display so plainly. Born of embarrassment and the feeling of shame, for having accidently stumbled into a space that was meant to be inviting and accepting only to be turned away by the handsome man who had quite literally materialized beside you now like he had done so many nights ago. You look straight ahead, eyes focused on the backlit bottles on the shelves of the bar back.

“Hey, no, that’s not-“

“I won’t bother you, just…please leave me alone.”

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.” His apology steeped in genuine condolence catches you off guard and you miss the spare second to get the bartenders attention as you turn to look at him again. There’s a nervous air about him now, nothing like the way he had approached you during that first meeting. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t trying to run you off.”

“Sure seemed like it, ‘sure you’re in the right place’?” You repeat his words back to him, an imitation of his deep voice so spot on it catches him off guard and pulls a barking laugh from someone on the other side of him. The man’s brows fly up underneath the curls that peek out from underneath his cap, his plush lips parted slightly at the hint of something that would normally be playful but is now being weaponized and turned on him with intent.

“Oy, Fish, she’s got that down perfect! Fuck, that’s hilarious.” Your eyes look over his shoulder to the person, he’s just as handsome but in a way that makes you wary of his intentions and the truth of his words should he have been the one to sidle up to you. Memories of being teasingly asked out by your old coworkers ring in your ears. “What’s your name, hermosa?”

“You brought a friend with you to- what exactly? Ask if I’m in the right place again? Well, I am. Apology acknowledged but not accepted, please leave me alone.” You lean forward a bit more, putting weight on one of your hands to wave the other for the attention of a much needed drink, even more so now. You’re very aware of both men’s attention on you as you manage to get something on draft, ordering whatever local amber they offered and turn away from the crowded bar to go back to your table.

Only, it’s empty when your eyes zone in on it. The vinyl seats of the booth are unoccupied for only a moment until another group of people swoop in and claim it for themselves. Sighing, you down the beer with quick gulps as you make your way to the door, the crisp liquid soothes the nerves of confrontation and being ditched only minutely. The condensation beaded up on the glass making your hands damp as you pop it atop a high top table with a couple obviously on their first date before you’re pushing through the door into the humid night.

You’re barely a few paces down the street when the door opens again and he’s walking through it. A frazzled look about him as he turns his head this way and that in search of something. He’s worrying that plush bottom lip and you hate how your eyes trace the movement.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, please leave me alone.” You can’t help the rumble of your exasperation as his eyes land on you and he pivots toward you.

“Look, I didn’t mean for- you’re reading into this all wrong- I-“ He’s stumbling over his words as he closes the distance, catching up with your quick gait further down the street.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m allowed to be wherever I want to go. I will not shirk away from what you think is yours just because you don’t want me around. I haven’t done anything to you and I don’t even know who you are!”

A few passersby glance your way and you see a deep pink tinge the tops of his cheeks as his shoulders bunch up in obvious embarrassment. You feel it too as eyes linger and murmured words are shared. You feel the weight of your phone in your back pocket and pull it out as you turn to face him head on. The screen illuminates the way frustration had given way to slight panic as you type in your address for an uber. Tears splatter on the screen that displays too expensive drivers, and you try to get your thoughts together with a long blink. More tears cascade hot down your cheeks and you feel so foolish and overwhelmed.

“I-I didn’t mean to frighten you, please, I’m just trying to-“ He’s stopped a few feet in front of you, gauging the strike of fear that courses through you harshly.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work out.” You sob, body humming with anxiety you thought was starting to abate day by day. “I thought, I-“ Your phone slips from your trembling hands and you scramble to catch it just as he moves to do the same. It evades your attempts and smacks into the concrete of the ground, the crunch of glass telling you it’s ruined.

Everything freezes when you look up from where he’s crouched down to pick up the broken phone, his eyes wide and beseeching as he holds it out for you to take. But you don’t, body tense and rooted in place. His eyes are such a deep brown and your heart flutters in your chest in a twist of emotion. He looks so panicked, worry and concern wafting from him. It’s a puppy-eyed look if you’ve ever seen one and you feel bad for having reacted so emotionally.

“Look, I’m just- I’m new here and it was supposed to be a good night. But my coworkers ditched me and I don’t know how to get home now.”

“I could-“ His teeth clack with the force he shuts his mouth around what you were sure was to be an offer of a ride. He seems to realize that’s not the best and rubs a hand over the back of his neck in a nervous motion. “I can get you an uber or I can call a cab, if-if that’s okay with you? If you’re comfortable with that. It’s the least I can do.”

When you don’t respond, he’s reaching for his own phone in a front pocket. He fiddles with it for a few moments before he heaves a deep sigh.

“Everyone has a wait time of about half an hour, is that- are you okay with that?”

“I don’t…I…”

“Hey, it’s okay. Look…if…”He’s slipping his phone back into his pocket and holds yours out to you again. A feeling of something akin to relief floods you as the tension begins to ease. He’s trying so hard to turn the interaction around and you can’t help but think it’s endearing, if still a little mortifying at how badly it had spiraled out of control. “There’s a diner down the street, on the corner. Why don’t we grab a coffee or something with a little sugar to even out the adrenaline and just…we can talk a little and then I’ll take you home. No ulterior motive, I swear to you. I just…I can’t leave you out here, I’d feel so bad if I left you out here alone. Think about you all night…”

“O-okay.” You hear yourself agree, exhaustion slamming into you so reminiscent of a waning high that you find your body aching and sore. Coffee sounded good, a little pick me up….

“Yeah?” His eyes are glancing between both of yours, trying to read if it was really okay or if you were just trying to shrink yourself in hopes of appeasing him out of fear. When he doesn’t seem to see any, he’s taking a step closer. You don’t back away or flinch, your mind too weighed down but obviously not on edge around him any longer. Instincts telling you he’s better than the two interactions with him belay. That he’s truly a person trying to do good and smooth over the miscommunication.

“Yes.”

You find yourself in a booth across from him a few moments later, steaming mugs of fresh coffee in front of you both while you wait for the food you had ordered. You’ve calmed down enough to feel nervous for an entirely different reason. He’s…he’s handsome, but that was what had caught your attention in the first place. Broad, tall body that moves with an easy confidence. The way he carried himself telling you of his past more than words. You could recognize someone who served, and it lightens the burden of him being a complete stranger even more so.

He’s wearing a pair of thick rimmed glasses now, that he had pulled from a back pocket to read the menu and you felt your stomach flutter at the sight.

“So..um, why did your friend call you Fish?” You try to break the awkward tension that feels a little too much like the first date you had interrupted earlier on your way out of the bar. The thought sticks in your brain like a prickly burr, unyielding as you try to shake it away. There was no way…that this would turn out to be anything than a weird story to tell people at the next meeting you managed to find.

He’s glancing up from where he stirs in a hefty pour of sugar into his black coffee, thick fingers wrapped around the mug. He’s searching your face as you do the same, and you worry for a moment if your make up had smudged from the bout of tears that had taken over you. You see faded scars over his knuckles, the backs of his hands, small pieces of his past on display for your roving eyes.

“It’s a nickname, well…it was my call sign.” He seems cautious, to admit it across the formica table. Unsure if it would unsettle you or ease your worries about him.

“Mine was Angelfish.” You respond without thinking, sharing something about yourself that you don’t tell people anymore. It doesn’t seem to matter once they see the sobriety keychain attached to your keys or the label on your work file you’re required to provide.

“You served?” His brow furrows as he looks you over once again, seeing the traces of your time served in the muscles of your arms, the straight set of your posture, the way your eyes tracked the movements of everyone else in the diner.

“Navy, SEAL explosives expert.”

“Army, Delta Force pilot. Real name’s Frankie- Fransisco. Fransisco Morales.”

You give him your name in return, out of respect, out of wanting to. He wasn’t at all the person you thought him to be.

“Do…what do you prefer I call you?” He’s rubbing his free hand over the bottom of his lip, the hush of his facial hair drawing your eyes to the movement. He’s got a bare patch on each side along his jaw and the urge to reach out and run your fingers over it startles you.

“Angel is fine, but what makes you think you’ll be needing it?” You quirk a brow at his forwardness, finding it endearing even if you felt the respect of his question. The feeling of wanting to refer to you as a civilian you both seem to be now or a reference of your shared past. He’s…he’s still new to you, but you feel your personality beginning to shine through as you sit across from him with the air cleared.

“Because, well, fuck, I-“ His eyes fall down to stare into his mug, lips pursed. But your hand is reaching out from around your own mug to rest over his on the table. The spark of contact pulling his gaze back up quickly to find a small teasing smile on your lips. You wonder if he felt it too, as your heart rate spikes when he doesn’t shove it away, instead turning to lay it palm up on the table to cradle yours.

“I’m really sorry for the way I reacted, but in my defense, you did seem rather upset with me both times you approached me.” Eyes trained on your hands, the sight of it calming…it had been so long since anyone had wanted to hold your hand, and you can’t deny that it felt good. He was warm, not just from the heat of the mug.

“I really didn’t mean for my question to run you off at that meeting. It was just…a new face makes some people nervous since it’s a pretty close group. I’m sorry if it came across that way.” He’s squeezing your hand still in his, soothing you further, trying to take what he could from you to make this a little less awkward.

“It was the one closest to me.”

The waitress suddenly appears with your meals and you’re reluctantly pulling your hand from his to reach for the silverware. He’s watching you with a soft expression as you cut up the pancakes into small pieces and stirring in the pat of butter before you reach for the syrup, his own food untouched in front of him. Before you even take a bite of yours, a fork is piercing a steaming piece of potato covered in eggs, hollandaise and bacon. And how could you possibly know that he was thinking he would give you anything to see your eyes light up as you cover your mouth as you chew the bite and nod your head to tell him that it was good?

The drive to your house is spent in comfortable silence, your attempt at directions failing. Frankie had just handed over his phone for you to type in the address for him to bring up the directions. You doubted he needed them, having learned that he grew up here and returned after his service. It was probably more for your peace of mind, though you no longer thought he was who you had at first. He was kind, a little shy, focused as he made sure you ate at least half of your food over tidbits of different lives were shared. You feel a little remorse that the evening was coming to an end, but it was probably for the best. It had been a long day of too many emotions.

His truck quiets as he pulls to the curb outside the house you had just moved into. It’s in a suburb that he tells you he lives in as well, a few streets away. He’s reaching for the glove compartment to retrieve a small pad of paper and a pen, scribbling his name and number on it. All broad shoulders and big hands in the cab of the truck.

“Don’t,” He’s pulling it back from where you go to reach for it when he holds it out to you. His lips quirk up at the corners, a dimple appearing in his right cheek as his eyes glitter in the streetlamps. “Don’t throw this away.”

“I won’t,” You can’t help the roll of your eyes and your own smile as you reach for it again. You get another whiff of his faded cologne as you so do and your cheeks warm as you realize it would linger on your skin from being in his truck. You hold it tight to your chest, as if he were making to take it back. But you’re turning to him with a reach of your hand for his and he meets you halfway. You’re pumping his clasped hand up once before releasing it with a huff of laughter.

His teeth glint as he smiles so wide it spurs butterflies in your stomach.

“I’ll put it in my phone as soon as I get it repaired or get a replacement. It’ll have a different area code than here, though, so don’t,” You’re wagging a finger at him. “Don’t ignore it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” He breathes out, voice quiet as you lock eyes with him.

“Okay.” You’re reaching for the door handle with a held breath, unable to look at him without feeling the urge to press your lips to his cheek in parting. As your feet touch the still warm concrete of the sidewalk, he’s out of the truck and rounding the front of it to hold the door open for you as you gather your purse from the footwell.

“Is this the part where you reveal your true intentions and kidnap me?” You’re only slightly joking as he crowds you against the now closed door, one hand on the closed window and the other reaching for to tuck your loose hair behind an ear. He’s so close it makes you a little dizzy, his eyes trained only on you.

“No,” His voice is so low, so close. It rumbles through your chest as he dips his head, the bill of his cap bumping the top of your head. The thickness of the air palpable beyond the humidity of the season, spurring your heart into quick beats. “This is the part where I kiss you goodnight.”

“Oh.” You barely manage to breathe out before he’s pressing his soft lips to the apple of your cheek.

“Goodnight, Angel.” He’s pulling away with the graze of a knuckle to your other cheek. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he watches as you stutter out your own ‘goodnight’ and walk down the path set into the yard. He’s only back in the truck once he sees you step onto the covered porch, gears shifting as your keys are dug out from your bag. He’s driving off with a piece of your heart as you open the front door and turn around to watch him make a right at the corner.

You smile to yourself, feeling the lingering touch of his lips to your cheek with tingling fingers as you let yourself into the house. You already know it wasn’t the last time you’d be seeing him.

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @littlemisspascal @jessthebaker @burntheedges @tightjeansjavi @thetriumphantpanda

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javierpena-inatacvest · 5 months ago

Text

Melt

"And if I die because you made me melt, oh well."

Summary: You and Frankie spend a hot summer day by the pool

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, semi-public shenanigans (we're assuming there's a big, tall fence around the pool lmao), Frankie being our 🐱 eating king, Frankie being the sweetest and so obsessed with you, poor Pope probably needs to clean his pool after these two leave, reader wears a bathing suit, can swim and can get sunburned

A/N: HEY HOMIES, IT'S YA GIRL!!!!! What better way to celebrate National Catfish Day than with a lil poolside Frankie 🤪 It has been hotter than Satan's ballsack out here in the midwest, so this song is dedicated to this ongoing heatwave and this song that I am absolutely obsessed with and is SO Frankie coded 😭 This is the first thing that I have worked on since May so apologies in advance for bein' a little rusty, but I'm excited to finally be back on the writing train again!!! ily all, big forehead kisses for each of you MWAH!!!! 🥹 poorly beta'd bc that's how i roll

Love it or hate it, if there was one thing that you could always count on, it was the fact that summers in south Florida were hot.

Really fucking hot.

So when Pope had offered up his pool for you and Frankie to use while he was out of town for the week, it was a no brainer that the two of you had ecstatically accepted his invitation.

“We really owe Pope for this one, huh?” You smirked, setting down your beach bag on one of the lounge chairs spread across the pool deck, pulling out some sunscreen and towels for you and Frankie.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Frankie sighed, nodding his head in agreement, admiring the crystal blue water sparkling in the heat of the hot summer sun, hands on his hips as he looked out over the pool.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you stood behind him, secretly whipping out your phone to take a picture of Frankie inspecting the pool before quickly texting it to Pope, knowing what a kick he’d get out of it.

You: Thanks for letting us use the pool! New pool boy is taking his job very seriously. 🫡

Pope: Haha. Would have looked better if he showed up in a bikini. Have fun u 2.

“What are you laughing at?” Frankie asked, turning around to the sounds of your sneaky snickers before feeling his own phone buzz in his pocket, looking down to see a text from Pope.

Pope: Your wife thinks you’d make a good pool boy. Told her you need a bikini first. Have fun with Mrs. Fish today.

Pope: Not too much fun though. 🤨

Frankie: Sorry to disappoint.

Frankie: What’s that supposed to mean?

Pope: I just cleaned the pool before I left. Don’t need any baby fish swimming around in there if you know what I mean 🐟 💦 lol

Frankie: Jesus christ, Pope.

Frankie shook his head as he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he made his way over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you closer to his chest.

“You think I’d make a good pool boy, huh?” He smirked, planting a chaste kiss in your lips as the two of you laughed.

“The best. But only if you give me another kiss and put some sunscreen on me so I don’t turn into a lobster.” You teased, kissing him right back before pulling away to grab the sunscreen bottle, passing it off to him.

“Fair enough.”

As he took the bottle from you, starting to shake it up, Frankie couldn’t help stop and watch in awe as you began to remove your coverup. Underneath, it revealed the little, strappy, bright yellow bikini you had just bought, deciding that today would be a good choice to show it off for the first time with just you and your husband together.

“Fuck me…” Frankie whispered under his breath, his tongue darting out of his mouth and swiping over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down, admiring every sun-kissed inch of your soft skin and the way the fabric of your swimsuit hugged your curves. “Is this- fuck, is this new?” he asked softly, his sweet brown eyes just about popping out of his head, trying to use every ounce of self composure to even form a coherent question.

“Do you like it? I got it a few days ago when I was out. Figured I could use a new one.” You blushed, biting down on your lip at Frankie’s reaction, wondering how in the world he still managed to make you feel as beautiful as he did the first night he’d met you after all your time spent together.

“Can I show you?” Frankie asked, running his hands along your waist, gently toying with the strings holding your swimsuit bottoms together.

“Show me what?”

“Show you how much I like it?” He responded, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers slowly began to undo the bow tied around your hips while he gently nipped at your neck, making your stomach swell with arousal.

“Mhmmmmmm.” You nodded, carefully backing up until your legs hit the lounge chair behind you, Frankie gently guiding you to sit down and lay back while he nestled himself between your legs, draping each one over his bare, broad shoulders, his tanned and freckled skin glowing in the blazing afternoon sun.

Frankie wasted no time planting soft kisses up the inside of your thighs, the familiar scratch of his beard and mustache against your skin making you moan in eager anticipation as you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your swimsuit bottoms.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that? I’m so lucky.” He whispered between kisses along the meat of your thighs before stopping at your core, letting his fingers brush against the fabric of your swimsuit, sneaking under the material just enough to feel how wet you had already become in the few short moments since you had sat down.

“Seems like you're pretty wet for not even getting in the pool yet, Hermosa.” Frankie teased, the ghosting of his fingers along your cunt making you whine as you propped your head up to see the devilish smirk between his cheeks.

Almost painfully slowly, Frankie untied the first, then second bow holding your bottoms together on each hip, watching your swimsuit fall to the ground, revealing your pussy, slick and puffy, worked up from Frankie’s touch.

“So pretty…” He cooed, letting his fingers drag across your cunt, collecting your arousal and rubbing at your clit, already aching to be touched.

Frankie was nothing if not a methodical man, memorizing every twitch and hitched breath beneath his touch, learning all the things that absolutely drove you wild.

Knowing that he could be the only one to make you feel this good got him off more than anything else ever could.

He couldn’t help but grin at the way your lips fell to a perfectly parted “O” as he pressed more pressure against your sensitive nub, and how they fell even wider as he pressed two of his fingers into your entrance, gently curling them to bump against the soft, spongy spot inside you that had you clenching around his hand.

“Oh Frankie… Fuck…” You whimpered, your head falling back as Frankie’s fingers were soon followed by his tongue, licking a long, broad strip across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to make that all too familiar sweet tingling sensation to start build in your stomach.

Frankie’s tongue danced in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you with just his fingers. That, combined with the meticulous and skilled motions of his tongue had the coil in your belly beginning to tighten further and further.

Your hand shot down between your parted legs, reaching to grab a fistful of Frankie’s brown, curly locks, thick and sweaty from the heat, tugging just hard enough to force his gaze up towards you, your eyes locking with his rich, brown ones.

“F-Frankie-” Was all you were able to mutter as he continued with his fingers to press against your g-spot, slick coating his digits with each stroke. He licked one more strip along your pussy before placing soft kisses on your clit and the inside of your thighs, peeking up at you with a boyish grin.

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. Wanna taste you all over me.” Frankie moaned, the low rumble of his words making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he dove back between your legs, wrapping his free arm around one of your thighs, firmly holding you in place.

Curving his fingers ever so slightly and latching his lips around your clit, you knew it was only a matter of moments before Frankie was about to make you fall apart completely. You could feel your legs begin to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter around his fingers, able to utter nothing but a “F-fuck…” as you felt your orgasm rip through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins and soaked Frankie below you.

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum for him with everything that you had in you, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become. Your pussy was slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the way Frankie had fucked you senseless with just his tongue.

“Frankie, holy fuck.” You whispered under your breath, still trying to regain your composure as you looked down at a satisfied Frankie, wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand with a smirk.

“Always taste so sweet, Hermosa. You’re so fucking hot, I swear you’d make me melt faster than the sun.”

The two of you both couldn’t help but snort at Frankie’s cheesy comment, sitting up as you giggled to grab Frankie’s face and bring him in for a long, deep kiss, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue.

“You are such a cheeseball, Fransisco Morales. I can’t believe that- Frankie! Frankie! Put me down! No, no, no, no, you better not-” But before you could finish the rest of your sentence, Frankie had already picked you up out of your chair, flung you over his shoulder and had you flailing your arms and legs as he carried you towards the edge of the pool, jumping in with you mid-way through your poorly fought protest.

Your heads bobbed to the surface, still in a fit of laughter as you floated in the refreshing cool of the sparkling pool water, you wrapped your legs around Frankie’s waist, draping your arms over his shoulders while he pulled you closer to his chest.

“Sorry, mi amor, what were you saying?” Frankie teased, raising a playful eyebrow at you as he grinned with his goofy smile, making you over dramatically roll your eyes at him.

“One, that you are the biggest goof I’ve ever met and I love you for it,” You snickered, plating a soft kiss on his plush lips, “and two, I think I can practically hear Pope screaming at you for the fact I’m half naked in his pool.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Taglist

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby

@fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha

@jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

@pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns

@missladym1981 @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color

@persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow

@vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller

@mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring

@itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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harryleatherfit · 2 years ago

Text

Upper East Side || AU || Frankie Morales

Chapter 3: Guest Star

word count: 2770

warnings: abuse of weed, mom trauma, bridgerton… relationships

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

—-

On a day where Laylah had her afternoon classes, you decided to walk around the New York streets alone, going into different stores and exploring. It was good for you, being able to find yourself in little slivers in this terrifying city. Raleigh could never compare to Time Square itself.

The thought of being able to reinvent yourself gave you chills. Back at home that would’ve scared the shit out of you, but this idea now makes you want even more.

Headphones in and listening to House Song by Searows, you find this cute bakery called Matildas, a croissant sounded fucking spectacular. You walk and look around, inspecting the ambiance. All the artwork and lighting finds little crevices in your heart.

An older lady comes up to the register, “How can I help you today sweetie?”

“Could I have a butter croissant and an espresso?” You ask.

“6.95, sweetheart.” She says.

You hand her the money star eyed.

“Like what you see? We just fixed it last month, we’ve gotten so much more business with this aura, younger folks like you tend to be drawn here.” She smiles.

“Yeah this place, it’s spectacular, it's like outer space. I can’t quite describe it but it’s just safe. Away from the bustling city, a hole within a hole.” You study.

“Exactly right! No one’s ever said that before, but that’s just how I feel.”

You turn to her and grab your food. “My name’s Matilda.” She says. You tell her your name and shake hands.

You take a bite of the croissant and your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

“Well Matilda, this is about the best buttered croissant I’ve ever had, so thank you for making my day brighter.”

“Honey, would you like to work here? I say that because you have something about you, and my gut is always right.” She says.

You think about it, it's not far from your dorm, the pay wouldn’t matter. You could always get another job or sell fucking feet pics to survive here. Matilda seems to be a higher power sent to you.

“I would absolutely love to!”

------

“Laylah you wouldn’t believe it, like she just gave me the job and I gave her my number when I’m available and she immediately set everything up, I couldn't believe it!.”

Matilda said she would start you off with 20$ an hour, as shocked as you were, that money was definitely needed to stay at this school.

“Damn mama, look at you go, sugar me up sometime soon?” She asks.

“You fucking wish.” You laugh. “Wanna come on a run with me? I wanted to see if I could go all the way to the bridge and back, watch the sunset and possibly get dollar pizza.”

“Fuck yeah and we could smoke.”

“Tonight I’m good. I kinda want to go with a clear mind, smoking’s made me a little more anxious about everything. You can though, I seriously don’t mind” You reply.

“Oh baby, baby. Trust, I understand. We go with clear minds, I completely understand. No pressure, but when you do want to smoke, I’m always here too.”

This is what you loved about Laylah, she always respected what you wanted to do and vice versa. Smoking was something you loved, but you only did it on days that you could truly decompress without any worries. It was a reward for working so hard.

In high school you smoked so much, you were only sober for homework and when you fought with your mom. Smoking then saved you from reality. You’d go to class high, you go to work high, you’d take as many blinkers as you could before sleep. Just to numb the pain and sadness.

But your reality now was to be sober. It felt good. You were healing from that part of your life and you couldn't feel more refreshed.

A day you said no to weed, was the day the earth met the moon.

You both stay with each other and run to the bridge, listening to your music together watching the sunset, maybe this life wasn’t meant to be bad after all.

--------------------

You walk into your first morning class and you see Ms. Roylance with 2 people huddled at her desk.

You recognize that hair from anywhere. It’s fucking Timothee Chalamet.

Everyone walking in is awe struck, but you all were remotely instructed to not oggle him and take a seat until class was to start. You were instructed to compose yourselfs, but you didn't expect the person Ms. Roylance was to bring in Timothee Chalamet.

Guest teachers were to happen a lot with this kind of school, and it makes sense that he’s here since he went here just some years ago.

Then the other person was… fucking Mr Morales? Didn’t he have classes?

You saw Nina in the back prettying herself up and taking pictures of TImothee, you felt embarrassed for her.

This was not the time to fuck with your head, your stomach was in shambles.

“Class class, I know this is very exciting but today I have invited Mr Chalamet to sit in on some scene work, he was once a beloved student of mine and he asked himself to come in. We have Mr. Morales is here today because we are discussing the Macbeth set. As of now I will post the audition material, slots for you to sign up, and today will serve as your workshop.” Ms Roylance explains.

He was wearing a mouth watering cardigan. How could a man so scary look so damn good in any article of clothing.

What would he look like without any clothing?

Back to class, get yourself together.

“So today we have some scenes printed out, different monologues and you will perform for us and we’ll critique. Timothee, anything to add?”

He laughs, that usual Timothee nervous laugh, “ Hey everyone, don’t be stressed at all. Pretend I’m not here. Act like we’ve been friends for years, pretend you hate me, I’m serious. I’m proud of you all for putting in the work and putting yourselves out there. We’re all proud of you.” He points at himself, Ms. Roylance and Mr. Morales.

Uh Fish, yeah not so much.

They move to the back of the room and it's you and your classmates in the middle staring at the front, preparing yourself.

“Ok we have this love scene from a new netflix show that hasn’t been released yet, it’s a loving scene at the end of the season where the pair realizes they are in utter love with each other, but watch out this ones a tear jerker! We’ll run this one a couple times just to see different versions. Any hands?”

You and Nina immediately shoot your hands up, along with some of the men, Ms Roylance pairs Nina and this kid Josh to go first, she hands them the script to go over it. Then she pairs you with Mattias.

He seemed sweet, he was in a few of your other classes so you felt like you could go over this scene pretty well.

Ms Roylance hands you the sheets, and it’s pretty long. Nina and Josh will go first and then you and Mattias. Good, being first would screw you over.

You and Mattias read over the script, being a scene for King George and Queen Charlotte, you both were intrigued. You guys also fangirled with Timothee being there, but serious enough to fully understand what this scene was asking for you guys.

There was a kiss at the end, you both being comfortable with that. This was the reality of acting. He had to make himself look disheveled, but from there you were prepared.

It was time for Nina to go and they started. Feeling the piercing brown eyes back you look down not to think of anything in the room that is happening. Mattias grabs your hand in a friendly way to encourage you.

When Nina and Josh finished you didn’t even realize, you took the whole time calming your heart and focusing on the present.

“Now Mattias’s group!” Ms. Roylance says. The whole room was looking at you both.

You had to block Mr. Morales out more than Timothee.

You heard whispers from the back and that gave you your kick to look down and immediately whip up to Mattias. You are Queen Charlotte now.

George: Charlotte, you’re not listening to me

You falter in step and seriously look him in the eye.

Charlotte: I am. I have heard that you wish I had not come. That you want me to go. That you do not want to see me. I have been suffering and alone and believing I am a failure as a wife and as your queen because you stay from me as though I am a disease. And then today, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps there is another reason. A better reason. Perhaps you stay away from me because you care for me. Perhaps you stay away from me because you love me.

You slow your speaking pace, putting tension within your words to get Mattias’s attention. Love is serious, it ferociously hurts people, he looks sick in his heart.

George: I’m trying to protect you. I.. I cannot. We cannot… This conversation is.. I can’t do this. I never wanted to marry.

Mattias puts his hands to his chest. And stands up walking away from you, you’re searching for his eyes. Eye contact is what will kill your heart.

Charlotte: Do you love me?

George: Please, stop!

But you can’t stop, you must continue.

Charlotte: Is it because you do not believe that I could love you? I do. I love you, George. I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me, say you do not love me and I will go. I will go back to Buckingham House. And we can live our separate lives, and I will have this baby alone, and I will make do and fill my days and survive. All on my own. I will do that. But first, you have to say that you do not love me. You have to tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.

You’re a mother, a wife, a lover, but most of all in this situation, you become home and a protector, a healer for a man that has never been taken care of. You start to tear up, as does Mattias. The emotions and words of Charlotte getting the best of you.

He stands up and gets closer to you.

Goerge: I am a madman. I am a danger. In my mind, there are different worlds creeping in. The heavens and Earth collide. I do not know where I am.

You prepare yourself for everything. You come back to reality and forget that the person you crave is watching you act? Was this how you felt about him?

Charlotte: Do you love me?

George: You do not wish a life with me for yourself. No one wishes that.

Mattias has outdone himself with this, he has made himself look helpless and broken, he looks like he is not accepting what he truly needs.

Charlotte: George!

You yell it out loud, the buzzing in the room stops, it's deafening.

Charlotte: I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth. I will tell you where you are. Do you love me?

You feel tears trickling down.

George: I love you! From the mo.. From the moment I saw you trying to go over the wall.. I have loved you desperately. Face crumbling into emotion.

He gets closer to you, making the air feel unbreathable in the room. You’re standing there searching for the soul in Mattias’s eyes.

George: I cannot breathe when you are not near. I love you, Charlotte. My heart calls your name.

And finally Mattias kisses you. It was a good kiss, but there was so much tension, you relaxed in his hold and felt your character.

“And scene.” You say.

The whole room cheers. You’ve never felt more accomplished with your life, more than Cabaret. You search for Mr. Morales and you can’t believe he’s even cheering for you.

You immediately clear your tears up and congratulate Mattias, almost cheering that Nina looks pissed off.

The class comes to an end and as you grab your things to leave, Ms Roylance calls you over.

“Hey, that was amazing work today with Mattias, Timothee wanted to ask you about it.”

Mr. Morales was so close to you, you got goosebumps. You could imagine his arms wrapping around you, holding you so closely your hearts could feel each other.

But he never felt so far from you. He didn’t smile when you got back to them, he frowned and his eyes stayed the same, nothing furrowed in his look- he just manages to observe you. This cycle drives you crazy.

You immediately feel tired, giving all your work into that scene but you have to give Timothee your full attention.

“Mr Morales and I have to leave but you guys are free to stay here and chat.”

“Frankie it was nice seeing you man, we have to go see that show this weekend.” Timothee calls to Mr. Morales.

Frankie Morales rolls off the tongue so well.

“Kid you have to come here more there's so much to see, the boys and I want you over for drinks, just text me.” He responds.

“I’ll bet you on that old man!”

They walk out and you smile at the world star celebrity, “So Timothee Hal Chalamet, what would you like to ask?”

“Not the middle name!” He groans. “That’s just foul,”

“Not as foul as seeing your favorite actor in your AM class when you just woke up!”

“Touche.” He says back.

“I’ve seen all your movies, you’re honestly kinda why I’m even here in the first place, seeing you act made me believe I could too. The way you make people feel through the screen is what I want to do.” You mumble.

“That’s my honor.” He smiles. He gets to the point.“So what made you cry?”

You think about it for a second, was it in the moment or because you forced yourself, or because you were about to shit your pants?

“What made me cry was realizing how much Charlotte loves George no matter what, that unconditional love is so rare these days that reading the text made my brain scream. Many people will cheat on you or leave you for little things, and personally I couldn’t deal with that. Me myself, I’m pretty fucked up and if someone told me they would stand with me no matter where I was in life, I would probably raise hell and cry a lot.”

“Because you’ve never felt that before?” He asks.

“Yes because I’ve never felt that.” You look into his eyes, “Feeling for George and Charlotte in this scene ultimately made me fully consume the characters.” You finish.

“Wow, that breakdown is what a true actor does. Well done. Frankie hyped you up so much that I had to come see you.”

“What?” You ask.

“He didn’t tell you? He called me today since I was free and in the city, and he was talking about this brilliant new girl that has ‘taken the department by its feet’. I’ve in my 25 years of life heard a man talk that long about someone.” He goes on.

Frankie, Mr. Morales, was thinking about you? And to Timothee Chalamet?

“Wait, you do know that he talks about you, right?”

“Timothee, we’ve barely spoken 10 words to each other.” You respond.

“Oh shit shit, maybe I fucked up, um don’t tell him I said anything to save both our asses. But yeah he kinda just went on and on and I knew that he had some spectacular. When you were in the scene he was telling me about how serious you are with acting so I’m happy I got to see it.”

How does he know how serious you are?

“I have to run, but this was not time wasted, if you need help with anything as Frankie, or shit Mr. Morales and he can give me a holler. I need to see you in this industry soon.”

“Thank you, seriously Timothee, this means the world.” You praise him.

He leaves and you’re left in your acting class alone, with every worry in the world.

—-

previous || next

authors note- you guys don’t understand how bad I want to jump into their relationship but… you know. this is kinda a filler, but trust i want to develop this backstory really good. and of course i had to make their scene work in class be the george and charlotte scene…. that made me cry my brain out🙈🙈 don’t even @ me for putting timothée. i kinda just wrote this for myself but it’s okay don’t worry. the smut is brewing!

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something-tofightfor · 10 months ago

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FIRST OF ALL.... you sneaky little sneak! You really had me going with snowmen and Joel .... so good job on that.

But honestly, how lucky am I get to get a story gifted to me by my best friend and one of my absolute favorite authors? EXTREMELY lucky, let me tell you. And you chose Frankie?! I... there's just something so friggin cuddly and comforting about him at all times and the idea of him at Christmas is a dream come true - especially from your mind.

But we're not even AT Christmas at first - it's Thanksgiving and we hosted (hope I didn't screw up the mashed potatoes and turkey) ... and Ollie was there, which I love because thinking of Frankie as a boy dad just makes my heart melt. AND HIM CARRYING HIM AROUND LIKE A FOOTBALL WITH A FOOTBALL?!??! i don't even like kids and that makes my chest hurt in a good way.

But I think what I love most about this is how in tune Reader is with him - she knows that something's wrong only a few seconds in. She sees it in the way he carries himself and in what he's not doing or saying. And it's because they know each other and she understands him without even trying to. I love that for him - and for them overall.

But ummm, honestly? The idea of getting to touch those curls whenever I want to is A DREAM COME TRUE. Their playful banter in this moment - and all of the ones that come after (and probably before) shows that their connection is only stronger after a couple years - which is something that he definitely needs and deserves.

This little family you've pulled Flamingo into - the guys and their loved ones and their kids (BENNY AS A DAD!!!!) - are an even bigger support system, and I would LOVE to be at one of these gatherings (or all of them) And of course he'd be sad about not having Ollie for Christmas, and even sadder that the change in location this year means he won't get to see him at all or be there for new memories. Because Frankie's a great dad, and he's doing right by his kid and I LOVE the idea of them coparenting because that's what's best for Ollie in the long run.

And I'm sure that hearing about split parents and the memories still being just as great even if they weren't made *on* Christmas helped, but that's not going to be enough for Frankie. (I always felt like Christmas was such a rush as a kid because we had FOUR places to go after my parents got divorced and it was just annoying.) But now Frankie's not alone, and he's got someone that understands what Ollie might think and feel... and she wants to be there for *his* kid - and I understand how much that might shock him. I understand why he might question it. I understand how much it mens to him to have this ... and I also understand how quickly that's going to make him feel ... other things. Which I will never question, because the idea of that man kissing me on the couch and letting his weight settle atop me and telling me he can't keep his hands off of me MAKES ME WEAK IN THE GODDAMN KNEES, ALYSSA. The laundry room? The liviing room? The kitchen? Our car? Our yard? Anywhere he wants me, that's fine. Will's superhuman hearing be damned. Finish what you started, Francisco, I'm waiting.

** I do like Black Friday shopping. It's like a sport for me, but I would trade it in two seconds flat for THAT Black Friday celebration. No questions. ** Benny and Frankie being BFFs is IDEAL. I know we've already talked about this, but it needed to be said again. And this DEFINITELY sounds like something I'd look for and find and plan. I love doing these little seasonal special activities, and this one sounds perfect for everyone involved. I love the idea of making this kind of memory, and including some of the most important people in Frankie's (and my) life. This one sounds super fun, too - nothing better than food and Christmas lights and warm-ish weather.... especially next to Francisco.

I hope someone took a picture of the three of them holding hands and walking toward Santa - because that's a Christmas card if I've ever seen one.

“Yeah! You’re on the good list already because you’re always really nice and fun and you’re always making my Dad and me happy.”

..... yes. YES. right here, this. This is ... this would not only mean EVERYTHING to hear ...but it would also mean so much for Frankie to hear - because kids always speak the truth. Ollie loving Reader is just as important as Frankie loving her.

CHRISTMAS MAGIC.

The snow - seeing it for the first time with the two of them and watching it fall and watching Ollie enjoy it... wow. What a visual. (side note it's my DREAM to see the snow at Disney during Christmas and I don't know if I've ever told you that before but now you know so that's something else you surprised me with here) Frankie's response is so understated, but that's exactly what it should be - it's a special moment with his kid, of course ... but it was facilitated by the woman he loves and who loves the two of them so damn much. Keeping it a surprise had to be hard, but that was the best thing possible. And I love that he thanks her - and means it. I love that he stays there and takes a moment with HER and just lets the two of them enjoy what's happening while MVP Benny gives them a few seconds alone. That's important, too.

This might have been for Ollie - mostly - but it's a huge deal for Frankie, too, and everyone recognizes that. I get the sense that he's still not used to people just going out of their way to do kind things for him, and I love that maybe he's starting to realize that this could become the norm. (Also like I said via text ... sorry, Tori. It might not be real snow, but Ollie's gonna remember his first flakes with his dad and not you... snarky? yeah, maybe. But that's fine. I love Frankie and I'd DEFINITELY want him to have this memory)

Highlights: - the casual touching - kissing the corner of her mouth, fixing her earring, her with her knuckles against his neck .... so many great examples of them wanting and needing to be close. - i love how WARM you make him. Frankie's always so comforting but he's got this wonder in his heart and when you make it shine through it's just gorgeous - like he's finally letting himself experience and enjoy things. - his hands. - his mouth. - his curly hair. - the sound of his laughter. - getting to spend time with him and his friends that isn't just hanging out somewhere. - holidays with Frankie. - the way you made me SEE this little celebration as I read it. Alyssa, I could go on about this and you forever, but I'll keep it brief. I could not be happier with this. I thank you so much for taking the time to write it and think of it and for sharing it. These moments with Frankie are the things I LOVE to read about. He deserves them all and so many more. This was the best Christmas gift I could have ever received. <3

A Little Christmas Magic

A PEDROSTORIES SECRET SANTA GIFT FIC

A/N: Huge thank you to the moderators of @pedrostories for organizing this event again! I had so much fun getting in the holiday spirit while writing this, and I cannot wait to read all of the other festive stories that others have written! This story follows along with the same Frankie/Reader pairing as a few of the other things I've written, but it can also be read as a one shot. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone who sees this!!

Gift Tag: SURPRISE @something-tofightfor - I deceived you with my decoy Joel story, because THIS was what I was actually working on. Sorry for the white lie, but I hope you like what and who I chose (you gave me some REALLY excellent choices in Joel, Frankie, Jack and Oberyn) to write about in the snow. And I hope you have the best, merriest damn Christmas ever. I love you!!

WC: 4,150

Warnings: some brief smut mentions, talking about having divorced/ separated parents

Summary: When Frankie needs a little help making Christmas special for his son, you are more than happy to step in and lend a hand. The again, you're more than happy to do just about anything for him.

As soon as he came through the door, you could tell that something was off.

All night long, while your home had been filled with friends and family, Frankie’s smile had been constant. You saw it in his eyes and in the way the corners of them folded into crinkles when he laughed. You felt it on his lips when they found your cheek as he passed you in the kitchen. You heard it in his voice when he thanked everyone for coming. It was the first time the two of you had hosted Thanksgiving since you’d started living together, it was his year to have Ollie for the holiday, and Frankie had been undeniably happy.

But by the time he got home from dropping Ollie back off with Tori, something had changed. What could have happened, though? He’s only been gone for twenty five minutes.

You knew that Frankie and his ex got along well, so you doubted that they had gotten into an argument. He didn’t seem annoyed or angry. There wasn’t a scowl on his face, he hadn’t thrown his hat. If anything, you realized, he looked almost sad, his mouth downturned slightly, a sort of distance in his eyes that wasn’t there when he left. You watched him lock the door and drop his keys into the bowl on the table beside it from where you stood in the dining room, your heart clenching as you pushed the last chair back into place. Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?

“Hey, you.” You crossed your arms loosely and leaned against the arched doorway that separated the living room from the dining room, waiting as he stepped on the heel of one shoe to remove it before doing the same with the other, not bothering with the laces.

He sighed, the quiet sound a confirmation that something was amiss. But as he straightened up to look at you, there was a small smile on his face. “Hey, Flamingo.”

You huffed out a breathy laugh, your lips quirked to the side, and pushed away from the doorframe. “You know? I break my ankle one time, two years ago and…” You shook your head and rolled your eyes playfully, Frankie crossing the room to slip his hands around your waist. Yours landed on his chest, the right one sliding up his neck to twine your fingers through the curls behind his ear. “How long are you gonna call me that, hmm, Fish?”

You already knew what his response would be, but it still sent a rush of warmth through you to hear him say it. “Forever,” he mumbled, leaving a whiskered kiss to the corner of your mouth, his fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt. “Everyone else gone?”

“Mhmm. Pope, Yovanna, Will, and my sister all cleared out right after you. Benny and Alana just left about five minutes ago. Alana insisted on helping me get the kitchen cleaned, so she put Benny on dish duty and-”

That earned you a small chuckle and assured you that whatever had changed Frankie’s mood wasn’t something too serious. Good. I still need to know what it is, though. “Oh, I’m sure Benjamin was thrilled about that.”

One of your earrings had gotten flipped upside down without you noticing, and Frankie reached up to fix it. You closed your eyes and let out a hum at the brush of his thumb over the skin of your earlobe. “He didn’t seem to mind.” With a shrug you opened your eyes, and they were immediately met with his deep brown ones. “And Quinn had just fallen asleep, so they weren’t in a rush to leave because they didn’t want her to wake up as soon as they picked up the car seat. It was actually a really big help.”

“Good.” He gave you a half-smile, leaning in just long enough to press his lips to yours. “I’m glad Miller pulled his weight.” You felt him tighten his grip on your hip before he dropped his hands from your body and turned towards the couch, sinking into it with a groan.

“Hey...” You tilted your head and nudged his foot with yours, Frankie looking up at you. “What’s wrong?” Frowning, you sat next to him, pulling one leg up and tucking it beneath you. “Is everything okay with Ollie?”

He nodded, letting out a quiet laugh as his warm, wide palm came to rest on your knee. “Yeah, Ollie’s great.” He adjusted his position on the couch, making himself more comfortable and releasing a few small pops from his spine. “Your cornbread was a real hit with him. He told me again in the car how good it was.”

You leaned your shoulder into the couch cushions and laughed. “I’m glad he’s a fan.” Watching the little boy’s face light up with glee as he tasted his first bite had been among the highlights of your day. “Looked like he was having fun running around with you and the guys during your football game, too.” Watching Frankie scoop his son up under one arm while Ollie’s tiny hands gripped the ball to run them both into the endzone he’d set up in your backyard had been another. The whole damn day was a highlight. “He was very excited about his touchdown.”

“He was.” Frankie’s fingers moved lazily over your thigh as he sighed, the remnants of his smile fading. “He had a good day. We all did.” He gave you a light squeeze as he swallowed. “I’m upset because -” He stopped himself, closing his eyes with a quick shake of his head that tossed his curls. “No, upset isn’t the right…” Trailing off, he blinked and resumed the motion of his fingers. “Ollie was with us today, which means he’s with Tori for Christmas.” He rolled his eyes. “And, obviously, I knew that already.”

Nodding, you reached your arm across the backrest of the couch so that you could run your knuckle up and down the curve where his neck met his shoulder. “Right.” Eyebrows pinched together, you tilted your head. “You guys alternate. But you’ll still go over there to see him on Christmas morning for gifts, yeah?”

You loved how hands on Frankie was when it came to raising Oliver, how much he wanted to be involved in his son’s life, and you were extremely thankful that he had an excellent co-parenting partner in Tori. Given his past - especially the time period just before and after Ollie was born - you knew that the woman could easily make things difficult for Frankie when it came to shared custody. But despite the fact that it was too late for it to matter for their relationship, you also knew that Tori genuinely believed that he had put all of his mistakes and the worst of his demons behind him, and that he was more than capable of being the father that their son deserved. And she’s right.

But your frown returned when Frankie’s answer to your questions wasn’t what you were expecting it to be. “Not this year.” What? Why? Your expression asked the questions for you, prompting him to continue. “Remember when I told you her parents finally retired? Back in like March, I think?”

You did, so you nodded. “Yeah, I remember. But what does that have to do with Christmas?”

“Well, they weren’t sure it was going to happen until it did so they didn’t say anything earlier, but they pulled the trigger on a cabin. Steve’s been talking about it for years. Anyway, it’s officially theirs as of next week, and they decided they wanted to host Christmas there.”

You didn’t see the problem yet. You knew Frankie was willing to spend as much time as he needed to in the car even for just an hour or so with his kid. “Okay… Where is this cabin?” It must be pretty far if-

He let out a humorless sound. “Upstate New York.” Your eyes widened, brows jumping at his response. “Yeah. Usually it’s the New Yorkers buyin’ places down here when they retire, but they’re doing the reverse.”

There it is. You winced. “Oh.”

Keeping his hand on your knee, he brought the other one up to run it back over his hair as he blew out a breath. “And I’m happy for them, you know? Because I know they’ve wanted that for a long time. And it’s great or Ollie, too, because it means he gets to do new things. Maybe even see snow. I’m sure he’d go nuts for that.”

Oh he absolutely would. “Of course he would.” What kid doesn’t lose their shit at the first sign of snow?

“So I’m not upset, because I know he’s gonna have a damn blast. it’s just that… This is the first year I won’t be with him on Christmas. And now he's old enough to remember things, and…” He looked at you, and you could instantly feel the ache in his eyes as it settled in your chest. Oh, Frankie.

He didn’t want to be absent from Ollie’s first real Christmas memories. Even if it was out of his hands.

“Hey.” You spoke softly, still dragging your knuckle soothingly over the skin above his collar. “I get it.” Unfolding your knee, you repositioned yourself so that both of your legs were draped over his lap, moving your body closer to his. He adjusted by resting one arm over your thighs and the other around your back, never looking away from your face. “You know I grew up with the same every other holiday thing with my parents, yeah?” The huge difference being that my parents ended up hating each other and you two do not.

Frankie nodded wordlessly, but you explained anyway, wanting to make sure he got your point.

“I’d do a holiday with one parent on the actual day, and then I’d do it again with the other on a different day. And you know what that taught me?”

He shook his head. “What did it teach you?”

“It taught me that calendar dates don’t mean too much. Celebrating Christmas was just as good on the 26th or the 28th or the 30th as it was on the 25th. And some of my favorite holiday memories? They aren’t even from Christmas day. They’re from all the things leading up to it, like decorating the tree and baking cookies. Things you can do-” You lifted your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, quirking your mouth to the side. “Basically any time from tonight until the end of December, now that the turkey’s had its day.” You reached up to brush a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “Christmas magic doesn’t have to be a one day thing. We just have to make the most of it the next time Ollie’s with us, that’s all.”

Frankie stared at you for a few seconds, lips parting as he let out a breath. “We. Us.” He repeated your words, affection slowly changing the sadness in his eyes into something warmer. Yeah, Frankie, you don’t have to do things alone anymore. You have me. Always. “You’re incredible, you know that?” He reached up to encircle your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand away from his neck and lifting it up to kiss the back of it. His mumbled words and warm breath tickled your skin. “Fucking amazing. You wanna help me make things special for my kid?” Of course I do.

“I sure do.” You twisted your wrist to free it from his hold, Frankie letting go of you so that you could slide your palms over his cheeks, taking his face between them. “I love you, Francisco Morales. And I happen to be really fond of that kid of yours, too. So we’re gonna brainstorm and come up with some things we can do to make sure that he has some great memories with his Dad, and-”

He didn’t let you finish that sentence though, surging forward to catch your lips with his, his tongue slipping into your mouth to lick the rest of your words right out of it. Taken by surprise, you gasped into the kiss which only spurred him on more, and in one swift motion he had you on your back, laying you down on the couch and laying his weight on top of you. You still had your hands on his face, but they slid to the back of his neck and head, fingers threading through his hair to pull a groan into your mouth.

“I love you so goddamn much.” He murmured the words against your lips. “Been thinkin’ about how lucky I am to have you all night.” He nipped at your lower lip, then let his kisses rove behind your ear so that his next words couldn’t be missed. “You know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself while everyone was here?” You felt the tip of his tongue flick out to dampen your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the sensation. “Fucking impossible.”

He rolled his hips into yours on the last word, and you couldn’t keep a whimper from slipping out at the way the motion stirred heat low in your belly. “You didn’t keep your hands to yourself, Frankie,” you reminded him, though you doubted he needed reminding. One of his hands started moving down your body, his touch trailing towards your waistline. You let out another near-moan at the combination of what he was currently doing, and the memory of what he’d done earlier - when he pulled you into the laundry room, his deft fingers delving down the front of your pants while his mouth silenced any noises you made. Because we’d never hear the end of it if Will or Maddy heard and came to see what was going on.

“I didn’t,” he agreed, dragging the tip of his nose along your throat to drop a kiss to your pulse point. “But that was just the tip of the iceberg.” He caught you off guard again, the pads of his fingers sliding beneath your underwear and over your slick skin. “Now that we’re alone?” You felt his mischievous grin, felt the gravely rumble of his voice through his chest- and then you felt him plunge two fingers inside you. At that you cried out and he let you, no one left to keep quiet for. “I’m gonna finish what I started earlier.”

– – –

Two weeks later, you still caught yourself thinking about Thanksgiving night, and you knew that you would be for a long time.

Frankie had made good on his claim, making you come twice right there on the couch before he took you to bed and took you apart all over again. It was almost dawn by the time the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms, completely spent and sated, and since neither of you had to work the following day, you spent Black Friday with bare skin and lazy, lingering kisses instead of fighting with crowds at the shopping centers.

But on the Saturday after, an idea came to you - an idea about how Frankie could still make a special memory with Ollie even though he wouldn’t see him at all the week of Christmas. Oh, it’ll be perfect. Excitedly, you brought it up with Frankie, explaining what you’d thought of.

“So it’s about an hour away from here, but it’s worth the ride. They set up a whole Christmas town with a little train, and they hire sand artists to make these big elaborate winter-themed sculptures. There’s carolers and they do a big tree lighting event with ice skating and frozen hot chocolate and all kinds of activities for kids. I think Ollie would love it.”

Frankie agreed enthusiastically, arms winding around you from behind to hold you close. “Sounds great.” I didn’t even tell you the best part yet. He dropped a kiss to the line of your jaw. And I’m not going to. “Thank you. For coming up with something.”

You grinned, your arms covering his where they wrapped around your belly. “Told you, Frankie. We’re a team.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his beard scratching your cheek as he tightened his hold. “We are.”

He’d cleared the trip with Tori, even though she’d already okayed any activities or day trips Frankie wanted to take Ollie on when he had him, the woman agreeing with both of you that it sounded like something that the little boy would enjoy. And at your suggestion, the two of you had invited Benny and Alana to come with Quinn. She was just over a year old and would likely sleep through most of the festivities in her stroller, but you knew that the Millers wouldn’t pass up on a group outing, and you knew that Frankie wouldn’t view their presence as an intrusion on his time with Ollie. They’re family, too.

So when it came time for Ollie to spend the week with you and Frankie, the three of you climbed into his truck - Benny driving his little family separately in case they had to leave early - and headed east to a small town just outside of the Disney zone, called Celebration.

There was a 50/50 shot that the thing you were trying to keep a secret until the last minute would be spoiled upon your arrival, banners or posters advertising the wintery phenomenon that visitors were about to witness, but luck was on your side. There were plenty of signs and decorations, so there was no missing the blocked off area that the town had designated for the holiday event, and it was just like you told Frankie it would be - food stalls and little craft and gift stalls set up to look like gingerbread houses, carolers in Victorian era costumes walking the street and singing Christmas songs new and old, an enormous pine tree towering over everything in the center of the square and dripping in bright lights. Even though it was 65 degrees and there were palm trees lining the streets, it was almost enough to make you feel like you were in an old world Christmas market, or like it was about to start snowing at any moment.

And you were right about Ollie’s reaction to everything, his already large brown eyes going wide as saucers when he saw the big man in red waving and tossing candy canes to the crowd. “Daddy! Santa’s here!” He grabbed Frankie’s hand, pointing vehemently in the direction of the man in the Santa suit. “He came all the way far from the North pole! Do you see him?!”

The joy on his little face was mirrored in Frankie’s, and your heart swelled at seeing them both wear the same expression. “I see him! He did come a long way, huh?” Ollie nodded, curls just like his father’s bouncing as he did. “We should probably go say hi, then, since he came all the way down here to see you.”

“Yeah! C’mon Daddy! Let’s go! C’mon Uncle Benny!”

You had to take a breath when your name was added to the excited babble, Ollie’s empty hand slipping into yours so he was between you and Frankie, his gleeful grin beaming up at you. “Come and see Santa with us too!”

“Yeah,” Frankie spoke softly, stepping close and giving you a wink. “Come see Santa with us.”

Blinking back the unexpected tears brought on by Ollie’s enthusiastic inclusion, you winkled your nose and smiled down at him. “Do you think I’m on the good list this year?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he answered by springing up and down, still holding both yours and Frankie’s hands. “Yeah! You’re on the good list already because you’re always really nice and fun and you’re always making my Dad and me happy.”

You let out a chuckle at that, glancing up at Frankie, the sight of his smile enough to send a rush of warmth through you. “She sure does, Buddy.” He jostled Ollie’s hand. “Now let’s go before he has to get back to his workshop to finish making presents.”

Keeping Ollie between you, Frankie started walking towards the area designated for photos with Santa, but he leaned in over the little boy’s head to kiss your cheek and whisper in your ear. “You were right. This is great. And he’s gonna remember this just the same as if we were doing it on Christmas Day.” Ollie turned to say something to Alana, and Frankie looked down at him before finding your eyes again. “Thank you.”

It was your turn to lean over and brush your lips to his cheek. “Anytime, Morales.”

For the next hour and a half the six of you strolled the area, stopping occasionally at the different displays or to take pictures or grab a snack from one of the booths. But the highlight of the night, and what you were looking the most forward to since you remembered that this event existed, came at 7pm - when “snow” started falling, a chorus of gasps and shrieks rising up from the crowd.

“What! It’s snowin’?!” Ollie’s incredulous question joined the dozens from other children gaping in awe up at their parents and family members as big puffy flakes fell on their cheeks and noses. “How’s it snowin’ if it’s not even cold?”

Lifting him up, Frankie answered without missing a beat, leaning in to bop Ollie’s nose with the tip of his. “Christmas magic, Buddy.”

You snapped a picture of the two of them, making a mental note to find a photo ornament to put it in so that the moment would have a place on the tree for years to come. That done, you watched them play in the faux snow - a biodegradable non-toxic substance that would be gone in a half hour but that would provide a lifelong memory - until you felt Benny’s elbow nudge yours.

“Hey. You did real good.” Turning your head, you met Benny’s eyes, the younger man already looking at you. “Ollie’s beside himself, obviously, but I mean… with Fish.” He smiled, the expression soft and warm, a sort of platonic affection for you almost palpable in it that you weren’t expecting even though you were quick to call him your friend now, too. “I’ve never seen him happier than he is with you.”

He didn’t wait to let that sink in though, nodding over to his wife before clearing his throat and stepping up to where Frankie and his son were playing. “Hey, Olliegator, I think I saw penguins over there. You wanna come see ‘em? We can show Quinny.”

Just as Benny knew he would, the little boy ran over, shouting in agreement, leaving you standing in the snowfall with Frankie. There were easily a few hundred people around you, but as he came to stand in front of you, his hands on your waist and big white flakes fluttering all around him, it was as though the two of you were in your own little snowglobe, sharing your own private moment.

“Hey, you.” You spoke through a smile that pulled at your cheeks, your hands resting on the rolled up cuffs of his unnecessary for the weather but seasonally appropriate flannel, thumbs brushing over the worn material and into the crook of his elbow.

He smiled back at you, brown eyes brimming with affection. “Hey, Flamingo.” Reaching up, he plucked a flake from your hair, the substance vanishing as soon as it hit his warm skin, just like real snow. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

You moved your head from side to side to feign thought. “Maybe.” Pressing your lips together, you took the bottom one between your teeth. “Yes. I knew about this. My sister was really into chorus in highschool, and her music teacher suggested that she try out for the carol troupe one year so-” You shrugged. “I’ve been to this a few times because of that, but that was ages ago. I hadn’t thought about it in years. And then when you mentioned that Tori’s parents’ place was up in New York and that Ollie might get to see snow…” You lifted one hand from his arm, palm skyward to collect the sudsy white stuff. “I remembered this.”

The kiss he gave you then was brief, but you knew there would be much more where it came from when you were no longer surrounded by so many strangers. “Ollie’s gonna remember this forever.” He nodded, the curve of his forehead resting against yours. “And so am I. Merry Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet, Frankie,” you mumbled through your grin.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not. But with enough Christmas magic? Does it matter?”

You shook your head, nudging his nose with yours. “Nope. Sure doesn’t. Merry Christmas, Francisco.”

Fun Fact: The event that I based this fic on is real! It's called Now Snowing, and it's been going on for 25 years! I embellished it a little bit for the story, but you really can see "snow" (the same stuff they use in movies and TV) every night from the end of November through December :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @littlemisspascal @alraedesigns @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud

#frankie morales x reader #rachael reads and responds #pedrostories secret santa #fic exchange #gift fic #thank you alyssa!#pedro pascal character #frankie morales fan club #a little christmas magic #the-blind-assassin-12 #i loved this so much #fish and the flamingo #this was perfect #fic rec #my friends are so talented

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604to647 · 13 days ago

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Brandy by the Fireplace

7.8K / Frankie Morales x City Girl!reader

Summary: When your best friend's boyfriend invites her up to the cabin he owns with his Delta Force buddies, she asks you to come along.

Warnings: None! Fluff! Insecurity and anxiety on reader's part, but Frankie makes it better (anxiety/comfort. My anxious girlies (gn) who think everyone hates them when they definitely don't? This one's for you 🥹). Nicknames because it's me. Oh, and Tom's alive?

A/N 1: Written and very late for @auteurdelabre's Trope Off Challenge - the trope here is Fish out of water because, well you know🤭🤭 Can be considered a Triple Frontier AU, or set before the events of the movie. Though I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this and the word count got away from me, I still think it's cute and very seasonal - I hope others do too!

A/N 2: As I understand it, the cottage v. cabin lexiconic difference is a Canadian thing. When people think of cottage country, it's primarily the luxury getaway experience in the Muskokas. Super fancy! Celebrities cottage there (the Beckhams, Cindy Crawford) and the properties are huge lakefront estates. While in Western Canada, people primarily have cabins - they're more rugged, remote. In no way am I saying that cottages are better than cabins! They are just different - both enjoyable and picturesque in their own way. But you gotta know what you're in for, cause of packing and stuff... 😅😅

Trailer / CABIN dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘😘

This was such an effing mistake.

You sniffle as you sit cross-legged on the simple threadbare sheets covering the thin mattress that you’ve called bed for the last two nights. You’re holding your favourite fleece sweater in your hands, looking at the scorch marks where flareups from tonight’s bonfire had jumped from the pit and burned multiple holes - the black charred spots on the fabric blurring as your tears finally spill over.

I shouldn’t have come.

A ruined sweater in and of itself wasn’t the end of world. But a ruined sweater here? Tonight? It’s just the freaking cherry on top of the already disastrous sundae that was this weeklong vacation so far.

And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

When your best friend Jenny begged you to come with her to her boyfriend’s cabin for a week, you had readily agreed. You love Benny and he and Jenny are so adorable, if not a bit too overly mushy and cheesy (“We’re the better Bennifer! Woo - Benny and Jenny!!”). He and his old army buddies had gone in together on a cabin on a lake about seven hours out of the city at the suggestion of their Veterans Affairs therapist – something about working the land and finding serenity in nature to help them overcome some of the harder things they’ve seen over their time in service.

It apparently did wonders for them. Both Benny and his older brother, Will, who you had met a few times, were easy going and kind men - maybe a little rough and tumble with each other sometimes, but you didn’t see it as anything more than filial comradery and brotherly love. Jenny assured you that Benny’s other friends, Santi, Tom and Frankie were all cut from the same cloth.

Benny had invited Jenny up to the cabin for the boys’ annual Autumn weeklong trip – taking advantage of any remaining mild weather from the end of summer to clean and close up the cabin for the Fall and Winter. All the boys would be there and Tom’s sisters had been invited as well – Jenny begged you to come for support and of course you had said yes.

Sure, you’re a city girl through and through, but this wouldn’t be your first cottaging experience. You fondly recall the summers and Thanksgivings you had been invited to your college roommate’s family cottage in the Muskokas: crystalline waters and lush greenery bordered the beautifully landscaped acreage upon which your still close friend’s family’s 9 bedroom-9 bath modern estate resided. Summer days were wiled away on the built-in dock lounging and reading, and the cooler temperature evenings were spent inside by one of the several contemporary fireplaces, sipping on cocktails and nibbling on charcuterie. It was always such a treat to go - you haven’t visited in ages, but a similar getaway right now sounds like heaven.

Your first clue that perhaps this might not be the Muskoka cottage country experience you imagined, is when the last leg of your seven-hour journey in Benny’s truck was over a 30-minute dirt road so twisty and uneven that you started to feel a little nauseous.

When you got out of the truck, you realized the true folly of your assumptions about where you were going to be staying this week. The property could best be described as rustic and very "nature forward", the only evidence of landscaping being the dirt worn paths that led to the different cabins. Instead of one main house, there is a Main Cabin – consisting of a living room area, place to eat, kitchen and the compound’s one bathroom. All guests stay in individual cabins, isolated and spaced out at various points on the large property. Each so far apart and separated by the lush, dense forest, you don't even know where they all are: Upper Cabin (Benny and Jenny), Delta Cabin (Santi), Bunk Cabin (Frankie), Screened-In Veranda Cabin (You), New Cabin (Tom’s Sisters), Outhouse Cabin (no one), Grizzly Cabin (Will and Tom).

You’re not opposed to roughing it a little, but by the error of your own expectations, you’ve come thoroughly unprepared for your week’s stay. For one thing, your cabin (as the name would suggest), along with all the others, has no windows - only screens. Perfect for the hot summers, but with Fall coming early this year, the clothes you packed aren’t warm enough to shield you against the chill that blows over your bed each night. For another, you find yourself sharing space with more critters that you were expecting, and not the adorable furry types either.

The frog that came out of the one toilet made you almost consider using the outhouse up by the parking lot (almost). And when you were washing your face that first night, the realization that the running tap was the only thing that was keeping the cricket from jumping out of the sink, forced you to stifle a scream that left your throat hoarse. There are all together more bugs indoors than you had expected (since you had expected windows).

It's definitely more rustic that you’re used to, but you really do try to make the best of it. The last thing you want is to appear rude or snobbish about the decidedly non-luxurious state of your accommodations. Sure, it isn’t the glamourous cottage experience you had expected, but it’s still incredibly beautiful and serene here. Moreover, you know that every cabin and amenity on the property was built by Benny and his friends and has served incredible therapeutic purpose for each of them. You would never want to diminish that by somehow implying that the cottage isn’t… cottaging; this place serves a much more important purpose than impressing the likes of city girls guests like you.

You also don’t forget that the entire reason you’re here is to support Jenny. Make sure she and Benny have fun. And they are! Inseparable, giddy, googly-eyed fun. No way are you going to ruin her perfectly good time by letting her worry about you, not when this is the first healthy relationship she’s had in years.

And honestly, everyone is so, so nice. Benny and Will’s Delta Force teammates are as good humoured and sweet as they are. There’s Santiago (or Santi), the unofficial leader of the crew – his hooded brown eyes look like they could tell a hundred stories, but he keeps your group entertained with the loudest and most fantastic ones, always framing his stories so that they rib at least one of his buddies. Tom, the eldest of the friends, is more serious – the type who might exude an intimidating gravitas if you were to meet him alone, but next to the verbose energy of Benny and Santi and under the watchful eye of his sisters, he seems to relax, smiling pleasantly and genuinely while in the comforting presence of his friends. Will, who is just as boyishly handsome as his brother, you already know to be as easy going and funny - though maybe a little less goofy than Benny. Despite what Jenny had slyly insinuated to you before you left, you don’t think Will has any interest in you – and with Tom’s gorgeous and outgoing sisters both vying for his attention, the circumstances aren't right to try and see if there’s anything to Jenny's (and possibly Benny’s?) matchmaking.

The last member of the friend group is Frankie, who the guys sometimes inexplicably call ‘Catfish’ – he was noticeably reserved at first, though you soon realize that he’s just as funny and generous as the others. Frankie's steely and calm countenance seems borne out of necessity, likely from the many years of service where his competence and levelheadedness were needed to keep the other four in check, alive. You notice that he often sits a little further back from the group, most likely out of habit, literally watching their backs; he’s quieter and less rowdy, but never fails to join in his friends’ laughter – it’s obvious to you that he loves his brothers in arms. Once or twice, you think you feel Franke's deep, soulful eyes pointed in your direction, but when you try to meet his gaze, those same eyes disappear beneath the brim of his worn Standard Oil cap that never seems to leave his head. You think you probably imagine it.

Everyone is so much fun to be around, super nice and completely welcoming of you.

They just… don’t really need you here. Well, that seems presumptuous! Rather, there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here the same way there is for everyone else.

It was evident from the first day when the boys pulled a small catamaran out of the boathouse and attempted to try (again, from what you’re told) to put it together and get it out on the water. Every person was asked to help pull on the trampoline netting – when it was evident that your limited strength and poor (manicured) grip on the netting wasn’t actually doing anything except making you an extra body in the way, you were relegated to standing on the side, holding a spray can of lubricant and waiting to spray it on the track if someone needed. No one ever did. The trampoline never got installed, and you can’t help but think it was partially because you hadn’t been able to provide the additional muscle needed.

During the day, everyone seems to engage in some type of cabin maintenance work from an unseen to-do list: painting screens, sanding down the canoe, pulling up old raspberry bushes, fixing doors and hinges in various cabins, retiling the one shower and installing a new sliding glass door, replacing the hot water pump’s aging parts, reinforcing the mesh around the young fruit trees to deter deer, repairing the older slats on the dock, removing the beaver dam under the dock, and so on and so forth.

All things you have absolutely no qualifications to help with and would likely hinder someone who did if you tried.

Jenny wasn’t terribly handy either, but she tagged along with Benny on all his chores and he didn’t mind patiently explaining and helping her help him with his tasks - the two of them giggling and in love as they winterized the boat shed.

Everyone else seems to know their daily assignments and go about their hard and dirty labour, leaving you alone to… do nothing? It felt rude to sit out on the lawn and relax while others did work around you. And even inside there's not much you can do; Tom’s sisters had brought up food for the first few meals and when you asked them if you could help, they insisted that they had it in hand and told you to “go have fun”. You chastise yourself for having not asked more questions about what you and Jenny could have brought and if you and her could have signed up to cook your share of meals.

You hide out in the Main Cabin or in your own for most of the day, reading and feeling guilty - coming down periodically to chat with people but feeling like you’re distracting them from their duties.

Even after dinner when you volunteered to help do the dishes and clean-up, you were cheerfully shooed away by Santi after you couldn’t find where to put back the cutlery, then the glasses, then the lids to the pots (which were inexplicably kept separate from the pots themselves) – you’re sure there’s a system, you just don’t know what it is.

Maybe it would be different if you knew everyone better, but this is the first time you’re meeting everyone except Benny and Will. You don’t know any of the guys particularly well but you do know that this cabin is their special place – you don’t want be a bother or ruin anyone’s good time.

To you, it's clear that you’re not carrying your weight here - the last thing you want to be is a nuisance as well. You don’t fit in and you definitely don’t belong.

Tonight has finally felt a little more comfortable. After a full day of work for everyone (else) and a belly bursting dinner, the boys set up a bonfire and everyone got together to roast marshmallows and make s'mores. In addition to looking forward to the melty treats, you were secretly glad for the warmth of the fire in the chilly evening air. Beers were cracked, marshmallows burnt, and the stories the boys told had your sides aching from so much laughter you’re sure you’ll still feel it in the morning. But as the fire was dying, the conversation turned to what everyone’s up to tomorrow, you once again have nothing to say that's comparable to the tasks and chores listed by the others. When Tom comments that there are still so many things to do in order to properly winterize the cabins and that it’ll be a wonder if it all gets done, you look down at your feet - face burning from the guilt and shame of being unable to contribute when help is indeed needed. You’re sure everyone is thinking that you’re just a freeloader from the city, or worse, lazy and unwilling to put in some work. Suddenly the last few bites of the s'more in your hand don’t look as appetizing anymore.

You excuse yourself from the group and quickly get ready for bed before heading up to your cabin for the night. Once settled in, that’s when you discover that your sweater is full of newly burnt holes and you lose it.

Luckily, the cabins are all fairly far apart so no one can hear your crying, but your gratitude for the isolation and quiet of the cabins is short-lived; as it's been every night, the silence of the woods in the dark is deafening. So used to the ambient noise of the city, you find that every snap of a branch or hoot of an owl slices through the night and rings out as loud as a gunshot. You lay in bed like each night before, unable to get comfortable or calm and falling asleep only when exhaustion overtakes you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of chirping birds and the brightness of the morning sun punctuated by the shouts and loud chatter from down near the water where people are already starting their daily chores. Another wave of guilt and anxiety sets in as you feel like you’ve had an undeserved lie-in - resting while everyone else got up early to do work.

On your way down to the Main Cabin, you see and wave good morning to Frankie who’s transporting relatively heavy chunks of wood tucked under his beefy arms. You don’t ask if you can help – how could you? Each stump he carries looks like it could topple you over even if you managed to lift one.

When you get down to the lawn, you catch Will and Tom’s sisters as they head up to one of the cabins with paint cans and brushes and Will cheerily calls to you, “Saved you some breakfast!” His completely innocent and kind pronouncement sends your already tightly strung heart into another spiral and you try not to tear up as you call back your thanks.

You eat by yourself from the plates left out for you and feel a little better when you can at least wash them and leave them in the drying rack. Pouring yourself the coffee that’s left in the cannister, you grimace at it’s lukewarmness, but you don’t know where the grounds are kept or even how to operate the ancient stovetop coffee maker to make more, so you make do and drink it sort of sadly as you return to the dining table and open your book.

It's here where Frankie finds you a few hours after you saw him last.

He asks kindly after your book before saying he’s going to make a fresh pot of coffee and offers to top you off; when you get up to help – he tells you he’s got it before disappearing into the kitchen. Slightly discouraged, you sit back down; unless you spy on Frankie, there’s no way for you to learn how to make the coffee here - and you’re just debating if you should do just that when he pokes his head back in, “Do you want me to show you how to make the coffee?”

Eagerly, you nod and hurry to join him in the kitchen, making note of where the fresh coffee grounds are stored and listening attentively as Frankie patiently shows you how to work the vintage contraption that Santi rescued from a yard sale. He smiles at your willing face, wondering why you’re so fascinated by something as mundane as their overly complicated coffee maker, but when you thank him, voice almost quivering with overly emotional gratitude, Frankie’s sure there’s more to it than he’s understanding.

He's been watching you, Benny’s girlfriend pretty friend, over the last two days and can't quite figure you out. It’s clear that you’re not used to roughing it in these types of conditions, but you don’t complain or make fun – though there is a tinge of melancholy and anxiety to the gentleness of your expressions that he does understand all too well. You seem sweet and friendly, and Benny certainly speaks warmly of you – but for some reason, you don’t seem entirely comfortable and Frankie wouldn’t be the Army strategist he is if he didn’t notice. Or a very good host.

“Do you want to go for a row while the coffee drips?”

“A row?” You look up, confused.

“Yeah, in the row boat. Come on – this old thing takes forever. We could probably get a good way to the middle of the lake and head back before it’s done,” nods Frankie, encouragingly.

This is the first time since the disastrous catamaran trampoline that anyone has asked you to do anything with them during the day, and you’re surprised by how touched you are by the simple gesture. Unable to find the words to express how appreciative you feel, you simply nod.

Frankie pushes the old tin boat that you saw him sealing and painting on the beach yesterday partway into the water, helping you in first before pushing the boat all the way in then jumping in himself, two big wooden oars under his arm. He sits across from you, locks the oars into the oarlocks and starts rowing; his powerful arms rotating the paddles with ease, slicing them through the clear, calm water and gently gliding the boat across the lake.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, and you look over the side of the boat in wonder as the sand bed below slowly disappears and the water gets darker and deeper. Sighing, you contently breathe in the fresh, crisp Fall air and enjoy the picturesque view of the far off shores and mountains before settling your gaze on the handsome man in front of you. The ripples and flex of Frankie’s bulging muscles under his shirt as he expertly rows are near mesmerizing, every hypnotic stroke powerful and purposeful.

“You’re not having fun, are you?”

You look up, ashamed. You've been trying so hard to hide that you're not 100% comfortable being here, it's embarrassing to get confirmation that you've failed in this regard. Even if the others could tell you weren’t having fun, you hope you haven’t come off as an ungrateful guest or made any of your hosts feel bad. You’re about to say so and apologize, but something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, kind and soft and not at all judgmental or accusatory, gives you pause. It’s like he’s genuinely extending an opportunity for you to let go of what you’ve been bottling up since you got here – maybe that’s why he brought you out to the middle of the lake? Frankie's sincere eyes bore into your own and his gentle demeanor invites you to let down your guard; deflating, you burst into tears, “I’m not!! I’m so sorry, Frankie!!”

Hurriedly, you try to compensate, “Goodness, please don’t think I’m complaining – it’s so beautiful and peaceful here, and Benny told me how much effort you guys have put into this place! Honestly, your care and hard work really shows – everything is so nice. It’s just really, really different from the one other cottage experience I’ve had – so I didn’t even pack right. And I thought there would be a lot more relaxing and lazing around – I really don't know what to do with myself here.”

“Where did you cottage before?”

“The Muskokas?”

Frankie lets out such a loud, belly-shaking laugh that shakes the whole boat; you actually hold onto the sides afraid you might tip over, but find yourself beaming at having drawn out this melodic sound from the normally stoic man.

“Well, City Girl, no wonder this place was a shock to you! The Muskokas is a very particular cottaging experience – real pretty and real glamourous. But the rest of us? What we have aren’t even cottages. They’re cabins. This is cabin country,” he laughs good naturedly.

“Right - cabins!” you grin.

“Sorry to disappoint you, City Girl.”

“No, no! Please don’t think that - I’m not disappointed at all! I just came in with the wrong expectations, that’s all. That’s all on me, Frankie. Really, the cabin is lovely – I was just expecting a more… cashmere sweaters and brandy snifters around the fireplace kind of a vibe.” You hope Frankie won’t take your joke the wrong way.

Luckily, Frankie gives you another easy smile, one that reveals an adorable dimple in his right cheek you haven’t had a chance to notice before, “Yeah, we’re more of a bats in the ceiling, on-going maintenance kind of vibe.”

At this, your face falls and your own shortcomings to contribute when everyone else is working so hard claws at your chest painfully.

Frankie immediately clocks the change in your demeanor, “Hey, pretty girl, it’s okay.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes, too distressed to notice the new nickname, “No it’s not, Frankie. You’re right – everyone is chipping in, helping out to keep this place beautiful and running smoothly, except me. I’m not used to this kind work, so I don’t really know what needs to get done… and even if I did… I mean you saw with the catamaran? I’m not strong or skilled enough to do any of it. I thought I could help out with some of the indoor stuff, like cooking and cleaning up, but I don’t know where anything is and everyone is so busy, I feel like such a nuisance bothering them even more in order to show me. So… I don’t know what I’m doing here – it doesn’t feel right to be sitting around and reading like I’m some kind of pampered houseguest while everyone around me is working, but I also don’t think I can add value anywhere. I just don’t think I belong out here with you guys. And I thought I was at least hiding it well, but it's obviously noticeable how much I don’t fit in because you rowed me out here to confront me about it. I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Frankie.”

You take a deep breath after your long speech and look down at your lap, more embarrassed than ever.

Frankie leans over from his seat, causing the boat to rock slightly and tilts your face up to his with two of his thick fingers, “You’re no trouble at all, pretty girl. It’s okay if this place is too rustic for ya. It’s really rustic… and that’s by design.” He smiles reassuringly, keen to comfort you, “I know Benny told you that this cabin is sort of therapy for us guys? We saw some... less-than-ideal things on a lot of our missions. All our missions, actually. The VA counsellors suggested that we try and work through having seen so much that’s been broken, and maybe even having done some of the breaking ourselves, by getting a project where we come together as a team to focus on improving and building. It’s meant to need constant ongoing maintenance and have a never-ending list of chores so we can put our energy into building up instead of what we used to do… tearing down. For the most part, the cabin has been good for us – working with our hands, being responsible for something that isn’t life or death, working towards a common goal where we can be together and enjoy each other’s company in a setting that’s not… exploding.”

Frankie chuckles at his little joke so not to scare you off with the intensity of the topic. He’s relieved to see that your expression is one of sympathy and understanding, your eyes warm and gentle. He thinks your eyes are beautiful, deep, kind – he might easily get lost in them if he didn’t remember that he’s supposed to be comforting you, “It really is meant for the five of us to be putting in the work, but I know what you’re saying, it’s not a great feeling to be left out, even if you know no one’s doing it on purpose. I’m sorry – we should be better hosts. You’re our guest.”

You start to shake your head in protest at this, but Frankie stops you when he picks up the oars and dips them back in the water to start rowing again, “Tell you what, it’s my turn to make lunch today - why don’t you come and help me. I’ll show you where we keep everything so you’ll know in case you ever want to… help out in the kitchen again. I promise you can ask me any questions you want and it won’t bother me at all.”

Perking up at Frankie’s generous offer, you nod happily, “Okay! Thank you, Frankie – that’s really sweet of you.” It’s probably the first truly joyful smile you’ve smiled since you got here and Frankie thinks you look radiant.

The two of you glide slowly across the still lake in comfortable silence, Frankie purposefully not putting too much power into his oar strokes. Trying to discreetly wipe your cheeks, you feel their warmth as you spy on the handsome man across from you through your tear dotted lashes. You feel so safe and cared for - your heart grateful that Frankie noticed you were out of sorts despite having only met you a few days ago and was considerate enough to ask after you.

His teasing voice cuts through your thoughts, “Is there anything else, City Girl?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Is there anything else that's been bothering you while you’re out here?”

You bite your lip and shake your head; Frankie has been so kind, you don’t want to push it and appear to complain.

“Come on, I know there is. Go on, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl – there’s that term of endearment again. This time when you hear it, your heart swells and your face flushes – and maybe your thighs press together a little, too. To try and cover up your reaction, you spill your last embarrassing grievance, “Ummmm… it’s kind of spooky at night.”

Frankie booms another side-splitting, deep rumble of a laugh and you instantly feel better, “It’s just sooooo quiet and everyone is so far from one another. I guess I’m used to background city noises and the feeling of people being around. It's been a bit unsettling laying in the dark in silence, hearing every little twig snap.” You cover your eyes, “Plus I packed so poorly for the trip because I thought it was going to be a… cottage. I definitely didn’t bring warm enough clothes. I brought a TON of self-care stuff though – maybe I should try layering some face masks.” It feels so good to be able to lightheartedly make fun of yourself again.

Frankie laughs with you, then looks thoughtful, “Ok, ok, the chilliness I think I can help you out with. The spookiness… got to circle back to that.”

“Thanks, Frankie.” You mean it sincerely. Even having been able to talk to him about your unease makes you dread the upcoming night a lot less.

Back at the beach, Frankie hops out of the boat and reaches in to help you out - when your fingers touch his, a little spark lingers and your heartbeat picks up a bit. Hand in hand, the two of you walk back to the Main Cabin together, not letting go until you enter the kitchen.

---

After Frankie patiently shows you the pantry, the freezers, and where all the kitchen items are, he makes sure you have a passing familiarity with everything before the two of you make wraps for everyone. You find him to be endearingly funny, terribly sweet, and a wonderful conversationalist – Frankie tells you about his work and adventures as a charter pilot, and listens intently as you answer his questions about your work and life in the city. You almost regret calling everyone in for lunch, but the feeling of being able to offer people something after their morning of hard work has brightened your spirits significantly - it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You don’t know that the obvious change in your countenance fills Frankie with pride and joy, nor do you see the way he gazes at you with fondness as you cheerfully hand out the wraps or when you jump up after lunch is over and hurry to clear the table.

The next day, you’re returning from a solo walk along the trail that runs behind the cabins on the bay, when you come upon an unfamiliar noise as you approach the boys’ property.

It sounds like a loud and sharp sudden crack accompanied by a low manly grunt, then followed by a couple of softer thuds. The echoing combination repeats it self at slightly varying intervals and gets progressively louder until you come upon its source.

From behind a large Spruce tree, you see that it’s Frankie chopping wood.

Frankie repeatedly brings his axe down on the log pieces he’s set up on the chopping block with precision and power. His sweat soaked shirt is stretched taut across his broad back, the damp fabric doing nothing but accentuate the thick muscles that flex and contract with every burly movement.

Though Frankie’s breathing is heavy, you can tell he isn’t even close to being winded - his strength and rugged athleticism evident by the way he relentlessly labours on, splitting log after log.

Every subsequent swing of the axe captivates you further; a wetness pools in your mouth that you have to force yourself to swallow, lest it spill over and you get caught drooling.

"Wanna give me a hand, City Girl?"

Shit.

Emerging from behind what you now realize looks like a hiding spot, you give Frankie a sheepish smile, “Oh, ummm… you look like you have it pretty well handled. Not sure if I could even make a dent in one of those logs.”

Frankie takes off his signature cap and uses the back of the same hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead - he chuckles and his eyes twinkle, “Could you help me gather and stack the wood I split onto that rack over there? And bring me new logs to chop from that other pile there?”

You nod enthusiastically. Frankie’s making work for you and you’re so thankful and excited to help.

For the next hour, you run around gathering the firewood that Frankie splinters and set him up with fresh logs. When you apologize that it takes you so long to carry the larger rounds to him, he tells you not to worry – it gives him a chance to catch his breath and take a much-needed rest. You don’t tell Frankie that he doesn’t look like he needs any rest at all – your own quickened breaths have very little to do with physical exertion and more to do with ogling Frankie’s broad and brawny frame, and the way the entirety of his strapping body is thrown into each axe swing, every muscle engaged, tensed. It’s similar to the way he looked when he effortlessly rowed the two of you in the tin boat across the lake, but like… a hundred times more burly.

You try to distract yourself from openly drooling at Frankie’s sweat soaked torso by expertly arranging the firewood on the rack so that it fits perfectly together like a Tetris puzzle. When the last piece has been placed on top, Frankie marvels that the firewood storage has never looked more organized and with one hand still holding on to his axe, he takes your soft hand in his other and leads you down to lunch.

Over the next couple of days, you notice that Frankie goes out of his way to make sure you’re not alone or hiding out in any of the cabins.

He takes you out in Benny’s truck to run in-town errands like picking up additional groceries or getting gas for the boat. These trips are always filled with fun and easy conversation and end with a treat at the ice cream shop on the main road. Frankie teases you on how you always flit from freezer to freezer, determined to try a flavour you’ve never had, and you groan at how he sticks to his tried-and-true mint chocolate chip.

You’re getting bolder at offering to do the indoor, more domestic tasks and chores that you know you have the skills to handle like making meals and cleaning up; more often than not, without you asking, Frankie will join you in the kitchen. Even though you tell him to relax and that he deserves rest after his physical exertions of the day, Frankie stays and hangs out - casually drying dishes, tasting your sauces, leaning his massive figure against the counter and discreetly pointing to various cabinets and drawers when you forget where things go.

Frankie makes you laugh with his quippy jokes and clever little observations, and he makes your cheeks warm with his subtle and sweet flirting. But mostly, he makes you feel so included, relaxed and accepted – his kindness at having taken you under his wing and giving priority to your comfort and enjoyment at the cabin makes your heart positively sing.

Since the day he took you out on the rowboat, Frankie has come to visit you in the Screened-In Veranda cabin every night. The first night, it’s to bring you extra blankets and one of his thick hoodies – all of it you accept gratefully; he also brings a pack of playing cards and the two of you play Big Two until you can barely keep your eyes open. Making sure you're bundled up in his hoodie, Frankie leaves you to sleep under a comically thick stack of blankets and happily swathed in his manly musk.

The next night, he brings you an old worn box of Rummy-O, explaining that he and the boys try to buy old games from garage sales to bring up to the cabin, even ones they’ve never played before. You’ve never played either, and for the next few nights, you and Frankie spread the tiles over your bedspread and become Rummy-O experts, stopping only when you’re too tired to keep playing - then and only then does Frankie leave you before traipsing back to his own cabin.

Embarrassingly, it takes you until tonight to figure out what he's up to.

“I know what you’re doing,” you grin in the dimly lit cabin as Frankie dons a Korean face mask and lets you give him a cuticle oil treatment.

“I’m getting pampered,” Frankie murmurs from where he lays, careful not to move his face lest the sheet mask slips.

“You’ve been keeping me company every night until I get sleepy so I don’t have to lie here in the dark and be scared,” you look at him warmly, in awe of this tender-hearted man’s goodness.

You see one eye open in the eye hole cut-out of the mask and the corners of the one for the mouth tug up a little, “Has it been working?”

“Yes and thank you. And I think your hoodie and the blankets you brought really helped too – the nights feels way cozier now.”

“Good. I’m glad. Now do you have anything that’s going to help with these bags under my eyes?”

You cackle, sure that the sound of your and Frankie’s joint laughter must carry clear across the lake.

It’s the last night at the cabin and the whole group is out tonight for another bonfire. You’re nice and snug in Frankie’s hoodie, giggling with Jenny, who you feel like you’ve barely seen this whole week – she fills you in on all eight hundred of the adorable things Benny has done for her this week and you’re over the moon seeing her so completely in love. The entire group is in great spirits, toasting to another successful season at the cottage, all the shared memories, new and old stories to tell, and the delicious food eaten over this week. Your dinners for the latter half of the week are praised, and when you bury your face in the oversized sleeves of Frankie's hoodie in embarrassment, you feel his strong arm curl proudly around your shoulders and you positively kvell.

The drinks flow liberally tonight with no one needing to wake up early and the only chore on anyone’s list being packing. About halfway through tonight’s bonfire, Frankie slips away from the group; everyone is too caught up in their own conversations to notice it, but you immediately miss having his comforting presence close by. You’re just about to ask Jenny for the tea on why Tom’s sisters seemed to be giving Will the cold shoulder when you hear Frankie’s dulcet baritone low in your ear, “Hey, City Girl, can I show you something?”

Getting up, you leave the others at the bonfire and follow Frankie back into the Main Cabin. He ushers you towards the main living room and when you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks with a gasp. The darkened room is lit bright and warm from the fire that Frankie’s laid in the fireplace, the flames crackling slow and calm – he must have been stoking it for a while. In front of the glowing fire is a little carpeted area with cushions arranged purposefully to create a makeshift sitting area. In the middle sits two brandy snifters filled with an amber gold liquid.

“Frankie, what’s all this?” you exclaim, eyes bright as you turn to look at the handsome, affectionate man who brought you here.

Gesturing for you to sit down in front of the gently roaring fire and handing you one of the glasses as you settle in, Franke shyly explains, “Wasn’t able to swing any cashmere sweaters, but I wanted to give you your brandy by the fireplace cottage experience.”

Rendered speechless by how cute and thoughtful Frankie is - all you can do is give him a doe-eyed look of awe as you sip the liquor he managed to procure. For you.

“Thank you, Frankie. This is perfect. But if I’m being honest, I’ve quite warmed up to the cabin experience,” you tease.

“Good,” the tenor of Frankie’s voice is warm with the undercurrent of what’s not yet been spoken out loud.

As you both enjoy your fireside libations, you joke and flirt, keeping the conversation light - somehow tip-toeing around what’s happening between the two of you. Your bodies, though, pay your shyness no mind, inching closer and closer until you’re practically in Frankie’s lap. The conversation grows quieter as words are replaced by looks of longing and want until all you seem to be doing is studying the dark and rough lines of Frankie’s face, the plushness of his lips, the adorable heart shaped patch in his facial scruff.

With one final sip of brandy, the soothing burn of the liquor down your throat gives you that final push of liquid courage and you drop your gaze from Frankie’s soft chocolate brown eyes down to his waiting mouth. Not so innocently, you lick you lips at the sight.

Then Frankie is on you, crashing his lips to yours – the empty snifters rolling away on the carpet as you pour yourself into his mouth, open wide and inviting. This first kiss is nothing short of sensual and desperate, the feelings that have been simmering over the past week boiling over until you’re both a mess of tongues, moans and clashing teeth.

“Oh Frankie,” your soft whimpers a welcomed song to his ears, Frankie returns your sentiments by licking behind your teeth, exploring and stroking into your receptive mouth with a fiery passion. His hands maneuver you to straddle him so that he can better feel you, roaming your back until one hand comes to a rest at the nape of your neck, the other under one of the pert globes of your ass, using them as leverage to press you flush against his chest.

As your hands go to run through Frankie’s soft waves, you knock his favourite cap onto the ground and you giggle loudly when it lands near the now forgotten brandy snifters with a little thud. Frankie feels himself harden at the melodic sound.

You make out like teenagers, tongues dancing and teeth nibbling until you both run out of air and have no choice to break apart, panting.

“Been wanting to do that since I saw you your first day here, City Girl,” admits Frankie, eyes tender and sincere as he rests his forehead against yours.

Leaning in to lightly peck his lips, you’re surprised but can’t help teasing, “What took you so long, Morales?”

Frankie chuckles, though his eyes flash with a bolt of insecurity, “Wasn’t sure you would want to. Benny said something about how he wanted to try and set you up with Will.”

Your face scrunches up with astonishment - so Jenny wasn’t just being facetious! But you quickly cup Frankie’s face and run your thumbs reassuringly through his adorable scruff, “I don’t know anything about that. But what I do know is that I can’t resist a kind hearted, handsome man who goes out of his way to take care of me, never judges me and makes me feel comfortable without pushing me to be someone I’m not. You, Frankie – I can’t imagine wanting anyone but you to kiss me.”

Taking this as the invitation it is, Frankie slots his mouth over yours once more. This second kiss is slower, deeper, and full of promise. You sigh as Frankie’s tongue slides over yours in a slow and intimate waltz and his lips find yours again and again and again.

“Querida,” he murmurs, “when we get back to the city, can I take you out to dinner?”

Grinning at having earned yourself another nickname, you tuck yourself into the nook under Frankie’s chin and press one, two, three soft kisses to his neck while nodding, “I’d love that, Frankie.”

The next morning you wake up well rested, with a strong arm banded over your body and Frankie’s hard chest pressed up against your back. Slipping slowly back to consciousness, you can’t help but smile as the memories of the previous night come flooding back. Frankie came back up to your cabin with you and stayed to keep you company as he had the previous nights, but instead of games or spa treatments, he kept you awake with the hard and soft kisses of his expert mouth and innocent touches that by the end of the night, didn’t feel quite so innocent anymore. Lips swollen after hours of making out, Frankie had tucked in with you under the covers and held you close, lulling you to sleep with evenness of his breathing and the soothing rise and fall of his chest. Rolling over, you find Frankie already slowly blinking awake, “Good morning, City Girl. Did you sleep okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Slept perfect, Frankie. Coziest night here with my own personal furnace.”

Frankie chuckles, “I like waking up with you like this, pretty girl. Like seeing you wearing my clothes, too.”

Shyly, you gaze into Frankie’s eyes, heart beating faster at his look of adoration, “I like it too, Frankie. Waking up with you, wearing your clothes.”

After some tender and sweet kisses under the covers, the two of you manage to get out of bed so you can pack and get ready for the trip home.

Right before he closes the door to the Screened-In Veranda Cabin, Frankie turns around, “Wanna ride with me on the way back, City Girl?”

“Sure! What about Santi and Will?” You can’t help but get excited about the prospect of a long road trip with Frankie.

“They can go with Benny. Or Tom. Well at least Santi can ride with Tom. Don’t think Tom’s sisters will let Will into Tom’s truck,” Frankie looks genuinely amused and you once again spot that cute dimple make an appearance in his right cheek.

“Omigod! I meant to ask Jenny about that – what happened??”

Frankie throws you a heart-stopping wink, one that nearly sends your knees buckling, “Tell you on the way home, querida.”

---

A few hours later, everyone’s packed bags are stowed in their respective cars, the cabins locked, boats put away for the winter, and sheets and laundry stripped to go back to the city to be cleaned.

“Ready to go, City Girl?” grins Frankie, “Bet you can’t wait to get home.”

Buckling your seatbelt and looking fondly at the sweet man who made sure you felt seen and cared for this week, you say, almost wistfully, “It’s not that bad here.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your lips, Frankie nuzzles your nose affectionately with his before putting the car in reverse. Steering the wheel one-handedly with his other big paw cupping the back of your headrest, he winks, “Cottage country ain’t got nothing on cabin country, am I right, querida?”

You giggle as he straightens out the car and take the hand that Frankie’s holds out to you over the centre console, “Only the cashmere sweaters, but other than that, nothing.”

Frankie brings your hand up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles as he starts down the windy dirt road in the direction of the city, “An easy fix for next time, City Girl.”

Biting your lip to keep from smiling too much, you nod happily in agreement. Next time.

#tropeoff2024 #frankie morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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flightlessangelwings · 17 days ago

Text

FawKtover2024 Part 6- Frankie Morales

Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Kinks- sex pollen, overstimulation

Word count- 2.4k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fwb to lovers, army days Frankie, reader is part of the team, sex pollen, unprotected sex, riding, overstim, no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- Big thank you to @jolapeno for helping me come up with the scenario and for the good opening line here! I hope you like this bb!! This definitely got longer than I meant it to, but hey that's sex pollen for ya!! Enjoy!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date!

“Dammit, Fish,” you cursed as you dragged your partner through the labyrinth of hallways, “I told you not to go sniffing things!”

“It’s not my fucking fault,” Frankie huffed as he felt like his body was on fire, “It fucking exploded in my face.”

“Still,” you hissed, “You need to be more fucking careful.” The worry was apparent in your tone though the chastising. You were truthfully more scared than you let on, but you had to hide it for now and get Frankie to safety.

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission: get in, investigate the seemingly abandoned town, gather information, and get out. You and Frankie paired off as the team split up to cover the entire town, but as you investigated what looked like an old lab, things went wrong. He picked up a small case, a puff of powder exploded from it and covered his face. Thinking quickly, you grabbed him and ran, darting through the halls in search of somewhere safe.

“Shit,” Frankie gasped as he suddenly became acutely aware of how tightly you held him.

“Hang on,” your voice was strained as you found a small room with a working lock far enough away from the lab you investigated. Closing and locking yourselves in, you set Frankie down onto the ground and knelt in front of him, “Frankie,” you let the worry show more in your tone, “How are you feeling?”

Frankie looked up at you with glazed over eyes as his hair fell in his face. You looked like an angel as you scanned him over for injuries or any sign of distress. But, it wasn’t pain that he was feeling. “I…” he choked on his words as his pants suddenly felt too tight, “I don’t know,” Frankie sounded annoyed and unsure; he had no idea what was happening to him.

Your brow furrowed as you stared into his eyes. Your heart pounded as feelings threatened to bubble to the surface that you tried so hard to keep down. “It’s gonna be ok, Frankie,” your eyes darted around as you tried to come up with a plan. Digging into your tac bag, you said, “I’m gonna call the guys on the radio. See if they can help figure this o…”

“No!” Frankie cut you off. When you looked at him with a wide eyed expression, he clarified, “No,” his voice sounded strained, as if he was fighting something, “Don’t… Not yet.”

“Ok,” your voice softened as you put the radio down, “What can I do to help you? What’s wrong?”

Frankie looked at you for a moment as his thoughts raced. He thought about the first time the two of you slept together, about how beautiful you looked. He thought about how you both agreed not to let the sex get in the way of the team or your friendship, that it was only physical. He thought about how much of a lie that was as he quickly felt more for you than you obviously did for him.

“Nothing,” he coughed out as he didn’t even believe himself. Heat pulsed though his body as his cock strained in his pants and the more time he spent in this tiny locked room with you, the harder it was going to be to keep his hands to himself.

“Nothing?!” you snapped back, “Frankie I just dragged you halfway across this town because of something you inhaled! We’re locked in a storage room and you’re sweating more than a whore in church! You have to do better than ‘nothing!’”

He winced, but your outburst was justified. Letting out a heavy sigh, Frankie tried to calm his racing thoughts as he clenched his fists tightly at his side. His arms strained to keep himself still, when all he wanted was to pounce on you and fuck you until neither of you could walk anymore.

“I’m sorry,” your voice softened, “I’m just…” scared.

Frankie couldn’t hold back anymore. The sound of your voice was overwhelming for him, and he launched himself at you, crashing your lips together in a heated kiss. Frankie swallowed the surprised moan you let out as his hands roamed all over your body. His hips bucked against you as he finally started to feel a small sense of relief just from kissing you.

“Frankie?!”

He froze. Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to find that he had already stripped you of your tactical vest, belt and your shirt was unbuttoned to reveal your bra underneath. When did he do that? Whispering your name, Frankie’s gaze dropped to the ground, “Shit,” he murmured, “I’m sorry,” he sighed heavily, “It’s whatever was in that fucking powder. It’s making me…” Frankie paused as he looked up at you with those big brown eyes, “Want to fuck you so fucking bad.”

“Frankie…” you breathed as you looked at him with a pleading expression. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept together, but yet this was still different. Your mouth dropped open as your eyes trailed down his body before you could stop yourself and you noticed the large bulge in his pants.

That explained a lot.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he tried to scramble away from you, “Shit. Shit,” he covered his mouth, “I can’t fucking hurt you. I won’t fucking hurt you.”

Feeling a flutter in your chest, you scooted yourself toward him and cupped his face, “Look at me, Frankie,” the resolve in your voice was clear, “I’m going to help you through this,” you paused as he opened his mouth to protest, “And you won’t hurt me. I know you won’t.”

“Baby…”

You both launched yourselves at each other at the same time, wrapping your arms around the other. Frankie pulled you close as he crashed his lips against yours once more while you climbed onto his lap. You grabbed onto his tac vest as you writhed in his lap, grinding yourself against his hard cock over his pants.

“Fuck…” he breathed as he covered you in kisses. His hands worked to strip you of the rest of your clothes, fumbling with shaky fingers as whatever drug he inhaled pulsed through his veins.

Heavy breaths filled the small room as you adjusted in Frankie’s lap after he shimmied your pants off of you. With trembling hands of your own, you unfastened his pants and freed his cock, which sprung free and stood at full attention. You gasped when you noticed how swollen and red it was, and you were sure it was from the drug.

Straining to hold himself back, Frankie whispered, “Are you sure I won’t hurt you, baby?”

You met his eyes as your heart stopped for a second at the expression he had, “I’m sure,” you kissed him tenderly, “Let me help you, baby.”

He groaned as he helped you line yourself up with his aching cock. Perhaps if he had been more in his right mind, he would have done more for you before he fucked you, but he was too far gone. The need was too great, and it overwhelmed any other thought he would have had.

Slowly, you sunk down on his cock, whining and gasping at the stretch as you did so. Frankie let out a primal growl as he felt your heat around him. You clung to his tac vest as you lowered yourself onto his lap, tremors running up your spine with every inch that pushed into you.

Unable to stop himself, Frankie grabbed your hips and thrust you down the rest of the way, making you both yelp.

“Shit!!” Frankie gasped, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s ok,” you panted, “I’m ok.”

“Fuck…” he groaned as he rocked his hips against your body, rutting into you clumsily. Frankie grabbed your ass and kneaded the soft flesh as he stumblingly thrust up into you.

Your mouth dropped open to let the moans flow as he thrust into you from below. You held into his vest as your breasts bounced from the motion. You threw your head back and immediately he nibbled on the skin of your chest.

“Fuck, baby I’m gonna cum…” Frankie groaned right before he exploded into you. He held you even more tightly as he spilled himself into you while you whimpered in his lap.

But it wasn’t enough.

His cock was still rock hard, and Frankie growled in frustration as he lunged forward and threw you onto your back on the floor with him overtop of you. All the while, his cock never left you. Gasping at the sudden change in position, you let out a cry of surprise as you found yourself on your back.

“Frankie…” you moaned as he wasted no time pounding into you.

“Baby,” he groaned as he lost himself in your body. He grunted at how good you felt as his hips slapped against yours in a fast pace. “Fuck,” Frankie growled as his mind spun.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him close as he pounded into you. He was rougher than he had been in the past, but you welcomed it. Even through the drug, you felt the care Frankie always had, and it brought tears to your eyes as he hit that sweet spot inside you over and over again.

“Frankie… Fuck… I’m…”

He groaned as he thrust into you as deep as he could as his second orgasm hit him without warning. The feeling of your inner muscles squeezing him sent him over the edge, and Frankie grinded his hips against yours for some friction against your clit. You let out a scream of pleasure as your own climax hit right after his, making you tremble underneath him.

With a gasp, Frankie collapsed on top of you, making you huff in surprise. Together, the two of you breathed heavily in a sweaty mess on the floor until Frankie realized he was still hard.

“Shit,” he groaned in frustration, “Fuck!” his fist landed on the floor next to you.

“Keep going,” you whispered in his ear, feeling his rock hard cock still inside you.

“But…” his head shot up to look into your eyes.

“It’s ok,” you opened your eyes, blinking tears away as you cupped his face, “I’m ok,” when he opened his mouth, you interrupted, “I promise.”

Frankie breathed your name as he dipped his head and kissed you sweetly, “Fucking hit me on the head if you need to. Alright?” The message was clear: do not let me hurt you no matter what. Frankie knew you could take care of yourself, but he was always determined to protect you regardless. Even if in this instance meant protecting you from himself.

If it were any other time, you would make a smart comment about how much pleasure you would have gotten from that, but this was not the time. Instead, you nodded, “I trust you, Frankie.”

Again, your words caused a switch to flip in his head, and Frankie pounded into you at a fast and rough pace once more. He murmured your name over and over again as his hips took on a life of their own, unable to stop himself. But the way you moaned and cried out only fueled him more and he grunted as he thrust into your wet pussy. He came without fanfare, yet he kept going. Thrusting into you with fervor, Frankie groaned as he attached his mouth to your shoulder.

Both of you were overwhelmed by the emotions that ran high between you. Tears filled your eyes once more, and you felt drops from Frankie as well. He mumbled indistinctly in your ear as he continued to pound into you.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good, baby,” he managed to get out clearly.

“Frankie…” you whined as you felt another orgasm start to creep up on you, “Fuck…”

“One more, baby,” he murmured, “I think one more will do it.”

“Cum, Frankie,” you moaned, “It’s ok… Cum in me again.”

He growled your name as another climax hit him like a train. Relief finally felt within his grasp as he rode out his last orgasm on your body. As his mind started to clear, Frankie snaked his hand between your bodies and rubbed at your clit, determined to have you cum once more as well. And he got his wish. The moment his fingers made contact with your clit, you came undone and you came with a loud scream.

Finally collapsing down in exhaustion, Frankie felt like the drug had worked its way through his system. He took a deep breath before he pushed himself up to check on you, “You ok, baby?” he asked in a soft tone.

You kept your eyes closed as you also caught your breath. Feeling his large hand on your face, you blinked your eyes open and your heart fluttered in your chest at the way he looked at you, “A little sore,” you admitted, “But I’m ok.”

“Let me,” he groaned as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you. Frankie gave you an apologetic look when you hissed in pain and he never let go of you as he gathered you in his arms while he laid on the floor next to you. “Thank you,” he broke the silence, “For… this…”

You settled yourself in his arms as you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, “I hope you learned your lesson, Fish,” you snarked back to hide the emotions that threatened to come to the surface again.

Instead of matching your snark like he usually did, Frankie let out a sigh. You were right of course, but that didn’t matter anyway. He squeezed you tighter as the confession spilled out before he could stop himself, “I love you.”

You gasped as you froze in place. Pushing yourself up, you looked into his eyes and saw no hint of uncertainty there. Fighting back tears, you leaned forward and kissed him tenderly, “I love you too,” you whispered against his lips.

Frankie smiled into the kiss and pulled you close once more, holding you tightly. “And I did learn my lesson,” he smirked in between kisses, feeling you smile back at that. The two of you settled down again, taking a moment to gather your strength when you let out a gasp. Frankie jumped into high alert as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot about the rest of the guys…”

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blackwidownat2814 · 2 years ago

Text

I loved this so much!

A Cut Above

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Hairstylist!Reader

WC: 2680

Warnings: T; Mentions of food, divorce, lots of pining and fluff otherwise.

A/N: I wanted to write a Hairstylist!Reader story a few years ago, but l wasn’t feeling super confident about my writing and just never got around to it. In the last few months I’ve had this urge to get back behind the chair again, which is what sparked this fic. Still haven’t decided if I will get back into doing hair as of yet, but I can enjoy writing about it. This is not beta’d and hope it reads well cause I’ve been run low sleep. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

“You done for the day?”

The question pulls you from your thinking. It’s an organized chaos of mental notes streaming through your subconscious.

“I wish. I have one more then I’m done. It’s a new client too. So I’ll be a bit longer.”

“Color?”

“No, thank god! I don’t think my feet can take another 2 to 3 hours more.” The day was filled with back to back clients— a typical Saturday in the salon. Your clients who worked long hours, were always filling up your Saturdays. “Just a cut. Benny made the appointment for him, said his friend was in need of a change— very vague about it”

“Mmm.. Benny.”

“Earth to Hannah!! Gonna need you to touch back down girlie.” Hannah was the salon receptionist, and Benny Miller’s secret admirer.

“Huh? Oh sorry, got a bit distracted.”

“You don’t say? You know, you could just ask him out, would probably be way more exciting than sitting there and daydreaming about him 24/7.”

“I do not daydream about him 24/7–“ She tries convincing you, but you know her far too well. You shoot her a pointed look— you’re not buying it. “Okay! Alright, I do think about him— a lot! But I can’t help it, he’s so…”

“Pretty?” You finish her thought.

“Yeah. He’s so pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that said Pretty Man Child Benny, might have an itty bitty crush on a cute little receptionist. So, put your big girl panties on and make a move.”

Benjamin Miller— Benny, was a long time client of yours, turned friend. He was in your chair every 5 weeks maintaining that gorgeous head of hair. Gotta look good for the ladies when I’m in the ring— his words.

As the years went on, you found you were collecting Benny’s friends and family as clients. His older brother Will, Will’s wife Nicole, his close friend Pope (still haven’t heard his real name), as well as Mom and Dad Miller. Benny kept your chair busy and you were grateful for that.

He’d text you on Monday saying he’d had a friend who was needing a cut, something about a fresh start. He was in luck because you had one spot open, so you scheduled some guy named “Fish” as your last client for the week.

“Wait really?! He knows who I am?!” Shock was written all over Hannah’s face.

“Hannah, you greet him every appointment— of course he knows who you are.”

“I think I black out the minute he walks through the door.”

“That would explain the drool every time.” You can’t help but laugh at her expense.

She rolls her eyes back at you as she gathers her things from the front desk. “Alright, I’m going to leave before you decide to carry on with this onslaught of nonsense. Going to go home and pour myself a glass of wine in celebration!”

“Celebration?? For what?”

“Benny Miller knows who I am! And he has a crush on me!!” You let her bask in her glory, as she all but floats to the front door.

“Hannah…” You catch her attention before she’s exits. “Text him! Preferably before the wine.”

“Yes mom!” She mocks back at you before the door swings shut.

You had 15 minutes until your appointment would be showing up, so you took the time to clean your station up a bit and set up for his hair cut.

Your shears, combs and clippers laid out on your hair cutting tray, clean cape folding on top of your station.

As you were checking over your schedule for next week, making a list of colors you needed to pick up from the beauty supply, the front door opened welcoming your client— your very handsome client.

He looks nearly 6 feet tall, and so broad. His hair is dark chestnut from what you can see peeking out from under his hat. There’s a casualness to him in the way he carries himself— a shy confidence.

“Hi! You must be Fish.” You give him your name as you make your way up to him, extending your hand out in greeting. His rather large hand gripping yours, firm but a gentleness to it.

“Did he really tell you my name is Fish?! Fuckin’ Benny.” He shakes his head, as if to fain off embarrassment. Shoving his hands in his pockets he starts laughing about it. “Yeah, he did. I am assuming that’s not actually your name though. Although, not judging if it is.”

“No, my name is Francisco Morales, but you can call me Frankie.” You notice the flush creeping up his neck— you make a mental note at how gorgeous he is before you get caught staring.

“Okay then, Frankie. You can come on back and have a seat here at my chair. Feel free to put your hat on my shelf there.” Helping him get situated.

“Let me go grab a clean towel and then we can chat about what you are wanting.”

Frankie sits himself down and starts to take in the space. You seem very tidy and organized as he glances over at your tray of cutting tools. He right away decides he likes that about you. Benny didn’t mention how beautiful you were when making him this appointment. He said you were pretty but he wasn’t expecting to be overwhelmed by how stunning you were— he knows he has to try his best to be cool and not ramble on.

He sees you making your way back to him in the mirror, his eyes locked on yours like magnets— he notices you catching him staring, but then you give him a smile that lights up your face. There’s that butterfly sensation tickling his insides, he hasn’t had that happen in a long time, but he welcomes it.

Arriving back to your station you take the small towel and place it on his shoulders before securing the cutting cape around his neck.

“So what are we thinking?” You ask as you begin to run your fingers through his hair, taking in the texture, density and the shape of the cut he has now.

“Uhh, I umm… I don’t know. I’m open to your professional opinion.” He didn’t realize he needed to come in with a style in mind. His usual barber usually says “Hi” then starts hacking at it.

“That’s okay.” You look at him in your mirror, his eyes already fixed on you and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

You hadn’t noticed his dimple earlier, and you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of it when he smiles. You steady your thoughts and continue to comb your fingers through his hair making note of how it lays and it’s natural growth pattern.

“You have a nice wave going on. If we work with it and bring your sides and the back in a little tighter the top will lay nicely.”

He’s captivated by everything you’re saying, and yet he doesn’t understand a single word of it. You could tell him he needed to shave his head and he’d willingly let you, no questions asked.

“How does that sound Frankie??”

“Honestly— I have no idea what any of what you just said means, but I trust you.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty.” You find his nervousness charming. “You won’t be losing much length overall, it will be more shaping and connecting the sides to the top.” Your hands moving around his head as you try to explain your process.

“Again— no clue what you just said.”

“Got it! Enough hair jargon then. Let’s get you back and washed up first.”

The warm water hides the sweat that’s formed on your palms as you begin washing his hair. He’s settled into the shampoo bowl, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest in such a kicked back manner.

Your fingers work diligently as you begin to scrub the soapy liquid through his wet locks. As you spend ample time working over his scalp, you catch the sound of a faint moan. You don’t think he meant for it to sound so erotic, but it’s stirring a warm feeling with in you.

“Feel good?”

“Mmmhmmm..” It’s all he’s able to manage, your movements awakening him in so many ways, his spine vibrating with an indescribable desire.

Suds throughly rinsed, leave in conditioner combed through, you both get situated back at your station.

He seems way more relaxed, more chatty and asking questions as you go section by section, meticulously trimming away the unwanted ends.

His questions alternated between your professional life and personal— where you grew up, favorite food and what made you decide to become a hairstylist. In a different circumstance, it might have felt invasive— but there was an ease to Frankie that had you spilling your life story to him so freely.

In return you asked him for more about himself. He shared about his life in Delta Force, where he had met Benny, Will and Pope, who you now know as Santiago.

His life as a helicopter pilot keeping him busy most of the time. He even felt brave enough to mention his semi recent divorce. You didn’t feel like you needed to delve deeper into his failed marriage, especially for only just meeting him.

You shared the same sentiment in working long hours and how it had you feeling overwhelmed at times, like you had less free time for yourself— mentioning you were working on trying to have more fun and go out. You shared how your former partners were always annoyed with you for being so consumed with work, the main reason you hadn’t been dating as much.

Checking and cross checking the length, you’re happy with how it’s shaping up.

“How do you normally style your hair? What are your go to products?”

He looks at you with the most sincere and confused expression, nervous to share his routine with you.

“Normally it’s just straight out of the shower, quick rubbing of the towel over it so it’s not dripping, then toss the hat on.” Pointing to the battered hat he’d worn in.

“Frankie! If there’s only one piece of advice you leave here with, please let it be that you never aggressively rub a towel over your hair again!”

He thinks he should feel embarrassed but there’s a sweetness in the way you share your knowledge with him— he will make a conscientious effort to gently pat his hair dry from now on.

“Since you mentioned you are usually throwing on your hat, it’s probably safe to assume there’s not much actual styling going on?”

“Uh, yeah… Not much styling. The least amount of steps possible is my go to method.”

“While the hat vibe is cute, I would not be doing my job if I sent you out of here wearing—”

“You think I’m cute?” He cuts you off. That dimple again making an appearance, his grin slightly laced in flirtation.

“Umm, yes.” Your face feels hot, the blow-dryer not helping much, as you try to remain calm and collected.

“Hm!”

Grabbing some product and applying a small amount to your palm, you begin to distribute it throughout his hair. .

“But I think without the hat is cute too. Easier to see all of your,” You gulp at your next admission. “Attractive features.” You giggle as you finish styling his freshly trimmed hair, each strand manipulated with such precision— the new length really does add to his handsomeness.

“You think I’m attractive too?” He says shifting in the chair, his gaze still steady on you.

“Oh wow, I’m really just letting my internal monologue run my mouth aren’t I?”

He shrugs with the slightest cock of his eyebrows in response.

“And now would be a good time for the ground to just swallow me up!” You groan, hands covering your face as you attempt to hide your embarrassment.

“You’re cute when you get all flustered.”

“So you think I’m cute now? We just going to spend the rest of the night confessing our new found feelings having only just met?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” He states so casually.

The rest of his appointment is filled with more flirtatious banter, a connection that you’re both very much aware of— yet neither of you stating the obvious

“Thank you again.” Frankie says holding a bag of products he insisted he leave with, wanting to branch out from his usual “hat vibe”’as you called it— said hat’s bill tucked into the back pocket of his already snug blue jeans.

“So… Do you want to set something up for next time?” Pulling out your schedule, hoping that Frankie likes his cut, and you, enough to return regularly. “I think 5 to 6 weeks would be a good amount of time to see you again.”

“Actually— I was hoping I could see you sooner than that.”

“Oh! Okay. When are you thinking?” Slightly confused, you start scanning over the openings you have in the coming weeks.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?? I’m not follow— Oh! Ooooh!”

“Yeah….” There’s a budding nervous energy about him as you realize what he’s asking. “There’s this sports bar around the corner— the guys and I hang out there from time to time. Anyways, they have some great appetizers and craft beer on tap… If you’re open to it, we could, um go… Unless you have other plans…”

“Yes! I’d love to Frankie.”

“Yeah?!” His face instantly beaming with excitement.

“Yeah! Just let me clean and lock up real quick, then we can head out.”

Drinks and appetizers flowed into a moonlit walk back to your car— both of you stalling out your goodbyes.

“So, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Frankie says as his hand cups your cheek, his warm gaze fixed on yours. “I hope this isn’t too soon, but would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“Yeah.. I’d like that.” Leaning into him to close the gap, fingers carding through the nape of his silky waves.

Frankie’s lips all but crash into yours, the intensity growing from your own, eager for more of him. He nips at the plumpness of your lower lip, encouraging them to part for him. His tongue slipping inside your mouth and you can taste the bitterness from his beer still lingering.

A grip is established on your hip, his hand slowly moving around to your backside eliciting a breathy moan from deep with in you as the heated kiss escalates.

Laughter from a rowdy group of bystanders reminds you both of your surroundings.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away there.” Frankie rests his forehead on yours as he tries to regain his composure, his breath fanning across your cheeks— they’re no longer cold from the frigid air.

“Well, I most certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, I look forward to you doing it again sometime.”

He places a kiss to your forehead, before exchanging goodbyes. He promises again to call tomorrow, and you’re already breathlessly excited for it.

Heater cranked up in your car, willing your body to adjust to the heat. You grab for your phone in your purse, pulling open your message app so you can send a quick text before putting the car in drive.

-Hey Benny, just wanted to thank you for setting that appointment up for Frankie. He’s a great guy! Super funny and hella charming.

-You sure we’re talking about the same Frankie?? 😉

-Funny! Anyways, I appreciate it and I’m looking forward to seeing him again!

-Oh! Hannah called, we’ve got a date next week!

-You be good to her Benny!

-Of course! No problem! Make sure you and Frankie thank me in your wedding toast 🍾🍾 Night!!

You roll your eyes at his last text before tossing your phone in to the passenger seat. The entire drive home you can’t get Frankie out of your head, wondering if he’d find you too eager to call him when you got home.

The decision made for you by the buzzing of your phone— Frankie’s name flashing on the screen.

#Frankie Morales #Frankie 'Fish' Morales #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales fluff #Frankie Morales fanfiction

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pedrospatch · 7 months ago

Text

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her.

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I’m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up.

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#fic: more hearts than mine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales drabble #frankie morales fluff #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

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luxurychristmaspudding · 2 months ago

Text

You and I | On Call

part iv

summary: frankie has one last question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, drinking. praise kink. the boys (minus tom). SMUT! fingering, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v. cum kink? creampie. frankie retains the title of pek 👑

reader is a teacher, has hair, and can be lifted by frankie (he's a big strong boy, don't worry about it) but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 10.8k

an: well, here we are gang. thank you for joining me and for all your sweet words. i've been so awful with reblogging your kindness on this little thing because of how busy i was when i wrote most of it, but i want you to know i appreciate it so much. i've loved sharing these two with you - it's been a privilege <3

shoutout to @jolapeno for helping me with the chapter name, and for very gently reminding me that 20k chapters probably should be split 😉 love you <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist

When he wakes, it’s well past twelve.

Nine hours which he imagines he probably needed, but really it puts him two hours behind.

He showers and dresses in a rush, running out the door to his truck, but still taking the time to register that your curtains have remained closed. It makes him smile, knowing you’re likely still tucked up in bed, your stories about the night before resting before they make their way to him.

He practically sprints around the supermarket, grabbing anything that even vaguely crosses his mind as something he might need. Meat, bread, salads of sorts, sauces, soft drinks, beers. He picks up your favourite dessert just in case, and then hauls the bags back to the truck, keeping a nervous eye on the time as his fingers tap against the steering wheel.

Will and Benny are already there when he gets home. Grinning, leaning against Will’s car as he pulls into the driveway.

There’s a sharp pull of joy in his chest even as Will laughs out a ‘You’re late, Fish’, pounding his back as he pulls him into a hug.

‘Can’t be late to my own fuckin’ house.’ He grumbles back, pulling Benny in in the same way.

‘Can, and you are.’ The younger man laughs.

‘Thought you might be out with your lady.’ Will teases, and Frankie flushes right to the tips of his ears.

‘She’s still asleep.’ He says without thinking, a smile pulling at his lips. It’s comical, really, the way the two men freeze and look at each other. ‘Help me with these bags, will you?’

The brothers remain unmoving, staring at him with some degree of bewilderment.

‘Still asleep?’

Frankie sighs, a little exasperated.

‘Yeah. She was out last night.’

Will’s eyes wander to Frankie’s bedroom window just as Benny’s mouth begins to form a question. The realisation dawns quickly.

‘Not in my bed,’ he scowls, ‘Next door.’

‘Oh.’

He turns his back on them, heading to his front door, arms laden with groceries. A nervous, giddy feeling swirls in his stomach.

‘Had us going for a minute there, Fish.’ Will calls after him. Frankie bites his lip against the memories of you in your living room, the desperate kisses you’ve shared since. He feels like a teenager, on the verge of spilling secrets like he’s at a sleepover.

He hums instead, flicking a glance over his shoulder to see Benny grab more stuff from the back of the truck. He grunts and grimaces under the weight, shooting a look at Frankie.

‘What do you have in here? Are we feeding the five thousand?’

Will laughs, loading his own hands with bags, tutting at his little brother.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be the athlete here?’

Benny drops one bag just to give him the finger.

‘This is my rest day, motherfucker.’

He groans again as he picks the bag back up, Frankie laughing along with Will.

‘Lift with your knees, not with your back!’ He shouts.

‘Quit telling me what to do, asshole!’ Benny hollers, the older men still chuckling as he shoulders the front door open.

Santiago arrives not too long after, setting up the last of the food - the salads out on the table, more beers in the fridge. They’ve all clocked Frankie checking his watch, checking his phone, your text that you’d be over in the next five minutes burning a fucking hole in his pocket.

He’s nervous. And they can tell.

He has the distinct impression he’s being cornered when they all turn to look at him at the same time as he fiddles with the burner on the grill. It feels ridiculous - this desire for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen him in all of his less-than-perfect moments, have never shied away. But this - today - feels different.

Pope leads the offence.

‘How’s your girl then, Fish?’

Frankie’s heart drops low in his chest before thumping hard behind his ribs, a hand coming up to try and wipe the sudden smile from his lips. He tries a gruff tone, failing miserably as soon as he speaks.

‘She’s not my girl.’

Will whistles lowly, smirking.

‘Still? We gonna have to smush you together like Barbies?’

Benny snorts, and Frankie shoots him a look which immediately makes him straighten and soften.

‘We won’t. They won’t. Scout’s honour.’

Santi takes a pull from his beer, a glint in his eye.

‘No progress at all?’ He probes.

Frankie takes a deep breath, eyes lowered to the floor before finding the deep brown of his best friend.

‘We’re… seeing each other.’ He murmurs, this time unable to hide his smile, hand scratching at the back of his head.

Silence. Quiet that puts Frankie even more on edge as he watches his friends exchange looks, as a slow smile tilts the corners of Benny’s lips.

‘Well - that’s an improvement.’ Will grins.

‘A marked improvement.’ Santi agrees.

‘So you told her how you feel?’ Benny asks, eyebrows raised.

Frankie sucks air through his teeth, clears his throat. His face grows warm, fingers twitch a little.

‘Not quite -’

Will barks a laugh.

‘Morales, you dog.’ Followed by the deep rumbles of amusement from the other two men.

‘Oh, the tried and true manoeuvre - the Catfish Canoodle.’ Benny snickers.

‘The Morales Marathon.’ Will adds, tilting his bottle to him. Pope is next, grinning lasciviously.

‘The good old Five Finger Fish Fu-’

‘Frankie?’ You call from inside the kitchen, ‘I have beers, but there’s no room in the fridge -’

You pop your head round the backdoor, beaming immediately when you catch sight of the men in the garden.

‘Oh! Hi,’ you say brightly, emerging fully. Frankie’s heart stutters. You’re wearing that sundress he remembers - hasn’t been able to forget - from when he mowed your lawn weeks ago. Gorgeous, the way it drapes over your curves, the way it lets your skin glisten in the afternoon light. He feels his shoulders drop, his whole body relax. Feels the way he goes a little weak at the knees, knows he’ll be looking lovesick in front of the boys. And he doesn’t care.

‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ you say, hopping down the porch steps towards them, ‘I wish I had a good excuse, but I just - don’t.’

Benny laughs, moving with Will and Santi to greet you. Frankie just about catches the look Santiago throws him, a sweet holy shit, brother.

‘Ah, the elusive neighbour. We were starting to think he’d made you up.’ Pope says, matching your smile. You giggle, arms outstretched as he reaches you.

‘Funny,’ you smirk, ‘I was thinking of not turning up just to prove you right.’

He laughs as he releases you, Benny sweeping you into his arms and planting a kiss on your cheek.

‘Even more beautiful than he said you were,’ he says, and Frankie watches your eyebrows shoot up as you fix him with an oh, really? look. His heart drops to his stomach, neck grinding in an effort to shake his head before a shit-eating grin splits across your face.

‘I had no idea he was so - complimentary - behind my back.’ You laugh against Will’s shoulder as he spins you around.

‘Oh, he is,’ he chuckles, placing you gently down with your back to Frankie. Frankie glowers at him half-heartedly as Will winks back, and the dark-haired man raises a finger, mouthing at him to shut - the fuck - up. ‘Feels like we’ve known you for ages.’ Will continues.

You turn, planting your hands on your hips, cocking your head at Frankie.

‘Just can’t stop talking about me, huh, Fish?’ You tease, and Frankie huffs as he pulls you in for a lingering hug, wondering if it’s too much to kiss you in front of his friends.

‘Guess not.’ He whispers into your ear.

You’re biting your lip as you pull away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders as his stall on your waist.

Will clears his throat.

‘You gonna introduce us then, Morales?’

Frankie rolls his eyes at him as he turns you around, hands at your hips, pointing a finger at each friend.

‘William Miller,’ he says, as Will pulls a face - just Will is fine - ‘Benjamin Miller,’ - Benny, please - ‘And Santiago Garcia.’

‘I’m only Santiago when I’m in trouble,’ Which is most of the time, Benny laughs. ‘Santi is much better.’

You grin as you give them your name, and Will nudges your arm with his elbow.

‘I thought we were on Bug terms.’

You laugh, batting his arm.

‘You can call me Bug if you really want to.’

Benny shrugs, squinting his baby blues at you.

‘Maybe,’ he grins, ‘But your name suits you. It’s pretty. I like it.’

Frankie rolls his eyes again, squeezing your waist against the flicker of possessiveness that rises in his gut. It’s nothing more than teasing, kindness - something they’ve almost always extended to partners welcomed into the fold. But he’s not blind - they’re a handsome group, and he wants you to himself.

‘You gotta stop that,’ you giggle, ‘Before I wanna hang out with you guys all the time.’

Will throws a gentle arm around your shoulder, leaning back to wink at Frankie.

‘Hear that, Fish?’ He chuckles, ‘She’s in.’

He groans.

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ he murmurs lowly in your ear, ‘Though we’ve got a fuckton of food.’

His heart leaps as he feels your fingers reach for his, tangling briefly before squeezing.

‘I’m stayin’,’ you promise, as Will moves around you to turn the grill on. ‘You guys put on a hell of a spread, anyway.’

From behind, Will claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, shunting the younger man forward a little.

‘That would all be Fish. Must be a special occasion.’ He smirks, and Frankie looks up to the heavens to try and stop his wish for the ground to swallow him up.

‘Sure is,’ you smile, ‘Feelin’ pretty lucky to be meeting you guys.’

‘Pleasure's all ours, kid.’ He grins.

Frankie smiles softly at you, brown eyes filled with something warm.

‘Want a drink?’ He asks.

You smack your lips, hand grabbing at your throat.

‘Please, Fish,’ you gasp, ‘I’m parched.’

The screen door has barely shut behind you before he has you backed against his kitchen counter again, stealing kisses like you’re about to get caught.

His lips are slow, sweet, hands so lazy, so indulgent in the way they hold you you’re not sure it’s really happening, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crowds you a little closer, licking into your mouth as he fists the skirt of your dress, palming at your ass. You barely manage to catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your neck, nipping at the skin there as you huff against him.

‘Good time last night?’ he breathes against your shoulder. You nod, eyes shut tight.

‘Yes,’ you gasp, ‘Really good time.’

‘Good,’ he murmurs, ‘I’m glad.’

You moan softly as he grips your hips, pulling you up against his thigh. There’s a thrill to it, knowing the boys are just outside. It makes your blood run hotter. Dangerously hot - no-turning-back hot.

‘Should get back outside. Before they wonder where we’ve gone.’

‘Don’t care,’ Frankie rasps, tugging at your dress again, ‘This fucking dress drives me insane.’

You nip at his bottom lip as his mouth meets yours again.

‘You’re driving me fucking insane,’ you gasp, lips tipping upwards, ‘In your kitchen, humping your leg like a dog in heat -’

He groans against you, forehead knocking against yours as he breathes heavily.

His eyes are almost black, palms warm and rough as they cradle your cheeks.

‘Once they leave,’ he whispers, ‘We’re spending a week in my bedroom. Or yours. I don’t care which.’

A whimper slips up your throat, mouth pressed hotly against his again as you start to count how many hours until it might be acceptable to drag him away. One hand slips from your cheek to your waist, inching up until he can squeeze at your breast, running a thumb over your nipple. You shudder, whole body ignited.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes.

‘Frankie -’

‘Hey! Lover boy,’ Pope whistles from behind the screen door. You leap apart at the sound of his footsteps on the porch. ‘Hope you’re decent in there, I’m coming in -’

Santi appears, grinning widely as he pushes his way into the kitchen. He shields the side of his face facing you with a hand. ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, ‘But we’re gonna get grilling.’

‘We’re not naked, Pope.’ Frankie says, bemused. You giggle as Santi drops his hand.

‘Thank God,’ he sighs, before fixing you with a look, ‘I’ve seen enough of this man’s ass to last me a lifetime.’

He’d hoped it would be easy, knew that they’d love you. But he’s never seen these three men take to someone the way they have you.

He smiles as you stand with Will at the grill, watches the brotherly affection develop in real time. The soft smack of your palm against the older man’s shoulder, snorts of laughter, whispered jokes and more serious stories swapped. Frankie relaxes into it more and more, gazing at you over Benny’s shoulder.

When he brings more food over to cook, Will stays stood by his side as you take his place with Benny and Santiago. The three of you huddled around the crackling firepit, hooting with laughter. He catches his own name a few times, turns to find you watching him with shining eyes as Pope and the younger Miller brother no doubt regale you with embarrassing stories from his youth. Things he hasn’t thought to tell you, things he may well have forgotten. And you fill a chair so easily, so effortlessly, it’s like you’ve always been there.

Clinks of cheersing bottles, conspiratorial shoulder bumps, lowered heads and loud exclamations and giggles. He feels like he’s in a fucking coming of age movie.

‘She’s a keeper, brother,’ Will murmurs to him over the lip of his beer bottle. He turns to him, a little surprised, but Will looks so at ease, so content with his little smile, that he knows there’s no bullshit there. ‘Fuckin’ funny. And smart as hell.’

Frankie hums, busying himself with flipping a burger. His hands are a little shaky - even after everything that’s happened over the last week, there’s still something that’s keeping him unsteady. The rock of a world turned on its axis, the deep want of willing this to work - because he loves you. So fucking much.

‘Don’t go all shy on me now, Fish.’ Will says, turning with him so his back is to you.

‘’M not.’ Frankie says, softly. Will sucks a breath through his teeth, squinting up at the sun just over the roofline of your house.

‘Do you remember what I was like when I first met Charlotte?’

Frankie looks at him - the beard, the hair pulled back, the clear blue of his eyes. He nods.

‘And the way you wound me up? How I was always looking for her, always checking for her? And at the end of the night, you asked when I was buying the ring?’

Frankie chuckles at the memory, the comment made stood at the bar with his best friend, manifesting the future he’d have. The ring that now sits on Charlotte’s finger, the wedding planned for the end of the year.

‘I do.’

Will looks back at him, teeth exposed with his smile. Teasing, full of humour, but it’s genuine, not goading.

‘When are you buying the ring, Frankie?’

Blood rushes to his head so fast he feels dizzy, so fast he has to put the tongs down. He scoffs, the way it sounds out loud so outlandish, but something pierces deep through his chest at how clearly Will sees through him.

Because he’s thought about it.

He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. There’s nothing he can say. Anything like not even my girlfriend yet would sound like a denial. But admitting it, that secret thought, even to Will, feels insane.

He’s still grinning at him.

‘I know it when I see it, Fish,’ Will continues, ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He pauses, shrugs. ‘Bring her to the wedding. She might catch the bouquet.’

He can’t move. Can’t turn to look at you, he’s sure his cheeks are burning so brightly. Can’t even twist his head when Benny calls,

‘Are you done grilling over there? We’re starving.’

He can’t stop thinking about it. Can't stop his whirring brain as the five of you eat, passing sauces and salads. Can’t stop thinking about a future, a life with you as you sit across the table from him, meeting his eye, chatting, laughing. Can’t stop the thoughts from ploughing through him as your foot catches his under the table, can hardly swallow his burger against the words lumping in his throat. Can’t stop the pounding of his heart when he catches you gazing at him halfway through a story, chin cupped in your hand, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars - can’t stop wondering whether you’ve ever pictured the same.

He’s barely snapped out of it when the plates are stacked and carried through to the kitchen, bits of salad and smudges of sauce halfway cleared up before you pile outside again, Will and Santi jostling over the chair free from the smoke of the firepit. You walk with him and Benny, the younger man listening to you talk with such interest, such fondness already, that Frankie wonders whether he’s too young to have a heart attack.

He’s only pulled from the conversation by the crack of broken furniture, the three of you stopping short and quiet as Will wheezes, sprawled on the ground atop the remnants of the coveted chair. He holds a hand up in the air, craning his neck at Frankie.

‘His fault,’ he croaks, pointing at Santi, who holds his palms up in surrender.

‘Not my fault that he’s so heavy.’

You trap a giggle between your teeth and bottom lip as Frankie and Benny start to laugh, Will scrambling to his feet with the help of Frankie’s outstretched hand.

‘Santiago.’ Benny snickers, and your bright eyes find Frankie’s.

‘Well. Now you are in trouble.’

Frankie grins, fixing Santi with a faux stern look.

‘In so much trouble you’re gonna have to sit on the floor.’ He chuckles, and Pope pouts.

‘My knees will never recover, Fish, and you know that.’

He shrugs, settling into a chair at the same time as Benny and Will. You stay standing, warring silently with yourself before you gesture to the empty seat for Santi to take.

‘It’s yours,’ you smile, nervous as you turn to Frankie. ‘Is this seat taken?’ You ask, looking pointedly at his lap.

His eyes blow wide for a second, breath caught in his chest. Unsure, for a moment, of your meaning, ready to give the chair up for you. You raise an eyebrow, palm lowering gently onto his shoulder.

‘No.’ He rasps, blissfully unaware of Will’s smirk.

‘Good.’ You say, lowering yourself onto his thighs, an arm around his shoulders, his around your back, hand at your hip. He swings your legs over his without thinking, and you settle, limbs tense at first, before shuffling a little to get comfortable.

To their credit, the boys don’t make it a thing. They continue the conversation as normal as the two of you join in, wrapped up together, crowing with laughter as your bodies vibrate against each other.

You hold each other closer as the evening wears on. Head resting against his chest, nuzzled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Laundry detergent, light scent of cologne, the warmth of his skin. His hands are broad and calloused where they cradle you, so easily - never a limb falling slack, never goosebumps that go unsoothed. He rubs his thumb against your thigh in soft semi-circles, leans his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in your shampoo.

Lets himself be warmed by the pressure of your body against his, willfully ignores his cock when it twitches hopefully as you shift. Which is hard, as you begin to shift more and more the later it gets, the hotter you burn above him. And as hard as you try, you just can’t keep still. Can’t stop trying to find relief for the ache in your core, the wetness pooling in your underwear.

He finally grips your hips against a particularly wicked wriggle, head dipping to growl in your ear.

‘Stop, baby. Please.’ And it works for a moment - only a moment - as you’re frozen by the flashbacks of him unravelling beneath you eight days ago. Eight days too long.

As though he’s read the shift in atmosphere, Will stands and stretches.

‘I’m heading in,’ he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. ‘The spare room calls.’

You stand, reluctantly, and Frankie is quick to readjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Will gives you a sweeping hug, kissing just before your ear as you say a muffled see you tomorrow into his shoulder. Frankie takes his outstretched hand, pulling him into a back-clapping embrace of sorts, and when he pulls away he’s surprised to see Benny and Pope also bidding you goodnight. He checks his watch.

It’s not even eleven.

His eyes twitch from you to the boys as he works out whether you’re heading back to yours, too.

Santi catches the look, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he whispers a do not come back into this house, pendejo. He looks over your shoulder at Benny as Will makes you giggle again, and is met with the firm waggle of a finger.

Stay, he mouths.

Fuck you, Frankie mouths back, watching their backs retreat into his house.

The backyard falls quiet, only the snap of logs in the fire, the buzzing of insects, and the rush of blood in his ears to be heard.

You turn, facing him in the dark, half your face lit by the dying embers of the fire pit.

‘Are you - are you tired?’ He asks softly, afraid of disturbing the hushed moment.

‘No,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

‘No.’

You nod, gentle smile pulling at your lips.

‘Good.’

You step towards him, slowly, like something out of a dream. Glowing in the low light, sparkling with something divine.

You cup his cheeks with both hands, press your body in a firm line against his, hoping to convey exactly what you mean through the touch. Affection, of course, love, adoration - everything you’ve been planning on giving him over the last week, but now, more pressingly - want. Pure, unadulterated want.

You tip your head to slant your mouth against his, hot, heavy, teeth clashing at the initial meeting, breath mingling, tongues licking into each others’ mouths. You tug at the back of his neck, hand buried in the soft curls there, yanking his head back a little to open his mouth up to you. You let go. Lips suckling at his tongue, teeth nibbling at the pillow of his lower lip. Further. Pecking at the scruff of his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Nipping, raising red on his skin, before soothing it with a tortuously slow lick of your tongue.

Your breathing is so heavy, hands so feverish, you lose the sense of where you end and he begins. Feel fingers scrabbling for purchase, bruising grips, on you and him. One scorching palm runs the length of your dress down to the top of your thigh, grabbing at the flesh there. You shift your stance, moaning into his mouth, finding that hand with your own, moving it closer to that burning place between your legs. Frankie follows your lead.

You press his hand up, and his knuckles graze along the sodden fabric of your panties, lips falling away from his as you whine and he groans. You’re soaked, wetter still as he runs the length of his fingers up and down the material clinging to your pussy, feeling the bite of your teeth as you try to muffle yourself against his collarbone.

He shushes you, coos at you, pressing a particularly firm stroke against your cunt that makes your legs shake as he asks you -

‘You gonna let me feel it, baby?’

You gasp against his mouth, nodding feverishly. He chuckles, slowing the pace of his kiss so he can really focus on how soft, how warm and wet you are as he pulls your panties to the side with deft fingers, slicking them up before swirling them around your clit. A stuttered breath escapes you, cutting off into a loud, unabashed moan as he slowly, slowly fucks his fingers into you. He sinks right down to the bottom knuckle, kisses forgotten as he breathes raggedly against your cheek, feeling you clench and whimper around him. He curls them slightly, and your knees practically buckle, stomach contracting, hands grasping at his shirt.

‘Frankie,’ you plead, almost losing your train of thought as he plants a kiss just behind your ear. ‘Take me to bed.’

He pumps his fingers, once, runs his thumb softly over your clit before withdrawing them altogether, mouth slanted firmly against yours, stifling your whine. You stumble a little, pulling at the collar of his shirt for him to move with you before pausing briefly, watching as he brings his fingers to his lips. He slips them deep inside, groaning around them, eyelids fluttering as he takes in the taste of you. Your breathing is heavy as he slips them from his mouth, offering them to you. You take them willingly, bobbing your head to feel how thick and heavy his fingers are on your tongue, the taste of your slick diluted with his spit making your mouth water. He stares as you flick the muscle between and around his digits, brow furrowed, eyes dark, before he retracts them. You frown at him, and he licks into your mouth with such ferocity you’re quick to forget your disappointment.

‘Yours. Now.’ He murmurs, and then you’re grinning, running. Sprinting over his lawn, hopping the fence on unsteady legs, striding towards your porch. You slam up the steps, glancing behind you only once to watch him follow you. Giddy with want, warm all over, soaking wet, you can't help but look for him.

For the first time since you moved next door, Frankie willingly hops the fence.

He catches up to you before you can get the front door open, clutching your hip, turning the handle with the other. He backs you into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him, shoes toed off blindly. There’s no reprieve from his lips, no other thought than his hands on your body, guiding you into your living room, hips bumping into furniture, deaf to the clatter of objects falling - not a single fuck given over what - one hand - whose, you’re not sure - flying out to flick a lamp on before he’s crushing you against the sofa.

Calves to the furniture, you fall, and he follows you - two hands braced either side of your head before returning to their homes on your cheek, your waist, your breasts. Palming at the flesh there, kneading, thumbing over your nipples. You’re gasping, rolling your hips in hopes you’ll catch against something, because he’s everywhere, only to come up empty every time. He lowers both hands, tongue running strongly against yours. One shifts your hips, the other pressing against your panties again.

‘Let me taste you,’ he groans, voice hoarse, ‘Please, baby. I have to - let me taste you.’

You nod fiercely, tugging on his curls again, mumbling a fuck, Frankie, yes, before he pulls away. His lips are spit-slick, swollen, cheeks flushed. Breathing haggard, eyes blown, curls frayed. He looks almost how he did a week ago.

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching again, letting the question float through the air. You nod, softly, and he begins his descent.

His lips are wet against your skin, leaving shining marks as he presses them to your clavicles, your breastbone, closing them around your covered nipples. He mouths at them, tongue dampening the fabric of your dress, warming, cooling, the fabric sticking to you in a way that makes your back arch. He works one with his fingers while his mouth is occupied, teasing them into peaks as you whimper and buck your hips beneath him. He watches you darkly, eyes heavy lidded, eyelashes almost fanned against his cheeks. And you ache. Ache so badly, so unforgivably. You can feel how wet you are - panties soaked, dampness all the way down into the cleft of your ass, smudging along the tops of your thighs. He waits until you whine again, louder, higher pitched, nails scraping in his curls, against his scalp - please Frankie, please - before he moves lower. More kisses pressed to your covered stomach, lower, lower, large hands pushing up the hem of your skirt, tracing every bit of skin they can find. He shifts on his knees to get closer as you lift your hips so he can shove your skirt all the way up, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperate look of need as he fixes his eyes to your clothed core, as you buck again at the look in his eyes, breathing heavily. His palms come together at the very tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing along the hem of your panties either side of your pussy. You huff again, hands leaving their clutch of the sofa to bury back into his curls, tugging him forwards.

He groans, deep in his throat, easily led. Presses his nose to your clothed cunt, inhales deeply, grinds the tip just against your throbbing clit. You whimper, tugging once more, and he nuzzles your bud again, mumbling something into your heat.

‘Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Frankie - if you don’t fuckin’ - touch me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna cry.’

‘I am touchin’ you,’ he growls against your hip, head tilted to look up at you. His hot breath on your skin has your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. You shake your head, frustration burning behind your eyes.

‘I want - your tongue -’ you pant, ‘Want to feel your mouth, Frankie.’

He groans, thumbs digging under the waistband of your panties to rip them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core as he reveals you - glistening, messy, wet, drooling for him. He splits his fingers into a V, spreading your lips as you keen and mewl above him.

‘You want me here?’ He rasps.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘I fucking do.’

He finds it in himself to show you mercy.

The first stroke of his tongue is strong, wide. As though he’s trying to take as much of you in as possible in the first go - licking deep and long to taste your slick, tracing the dip of your hole, ending with a final swirl around your clit. Your chest shudders, eyes squeeze shut, hands tense in his hair.

‘Okay, baby?’ He asks, so soft.

You lick your lips.

‘Yeah.’

He pushes your at knees to spread your thighs wider apart.

‘Look at me.’ He says, and you crack your eyes open to watch as he manhandles your legs onto his shoulders, tilting his head as he considers, pushing them back towards your chest in order to find the best angle to eat you from. Fuck.

He’s not gentle, and he isn’t taking his time.

The week you’ve waited, the months building up to this, do not mean you have the patience to make this last any longer than he’s already teased you for. He eats you like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything like the heaven between your legs. Long, firm strokes of his tongue, flicking at your swollen clit, watching as your head tilts forward, heavy, unable to tear your eyes from him. Chest heaving, something about the way you’re still wrapped in that fucking dress making him leak steadily in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper. He’s barely spared a thought for it so far, caught up in the way you look, the way you feel, smell, taste. He moves his grip from one of your knees to palm himself roughly, and you moan, watching him.

Your lips part, and he knows, knows that you’re going to beg him to fuck you before the words even leave your mouth. And he will.

He just needs this first.

‘You’re gonna come in my mouth,’ he rumbles, stroking your clit with his thumb, levelling you with a dark, stern stare, ‘And then we can do anything you want. Just need to taste you like this first.’

He watches the pulse of your cunt, the gush of slick that escapes you at his words. Coos at you, so pretty, baby, before leaning back in.

Closing his lips around your pearl, sucking, flicking, tracing shapes - tracing the letters of his name against you - watching as you buck and cry and moan. You’re so fucking beautiful, leaking around him, wetting his chin, his lips, his cheeks. He can only taste you, only smell you. And it’s fucking divine.

Diving in as you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling his mouth closer, reeling in the soft plush of his lips, warm wet of his tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin. He lets you use him, lets you grind against his face, winding your hips against him. He holds his mouth open, tongue lapping where he can, mumbling against your skin. Blissed out, pussy drunk.

Yes, yes, fuck. Fuck, baby - use me. Use me, just like that. Take what you need, Bug. Taste so good, feel so fucking good.

His eyes dart from your cunt to your face - this beautiful mess you’re making, the fucked out, glassy look you watch him with. Mouth dropped open, brow scrunched in ecstasy, broken little pants and moans, cries of his name. He stretches an arm, a hand above his head, kneading at your breast, pinching your nipple, the other settling above your mound, thumb pulling back the hood of your clit. You shut your eyes quickly, your shout of fuck coming loud, a yelp.

He can taste how close you are, willing you to come with his eyes when you meet his gaze. His come, baby, is muffled, but it’s all you need.

You break, back arching, breasts heaving, pussy fluttering and clamping around his tongue, heat blasting through your belly, a rush of bright white feeling pouring from you. Your hips freeze, jerk, twitch against him, and he closes his eyes briefly, worried that if he watches you ride the high the whole way through he’ll come in his fucking pants again.

Your hands loosen in his hair, letting him lick and suck dazedly until he’s content. Nose pressed against you, inhaling, tasting as you whimper, thighs tightening a little around his head at the oversensitivity, and he backs away, pressing kisses to your thighs as your ragged breathing begins to ease into a more even rhythm.

He nips at your skin as you stare at him, something flooding your chest. You feel like you’re still riding that wave, feel like no one’s ever really eaten you like that, nobody’s ever really let you use them like that.

You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the glisten of you on his lips. He tilts his head into your palm, and you smile, mouth dry.

‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ You ask. It’s a dumb fucking thing to say, but you can think of nothing else that could quite explain the light-headed awe you’re feeling. He laughs, a deep rumble, real, into your thigh.

‘It’s a gift.’ He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your belly, shifting on his knees, adjusting himself. Your eyes soften, dropping to his hand.

He sees the question in your eyes again.

He leans forward, squatting, hands moving to the crease between your thighs and ass, before he stands, bringing you with him. You mouth at his neck as he stumbles to your stairs, taking them steadily, shouldering open your bedroom door through the darkness.

He drops you where he knows the mattress, your bed will be, separating himself from you only briefly. He yanks the curtains shut as your fingers flick on a dim light - you’ll be damned if you're not watching this.

He stops before you at the edge of the bed, between your legs. You reach out, looking up at him - sharp curve of his nose, chocolate of his curls illuminated by the light, the heat of his eyes, soft clench of his jaw, rough swallow of his throat. He reaches to stroke your hair, cupping the back of your head. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and he holds your hands, loosening them so he can pull it up over his head. And then he’s all golden tan, freckles. Stupidly broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle moving beneath the skin as he discards the garment on the floor. Curls of hair over his chest, down his softening stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. The bulge straining against the denim there. You draw your hands down the lines of him, pausing only to trace the silvery mark of the scar on his abdomen. He sucks a sharp breath in at the tenderness, the intimacy, takes your fingers in his. Watches as you blink up at him, as you move to press your cheek against the heft of his cock, a kiss against his zipper. Hands making quick work of freeing him, tugging down the denim and his boxers. He steps out of them, bending only to pull his socks off, before he stills in front of you. His hard cock bobs against his stomach - you’re briefly distracted by his thighs, the delicious, smooth patches of skin where his hips meet his torso - but he is impossible to ignore. Thick, throbbing. Precum beading down the shaft, head flushed a heady, deep red, veins pulsing beneath the skin. Curved upwards, twitching beneath your gaze. You swallow thickly.

‘Holy shit.’

You don’t even realise you’d said it out loud until he laughs, a little bashful, a little proud. You look back up to him as you reach out, fingers wrapping around his base. Skin like silk, like gossamer, hot and strong. He hisses through his teeth, knees weak and hips bucking all at once. You pump once, twice, letting your breath fan over him.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, ‘Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.’

He flushes at your words, his retort dying in his throat when you wrap your lips around him, gently taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue in circles, dipping into his slit, teasing the skin on the underside. He watches, breath caught in his throat, head pounding as you dip forward, hands flat against his thighs, eyes fluttering blissfully as you take him deeper. Watches as he disappears inside your mouth, as he feels nothing but warm and wet, nothing but your tight swallow, your fluid grip at his base, the vibration of your hum, the glint in your eyes as you look up -

He retracts his hips reluctantly, sliding his cock from your throat. You try to follow, whining as you shift forward, still connected through a delicate line of spit and precum, stretching thin as he pulls you back with a firm hand in your hair. He breaks it with his fingers, letting his thumb catch the dribble of it against your chin. He offers the digit, and you obediently take it in your mouth to suck the mixture off. Your eyes are still wide, pleading. He smiles softly.

‘Not gonna last like that, baby,’ he mutters. ‘Wanna feel you this time.’

You pout, words slurred in your pleasure filled haze, eyes heavy lidded as you hold his gaze.

‘Wanna watch you come every way. Wanna make you come every way. Wanna - wanna taste it, wanna feel it, want you to cover me -’

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he grits, cock throbbing painfully at your words, head spinning. He never thought he’d hear you talk like that, cock drunk on the edge of your bed, mouth all sad without his dick in it. ‘Get this off.’ he hisses, tugging again at the hem of your dress, pulling it up as you hold up your arms. It comes easy, exposing your bare pussy, soft skin of your stomach, plush flesh of your breasts.

There's so much blood south of his brain Frankie thinks he might pass out.

He bends to kiss you, groping at your tits again, fingers swiping fleetingly between your legs to find you still soaked.

‘Perfect,’ he growls, ‘So fucking perfect.’

You whimper, backing up across your sheets. He follows, both knees dipping onto the mattress, tongue searching for yours, pecks and nips pressed to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

Your hands find purchase wherever they can, squeezing the tops of his arms, nails grazing the skin, grasping the meat of his hips, tracing the contours of his belly, squeezing and stroking his cock. A deep groan rumbles in his chest again, and he's breaking the kisses to divert and scoot back against your pillows. You crawl to him, eye contact only broken as his eyes flick over your shoulder, and he freezes, shivers. You smile wickedly, guessing at what he can see. You pause between his legs again, lowering your head to kiss at his base, cup his balls, arching your back a little more so he can really see the angle you’re exposed at in the mirror behind you.

He doesn’t know where to look. Where your mouth and hands are, teasing at his cock again, or where he can see your glistening pussy, tilted up, shining, ready.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

He reaches over, curling his body around yours to land a firm smack against your ass. You whimper at the contact, hot pant of air against his skin, eyes glassy again as he groans, watching the flesh ripple, watching the claim he has staked begin to form.

You move to kneel, coming face to face, your eyes wide, wanton, desperate.

‘Fuck me, Frankie,’ you whisper, pleading. ‘Please, fuck me -’

He shakes his head, kissing your temple.

‘Gotta get you ready first, bebita,’ he breathes, pulling you closer, moving your legs. ‘Come here for me, turn around. Come closer. Like this.’ He arranges you so you’re sat, cradled between his legs, your back to his front. He spreads your legs wide, hooks them with his ankles so you can’t close them. Runs his hands down your body, your eyes tracing his movements - every squeeze, every pinch, every circle he draws.

Your breath hitches as his hands travel lower, parting your folds again, feathering over your clit. You turn your head to speak directly into his ear.

‘Don’t tease, Morales.’ You purr. He chuckles, turning to peck at your lips.

‘I won’t, princesa.’

You cry out as he sinks two fingers inside your heat, making good on his promise. Your chin dips, but his spare hand comes up to cradle it gently, angling your head so you can watch him work you in the mirror. The two of you rendered speechless for a moment - just gasps, moans, the slick sounds of your cunt in the room. His dark eyes on yours over your shoulder, in the glass. The firm press, scissor, pulse, of his fingers inside you.

The silence is only broken by a ragged moan from you as he presses against that delicious, spongy spot tucked away inside you, and he chuckles in response.

‘Look at you, baby,’ he breathes in your ear, ‘So pretty. Been thinking about you like this all week.’

You moan as he curls his fingers at a particularly delicious angle, pressing the meat of his palm against your clit. Your hand closes around his wrist, keeping him there, pulling him away - a mix of both. The feel of him is too wonderful to be rid of, too much to take.

‘Longest fuckin’ week of my life.’ He growls, biting at your earlobe, flicking his wrist faster again, drawing a desperate cry from your lips. A pressure building, your pussy obscene in the quiet, so fucking wet, and you can hear Frankie thinking it, marvelling at how your body responds, how you leak and clench and writhe in his grip.

There’s that pressure building again, your breath heaving in your lungs, cunt getting slicker, tighter. Frankie coos in your ear, his other arm still banded around your middle. You hiccup, moan, arch your back against him.

‘Fuck,’ you murmur, ‘Fuck, close.’

He hums, tracing his nose along the fine skin of your neck.

‘Yeah?’ He says, voice cracking a little. ‘S’that good? Tell me. Tell me it’s good, baby.’

You whine again, thrashing your head against his shoulder, driving your hips down onto his fingers, pleading for more.

‘So good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie. You have no idea.’

You can feel him rutting against you - slowly - all velvet skin, wiry hair, sticky wetness. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, licking, nipping, kissing alternately, his fingers pressed deep inside you, other arm loosening around your middle, hand playing messily with your clit. His eyes in the mirror, trapping you there with him. Unashamed in their exploration of your body, greedy, watching your soaked cunt pull him in, the sopping sounds she makes as she tries to hold him there. You’re surprised at how hot it makes you feel, how wanted, how turned on. The streak of slick and sweat against your skin, Frankie's wet fingers that spread it there.

You whine again, skin burning, glistening with sweat. Tip your head back, onto his shoulder, to nip his skin impatiently between your teeth.

‘Frankie,’ you murmur, breath sweet against his ear, ‘Wanna come on your cock.’

‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Is that what you want? You want my cock?’

You moan again, louder, drunk on the feeling between your legs, his continued movement.

‘Yes.’ You hiss, as he sucks a mark onto your neck.

‘Say it. Need to hear you say it.’

‘Want your cock. Need your cock, Francisco.’

You swear you see his eyes roll into the back of his head in the glass of the mirror, and then he’s moving fast, with precision.

He eases his fingers from your pussy, gentle, not a drop of hesitation. He pushes your hips until they rise, tilting your whole body forwards until you’re on your knees, hands pressed into the mattress. You feel like jelly, so loose and warm-limbed you’re sure you could be moulded into any shape he wished.

‘Good girl,’ he mumbles, pressing hot kisses against your shoulders, down your spine. ‘Good fucking girl.’

His hands are on your hips, ready to move you, but in a second, you’re turning to face him. He’s watching you, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re here, that he’s here. You place a knee on either side of his, one hand pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, titling his head back so you can slant your mouth against his, licking between his lips as you lower yourself gently, rocking your soaked folds over his sensitive cock.

The movement knocks the air from his lungs, mouth stuttering against yours, unable to kiss you back. Feeling you on his fingers was one thing, but having you sliding against him like this is a whole nother. You giggle at him, and a whimper clears the back of his throat.

‘You okay, baby?’ You smirk, voice hoarse. He supposes it’s only fair, now you’ve got the upper hand. He lets you keep it, hands roving desperately, kneading and pulling at the flesh of your ass, mouth dipping to your nipple, letting you glide over him. Now processing how hard he is, how painfully his cock throbs.

He’s ready to be greedy, ready to find out how he fits inside you.

He pulls you up, closer, by the hips. Grips his cock firmly between your legs, swipes it between your folds, making sure to bump against your clit just to hear you whimper.

You brace your hands against his chest as you rest your leaking hole against him, the tip just breaching the tight ring of muscle. You whine, scratching fine lines into his skin.

He swallows - so handsome. Dark curls, dark eyes. Strong body, a body that feels like home, like someone who has always kept you safe, has always made you feel seen.

‘Look at me,’ he says, for the second time. You drag your eyes to him, stalling your movements. He waits until he knows your brain has caught up with your body. ‘Slowly.’

You nod, lowering yourself against the blunt head of his cock, clenching your teeth at the sweet stretch. He anchors you with one hand cupped to your cheek, the other firm at your ass, listening to your hiccuped moans, your shuddering breaths, releasing his through his teeth. You’re so warm, so wet, so tight.

And he fills you to the brim. Every inch you take a marvel, pressing against every nerve ending, every tender spot, like he was made for you. You settle when you reach his base, clit catching on the wiry hairs there, rocking slightly to feel him even better, letting your slick soak him, feeling yourself pull tight, loosen, ebb, flow.

You knock your forehead with his, finding his eyes. Bright, fiery, needy. You close the space between you, kissing him as you pant together. Feeling so full, so open, forgetting every worry, every niggling doubt. You rest your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, shaking as you lift your hips, feeling the thick glide of him, clenching, releasing, dropping back down slowly, again, listening to the squelch of him moving inside you, desperate, needy little noises leaving your mouth. It’s intoxicating - the more you move, the louder you get, the louder he gets. Deep rumbles of praise, heavy grunts, hands soothing, pinching every inch of skin they can find. You grind a little more on the downwards movement this time, keening at the scrape against that bundle of nerves again, choking on your words.

‘God.’

‘That’s it, Bu- baby.’ He groans, and a huff of amusement leaves you at the slip.

‘What, am I not Bug anymore?’

It’s breathless, your tease, not your usual gnashing comeback. He groans, teeth grazing the bud of your nipple.

‘I am not using the nickname my daughter gave you when I’m inside you.’

You giggle at the thought, body clenching a little. Frankie moans, open mouthed, eyes squeezing shut, hands grasping at you.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he gasps, ‘Holy fuck, please don’t laugh. I’ll come.’

You hum, giving in, dragging your body up and down again, smooth, slow, letting the feeling, the warmth, the pressure, the ache begin to build again. You lean back a little, one hand on his thigh, one loose on his shoulder, and the change in angle has you crying out, cursing, Frankie watching your face before his eyes fall down your body - beautiful, glistening in the orange light. The curve of your waist, the quickening bounce of your tits, and then your cunt. Watches as he disappears inside you, watches as you stretch around him, watches the glisten of your wetness down his length, where it’s tacky at the bottom, staining the two of you where you’re connected. You reach back with your other hand, moving faster, leaning back further so he can really watch you fuck yourself onto him.

Your movements grow hungrier, a little more uncoordinated; stomach tensing, mouth hanging open, cut off, broken cries of his name, feeling yourself wind tighter, spill more onto his lap. He runs a large palm down your body, thumb finding your clit, catching it, rubbing firm circles. He feels you clench for real this time, whole body shuttering at the feeling, your hand clutching his.

‘Fuck, Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Please, I’ll -’

You’re cut off as he changes his rhythm, his pressure, finding the pace that makes you moan with every breath, mouth stretching in a smile.

‘You’ll what, princesa?’

You whine, huffing, thighs burning, release so close you can almost taste it.

‘Motherfucker -’ you bite, no real venom.

‘Words, baby.’ He coos.

‘I’ll come,’ you pant, ‘Frankie - I - I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, please, gonna come, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie -’

You sob, loudly, euphoric as your orgasm shatters through you, body cramping, juddering. A gush of liquid between you, your pussy squeezing him tight, so tight -

‘Good girl, bebita, such a good fucking girl -’

And he’s flipping you, deftly, a hand protecting your skull, so you’re on your back, mind and body reeling as you continue to shudder, still calling out for him, nails carving pink half moons in his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, the angle deepening, his body pressed flush to yours.

‘Fuck,’ he snarls, ‘Feel like heaven, baby, wanna watch you come every day, every hour, all the time -’ he’s babbling, he knows he is. But he’s caught up, entranced by how you look beneath him, his thrusts sloppy already, watching your eyes roll back, your chest heave, tits bounce. Lower again, where he’s fucking into you, soaked with your release. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, gently tilting your head to make you see what he’s seeing, to watch him fuck you.

You clench painfully around him, gasping - shit, Frankie, oh my God, so good, so good - your body rallying for another, senses overwhelmed, aflame with pleasure. He clutches your thigh, hitches your legs higher up his waist. Licks at your pulse point, sucks different mark there, leaning back to take you in again.

‘Look so pretty, bebita,’ he moans, ‘All fucked out on my cock like this.’

And it’s like a switch is flicked. Frankie sees it pass through your eyes, a wicked glimmer. The way the corners of your lips twitch, even as your eyelashes flutter at the sensation of him drawing his thick cock back out of you, even as your body whirs with a second orgasm.

‘Yeah, baby?’ you coo, ‘You like how I look taking your cock?’

He can’t say anything in reply, mouth only hanging open as you start to talk again.

‘Like how I look when I’m full of you? Wanna be full of you all the time, Frankie. Wanna feel you even when you’re not inside me like this. Wanna - fuck - wanna feel you dripping out of me -’

He groans roughly, almost animalistic.

‘Don’t say that.’ He grits.

You moan at his tone, fingers twisting through his hair, mind getting hazy as you flutter around him.

‘But I want it, Francisco,’ you rasp, ‘Want you to come inside me, want you to fuck me full of you -’

He bares his teeth a little, nipping at your bottom lip. Balls drawing up, heat at the base of his spine, faster, harder -

‘You want that?’

‘Please, Frankie.’

He moans again, sees stars when he closes his eyes, as your whimpers pitch higher.

‘Gonna come,’ you whisper, ‘Come, Frankie, please, come inside me -’

You’re not sure who’s first, you’re not sure who’s louder. A shout of your name, his name, ripping through the air, you clamping down around him, the jerk of him inside you as he paints your walls with his cum, fucking it into you as long as he can, the squelch, the sensitivity drawing out your highs.

He eases when it gets too much, rolling you onto your side, keeping you full until he softens enough to slip out, kissing all over your face. You share breath, teeth knocking against each other, tongues gliding along lips, whining as you feel him begin to drip out of you.

Fingers slipping against his damp skin, pulling him close, sharing whispered secrets, tugging him closer still when he starts to harden again against your thigh.

Hours slip by, the darkness behind the curtains blooming into something like daybreak. He tastes you again, fills you again, you make sure to take him in your mouth.

And when the first birds begin to sing, you are fast asleep in each others’ arms.

His fingers are tracing your shoulder, your face pressed to his chest, murmuring conversation in the light of the morning. Sun stretching through your clumsily closed curtains, rustle of the trees outside the window, cracked open for fresh air when the scent of sex was laying heavy in the room. Legs tangled together, further entwined in your sheets.

In a moment of quiet, Frankie speaks.

‘Your picture’s fallen over.’

Twisting your head, you look to what he’s pointing out and snort, burying your face in his warm skin.

‘What?’ He asks, amusement curling the word.

You pull a face.

‘It didn’t fall over. I turned it over.’ You admit.

A beat.

‘Why?’

You rest your chin on his pectoral, taking in the crease of confusion between his brows. You lean to kiss it away, because you can, now. Because you never have to think about it without doing it again.

You squeeze your lip between your teeth.

‘It’s uh - it’s a picture of me and Dad.’

He frowns again, eyes searching your face. You exhale.

‘I didn’t… I didn't want him to - see?’

He chuckles softly, pink dusting his cheeks as he swipes a hand across his jaw, thinking, remembering.

‘I didn’t see you do that -’

‘I did it before I came over.’

You cringe a little at the confession. Silly now that it’s happened, but still.

‘Before…?’

You nod. Mhm. A smile teases at his lips, eyes lighting with mischief.

‘But we didn’t - I mean - we didn’t plan it -’

‘I know,’ you groan, hiding your face again. ‘I just had a feeling.’

Frankie snorts, squeezing your hip.

‘Good feeling, baby.’

‘Asshole.’ You giggle, nipping his skin between your teeth.

He laughs again, shifting you in his arms so he can hold you properly.

‘Good job I didn’t try anything last week, then,’ he smiles, ‘Can’t have him thinking I’m not a gentleman -’

‘Frankie, you literally came in your pants -’

He gasps in mock offence, squeezing you tighter.

‘And so did you!’

You laugh, properly, against him, chests leaping against each other. You press your lips to his neck as he presses his to your hair.

‘Hell of a first kiss, though.’ He chuckles.

He feels you tense as your heart leaps in your ribs.

One last secret.

He loosens his grip, watching you, a flicker of worry cooling his joy. You chew your lip, brow furrowing, eyes flicking from somewhere in the middle distance to meet his.

‘What, baby?’ He whispers. You inhale deeply.

‘How much do you remember from Pride?’

He grimaces, relieved at your answering smile.

‘After eleven? Not a lot.’

You hum, pulling yourself from his arms. He lets you go reluctantly, watching as you stand. Your gorgeous body - gorgeous curves, the places he’s gotten to know so well over the last few hours, the marks that have begun to bloom after his lips and teeth.

You rummage around in a dresser draw, turning to face him with a single thin, glossy strip of paper in your hands. You step back towards him, eyes catching on the way he's sprawled out before you. Golden skin, broad shoulders, one hand behind his head, bicep flexed. One leg thrown out from beneath the covers, his modesty - or what’s left of it - barely hidden by your sheets. A flash of heat moves through you. You bite your lip.

‘Do you remember the photobooth?’

‘Mhm. A little.’

You nestle back down next to him, the slip of paper still clutched to your chest. Your eyes dart to his again.

‘Our first kiss wasn’t last week.’

‘What?’

His eyes are wide, mind whirring as you hold out the paper for him to take.

A series of five shots of the two of you. Laughing, close, and then with mouths pressed together, hungry. The last one messy, still locked in a searing kiss, but he can see the drunk grins peeking through.

He exhales heavily.

‘We kissed at Pride?’ He asks, bewildered.

You nod, twisting your hands in your lap.

‘We did.’

He looks back at you, still confused. A little worried, a little disappointed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, ‘I don’t remember -’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with yours.

‘Neither did I, baby.’ You say, kissing his curls.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

You suck a breath in through your teeth, shrug.

‘You didn’t remember, and I - I panicked. Didn’t know if it was just a thing for you or, you know, a thing.’

‘Like last week?’

You nod, sombre.

‘Like last week.’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re my favourite idiot, you know that?’

You scoff, brightening.

‘Dick. I had no idea -’

‘I love you.’

The simplicity of it takes your breath away. Winds you, catches you right in the chest, battering against your heart.

His eyes are shining, and the truth of it is there. Has always been there. Somehow, you just never saw it before.

I love you.

The weeks of wanting, of worrying. Of denying, of lying awake thinking about it -

‘I love you, too.’

His eyes crease at the corners, mouth lifting, tongue peeking from between his teeth.

‘Yeah?’ He breathes.

‘Yeah.’ You whisper. He swallows.

‘Think a part of me always has.’

There’s a prickle in his throat, heat behind his eyes. He wonders when it happened for you.

Wonders whether you had him from that first glimpse from Lucia’s room, from searching for bugs in your yard. Your tenderness with his daughter, the laughter in your eyes. From those moments you curled into his side on his sofa, when he’d come home, so relieved to find you in his house.

Knows, for sure, you’d had him long before his realisation on his porch, sand still between your toes.

He clears his throat, tangling your fingers.

‘That mean I get to call you mine, now?’

You smile, eyes watery. Hey, neighbour. I’m Frankie - from across the way. His curls in the sunshine, water balloons over fences. His broad back to you as he cooked dinner, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders. His gentle hands as you cried, phone calls through kitchen windows.

‘Please.’ You whisper.

The lightness in his beam is infectious, a tear spilling over as he kisses you and kisses you. Mine. Mine. Palms skating over skin, tangled in hair, an endless moment in morning sunshine. Your heart swells impossibly, stitched together, glued together by this man in your bed. You don’t know when he did it. But he holds it now, whole, fixing something you know your Dad never wanted to break.

‘Thank you.’ You rasp against his lips, chin wobbling. He doesn't ask what for. He knows, just by the look in your eyes. He shakes his head minutely, voice thick, quiet.

‘My honour.’

He holds you close, bodies melded together. You never want to let go, the tightness in your chest easing again as he makes you laugh, as you say it again, outloud, breathless. Mine. The whispers only broken by rumbles of noise outside, voices -

Deep voices in his backyard you can hear even from here. You groan into each others’ mouths, the sound dissolving into a laugh.

‘They’ll be wanting breakfast.’ You giggle quietly.

‘They can cook,’ he mumbles against your lips, ‘I’ve got mine right here.’

He squeezes your ass, dragging your hips against his thigh. Still wet, leaking from the two of you, something heating in his chest at the thought.

You hum, not helping the case by kissing down his chest.

‘Should really say goodbye at least.’

He grunts as you nibble at his belly, neither acquiescing or disagreeing.

‘And then,’ you continue, ‘I remember something about you keeping me in bed for a week?’

You pause, looking up at him. He curls a hand around your cheek, so tender.

‘Me too.’ He whispers.

You grin as you clamber back up his body, planting a firm kiss against his lips.

‘Couple of hours,’ you promise yourself, ‘And then I have you all to myself.’

He chuckles against your lips, an eyebrow lifting, repeating your words from a week ago - a lifetime ago - back to you.

‘We’ve got the whole summer, Bug.’

You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows.

‘Plenty of time for a ride in the sky, then, too.’ You grin, nudging him.

He presses a long, sweet kiss to your mouth.

‘I’d take you to the moon if I could.’

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: on call

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pedge-page · 11 months ago

Text

Happy Hour

Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series

Frankie Morales x F!reader free-use with the triple frontier boys

Summary: Frankie loves using and abusing his free-use pass with you. He’s got no problem introducing it to the rest of the guys.

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, Cucking, free use, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral m-receiving, assisted masturbation, using beer bottles as dildos, indirect pussy eating (?), slight breeding kink, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Frankie invited the boys over for the summer kickoff Barbecue in your backyard. You spent all day preparing snacks and side dishes, setting up yard games and helping clean the pool, all the while getting praises by Frankie who found every opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you all over.

"You get enough beer for tonight?" He asks, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing kisses over your shoulder.

"Yup. I almost cleared out the shelf. You boys gonna have a good time, I’ll take care of everything else.” You lay your hand over top his which were caressing your lower tummy affectionately.

With how busy things had been getting recently, you wanted Frankie to get together with his friends again. He had thrown you such a wonderful girls night-in when you had your girl friends over last month, so making sure he and his buds were well taken care of tonight was your top priority.

“I think you'll have some fun too."

Frankie continues to nip at your exposed skin, his hand drafting up to the exposure of your off-shoulder frilly blouse, tugging it down with one finger. "Frankie, stop, I'm still cooking."

He ignores you, slipping his hand inside the elastic band and palming your breast, his hips pinning yours to the counter as he rubbed his hard-on against your ass. "Gonna do everything I ask of you tonight, aren't you?" His breathes huskily into your ear.

You remained tight lipped, unsure of what he had planned tonight, but having some ideas as to the sexual acts he'll want to get away with. You felt heat pool in your lower stomach at the idea of fucking in the powder room while the boys were outside, or having him finger you under the table while they ate. He's been pushing his free-use license further and further, making you simultaneously nervous and excited at how far he intends to use you for his pleasure.

"They'll...be here... any minute..." you whine, your body caving in to his touches as you breathe heavier. You feel his fat fingers dip below your naval, through the lining of your skirt and down your panties, fingering your clit softly to work your arousal.

"Nothing they haven't seen before, baby mamma," he groans. He removed his hand from between your thighs, bringing its stickiness up to dance on your lips. Your mouth happily parts at the intrusion and suck your arousal from his digits. He lifts your skirt above your hips, splaying your panty-clad ass on display, his lips never leaving your neck or cheek.

"Not a baby mamma yet, that's your job to make happen remember?" You smile, turning your head to lock your lips together. You feel a tap on your thigh and lift your leg to aid in his removal of your panties. He stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm keeping these, need you nice and wet for us tonight."

The doorbell rings, and Frankie backs away from you abruptly, leaving you wide eyed, back now cold. The faint breeze from the open window whistling under your skirt and between your damp, exposed pussy. "Us?"

- - - -

Frankie greets each of the guys with a long awaited hug as they enter your home together. You tried to act like you're not dripping between your thighs as you kiss and cautiously hug each of them. It was Benny who scooped you up in his arms and twirled you around, your skirt lifting enough to show the lower half of your bare ass.

Santi bit his lip at the sight. “Keeping Fish good company I hope?” He asks as Benny set you down with a fat kiss to your cheek.

You hastily bring your skirt lower, tugging it down. “It’s been pretty smooth sailing since the wedding, hasn’t it?”

Frankie's hand skims the back of your rear, hand lifting your skirt back up over the side of your thigh, pulling you in to him like a little prize, fully well knowing everyone got a good look at you. “It’s been more than great,” he says. You could help but blush at the way he beamed at you with adoration. "Beer anyone?"

They pile into the backyard, sorting through the cooler of assorted bottles and cans while you sift through the kitchen drawers for an opener. You could overhear indistinguishable chatter from the group, their occasional glances back towards you in the house.

"Found it!" You call out, skipping out to the yard. "Let me," you offer, grabbing each beer from their hand and popping off the lid.

"Sweet of you, baby, thank you." Frankie kisses the side of your head. Then his voice changes an octave lower, whispering lowly into your ear: "Go sit on the chair right there and put your heels on the seat."

You shiver, pulling away to stare back at him incredulously. His face told you he wasn't playing, that this was the first of many things he'd be asking of you tonight. You gulp and did as he said, settling uncomfortably in the plastic lawn chair and bringing your knees up to your chest, desperate to keep your ankles together and closed so everyone couldn't see right your bare pussy behind your ankles.

Frankie leans next to you, bottle in hand. "Don't be shy. Spread 'em."

Your face felt hot red as Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie eyes bore down on your anxious figure. You muster up your courage and boldly spread your legs wide, skirt falling from your thighs entirely to your hip, glittering cunt now open wide for the entire backyard.

Benny whistles lowly. "Never gonna get tired of that pretty view. Damn. Lucky bastard.”

Frankie grimaces proudly, his hand cupping your jaw affectionately like a pet. "Keep 'em spread for us, okay babygirl?"

You nod, clit twitching at his praise, not even noticing when he hitches the rim of his bottle at your entrance. Your brows furrow, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful brown eyes as he pushed the bottles neck into your pussy, your arousal making it easy for the object to slide right through.

"Holy fuck," Will coughs, watching the way you cunt greedily swallows the tip with ease.

Frankie thrusts it in a bit, making you stutter your breaths with the increased fullness pressing inside, hands fisting the chair's armrests. He was coating the bottle and its contents inside with your juices, fucking you like it was a toy. He notices the resistance when your walls squeezed around its neck, smirking to himself, knowing you were comfortable and enjoying this with him.

Too soon, he slips it out of you, your hips slightly canter forward to chase the object that was just buried inside you. You felt empty, needy, denied.

Frankie smirks at your helpless state ad he brought the beer to his lips and titled back, chugging the new flavor of alcohol. "Tastes better like that," he says, licking his lips clean of your taste.

----

Frankie watches as you eagerly spread your legs further, leaning back in your chair with confidence so that your cunt hangs out in the open off the edge as each of the guys line up to coat their drinks in your pussy. The way your breath quickens, with each intrusion, how you lick your lips and look down at the sight of it disappearing into you, the mix of gentleness and roughness that came with each boy’s individuality—it drove him crazy how much you let him do this.

Santi rubs your cheek soothingly, very passionately fucking his bottle into you while never breaking your eye contact. You giggle along with him, rocking your hips with his steady thrusts until he pulls out and takes a long sip.

Will is far more gentle, rubbing the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb. He nudges your pearly clit with the rip, only swirling the top at the most shallow base of your walls. He likes the way you whine, wanting more, but his hand on your thigh is quick to keep you in your place. He slips the edge of the bottle along your folds to gather your dripping juices before retreat, giving you a little wink.

Benny dropsy to his knees, excited to have you so open for him.

“Be nice, Ben. That’s my wife you got there,” Frankie warns.

Benny rolls his eyes, pouting as his visible excitement tones down. You cup his face, knowing Frankie’s threat is a load of BS. “Don’t worry, Benny, you have your taste the way you like it.” You spread your legs even further, ankles now dangling over the arm rest, the cool breeze of the backyard swooshing through your folds.

Benny pushes his beer in as far as he can, making you gasp. You grab his shoulder to steady yourself as you rock your hips back and forth, letting his hands remain where it is while you fucked your exposed pussy on the neck of the bottle. He rams further inside, the body of the bottle beginning to stretch your cunt.

Benny’s eyes were wide, unsure if he wanted to watch your facial expressions or the scene between your legs. After a few more playful dips, he pulls out, immediately mouthing around the bottle and suckling every drop of your juices around the neck, with little interest of the actual liquid in the bottle.

The boys spend the evening standing around the grill, all taking turns to use you like a glorified bottle opener. Frankie keeps your panties tucked in the back of his pockets the entire time. He occasionally checks in on your reactions, making sure you’re still laughing and accepting their actions.

They came back after each sip, some taking extra care to fuck you with the bottle, hoping to get you to cum, other times just to get a fresh coating. Frankie watches your expressions each time, the way your jaw hangs open slightly, biting your tongue, quiet moans making their way to his ears. And each time, he forces the boys to stop, leaving your clenching around nothing, frustrated but wet beyond belief. He wanted you dripping, needy all night so they could get the most out of your gushing cunt.

At one point, you had to get up to serve their food, making them all sit around the rounded patio table and dishing their plates one at a time. Frankie helps place the portions on each plate as you take it to the table before sitting down himself. His hand runs up along your smooth thigh, skirt lifting with his wrist as he inches high and higher, before squeezing your ass possessively, looking up at you. You pinch his nose and move around the table, making sure all the guys have filled drinks.

You didn’t have your own “seat” at the table, instead going around to each of the guy’s laps and eating bits off their plate. While they ate with one hand, the other held a bottle, thrusting in and out of your spread thighs over their leg.

You currently had your arm draped over Will’s shoulder, spread open next to the table as he bounced you in his lap, his bottle nudging the sweet spot inside you. He split his attention evenly between Frankie and you.

The copious amount of alcohol in everyone’s system, including Frankie’s, made the rules of your use a little more lax. That—and they were all so pussy drunk off your juices mingling on their tongues, they couldn’t keep their hands off you.

You kissed along Will’s cheek, nipping his jawline and tracing patterns on his throat with your tongue as he fucked you on his beer. His languid thrusts making you feel hazy. The man had an exceptional talent at knowing the exact pace and pristine jolts to hold you on edge forever. He gave you soft smiles with sincere eye contact that made you flutter. “You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers in your ear.

Santi was a little cheekier, eagerly pulling you down on his lap. He taps the inside of your thigh, urging you to spread fast so he could get his drink between your legs. “This cunt is still so tight, hermosa. Frankie Papi not taking care of you enough?” he asks brow raising with a challenge towards Fish. Before you can deny him, he blows hot breath against your ear before biting the lobe, making you squeal quietly as he quickly thrusts his 11th bottle of the night into your waiting heat. He continues to dot his lips against your skin, nipping your collar bone. You can see Frankie’s eyes narrow on you two but he doesn’t say anything, letting his conversation with Will continue. His aligns his head perfectly over your top, peering down at your tits. He groans softly at the little jiggles of your supply mounds with each little thrust in to you.

You look over to Benny, who’s got no care to Will and Frankie’s convo and is instead anxiously bouncing his leg, dying to get you on him for his turn.

“Oop, I gotta take care of the baby boy,” you say quietly into Santi’s ear. He pouts briefly, rubs your clit with his thumb under the table so no one else can see. You bite your lips, wide eyed but aroused. He eventually lets you up.

Benny grabs your waist with strong hands and lifts you on to his muscular thigh.

“Eager?” You tease. You rub your hand over his strong abs and chest, grabbing his beef for him and putting right along your folds, waiting patiently for him to take charge. He doesn’t. “Want you to do it for me,” he says, smirking. You kiss his cheek and notch the beer into your cunt, moaning wantonly right in his ear. He shivers with arousal, bouncing the knee you’re perched on, the bottle neck slipping deeper inside you. His hand gropes your ass cheek, keeping you upright on him while his other arm feeds himself potato salad. he makes a poor attempt to shovel it in his mouth, dropping bits of it along your chest and down your tits.

“Making a mess on my girl, Benny,” Frankie chuckles.

Benny shrugs. Conveniently left with no more free hands, he dips his mouth down to your chest and licks a long stripe along the skin, slurping up the remnants of sticky food on you. You tilt back and laugh drunkly, fisting the bottle and shoving deep inside your cunt, panting breathlessly as your other hand messily rubs his blonde curls like a dog.

You suddenly glance back at Frankie, who is shaking his head at you in disapproval. Not from one of his buds eating food off your tit, but from your less than sneaky trial of trying to finally make yourself cum on the bottle. You pout, draw the neck out of your messy cunt, feeling your little nub twitch with remote. You’re making a big show of innocent eyes at your husband who’s been simultaneously ensuring you are both taken care of and neglected all night.

Frankie raises his hand and curls his finger at you in a come hither motion. You slide off of Benny’s lap guiltily, striding over to him in the sexiest walk you could muster. Chatter had died down as all eyes rested on you standing over Frankie.

He stares up at you, rolling your skirt over your ass so everyone could see. He presses a soft kiss to your throbbing clit, tasting a mixture of your sweet juices and the different brands and flavors of beer that have been inside you all night. You whine, trying not to flinch too hard at how desperate you need him to make you cum.

He pats your ass assertively. “You been good tonight so far.”

The power he possesses over you was something to behold: despite standing over him, and looking down upon him, his voice and eyes carried such a dominant force against you that it was clear to everyone else how much you not only submit to him, but how much you like doing so.

“Everyone else getting taken care of real good except me. That doesn’t seem right, does it, Querida?”

You shake your head. You knew the drill, knew the devious look in his eyes. His darkened expression points down to the ground only once.

Without missing a beat, you sink down to your knees on the grass, delicate hands immediately rubbings along his sturdy thighs in his khakis until you came upon the bulge in his pants. You rub your palm over, pressing your face to it, feeling the scratchiness of the material roll against your cheek. You give it a chaste kiss before unbuckling his belt and pulling the zipper down, freeing his erect cock.

When you finally push his tip past your tight lips, Frankie sighs relief before starting up the group’s conversation again. The boys shifted in their seats with their evident respective bulges pressing uncomfortably between their legs. They tried to respond respectfully to Fish, occasionally darting glances at you between his legs, working his length in and out of your skilled mouth. The little sucking noises from you interrupted his speech but he made no show of acknowledging you while you sucked his fat cock deep into your throat.

You could hear little coughs and grunts from the others, none of which sounded perturbed. They were all entranced by you, your obedience, submission to Frankie. Santi “dropped” his fork below the table, hunching over to get a good look at you with his mouth agape at the sight: resting back on your haunches, your glistening pussy dripping into the grass as you bobbed your head, hands resting on his knees to keep you from taking it all and choking on it.

He licks his lips and sits up, worried he took too long. Frankie catches his eye and mouths Does she look good?

Santi nods energetically.

Fish smirks, taking the opportunity to push the back of your head further onto his cock, making you gag loudly in surprise. Benny and Will’s voices go quiet as Frankie starts slowly forcing his cock deeper in your mouth, making you more verbal in your choking. When he releases the pressure, you pull up so that just the tip is suctioned between your lips, moaning obscenely. Your eyes are closed in bliss, taking him back down and returning your rhythmic bobbing.

After a few minutes, Frankie’s breaths are coming out short. He’s having a hard time paying attention to what the guys were saying. Just between the two of you, he gently caresses your jaw, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You stare up at him, slightly teary eyed but full of lust and obsession. “My perfect little whore of a wife,” he mumbles affectionately. “Get up here and make me proud.”

You giddily climb to your feet and throw one leg over his strong thighs, sighing loudly as you straddling him. The texture of his pants feels heavenly against your neglected clit, rubbings your slick folds along his thighs with an arched back, ass peaking out for the boys to once again get a nice show.

Frankie taps your ass again, making you sit upright. He positions the swollen red tip of his member at your wet entrance. You sink down, taking his cock entirely in one motion. The hot, fat pressure of his cock stretching you fuller, deeper than any of the beer bottles could ever reach immediately has your eyes rolling, moaning out loud like a fucking whore as your body shakes, squeezing his dick tightly while your first powerful orgasm of the night washes over you.

He holds you tight as you spasm through it. “Oh shit—she just came,” Frankie laughs.

“Oh fuck. Didn’t even have to fuck that delicious cunt.”

“That’s hot, Fish. She was so desperate for it.”

“Fuck I’m jealous. I want me a wife like that.”

You continue to gently hump him, their praises falling deaf to your ear. His large, strong body felt good to relax in, putting your weight on top of him with no care as you chase your pleasure Hips swaying of their own accord as you whimper through the aftershocks, arms thrown wrapped over his shoulders.

He strokes your back soothingly. He wants you to settle from your much needed orgasm first. Frankie sits back a little bit, letting you lean forward. The guys are practically standing over the table, desperate to see the space where their friend’s well endowed cock is joined to his wife’s tight and pretty cunt.

He has the audacity to ask the guys if they’d seen the game this past Sunday, resuming their conversation as you continue to pickup pace. You roll your hips along his length, the delicious drag of his cock sliding in and out of you leaving you dumb on him, face pressed tight against his collar while he talks casually over your shoulder.

When Frankie starts to clench the meat of your hips and pull you down on his length a little harder, neither he nor anyone else at the table cares to talk anymore. He makes sure to fist your skirt over your waist as he drills his meaty girth up into you. They all stare, unblinking, at some point all having whipped their stiff cocks out and stroking furiously.

Frankie gets lost in your tight heat. You couldn’t care about the fact that the boys were jerking off to you and their best friend fucking—your focus was entirely on making your husband spill his sperm deep inside you.

The squelching sound of your pussy slapping down and your breathy moans can only be heard in your private backyard among your closets guests. He can feel the dampness seeping into his pants, darkening the fabric with each splatsplatsplat of your ass slamming down on his thighs.

“Did I tell ya’ll? We’re trying to get pregnant,” Frankie boasts proudly. He doesn’t stop the way his hips canter up overly excited to share that detail, hitting that spongy spot he had been purposely avoiding all night. A surprised yell escapes your lips, tightening around him in a vice grip. Soon after, you’re both cumming together, releasing long drawn out satisfied groans into each other’s open mouths as your sweet pussy milks him, the pulses of his member filling your womb with his milky seed.

The rest of the boys cum hardly a second later, pumping their veiny cocks furiously at the sight of Frankie’s pearly spend dripping from where the two of you are still connected. Through gritted teeth, they wring out the last dribbles of their cum before everyone is sitting back, panting hard, softened and relieved dicks resting against their full bellies.

- - - -

Notes: I just wanna say don’t fuck yourself with objects that aren’t specifically designed for sex, especially foods or alcohol, because you know… infections. That should be a given.

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