#frankie morales hurt

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

Trying

bbf!Frankie Morales x F!Reader ficlet

playlist

masterlist

based off 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. summary: Family friend Frankie Morales coming home for good gets the news of the death of his childhood and military best friend. He sees how broken the girl who he always thought as a little sister and tries to bring her back to herself.

wc: 4.5K

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, brother's best friend, OC BROTHER, talk about addiction and suicide, mention of killing in the military, alcohol, drugs, survivor guilt!, sibling loss, grief, reader calls Frankie 'Frank' a lot, mutual pining, mention of disordered eating due to alcohol, vomit, a lot of crying, PTSD, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, kissing, smut, mental health decline due to grief, frankie becoming a real man, parents, quiet love

The Morales family was your family's first friend when your parents moved out to the suburbs of Florida. You were just born and your big brother, Ethan was merely 3 years old. Frankie met his best friend at a young age. You were always around them, playing soldiers or playing on the gaming console. Frankie was always the one to make sure you were involved since it was just you and your brother. His kindness made you develop a crush on him.

Your parents thought it was cute that you had a crush on Frankie, it just showed how well his parents raised him. As you got older, the crush became something more but you would deny ever having a crush on him because he was another brother to you. Always so bad at lying. 

You fell hard for Frankie when he showed up to your graduation with your brother since they had joined the military together.

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't show up to yours since you showed up to mine, bebita" Frankie jokes while you sit in the backyard together looking at the stars hiding away from your family at your graduation party.

"I think I wouldn't be able to survive today if you weren't here, Frank," You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask, Frankie looks at you and nods.

"Keep Ethan alive and yourself too," Your words rattled in his brain every single day of deployment. 

Frankie felt his heart try to crawl out of his chest when you looked at him that night. He had to keep his promise. He didn't want to let you down, he kept wondering why was he doing this. He kept such a big promise that could blow up in his face. He wanted nothing more than to keep you smiling and not worrying about what goes on when they leave the country again. When Frankie left your life once again. 

You wrote letters to Ethan and Frankie, but letters stopped returning when your brother was medically discharged and Frankie was in the Delta force. You felt relieved that your brother was home but still filled with anxiety not ever hearing from Frankie. His parents seemed fine and content with hearing so little from Frankie. They knew that on a random Wednesday night, Frankie would call and ask to hear about home. Hearing about Ethan is once again in rehab in the psych ward. You graduated college and now working for a large marketing company and you still haven't found a husband. Always the dramatics with them. 

A couple more years of radio silence gets interrupted when Ethan takes his life. You moved back home with your parents. Frankie comes home for the final time and he's there to stay. Your family and you shut out the world for months, trying to process the death of a son, of a brother. You were completely torn apart and had nothing left in you. Nearing 30 and having to be the adult while your parents grieve over the loss of their firstborn. Your emotions are being pushed aside. 

The silence was officially over when you walked out of the liquor store with a bottle of whiskey and almost dropped it when you bumped into a man entering the store.

"I'm so sorry-Frank?" Your blood ran cold and your body froze when Frankie's gaze met yours. His hair is grown out, facial hair all over but patchy in some spots, the beard graying at his sideburns but his hair still a dark brown curling over his beloved cap.

"Bebita!" Frankie shakes his head and does a double-take.

"How are-"

"Ethan is dead,"

"you?" Your and Frankie's words overlap and both of you stop talking for a second. 

Frankie felt the wind knocked out of him as he stared at you. Your eyes are just dead and not sparkling like they usually are. Your face breaking out from not caring about self-care, your hair thrown up in a ponytail, your cheeks a bit hallow, heavy under eye bags from crying and not sleeping. Grief has become you. You feel like you walk around with half of your identity gone. A part of you is dead. 

"I-I'm sorry for your loss," Frankie comes to and could feel the tears threatening to escape his eyes. You saw how the news broke him, the change in his face, his eyes fell dull. You thought you drained the life out of him. Guilty. Plaguing everyone you talk to.

"Frank...don't shut down like that," You touch his arm, both of you still standing in the doorway. 

"You lost him too," you sniffled not realizing you had been crying since the moment you looked into Frankie's eyes. He drops his head down and quickly wipes his tears with the sleeve of that tan jacket he's had forever.

"How did he?"

"Overdosed...purposely," You said it like it was so normal, always trying to stay strong even around those whom you can be vulnerable with.

A deep 'excuse me' comes up behind you, Frankie takes your hand and pulls out of the liquor store and to his truck. A swing of the passenger door and Frankie helps you into the cab of the truck. He quickly runs to the driver's side and gets in. 

You could hear Frankie breathing heavily and deeply. You watched him fist the steering wheel and a sob breaks from his lips. You slide along the bench and softly rub his back.

"I should be the one comforting you, bebita," Frankie leans back and takes your hand off of him, intertwining your fingers with his. Your heart rate kicked up, something you haven't felt in years since the last time you saw Frankie.

"Frank, he's childhood best friend, a family friend, you grew up with him, don't minimize your relationship with him-"

"I failed you..."

Frankie cuts you off, your forehead scrunched in confusion and you look at him.

"I tried so hard to keep him from ever doing drugs...I tried so hard but what's fucked up is that he only started because he found my stash of coke...I tried!" Frankie wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You knew what was happening overseas Ethan didn't sugarcoat anything when he would tell you things.

You know of the people he's killed, that Frankie has killed, how drugs were quite accessible in other countries.

"Frank...his addiction was not your fault. Not his fault either." You never saw Ethan as his addiction, you always looked at him like the little boy you grew up with.

You were the only person who didn't blame his addiction for the way he led his life. You were always there to get him to help, going through the many detoxes, the many nights of him doped out and pissing himself, but it drained you, you can only help so much. That is the harsh truth, you can only help those who want the help to get clean and stay clean. 

"I was stupid and in my 20s thinking, I could stop anytime...I did but he kept going..." Frankie continued to spit out whatever came to his mind. Not thinking about what came out of his mouth.

"You asked me to do one thing...to keep Ethan and myself alive..." Frankie could still your words from that night. You remembered what he was talking about, your heart fluttered at the fact that he did keep his word. Frankie did it just for you. 

"That was selfish for me to ask...life doesn't like to play in anyone's favor," You laughed at how naive you used to be. How you painted Frankie as this strong and self-assured military man, your soldier, the knight in shining armor.

"It wasn't selfish," Frankie tucks the piece of hair that refused to join the ponytail. You wanted to melt into his touch, how his touch feels different. It was charged. Magnetic to your skin.

"You should hate me..." Frankie's voice cracks, You never thought you see the day that Frankie cries. He was always so stoic. 

"I don't. No one does. Because it's not your fault." Your tone made Frankie tense up, your honeyed voice was turned to ice. You didn't want someone else to feel any guilt. You already take on so much of it, you might as well take it all on. Frankie cleared his throat and saw how your eyes were still soft.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Frank...come by the house tomorrow...I miss you," You softly whisper, you wrapped your arms around his right arm and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt his head nod in response. You sat up and kissed the tears staining Frankie's cheek. His body shudders when your lips graze his skin. 

"Noon, I'll make us lunch and we can talk with my parents." You forced a smile while you gathered your purse and the whiskey bottle for the night. 

-

You drove home and thought you were selfish for grieving in front of Frankie who just got the news about the person who truly knew who he was. You parked the car in the driveway that getting overcrowded by the weeds that Ethan has taken care of since your father has gotten older with you.

Another thing to add to the list of many things you have to do before moving back to the city, get a landscaper. You reached for the bottle and opened it. You bring the whiskey to your lips and let the burning amber liquid sit on your tongue before you open the door and spit it out on the asphalt then bile comes up and burns your throat. Your nose running from crying and vomiting all over the ground like you were 8 years old again and getting extreme motion sickness. 

You walk into the tomb of your childhood and the living room TV playing some infomercial, your parents still having cable whilst having almost every streaming service. Your mom is asleep on the recliner seat of the couch, your father in his big recliner that was the perfect size for him,

You would always sit in it with Ethan on Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating the bowl of Lucky Charms that opened poorly and you both know your mom is going scold for opening the box of cereal wrong. Working as a team to get the bowls down from the cabinets and helping to pour the milk so it doesn't spill all over the countertops. 

You search for the remote and click off the TV then walk to your old bedroom that only had a full-size bed, walls decorated with movie posters, pictures of friends, and your old vanity mirror that had a Polaroid of you standing between Frankie and Ethan at your graduation. You picked the picture to study it again for the thousandth time.

Frankie and Ethan dressed in their ceremony uniforms, you remembered your breathing taken away seeing Frankie in uniform for the first time, thinking 'It's true, everyone loves a man in uniform'. You felt your face twitch noticing how you were smiling at how Frankie's clean-shaven look was the awkward stage he never went through as a teenager. 

The smile on his face was everything, just a smirk curling up the left side of his face. You thought it was so boyish and charming. You sat the picture down and went to the bathroom to wash out your mouth before falling asleep. A dreamless sleep beside flashes of memories of you and Ethan as little kids. The flashbacks are always when you are both kids never as teenagers or young adults. 

-

You wake up with your heart racing, shot up in bed with your hand on your chest panicking more over the fast heartbeat. You glanced at your phone and it was 6 am. You're wide awake and you can hear your father's snore downstairs. The door to your room is pushed wide open and your eyes land on the furball of a culprit.

Ethan's cat 'Prince', because Ethan said he is royalty and should be treated as such. The cat sits at the foot of your bed with a mouse made from an old army shirt that Ethan wore all the time you special ordered for the cat because of how sick he got when Ethan passed away. You thought if you could help a cat process grief you could forget about yours. Always running from it, but grief and love to loom around corners you don't turn down often. 

The cat drops the mouse for you on the bed and walks out of the bedroom. He thinks you can't feed yourself. You laughed in your head but started to think about the last meal you ate that wasn't on a drunken binged that would puke out your guts an hour later. You stuff towels at the bottom of the door to muffle your cries and gags. Stuffing the towels at the bottom of the door that isn't to keep the smoke from weed you had in high school. 

You get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to feed Prince. As you prepared his lavish breakfast your body and mind were instantly drained. You needed to shower and start to clean this house before Frankie arrived, that meant getting my parents up and about. You had no energy to do anything for yourself, if it's not for Ethan why even do it? 

You sat in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before you started cleaning up the whole house as if Frankie was going to be in every single room. Your parents left for the store to buy lunch and dinner for the weekend at 10 AM meaning they won't be back until 11. Your sweat drips down your forehead and goes into your eyes making them sting. Your ears roar with blood rushing to your head, clenching your jaw and not breathing.

Your fingernails were bleeding while you scrubbed the bathroom sink. You yelp as the cleaning product gets between your nails, and you scold yourself for not putting on the rubber gloves. You started to cough when you took too deep of breath. Quickly turning on the water to wash away the cleaner from the sink and your skin. The tips of your fingers slightly burned, you could feel the tenderness. 

A small fit of laughter came from the hallway, you wiped your hands on the sweats you had put on to clean in. You entered the living room and saw Frankie sitting with your parents in the dining room adjacent. You gazed at the clock on the cable box, at 12:15 p.m. Did you blackout while cleaning?

"Mama, Frankie is here..." Your mother sees you with bloodshot eyes and sweating all over your face and body. Frankie turns around in his chair and looks at the mess you become. You could feel your face get even hotter as he gave you his stupid smile but it was strained a bit maybe forced. 

Frankie looked at you and saw how wrecked you were. His heart could feel tendrils of the beating muscle tear apart when he finally saw you completely exposed by emotion.

"I'll be back, I need to clean up," You mumbled wiping away the sweat mix with tears off your face and heading to the shower. Turning it all the way to icy cold water comes out, and chilling your entire body. You looked up at the running water practically washing your eyes out. 

You pull yourself away from the shower and put yourself back together. You walked back downstairs in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, your hair wet and pulled back into a ponytail. Frankie saw how fresh-faced you looked. He could still your baby face in your drained adult face. Your eyes are still always so wide and big making him swim in the chocolate waves. You took a seat across from Frankie while your parents rambled on about what they were making for lunch. You adverted your gaze from Frankie. You were embarrassed about how he's seen your grief. 

"I showed up and no one answered the door, I went around back and saw that the backdoor was wide open and the cat was meowing. I was worried that something happened to you. I followed the damn cat and saw you heaving over the bathroom sink. I called your name several times. Your parents came home and they were happy to see me and I lied to them and said you let me in while you finished cleaning,"

Frankie whispers after he turns to look to see if your parents were out of earshot. Frankie reached across the table to hold your hand. But you flinched as your tender fingers touched his calloused hands. You winced while he examined your hand. 

"I blackout too when I start a task. End up always overdoing it." Frankie says, softly holding your hand, trying to somehow heal you, skin to skin. You nodded not knowing what to say because you don't trust your voice to sound like you've been crying. "I'm trying to pick up everything and put it back together," You cleared your voice still laced with uneven breaths. 

Lunch was served with a Long Island iced tea and talking about Ethan. Laughing with tears in your eyes. Your parents retire to their bedroom not hungry enough for dinner, just proud that they ate at least lunch. You and Frankie went to your bedroom, he loved how it was still set in the past with a mix of your office set up to work from home. "I never thought I would ever be allowed in here," Frankie said picking up a stack of CDs from the 90s and a mix of early 2000s. 

You giggled thinking back on how the 'no boys allowed' sign made a big impression on Frankie.

"You are an exception," You continued to watch Frankie look at your room, he made note of the different movie posters and even an HBO show poster, 'Band of Brothers' Ethan's favorite show.

"Has that always been the case, Bebita?" Frankie smirks at you, moving the bed and sliding next to you. The tension in the air hit the air when you could feel Frankie's body heat radiating off his body. The sun was just setting and the natural light hit the light pink walls giving the room a romantic hue. 

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

"I know you used to have a crush on me,"

"Jesus Frank-"

"I thought it was adorable." Frankie chuckles, sitting up against the headboard to wrap his arms around you. The feeling of his sturdy body against yours made your skin hot and break out in goosebumps.

"I thought you were cute but you know best friend's sister is off limits," Frankie sighed, thinking about when you entered high school and he was just barely a junior. You grew up overnight to him. You started to really put time into your appearance. To Frankie, you just highlighted your beauty. But Ethan told Frankie when they started middle school that his sister was off limits. 

But now here you are both adults, both have jobs, and both secretly in love with each other. Was the rule only when you were all horny teenagers?

"Are you saying you had a crush on me too, Frankie?" When his name fell off your lips it made him forget the looming grief over the both of you.

"Never stopped," Frankie was being bold, life is too short to not say anything after years of wasting time. You looked up at Frankie and couldn't believe anything he was saying. Was it just to make you feel better since you know your brother is dead? 

"Nooo...that's not true Frank," Deny, deny, deny. How could he ever love you? There's nothing left in you anymore.

"Bebita, why do you think I stuck up for you when we were kids? Because I needed to protect you and care for you because I've loved you for a long time," Frankie cups your face, and his thumb runs across your bottom lip. You swear you were on cloud 9, the warmth of your love for him and his love for you radiating through the lightest touch.

"Frank I think that you have been feeling a lot of emotions the past day. I'll let you say whatever you want and not hold it against you." You wanted to believe him. You know he's being truthful. 

"I meant what I said, I want us to try, try to be there for each other," Frankie rests his forehead against yours, his finger brushing through your hair. It was nice to be held. Especially with Frankie.

"I'm trying," You sobbed out, fisting Frankies t-shirt and pulling him closer to your body. His words opened the floodgates and you couldn't stop the tears overflowing from the waterline. Frankie lays down holds your head to his chest and lets you cry. 

-

Frankie came to your house every single after that. He started to do yard work with your father, you would bring something to drink and eat. The funeral happened after months of arguing with the VA about where Ethan could lay to rest. Your parents wanted him at the family plot but the VA said he had to be buried at the fort, that it was clearly stated in his will when he joined the army, so everything would be simple and easy, and not anyone would spend a dime but the government it's money.

Your parents started to go back to their normal lives enjoying retirement. You and Frankie started to see each other every Friday night, going out for dinner and getting tipsy. You would go home with him and spend the weekend at his apartment, enjoying living without your parents walking around. 

The first hookup was when he came over to work on the mow the lawn for your parents since they were going to be out of town. You had completely forgotten about Frankie coming over when you walked out the backdoor in just a thong and t-shirt letting the cat out for the day. He was opening the shed in the backyard when he heard you murmur 'Oh my god' and quickly turned on your heels and ran upstairs. Frankie blushed deeply not remembering what he was doing for a second. 

You tried to pretend that Frankie didn't see you half-naked until he was at your bedroom door, rushing you and pinning you against the mattress. His lips hungrily locking with your soft lips. His mustache and beard rub against your soft skin. Tasting the lemonade you had made for him to go with his lunch. 

"You're just too pretty, bebita," Frankie grunts as you bucked your hips to grind against his growing bulge. You loved how your clothed cunt rub against the denim jeans.

"Frankieeee, t-touch me, please," the sweetest whine left your lips, Frankie looks down your chest, he pushed the shirt up toward your collarbone to admire your plump perky breasts and how they swayed with each grind of your hips.

Frankie propped himself next to you and traced the outline of your body, not missing caressing your breast, and lightly tracing your nipples making them harden. You were whimpering at the teasing touch. Frankie pushes aside the thong and dips his finger down your folds to your entrance. 

"So wet, is that all for me, sweetheart?" Frankie deepens his voice an octave. You nodded and bit your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

"Words, bebita" Frankie purs, you gasped as his fingers slide inside your cunt and curling them, hitting the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

"F-fuck, yes Frankie! All for youu" You cry out as his thumb rolls your clit while fucking his finger into you, curling them every few thrusts. Your pussy clenches tightly around his digits.

"I-i'm closeee" you whimpered, Frankie lowers his head and takes in a nipple into his mouth, first licking it then sucking as hard as he could. His mouth on your body and his hands doing magic on your wet cunt. 

You felt your release gush out of you and coat his hand. Your moans were coming out without any hesitation.

"Fuck me, Frankie," your hands undo his belt and going straight towards the zipper and doing the button very last. You dip under the waistband of his briefs. Your hand cups his hard cock and strokes him until he is fully hard.

Frankie rolls on top of you pushing down his jeans and underwear just enough to free himself then kicks off the rest of the jeans while you pull off his shirt. He pins your hands above your head as he thrusts into you in one go. You screamed out the pleasure that you got from the stinging stretch of his thick hard cock sliding along your velvet walls. Frankie moans in your ears as he drops his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how wet and warm you feel around him. Taking him so perfectly. 

"You feel so good, babyy," Frankie bottoms out and grinds into you, his cock hitting your cervix.

"So big, Frankie, fuck you feel so fucking good," You gritted through your teeth when Frankie bends you in half and drilling into your aching pussy.

"I-I need you! I need you!" Frankie chants, and you could see the tears falling down his face, and you couldn't help but cry yourself. You wanted Frankie to feel whole. He's always been the one. Took care of you when you hit rock bottom with grief. He helped bathe you and helped you brush your teeth and brushed your hair when you dried your hair. Getting you dressed every day. 

You didn't put up a fight. You needed him. He needs you. You're falling in love.

"I'm yours! Ah-all yours, Frank," You grunted as his harsh thrust became harder when you proclaimed that you are his. You fell into the pillowy high of orgasm number 2.

"All mine, and I am yours, amor" Frankie moans as he flips you on your stomach, hiking your hips just enough for his cock to fuck your aching hole.

"I love you, Frankie!" You cry out as another wave of bliss warms your body down to your toes.

"I love you, bebita!" Frankie gives the same passion back, while he paints your walls with his load. Your eyes rolled back from being so full with his cock and his cum dripping out of you and making your thighs sticky. 

You both lay there, touching each other, exploring each other bodies. Years of messing around to make up for. Allowing grief to bring you to your person. You can't be mad anymore because now to you life is worth living again. Frankie had the world around you make sense again. 

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back To You - Part 2

Part Two - Run Boy Run

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4143

Masterlist

Read Part One Here

Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: Part two is here!! I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! PS, there is a missing scene here and if anyone figures out what it is and sends me an ask, I will post it :)

23 years ago

The grass was soft beneath you, your body laying against Frankie’s in the field. You’d found the spot the night before, just a few hundred feet from your family’s campsite. The glow of the fire showed over Frankie’s features, highlighting his cheekbones and nose. 

You were sitting quietly together, admiring the stars above you that you couldn’t see in the heart of civilization. Frankie had been explaining the various constellations to you, but he’d gone quiet a few minutes ago, basking in the calm atmosphere. 

But you couldn’t stay quiet for long. 

“If we got married, we’d be together forever.” You looked over at Frankie, tearing your eyes from the stars in the sky above. 

Frankie laughed a little, turning his head toward you. “Girasol, we can’t get married. We’re too young.”

“In Mexico we could,” you grinned mischievously at him. “In Mexico, you’re a legal adult already.” You scooted closer to him on the grass, leaning into his touch.

Frankie shook his head at you. “You’re 13. We’re not getting married, and we’re definitely not going to Mexico any time soon.” He paused, wrapping his arms around you. “Besides, you’ll find someone much better than me, someone your age, and you’ll forget all about me.”

You huffed. “Well I guess we’ll have to wait until I’m in college then. And don’t say that about yourself, Francisco. There’s no one out there better than you…Except Santiago maybe.” You smirked against his chest.

Frankie pinched your side, making you squirm under his touch. “Those are fighting words, hermosa.” 

“Well Santiago said he would be my first kiss if you ever…wait how did he say it…” you paused, trying to remember his words. “Oh yeah, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Sunflower. If Frankie won’t get off his ass and kiss you, I’ll do it myself.’” 

Almost immediately, Frankie had you rolled underneath him, his body pinning you into the grass. His face was close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“Are you sure about this,” he mumbled. 

You pushed your hands into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. “More sure than anything I’ve ever done in my life.”

Frankie slowly closed the distance between you, brushing his lips against yours cautiously. As he pulled away, you groaned. “Frankie, kiss me.”

He chuckled, complying with more confidence than before. His lips met yours, and you held him there for a long moment, hands still wrapped in his hair. 

When he pulled away again, his eyes opened to your smile, bright and full of love. “I love you, girasol.”

“And I love you, Francisco,” you replied, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Now

Halfway through dinner at your favorite restaurant, Santiago laid it on you. He set the folder in front of you gently, Frankie having stepped away to the bathroom. 

“I’m taking the guys on a mission, on Thursday. It’s a three day trip to Colombia, a recon mission to gather some intel.” You gripped the table, anger already flashing on your face as he spoke. “No live fire, I promise.”

“How dare you,” you whispered, shoving the folder back into his hands. “You come here, under false pretenses, and tell me on WEDNESDAY? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve seen how broken he is! You do this without him. Don’t you dare take him with you, he can’t handle it.”

“Fish is a big boy, he can handle it. And besides, I need a pilot and he said yes.” Santi crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against his chair. 

Angry tears pooled in your eyes, your appetite gone. “God, the only person you care about is yourself. I can’t believe this.” You scoffed, eyes falling on Frankie as he walked back to the table. 

He could see the anger on your face, the tears threatening to spill. Santi had done it, told you everything. Your eyes softened as you looked at him, but disappointment corroded your expression. 

“When were you going to tell me?” You asked as he slid into the chair next to you. “Tonight? Tomorrow morning as you crawled out of my bed? Or were you just going to leave a note and not wake me?”

Frankie hung his head at your words, hands rubbing up and down his thighs anxiously. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he whispered. 

“Okay,” you nodded, going silent. The only other time you spoke at the restaurant was to ask for a box and the check, which you paid without protest from either of the men. Everyone sat quietly, unsure of what to say. 

Frankie’s anxiety was through the roof. There was a ringing in his ears he couldn’t shake, his socks were suddenly too tight on his feet, and he could barely get a breath in. He thought he would be alright once he got outside and got to breathe in fresh air.

He became dizzier as he walked behind you and Santi, chest heaving. He couldn’t feel his legs, stumbling on nothing as he went. He tugged on the top buttons of his shirt, pulling them open. 

Somehow he made it to the truck, Breath ragged. He grabbed the side mirror tightly, trying to stabilize himself. His eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on making sure his legs didn’t give out. 

Suddenly, your hand was on his abdomen, body flush against his. “Frankie, hey,” you said softly. “Take a deep breath, in through your nose and out your mouth.” 

He shook his head at you, chest still heaving. “C-can’t,” he muttered. 

“You can, baby. One breath for me, we’ll do it together.” You took a deep breath at the same time, nodding encouragingly at him. “That’s it, now again.”

Santi watched silently from the rear end of the truck as you helped him, eyebrows furrowed. He’d heard you say something about Frankie’s panic attacks earlier in his visit, but he never took it seriously. Yet here he was, watching you coax Frankie from the most intense panic attack he had ever seen. Had this happened before and he never noticed?

You took hold of one of Frankie’s hands and squeezed tightly. “Okay, baby. What’s the first thing you do when you get in the cockpit?”

Frankie took a shaky breath, squeezing your hand back. “S-Seatbelt.”

“Good, good. Then what?” Your other hand moved to his back then, rubbing circles into the taut muscles. 

“H-headset.” You nodded, encouraging him to continue. After a few minutes of his recitation of pilot protocols, Frankie’s breathing improved, his grip on your hand looser and less intense. 

He dug his keys out of his pocket after a few more moments and handed them to you. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drive right now,” he whispered, head resting on the glass of the driver’s door. 

His hat sat backwards on his head - something he hated doing and nearly always teased Ben about - the glass cool against his skin. 

“Okay, baby. Let’s get you in the back seat, yeah?” You unlocked the doors and helped him up and into the truck before you turned to Pope and tossed the keys at him. “Drive. See what you did?” You didn’t spare him a second glance before you climbed into the truck and shut the door behind you. 

—

Once you got Frankie settled in bed and promised to return soon with some water, you marched into the living room in search of Pope. He was sitting silently on your couch, readying himself for bed. He could hear you coming, preparing himself for the worst. 

You opened your mouth before you even rounded the corner of the couch. “Do you really think he can handle going into the jungle right now? Huh? This is a fucking joke, Santiago. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

The older man sighed, shaking his head at you. “How often does this happen?”

“The panic attacks?” He nodded. “They haven’t been that intense in a couple of months. He used to get two or three a day, especially at the beginning.” When he gave you a confused look, you continued. “As he was getting sober, the panic attacks were worse. They’ve gotten better over time, but they’re still going to happen. Benny has them too, sometimes.”

“And you think he’ll have another one while we’re down there,” Santi offered, running a hand through his hair.

“I know he will, especially after tonight. He needs rest, not a combat zone. It’ll take days to recover from this, let alone the consequences of not taking his medication while he’s gone. You didn’t think of anyone else when you planned this; it’s clear as day. Frankie is going to pay the consequences of your dumbass actions, Santiago. And I’m not going to be in the jungle to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart.”

You turned your back on him and headed to the kitchen before he could respond, filling a glass of water before you returned to your bedroom as quietly as you could.

Frankie was sitting up in bed, a pillow behind his back. He was in deep concentration on his phone, likely playing one of those color sorting games you had downloaded for him a few weeks previous. You set the glass of water on the side table and climbed into bed next to him, sliding an arm between his back and the pillow.

“Hi,” you said softly. “How come you’re not laying down?” You pressed your cheek into his bicep, eyes watching his phone as he sorted the colors.

“I owe you an explanation and I uh, I didn’t want to fall asleep without talking to you.” 

You nodded against his skin, sighing lightly. “I appreciate that.” 

Frankie set his phone down then, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he gathered his thoughts. “Pope is paying us 17 thousand just to go down and make a plan. It’s…it’s a lot of money and I want to give it to you for your student loans…” He trailed off, not making eye contact with you.

“Oh Frankie,” you frowned, sitting up to look at him properly. 

“I want to do something good for you, after everything you’ve done for me. I know it’s stupid, reckless even. But, this is the only skill I can use right now. Who knows when I’ll get my license back, if I ever will.” He paused, eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started speaking. “I have to do this, for me.”

You nodded after a moment, soaking in the words. Your eyes stared at the bedding on your lap, processing everything he had said. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. The fact that you hadn’t screamed at him was a good sign, but he wasn’t counting it out just yet.

“Can you just…” You hesitated, taking a shaky breath. “Come back in one piece, please.” You grabbed his hand then, squeezing tightly. When you wouldn’t meet his eyes, he hooked a thumb under your chin and tilted your head upwards to face him. 

“I’m coming back to you, promise.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into his chest. 

You enveloped him in your own arms, resting your head flush against his chest so you could hear his heartbeat. Frankie was always so warm, a furnace of comfort and kindness. You relaxed in his hold, barely feeling his hand as he rubbed circles into your lower back. Your eyes closed, a soft hum coming from your lips as you relaxed. 

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled in your ear, words rumbling his chest as he spoke. His presence was soothing, lulling you toward an irresistible sleep. 

When you awoke several hours later, the other side of the bed was cold, a sliver of light cascading through the slightly ajar bathroom door. You sat up slowly, inching your way out of bed when Frankie dropped something in the bathroom and cursed. The bang made you jump, but it was Frankie’s string of profanities that had you laughing as you walked.

“Frankie?” You called out softly, pushing the door open further. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he looked over at you from under his hat, the bill pulled low over his eyes. He was already dressed to leave, boots tightly tied to his feet, backpack resting on the top of the toilet. 

“No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?” You walked over to him as he flicked his wrist to check the time, watching as he grimaced. “Too early.”

You nodded slightly, hand coming up to rest on his chest. “Do you have everything you need?”

He rested his hand over yours, nodding. “I think so. Pope didn’t really give us a packing list, but I did my best. I have to leave my wallet here, and my phone. Use my card to get groceries on Sunday, okay?”

You gave him a small smile, nodding. “Okay, if you insist.”

“The uh…the pin is your birthday…in case you need that…” Frankie trailed off, crimson blush moving up his neck and into his cheeks. 

“That’s-“ your skin heated in return, eyes falling to your feet. “Frankie…” 

“Listen, when we get back-” Pope’s car horn suddenly rang out, cutting off Frankie’s thoughts. He sighed, shaking his head. “I told that asshole not to wake you.” Hesitantly, he pulled away from your warmth and grabbed his backpack, slinging it onto his shoulder. 

You followed him out to the front door, grabbing his hand as he leaned forward for the door handle. “Wait,” you started. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, uh…” he paused, turning to face you. “I was just saying that we should do something fun..” I’m in love with you. “When we get back, just the two of us. Maybe a camping trip, like when we were kids.” Marry me.

“Okay,” you smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.” You stood up on your tip toes then and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then another to the patch in his beard on the right side. “Come back to me, soldier.” 

Frankie pressed a kiss of his own to your forehead, hand squeezing yours. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Day three without Girasol

Frankie couldn’t sleep. He tried, he really had, but the minute they stepped foot in Colombia the nightmares came with a vengeance. The sheets on the hotel bed were scratchy, irritating his skin and making him increasingly uncomfortable each night. 

He vaguely remembered he was supposed to share a room with Pope, but at the end of the first day it was Benny who slept in the bed next to his, who woke him from his nightmares each night. 

“Sunny asked me to look after you,” he had whispered that first night as he helped Fish into the shower. 

But three days in, Frankie was even worse for wear. Seeing the kids at Lorea’s house set him on edge, making him more irritable than he already was.

You had warned him about the withdrawal symptoms of his medication, how he might feel dizzy, irritable, or extremely anxious. He couldn’t tell if his anxiety was heightened from the environment, the lack of your presence, or from his lack of medication but he couldn’t shake the feeling. It was as if he had a brick pressing down on his chest as he breathed, another one added each day they remained in the jungle. 

Day five without Girasol

Every time he closed his eyes, Frankie saw the crash. He still felt it in his bones, body aching as he moved, a headache clouding his senses. He was sure he had a concussion on top of his withdrawal and dehydration. 

He longed for a shower, for your arms. Frankie didn’t care about the money at this point, his only objective was making it back to you. He had Pope’s $17,000 and that was enough for him. 

He could hear your voice in his head, scolding him for this reckless mission but worried sick about him. You’d pull him into your arms, cradling him against you for hours. 

He would kiss you, savoring the moment for as long as he could. He hoped you would kiss him back, say yes when he asked you for your hand. 

He’d pull you to the shower with him, lathering each other in that lavender soap you love so much. 

He’d take you to bed then. Lay you out on the mattress, legs spread open for him. He’d tease you for a few minutes, placing kisses up and down your body. You’d squirm in anticipation, begging him to touch you. 

He’d do it then, when you’re a begging and writhing mess under him. He’d-

“Fish!” Benny kicked his leg gently, pulling him from his thoughts. “You good?”

Frankie blinked a few times, nodding slightly. “Yeah just…yeah.”

Day eight without Girasol

The first panic attack happened on the boat twenty minutes after they’d gotten settled. He tried to hide it from the other men at first, keeping his eyes down, body turned away from them. But Benny saw right through the charade.

Somehow he ended up on the floor in the other room. He could barely register Benny in front of him on the floor, certainly couldn’t hear his voice with the ringing in his ears. 

Benny had his hands on Frankie’s knees, trying to get his attention. Frankie was looking at him, but he wasn’t seeing him. When he couldn’t get him to budge on pilot protocols, Benny tried something different. 

“Fish, when is Sunny’s birthday?” 

Frankie blinked, chest heaving. He opened his mouth a few times, but eventually he choked out, “J-July 9th.”

Benny smiled, nodding. “That’s right. What’s her address?”

Frankie took a little longer with that answer, his breath still heavy though the ringing in his ears was slowly going away. Benny asked for your phone number next, followed by other details only Frankie and close friends would have known. 

“When we get to our hotel tomorrow, I want you to call her. You got it?” Benny said, his hand squeezing Frankie’s gently. 

Frankie nodded slightly, finally looking Benny in the eye. 

After that, Benny offered him a bottle of water and found an old blanket to wrap around his friend. He helped Frankie settle onto a makeshift cot and sat there until he had successfully fallen asleep. Benny kept watch all night, fighting off his own sleep to keep Frankie safe until he could see you again.

Will came to check on them a few times, but Pope avoided the room until they arrived on the coast of Mexico the next morning. 

Benny stayed close to Frankie until he was settled in his own hotel room. He promised to take a short nap and then go with Fish to get some fresh clothes and toiletries, leaving the older man to his own devices.

He thought about calling you, like Benny had suggested, but the idea terrified him. 

Would you pick up? Would you want to hear from him? What would you think of the things he’d done?

No. He would avoid the phone. 

He wanted to shower but he didn’t have any clean clothes, so that was out. 

His next idea was to sleep, but he knew the demons from his nightmares would claw at him, making him more restless than he already was. 

What Frankie really wanted was coke. The thought ached in him, rising closer to the surface each additional second he thought about it. He had some cash in his pack, a couple thousand maybe. All he needed was a gram or two, just to get him through the rest of the trip. 

Before he could think twice, he grabbed his room key and stuffed some bills in his pants pocket, heading out the door. 

But just as he reached the elevator, Will called out to him from down the hall. “Fish? You good?”

Frankie turned, seeing the concern on the man’s face. He knew exactly what Frankie was about to do. 

“Yeah, just hungry. Do you want anything?” He pressed the down button, hoping the elevator would arrive as quickly as possible.

“Mind if I join you? I could use some fresh air.” Will jogged over and followed Frankie into the arriving elevator. The two men stood quietly as they descended, the air thick between them.

As they exited, Will grabbed Frankie’s shoulder lightly, but firm, and gave him a stern look. “That’s not one that you come back from, Fish. We’re almost home. You can do this.”

Frankie ducked his head, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. “I..I know that, objectively.”

“What do you need? Tell me how I can help, brother.” 

Frankie looked at him then, knowing Will saw the ghosts in his expression. He needed to forget.

Will nodded gently. “Well, let’s get you ready to see your girl, yeah? Lunch first, then clothes and showers. And then I’m going to sit there while you call her.”

Frankie gave the man a small smile and nodded, letting Will take the lead on lunch. 

——

“Hello?” You held the phone up to your ear, using your other hand to place the bookmark in your book and toss it aside.

Frankie sighed over the line, mumbling “Thank god you picked up.”

“Frankie,” you let out a breath you hadn’t known your were holding. “Where are you? Are you okay? How are the others?”

“I’m, uh. I’m in Mexico City right now. We’re all okay. I just… I needed to hear your voice.” 

“What happened?” You crawled your way out of your bed, grabbing your laptop from your desk in the living room. You opened it immediately, searching for flights to Mexico City.

“It was bad. Too bad. You…you don’t want to know.” Frankie sighed over the line. You imagined he probably kept running his hand through his hair. 

“I’m coming to get you, okay? Do you need anything? Clean clothes?” You clicked buy on the ticket you’d found for that evening, running back to the bedroom to pack some clothes. 

“Cariño you don’t-“

You cut Frankie off. “Too late, I already booked my ticket. Meet at the airport at 11. Now, tell me what you need.”

—

With only a backpack and your passport, you hiked it to the airport as quickly as you could, catching the last flight of the evening. You’d packed three outfits, a few shirts of Frankie’s, toiletries, and all of his medication. He’d been off of it for too long.

You tried to read a book during the five and a half hour flight, but you couldn’t concentrate on the words. Then you tried to watch a movie, but that didn’t work either. You couldn’t think about anything except Frankie. 

Was he hurt? Was he sleeping? How many panic attacks had he had?

When the flight finally landed, your own anxiety skyrocketed. Would he want to see you? What if he didn’t come to the airport? 

Security and customs were a blur, your thoughts clouding every step. You passed a few bars as you walked toward baggage claim and considered stopping. God knows you could use some liquid courage. You kept going though, eager to find Frankie and make sure he was okay.

You reached the top of the escalator down to the luggage carousels and it was then that you saw him.

You caught Frankie’s eye automatically, a smile immediately covering your face. He looked different, younger almost. He’d shaved his beard, which he hadn’t done in years. His hat was missing too, his hair loose and curling around his ears. 

You pushed past everyone in front of you and ran down the moving stairs, determined to reach him

You hit the bottom of the escalator and went running, dropping your backpack as you jumped into his arms. Frankie wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you off the ground as you curled your legs around his waist. 

You breathed in his scent, a mix of hotel soap and whatever cologne he had picked up during his outing with Will. 

You pulled back slightly, hands gravitating to his jaw. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him then, hands moving into his hair as he met your lips with equal force. It felt like coming up for air, a feeling you’d been chasing for months since he had moved into your apartment. 

When you finally pulled away for a breath, you took a good look at him. His pupils were blown, lips bruised from your urgency. He smiled at you, nudging your nose with his own. 

“Frankie,” you whispered, lips just inches from your own.

“Yeah?” 

“Take me to bed, soldier.”

TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5 @fckinel @aruthlessblackthorn @angelseye @angstylittlepascal @bitchwitch1981 @spookyxsam

[penvisions]

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

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

Hemmy's Recommendation List - Master List

Hi! I am Hemmy and live in a delusional world where I am the female companion to Frankie Morales, Joel Miller and Javier Peña. The amazing banner by the incredible @proxima-writes @pr0ximamidnight; mid-banners and dividers by @cafekitsune

This is my first-ever recommendation list and I am trying to figure out the best format.

These are fics that I have read and enjoyed. I am sure there are many more out there that I have yet to discover. If you have any suggestions, please comment so we can all add them to our 'to be read' lists.

Self-plug: if you need a beta reader or want help with Spanish for the ones who write Javi P and Frankie, hit me up!

More self-plug:

Disclaimer:

These creators are putting out content for free and do not have to cater to your personal preferences or expectations of how this or that character should be written.

You are not forced to read through it. Feel free to abandon a series or one-shot halfway through if it is not working for you.

If a creator has not explicitly asked for feedback for their work, keep your opinion to yourself. If they are open to feedback, mind your fucking manners.

Heed warnings and tags, if you don't like soft!Javi, don't read anything with that tag. It is THAT simple. Apply that logic to everything else that is not to your taste.

Warnings and tags on each fic. Read at your discretion. You are responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales Javier Peña - Part 1 Javier Peña - Part 2 Joel Miller

TAG LIST  @astoryisaloveaffair @atinylittlepain @autumnleaves1991-blog @beecastle @bellofthemeadow @blueeyesatnight @brighttears  @bubbles-for-all-of-us  @chloeangelic @chronically-ghosted @creedslove @criticallyacclaimedstranger @dancingtotuyo @danniburgh @darkroastjoel  @devilmademewriteit  @diversemediums  @djarinbabysnotes  @dolly-on-the-dotted-line @eideticallys  @fhatbhabie  @firsttimewriter92 @forever-rogue  @frannyzooey  @freshlyrage  @fuckyeahdindjarin  @furious-rogue-stuff  @gnpwdrnwhiskey  @goodwithcheese  @gracie7209  @gracieispunk  @groguspicklejar @hellishjoel @hiscyarika  @iamdesibell  @iamskyereads  @itsjustsemantics  @jake-g-lockley  @javierpena-inatacvest  @javiscigarette  @jawabear  @jedifarmerr @joelmillers-whore  @joels-darlin  @jokersfangirl84  @justagalwhowrites 

[grogusmum]

A quick little Pedro Boy Hurt/Comforty type compilation for you! 💚

Swept Away (selkie Ezra)

Medicinal Purposes (Frankie smut)

comfort fic request with Frankie

comfort fic request with Javi P

hurt/comfort fic request with Din and Grogu

[boxdyeblonde]

the way that the past few days ive been finding fics that sound super good that have smut in them and j just save the link for later bc i need my hurt/comfort + no smut rn for the emotional well-being of myself (even tho it’ll probably make me sadder at first)

so if yall know any good hurt/comfort fics that have little to no smut (or with smut ill just save it for later lol) let me know!!!

[romanarose]

Take Your Time Masterlist

Beautiful moodboard by my dearest @welcometostayingawake thank you for always supporting this universe <3

Frankie Morales x Fem!OC (Jana Fernandez) Summary: 6 months into sobriety, Frankie is still struggling, and understandably so. After a near-relapse, he calls Jana, his ex-girlfriend and the mother of his daughter for help when he hurts himself. Ridden with guilt, Frankie tries to push everyone away by picking fights and not answering calls, convinced he is a grenade doomed to hurt anyone in his proximity. Can Jana work with the guys to get through to him? Can Jana convince him he in worthy of her love, and the unconditional adoration of their daughter?

General Warnings for whole fic, heed individual chapter warnings: Addiction, self-harm, self-hatred, drinking, smut

Unknown number of chapters at this point but:

Chapter 1: Francisco calls Jana late one night, trying not to relapse. She comes to him, finding him in a deeper emergency than she anticipated.

Chapter 2: The next day, Jana and Frankie deal with the fall out of the night before, and Frankie begins spiraling.

Chapter 3: Frankie gives up, but those around him don’t.

Chapter 4: Frankie talks to Rosie, apologizing for not being the dad he wanted to be; flashbacks to Frankie leaving for Colombia.

Chapter 5: All flashbacks to periods of time in Frankie and Jana’s relationship; meeting, Frankie’s relationship with Jana’s family, and finding out they were having a baby.

Chapter 6: Jana and Frankie decide the time is right.

Bonus Chapter: Learning to let go

Chapter 7: Frankie feels insecure, but Jana is always there for him. Laci and Santi take a big step

Takes place after Leather and Lace, but not at all necessary to read before this one.

Spotify playlist

OC'S

Jana Fernandez: Frankie's "lady" he referred to in the movie. Jana and Frankie met in the Army during Jana's brief stint to pay for college, where Santiago introduced them. Jana comes from a loving family, and doesn't take shit; including from Santi. Her and Frankie fell into addiction, but Jana got sober shortly before becoming pregnant with her and Frankie's baby, Rosie. Jana is someone who will always call others out on their behavior (often Santi) but is a powerful ally to have, and a loyal friend. This is shown by the fact despite breaking up, Jana has always remained on Frankie's side. Jana has thick, curly hair, medium dark skin, and is, in Santiago's words ''only half an inch taller" than him, hence her calling him ''Santito". Frankie absolutely has had to measure them. Multiple times.

Fatima Rosa-Maria Morales Fernandez (Rosie, Rose, Rosa): Named after Santi's sister, a surrogate mother to Frankie, who died of an overdose, Rosie is the 2-year-old child of Frankie and Jana. She's starting to talk, her favorite words are mama and daddy (and shit, but that's Uncle Benny's fault). Rosie adores her aunts and uncles, and is damn near spoiled by her godfather, Santi, and both Miller brothers. Santi's girlfriend, Laci, often watches Rosie if Jana and Frankie are both busy, and the two bonded immediately when Laci came into the guy's lives. Rosie's hair takes very much after her maternal grandfather and is very thick and dark. She is a giggly and happy baby, and the light of her mother and father's eyes. Frankie wants, more than anything, to protect his Rosa from himself and his past.

Lacina Dumas (Laci): Santiago's girlfriend, who he is absolutely head over heals in love with. The pair are a frequent source of groans from the guys, being disgustingly in love. She is besties with Benny Miller, but has become friends with Jana, and is part of the reason Jana has been seeing more of Frankie these days. Laci comes from a very traumatic background, which you can read about (as well as her and Santi's journey of love) in Leather and Lace, which is why Santi is so protective of her. Laci is emotionally fragile, and prone to not talking, or having non-verbal episodes if her anxiety is high enough. Outside of where she volunteers, she needs to have someone who trusts with her out in public. She had medium, straight, blonde hair, and is very petite and short. Laci is a gentle soul. She has battled addiction in her previous life, so she's been a support to Frankie during this time.

Alice McCartney: Benny's girlfriend, introduced in chapter 6. Alice had long, wavy, sandy brown hair, and struggles to fit into the group's dynamic, as well as understanding everyone. Alice is suspicious of Laci, and makes a bad first impression on Jana, making things difficult from the get-go. Alice is curious and has no filter, saying what she thinks and asking the many questions she has.

Any and all art, collages, anything like that that any of you make will go here, as if anyone write's stories within this universe!

Hope you all enjoy!!

[nonbinairyboi]

I don’t have any followers, but how would the world felt if I processed some trauma and current issues through writing some Pedro pascal character fanfiction?

Also nonbinary original characters?

[emlee81]

Frankie Morales-For Old Time's Sake

****

You and Frankie used to be super close. But then, you both went your separate ways.

Now he's back and decides to look you up. You're happy to see him again, but aren't sure that you want to get back together again.

Swearing and innuendo, although not much. And some angust.

....................

"Catfish?" You blink in surprise. You don't believe your eyes. Yet, here he is Francisco Frankie Morales, standing there, in front of you, a shy grin on his face.

"Hey, Y/N," Frankie says, looking somewhat shy. "I'm back in town. I thought I'd check up on you."

You shake yourself and immediately jump into his arms and Frankie laughs as he hugs you close. You give him a kiss on the cheek before he returns you to the floor.

"Come in. Oh my gosh! 'Fish, it's been too damn long. I don't even know how long."

"Years," Frankie says. He folds his arms around himself, as though he's almost trying...to protect himself from... what? You?

"Would you like a beer?" You ask, bustling into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge, to grab out two beers.

You turn, handing one to Frankie, who accepts it and twists the cap off and downing most of the bottle.

"Thanks. What've you been up to?" You head for the couch and plop down, Frankie following.

"Not a hell of a lot," you reply. "Work, work and more work. What about you? What brings you back?"

"I gotta new job, flying supplies to the island."

"I thought I heard you'd lost your pilot's license?" You raise your eyebrows at him. Frankie just shrugs.

"You.. seeing anyone?"

"What'd you care?"

"Just wondering."

"I'm not. Are you?" Frankie shakes his head and finished his beer. You pose to stand, asking if he'd like another one.

"Yeah. Thanks." You walk into the kitchen, your mind racing in circles. You think the real reason that Frankie's back here is because... he's not over you.

You want to think that you're over him. Except, that'd be a damn lie. You're not over Frankie Morales. Even though he totally destroyed your heart, shattering it into a million broken pieces and it took you months before you could actually go and entire day without breaking down.

You get the beer and head back out to Frankie. He smiles and takes the bottle from you, your fingers barely brushing against each other.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you really back because of a job?" You ask softly. "Or because you wanna get back together with.. me?"

Frankie's entire body goes completely still. You know you've found him out and he's uncomfortable.

"The thought might have crossed my mind." He slowly untwists the beer bottle cap and takes a long sip.

"Frankie, I don't know if that's a good idea." You see his shoulders slump and you immediately feel guilty.

You set your own beer bottle down and slide closer, so that you're legs are touching.

"What we had, Catfish, was a long time ago. We've both changed. We're not this same person were all those years ago. You do understand, don't you?"

Frankie nods and finishes his beer, setting the bottle aside and getting to his feet. You stand up, too.

He shuffles to the front door and grabs the doorknob to turn it.

"Yeah, Y/N," Frankie says without turning around. "I understand. That doesn't mean I don't think it's total bullshit."

He walks out, slamming the door behind him and leaving you shaky and breathless.

.....................

You hardly sleep a wink that night. All you keep thinking about is: Frankie. You're torn between feeling pissed off at him and yourself.

You end up crying more than you would have wanted to. It's amazing how something that happened so long ago can still bring you to your knees when you least expect it to.

.................

You call in sick to work the next day. You hate lying, although it's not technically a lie, seeing how miserable you feel.

You hurry over to the carrier airport, hoping to catch Frankie before he leaves to deliver a shipment. You have to tell him how you really feel. And you have to apologize for hurting his feelings.

You spot him, loading up cartons of boxes into a chopper and scream out his name. Frankie pauses, his arms filled with two boxes.

He quickly sets the boxes down and rushes to you. You grab him by that butt ugly yellow jacket he's had for years and hold tightly, as though if you don't, he'll fly away from you forever.

"What are you doing here?" Frankie asks. You don't reply. Instead, you pull his head down, kissing him for all it's worth. Frankie cups the back of your head and kisses you back.

When you two pull apart, you realize that you're crying and so is Frankie. You cling to him. He's yours. At least, he was, a long time ago.

"I'm sorry, Frankie. I didn't mean what I said to you last night. I'm just... scared that if I say yes to you again, it'll get screwed up again."

Frankie tenderly holds your face in his callused yet gentle hands and you reach up, holding on to his wrists.

"There's always a chance things could get messy again, chica. But I need you. It is why I came back."

You laugh, although you're still crying. Frankie wipes your tears away with his thumb.

"I'm happy you came back, Catfish," you whisper. "Because I need you, too. So damn much."

Frankie kisses you passionately and you laugh again. Frankie laughs, too. He reluctantly releases you.

"As much as I want to stay her and keep kissing you, I really need to get to work. We'll talk later!"

You nod, wiping your nose in your coat sleeve.

"I'll be around. I'm not going anywhere, 'Fish." Frankie grins and blows you a kiss. You blow one back before turning and heading back home.

.....................

You and Frankie are cuddled up together on the couch, enjoying some pizza and beers.

He keeps kissing you and you just smile. You like Frankie kissing you. You really do.

"I almost can't believe we're back together again."

"Me neither. But I've never been happier." You slip your arm around Frankie's waist and just hold on to him.

"Yeah, Morales, me too."

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Part 1

Part 1 - Spare Him A Little Kindness

Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Masterlist

Read the Prelude here

Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, jealousy, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: The first part is here y'all!! I am so excited to share this with everyone. As always, please reblog, like, and comment - I would greatly appreciate the feedback! I hope you enjoy :) OH - and you'll need this video for reference when you get to the end of the chapter !

Four Months Later…

The apartment was quiet, save for the scraping of silverware on your plates. You and Frankie sat quietly at the table, eating without an ounce of conversation between you. Some nights it ended up like this, your energy spent from eight hours with six-year-olds, his at therapy. 

When Frankie appeared on your doorstep high out of his mind four months ago, you made it your mission to help him get clean. You found an outpatient treatment program for him, a weekly NA meeting, and got him back with his psychiatrist and therapist.

He admitted that he was a few months behind on rent from losing his job and blowing his extra income on the coke, so you took money from your savings to pay his landlord before you moved him into your own apartment. 

Frankie felt immensely guilty, constantly apologizing to you. He didn’t talk very often at first, the guilt and shame eating at him. He was a shell of the man you’d known your entire life. 

You tried to keep your distance from him, physically, unless he asked. You didn’t want to smother or coddle him, though you often thought about wrapping him in bubble wrap and keeping him in your apartment so he could remain safe forever.

But once he got used to his new schedule and your presence, he gravitated toward you, constantly touching you in some way. 

Frankie’s love language was touch, and he sure was good at it. If you were on the couch watching a movie, Frankie had you in his arms. If you were at the dinner table, his leg rested against your own as you ate. He had you between him and the sink as he did the dishes every night, or your body pressed against his while he folded laundry. 

After too many nightmares on the couch, you coaxed him into your bed, which unlocked a new level of his affection. You’d slept in the same bed as Frankie many times, and in just as many sleeping bags while you camped during his time in the service, but this feeling was new. 

You were always pressed flush against his bare chest, a tight hand around your waist as if he was afraid you’d leave him in his slumber. His breath tickled the skin on your neck and shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. 

The nightmares were the worst, but you handled them in stride. Whether it was screaming, thrashing, or thoughts that made him jump awake but remain silent in shock, you were there. 

He’d completed treatment a few weeks previous, and now he was focused on getting his pilot’s license back. Frankie hated being dependent on you. Though you’ve been his best friend for 33 years, his mother and abuela had always taught him to take care of the women he loves, and he was chronically anxious over the fact that he couldn’t care for you the way you needed. 

He wanted to do good by you, the way he should have 23 years ago. Before he pushed you away and ran straight into a war on the heels of Santiago. At first, he believed he was doing good, that him and his squad were serving the greater purpose. But the more killing they did, the less and less he believed in the orders they were given. They weren’t defending America, they were killing for sport. 

——

Frankie had a habit of watching you when you weren’t paying attention. Like now, while you’ve gathered the leftovers of your meal into a container for your lunch tomorrow. The way you hummed quietly while you worked, how your shirt rode up as you reached for the container in the upper cabinet, revealing a sliver of your lower back. 

You moved to the fridge, setting the leftovers inside and retrieved two cans of soda to enjoy during your movie. It was Frankie’s turn to pick the movie, and he’d settled early on with Jurassic Park. It was the first movie the two of you had seen in theatres together with your families in the 90s, and you both had begged to see it again and again after the first time.

As you finished, Frankie got up and moved toward the dishes in the sink. “You don’t have to do the dishes every night, y’know.” You took a step toward him, leaning into his side while he worked. 

Frankie tapped your nose with his soapy hand, leaving a small pile of bubbles on your skin with a smirk. “It’s the least I can do, Girasol.” 

You hummed, snaking an arm around his middle while he worked. The two of you stood there quietly, basking in the comfort of each other. Sometimes, he would talk about his therapy sessions, but you never pushed him. 

Some days haunted him more than others, sending him straight to bed when he came home in the evening. On those nights, you ordered in and ate in bed, an old sitcom playing in the background. Sometimes, you read aloud to him, his head rested in your lap as you stroked his hair. 

As he finished placing the last portion of silverware into the drawer, Frankie spoke. “I got uh, a text from Pope today. Said he’s coming to visit this weekend and wants to see everyone at Benny’s fight.” 

Frankie held back the other part of the text from you, knowing it would upset you. Santiago shared a proposal for a recon mission in Colombia. He wanted the other men to check out the folder he’d attached with the plans. He needed four guys - and a pilot - of which Frankie wasn’t any longer. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, turning his attention back to you. 

“Does he need a place to stay? I’ve got a blow up mattress around here somewhere. I can’t believe he didn’t text me.” You sighed, grabbing the sodas off the counter.

Frankie grabbed two glasses - your favorite ones with the Fish and Sunflower on them - and followed you to the couch. He settled next to you, taking the cans from your hands to pour the bubbly liquid into the cups.

“You should make him sleep on the couch, as punishment,” Frankie chuckled. 

You laughed, taking a sip before you added, “you’re so right. I’m going to call him right now.”

You grabbed your phone and hit the call button on Santiago’s contact, settling your legs over Frankie’s lap while you waited. It rang for ages, to the point where the two of you thought Pope was sending you to voicemail. 

Then, the line clicked. “Hola Hermosa,” Santi drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You blanked for a moment, distracted by Frankie rubbing a thumb over your ankles. “Yeah, uh, hi. I heard you were coming into town. Funnily enough, I think my text got lost in the cloud somewhere.” 

Frankie chuckled lightly, shaking his head. 

“That you Fish? Shoulda known you’d tell her. I wanted it to be a surprise, mi amor. How many babies d’y’all have running around there now, anyways? Three? Five?”

“Pope,” Frankie growled. 

“I kid, I kid,” Santi chuckled. “Seriously though, when’s the wedding? My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

You sighed. “Santi, c’mon. I was going to offer you my couch.” You reached over to Frankie for his hand, squeezing gently. 

The two of you never spoke of marriage or your relationship, not after he broke your heart and followed Santiago into the service, and especially not after what happened those few months ago. 

You used to dream of it, wearing his abuela’s veil and your mother’s wedding dress. Frankie standing at the altar with Santiago by his side, beaming at you as you walked toward him. You’d wanted an outside wedding, full of sunflowers, violets, and daisies. 

You would be kidding yourself if you said you hadn’t thought about it since then. You had. But you couldn’t get hurt again, it would be too painful. So you loved him from as far as you could. In the present moment, it wasn’t entirely very far. He was your best friend, you weren’t going to abandon him in his time of need. Once he was back on his feet, everything would go back to the way it was. That’s what you told yourself at least. 

“Can’t take the spot on the other side of your bed, can I? You have a very nice mattress, sunflower.”

“Well I need that spot for my five children, don’t I?” You watched Frankie throw his head back in laughter, any anger toward Santiago dissipating.  

“Very funny hermosa. Make sure Fish keeps that couch warm for me, yeah? I’ll be there Saturday morning.”

-

You carefully pulled yourself out of bed at the sound of Santiago’s knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock declaring it was 7:30 and sighed. Padding over to the closet, you pulled on your robe before heading to the front of the apartment to open your door. 

Frankie hadn’t slept well the night before, his anxiety keeping him on edge the whole day and a memory haunting his dreams at night. You spent most of the early morning coaxing him back to sleep with quiet lullabies, lavender lotion, and soft touches. His nightmares had gotten better, but something about Pope’s visit flipped a switch in his brain. 

When you came home from work, you’d found him rebuilding a Lego set he must have taken apart from its display on your shelf. Where he found the directions, you had no idea. A completed sudoku pad sat on the table next to him along with the Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle. His anxiety had kept him in overdrive all day, sending him into a spiral. You’d finally talked him into laying in bed with promises of delivered sushi and The Breakfast Club. 

Santiago knocked once more as you were unlocking the door. You glared at him as you pulled it open, stepping aside to let him inside. “Please keep it down,” you whispered. “Last night was rough. He needs to sleep for a while longer.” 

He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you doing, Sunny?” 

You sank into his arms, sighing contently. “I could be worse. I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea.” 

“It’s not good, is it?” Pope pressed a light kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get a look at you properly. 

Yawning, you shrugged. “He’s been better. Something happened yesterday, I don’t know what. He took apart the Taj Mahal Lego set while I was working and put the whole thing back together by the time I’d gotten home.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you paused. “He was up most of the night too, woke up screaming and thrashing around one. I finally got him back asleep a couple of hours ago.”

Santi nodded, worry etched into his brows. “How are you doing? You need someone to take care of you too.”

“I’m okay, Santi. Really, I am. Frankie is my first priority.” You squeezed his shoulder lightly before turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Please, gracias Hermosa.” Santi followed you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter as you worked. 

You reached into a lower cabinet for a bag of grounds before spooning it into the filter. “I keep the caffeinated stuff in another spot so Frankie doesn’t get confused…the caffeine affects his anxiety, so he’s been drinking decaf for awhile now.” 

“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you,” Santi commented. He watched as you shrugged, pulling mugs from another cabinet. 

He took the liberty of glancing around the apartment then, taking in the small signs of how yours and Frankie’s lives have further intertwined since he last visited. Pictures of Frankie and the rest of their squad littered the refrigerator doors, held up by magnets he would bring back for you after any mission he could. Your fish and sunflower glasses sat on the drying rack, shoes scattered together by the front door. One of Frankie’s flannels hung on the dining table chairs, his favorite books next to yours on the shelves. He also noted Frankie’s record player in the corner of the room, vinyls organized neatly next to the table. Pope couldn’t clearly determine where you ended and Frankie began.

“So, do you have any plans while you’re here?” You turned, handing a mug to Santi. 

He took a long sip, savoring the taste. “Not particularly, just hoping to catch up with everyone. Benny’s fight is on Monday, right?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, Will is out of town until then. Benny might come over tomorrow for some game, but that depends on how Frankie is feeling. Try to take it easy with him, okay?” 

Santi nodded. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” 

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all concerned and try to come up here. He’s embarrassed about it, Santi. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. Will and Ben don’t even know how bad it is.” 

As if on cue, you heard a shout from down the hall. “Sunflower?? Honey, are you there?”

“I’m in the kitchen, mi amor. Don’t worry.” You pressed a finger into Santiago’s chest. Whispering, you said, “Don’t heckle him, please.” 

“Never,” he said quietly. “Go help our guy, yeah?” 

You gave him a small smile before heading back to the bedroom where Frankie was getting dressed. 

You treaded softly over to him, putting yourself between him and the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? You can stay in bed as long as you want, Frankie.” 

He shook his head, reaching for his hat on your dresser. “Pope is here. I’ve functioned on less sleep than this.” 

Frankie had a hard look in his eyes, but not menacing or irritated. It was the look he acquired when he compartmentalized things. He put a barrier up, shielding everyone around him from his problems. Another symptom of the military, a change in him you never expected. Frankie used to wear his heart and his mind on his sleeve. You could know exactly what he was thinking when you looked at him. But that Frankie went away the minute he stepped foot on foreign soil. 

“Francisco,” you took his hands into yours. “You don’t have to be strong every moment of every day. You’re allowed to be in pain. Santiago’s in pain too, they all are. Hell, why do you think Benny jumps in front of fists every week?”

Frankie chuckled. “Hermosa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about MMA.” 

You shook your head at him, giggling lightly. “Don’t change the subject, Morales.” You moved your hands up to caress his cheeks, thumbs resting over the heart-shaped patches in his beard. His eyes softened in your embrace, smile growing wider. 

Frankie wanted to kiss you then. Hell, he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. But in this moment, it took every bit of strength he had not to. He glanced down at your lips as you spoke, internally kicking himself for entertaining the thought.

“Just,” you sighed quietly, eyes drifting to the floor. “Please, take it easy. Santi will understand if you need to slow down.” 

Frankie nudged your hands with his chin, catching your attention. “I promise. Thank you for taking such good care of me, girasol.” 

Sunday had been easy with Santiago there. Him and Frankie spent much of the afternoon playing Mario Kart in the living room while you watched from the kitchen table. It relieved you to see Frankie so relaxed with someone other than yourself. 

It reminded you of your childhood, days where you sat in front of Santiago’s tv, watching him and Frankie take turns with Zelda or play Super Mario Bros together. They’d yell profanities at each other in Spanish when one of them fucked up, causing them to restart a level. You still remembered the feeling of Frankie’s laugh against your back when you laid against his chest while they played. You were small enough, and him tall enough, that he could see the controller over your shoulders, so he held you in his arms most of the time.

You joined in on the fun when your parents gifted you (and Frankie) a Nintendo 64 for Christmas one year. You would stay up too late every night during winter break playing with him, falling asleep together on the couch more than once. 

You were never sure when the feelings started, but they never went away. Even as you watched him and Santiago from across the room, you felt them. 

Frankie was your first kiss, your first time. Your first everything. And then he left, broke up with you like you were nothing to him, and followed Santiago into a war that destroyed them. 

The person you discussed marriage and kids with had abandoned you, to “defend the country,” he’d said. You mourned him as if he died, the pain unbearable. It clawed at your heart, leaving you broken and gasping for air. 

Your college years were spent in psychiatrists' offices, life dulled through pills and therapy. Frankie would call you on occasion, him and Santiago writing letters as well. You’d always pick up, unable to resist the sound of his voice. 

It wasn’t until you stepped foot into a kindergarten class your sophomore year that you came alive again. You had always known you wanted to be a teacher, but you never expected 20 five-year-olds to turn your world upside down and change your life. 

You were friends with some of them on Facebook now, so many years later. More than a few of them had sent you emails over the years too, some asking after Frankie and if he had gotten home okay. They were the sweetest humans you had ever met and you cared for them as if they were your own. 

You were at the point in your life where the idea of having kids was slowly retreating from the version of life you had built for yourself. They only existed in your dreams now, with Frankie at the helm of them. A glimpse of the life you could have led if things were different. 

Instead, you peered across the room at your two childhood friends as they bonded over lost time and competitive video games from your seat at the kitchen table where you were finishing report cards. 

Frankie must have felt you staring because he turned toward you during a break in the game, beckoning you over. “Ven acá, cariño. You deserve a break.” 

You got up slowly and made your way to the couch. “Only for a few minutes, I have to finish the report cards for tomorrow.” You sat between the two men on the couch, legs tucked underneath you. 

“What’re your plans for summer break?” Santiago glanced over at you while Frankie fiddled with his Mario Kart vehicle for the thousandth time. 

“I never made plans for anything, actually. I thought about going to New York or Chicago, but life got in the way,” you shrugged. 

“You’ve still got time! I think that’s a great idea, Sunny. You deserve a nice, long vacation. I’ll even pay for your hotel, my treat.” Santi placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently.

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Santi, no. I can’t accept. That’s…that’s so much money. Besides, I have…stuff I need to do here. Doctors appointments and…things.” You attempted to come up with any excuse in the book to refuse Pope, but he saw through your ruse. You didn’t want to leave Frankie alone and he knew it. 

“I’m sure I can distract Fish here for a few weeks while you take some time for yourself, darlin. Ain’t that right, hermano?” 

You watched the two men traded stern looks, Frankie’s cold and menacing look from yesterday morning returning as he glared at the other man. You reached for Frankie’s arm then, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you.” 

Frankie’s mouth opened a few times as he hesitated to say something. Finally, he reached for your hand and squeezed as he said, “Pope’s right. You deserve a break after all you’ve done for me. You should go for your birthday, hm?”

“I’ll think about it, how about that?” You looked between them, hoping to satisfy their conspiracy. “I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it’s not any good. Now give me that remote, mi amor, so I can kick Pope’s ass in Mario Kart like I promised.”

Frankie laughed, a hearty laugh that had him bent over, leaning into your shoulder as he cackled. The brim of his hat hit the side of your neck, but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t seen Frankie laugh like this in months.

It made you want to pull him into you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless. But you couldn’t do that, not anymore.

—

After you bid the men goodnight and wandered off to bed, Frankie and Santi headed out to the balcony, each with a beer in hand as they sat. The men were silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers under the night sky. 

Frankie fiddled with the wrapping on his beer bottle, tearing it off piece by piece, the bits falling onto his lap haphazardly. He sat waiting for Pope to say something, anything, like he usually did. But Santiago said nothing, leaving room for Frankie to speak if he was so inclined.

Once the beer wrapped had been demolished, Frankie had nothing left to ease his anxiety. He couldn’t stand the silence, not around Pope. 

“I uh,” Frankie started, rubbing a hand up and down on his jeans, the other holding tightly to the beer bottle. “I got busted. It’s not a big deal…actually, it’s a big deal.”

Pope looked over at his friend, taking in his nervousness. “Coke?” Frankie barely glanced at him before he continued. “Jesus, Frankie.” Pope sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”

Frankie let out a deep breath before relaying the last few years to his friend. How he thought he was doing alright, until he wasn’t. How you took him in and cared for him when he was at his worst. 

“And you still don’t think she’s in love with you, hermano? Mierda Frankie, eres un idiota.” Santiago shook his head, grinning at his counterpart. 

“Why would she take me back after all these years? All I’ve ever done is hurt her.” Frankie removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve her, I never have.” 

“Well, maybe not, but she has never stopped loving you, man. If I was a stranger, I’d think the two of you were married already. She wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t care.” 

Frankie sighed, rolling the hat in his hands. The thing had been through hell and back over the years, with a small tear in the fabric at the back and sweat stains on the inside. But it was his favorite hat, one you had given him in high school after the neighbor’s dog had chewed his Astros cap to hell. 

“Listen,” Santiago started, breaking Frankie’s disassociation. “I’ll shut up about the whole thing, I will. But do me a favor and ask her out. I promise you, she’ll say yes.”

Frankie looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But you get to be the one to tell her about this bullshit recon mission.”

——

You sighed at the sound of your alarm in the morning, hitting stop but not moving from your spot in the bed. You’d be running on little sleep today after one of Frankie’s recurring nightmares kept the two of you up for the better part of the night. You laid in bed for longer than you should have, savoring the warmth of Frankie’s body as he slept beside you. When you finally dragged yourself out from under the covers, you readied yourself as quickly as possible before you woke him to say goodbye. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his back as you whispered, “Frankie, I’m heading to work.”

He grunted softly, rolling over to face you. His eyes were still closed, but he reached for your touch. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled. 

You clasped his hand in your own, raising your entwined hands to kiss his. “Sleep as long as you need to, mi amor. I’ll be home by 5 and we can head to the arena together, yeah?”

Frankie made a noise in agreement, eyes fluttering open. “You look beautiful today, girasol.” He smiled lazily up at you, giving your hand a squeeze as he spoke.

You blushed, looking away from him. “You say that every morning.”

Frankie sat up slowly and pulled you into his lap on the bed. “That’s because you are beautiful every day, and I’ll keep telling you that as long as I live.” 

“Frankie…” you started, dipping your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks burned red, the room suddenly too hot. “I’ve…I’ve got to go to work.” 

“I know, I’ll let you go in just a minute.” Frankie squeezed your hips gently, just watching you. 

In the comfortable silence, you took in the man before you. His hair had gotten long, the ends curling around his ears and forehead like they had when you were younger. His beard had grown longer too, a few grey hairs littering his jaw around the patches. You loved the patches, though they were one of the spots he was most insecure about. You ran your thumbs over them, fighting the urge to place kisses on the bare skin. 

“What are you thinking about?” Frankie inquired, squeezing your hip again. 

“How old you’re getting,” you smirked. 

Frankie groaned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t remind me, Hermosa.”

“The greys look good on you honey. I’m admiring them.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you moved to stand. “I really have to go to work now, though I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”

“One week, yeah?”

“One week,” you smiled, walking backwards to the door. “I love you.”

“Te quiero mucho mucho mucho girasol,” Frankie replied, watching as you waved one last time and closed the door behind you as you left for the day.

You arrived at fight-night later than you had anticipated, just barely making it inside as Benny was climbing into the cage. Will, Santiago, and Frankie were already seated in the front, where you joined them and took the still full beer from Frankie’s hands. You assumed Santi had given it to him to “loosen him up,” but you weren’t willing to risk Frankie’s sobriety over a solo cup of cheap beer. 

As you took the cup from his hands, Frankie gave you a thankful look and nudged your shoulder with his own. He could never say no to his friends, but you sure could. You waved to Will from where you sat before turning to watch Benny land a punch on his opponent. 

The other fighter got a few good punches in, making you swallow the shitty beer in your anxiousness, but eventually Benny prevailed and was declared the winner. Your group erupted in cheers and as Benny came down from the cage, he ran right to you and hoisted you into his arms. 

“Always my good luck charm, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, twirling you around. 

You laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders. When he stilled, you tapped him lightly to let you down. “That was all you, Ben, believe me.”

You returned to Frankie’s side and nudged him gently. His jaw was clenched, eyes looking hard into the distance. The jealousy radiated off of him in waves. 

“Hey,” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Frankie nodded slightly, reaching for your hand as you led the way out of the crowded room.

Ever since he introduced you, Frankie had been envious of the way Benny effortlessly flirted with you and touched you openly. The younger Miller was flirty by nature, but he had a certain soft spot for you. He also knew Benny meant no harm by it, but it still irked the older man, though he had no claim to you. 

You weren’t his girlfriend, or his wife. You were his best friend, nothing more. 

-

As the night wore on, the five of you returned to your apartment, celebrating Benny’s win. The younger man complained about the lack of alcohol in your apartment until he was kicked in the shin by his brother and given a stern look. When Santiago offered to run and grab a six pack, you glared at him and threatened to hide his car keys when Frankie was out of earshot.

“I’m not letting any of you destroy his sobriety, so help me god. Take a fucking soda and piss off.” You shoved a cola can into Pope’s hand before you retreated to the living room toward Frankie. 

“What movie are you picking?” You inquired, sliding a hand across his back as you drew closer. 

He held two dvds up to you - Grease and Gone in Sixty Seconds - and shrugged. “What do you think?” 

You laughed lightly with a shake of your head. “I think we both know what movie I would pick. It’s your night to decide. Better pick quickly before one of them gets too impatient.”

Frankie smiled at you and shuffled over to your DVD player, setting Grease in the DVD slot before clicking it back into place with a press of a button. “For you, mi amor,” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retreated to the kitchen. 

The guys brought the snacks you’d prepared out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the other furniture before claiming their seats throughout the room. Santi and Benny paired up on the couch, each on a different end of the sofa. Will took up residence in the recliner, his usual spot on nights like these. That left you and Frankie on the loveseat, comfortably squished together. Frankie rested his arm over the back of the cushions, opening up his chest for you to lean against. 

 You all sat and watched the movie quietly for some time, you mumbling the lyrics under your breath, body wiggling in time to the music. It took everything in Frankie’s being to keep his cock from hardening at your movements, his body tense behind you. Suddenly, you were up and pulling at his arm, a grin on your face. 

The opening notes of “You’re the One That I Want” played in the background as you tried to move him from the sofa. “Frankie c’mon, it’s our song!”

Your eyes pleaded with him, your hand soft in his own as you tugged at him. He blushed crimson as the other men whooped and hollered at him, begging him to get up and sing with you. 

“Do it Fish, c’mon now!” Benny cheered, nudging Frankie with his foot. 

“Alright, alright,” Frankie conceded, joining you at the front of the room just as the song started in earnest. 

Frankie faltered over the first few lines, but by the chorus, you were both in sync. You danced back and forth across the room, hands never leaving the other’s. Having sung this together since childhood, you even knew some of the choreo from the movie, Frankie hanging on your every movement. He was a little slow in remembering some of the steps, a product of getting sick since returning from service, but you accommodated him as you moved, helping him recover some of the lost memories. 

As you dove into the second verse you grinned as he sang to you, the rest of the world falling away. 

“I better shape up,” he sang, a grin sitting upon his face as well. “‘Cause you need a man!”

“‘Cause I need a man,” you sang back, pulling him close to you. “To keep me satisfied…”

“I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove…” His arms wrapped around your waist, your bodies swaying together in time with the music. “...that my faith is justified…”

Frankie leaned impossibly close to you as you continued to sing, your hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. By the end of the song, your noses were touching, breaths mixing together in the little space you had left between you. He could kiss you, your lips only inches from yours. But here? In front of the other guys? No, he couldn’t. It had to be special if he was going to make a move after all these years. 

You pulled away reluctantly to reach for your water, face flushed and breath ragged. You smiled at him as you sipped from your glass, falling back down onto the sofa. The other men were cheering, hands out for high fives from their teammate as he followed you to your seats. 

When Frankie sat next to you again, you leaned into his side, eyes focused on the end of the movie. As the credits rolled, he had you in his arms, thumb rubbing softly against your outer thigh. You sighed at his touch, barely registering as Benny changed the movie. By the 30 minute mark, you were fast asleep in his arms, Frankie glaring at his friends if they made too much noise. 

You had to have been exhausted with what little sleep you had been getting every night from taking care of him. You needed the rest. 

Will and Benny helped clean up the snacks and soda cans before their departure, bidding him a quiet goodbye as they left with promises to meet the next day about the recon mission Santi was pestering them about. 

He had no idea how to tell you about it, and it was only days away. You’d be upset, disappointed even, not only at him but at Santiago for dragging him into the jungle once more. He was just getting better, he didn’t need this shit. But, the money Pope was promising would help you, and that’s what he cared about. He wanted to be able to pay off your student loans, do something to help you with this money after all you’ve done for him.

“Fish,” Santi whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. “D’you need help?” 

“No, no. I’ve got it. Can you get the bedroom door open though,” he whispered back, shifting you into his lap to carry you to bed. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Santi moved toward the hallway and then stopped, turning back to his friend. “Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?” 

“When we get home, you’re marrying her. Stop beating around the goddamn bush.”

Frankie nodded earnestly, your head shifting slightly on his shoulder as he walked toward your room. “That’s the plan, hermano.”

Part two

TAGLIST: @meveispunk @chaotic-mystery @i-own-loki @harperdoodle @wildemaven @tightjeansjavi @wonwoosthetic @im-the-daddy-here-5 @fckinel @aruthlessblackthorn @angelseye

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 19}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: Time passes and heals a lot of things, while others are discussed as the wedding gets closer. Frankie sees the stress weighing down on you amid it all and plans something special…

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: hurt and comfort, fluff, light angst, reader has trauma similar to the triple frontier guys, reader is described as having tattoos for plot points, reader is partially handicapped, reader has mobility issues, adult content, adult content, smut, p in v smut, oral (m recieving), the whole gang is here, plus oc inserts, serious conversations, alcohol consumption, alcohol, mentions of past trauma, ptsd, nightmares. that seems to be it, but let me know if i've missed anything!

A/N: as we see this penultimate chapter, i just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who read, liked, commented, and shared this fic that holds a special place in my heart ♡♡

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

“We’re going on a trip. Cleared it with your doctors and ensured them we would keep up with your stretches and daily mobility exercises. Does…does that sound okay?” Frankie is making dinner, busy at the stove as he stirs the contents of one pot and keeps an eye on the other. Simple, today, after you had gone to work a shift at the bakery, and he had been in the air since before the sun rose. Lex was in the living room doing her homework, the tv on but muted to allow her to work easier.

You were at the table, having set it up for the meal and now on your laptop answering emails. You look at him over the top of the screen, about to question him when Lex trots in and all but shoves herself into your lap and puts a piece of paper down across your keyboard.

“Mama Pastel, I don’t understand this.”

“Is this your way of asking for help?”

“Alexia, manners, please. Did you ask Pastel if you could sit in her lap, her legs are still very tender sometimes.”

“Yes, papa.” She barely resists the urge to roll the very same eyes peering over at her. She turns to you with a smile so sweet your heart melts. You wrap an arm around her, holding her in place as you shift your legs to hold her weight more evenly. “Mama Pastel, can you please help me with this, it’s fractions. Also, your legs can hold me, right? I…I feel like I need to be close to someone right now.”

“Of course, mija, my legs are always strong enough to hold you. Fractions are no fun, huh?” You smile over at her father, something he catches before he turns back to finish dinner as you lean down to rest your chin over her little shoulder. The soft murmuring of you helping her with the page fills the room, and it’s enough to make you yearn for everyday to be this easy.

But just last week, Frankie had had a rather alarming nightmare, his mind replaying the events of his hearing. He had woken up in a sweat, frantically wiping at his face to rid himself of the white powder he had been indulging in right in front of the judge. You hadn’t been in bed, which further spiked his overwhelming panic. Searching through the whole house to find you sat behind the wheel of your truck, hands tight on the steering wheel as you bowed you head and sobbed. You had a nightmare of your own, dreaming of driving and loosing the feeling in your legs and crashing. You hadn’t said anything other than that, but Frankie read between the lines. You were afraid of hurting them, of causing them injury with the potential for your limbs to suddenly be numb to your control.

“What are we having for desert?” Lex asks as Frankie announces dinner is ready, turning off the stove tops.

“Little Pastel, that’s what you’re turning into.” Frankie pins her with a raised eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours behind her as he settles the pots in the middle of the table on trivets.

His lips are twitching as he tries to tame a fond smile in order to chastely parent. Though you can see right through him, worry and love for his daughter outshining the reminder to be kind and respectful because he knows it’s a reminder that she’s comfortable around you enough to push into your space and seek you out in the ways that she has been. It’s been a little better since she returned to school, feeling more like herself and doing better in crowds. She had even asked to go on the winter fieldtrip, a weeklong thing at a conservation center down South toward the coastline. You had both agreed it would be good for her, even more so since she seemed so excited. But needed her therapist to sign off in the idea before a decision was made.

“Better than little Catfish!” She fired back loudly with giggles that only increased in volume as you tickled her sides and asked her what was so wrong with being like her daddy.

“He’s so good to us, we should both wanna be more like him, I think.” She squeals as she fidgets in your hold, trying not to lose her balance still in your lap. But you don’t let her fall, you wouldn’t dare. You look up at him and offer him a bright smile he can’t help but reflect back before he says to dig in before the food gets cold.

“Thank you,” You wound your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him as his hands helped to guide you into a comfortable position against him. Nestled in between his outstretched legs, you pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. You moved to do so to the other side, but he dipped down and captured your lips fully with his own. You had been doting over wedding plans when he had found you in bed, papers and brochures and an open laptop scattered all around you.

“No need to thank me, sweet girl. Want you to be comfortable. You okay with this, not too much pressure on your hips?” His hands were light on you, helping to support you as you stood on your knees over him. But you didn’t answer him with words, instead you planted yourself right over his lap, grinding down on him. The deep groan he graced you with was swallowed by your willing mouth, tongue lapping at his lips to catch the lingering taste of something sweet he had eaten.

“Q-querida, we- you sure this is okay?” Despite his cock stirring in his boxer briefs, his worry for you softened your heart further and you felt adoration for the man beneath you fill your chest with a jittery feeling. You had been lingering, staying up late to greet him after his double, triple flight tour day. It had been marked on the communal whiteboard in the kitchen for weeks now, a reminder that he was still the only one working.

“Frankie, I need you. It’s been so long.” You’re suddenly desperate, having been alone all day. Caring for and totting Lex to and from school, making dinner with her, getting her bathed and settled into bed with a fluffy blanket fresh from the dryer and a bedtime story. You longed for the days to feel just like that, the shadow of Frankie all around the house, in her smile, her laugh, her sparkling brown eyes. Her love for you as strong as the love you had for him and for her in return. The ease of domesticity stirring something in you, making you feel like your skin was too tight and Frankie was the only one who could help abate it.

“I-I want to…”

“Just, let me sit on it. Please, carino, I need to feel you inside me.” You can’t help the whine of your voice, the scent of him fresh from the shower and dressed only in his underwear laid across the bed too much of a temptation.

“Fuck, you can have anything you want, just want you to be comfortable.”

“I will be, once your cock is nestled as deep as it can go, filling me up, stretching me. God, Fransisco, your cock is so beautiful, so thick and hard, and perfect. You’re perfect to me, for me. I love you, mi amor. I love you so much.” You panted against his lips, kisses smothering the words into his skin, his lips, his scruff, the column of his neck. Hands trailing down and releasing him from the fabric.

“Dios mio, mija, you’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

“Let me show you what kinda mouth I’ve got.” You push down further to rest over his shins, hips hinged as you lean down and press an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his weeping head. His hips stutter up, chasing the feeling of your warm breath as you pull back to relieve yourself of his large shirt you had stolen before settling in bed to wait for him.

It’s slow, despite your desperation for the man you loved, the way you take him fully into your mouth and lave at the velvet hardness of his cock with your tongue. Taking him as deep as you could before bobbing your head at a savoring pace. His thick fingers tangle into your hair, gathering it into a mockery of a ponytail to better see your face.

Hallowing your cheeks, you look up at him through your lashes and groan around him at the wreckage you’ve caused. His mouth is hanging open, plush lips wetted by his tongue and puffy from your barrage of kisses. Beautiful eyes blown wide as he takes in the image you create between his legs, blush high on his cheeks as he feels the slight scrape of your teeth along his length. He’s still so warm from his shower, smelling of his woodsy and homey soap. But he chokes on his next breath as you dive down, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and you close your eyes to revel in the feeling of him thick and hard in your mouth.

“Get up here,” He moans out, hands letting your hair fall from its loose hold. You readily pull your mouth from him, making sure to lick a firm strike up from his heavy balls to the sensitive tip before moving up to straddle his waist. He shimmies from his underwear completely, shucking them to crumple at the end of the bed along with all the paperwork you had hastily piled together.

His cock nudges against your inner thighs and you take him in a gentle hand to line him up properly while he latches a mouth around your breasts, free from the flimsy camisole you had on just seconds ago. He bites down on the hardened peak as you sink down, slick arousal making it easy for him to stretch you. A wonton moan at the feel of him after so long catches as he grazes that soft, spongy spot at the perfect angle and your hips rock forward suddenly. His hands wrap around your ribs, grounding you, keeping you upright even as you arch at finally sitting flush, hips to hips after what had been nearly six months of being cautious and careful. Nearly six months of waiting and pleasuring each other in other ways.

“I’ve got ya, sweet girl. Just take your time, we’ve got all the time in the world for you to feel good.” He rumbles, voice gravel as he presses kisses all along your neck and chest, nipping at the soft weight of your chest, your lips, your cheeks. Everywhere he could to sooth you while you adjusted to feeling so full once again. “Gonna make you feel good for the rest of our lives, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” You stutter out, lifting up slightly before sliding back down his length with an obscenely wet sound. His lips capture yours and you hook your arms around his neck, beginning to move against him to spark pleasure across both your bodies.

It was winter, the new year just having passed, Alexia sent off on her fieldtrip, leaving you and Frankie to each other for the entire week.

Open road is stretched in front of you, the tires below you moving quickly and devouring it as quickly as Frankie would allow. You were busy in the passenger seat, one of his hands on firmly on the wheel while the other moved the piece of paper in your hand to get a better glimpse at it over his dark aviators.

“I think we should keep it small, even if the city has rallied to help us.”

“Yeah, I don’t want a huge thing, its already going to be in the paper. An article in the magazine.”

“We can ask them to not do that, if you really want.” He smoothly drifts into the fast lane to pass a slower work truck laden down with a trailer full of yard work machinery, shifting back into the slow lane as soon as he’s passed them and had enough room to safely do so before he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The flowers, the venue, the caterers, the photographer, everyone one of the local businesses had offered to either donate their services or severely discount you for the event. Wanting to make sure you both had everything you needed or wanted for the momentous day.

It had honestly shocked you, when you discovered just how much the people around the city appreciated your efforts during that fateful last day of the farmer’s market. Offering your shop to those seeking shelter in the chaos, the people you had stopped to help if they were bleeding or limping from the rushing crowds as you searched for your own people amidst it all.

“No, I think…I think it’s nice to have some good publicity for the bakery.”

“Did…did you pick out a date you wanted?” You paused, looking out the window as you felt your heartrate pick up and your nerves spark to life. It was beyond sappy, you realized, but the particular date you had in mind seemed to work out perfectly with all the vendors, with family needing to fly in or travel, with a break for there to be coverage at the bakery and Lex’s school out for the summer…

“I wanted to pick one that meant something to both of us so…I was wondering if the date we first met was okay with you?”

“Sweet girl, that’s…that’s perfect. I was thinking it but didn’t want to influence the decision if you already had your heart set on something.” His hand curled tighter over your thigh, dull fingernails making light marks in your skin.

He helps you out of the truck at the next gas stop. His hands strong around your waist as he makes sure you have both feet on the ground and your cane in hand before he dips to kiss you cheek and lets you loose to make your way into the building. The giggle bursting from your lips and the slight float to the skirt of your dress has him feeling warmth bloom in his chest as he makes sure you have no trouble along the small distance. Someone is exiting just as you approach the door and they do a double take at the sight of your tattoos on display and the flattering form of the dress over your skin, holding the door open for you and saying something you seem to reciprocate.

Frankie busies himself with hooking the gas pump into the tank’s opening and looks up to watch you amble through the store through the wide windows, the guy who held the door open doing on the other side of the pump. You’re slow in your movements around the few aisles, taking in all of the sweet and savory options. But you make sure to grab a dr. pepper and a cherry coke. Mini powdered donuts make their way into your hand holding the drinks to your chest before you approach the checkout.

“She’s a looker, man, good on you.” Comes from the other side of the pump before a vehicle takes off.

“Frankie! I got snackies!” You hold up a plastic bag the second you’re back out the door, shaking it slightly before grimacing and halting the movement, realizing it would make the drinks fizz up. “Oops, my bad.”

“Sweet girl, what did you get us to munch on? We’re only about half an hour out at this point.”

“And where is it we’re going again?”

“Nice try, querida, but it’s a secret. I think you’ll really like it.” He pressed the tip of his index finger to your nose as you enter his orbit. Hand moving to take the cane from you and place it in the truck exactly where you preferred it. It was a beautiful thing, sleek carved wood stained a dark, espresso brown. The hand coated in silver cast to look like blooming flowers to ensure your grip is secure and travel down a few inches. The tip of it capped with rigged silver as well to help with steadying your uneven right side.

He takes the bag from you next, setting it down in the middle of the bench seat, the center console pushed up to create more room for you to cross your legs while you went over stuff. It wasn’t the best position for you to be sitting in for long hours, but you argued it was one of the few ways that brought relief sometimes so he let you do what you thought was best. He had put his foot down and gotten stern with you though, saying that if he noticed it was doing more harm than good that he was going to ask you to try and sit another way.

Truth be told, Frankie would carry you for the rest of your live if you would allow him to. Should you need to be off your feet altogether. A custom wheelchair having been ordered to replace the generic one the insurance company had covered for immediate use after your surgeries. It had been a long conversation, one in which both of you had shed tears during. But the agreement was that it would be stored in the downstairs closet and brought out for longer trips, hospital visits that would take more than a quick pop in and out to ensure no uncomfortable and hard waiting room chairs caused harm, and days where the errands piled up.

While you were recovered from the surgeries and dealing with the trauma of what happened, your legs worked as well as they could. Though the already replaced right one tended to go numb at random intervals the doctors could only explain as part of a degenerative disease that had probably been undiagnosed before the first shooting. The left often got a tingling sensation, sciatic nerve sensitive on both sides making it hard for you to get out and about some days.

Working full time had been another conversation, safety rails installed with the help of the guys all around the house should you be home alone. The showers in the two bathrooms you used were set to be remodeled with ledges for you to set on should you want to, the tubs to be replaced with shower stalls and a fancy tub of your choosing to be put in the master one attached to yours and Frankie’s room.

He worried about the stairs, something that took a longer conversation in which you admitted to feeling like you were flipping his whole life upside down and ruining the home he had carefully curated for him and his daughter. His solution had been as simple as breathing, as loving you: turn the guest room and laundry room into a new downstairs master, expand the kitchen to accommodate the laundry room equipment. The money it would take had caused you to break down, even if Frankie hadn’t batted an eye at the arguably large sum it would require.

Will and Benny had argued that two cousins of theirs that resided in Texas was more than willing to make the trip to oversee the project. They had readily agreed to absolve the labor and graciously discount the materials as long as their flights were covered, and they had a place to stay as for the duration.

You had briefly talked with Joel about it, equal parts meek and steadfast on certain aspects of the project. Insistent that they would be able to stay in the apartment above the bakery. You had promised you didn’t want to be difficult, but the man’s deep twangy voice had assured you that you had every right to be since it was for your comfort.

Trees got thicker on either side of the winding road as the elevation hiked up. Deep in a forest of some part of the northern portion of the state. Somewhere you had no idea of, the GPS on the truck shut off and Frankie leading the vehicle with just the inner workings of his mind. The truck was moved into second gear and the engine rumbled loudly as Frankie continued to drive. He had shut off the radio to concentrate, something you did often as you drove to new places for the first time. A pleased smile pulling at your lips as you discovered things about him that you shared.

Turning off the paved road, the tires crunched over a gravel one as he continued on. You were leaning out of your seat to try and better see the glimpse of bright blue off aways between the trees.

“Almost there, sweet girl.”

“Frankie, what in the world did you plan?”

He just chuckled, jostling your thigh in his grip before removing it. You were about to turn to him when you heard the hum of conversation and laughter through the open window. The gentle splash of water trickling in the background as he rounded one last curve and began to pull up the drive of an impressive looking cabin. It was all dark tones with neutral accents in the form of a large patio that shifted into a deck, stretching out onto a decent sized lake. The water sparkling in the sunshine and temporarily stunning you.

“About time, Fish! Mante, watch this!” Benny hollered as he ran down the length of the deck that jutted out into the water and leapt from the edge of it. Balling up, he made a spectacular splash into the pristine water, causing it to splatter all over the girls lounging on the bank. Morgan and Luciana only laughed as Benny bobbed up to the surface, wiping the water from their skin and turning to wave at you from their spots. Will and Santiago were over by the grill, trading laden down plates with of cooked and raw items from a long wooden picnic table set up right in the middle of the covered part of the deck that doubled as a large patio off the side of the cabin.

“Figured the water would feel good on your hip. Got you a set of trekking poles if you want to hike, but there’s also plenty for us to do around the cabin if you don’t feel like it. Whatever you wanna do, sweet girl.”

“Don’t be hoggin’ the woman, primo.” Santiago sidles up to the passenger door, leaving Will to handle the grill on his own. His sunglasses pushed up into his hair as he reached through the open window to brush an errant wave of hair away from your face and behind your ear. You feel warmth blossom in your chest at the endearing move, grateful for the man that he was and the part he had become in your life even if it had been more than bumpy since meeting him. “Let’s get the week started! C’mon, Fish can unload the truck. I’ve got your favorite beer in the cooler waiting for you, hermosa.”

Before you move through the door Santiago opens for you, you lean over and take Frankie’s face in both your hands to kiss him deeply. Your hands trail down the thickness of his neck to rest atop his shoulders as you scoot across the long bench of the front seat, the center console pushed up. You hook your arms around them to scoot closer to him, pressed your chest flush with his. Tongue licking into his mouth, you sneak your hands into the back of his shirt dip them below his belt and grope at skin beneath. Hoots and hollers rang around the open space hidden in the trees, making your heart soar to be around so many friends, around Frankie.

He seems a little star stuck as you scoot out and walk arm in arm with his best friend toward the hub and bub of the deck, taking a moment before he pushes himself from his won seat behind the wheel and follows suit with a shining grin.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @jessthebaker @peppermintfury @for-a-longlongtime @peppermintfury @tuquoquebrute @readingiskeepingmegoing @christinamadsen @heareball @soft-persephone @vivian-pascal @undercoverpena @undercoverpena-fics

[utterdrip]

i muted my laezel post but i still check it for replies and tags and. its like some people will read the whole post except for the last line

what part abt “never speak bad about lae’zel in my presence ever” is. not clicking!!!!

[insomniamamma]

oooooh I knew this was gonna hurt. Frankie Morales, man. I love the push and pull of this. The reader's hurt runs so deep.

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painfull reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

[romanarose]

Take Your Time: Chapter 1

Frankie "Catfish" Morales X Fem! Oc (Jana Fernandez)

Chapter 2

Series masterlist

Fic summary: Told through the present and series of flashbacks, Frankie and Jana, his ex-girlfriend and the mother of his daughter, Rosie, begin spending more time together as Frankie attempts to get sober, and Jana becomes friends with the girlfriend of Frankie's best friend. They both say they never stopped loving each other, is the timing right for them to finally have a life together?

Chapter summary: 6 months into his sobriety, Frankkie is still struggling. When Will, Benny and Santi are all out of town and he needs help, he knows he can still call on Jana.

Takes place within Leather and Lace in what I call "TF Romanaverse" but it is NOT necessary to read LaL beforehand. You'll be more familiar with the Oc's such as Jana, Laci, and a little bit of Lorelei, but I wrote this series specifically to be read separately incase you don't read Santi fics, that series didn't interest you, or the content was too dark. Speaking fo which, read the mfing warnings.

Warnings!: Self harm (not a suicide attempt but sure looks like one) cutting, blood, puke, excessive drinking, mentions of drug use and addiction but no more relapses, Frankie feeling miserable. Graffic depiction of the wounds as first aid is being applied. Do noooooot actually do this for first aid. Get them to a hospital. But this is fiction.

******************

Answering the phone at midnight, Jana already swung both legs over the bed and began pulling socks on. “Frankie? What’s going on?”

“M’sorry. Woke you.” Frankie’s slurred voice answered.

“No you didn’t, the shelter had me on overnights last week, remember?.” Frankie had Rosie, their daughter, most of the week, albeit they stayed with Santi and Laci. While Frankie’s recovery was going well, Jana was still nervous with several days in a row, worried it might overwhelm him. Laci watched Rosie when Frankie worked, and if both were busy, Santi had taken her, impressing Laci very much with his skills with the toddler.

“Sorry” Frankie repeated. “Everyone else is gone. Didn’t know who else to call.”

 “You can always call me, Francisco. What did you take?”

“Jus�� whiskey right now, but that’s why m’callin’ you” 

Phone to here ear, she carefully bundled up a sleeping Rosa in a few blankets, the mild Florida winter making for less of a need for a full coat, especially when she’d have to take it off to buckle her into the car seat anyway. “Whiskey we can work with, honey.” Quickly, Jana back tracked as she headed out the door. “We can work if you relapse too, okay? Never be afraid to call me or the guys, we’re always here for you.”

 Jana had gone back and forth with her feelings on Santi for a number of years, mostly when she was still dating Frankie. Frankie would follow that man to the end of the earth, and pretty much had. That trip to Columbia had been the nail in the coffin for a relationship already strained from addiction, and Jana held it against Santiago for a long while. In more recent times, however, she’s come to see him as an ally for Frankie. Santi and his girl, Laci, as well as Will and Benny had all pulled together this last year as Francisco tried to sober up for perhaps the first real time. Although Jana was not with Frankie anymore, she would always love him. They hadn’t broken up for lack of love, or even for lack of trying, but for the things coke can do to a person, especially a person who recently came into a shit ton of money and nothing to do when his daughter is gone but get high.

“I’m waking Rosa” He sounded sleepy.

“No,” Jana couldn’t help but laugh, looking at her curly-haired daughter, out cold in the car seat. “That girl started sleeping through the night at one month old, she’s a miracle child”

“Yeah. Yeah she is. She deserves someone better.”

She got in the car, hooking up the phone to the speaker. “Stop. You’re a good dad, Frankie, a great dad. I’ve never seen a man play dolls with a kid for 2 hours straight, she adores you. You just need a little help”

“Yeah” It was quiet.

“Frank, hey, don’t fucking go to sleep, we’ll be right there.”

“Don’t wan’ her t’see me like this”

“She won’t, I promise. What room are you in?”

“Bathroom”

“Okay, I’ll lay her down in her crib before I even come to the bathroom okay?”

“Promise?”

“As long as you stay awake, yes.”

“Fine”

“Okay”

Wanting to make sure she paid attention to the road, her nighttime vision not greatJana didn’t talk much, only when she thought he was falling asleep. She parked on the wrong side of the road, quickly grabbing Rose (how did this child sleep so much?), calling to Frankie she was here, and laid her down in the crib as promised. Her room at her uncle Santi’s had a toddler bed, as she was quickly growing, taking after her dad, but this would do fine in a pinch. With her heart about to burst out of her chest, she ran into the bathroom, expecting to find him puking or passed out on the floor. Instead, to her horror, she found him in his underwear, slumped up against the tub and the wall, blood on his arms and legs.

“Frank!”

Thinking quickly, Jana grabbed one of his towels and wrapped it around the two deep cuts on the inside of his wrist and the one on the outside. There were a few others on his legs, but it was clear the wrist was more imminent a danger. “I’m calling an ambulance, hold on” She instructed as she placed his hand over the towel. “No” Frankie mumbled. “No ambulance” “You tried to kill yourself Frankie!” Jana shouts, the smell of alcohol and puke was raw in the bathroom, permeating her nose and she vaguely registered his crumbled up shirt as the source of the vomit, and assumed he must’ve thrown up on himself in the binge. Frank grabbed her hand, finally looking at her. “No, I didn’t” Eyes wide and panicked, she looked at him intently, gritting through her tensed mouth. “Then what the hell is this!”

Closed his eyes again. “I don’t know. Wanted to feel something, punish myself, I dunno”

“Hey. hey.” Gently tapping his cheek, Jana kept him conscious. “You need to stay awake.”

“No hospital” He reiterated. “They’ll lock me up and I swear to god this is only going to get worse.”

Jana considered for a moment, then reached for her phone. “Fine, but I’m calling Will” The older Miller was as close to a doctor as any of them knew, starting as a combat medic before he quickly rose in the ranks and eventually joined Delta Force as Tom handpicked his team. Throughout the years, they had called on him in lieu of an actual doctors visit, as the man kept up with trainings and taking classes. He could probably out do a doctor at this point, but much of his training was in formal. Frankie did not like this plan either, shaking his head. “No, they’re out of town visiting their cousin or something. Don’t wanna bug em” “It’s Will or an ambulance.” Jana gave him his choices, but as Frankie seemed to struggle to choose between being hospitalized or being a bother to the people that mean most to him, Jana calmed her tone, taking Frankie’s flushed and puffy face in her hands. “Francisco, Will loves you, so do Benny, Santi and Lace, so do I. We want to help you. You aren’t a bother, you aren’t a burden, Will would want me to call him.” Dodging her eyes, he gave a quick nod, consenting to calling Will. Jana pressed the facetime option on Will’s contact page and within two rings his face appeared on the screen. “Jana? What's wrong? Is Rosie okay? Are you?” He had clearly been sleeping, and it warmed Jana’s heart that he answered so fast, worried something happened to her or Rosa. That’s what she liked about Frankie’s friends. In the past, she could barely get the care she wanted from the men she dated, and their friends barely acknowledged her, if not being flat-out creepy or making racial comments. The Millers and Santiago, for all her and Santi bicker, had been nothing but respectful and welcoming to her, and she liked to think she welcomed back. “We’re fine, it’s… here” Jana flipped the camera to show Frankie. The poor man looked humiliated, but she’d handle that later. “He won’t go to the hospital and insists it wasn’t an attempt, I need you to look at them and tell me if we can handle it here.” Will was a combat medic. He’d seen way worse, hell, Jana knew. Hell, he’d seen worse on himself and his friends, including Frankie, but he was obvious not prepared for this, and despite his ability to keep calm in this emergency, she heard his voice shake, just a bit. “Okay.” Scanning up the cuts on his legs, Will confirmed those weren’t a risk, but he had seen the bloody towel around his friends wrist, and told her to unwrap it. She had to pad the blood away for him to even see how bad it was.

“Fish, you should really get stitch-” “No” Frankie was having none of it. Jana turned the camera back to her. “Can I take care of it here?” “Jana, he should really-”

“Yes or no” Will sighed. “Can you give him stitches?”

Jana glanced to Frankie, bleeding heavily and looking absolutely wrecked. She wanted him in the hospital, in the safety of doctors but she also knew he had seen a lot, and hospitals made him anxious. Plus, there was no doubt in her mind that for someone who valued quality time so heavily, a mandatory lock up for a suicide attempt, or whatever this was, would only make him worse.

“Yeah, I think so. ”

Will was not thrilled, but allowed it. “Go get his first aid kit, I’ll walk you through it.” All the guys had ‘first aid kits’ that were the size of small hospitals, thanks to Will. He instructed Frankie to keep his arm raised and gently keep pressure on the wounds. Jana knelt beside him. “Can you stay like this for me? While I get what you need?”

Eyes wide and wet, he looked up at her an nodded.

She kissed his forehead and she got up. “Good job, I’ll be right back.” Taking the phone with her, she went to the kitchen where she knew his first aid kit was. “What’s he on?” Will asked. “Just liquor, Helluva lot of it, and whiskey if I’m smelling it right.” “He’s been sober from coke for six months, maybe it’s time he stops drinking too.” “One bridge at a time, Will. He still has cravings, let’s give him a break.” Jana continued gathering what  she needed and washing her hands thoroughly. “He tried to kill himself while drunk, Jana!” She looked directly at the camera. “How about you deal with your alcoholic brother, I’ll deal with Frankie, okay?” Jana snapped. A pause. She knew she wasn’t supposed to bring that up. “Sorry-”

“Let’s get him stitched up, we can talk about this later.” Sighing, she rinsed her hands and turned the faucet off with her elbow. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m just a bit freaked out.”

“I understand. We should probably talk when Ben and I are back, discuss it with Santi.” Jana wasn’t sure how she felt about talking about Frankie and his problems when he wasn’t around. “Yeah, with Frankie.”

Will nodded on screen. “With Frankie.”

Frankie, of course, had things for stitches, the over-anxious man he was. With Will’s guidance, the cuts only needed on each, enough to close the wound a bit. The bleeding slowed, and after disinfecting and bandaging the wound, and thanking Will (as well as promising to update him throughout the night), Jana found herself propped up in the bathroom wall, covered in blood, Frankie’s head on her lap as she played with his hair. Her instructions were to keep him awake for a while, since he lost so much blood, but this was proving difficult as the alcohol ran through his system.

“Where did Santi and Laci go? Laci didn’t mention going anywhere this weekend.” She asked. Santi’s girlfriend had begun volunteering at the women’s shelter Jana worked in, and the pair had become fast friends. Frankie mumbled, trying to stay awake. “It was snowing somewhere up north, Laci missed the snow, so he took her up there to some fancy hotel for a few days. Private hot tub, rose petals, room service. Whole shabang.” Jana couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at that. “She’s really got that boy whipped, huh?”

To her relief he smiled back. “Yeah but he’s got her wrapped around his finger too.” “They're really cute”

“Yeah, they are.” Frankie’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. That’s what you deserved. Someone who could be like that for you. Take care of you.”

“Frank…” He shut his eyes, and Jana thumbed away a tear that ran down her cheek. “Honey, no. I don’t need what Laci needs. I don’t need to be taken care of like that. You cared for me in all the ways I needed you too, and you continue to provide for me and our baby. You were a good boyfriend, you really were. I was really, really happy with you, that’s why we decided to have Rosa” Jana leaned down to press a kiss into his hair as his eyes remained locked shut. “You gave me the most precious thing in my life, and if I didn’t love you enough already, I’d love you simply for that. Look at me, sweetie.” With a soft touch, she coaxed his eyes open. “I love you, I always loved you and I never stopped loving you. I promised you that when I left. You are an excellent father and a loving, good, kind friend. If I can’t be with you as a partner, I’m happy to be your friend, for the rest of our lives.”

Looking at her, Frankie nodded. “I never stopped loving you either. I’m sorry. I know i’ve said it 1000 times but I’m sorry. For the coke, for how I acted, for going to Columbia when you told me not to, for everything that happened after…” “It’s okay, honey, I forgave you a long time ago. I know as well as you do that addiction is an evil illness” “It doesn’t mean I didn’t make mistakes-” “I know, you made mistakes and so did I. It’s okay. You’re not a bad person, Francisco.” He closed his eyes again, wincing this time. “Oh fuck.” Jana, having been through enough nights of the two of them drinking together in their youth, especially back in the army, knew what that meant. “Okay, up.” She helped him get over the toilet bowl, rubbing his bare back as he threw up. “Pope’s never gonna leave town again. Gonna start camping outside the house” “Pope can suck my dick, Frankie” Jana replied, an smiled when she heard him chuckle. “I’m serious.” But she was laughing too. “If you need him back off a bit, I’ll talk to him.” Frankie shook his head. “I like… I like having them around, I just don’t want to interrupt his life.” “You aren’t, I promise. He loves you very much, and much as he likes to pretend he’s a rolling stone, I think it’s become apparent with Laci around he’s a caretaker at heart.” Frankie mumbles “Like Han Solo”

This causes Jana to laugh. “Yeah, yeah like Han Solo.” “I’m sorry” Frankie spoke between dry heaves. “I’m really trying to sober up.” “Take your time. God knows you held my hair back enough times, Azúcar, I’m just returning the favor.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You exist, Frankie. You don’t have to earn me, who you are is enough.”

Jana got Frankie set up on the living room floor, plush carpeting and the blankets she laid down giving enough comfort while simultaneously keeping him on a firm surface. After getting him to rinse out his mouth and drinking some water, he was put in the recovery position (confirming to Will via text that it was done) and she covered him in a warm blanket, after putting a pair of pj’s over him, to spare him a bit of dignity if nothing else. For the next half hour, at 2 AM, she cleaned up the bathroom of blood and vomit, showered his blood off her and helped herself to his clothes, threw hers and Frankies messy clothes in the wash with the bloodied towels, redressed his wounds as he slept, and did the dishes for good measure. One less thing for him to worry about in the morning. And he would worry in the morning. They got through that hard part, but it was all far from over. Jana laid beside him, getting under the covers on the hard floor and got just close enough to where she’d wake if he started to choke or vomit or anything, but didn’t want to encroach on his personal space.

It was far from over, to be sure, but Jana planned on working with him, Will, Benny and Santi, and being there for him every step of the way. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, but he’s always been the love of her life.

****************

I knoooooow an intense start to a series!!!! But I really hope you guys like it! LMK if you'd like to be added to the tag list!!! @milkymoon2483 @trinkets01 @welcometostayingawake

[galactic-basic]

before!frankie it’s so over

[peterhollandkait]

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You - Prelude

If You See the Shell That's Left of Me

Pairing: eventual Frankie Morales x afab!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, hurt MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: Hello everyone!! I am so excited to share the first part of my Frankie Morales series! I have been working on this idea for over two years, and I am so nervous for it to see the light of day. Please reblog and comment with your thoughts, or feel free to send me an ask!

Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You Masterlist

He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, but god his sinuses hurt. He sneezed, and then again, before refilling the humidifier next to his bed. He’d just gotten his nose to stop bleeding again, the skin above his mustache aching and dry from the constant rubbing. 

He grabbed the Vaseline from his nightstand, rubbing the thick gel over his dry skin on his face before he climbed back into his bed. The sheets scratched at his skin, a smell emanating from them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed them. 

Frankie sighed, glancing at the bag of coke sitting on his nightstand. He glanced away just as quickly, ashamed of himself. 

It was only meant to be recreational, something to take the edge off after he got shot the second time. He needed something to escape the thoughts, the demons. 

He had it all under control, until he didn’t.

The cravings increased ten fold once he got out. The nightmares had gotten worse, plaguing his sleep every night. 

A therapist diagnosed him with PTSD and gave him some kind of medication for the anxiety and something for his sleep, but Frankie was impatient. He wasn’t willing to wait a few weeks for the medicine to work through his system, he needed relief now.

At first, it was a couple of lines a week, something to take the edge off and keep him awake so he wouldn’t have to face his demons. 

He tried to quit a few times over the next few years, once even using vacation days at work to put himself in a treatment center. But he always went back, surrendering to the high. 

Someone reported him at work. Who it was, he had no idea. He only did lines at home, never while on the clock. And yeah, maybe he was high a few times on a shift, but he never compromised any one’s safety. 

They ran a drug test, and that was that. The FAA suspended him, took his pilot’s license, pending review. 

He’d dug himself into a hole with no way out. 

He no longer had a reason to leave the house, so he didn’t, unless he was meeting with his dealer. He stayed in bed most of the time, black out curtains closed. He barely ate, almost always takeout. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to the grocery store, or whether he’d taken a shower that week.

All he knew was the coke. 

-

The air was heavy around him, the humidity making his clothes cling to him uncomfortably. The ground squished as he walked, the area muddy and slippery from a recent rainstorm. 

Pope flanked his left side as they approached the target location. Three hostages, 15 hostiles. The Millers approached the building from the opposite side, taking out hostiles as they went. 

Frankie’s rifle felt heavy in his hands, a tactical backpack weighing him down as he walked. Something felt wrong, he couldn’t shake it. He’d been here before. Panama, he thought. 

Pope walked ahead of him, shooting enemy men as he went before smashing in the door between them and the hostages.

Frankie realized the problem then. Two of the hostages sat dead, tied to wooden chairs in the middle of the room. Single bullet sounds to the skull. 

The third hostage sat in the middle of the room, crying as she was held by her hair. Frankie glanced quickly at the man holding her head, a gun pressed to the side of her cranium, before his eyes fell down to her face.

His stomach dropped. It was you. You were the third hostage. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His finger moved to the trigger, gun pointed right at the man’s head. 

You sobbed against the gag in your mouth, voice muffled but crying out for him. The man pulled against your hair again, pressing the gun further into your skin. 

“Don’t,” Frankie warned. He hesitated with the trigger, afraid of what would happen to you if he took the shot from here. 

“You hesitate too late,” the man muttered, pulling the trigger.

-

“NO!” Frankie shot up in bed, screaming your name. Tears streamed down his face, sweat covering every inch of his skin. 

He pressed his palms into his eyes, body wracked with sobs. He had to call you, make sure you were okay.

Hands shaking, he reached for his phone and dialed your contact as quickly as it could. He hoped your ringer was on, though it was sometime in the middle of the night. 

When you didn’t answer, Frankie pulled himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans before he ran out the door and drove the few miles to your apartment. 

-

A continuous knock rang out, waking you from a deep slumber. Groaning, you sat up and took a look at the clock. 

4:04 AM.

Who in the hell was knocking on your door at four am?

You slid out of bed, searching for your slippers in the dark. The floor was cold, making you shiver as you walked around your bedroom. When you couldn’t find them, you sighed, pulling on your robe to meet whoever was at the door.

But when you swung open the door, you weren’t expecting your best friend to be the cause of the noise. “Frankie?”

Frankie pushed past you, walking into your apartment while he muttered to himself. He looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot, dry blood crusted under his nose from a nosebleed, hair damp from sweat. He smelled disgusting, as if he hadn’t showered in days. 

He walked around your apartment aimlessly, hands tugging at his hair. “Girasol, I love you.” He looked at you then, tired brown eyes peering at your own.

“I love you too, mi amor. What’s going on?” You took a step toward him, but he took a step back. You held your hands up in a quiet surrender, searching for answers on his face. “Frankie?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you; I’m in love with you. We…we can go to Mexico right now, like I promised. We can get married, just like we talked about when we were kids.” He rambled on, spewing memories that only brought pain to you.

“Frankie, what are you doing here?”

He walked over to you and fell to his knees in front of your frame, hands gravitating to your hips. “Marry me.”

“Francisco, this isn’t funny. Get up,” you muttered, trying to pull him off the ground. 

“Funny? I’m not jokin’ cariño. Please,” he begged, hands pulling away from your frame to dig through his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got something-“

Frankie froze as a bag of white powder fell from his hands. The room stood still as the coke hit the floor of your living room, silencing him. Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you. The man in front of you was suffering far deeper than you could have imagined. 

Within seconds, you sprang into action. You lowered yourself to the ground in front of him, holding his head gently in your hands. “Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” 

He nodded slightly and you grabbed his arm, tugging him up and then down the hall to your bathroom. You sat Frankie down on the toilet and reached to turn on the shower head so it could heat up while you worked. 

You grabbed a towel from the hall closet before digging through your dresser for some of Frankie’s old clothes. He hadn’t worn the shirt or sweats in years, but you hoped they would still fit him.

When you returned to the bathroom, Frankie was still sitting on the toilet, staring silently at the wall in front of him. You sat everything down on the counter before making your way to stand in front of him. 

You tugged his shirt off gently, whispering thank yous with every movement. You helped him stand, undoing his shoes and removing his socks before you moved to his pants. 

“You’re going so great, Frankie. We’re almost there.” 

He made a small noise of acknowledgment, holding onto your shoulders for balance as you helped remove his pants and boxers. 

You’d seen him naked years ago, when things were simpler between you, but you averted your eyes as best you could to keep a semblance of privacy. Once finished, you helped him into the tub and under the warm water flowing from the shower head. Placing a washcloth into his hands, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek before pulling the curtain back. 

“Call for me if you need help, okay?” 

“Thank you,” Frankie mumbled, almost inaudible over the sound of the shower. 

You quietly slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall next to the door, knees giving out as you slid to the ground. Your head fell into your hands as you crumbled, body shaking with sobs.

---

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