#too exhausted and miserable. can’t even cough properly just cough sobbing without the tears

[shatterthefragments]

I’m being overdramatic I know, but maybe I’m just meant to be miserable.

(“Well maybe you shouldn’t do these sailing trips if you get so sick after” IM TOO OLD NOW ANYWAY. IM DONE WHETHER I WANT TO BE OR NOT. IVE SPENT A MONTH AT SEA TOTAL NOW. AND I REALLY FUCKING HOPED THAT I WOULDNT GET SICK THIS TIME. and I didn’t the first time (you know when Everyone still was asked to mask and we tested before boarding)) and I booked the rest of the week off to recover. That I have to call in sick for at least a little bit now too. Yeah. That sucks for all of us. Nothing I can do but not die or whatever)

[angstyaches]

Hey! A fic where Shayne just CANNOT stop throwing up and Charlie is taking care of him, and outwardly, he seems to appear very calm and methodical to keep Shayne calm (psst Shayne notices and is even more attracted to charlie because he hasn’t seen him be this in command before) but inside Charlie is freaking out big time because he isn’t sure if he’s taking care of Shayne properly or not?? I’m sorry this is so detailed sdgsgs you don’t have to write it if it’s boring or anything

Anon, I love this request so much! I really hope I did it justice. Get ready for some post-reunion Charlie and Shayne (I’ll probably write the actual reunion eventually, but for now we’re time-skipping).

CW: nausea, emeto. Otherwise it’s just bois being Soft.

___

“Hey,” came a soft whisper next to his ear. “You still with me?”

Shayne tried to open his eyes, eyelashes sticking together a bit with dried tears. He was shivering between the arms that were holding him up, drooling slightly against the shoulder supporting his head.

“Hmm?” was all he could manage to get out.

“Poor thing. You must be so tired,” Charlie said, tilting his head to try to get a look at Shayne’s face. “Are you ready to head back to bed, or…?”

Shayne faintly shook his head. The nausea was rushing back in force now that he was awake, now that he’d remembered where he was and what had been happening for the past few hours. He had vague memories of Charlie helping him drink some water right before he’d dozed off there on the floor, and he could feel it sloshing inside him even while sitting still.

“Charlie,” he groaned, reaching for one of Charlie’s hands.

“Yes?”

He didn’t know what he’d wanted to say. He’d just wanted to let Charlie know that he could feel him, that he was glad he was there.

Hot and cold liquid began to gurgle up his throat at the same time. He turned towards the toilet bowl, his body just going through the motions by now. He heard Charlie sigh before he sat forward to stroke Shayne’s back, even though his t-shirt was stuck to his back with chilled sweat by now. His stomach lurched, slamming against his ribs like a fist.

He spat out mouthfuls of water, gasping and coughing as droplets attempted to go the wrong way in his throat. He leaned a little harder against the toilet bowl with each heave, his chin eventually resting on the seat, eyes glistening with fresh tears. His stomach gave a deep rumble, empty again and still writhing inside him as his abdominal muscles spasmed.

“Hey, come here,” Charlie whispered, prying him away from the toilet. Shayne gladly let his body slump against him. He closed his eyes again as Charlie used the sleeve of his hoodie to dry the tears from underneath them.

“Charlie, my stomach,” he whined.

“I know.” Charlie rested his hand on Shayne’s belly, without lifting his t-shirt. Shayne winced and then sighed as Charlie’s fingers began to trace gently up and down. The taller boy nuzzled his face against the back of Shayne’s neck.

Something seemed to flutter in Shayne’s gut, but maybe it was to do with the nausea fading slightly. His stomach hadn’t felt this awful in ages, yet Charlie seemed so sure of his movements that Shayne was falling into a weird sense of calm. The soothing pressure of Charlie’s hand over his belly was forcing his eyelids halfway closed.

He shivered, which Charlie seemed to assume was due to the cold, because he rubbed a hand briskly up the side of his arm.

“Come on, let’s go, huh?” Charlie asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Mmm, no...” Shayne looked up with his half-closed eyes as Charlie slid his hands under his elbows. “Still feel sick.”

“You can throw up on me, or on the duvet, or wherever you need to,” Charlie said, starting to get both of them up, “but I’m not letting you sit on this cold floor all night.”

Nausea swirled deep in Shayne’s stomach, and he found his legs too shaky to take his own weight. There was an awful moment when he thought he was going to drop right back down onto the tiles, but thanks to Charlie, it didn’t happen.

“Whoa – it’s okay, lovely, I’ve got you.” 

Their eyes met briefly, and Shayne felt that weird flutter again. Usually he couldn’t stand having anyone’s arms looped all the way around him, but this felt different. Charlie was acting so calm and sure of himself, and Shayne didn’t have the urge to push him away.

There was just the urge to keep rolling that word around on his tongue. Lovely. It was the only thing he could focus on to keep his mind off the wrenching pain in his belly. It had a taste to it, like butter melting onto toast. Had Charlie really meant to call him that?

Despite Charlie’s pull, Shayne paused in the bathroom doorway and put his hands to his stomach, overwhelmed with what felt like a wave crashing against its walls. He felt a gurgle working its way up from deep in his gut, burning behind his ribs, making his cheeks ache.

The heaving began so quickly this time that he didn’t think he’d make it back to the toilet, so he turned and puked bright yellow acid into the sink instead. Charlie was practically tangled up in him, and was still holding his waist when he started throwing up again. Shayne’s hands were clammy and kept slipping on the edges of the sink as his stomach flipped over again, with nothing left to force out of him but a weak belch and a dry sob that made Charlie’s heart twist.

“Sorry,” Shayne murmured, shakily bringing one hand up to hold onto Charlie’s. “Can’t... can’t stop.”

“It’s okay,” Charlie sighed. “Take all the time you need, it’s – it’s okay.

Was it okay, though? Charlie couldn’t understand exactly how it was possible to keep throwing up after so long. His heart was threatening to escape up his throat at any minute, his nerves tingling with worry at every retch, every flinch in Shayne’s body.

“Oh, that’s okay, lovely, I’ve got that,” Charlie whispered, reaching for the faucet as he saw Shayne try to do it himself.

There, you said it again. He cringed and tucked his cheek closer to Shayne’s shoulder as the running water cleared the sink a bit. He prayed uselessly that Shayne had managed to not hear him both times he’d called him lovely. God, he was a mess, and he wasn’t even the one who couldn’t stop puking. He needed to get it together.

“You okay?” he asked. “Ready to try for the bed again?”

Shayne nodded and kept a weak grip on Charlie’s hand as he turned around. Charlie was sure his heart was going to burst as he let him wrap his arms around him for the second time that night. 

Charlie grew anxious again when he noticed how Shayne kept his hands on his belly all the way back to bed, as though he was afraid something was going to fall out if he let go. Maybe it would have been better to let Shayne stay by the toilet for as long as he wanted, instead of dragging him to bed, but… Charlie’s chest ached at the thought of Shayne falling asleep on the cold floor again, when they could be tucked up under the duvet together.

Charlie eased Shayne down onto the edge of the bed, but instead of lying down, Shayne let out a whimper and leaned forward slowly. He rested the top of his head against Charlie’s belly while keeping his hands pressed to his own. Charlie’s spine tingled, and he gently traced his fingertips over the back of Shayne’s neck and up into his soft dark curls.

“Shayne, are you –?”

He was cut off by a muffled retching sound, which made Shayne’s spine curl harshly. There was a slight choking sound as the dark-haired boy lifted one hand to his mouth. Charlie stepped back a little to see that he had retched up a thin string of liquid that now ran from his lips to his palm.

“Shit,” Shayne mumbled.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Charlie said, rubbing a hand across his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed the hand towel from the bathroom, running one corner of it under the tap for a few seconds. When he made it back to the side of the bed, he knelt down and cleaned the mess from Shayne’s face and hands.

“Still –” Shayne scoffed weakly. “Still think I’m lovely?”

Charlie’s heart sank. Of course, he heard the little pet name. He looked up from the floor, ready to try to explain it all away somehow, maybe by blaming the verbal slips on nerves and exhaustion. What he wasn’t expecting was to see Shayne’s dark brown eyes filling up with tears and shying away from meeting Charlie’s gaze.

“Yes,” Charlie whispered, dropping the towel on the floor without looking away. He swallowed against a lump in his throat and climbed up onto the bed. “You want to know a little secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I always think you’re lovely.”

Shayne leaned against Charlie’s shoulder, laying a shaky hand on his knee. Charlie felt both a thrill and a wave of relief, the combination of which made his head feel a little funny. He ran a hand up and down Shayne’s back and nuzzled his cheek against his curls. 

“Let’s lie down, yeah?” 

“Mmhmm.”

Charlie got in first, holding out his arm for Shayne to curl up with his back against him. Their fingers slipped together under the sheets. The bedside lamp was still on, Charlie realised, but there was no way he was moving from this position again. 

Charlie felt a little guilty for allowing himself a smile while Shayne was probably feeling miserable. “How are you feeling now?”

“Mmm,” Shayne mumbled against the pillow. “My stomach hurts, but this - this is... good.”

“Good.” Charlie once again nuzzled the back of Shayne’s head. He was quickly getting used to the smell and feel of his hair against his face, yet felt like he’d never, ever get sick of it. “If I gently rubbed your tummy, would that also be good? Or would it make you nauseous again..?”

Shayne’s heart skipped a beat. He was already guiding Charlie’s hand down, lifting his t-shirt out of the way and letting Charlie’s hand slip underneath. He’d thrown up so much that he could feel how empty he was, and the emptiness itself had brought on its own kind of ache. 

Charlie rubbed soft, wide circles over his belly with the palm of his hand, causing Shayne to melt further into the mattress, the pillow, the warmth of another body. The caring touches seemed to slowly chase out the ache and fill up the hollow spaces left behind by the nausea.

His eyelids continued getting heavier, and he meant to say something to Charlie about falling asleep, but he never got around to it before drifting off.

Charlie also found his eyes closing sporadically, found his hand drifting to a stop at intervals. He smiled faintly to himself when he heard Shayne’s breathing deepen. He pressed a kiss into his hair before tucking his face away again. He fell asleep holding Shayne like one of them would fall off the bed if he decided to let go.

[yandere-daydreams]

wanted to make a proper request but was drawing a blank so maybe katsuki or izuku comforting their darlimg, maybe after kidnapping them or they're just big sad cause, mmmm deppresion™

I’m not complicated. I see the names ‘Katsuki and Izuku’ in the same ask, I write a BakuDeku/Reader fic. Y’all know I can’t control myself.

TW: Drowning, Suffocation, and Physical Intimidation.

~ 

You hated it when you were alone with Izuku.

Most of the time, you were left to your own devices. Even after deciding you simply weren’t strong enough to live by yourself, neither faltered in their Hero Work. Having one home for more than a few hours was rare, and there’d have to be a miracle for both of your captors to be seen in the same room. However, with your recent… bad behavior, they’d started taking more time off to better ‘care for you’, as they put it in hushed conversations. Katsuki was out for the day, leaving you in the caring arms of your more affectionate kidnapper, the boy currently running his fingers through your hair as you curled into yourself, the water around you far too warm. Bathing you was his favorite thing to do, judging from how often you were left stripped and soaking wet. You didn’t bother trying to refuse, anymore.

You didn’t bother doing much of anything, anymore.

Izuku hummed as he worked, calloused hands rubbing at your shoulders, brushing over your spine every now and then. Every second of contact only led to your legs being pushed further into your chest, your body becoming a smaller ball, as much to hide from Izuku as it was to comfort yourself. You would’ve foregone it completely if you could’ve, but the alternative was showering with Katsuki, when he came home. Your skin was still raw from the last time you’d assumed he would be a better alternative.

“Are you listening, sweetheart?” The nickname caught your attention, if only because such a reaction had been deeply ingrained into you. You hadn’t been, you tried not to, but you nodded regardless. He seemed frustrated, furrowing his brow as his hand found its way to your neck, tracing circles into sensitive skin. “Well, what was I talking about?” He asked. You went tense reflexively, failing to answer, prompting a sigh from Izuku. “That’s what I thought. We talked about lying, didn’t we?”

Again, you didn’t reply, already bracing yourself from the blow that was sure to follow Izuku’s disappointment.

But, the pain never came, Izuku only frowning and shaking his head, like a teacher too tired to properly lecture a student. That might’ve been what was so defeating about him. Katsuki would yell and scream and react, but your actions didn’t have a point around Izuku. If he acknowledged you, it was only to reassure you that he didn’t respect you, only rolling his eyes or laughing or acting like beating at a barred window until your knuckles bled was nothing more than another tantrum. Just the thought of his unfazed disregard, how he’d hardly flinch when you attack him, the way he could get so violent without dropping that love-sick, psychotic grin… You could only go still, closing your eyes and burying your face in your knees.

“Kacchan and I love you so much,” He started, his voice dripping with too much sympathy to be believable. Sweet, but bitterly so. Disgustingly so. “And we’d do anything for you, I promise. You’re our soulmate! We’d die for you, if it made you happy.” There was a pause, Izuku leaning down, kissing the top of your head. He didn’t pull away before he continued. “But, you’re making Kacchan very unhappy.”

You felt his fingers rooting themselves in your hair, but you didn’t have time to move before you were being pulled away from your self-made shelter, Izuku dragging your torso out of the water before you were shoved downward. There wasn’t a spare second to prepare yourself or fight back or inhale before you couldn’t breathe, the water flooding into your open mouth and the soap burning at your eyes, your tears disappearing as soon as they formed. You scratched at smooth tile, attempting to find something, anything to latch onto, but just as quickly as you were shoved below the surface, Izuku released you. You jerked into an upright position, ignoring the fire in your lungs to focus on coughing up the water in your throat. Crying wasn’t an option anymore, you were sobbing, Izuku cooing comfortingly and leaning forward, supporting his weight on your shoulders. If he noticed your sniffling, your red eyes, your panting, he didn’t seem to care, only nuzzling against your back as you began to tremble.

“You know how much it hurts me to see one of the lights of my life so miserable, don’t you?” He was smiling, now, taunt lips pressed against your scalp. “I really like it when we all get along, and now, I have to watch my Kacchan try not to lose his temper whenever you push him away. Kacchan worries about you so often… sometimes, he doesn’t even seem to remember this isn’t his fault!”

You grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the porcelain in front of you. “This is his fau-”

This time, Izuku didn’t hold himself back, his nails digging into your shoulders, your forehead nearly colliding with the bottom of the bathtub. Your heart seemed to beat twice as fast, your vision twice as blurry and the brief moment passed twice as slowly, Izuku only letting you up when you went limp, and even then, he made sure to guide you every step of the way. He chuckled as you leaned against the back wall, clinging to the tub’s side like a lifeline, despite how easily both of you know he could tear you away from it. Messy hair was brushed away from your face with gentle hands, a peck planting itself on the bridge of your nose, but the sensation was numb. 

Everything was numb.

“I’ve tried to talk some sense into him, but Kacchan doesn’t believe me. He thinks we have to ‘give you space’ and ‘deal with it’, even when I know you’d hate that.” Izuku spoke slowly, taking you by the forearm and pulling you to your feet, only standing after he’d had a chance to scan over your body, his gaze much too intense to mean anything good. You didn’t dare move, staring at the ground and willing yourself not to collapse. Still, Izuku had to catch you as your knees buckled, his arm remaining around your waist even after you’d stabilized yourself. “And you would hate that, right? Don’t you want to be closer to us?”

You almost nodded, catching yourself as Izuku’s expression faltered. “Right, Midoriya. I do.”

“Perfect! You won’t have a problem with telling him that, then! We can do it together… in a few hours, when you aren’t so irrational.” He tugged you closer, encouraging you to slump into his chest. You were tired, at that point, exhausted. The idea of giving-in and just allowing Izuku to dress you and carry you and love you was tempting, but you knew Izuku better than that. You knew both of them better than that.

And even if you didn’t, the way he looked at you was more than telling.

“He’ll need an apology, too. Just a little something to make Kacchan sure you love us.”

[pascal-istheway]

Deep Water - Chapter 5

Originally posted by essenceanddescent

Read it here on Ao3!

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

 Fandom: Triple Frontier

Warnings: NSFW, smut

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Tags: Smut, NSFW, PTSD, Sex

Word Count: 6.6k

Two Months Later

Your brother had texted you to come over, didn’t really give you much of an explanation as to why but just said the door was unlocked and that you should just come in when you were here. You’d parked in your usual spot out in front of his house, looking out the passenger window up at the small white farmhouse set back from the street. His truck sat in the driveway where it usually did so you assumed he was home.

“Ready to go see Uncle Santi?” you turned back and looked at your bubbly daughter who was giggling back at you as she nodded furiously. She loved her uncle as he loved her - unconditionally.

“Alright let’s go!” you climbed out, grabbing a small bag of her things and then grabbing her from her car seat and tucking her on your hip, planting a small kiss on her forehead as she tucked her head under your chin.

His lawn was freshly mowed, garden pruned, and trimmed. You’d always admired the dedication and care he took to his yard. Wishing you or Frankie had the time to spruce up the front of your own home like this.

You trudge up the front steps and knock on the door, bouncing Isabelle on your hip to shift her higher. No answer, not that you were surprised. He probably couldn’t hear you.

“Santi! You home?” you knock on the door again, knowing he damn well is home since his car is out front. You can barely hear the music coming from the backyard, but it’s enough of a warning that he’s probably not alone. “Santiagooo!” you call in a sing-song voice that makes your daughter giggle in your arms.

The door opens easily as you carry your daughter through the house in search of your brother only to find him and Frankie sitting on the back deck talking. Your feet stop you as you stand there in the kitchen, watching them sit and pass a bottle back and forth between them while they talk. He looks awful, distraught, exhausted. Honestly, he looks how you feel - miserable.

Frankie was normally full of life and laughter so the last few months have been odd that the two of you haven’t been able to move past the night you asked for space. You couldn’t look at him when the words had come from your lips, perhaps out of fear for his reaction, or maybe just that one look at him and you would change your mind and jump into his arms, begging him to forgive you for being so foolish.

Either way, it had been said, and you got what you wanted without a fight. Part of the reason you had asked for space in the first place - there was no fight left in him. He didn’t want you anymore, seemed not to want this marriage anymore even. He had just given up completely on you. And it was so frustrating because you just didn’t know how to communicate properly what was happening to you. You were so trapped inside your own head, drowning in your own trauma and you desperately needed him to hold your hand and pull you to the surface.

So space, you had decided, was the best route. You’d do it on your own. You went back to therapy, found someone who was actually really wonderful, and had slowly begun to heal and process the trauma. The cloudiness was draining from behind your tired eyes. You just wished Frankie was around to see it.

Instead, your schedules rotated around each other. He would avoid you, give you the space you needed. You ate separately, didn’t even use the same bathroom in the house anymore. It was like he was a roommate when he moved into the guest room. You cried yourself to sleep for almost two weeks when he actually did what you’d asked without any hesitation. Your therapist had told you though, that it was you that had asked, and he was just respecting your wishes. If you didn’t actually want space, you’d have to speak up and tell him.

A soft cough brings you back to the two men outside lost in deep conversation. Your name is mentioned and it makes you pause, shifting Isabelle from one hip to the other and listen. It’s not like you to eavesdrop, but considering the situation, you don’t want to interrupt what seems like such an important conversation.

You watch Frankie as he finishes the last of the amber drink in the whiskey bottle, setting it aside. He never gets this drunk or at least you’d never known him to get like this. Seeing him in this state, the echo of sadness in his constricted voice as he speaks, it’s the first crack around your heart that you never even saw coming.

He sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, “I just know I fucked all of this up man and I don’t know how to fix it? She will always hate me.”

“Look, I know my sister has been through some nasty shit, we all have. And with Isabelle and Tom and everything that happened over there… she’s not like us, she can’t just push things away. When she feels things, she feels them with all of herself. It’s something that’s a gift and a curse I guess,” Santiago handed him another beer from the cooler between them.

“I just can’t help but feel like she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I moved to the guest room because she said she needed space,” his voice was breaking you. “That was like two months ago dude. I can’t sleep without her there next to me, I don’t care if there’s a mile between us in the bed, I need her there, just to listen to her breathe, to know she’s there.”

Santiago nodded, processing the drunken admission from your husband. “Have you tried actually telling her how you feel? Like being honest and saying how fucked up we all were from that trip?” your brother asked casually. “None of us were ok after that. And you had just gotten in the shit with work when I asked you to come, so you had double the shit going on.”

The fact was he hadn’t. You had gone through this awful traumatic experience and Frankie had pushed things away like he always did when he came back from any mission. It’s what he was trained to do - what the military trained him to do. You don’t talk about things, you just shove it down and move on.

Santi was right though about you. You were different from the rest of the guys. Even if you’d been able to “ push things away” it wouldn’t have mattered. You feel everything so deeply and passionately. You experience every moment at one hundred and fifty percent. There was no halfway point with you. And it wasn’t always a bad thing either.

Like when Frankie took you to Arizona on that vacation before Isabelle was born and you saw the Milkyway over the mountains for the first time, it made you cry. Or when you saw a group of ducklings trying to cross the street and one got left behind and you just had to help rescue him. Or how every year you hold a fundraiser for the turtles and get so sad reading about how not all of them make it to the sea each year.

You feel things in every fiber of your being. It’s one of the things Frankie loves about you. He loves seeing your eyes light up when you see a dog or when you get to do a story on something light and fluffy. But he also loved your intensity about life. Your ferociousness for the ones you loved. The fire you had… the one that Lorea dampened.

“Not really. I guess,” he swallowed around a lump in his throat, “I guess I just didn’t realize how much worse it was for her. I mean I know things were scary and awful, but when we got to Lorea’s house and I saw her there on that dirty mattress, half naked and scared for her life,” he paused, swallowing hard and taking a shaky breath, “something broke inside me, Pope. She’s my entire life. She always will be. My life begins and ends with her and when we got back, it was like every time I tried to touch her, she was just so afraid of me. It made me hate myself because even though she was my reason for living, I couldn’t be hers. I wasn’t strong enough to be hers,” he let out a strangled sob and the sound completely shattered any resolve you thought you had.

Your brother put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, “you have to talk to her, you guys have to work this out. Not just because you’re my best friend and she’s my sister, but because you two are actually soul mates. You both just have very fucked up souls right now and that’s ok. You’ll find a way back to each other…” he hoped you would at least.

“I can’t breathe without her, Pope. I can’t function without her in my life. She once said we were just existing for Isabelle’s sake but fuck, I can’t do that. I exist for both of them. They are my only reason for existing…” he trailed off, drunkenly taking a swig of his drink.

His admissions were too much for your heart to hear, it was all too much. You had your own tears streaming down your face, makeup streaking your cheeks as you rushed back around through the kitchen. Your bag bumped into something on the counter as you turned sharply and it fell, shattering on the ground at your feet. The glass shards surround your feet and you just stand there a moment, stunned and unable to move.

Both men jumped at the noise, their training and instincts kicking in as they rushed in to see you standing there with a squirming Izzy in your arms, looking tired and broken. Frankie didn’t need to ask to know if you’d heard what he and your brother were talking about, he could see on your face that you knew what he felt, what he had said. And in some ways, his heart jumped and cheered that you knew how he was feeling. That he didn’t actually have to have this conversation with you face to face. But part of that thought made him feel shitty because he knew he owed you better than that.

“Baby…” he whispered at the same time Pope reached out for Isabelle and said, “don’t move. Frankie, the glass?” and pointed at the glass at your feet.

Frankie looked down at the shattered mess and suddenly kicked into overdrive, “oh fuck… baby, don’t move,” he frantically searched for a broom to sweep up the mess as you stood there, tears leaking from your eyes as your heart shattered like the glass on the floor from the conversation you heard.

Your brother just stood there and watched you, “I put Izz in the playpen, here,” he grabbed the bag off your shoulder, “let me take the bag… you don’t have to cry, it’s just a cup, it’ll be fine.” He was looking at you with a confused look. Ok so maybe he hadn’t seen you standing there listening to Frankie spill his guts about how he felt like he wasn’t good enough for you. How he felt that he failed you.

It was hitting you like a freight train, how all of these months, you two were dancing around each other not talking, when one simple conversation could’ve cleared everything up. He thought you hated him. And why shouldn’t he? You didn’t give him any reason to think otherwise. When in reality, you loathed yourself.  

For agreeing to that stupid fucking trip, for begging your crew to go with you and getting them all killed. Frankie thought you were scared of him when in reality you just couldn’t get Lorea off your skin. It had been months and you still never felt clean enough.

Your therapist had been helpful, breaking things down for you and helping you start to heal. But they never prepared you for this. For the possibility that you had been wrong about Frankie. All this time you thought he was ready to leave, to jump ship. He was done with trying to fix you, or waiting for you to fix yourself. He had given up. And it’s what you deserved after what you did to all those innocent people.

The damn broke all at once in Pope’s kitchen, both men standing there as you completely lost it. Hysterical sobs tore through your chest, your hand reaching out towards Frankie as you step towards him, knees collapsing. He caught you like you knew he would. He would always catch you in the end. He loves you.

“F-Frankie…” you sob into his chest, “oh god, I was so… so wrong,” you say between sobs.

Pope just stands there, shaking his head and shrugging at Frankie in confusion. They both share that same familiar unspoken communication as Santi leaves to go play with his niece while you and Frankie attempt to fix what you broke.

You lay there together on your brother's kitchen floor and cry into his chest, Frankie whispering soothing words of love and comfort into your hair which of course just makes you cry harder. He finally shifts, his body becoming uncomfortable underneath you and you realize you’ve been crushing his legs and sit up and wipe your eyes.

“Oh my god, baby I’m so sorry, fuck,” you pull away, wiping your face, “god, don’t look at me,” pushing back you attempt to sit up. He pulls you to him and takes your face in his hands, his own eyes red and rimmed with wet tears.

“Sunshine, what’s going on?” his thumbs swipe at your drying cheeks, pushing away the stray tears.

“Frankie,” your hands come up and cover his own as you rest your forehead against his, breathing in the man your heart has been aching for. “I’ve been so foolish, Frankie,” you admit, pulling back to look at him, and really look at him.

“No, baby, no. You…” he pauses, swallowing the lump in his own throat, “you needed what you needed,” his brows furrowed as he nods, as if he’s accepting the words all over again. I need space.  

“I…” you hesitate, unsure if you should admit you overheard him and Santi outside. You have to fix this. For your own sanity, fuck, for Frankie’s sanity. “I heard you guys talking outside.”

It comes out in a whisper. Barely an acknowledgment of how dirty you feel for listening in to their private conversation. But if you hadn’t heard him admit his own truths, would you ever have known? Would you have just continued along this path of self-torture?

Afraid to look at him and see the hurt on his face, you turn your head and look away, tears starting again. Instead, he pulls your head back to face him as he wipes them away and whispers, “I love you, now, before, always. That will never change. ” His voice is tight and hurting but it’s ringing true. He loves you.

You choke out a half-laugh, half sob. He loves you. “I love you, fucking god, Frankie I love you,” your arms wrap around his neck. He stands, lifting you with him and pulling you to your feet, and dragging you towards the door.

“Pope, watch Izzy for a few hours for us?” he throws over his shoulder as he yanks you out the door towards your car, your brother watching from the door shaking his head with a grin on his face.

He throws open the car door and looks at you to get into the car as you toss him the keys over the roof, his hand reaching out last minute to catch them in mid-air. You speed off together down the road, the three minutes to your house feeling like an eternity but when he pulls up into your driveway and you both eventually find yourself standing there in front of each other in your own bedroom again. The same place where things fell apart.

“We don’t have to do this, we can just talk …” he whispered behind you, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of your neck.

“There will be time for talking,” you turn, your hands slowly reaching out to touch him but just missing the mark. You pull your fingers back as if he’s made from fire and you don’t want to be burned.

His eyes never leave you as he waits patiently for you to tell him what you need. It’s torture. He can almost taste your skin, feel your lips on his… “I miss you,” he whispers, breaking the mesmerizing trance you seemed to be in.

Your eyes meet his, the deep warm pools of brown and gold draw you closer in ways you’d missed. You can’t even imagine what your life would’ve been like if you’d never been able to look into them again. It almost makes you want to scream to think how stupid you’d been.

“I don’t want to waste any more time without you, Frankie,” you admit, moving a step closer. “I’ve waisted the last two months being so fucking foolish, I can’t…” you swallow back around the burning lump that’s grown in your throat, “I can’t live without you.” you choke out.

“I never left you, querida,” his hand came up to your face and brushed a few stray hairs from your cheek, “I will never leave, I’m right where I’ve always been. I’ll always wait for you,” he leaned forward, breath mixing with yours.

You waited for it, the kiss that would take you back in time to that moment on the beach, to the first time in your apartment, to your wedding day, to every single moment in between, but it never came. You open your eyes and see him looking at you, waiting for you to close the gap.

He was waiting for you. He will always wait for you…

You leap forward, pressing your lips into his with a ferocious hunger that only he can satisfy. Frankie surges forward, lips crashing against yours, a brutal charge that takes you by surprise and you taste the desperation, the pent-up anxiety warring inside him as his tongue slips into your mouth with a low pained growl. His chest heaving as his arms reach down and grasp under your thighs, pulling you into his arms, your legs naturally wrapping around his waist as he lifts you off the ground and carries you towards your bed.

Despite the rushedness, the clumsy force of it, your nerves sing with the relief that floods your veins at the familiar taste of him. You missed him with every fiber of your being. And kissing him felt like coming home, over and over again. Frankie felt the same, completely lost within you.

Pushing you back as he moves forward in the eagerness of it all. The force of it knocks your head against the headboard and you hear it more than you feel the collision, not even registering the blunt pain until you hear the panic in Frankie’s voice.

“Fuck! Baby, I’m so sorry!” his hand comes to pull your head back, and you just giggle, mostly with nerves but also with the pure teenage lust you both have at the moment.

“Frankie, it’s fine,” you grasp him by the shirt and pull him down, “don’t stop.”

Your lips press forward again to meet his, this time it’s more calculated, more focused. Slower and passionate. Filled with promises of making things up to each other for the rest of your lives.

“Querida, you’re s’so soft. Jesus Christ, I missed your skin.”

It’s so stupid, it almost makes you want to cry. Now, when you hear the hushed pleas of him against the shell of your ear, it is so obvious just how unwavering he is in his affection. How patiently he’s waited for you to be ready for him again. You just refused to hear and see it. You couldn’t admit that he had tried, in his own ways, in the beginning, to be there, but things were just so raw that you weren’t able to differentiate between your husband and Lorea.

Sensing where your mind was going, his lips pull away from you as he mouthed at your ear. “Are you sure this is what you want?��� Frankie asks, the lingering trace of doubt that you might change your mind still there; worried you’d bite his hand if he so much as reached for you. He couldn’t risk losing you again.

Taking his hand in yours, you guide it down between your legs, beneath your thin sundress, skirting the edge of your underwear until he feels the damp spot outside of them. “Do you feel that,” you ask him in a pained whisper, “just how much I want you?”

You can see the exact moment his pupils widen, a low feral moan emitting from deep in his chest and you think you can see the moment that his mind snaps into a different setting, the way that soft brown gaze darkens. His lips find yours again, groans escaping as his teeth nip and pull at your bottom lip.

“Take them off,” he commands. It’s not an ask, not a suggestion, it’s a command.

You smirk, remembering this side of Frankie. This possessive and demanding side. You play with the hem of your dress, teasing him painfully as you stand at the edge of the bed and push him onto his back so you’re standing over him as you slowly lift the fabric over your body. Your legs part just enough for him to see between them, the cotton still covering your sweetest spot that Frankie is so desperate to taste.

He kicks off his own clothes, leaving him in nothing but his briefs to watch you toy with him as you shake your hips from side to side in front of his long legs.

“Enough of that, get over here,” he reaches out for you, one hand taking your wrist and pulling you to straddle over his legs. You climb on top of his hips, feeling the hard length beneath you and grind down on top of him.

A moan escapes your lips, “please Frankie,” you beg. His thumb strokes the outside of your panties, letting your moisture soak through them.

“You look so good like this baby,” he moans, “fuck, just like this. On top of me, looking down at me, just like this,” he sits up so your noses touch and brings his lips to yours, kissing you madly.

“Do you have any idea how much I miss being inside you?” he asks, hand still grinding into your now soaked panties. “Any idea at all? That I touch myself thinking about you, knowing you’re laying in here all alone. That you’ve gone all this time without me?” he bites your ear as he groans while you grind down on his hard cock.

His fingers find their way beneath the cotton, slipping into your warmth and coating themselves between your slick folds. A sharm breath hitches in your throat as his finger brushes over that sensitive little nub and your hips buck forward, grinding down on his fingers.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet,” he says as his mouth travels down your neck, peppering kisses and bites the whole way down.

“I did too… I mean… I, oh fuck…” you grind your hips again on his palm, feeling the sweet release of pleasure against your clit.

“You what?” he slowed his fingers, waiting for your answer.

You let out a whine, frustrated by the sudden lack of movement, “babyyyy,” you groan.

“Tell me. What did you do?” he pulls his head back to look you in the eyes.

“I touched myself. I thought of you and touched myself,” you felt his fingers move again and your eyes practically rolled in your head.

One of his thick fingers finds your entrance and you feel him slowly sliding his finger in, massaging the walls of your cunt. A high pitched cry escapes you as you move your hips on him, bunching your hands in his shirt to pull him closer at the feeling of his fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, Frankie!” You feel his other hand come to your breast and massage, his mouth finding your nipple and taking it between his lips he rolls it to a hard peak.

“Tell me what you did,” he adds another finger, making you clench around him harder.

“I pictured…” you swallow harshly, “oh fuck… I pictured y-your cock,” you admitted.

His fingers curled, reaching the depths of you and stroked the embers that were just about to die out, igniting them with a full force that you could barely tolerate. Your teeth sank into the thread of his shoulder, biting through a sob as he worked you.

“Baby, I’m going to cum if you- oh fuck… if you don’t s-stop i’m gon… gon-a fuck!” your legs began to shake like they always did before you came, his fingers pumping and stroking relentlessly without holding back. Your back arches up into his mouth, body molding to his as your orgasm rips through you and takes hold of you deep within your core.

Fire shoots through your veins, spreading like a wildfire as stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you completely. You close them, hearing Frankie call your name as he begs you to look at him and when you do, you see fear and lust and worry scattered across his face. His lips find yours, “look at me when you cum baby, please, I-” his tongue dances with yours, “I need you to know it’s me… that we are here in this moment together.” He pulls back and searches your face as your hands come up to each side of his jaw, thumbs mindlessly stroking through his patchy beard as a small tear you weren’t even aware of slips from your eye.

“Baby, I’m here, I’m with you,” you whisper, pulling his face down to yours.

You slide your hand down his chest, feeling his fingers still plunged deep within you, and move your fingers with his, stretching yourself out just a little further than you’d ever been before.

“But I need you to fuck me or else I’m going to lose my mind,” you smile seductively.

His cock pulses on your thigh in response, ready and waiting to be brought into action. As he removes his hand, the wet suction of your pussy trying to keep him rooted within you echoes between you. His cock jumps again, begging to be buried inside you.

“Fuck baby, you…. s’so… so perfect.” he can barely speak.

“Frankie, please,” you whine, squirming under him, “fuck me.”

His eyes darken and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip. You lean forward, grasping him in your palm and squeeze, Frankie responding with a sharp hiss as your hand begins pumping his cock at your entrance. Not that he needed the help, he was throbbing, pulse bouncing within him.

In one motion, your legs instinctually wrap around his waist, pulling him in towards you in a desperate attempt to get him inside you. It doesn’t take much though. It’s obvious how much he wants you, how much he needs you .

It’s a magic moment, the one where his eyes lock on to yours, hands wrapping around your face, as he pulls you in close and guides himself to your entrance. He stills, searching your face for the fraction of hesitation from you and it almost breaks you to see him search your features for the evidence that you didn’t want this - that you didn’t want him anymore.

“Baby,” you whisper, “I’m right here,” your hand strokes his hair away from his face, searching his own eyes.

“Do you-” he pauses, stroking your hair back, “do you want this? Are you positive? Because I can always st-” you cut him off with a slow kiss, shuddering into his lips before pulling back and look at his beautiful face, his eyes pinching in concern. “We don’t have to do this, baby….” he whispered. “If you’re not ready…”

“Frankie…” you whisper, feeling how desperate his cock is for you. “I love you. I want you ,” you emphasize. It breaks your heart seeing him like this. Broken after months of you pushing him, distancing yourself in the worst way. The damage was done, and here you both were, falling back together trying to undo the disaster you’d both found yourself in.

He nods, kissing you deeply as he takes your legs and untangles them from around his hips and spreads them against the soft sheets. His cock barely nudging against your cunt, Frankie is barely holding himself together. It’s torture, complete madness for the two of you. And you’d had enough of it.

Grabbing his ass, you pull him in deep towards you, his cock spreading your folds wide as it forces its way into your incredibly tight hole. Your head rolls back and a moan flies out from your mouth as his hips match up with yours.

Frankie’s head flops forward, feeling this overwhelming urge to collapse and explode right then and there. But he doesn’t, he resolves whatever was brewing within himself and he slowly begins to move. Hips driving into you slowly at first but then picking up to a speed that could only be described as destructive .

“How does that feel?” he asks, setting this incredible pace that you almost can’t keep up with.

He pulls out of you almost entirely, only the solid tip of him resting inside you. The thick drag makes you aware of each inch of him, makes you forget how to breathe and from the breath caught in his own throat, you think he is experiencing the exact same thing.

“God, you’re fucking killing me,” he murmurs, brushing his lip over your shoulder, teeth grazing your fevered skin.

It’s almost too much, the feeling of him stretching you, the moans escaping both of you, the sound of skin on skin. It’s enough to make you want to sing out or cry. His hands explore your body, touching you in ways that you’ve been dreaming about the last few months.

“Fu-fuck… fuck, baby… Fran-Frankie…” you can barely get the words out, “ don’tfuckingstopbaby …” you pant. Frankie pulls you up, a sitting position for the two of you so your noses are right together.

“Ride me, baby. Take control… take me ,” he whispers the last part as your hips start a slow-rolling rotation over him, your arms rest over his shoulders, hands messing in his hair, pulling slightly on the messy curls as you grind down on him, sliding his cock in and out of your hole.

“Fuck baby…” you groan out into his ear, teeth scraping against his earlobe.

The pace starts to pick up, your tits bouncing in his face as he takes one in his mouth and starts sucking, teasing, and playing with you. You toss your head back, the feeling overwhelming as he spears you from below.

But it’s almost over before it starts, his hips come to a slowing halt as Frankie pants heavily, his forehead resting against your collarbone and a crease appears between his brows with a pained expression. His shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath he’s caressing your skin with.

“Frankie, you ok?” you look at him, concerned.

“Yeah, just give me a second, I just… I need to breathe for a minute” he hugs you closer to him with a shaking breath, laughing slightly. It’s hard not to smile at his reaction, to have a man you’ve been with for most of your life so affected by you as if it’s his very first time.

This man was going to be the death of you, the praise slipping out of your lips, how good he is, how amazing he is being, how perfect of a man he is. And you know he needs to hear it almost as much as he loves to hear the praise. Mostly because the way he captures your mouth in an explosive and yet passion-fueled kiss is enough to drive you over the edge.

You move your hips slightly, feeling him treasuring the slow pull of his lips against yours while he’s inside of you. Then Frankie opens his eyes and just looks at you, brown eyes filled with unguarded warmth. It’s like he’s seeing you again for the first time. Like he’s coming home again and again with each thrust. And in a way, he is, because to him, you are home.

Leaning forward, you roll your hips into him, hands braced over the lean muscles of his thighs, appreciatively. A long, filling stroke inside you, before dropping back down to the beautiful sound of Frankie’s strangled moans as you build up the devastating rhythm of his hips meeting yours at every downstroke.

“Cariño, fuck… are you close?” It’s a rasped ask, and his lips fall to your breast, to the spot right above where your heart is thumping hard and fast. You nod, feeling his hands wrap around your body as he brings you back, moving you in sync together. His thighs flex as he pushes up firmly, causing you to fall forward and cling to his shoulders from the sheer force of his thrusts.

The damp curls from his lower stomach, leading to where you are joined glistens with your arousal as you rock your hips over him, moaning his name into his ear. There’s only the sensation of Frankie completely filling you, the hard thickness of him, and how much you’ve missed this as it takes away the aching emptiness inside you. It’s becoming impossible to have a single coherent thought anymore.

“God... I, fuck.. J’just like that… f-fu” he can barely speak as he thrusts. “S’so perfe-ct,” his body working in slow movements as he starts but then he starts to pick up the pace, moving quicker and quicker, bodies moving together in sync.

You hear skin against skin echoing in your room, the sound of being fucked properly as he grunts and groans through each thrust. He pins your legs open, taking one hand and rubbing his thumb against your bundle of nerves making your head flop back, your fingers sharply digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck - this… this what you needed?” he wheezes, his pace turning ferocious. “I know you needed this, little bird.” he can barely breathe he’s fucking you at such a fast pace. All you can hear is your own screams mixed with the sound of your thighs against his.

Your eyes start to roll as your orgasm barrels through you, “Francisco! Fu-fuck I’m cum-” is all you get out before you gush out all over him, the evidence of your orgasm flowing between the two of you.

It’s possibly the most beautiful thing you’ve seen when he throws his head back as your cunt squeezes him tightly, his lips parting as his lean throat exposes to you as he lets out a growl. Legs trembling, he starts to tense in that all too familiar way, signaling his arrival of his own orgasm. You recognize the strained inhale and hiss of his breath as he stops thrusting, trying to hold back. He grips at you, in an attempt to beg you to still but you can’t, your own orgasm riding through you and his cock drawing it out in waves.

“Fuck! Baby, stop… stop, please… stop,” he pleads, practically whimpering into your chest.

“Baby, please. Don’t stop… please…” you beg him, grinding down on him, “I want you to come inside me,” at your admission, his hand curls tight into your hips, almost hard enough to bruise your already tender skin. A strained whine that escapes from deep in his chest, as one arm locks tightly around your back, pushing you flush up against him when he pushes himself into you sharply, up and into you as far as he can, like he was reaching for your heart with his cock.

“It’s ok. I’ve got you,” you whisper into his ear, running your hand through his soft curly hair.

You feel it as he comes, a shattered sob muffled against your neck, hips pressed impossibly deep into you, the thick pulses as he spills inside of you and it mingles with your own orgasm, and all you can do is hold him against you as he quivers and shakes in your arms. You both sit there for another few minutes, breathing in each other while you come down from this incredible high you just experienced together.

Frankie lays you back, still rooted within you as he kisses you deeply and softly. His hands come to your face as you both stretch out together, tangling under the sheets, embracing in the moment of you finally coming home together - coming home to each other .

He pulls back from you, eyes searching your face as he brushes your hair from your face, “I love you,” he whispers, almost so softly, so sweetly that it breaks you all over again. “I know I didn’t tell you enough, I wasn’t there enough, but you’re my everything… I-” he pauses, “I would be so lost without you and I’m,” he chokes up as you look up into his eyes, seeing the pure raw emotion within his chocolate pools.

“I’m here, Francisco… you have me, all of me,” you assure him, pulling him into a soft hug, holding him as his eyes water up, the realization hitting both of you just how far things had gone between you.

Eventually, you both pull apart, but wrap yourselves in each other and just stay there, breathing in the air mixing between you. It’s an old habit brought back, Frankie’s fingers finding their way to your hair, mindlessly stroking and weaving through your messy, post-sex hair that makes you shiver against him. His lips pressing gentle kisses against your forehead as his other hand strokes gently down your bare back.

“I love you…” he whispers, over and over again, “I will never stop loving you,” he kisses your temple.

You pull back, looking at the man that you had pushed away, that you’d forgotten loved you so deeply and so strongly and you kiss him, remembering all those years ago at the courthouse when you recited the most important words to him. It came out of you, like a renewal of your vows, and it just felt so right. The words were so important, something so sacred. And to start to fix this, to heal you , maybe remembering them was exactly what you needed.

“Frankie, you love me and complete me in ways I never knew possible. From this day forth, I promise to listen to you and learn from you, to support you and accept your support…” you smile, remembering your vows like they were yesterday.

His head comes down to yours, forehead pressed against your own as he recites parts of his own, “Forever with you simply will not be enough, but from this day forward, I vow to make the most of every moment. Let me be the shoulder you lean on and the companion of your life. With this ring,” he takes your hand, planting a kiss on your wedding band, “I promise you that you'll never have to face the world alone.”