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hoedamn-eron · 4 months

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baby, please - part 18

It's time for your 'surprise' baby shower (that Santi did not give away at all).

Warnings: Mentions of unsupportive family members. Like two swear words. Mentions of Santi being absent. Reader calls her friends 'guys', as a collective. A bit emotional but all around good vibes. Absolutely not proofread (surprise), so there will probably be mistakes. Word count: 3,802 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

It’s come to light recently that my partner has been reading this 😂 Hi Dom!

Part 17 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 19

“We’re going to be late!”

“I know, I know, I'm coming!” you call, fixing your make up in the mirror. You double – triple – check your appearance before you leave Courtney’s bathroom.

Your friends were still under the impression you knew nothing about the baby shower, since no-one (including yourself) had ever said anything about organising one. You would have been okay with or without – but you’re secretly happy that something was arranged. You’d been looking forward to the shower since Santi had accidentally given away on Christmas day.

You’re wearing a baby blue dress (you weren’t sure if it was hinting at the gender, but you highly doubted Santi told anyone – or maybe he did…you’re not going to get into it), with a low V-neck and ruffles along the edges. At 8 months pregnant, not many things made you feel ‘pretty’ anymore; you felt like you’d eaten a watermelon. But this dress was cute, and when Beth gave it to you to wear for your ‘last hurrah lunch’, you had burst into tears at how cutely pregnant you looked.

Your hormones were still all over the place.

Andy and Courtney were waiting by the front door as you meet them, smiling shyly at Courtney. “Sorry. I’m ready to go now.”

“You look lovely,” Andy said, smiling at your, spinning his car keys in his hand. Andy was such a good guy. He reminded you a little of Benny, in the way that he was like a golden retriever. He was so willing to drop you guys off at the restaurant.

“Thank you, Andy,” you say, smiling back.

“Come on, Beth and Gabs are already there waiting for us,” Courtney said, frowning at her phone.

You follow the two to Andy’s car, sitting in the back seat before Andy drives off towards the restaurant. You’re talking about what kind of food you’re going to get, what desserts you wanted, and how you’re going to eat all you like with no judgement. You didn’t miss the grins Courtney and Andy sent to each other.

After Andy parks the car outside the restaurant, Courtney helps you out, holding your hand for steadiness. You thanked her before you all make your way into the restaurant, where you were led by a hostess through towards the back. You grinned as Courtney and Andy talked quicker, more excited, the further you made your way in.

You were glad that you hadn’t said anything about knowing of the baby shower. They were obviously so excited they had managed to pull it off.

As you were lead through some double doors, before you freeze as a loud, “SURPRISE!” overtakes your senses. Although you were expecting something, it still caught you off guard.

You look around the room with wide eyes, almost laughing. You were expecting a baby shower, sure, but not with this many people. You spotted Beth and Georgia, with Gabrielle and Matthew, smiling widely by the front. Then you spotted Emily from work, with Harriet, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Then you spotted Santi with Frankie and Sarah, and Benny was with Will and Claire (Benny, in true Benny fashion, was the loudest and held his arms out wide, a big smile on his face).

There were typical baby decorations – balloons in the shape of pacifiers, pink and blue banners around the room, tables covered in matching pink and blue tablecloths – and the tables were filled with all sorts of food (you did not miss the large bowl of Sourpatch watermelon pieces). The central table was laden with tempting treats, and cupcakes with pastel-coloured frosting, and a tiered cake adorned with baby booties, and an assortment of finger foods invite everyone to indulge in the celebration. There was a pile of gifts towards the back of the room, and piles and piles of diapers. Everyone must have spent a fortune.

You look at everyone before laughing. “There’s so many people here.”

“Did we surprise you?” Courtney asked excitedly.

You give a quick glance to Santi before nodding. “Yes, you did. I had no idea!”

“Liar,” joked Beth, as she gave you a hug. “But thanks for letting us think that you didn’t know.”

“In my defence, I only found out two weeks ago, so you did fairly well until then.”

“Santiago can’t keep a secret for shit,” muttered Courtney, giving him a glare at said man, who was chatting away to Frankie and Benny, laughing at something Benny said.

“How did you even pull all of this off?” you ask, looking around at everything.

“Benny and I came up with it at the Halloween party!” said Gabrielle, smiling widely. “We exchanged numbers and we’ve all been in cahoots trying to get it organised.”

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me it was Santiago who was your baby daddy!”

You cringe as you turn to Emily, who was stood with a flute of champagne in her hand, Harriet at her side, texting on her phone, her own champagne flute in her hand. “Surprise?”

“Oh, oh! ‘Surprise’!” said Emily, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “I am shocked! Betrayed – “

“Did you not do the math to figure it out?” you ask, grinning.

Emily goes quiet and stares at you before she suddenly burst into tears. “I can’t believe that I’m the one who set you guys up!”

She pulls you into a hug, and you awkwardly pat her on the back at you give your friends a wide-eyed look. “There, there,” you say.

“Let her go, Emily, she needs to mingle,” muttered Harriet. She finally put her phone away and gives you a tight smile as Emily lets you go, wiping her eyes before Gabrielle tends to her. “Congratulations, again.”

“Thank you,” you say. “I know you’re busy, you don’t have to stay – “

“Yeah, I’m meeting with the big bosses, so I’ll have to dash, but thanks again for the invite,” Harriet said quickly, placing her glass on a table. “Just thought I’d show my face. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She was gone before you could blink.

“What a…fun person,” said Beth, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “She’s always like that.” You say, before smiling. “So what’s first?”

“First,” Gabrielle says, shoving a glass of Diet Coke in your hands. “Is that you sit down and let all of us tell you how amazing you are.”

“Then,” said Beth, leading you over to a cutely decorated table, sitting you down. “We’ll play some games, the really cheesy stuff. Like guess the weight of the babies, guess the length of the bump, all that stuff. Including prizes, which you are exempt from since you have an advantage.”

“Being pregnant?”

“Being pregnant.”

“Then some lunch,” said Courtney, grinning. “Then presents.”

“Always the best part of any occasion,” you joke, sipping your drink.

You sat with your friends, Sarah and Claire soon joining you and introducing themselves to Beth, Georgia, Courtney, and Emily. They blend in with the group with ease, and soon you’re laughing and joking together like you’ve been friends for years. Sarah tells them all that she never thought Santiago would ever have kids or stick around for anyone.

“It’s nearly been a year since he’s come back,” said Sarah. “He usually bolts by month one or two. Santiago Garcia can’t stay in one place for too long.”

You ignore the way the panic blossoms in your chest and disappears just as quickly as it reared its ugly head. She was only joking; Santiago has made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. You were weeks away from giving birth and he was still here, still celebrating with you and your friends. You’d finally agreed on names, after spending months and months disagreeing with every name you threw at each other. However, you were not quite ready to share with the world just yet, wanting to keep them to yourself until your babies finally arrived.

You gave a soft smile as Sarah still talked. No, Santi wasn’t leaving. He was here for good.

“You bad mouthing me?” Santi suddenly asked, appearing at your side as he throws a teasing grin to Sarah.

“Oh please, your attack dog will have something to say about it if I dare say a bad thing about you,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes good naturedly as she nods at Frankie, who was still talking to Benny.

“You gotta talk me up, Morales, these guys are important,” Santi replied, laughing as he motioned to your friends.

You reach over to pat his arm and give him a mock sympathetic look as Sarah teased him, before you turn to your friends. “Shall we play some games then?”

Gabrielle grins widely as Courtney nods.

Courtney calls everyone over to the table, before producing a ball of yarn. “We’re going to guess how big your bump is by measuring a string.”

“Santiago, you’re immediately disqualified, you probably have the bump mapped out,” said Beth, causing everyone to laugh.

You laugh along with them, but you realise something. Santi has never actually…touched your bump. Or if he had, it’s been a while since. You frown a little at the thought. When was the last time? Didn’t dad’s usually want to feel their kids moving? You think back and the only time you can remember was when you called him frantically because you had felt their first kicks and he wasn’t there. He’d come rushing over and you were both say in silence for what felt like hours with his hands on your belly as you both waited for it to happen again. That was months ago. What did that mean? Did he feel awkward doing it again? You were good friends, and you were pregnant with his kids, you wouldn’t have a problem with him wanting to feel the bump whenever he wanted.

You were looking into this too hard. Maybe has was just respecting your boundaries, that you don’t want to always be touched. Maybe you should let him know that he’s okay to do it. Not now, but later.

Courtney went around the group, letting everyone estimate how your bump measured. When it was Matthew’s turn, he looked between you and Gabrielle before he asked his wife, “How big were you with Luna?”

You wince at the question, and you noticed a few other people pull a face. Gabrielle had some self-esteem issues when she was pregnant with Luna, which was a different pregnancy with Theodore.

Gabrielle just gives him a tight smile. “Not as big as someone with twins, thank you very much. No offence.”

You shake your head. “None taken.”

Matthew, shaking his head, measured out a piece of string, looking at you a few times before finally cutting it.

Courtney makes her way around the group, where everyone made their measurements. Benny got into a spat with Frankie about how big his string was, before making one much bigger than Frankie’s.

“Hey!” you cried at Benny. “That’s offensive!”

“There’s two in there!” he cried, pointing to your bump, and holding up his string. “And I know that Garcia’s make big babies! Pope was eleven pounds when he was born!”

Your eyes widened as you look back at Santi. “You never told me that.”

He merely smirked at you.

“Would have been nice to know before I got pregnant.”

“Wasn’t intending to get you pregnant, didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You pull a face before nodding. “Okay, fair. Anyway, twins are usually smaller than average, so you might be off, Benny.”

“Damn,” Benny muttered as he passed the string over to Will and Claire.

Benny, in fact, ends up winning the string game.

“Are you kidding!?” you cry, mouth hanging open as Emily measures your bump with Benny’s perfect string.

Benny, with his arms raised and hands curled into fists in celebration, parades around the room like a peacock. Frankie and Will throw over some friendly insults as he picks a prize (oddly, he chose a cute little succulent).

The games continue with baby shower bingo, adding an element of friendly competition to the atmosphere. A Gabrielle shouted the words on the bingo cards, you enjoy joining in, getting competitive with Courtney, trying to shove her card away whenever she was searching for a word, only for her to keep stamping the wrong words on your own card. You glance at Santi who wasn’t taking too much of a part of this game, choosing to talk intensely with Frankie and Will, Benny playing bingo with Claire and Sarah. You frown lightly at him with worry before turning back to the game before Claire lets out a cry of joy, and calls out, "Bingo!"

She won a Lush voucher, which she was very happy about.

Next, Claire arranged a table with an array of dolls laid out, and a row of diapers, baby wipes, and baby talc. Gabrielle took lead on this one also, explaining that the dolls needed changing, and you had to use all the tools on the table. The one with the quickest time won.

You didn’t take part, claiming you’d be changing diapers for what felt like the rest of time when the babies arrived, so you sat back and watched in amusement as the chaos began. You were crying laughing everyone frantically tried to change the doll’s diapers; there was a suspiciously odd number of resources available, which meant a few people were scrambling and shouting at each other for cheating and hogging the wipes, or the talc. You were sure Santi and Benny were about to wrestle on the floor.

In the end, Will won, but graciously gave his prize of the collection of Hershey’s chocolate to Emily, who’d had her eye on it the moment she walked into the venue.

After Beth announced a small break for some lunch, you mosey your way on over to Santi, who finally had a moment alone. “Hi,” you say as you take a seat next to him.

“Hi,” he said, grinning back at you.

“How you doing?”

He gives a short snort of laughter, taking a sip of his water. “I’m doing good.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “Saw you and Frankie and Will talking earlier. You were a bit...off, is everything okay?”

Santi frowned at you for a small moment, so brief you almost miss it, before shaking his head. “Everything’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly. “You sure?”

He nodded, placing his drink back on the table. “Yeah.”

“If you say so,” you say.

You drop it. You can tell something is bothering him, but you’re sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready. You look around the room, smiling at all your friends mingling, Benny talking to Matthew and Gabrielle (or at least listening to something Matthew was talking about), Frankie and Sarah were chatting with Beth and Georgia, and Courtney was talking with Claire and helping set up the next activity (from what you could see, it looked like onesie decorating), as Andy and Will were getting some more drinks.

“So how do you find my friends?” you ask him.

Santi gives a chuckle before looking at you, grinning. “Beth scares the shit out of me.”

You laugh. “She’s an angel, what do you mean?”

“She’s very protective over you,” he says.

“She’s protective of anyone she loves. You’re the same,” you say, waving over to his friends. “You’d take a bullet for any of them. You probably have taken a bullet for them.”

“One or two,” Santi quips, sipping again at his drink.

“Exactly,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He stays silent for a moment before he takes a breath and places his drink back on the table. “I know we’re doing gifts later, but I wanted to give you this now.”

He digs around in his pocket, pulling out a small, wrapped box. He hands it to you, and you take it after a moment before unwrapping it. You pause as you look at the small white box, before giving a wide smile at Santiago and opening it. You give a giggle at the new charm for your bracelet, a baby carriage.

“To commemorate your baby shower,” Santi says.

“Our baby shower,” you say, before lifting the charm gently. “Put it on, put it on!”

You hold it out to Santi before offering your wrist, where the bracelet he gave you for Christmas still lay. You hardly take it off. He smiles as he holds your arm gently, moving it so he could place the charm on. He makes sure it’s secure before giving your hand a small pat, and you bring your wrist to your eyes to get a good look at it.

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Thank you, Santi. It’s an amazing addition.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He gives you another smile before glancing around the room. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

After lunch, you sit with your friends and start decorating some onesies. You attempt to stick to a jungle theme, to match Santi’s nursery (from what you could tell). You laugh at your poor attempt of a tiger and panda that you tried to draw on the onesies, and you and Emily try to fix it with some patterns and some more colour, but you eventually decided it was a lost cause, that they were as good as they were going to get.

You decided you were going to pack them in your hospital bag.

Throughout the rest of the celebration, snippets of conversation, shared memories, and well-wishes fill the air. Gabrielle and Matthew swap parenting tips and recount their own experiences with you, Santi, and Frankie and Sarah, leaving you with some laughs and new worries, which you would be able to conquer with the love and support from everyone.

You open your presents with excitement, oohing and ahhing at the new clothes, the crib sheets, even down to teething toys and pacifiers. You thanked everyone profusely, sharing some smiles with Santi. You were already picturing the presents scattered around your new house, where you would store them away when they weren’t being used, where all the small, teeny-tiny clothes were going to go.

You might start crying.

More games are played, and more prizes are won between the group, and you pack away a stack of cards with baby predictions on them. You giggle to yourself as you read through some of them.

Soon after, you realise the day is ending and the venue had been subtly hinting for a while that they were ready to close. You start loading the car with the gifts and many, many packs of diapers, with the help of your friends, old and new. You hover outside the venue once everyone starts to disperse, sending goodbyes and sharing hugs.

“We’ll help you get settled into your new place over the next week, yeah?” Frankie asked you, placing his hands on his hips as you came out of a hug with Sarah.

You nod at him. “Yes, please, I would really appreciate it. The house could do with a fresh coat of paint, and I still need to build all of my furniture – “

“Don’t worry about all’a that, we’ve got it,” said Santi, looking at you with a slight frown.

Benny nodded, grinning. “Just let us know when.”

You smile widely before nodding. “Thanks again for today, really.”

“We’ll see you soon, okay?” said Sarah, giving you a pointed look. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” you say, before you watch them walk to their cars. You waved them off, watching them leave before sighing and turning to Santi. “So I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

He nods, arms folded over his chest. “Yup, I’ll take a few half days. You started maternity yet?”

You shake your head. “Nope, week after next. But I’m using some PTO so I don’t have to use all of my maternity leave.”

“Smart,” he says, grinning before turning to Emily, who just joined you after going to the bathroom. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” Emily replied before giving you a hug, smiling widely. “Today was so much fun. I am still amazed that Santiago is the baby daddy we’ve been talking about.”

“Thanks for coming, Em,” you say, coming out of the hug. “Next time I see you, I’ll probably be a mom.”

“I know! It’s crazy!” she cried, before looking at Santi. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll see you later, cariño,” said Santi, bringing you into a hug before pecking you on the cheek.

You ignore the way your skin tingles afterward. “See you later.”

You both linger for a moment before coming out of the hug. You look at him and he’s already meeting your gaze, a soft smile on his face before he gives you a nod and turns to leave with Emily.

You wave as they hop in the truck and drive away before sighing, and once they were out of view, you turn back and walk into the venue, grabbing the last few gifts and thanking the staff again for being so accommodating, before you stop at Courtney’s car, where you friends are already gathered.

“Thanks for this guys, really,” you say, smiling at them as you load the last diaper pack into Courtney’s trunk. “I really enjoyed it today.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Gabrielle.

“I’m just sorry it was…” Beth says, before trailing off.

“What?” you ask after a moment.

Beth gives a sigh before looking at you. “I’m sorry that your family couldn’t celebrate this with you. I tried to contact them, but…”

You heart skips a beat at the mention of your family. Tears spring to your eyes as you try and wave it off nonchalantly. “Don’t feel bad.”

“No, Beth’s right, they should be here – “ said Courtney.

But you shake your head, cutting her off. “No, no, they’ve made their choice. Besides, I have all I need right here.”

There was a moment before your friends gather you in their arms, the tears finally falling from your eyes. You feel safe, warm, and valued. The baby shower showed that you were surrounded by love and laughter, despite the absence of your family. The memories created on this special day will forever be etched in your heart, a testament to the incredible support and love from your chosen family, and you couldn’t wait to share this journey with your children.

“We love you,” Gabrielle muttered into the group hug.

You give a small, watery laugh. “I love you guys too.”

You all came out of the hug, before subtly wiping at your eyes. Courtney sighed before closing her trunk. “We taking all of this to your new house?”

You nod. “Yup. My next adventure begins!”

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland, @itsmytimetoodream

#triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #pregnant!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #frankie morales #william miller #benny miller

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brook-e-lynns · 1 year

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SO IN LOVE | FRANKIE MORALES |

Summary: you and Frankie have a baby

Warnings: fluff, fear of hospitals, and childbirth.

Word count : 1.1K

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Pedro Masterlist

“Babe, can we please go to the hospital” Frankie pleads. You had been in labor for the past three hours

your contractions slowly getting closer together but you knew you still had time “ no, contractions are still four minutes apart” though he knew your reason for not wanting to go to the hospital early, that reason being that you were terrified of hospitals so having to be stuck there was something you didn’t want. “we were supposed to go when they were five minutes apart” he argues. And then it hits you, the worst contraction you’ve had. your head leaning against Frankie shoulder, your arms wrapped around his neck, Frankie rubs against your stomach trying to soothe you as best as he can, your hips swaying from side by side as your hums slowly become pained groans. “I’m so scared” you cry “I know but I’ll be with you the whole way” you knew he was scared to mainly because he couldn’t do anything to ease your pain “ but the longer we wait the less likely you’ll be able to get an epidural” that was enough to scare you more “okay let’s go” you panic you brace yourself resting a hand on top of your belly slowly making your way to the truck. Frankie runs to grab the hospital bag and car seat returning to you with his hand on the small of your back while he holds the car seat in the other the bag slung over his shoulder. Frankie quickly puts the stuff in the backseat before running to your side of the car helping you in your hand holding your belly from underneath. You finally sit down when Frankie helps you buckle. “ Let's go have a baby” he says before pressing a kiss to your temple before climbing into his seat starting the engine. You put your hand on the back of Frankie’s neck letting your fingers run through the loose curls the poke out from his ball cap placing a comforting hand onto your thigh, his thumb running against your leg. You were about five minutes into your fifteen minute drive. When you start contracting again Frankie moves his hand from your thigh to rest on the top of your bump. your other hand meeting with his. Your face scrunches up during your contraction letting out a low moan while trying to breathe “that was definitely less than three minutes' ' Frankie stresses there’s a hint of panic in his voice. “Francisco please do not let me have this baby in the car” you sob, gripping his hand. “ it’s okay we’re almost there baby just hang on” he reassured three more minutes that’s all you had to wait until you get to the hospital.

You’ve been at the hospital for about an hour. They have checked your dilation every half hour moving from a five to a six only dilating a centimeter every time you're checked. Frankie's mom finally showed up once they were trying to get you an epidural. “oh cariño” she worries, rushing to your side grabbing your hand “ any news?” She asks “I’m six centimeters and about to get my epidural” you respond as the nurses start prepping for your epidural, which was absolutely terrifying to see. You sat up Frankie in front of you holding your hands while they numb your lower back. You keep repeating in your head it’ll all be worth it.

Everything started to speed up after that, you were nearly fully dilated and there were midwives surrounding you. Frankie can tell that you're scared, all of the people giving you even more anxiety. “Everything’s okay, look at me don’t look at them” he brings his hand against your cheek his thumb moving back and forth. So you watch Frankie until they are ready. “Ready to have a baby mama?” One of the nurses asked. Your legs are propped in the stirrups Frankie’s hand on the back of your thigh supporting you, his mother doing the same on the other side. You continue breathing and everything is moving so fast and you're scared of absolutely everything that could happen. You were pushing, crying in pain and holding your breath but you were so close. “Your crowning mama keep at it” but everything burns, you're tired and scared that you can’t do it, your legs are shaking. You were nearly there with only a few pushes left and you would have your baby with you and it would all be over, and that was just the right motivation you needed. “One more and it’s all over!” She cheers you on. The instant relief after pushing for the final time, your baby cries fill the room and that’s when she brings the weight of your baby to your chest, both you and Frankie crying, your hand rubbing against her back as her cries ease slowly quieting. “That was the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever done” you admit which a choking cry, Frankie let’s out a soft chuckle leaning down to kiss you. “I’m so in love with you” Frankie whispers to you before kissing your temple.

They took her to clean her up and start her testing which she passed them all before they wrapped her in a blanket and a little pink hat with a large bow. Frankies mother left to sit in the waiting room with the rest of the group so you and Frankie can spend some alone time with her. Frankie cuddles up next to you on the bed while you hold her. You spent the next half an hour going through baby names before you finally found one you both liked. You both allow the guys to come in and meet her. All of them coming in with gift bags and balloons in their hands “how are you feeling” Will asks, reaching to give you a hug “I’m doing good” you answer, fixing her hat. They all gather around you watching her in awe, she sticks her tongue out opening her eyes a little bit. “ These are your uncles,” you say to her, stroking her cheek with your finger. “Meet Maisie Louise Morales”

#frankie morales fluff #Frankie morales x pregnant reader #Frankie morales #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier #frankie morales angst #frankie morales x reader

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madhattervanessa · 2 years

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Plus One

I really tried to do something out of my element this time and I'm actually kind of pleased how this turned out - I might be considering a part 2 but idk yet - anyways, I hope you enjoy, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

Summary: You get sick and after frequent insistence from your boyfriend you finally take a pregnancy test despite being on your birth control implant. The result sends new shocks through your relationship with Frankie - or doesn't it?

Warnings: obv. a lot of anxiety around pregnancy, a doctor's visit, smut (fingering, p in v)

Words: 4043

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

He’s been so nervous all day- fussing over you, packing your favorite picnic basket full of snacks and drinks for you. You had drawn the line at him trying to put your sandals on for you, his eyes flitting over the summer dress you are wearing, his hands smoothing over your sunscreen-sticky legs as he knelt in front of you.

“Francisco Morales, stop it- we’re not even sure yet. I’m not on my fucking deathbed!”

He’s insufferable, pouting in the car as you finish getting ready inside; you can see him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and think back to a few days ago when you had taken that pregnancy test that had shaken all of this loose. He had sat there just like that, pouty, his eyebrows furrowed as you both waited.

You had been sick for a week. And despite your best efforts of convincing both your mother and Frankie that your birth control implant had to work and how miniscule the chance of getting pregnant was- they had finally wittled you down to taking that damn test.

When that little pink plus had turned up, both you and Frankie had been in shock, wide eyes and slack-jawed.

You had decidedly avoided the topic of family planning. Both because of your complicated job situations and because of Mel, Frankie’s daughter. The loss of his custody over her had destroyed him after returning from that last trip with Pope.

You had spent months trying to build him back up.

Even more time was spent avoiding the topic.

And then there you were, staring at each other, the vicious little pink plus standing between you like a barbed wire over mine infested grounds.

You had expected another breakdown, a murmured excuse, another night where the Miller brothers and Santiago drag him back home to you by the scruff of his neck.

Instead, he gently took the test out of your hand and softly caressed your cheek, smiling softly.

“Do you want me to run to the store and get another one? To be sure?”, he had muttered and you just shook your head, looking back and forth to find any sign of panic, any miniscule twitch in his eyebrow to indicate an opinion about this situation but he gave you nothing, just that soft, gentle expression as he waited for your answer.

“I need to check in with my gynecologist either way.”

“Just one more? Don’t want to bother her for nothing, right?”

This time, it had somehow only taken 10 instead of the usual 20 minutes for his run to the store. When he'd come back, you were still on the phone, waiting for them to confirm they had an appointment in the next few weeks.

He’d been fidgeting with the little plastic bag in his hands as he watched you, standing frozen still right in the kitchen of your apartment.

“Got one. Come on”, he said, rounding the corner of the extended kitchen island. You pushed him playfully, turning your head so he could see you’re still on the phone.

He’d kissed your cheek before leaning on to the counter, waiting with that anxious look in his eyes he only got when another letter fluttered into your mail box.

That had been two weeks ago. The pregnancy tests had been gathering dust and concerned looks from both of you. Despite it, you had only talked about when and where the appointment would be. Even though you stared at them daily, unable to throw them away.

Frankie had insisted on taking a day off to drive you.

Now, you glance at Frankie who is nervously bouncing his leg up and down as you both wait for the doctor to meet you in the room.

Clinical, white walls, gray linoleum floors. It smells like hand sanitizer and plastic which doesn’t help your already growing feeling of suffocation as you try to find something to focus on.

Anything to calm your racing thoughts.You decidedly avoid the rows of books plastered with pictures of babies on the left wall right over the desk.

Instead you count the buttons on the ultrasound machine, the screws in the room divider. When your eyes fall to a box of colorful toys in the other corner of the room, you snap your eyes to the hooks with hospital gowns.

You smooth a hand over Frankie's thigh and rub your thumb over the rough denim in circles. The scratching sound of your nails against denim seems to echo through the deadly silent room as the digital clock silently counts up, up, up.

When the door opens, you both jump and the doctor apologizes under her breath, smiling brightly as she enters the room and sits down at the desk in front of you.

“So, you came in for a blood pregnancy test last- friday?”

You nod and she smiles before she starts typing into her computer. When you look over to Frankie, you catch him glancing at the bookshelf, the corner of his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile before he lets his hand meet yours, gently squeezing as his eyes fall back to the doctor.

“Right, so I’m going to cut to the chase, you have been kept waiting long enough.”

You swallow and dig your fingertips into Frankie’s now completely still thigh, feeling the tense muscle underneath.

“We were able to confirm that the urine test you took was correct- you are pregnant. I see here in your file that you have a birth control implant so I just wanted to ask if you have taken any new kind of medication or if anything else happened that we should know about?”

“I've been having some sleep problems lately and took something new.”

The doctor nods and smiles slightly.

“There’s a lot of sleep and anxiety medication that can increase the risk of a pregnancy while on the implant.”

You blush bright red, your gaze falling to the skin of your knees.

Stupid. The one time you didn’t read the prescription you end up pregnant. Great.

“So what do you want to do?”

The stop of the continuous clicking of her keyboard leaves the room in a suffocating silence as the question repeats in your head.

Your eyes snap back up from the hem of your dress to the photos on the shelves before they settle on the white heart sculpture on the desk in front of you. You turn the question over like a prism in your head.

What do you want to do?

“I-” you glance at Frankie who seems just as dumbstruck as you, the edge of his baseball cap tilted towards the doctor as if he were afraid she could read his thoughts. His eyes are firmly planted on the edge of the desk, failing to meet yours. “Uhm-”

“You don’t have to know right now. The only thing I would like to do today is make sure we are dealing with a normal pregnancy and nothing is amiss. Would that be alright with you?”

The doctor seems to notice the unsaid tension and you jump at the opportunity of answering literally any other question.

“Yeah, uhm, yes. Okay.”

“Right. I’m going to leave for a moment, everything you need should be behind the divider.”

You nod again, biting your lip as she gets up and leaves. Your chair scrapes against the vinyl floor with an ugly squeak as you get up.

The door clicks shut behind you and almost immediately, Frankie’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist. You swallow and turn your head towards him.

“Corazón, I just want you to know- You can decide if-”

“Frankie, let’s talk about it later, okay? I- I need to change for the examination.”

Frankie gets up and turns you around so you fully face him.

You meet his eyes after a moment and he carefully takes both of your hands in his.

“It’s okay. Hey, don’t cry- nothing bad happened. We can handle this.”

You didn’t even realize your eyes had started to water but when he says it, a couple of tears roll over your cheeks. He crushes you against his chest, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead as he holds you in his arms.

“It's okay, if you’re not ready for this, corazón. We’ll figure it out. Whatever you want.”, he tilts your head up with his hand, pushing his forehead to rest against yours “Let's make sure you’re okay, first. Yeah?”

You nod and look at his eyes instead of staring at his cheeks and chin.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He nods and turns you in his arms, kissing the lobe of your ear.

"I'm not going anywhere."

You conjure a smile and wipe off the stains on your cheek. He sits back down and there's that look towards the bookshelf again. You catch him smiling at it later, through the gaps of the divider before the smile falls into a sad frown, his eyes glued firmly to the floor the entire time he waits for you to finish changing.

When the doctor comes back in, your ass has barely touched the seat and your lips have red spots from chewing on them. You can taste the blood from the inside of your cheek that had been the previous object of torment from your teeth and anxiety muddled brain.

“Alright! Let’s have a good look at you.”

The doctor turns on the ultrasound without another word, a quick succession of clicks and soft touches to the machine as you lay back. You take a deep breath and Frankie smiles reassuringly.

She makes him turn off the lights, bathing the room in a thick blanket of darkness that soothes you instantly. You hold your breath as she puts some cool gel on your skin and out of the corner of your eyes you see Frankie approaching the two of you. You jump as the scanner presses into you, the skin feeling viciously tender underneath the pressure.

You can feel Frankie’s stare and catch him glaring at the hand of the doctor before he looks over to the screen. He stays standing behind the doctor the entire time, his arms firmly crossed in front of his chest. His eyes never stay on you or the monitor for too long, always flicking back and forth.

“There we go.”

You both jump and you hear a series of clicking noises as you try your best to keep still, withstanding the urge to crane your neck to look. Instead you watch Frankie who is practically shoved up next to the doctor as he stares at the picture in front of him. His lips part and you feel a smile grow on your face as you watch his furrowed brows relax. Your heart squeezes tight as he smiles, just slightly, his eyes round as he glances back at you.

He presses his lips back together in a thin line and backs up a little, scratching his neck as you both listen to the doctor confirming that everything seems to be in order and you can go home.

On the way back, you stop and get milkshakes, your favorite and something usually reserved for after dates. The line of print outs of the little lump inside you is sitting just next to the gear shift of Frankie’s truck.

When the two of you stop in your parking spot in the garage, you can’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Frankie.”

He looks over to you, already undoing his seatbelt.

“Yes, corazón?”

You roll your lips between your teeth before finding the courage to actually talk about this.

“I know we haven’t been together for long and we never talked about this…”, you trail off, suddenly unsure where you wanted to end that thought. You pick at your nails before letting your head fall back against the seat with a sigh, a frustrated frown scrunching up your face.

“I know you were tiptoeing around the topic because of Mel.”

Well this is a turn you hadn’t expected.

Your eyes snap towards him in surprise. He seems to figure, going by the way he sighs.

“But that has nothing to do with… with this.” He lets his fingertips rub over the side of the dark pictures on the console.

“I just didn't want to make you talk about this while you’re still trying to figure out how to be there for Mel.”

“I don’t want you to be thinking about that. It’s my issue to deal with, corazón.”

“Well, I- I don’t know, I didn’t want to pressure you, I guess.” You sigh and lean onto the middle of the console, your nails catching at the corner of the picture there. You feel stupid, like you underestimated Frankie too much, made him feel insecure. But when you look up, there’s a shy smile on his face, his eyebrows barely lifted as he meets your gaze head on.

“Okay. Thank you, baby”, he mutters, before leaning over towards you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It's Benny’s fault by the way. For blurting that out to me. He told me how you gushed over Santi’s niece.”

You hum and steal the baseball cap right off of his head before you kiss him.

“So...you’re not opposed to...?”

“No, baby. I’m not.”

He nips at your lip and his fingertip meets your hand on the pictures as he keeps kissing you.

"Good idea to take the pictures with us?", you murmur, your head already floating off as you caress the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, I... I like them."

His second hand pushes the baseball cap to sit tight on your head before he uses it to cup your jaw.

You squeeze his hand over the picture and smile.

“Do you want to order something to eat? I’m worried you’re losing too much weight, corazón”, Frankie murmurs against the back of your neck as you open the stubborn door of your apartment. “You’ve been so sick...”

“Just not feeling my best.”

You turn your head, your nose brushing his.

“Maybe you need to feed me something else, Frankie”, you mutter with a teasing grin. His free hand squeezes your waist and you can’t help yourself when you press your ass back into him.

You stumble through the apartment door with your lips locked together. As Frankie pushes you into the apartment, you trip over a pair of shoes- Frankie curses and you laugh while he groans something under his breath. The picnic basket falls to the floor as Frankie stumbles over your feet and takes you both down.

You both grunt as you go down but when you open your eyes, the disgruntled look on Frankie’s face makes you laugh.

He joins you, briefly, before kissing you, despite your giggling, his hands diving underneath the skirt of your dress. When his tongue drags over your lip until you open for him and he starts devouring you. Your giggling is exchanged for a wanton moan, your body suddenly feeling too hot and your pussy achingly empty.

“Frankie- Frankie, I want you, right now,” you whisper between kisses and he groans, shifting so your hips are grinding against yours, the rough seam of the denim rubbing against you deliciously. You moan into his mouth and he lifts one of your legs, his hand skating over your leg, to the back of your knee.

“Right now?”

“Yes- please, right here-”

He kisses you again and his hand rucks up your dress, fingertips skimming over your panties, his nails dragging over the simple, cotton panties.

“Fuck, you’re already dripping for me, corazón.”

You bury a hand in his hair, tugging at the unruly locks as you nibble on his bottom lip. It makes him flush, bloom like a lush flower, his chest puffing out with the answering groan that rumbles through him.

“I think the hormones might make me more horny, baby, I’ve been feeling so wet and achy all week”, you murmur and kiss him again, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Your panties end up torn on the ground next to you in seconds before Frankie mercilessly grinds his thumb against your clit as you silently beg him to fuck you, your teeth worrying his skin between them as you whimper.He shushes you, plunging two of his thick fingers into your wet heat and your mouth falls open in a wordless gasp.

“Gotta open you up, first, baby.”

“Want you now-“

He bites your neck, making you moan instead of complain. When he draws back you watch as he spits on your pussy, his fingers spreading the slick over it as his mouth hangs open. He can’t seem to tear himself away from the sight.

“Fuck-”, he groans, his brows furrowing as he finally pushes two of his fingers into you. His other hand tears down the neckline of your dress, spit slick fingers pinching at your nipples until you squirm against him, panting as he makes you ride his thick fingers. His thumb presses against your clit and you feel yourself clench around him as he manipulates you expertly, reading your body like his flight manuals.

“Frankie- Frankie, I think I’m going to cum-”, you whine and he leans down over your chest to bite at your collarbone, leaving a mark before he bites at your lip, panting with you.

You bite back, tug at him, claw at his back until he makes you fall apart, making you cum against the cold, hard floor. He kisses you hard and you think you feel blood somewhere on your lip or his- there’s a bittersweet, coppery aftertaste to the urgent passion. The knowledge from therapy, the deep knowing and understanding of your coping mechanisms bitter bile as you abuse them.

Soldiers. Killers. Animals.

“I’ve got to be careful with you baby- don’t want to hurt you or...”

“Fuck me, Morales”, you hiss and he shushes you with another kiss, stifling your protest, the ugly thing in your head rearing its head at the mere thought of being helpless and vulnerable despite your best efforts.

You escalate it. Always do. Cool, collected Frankie, best and steadiest pilot of the damn squad reduced to shaking with need, his breath shuddering as he feels you clench around him and you see his resolve shudder with it but he stays calm, remarkably.

A gentle caress over your cheek makes your defenses crumble, his thumb strokes against your skin. It’s almost despicable how easily he can deal with this side of you.

Years of training.

“Easy- easy baby-”, he whispers, one hand pressing against your stomach as he inches into you and you want to bite him at the tender motion. “-let me in, corazón.”

Frankie kisses you and when his warm hand splays wide over your belly, you go soft, saccharine sweet, and he rewards you with a gentle hum as you melt for him.

“Good girl, there we go.” He bottoms out and you gasp his name, scrambling for purchase and bruising his shoulder as he seesaws his hips into you, his scorching hot mouth pressed against your flushed skin.

He fucks you into the ground with a gentle pace, praise falling from his mouth as he keeps you there. You’re both sweating bullets in the summer heat - it makes you both slick, the sunscreen making his hands slip over your skin as he roughly pulls your dress down to grab at you, skimming over the scars and marks on your skin.

You drag his shirt up, over his soft stomach and he sits back on his knees, his arms reaching over his back to quickly rip it off of himself, flinging the grey shirt away before pressing his body against yours, all of your skin touching, rubbing against each other, where he has pulled your dress down.

“Frankie-”

The harsh pace slows and one of his palms rests on your stomach and the sensation of his beard rubbing against your chest makes you squirm.

“What do you need, corazón?”

You’re speechless and before you can muster up enough for a response, he’s already closing his lips around one of your nipples, licking at it carefully - and it seems like that was all it took for your next orgasm to swallow you, slow like syrup.

He goes back to kissing you, before groaning, one hand of his smacking against the ground behind you. You sob into his shoulder as you cum, all of the fight leaving your body.

He slows down with another curse and there’s that telltale shudder in his body as comes to a staggering halt. You sigh and open your eyes, immediately focusing on his sweat drenched curls, on the way his chest expands as you both wind down for a moment.

“I love you”, he murmurs into your hair before sitting back, slipping out of you with a hiss. “But let’s move this to the bedroom, yeah?” He’s rubbing his knee and you smile at him.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

When he carries you to bed, you’re suddenly lovesick, blushing like you had just admitted your greatest secret. He carries you without a huff, despite his knees, despite the weariness of the last weeks crashing in and you kiss him, trying to pour every ounce of your love into him.

"I love you, too, Frankie", you add after catching your breath.

He lets you down after passing the doorframe and this time, you undress each other with care, your fingertips lingering and tracing over scars as you kiss each other softly.

You know he is worried. You can feel his anxiousness in his breath, his care in his kisses, his own confusion in the bite of his teeth at the skin of your neck.

He wants to fuck you better, wants you to help clear your head. The thoughts of not being worth it, not being able to do this. He’s burying you in him, in his scent, in his warmth, the depth of the shock bronze warmth of his eyes that seem to see right through any of your defenses.

You lay him down on his back and climb onto his lap. As you kiss him, you position him to slip right back into your wet heat, pulling groan from his chest as you move the both of you, making him sink deep just the way he likes it.

He furrows his brows, his pouted lips opening as he watches you intently - you can feel his heartbeat thrum against the palm of your hand.

It makes you ache, the way he never stops looking at you, his left hand never pulling, just holding on to your hips, his right gently grasping your ribs, your breast, thumbing at his nipple.

You smile softly, slowing your pace so you can lift both of your hands to rest on top of his on your stomach.

The look he shoots you is something you haven’t seen before.

“Let’s keep it.”

You somehow end up on your back in less than a second, his hips continuing the lazy rhythm and the sweat trailing down his temple tells you that he can feel how close you are to the edge, how you’re burning up with him.

“Yeah? You really want to?”

“Yes, Frankie.”

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes wide with shock and he glances at your intertwined hands before a wide grin breaks out over his face, rounding his cheeks with a joy you seldom see on his face.

“Corazón- I- fuck, yes, let’s keep it.”

He fucks you hard, the headboard of your bed you crashing against the wall with the force of him.

He kisses you deep and he rubs your clit, his tongue intertwined with yours until you cum with a deep sigh, already feeling drained and sleepy. But he keeps kissing you, keeps murmuring soft words into your ear, his dick soft inside you. He keeps you there until you cum again, his breath hot as he talks you through it.

You’re so beautiful, can’t wait to see if you get that glow. Fuck, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I love you, corazón. I love you both.

#francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pregnant!reader

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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months

Text

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy.

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate.

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for.

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period.

Your cycle had been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag.

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military.

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it.

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response.

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood.

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration.

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.”

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man.

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work.

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband.

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending.

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie.

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!”

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath.

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-”

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.”

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door.

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway.

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it.

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood.

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear.

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants.

Your period had come.

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie.

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ”

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply.

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.”

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first.

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.”

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply.

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘”

“Oh shut up, meanie.”

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍”

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way.

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch.

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband.

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?”

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest.

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace.

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you.

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-”

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse.

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem.

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.”

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.”

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him.

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you.

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you.

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza.

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-”

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?”

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?”

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.”

“I think I can make that happen.”

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest.

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy.

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth.

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you.

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core.

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you.

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices.

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period.

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man.

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths.

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.”

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds.

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt.

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot.

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool.

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over.

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

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name.

“Frankie, holy fuck.”

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could.

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.”

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt.

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace.

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over.

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him.

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity.

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him.

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate.

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word.

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.”

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there.

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did.

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.”

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in.

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.”

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high.

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss.

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss.

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight.

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.”

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

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hellishjoel · 5 months

Text

new year’s day

3.7k / pairing: francisco “frankie” “catfish” morales x f!reader

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | hellishjoel masterlist | notifications blog

summary: You’ve found fulfillment in every aspect of life alongside your husband, Frankie. In the early hours of New Year’s Day, you and Frankie discuss your aspirations for the coming year. Among these, the possibility of embarking on the journey to parenthood, starting a family, and conceiving a child may be at the forefront.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), established marriage, discussion of alcohol consumption, cursing, discussions about starting a family/being pregnant/having a baby, a few pov switches, mommy issues go brrr, use of pet names (princess, momma (x3)), frankie’s hot dad bod, mix of sub!frankie and dom!frankie, pinch of daddy kink, unprotected PiV, breeding kink go hard, dirty talk, overstimulation, hickies, titty play, creampie

A/N: thank you for celebrating 12 Days of Pedro! come back to the masterlist every day from Dec. 11 - Dec. 22 to open a new present from the most amazing authors! special thanks to the breeding kink queen herself @thetriumphantpanda for beta reading this work! banners, per usual, from @saradika-graphics. enjoy!

There’s glitter on the floor after the party. Not to mention streamers, spare party hats, and dribbles of wine on the hardwood floor. Spare polaroids with goofy grins and blurry kisses at midnight. You hold one of you and Frankie to your chest, your heart swarming with a warm buzz caused by too much liquor and a lot of love.

Your eyes lift to Frankie, his lopsided party hat holding on for dear life as he tosses empty beer bottles into a large black trash bag.

Everyone’s left now, catching cabs or a ride home from their sober counterparts. An annual Morales tradition; countdown to the New Year with your closest friends, the ones you’d consider family.

You hope to remember these memories forever and that the memories hold on to you. The good and the bad. The friends you made, the friends you lost, remembering that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

Cheers, kisses, and giggles at midnight.

“You ready, my lady?” Frankie asks as he hands you your journal, his own leatherbound one in his hand as he settles down beside you on the floor, your backs against the front of the couch.

Another Morales tradition; New Year’s Goals. It all started a few years ago, your and Frankie’s first New Year’s together. Both drunk and rolling around on the floor, you decided to write your goals for the New Year. You thought they had a lot of power, and it was good to have motivations, even if they didn’t last all year.

The fire crackled as Frankie nudged a log with the poker, his face illuminated in a brilliant orange light. He was so handsome. You were so in love. You couldn’t think of anything else you needed, everything you wanted was right here in front of you. Well, almost everything.

Frankie lifted a Pabst beer bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to finish it off. A wet smack leaves his lips. You smirk as you feel his eyes on your list, curiously leaning his head to the side to sneak a peek at what your pen was etching into blank paper.

“Do you mind?” You tease, nudging your elbow playfully into his ribs. “You know we’re not supposed to share until we’re both done.” You whisper as you pen in another thought. You both agreed to list three to five goals every year, things you wanted to make happen, things you want to change. Whatever it took to better yourself and the small life you’ve created with your husband.

Frankie radiates warmth beside you, he’s always been like that. Even in just a dark pair of jeans and a black Carhartt t-shirt, he was as warm as the fireplace wavers heat in front of you. You lay your head gently on his broad shoulder, humming softly as you close your eyes, the exhaustion of prepping and then celebrating your New Year’s party finally taking its toll. But you couldn’t help but be so full of joy, considering yourself lucky to be surrounded by so much love.

Your eyes open just as you feel Frankie smack a period at the end of one of his goals making his arm lurch before he tips his head down to you. “M’ready. You wanna go first?” Frankie asks, reaching his hand up to pull the small party hat off his head, watching as he sits it down beside him very delicately. So precious. Your heart swells thinking about your list, slowly nodding and sitting up straight as you re-open your journal to review your goals list.

“Okay, I only have three,”

“Me too,” Frankie interjects.

“Perfect, okay, so number one, I want to dedicate more time to be creative. Whether it’s writing, or painting, or… I don’t know, picking up crocheting, I want to set aside more time for that sort of stuff instead of brainlessly watching shows.”

Frankie’s smile tilts, slowly nodding in understanding. “I’d love to hang up more of your paintings around the house. The walls could use a little color.”

Your sweet boy. He was always so supportive. You sweetly cupped the underside of his chin and pecked his lips. Frankie playfully cleared his throat and states his first goal.

“Number one. I want to eat out less.” He pauses as he assesses your pouting face. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ll still go out sometimes, I just feel like we should cook at home more.”

You couldn’t blame him. All the takeaway Chinese and pizza deliveries were really tugging at the precious strings that was your joint bank account.

“Fine. But I won’t be happy about it. And this sort of ruins my second goal, which is to try more restaurants.”

You and Frankie both take a moment to throw back your heads in laughter, rolling closer to one another as he shakes his head at you slowly. “We’ll figure it out, we always do. And that’s my second goal, more communication whenever I feel like I’m stuck. I know I’m not always…” he pauses and fiddles with his hands, nervous ticks causing him to pop his knuckles, “M’not always the best with talking things out. So I wanna work on that.”

Heat catches along your neck and chest, the way he looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, as if you put the moon and stars in the sky. Your sweet boy. He’s not perfect, you both had worked so hard to get where you were, but it took a lot of time and trust. You built a solid foundation for your relationship, and now it felt like there wasn’t anything you couldn’t tackle together.

“What’s your last goal for the new year?”

Frankie watches as you purse your lips, eye contact straying as you stare down at your handwriting. Something hung in the air. Uncertainty? He reaches out and gently clasps your free hand in his, deep brown eyes searching your beautiful orbs in reassurance. There was that feeling again, of promise and future. More birthdays, more holidays, more anniversaries, and more New Year’s Days.

After a moment, Frankie’s lips part as you set aside your journal, taking a deep breath. God what was it?

“A baby,” you say in less than a whisper.

A surprised little smile slowly crosses Frankie’s face, a glint of fondness and curiosity in his eyes.

This wasn’t your first conversation about starting a family.

It began in small places, like seeing children in line at the grocery store. All chubby-cheeked with big toothy grins, tugging on their parent's sleeve and asking them for a sweet from the checkout.

Then, your mutual friends had their first baby. You were able to see them at the hospital. New momma laid back in bed. New dad sitting in the chair beside her. Tiredness in their eyes but their excitement overshadowed any doubt. You held their daughter, Elise, in your arms. So beautiful. And sleepy.

But what really pulled at your heartstrings, and perhaps your womb, was when Frankie held his baby nephew for the first time. You both were in the hospital waiting room for hours, nervous but excited, hoping the delivery went well for his sister and for the new baby.

“Come here, Frankie, hold him. Just don’t drop him.” She teased.

Frankie took a step forward, then a step back. He had never held something so small, so precious, untouched by the outside world. What if he held him wrong? What if he cried and fussed?

The warmth of your hand touched his shoulder, your small smile and nod encouraging him to be brave, to love the new addition to their family. With your vote of confidence, Frankie remembered to carefully support the baby’s head as his sister handed him over. Because, of course, she could trust Frankie. Uncle Frankie, now.

His warm amber eyes glistened as he stared lovingly down at the bundle in his arms. He was beautiful, with dashing dark hair just like his sister had. A tiny little nose and sweet pouted lips. Frankie couldn’t understand why his eyes welled up with tears. He was just so proud to be an uncle, to see his younger sister now in charge of a tiny little newborn. He just couldn’t believe that such a beautiful life was born out of the love his sister and his brother-in-law shared.

Then he looked at you. And he knew his heart was certain. He wanted this, and he wanted it with you.

In all truthfulness, you weren’t as sure as Frankie was. You excused his excitement for baby fever. It was your job to remind him that you were still saving up for a new home, that your financials were a bit of a wreck, and that babies weren’t always soundly sleeping. There would be sleepless nights, messy food on their faces, and very full diapers. A big responsibility.

You also didn’t come from a wonderful family like Frankie was raised in. You often wondered if you were to start a family, could you be different from your parents? Or would you fall into the same habits as they did?

How would you be as a mother?

You tried to remember that it was your mother’s first time on this Earth, too. And that she had it worse when she was little. But you were little too. What if you inherited your mother’s fleshy crimson anger? Or her blue-warped vision of sadness?

What if something ever happened to Frankie, and you were left alone to care for your baby? Could you do it alone? Could you even do it together? What ifs after what ifs.

You cried out your insecurities to Frankie that night. Shaking and sobbing in his arms as he tried to calm your breathing. You had bared your soul to him, remarking about the childhood you wished you could have had. He kissed the top of your head and held you tight like a boa constrictor, promising that you didn’t have to figure it all out tonight. That he would drop the topic of family until you were truly ready.

That was over two years ago now. Frankie still had that gleaming light in his eyes when he saw his nephew over holidays, birthdays, or little occasions of visiting with his sister. Soon, you started to have that gleam too. Because you realized it wasn’t only Frankie’s dream to have a family, but was yours too. Because Frankie would be the father of your children. And a brilliant one at that.

The nerves had faded away with your husband’s endless love. And you were ready this New Year’s Day.

“Say something,” you urged anxiously, but Frankie was just staring at you with so much love and hope.

Finally, it hit him.

He cups your cheeks, thumbing his way up your cheekbone and gently cupping your jawline. “You mean it? You’re ready? Don’t- please don’t do this for me, I could wait a lifetime for you, you hear me?”

You let out a wet little laugh and nod eagerly, holding your hands around his wrists as he came to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Frankie. I’m ready. We’re ready.” You assured, watching a large smile crash on his face.

There’s an eagerness when he leans in to kiss you, lips crashing and his hold on you tightening as if you were going to slip out of his embrace.

“Oh,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling him glide his tongue across your lower lip before he fully envelopes you. It’s needy, it’s desperate, and damn, is it overdue.

Your fingers wind up into his messy curls, tugging him on top of you as you fell back onto the floor. The heat of the fireplace tickled warmth on your temple, and a certain heat in your belly set in.

“Can we start now?” He muttered against your mouth, his strong hands palming at your hips as his center matched with your own.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp before pulling him in once more, your needy hands grappling at the hem of his shirt and tugging it upwards.

Unable to help but glance in awe as Frankie sits up on his knees and tosses off his shirt. Holy mother of god, you didn’t realize how much of a perfect dad bod he already possessed. Jesus.

“I-I don’t even know if I’m ovulating,” you stutter out as your hands messily reach forward, tugging his belt loose and popping the button on his jeans.

“Don’t care,” Frankie mutters, voice drenched in deep lust as his hungry mouth found yours again. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch and his dirty mouth.

The man was feral. It was like he was possessed.

Something in Frankie had flipped. You had just confessed you wanted to start a family and allow him the opportunity to be a father to your children. You’d be their beautiful mother, kind, thoughtful, sweet, and smart. Fuck, he wanted to put this baby in you right now.

He felt like he was burning for you, worshiping at the altar between your thighs. Saying you were ready with full confidence was something indescribable. And he was ready to show you he was taking this opportunity seriously.

Frankie wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes, nearly tossing your top into the fireplace with how eager he is. He melts into your body, his half-hard cock sloppily bucking against your thigh in neediness.

“Lemme put a baby in you, princess, wanna see you carry our child in your perfect body. Fuck,” he muttered as his hand slipped down between your thighs, watching your lips part and make an oh shape.

Your slick coats his fingers, your thighs already shaking with desperation.

“Frankie, don’t make me wait, want you to fill me up so fucking bad,” your wavering voice begs as you sit up on your elbows and begin to stoke over his cock. He easily swells in your grasp, growing heavier and heavier. His face clenches as his hips buck into your tight, squeezing hand once more.

“Goddamit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he rasps as his own hand takes over pumping his cock, gathering it in your slick he had collected and letting out a heavenly moan at the feeling. Pre-cum leaks at his fleshy red tip, jaw tight as he holds his base, beginning to guide the head of his cock up and down your wet center.

Frankie watches you flinch with a small smirk every time he flicks off your clit. He’s drunk off watching you be ready, watching you take this leap with him, putting your trust in him that he will be the best father to your children. And honestly, he can’t fucking wait any longer.

Your sharp gasp fills the room, Frankie piercing your walls and filling you to the brim in one heavy thrust. Both of you swallow the other’s moans and groans, eyes tightly closed and mouths agape.

“That’s it, momma, take me so well,” he hums, a new fantasy forming behind his eyes.

He wants to see you dripping in his cum, just so he can gently push it all back in with his fingers. His eyes were gold with fire and greed, wanting you to be his in the best way imaginable.

Ragged pants fill the distance between you both as he steadily rocks his hips into yours. Frankie watches as your hands scrabble for something to hold onto before you finally tug him down and wind your fingers into his dark chocolate curls.

Sweet whimpers ring into his ear as his thrusts grow in power, caging you protectively in his arms. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Fuck, Frankie, you’re filling me up,” you cry out, feeling Frankie hit the spot only he can reach, the one that tickles at your cervix and pushes you into another dimension of pleasure. The place where you’re breathless and cloudy, lost in how good he feels.

Frankie digs his forehead into your temple, looking down at you as his hips repeatedly snap into you. He’s gone wild, a weak little smirk on his face as he thinks about you swollen with his babe inside you a few months down the road.

“Keep sayin’ that,” Frankie mutters, feeling a rush course through his body like a new high he’s never encountered. He shifts his weight onto his forearm nestled beside your head, his opposite hand snaking delicately between your bodies and starting to create sweet circles around your throbbing clit. You’re soaking wet, feeling your slick splash against his balls every time you both fully connect.

You’re unsure what he means at first, what to keep saying, your head in the stars as Frankie’s hips nail you to the floor with each heavy thrust. Plus, his finger on your clit is sending you to high heavens. Then it clicks.

You gulp and refocus, needing to get him there because God, after years of waiting, you want to give him this so badly.

“Frankie, baby,” you gather your breath and cradle his face, his desperate eyes meeting yours. “I want you t-to use me, fill me with your seed, I wanna feel it. Fuck, want you to be so deep inside me, your cum goes s-straight into my uterus,” you beg.

Frankie’s thrusts snap methodically faster, a few loose bucks from his hips at first, but now he trying to control himself strategically.

“Fuck, daddy,” you cry out, digging your head back into the floor as your chin tilts to the ceiling. “Use me as your little breeding whore, dump your cum inside me, want all of it, want all of it so fucking bad!” You whimper as Frankie’s sweet kisses on your jawline turn into nasty nips at your neck, the kind that will flush with dark pigments by tomorrow morning.

Your hips ache, your body is trembling before him, but he looks so fucking sexy worked up like this. He’s promising with his body that he’s going to make you the mother of his children.

“Want you so bad momma, m’gonna watch your tits get so fuckin’ big,” he murmurs before his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, slathering it with his spit and swirling around your nub with his perfect tongue. The oversensitivity is so much, you’re so full, he’s going to make you cum before he can even finish off his own load.

“Fuck,” he moans lowly, a deep grunt releasing from the depths of his throat. “Gonna make such a perfect momma, gonna knock you up so hard, baby,” Frankie groans as he tugs gently at your nipple between his teeth.

The spark in your stomach suddenly explodes, pushing you over the edge. You wrap your arms around his neck and press his forehead against your own. “Come with me,” you beg, just above a whisper as each thrust he makes is punching the air from your lungs.

You pace yourself just for him. The faster he moves his fingers around your clit, the closer he is. Overstimulated tears well up in your eyes, your jaw dropping wide as you look at him like he is a God. Frankie’s thrusts were growing sloppy with need, losing their rhythm, your man was so close. Finally, like a dangerous volcano, he erupts inside of you as your walls pulse around him. Both of you come in unison, blasting you with a hot heat across your body.

You cry out, and Frankie moans loudly into the living room, hearing your name echo along the walls as his hips still momentarily inside you. His warm cum spurts and paints your walls, shooting off multiple times. It’s the hardest he’s ever finished, he’s so deep and filling you to the brim with his white hot seed.

Lost in a cloud of lust, you think you melt into the floor. His arms shake as he holds himself up by the forearms placed on either side of your head, your sweaty foreheads glistening. Your bodies feel like one.

With a shaky hand, you reach up and gently brush the hair out of his eyes. Frankie weakly smiles and leans down to press a messy kiss on your lips. You hum softly and keep him there, whimpering as his hips twitch a few final times before he completely stills. You were seeing stars behind your vision as Frankie soothingly brought you back down to Earth. You were so happy.

“I love you.” He whispers as he presses one last kiss to your mouth, watching your hazy eyes fill with love as he slowly sits up.

Both of your sweaty bodies peel off of one another, and you hum lowly as he starts to pull himself out.

Frankie watches in lust-filled amazement as your hole leaks dribbles of his cum.

He shakes his head with a disapproving hum, parting your legs once more to see his mess, gently using his fingers to push his cum back into your hole.

You nip at your lower lip, watching as Frankie stares at you like he’s hypnotized, making sure every little drop stays inside of you.

“Such a good girl for me, momma, keepin’ all my good cum inside you, that’s it,” he hums, finally letting your legs go as he tumbles onto his back beside you on the floor.

His hand holds yours as you stare at the ceiling in bliss.

“We’re trying for a baby.” He whispers with an indescribable amount of happiness.

You nod as you snuggle into his side, feeling his strong arm wrap around your shoulders to keep you close to him. “We’re trying for a baby.” You repeat back to him, your fingers gently weaving through his dense dark chest hair.

“I have a name for the baby.” He murmurs, fantasizing about your future together already.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Frankie Jr.”

“No.” You quickly cut off.

Both of your heads fall back in laughter, feeling so secure next to your best friend who has promised you a family and a future, all laced with love. And for that, you were hopeful for the New Year.

#12 Days of Pedro #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 months

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Illicit Affairs

Summary: Stranded in an airport hotel because of hurricane warning, you snatch the last hotel room for the following two nights, not knowing that these two nights would change your life forever. You meet Joel and spend every moment you can with him until he leaves you in the middle of the night the day you both had to go back home. Months later, heartbroken and pregnant from a man you hadn't even exchanged last names with, you go back to your hometown to meet your mother's new boyfriend, not knowing it's Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader (Joel Miller x fem. readers mother // Frankie Morales x fem. reader in the second alternative ending)

Wordcount: around 9k

Rating: E

Warnings: meet cute, age gap (around twenty years, but it's not specified) flirting, kissing, smut (oral f receiving, protected sex, unprotected sex, so much sex) accidental pregnancy, angst, vomiting, fluff, heartbreak

A/N: While I was inspired by some lyrics of Taylor Swift's Illicit Affairs this is by no means a song fic. This is what happens when I have an idea and get talked into writing it lmao

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Fic

First Ending (with Joel Miller)

Second Ending (with Frankie Morales)

#my fic #masterlist #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Joel Miller #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x fem. reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #Pedro pascal

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intheorangebedroom · 1 month

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together.

These words are yours.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep.

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body.

They’re yours, right?

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again.

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles.

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here.

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday.

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head.

Today is Friday.

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night.

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons.

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours.

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping.

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you.

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet.

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can.

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine.

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor.

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body.

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze.

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste.

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you.

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be.

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia.

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste.

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down.

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums.

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again.

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black.

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation.

You did want to get better.

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities.

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results.

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality.

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were.

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear.

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all.

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places.

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed.

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie.

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through.

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before.

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel.

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish.

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors.

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble.

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore.

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed.

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness.

“What day is it?” you try again.

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you.

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it.

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.”

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape.

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most.

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate.

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week.

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping.

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known.

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute.

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer.

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt.

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline.

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small.

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence.

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation?

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out.

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show.

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology.

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!”

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine.

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink.

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping.

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse.

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location.

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close.

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday.

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE.

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case.

Your heart rate slows down.

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you.

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation.

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed.

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you.

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week.

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak.

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid.

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours.

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it.

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in.

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child.

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse.

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material.

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image.

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC.

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood.

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted.

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic.

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour.

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut.

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper.

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor.

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks.

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity.

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here.

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours.

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes.

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar.

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again.

“I come in every week?”

Jesus.

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund. Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long?

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will.

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe.

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot.

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding.

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you.

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years.

The before and the after him.

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him.

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story.

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed.

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel.

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan.

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob.

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind.

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers.

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall.

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper.

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses.

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to.

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own.

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze.

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.”

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all.

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could.

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh.

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness.

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds.

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

—

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you.

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing.

You hate yourself for that, too.

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard.

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual.

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it.

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate.

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his.

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer.

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it.

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit.

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist.

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened.

He tightens his embrace.

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again?

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you lie.

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines.

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason.

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel.

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights.

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist.

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber.

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy.

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare.

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone.

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin.

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light.

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there.

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then.

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh.

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will.

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him.

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes.

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest.

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always.

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you?

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket.

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.”

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips.

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his.

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else.

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too.

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness.

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire.

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent.

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles.

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration.

“No, I want you inside me.”

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.”

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth.

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back.

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.”

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place.

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans.

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair.

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside.

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes.

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart.

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue.

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff.

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it.

He stays like that for a while.

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes.

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts?

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him.

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within.

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion.

He doesn’t.

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling.

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named.

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice.

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt.

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties.

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face.

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest.

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale.

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you.

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out.

“I can—“ You trip over your words.

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles.

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal.

“Spit on it,” he says.

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed.

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours.

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look.

“Yes,” you pant.

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing.

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel.

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back.

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help.

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically.

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs.

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats.

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit.

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall.

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind.

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.”

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire.

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?”

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are?

“Say it again, please.”

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you.

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.”

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon.

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already.

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk.

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave.

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss.

****

217 notes · View notes

joelsdagger · 2 months

Text

let it flow | frankie morales x f!reader

read on ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. technically, i told myself i would post this friday for frankie friday, but the longer shit stays in my drafts the more i start to hate it and the urge to scrape everything grows too strong lol. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing and literally always saving me bc i can never read my fics from start to finish so they always come thru during the editing process. and shout out to my pinterest QUEEN, @aurasjournal, for helping me with the visuals. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3 super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask softly.

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #sub!frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #noelle's workshop #noelle writes

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hoedamn-eron · 3 months

Text

baby, please - part 19

You're moving out into your new home, and becoming a mom is getting all too real.

Warnings: Not proofread, obviously, so probably mistakes. Starts of happy but ends with angst. Mentions of uncertainty about the future, but optimistic. Word count: 2,537 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Sort of inspired by my own birthday (except mine was not angsty whatsoever) 😂 this chapter and my birthday just happened to fall within a week of each other

Part 18 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 20

You’re painting the nursery in your new house with Courtney when the question is brought up.

“What are you doing for your birthday?”

Honestly, you hadn’t thought about it. You usually made such a big deal about your birthday, but this year, you had had so much going on with moving into the new house, and preparing for the birth, and doing your last odds and ends at work before your maternity leave started, that your birthday had taken a large step back. You were only turning twenty-nine anyway, it wasn’t even a big birthday; was it worth doing anything?

At the time, you had told her that you had nothing planned, that you might stay in and finish up the last of the unpacking. The guys were coming around in the next few days to help with the big furniture, putting it together and moving it to where it needed to be, and you wanted to get a head start for them.

Courtney gaped at you and said that it was your last birthday before you were a mother, you ‘had to do something!’

Courtney had messaged the group chat for availability, but the only day anyone could really do was after your birthday. You were fine with this, it was just one less thing to worry about, and hopefully your house would be somewhat ready for guests by then. You offered to host a chilled-out movie night with take-out pizza and snacks, which worked for everyone. Courtney said her place was open to everyone if your house wasn’t ready by then.

So here you were, on your birthday, telling Will and Benny how you wanted your bedroom laid out. It had been freshly painted earlier that week with the help of Andy and Courtney, as Beth and Georgia tackled the living room, so now you just needed to make the house your own.

“Can the bed go by this wall?” you ask, waving your hand over. “Or would that not flow right?”

“I mean, in theory you could put the bed there, but then what about the chest of drawers?” Will asked.

You bit your lip. “I was thinking here,” you say, standing waving in between the closet and the door to the en suite. “The drawers could go here. And there’s space for my TV. And my Moses baskets would fit at the end and I’d still have room to move about.”

Benny took a step forward from his place by the door. “Your bedside tables would fit next to your bed that way too.”

“And it leaves enough room for the light to come in.”

Will watched you both for a moment before he shrugged with a nod. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

You sigh through your nose. “Good. I just want everything to look nice.”

“It will,” said Will, smiling gently at you. “We’ve got you covered, don’t worry.”

“Do you want these marks painting over?” Benny asked, leaning down at the door frame to look at the height marks that were still present.

“Oh, no!” you say, rushing over. “They were left from the previous owners, I want to keep them.”

“Why?” he asked, looking at you with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know, thought it was cute,” you say, shrugging. “I was thinking about adding our kids on there, you know? Make it a bit of a tradition.”

“That’s nice,” said Will, crossing his arms and nodding thoughtfully.

“Sweet,” said Benny, straightening up before looking at Will. “Let’s get this bedroom started.”

You thank the both of them again and leave them to it. You could hear Frankie and Santi speaking to each other downstairs, but since it was in Spanish, you had no idea what it was about. It sounded a bit heated, again. You roll your eyes; he still hadn’t told you what was going on, even when you asked him. He always claimed it was nothing, or something small, but surely something so small shouldn’t warrant regular disagreements with his best friend?

You shake your head, knowing that you won’t get an answer out of Santi. Maybe you needed to turn to Frankie, or Will. You still hadn’t forgotten that they had had some sort of deep conversation at the baby shower. It was only adding to your curiosity.

You put a pin in it, again. You needed to focus on getting your house ready for you, and your babies. You were weeks away from your scheduled caesarean, and you still had so much to do. You make your way downstairs, walking through to your living room where all the furniture was assembled, but piled into a corner, with some boxes that still needed unpacking. You decided to focus on those for today.

You sat on the floor with a huff (and some difficulty – you’ll have to shout for someone to help you up later) and start unpacking the boxes around you. You find your books, photo frames, and general nick-nacks that belonged in the living room. You made enough noise that Santi and Frankie stopped their argument, or they were just doing it quiet enough now that you couldn’t hear them.

After placing the books in the bookcases and the photos along the shelves and the fireplace, you sigh as you call, “Can someone help me up, please?”

There was a moment of silence before Frankie and Santi both rush into the living room, their concerned eyes landing on you from your place on the floor. You grin sheepishly at them, before holding up your hands to them.

“Ay, cariño,” said Santi with amusement, grinning as he stepped forward, grabbing you by your hands and hauling you up gently from the floor.

You ignore the way his touch makes your skin tingle.

“Thank you,” you say, straightening your clothes before looking at them both. “How’s the kitchen going?”

“All done,” replied Frankie, placing his hands on his hips. “We can move your couches and everything if you want? Put your coffee table where it needs to be.”

You nod. You couldn’t believe how quickly this was all coming together. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Can get that weird armchair you own by the bookcase on the left,” said Santi with a grin as he walked past you and into the living room.

“Shut up, Garcia,” you say, giving him a light shove causing him to laugh.

As you move around your home, seeing Santi and his friends moving around and arranging your furniture sends a wave of excitement through you. You admire the way the sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow on the rooms that you had already made your own. You feel the kicks and movements of your babies, reminding you of the incredible journey you have already taken, and the journey of what is to come.

You methodically unpack boxes, finding places for the little nick-nacks that carry memories and meaning. Each item is carefully placed, whether it be a tiny celebration of what you’d had achieved in life, or if it was something huge that you'd be bringing into this new sanctuary.

As you move from room to room, you visualise the future; the late-night feeds, the lullabies echoing through the hallways, and eventually, the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. The support of the boys becomes your anchor, providing a steadying presence amid the sea of cardboard and bubble wrap. Together, you transform the echoes of an empty house into the harmonious melody of a home in the making.

The journey may be challenging, but you know with the support of Santi and the new family you have chosen, you and your children would thrive.

As the day goes on and the sun begins to set, you do a last sweep on your new home. Tonight would be the first night you spend here, finally having moved out of your small apartment. Will and Benny had done a fantastic job of your bedroom, where all you had to do was unpack your clothes. The bathrooms you had tackled yourself, placing all yours towels and toiletries where they needed to be, and your kitchen cupboards were full and everything was where it needed to be.

As the boys get ready to leave, you make your way back upstairs and towards the nursery. You pause at the doorway, looking at the almost complete room.

Courtney and Andy had helped put the cribs together earlier in the week, and you had gotten so excited about the twins’ arrival, that you’d nearly completed the room within a day. You went with a soft sage green feature wall, with a forest themed wallpaper around the other walls. The wood on the cribs was a matching colour of green, and you had placed a bunny themed rug on the floor. All of their clothes were put away, the shelves were put up on the walls, their books were organised nicely, and even their woven basket in the shape of a fox was filled to the brim with soft toys.

You take a step into the bedroom and stand between the matching cribs, looking between the two. You had placed clean sheets over the mattresses, being a bit too eager to get them ready for the babies, even though they wouldn’t be using them for a good long while, but you could already picture your babies laying in them, with Santi’s dark curls and your eyes.

You jump at the movement you catch at the corner of your eye. Your gaze softens as you see Santi stood in the doorway, looking around the room with an unreadable look on his face. You gave him a moment to look around, before asking him, “Everything okay?”

He takes another few moments to finally look at you, his eyes a little wider than normal as he asks you, “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

You give him a gentle smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“You’re having kids…my kids.”

“You’re not having cold feet now, are you?” you ask, joking.

Santi gives a breathy chuckle, before looking around the room again. “I’ve just realised how quickly this came around.”

You grin at him. “Only three weeks left until they’re here.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while as he still looks at the furniture around the room, before he says, “If anyone told me a year ago that I’d be settled down in Florida, with two kids on the way, I would have laughed in their face.”

“Me too,” you say. “Strange how much can change in a year.”

Before Santi could answer, you hear your front door open, and Beth call, “Wow, this place looks great!”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you walk out of the nursery, Santi following you. You make your way downstairs and see Courtney, Beth, and Gabrielle, holding ballons and gift bags, and a box, talking to Frankie, Benny, and Will.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you approach them.

“What, you think we were just going to let you spend your birthday just moving into your house?” Courtney asked, grinning.

“We’ll go set these up in your kitchen,” said Beth, motioning to the items in their hands before they walked through your house.

There was a moment of silence before Santi asked, “It’s your birthday?”

You looked at him sheepishly before shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We’ll just…go and help in the kitchen,” said Frankie awkwardly, before he drags Benny through to your kitchen.

You look back at Santi after a moment before shrugging lightly. “My birthday didn’t seem all that important this year. I’m weeks away from giving birth, it’s not like I could do much.”

“Cariño, we would have done something for you,” said Santiago.

You’re shaking your head before he could even finish speaking. “You’ve done enough by helping me with my house.”

“But it’s gotta be a big birthday, right?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m twenty-nine.”

“Fuck,” Santi groaned. “I’m sorry, I should have known it was your birthday.”

“Really, Santi, it’s okay – “

“No, it’s not, you’re about to give birth to my kids, I should have known – “

“I didn’t exactly tell you it was my birthday,” you say, your cheeks warming. “It’s on me too.”

Santiago looks at you with a helpless look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

You give him a grin. “Come on, let’s go and see what cake they got me.”

You reach out and hold Santi’s hand (again, your ignore the shivers it sends through you) and you lead him to your kitchen, where your friends were pouring drinks and handing out to Frankie, Benny, and Will.

“Hey, there you are,” said Gabrielle, handing over a Diet Coke to you. “Santiago, what do you want?”

“Uh, nothing for me, thanks,” he said, letting go of your hand quickly. “I, uh…have to get moving soon anyway, I’m working tomorrow.”

“But they just got here,” you said, frowning at him. “We can celebrate my birthday, even if it’s only for a little bit.”

“I’m sorry, cariño,” he says, backing up out of the kitchen. “I’ll make it up to you. Fish, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, hermano,” said Frankie after a moment of silence. “I’ll call you later.”

Santi gives a final goodbye to you and your friends before he leaves. There is a moment of silence again before conversation picks up once more. You join your friends, your brow still furrowed.

You’re so confused. Why did he leave so quickly, after you just talked about celebrating your birthday? You could hear him opening and closing your front door before you register the faint sound of his truck backing out of your driveway. You look around at your friends, and your gaze settles on Frankie, who is staring at you already. He gives you a sympathetic smile.

Something is definitely going on.

Your mind races, replaying the moments leading up to Santi's abrupt departure. Just minutes ago, the atmosphere was filled with birthday excitement and talks of the birth of your twins, but now, you feel your chest tightening with worry, like a balloon deflating, leaving behind an uneasy tension. What changed so drastically in such a short span of time?

Questions flood your mind like a torrent. Did something happen that you missed? Was it something you said or did? Or did it have something to do with how weird he’d been acting with Frankie? You mentally rewind any interactions you had had with him, with Frankie, with anybody, desperately searching for clues, but everything seemed perfectly ordinary. You can't help but feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a mixture of disappointment, worry, and confusion.

As you stand there, you’re nudged back into the room by Courtney, who smiles warmly at you. “Come on, let’s do presents, then cake.”

You swallow back the taste of bitter confusion on your lips at Santi’s departure and Frankie’s look before giving a force smile. “Sure, yeah. Thanks again for coming!”

As you step forward to surround yourself in your inner circle, you notice the usual warmth of conversation lingers in the air, but now it's tainted with an unexpected chill.

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland, @itsmytimetoodream

#triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #pregnant!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #frankie morales #william miller #benny miller

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tommysversion · 1 year

Text

Request Status: Open (Selective)

Pedro Pascal Characters I Write: Din Djarin , Joel Miller, Javier Peña, Oberyn Martell, Javi Gutierrez, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Comandante Veracruz, Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels.

Gabriel Luna Characters I Write: Tommy Miller, Boro Polonia.

Be My Future - Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Possessive!Din

Touch Starved Din

Teaching Din To Eat You Out

Take It - Dom! Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Over Eager, Inexperienced Din

Din Spanks You With His Belt

Din When You're Pregnant

What's In A Name? - Din Djarin x Named OC (SFW)

Din As A Girl Dad (SFW)

Domestic!Din x Teacher!Reader (SFW)

"I'm Not Wearing Underwear" - Prompt

Headcanons

Jealousy, Jealousy - Jealous!Reader x Joel / Jealous!Reader x Tommy (Most Popular Fic!)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Part Two) - Jealous!Reader x Joel

Joel's Kinks

That's My Girl - Jealous, Possessive Joel x Reader

Differences Between Game!Joel & Show!Joel

Playing Rough - Joel x Reader (ft spanking & the knife handle).

Mine - Possessive!Reader x Joel

DBF! Joel Catching You Staring At His Arms

'Accidentally' Getting Joel A Shirt That's Too Small

DBF! Joel Has Enough Of Your Teasing

DBF! Joel With A Bratty Reader

Joel Sees Your Scars (SFW)

Seducing Joel

Joel Wants You In Sub Space

Oblivion - Joel x Reader (Established Consent / DubCon CW)

Breathe Through It - Joel x Anxious!Reader (SFW)

Pre Game - DBF!Joel x Confident!Reader

Plus Size Reader Is Reassured By Joel (SFW)

“We Have To Make This Quick” - Prompt

Joel When You’re Sick (Headcanons)

Heat - Ezra x F!Reader

Taste - Ezra x F!Reader, short continuation of Heat

Ache - Ezra x AFAB Reader (Sex Pollen Fic)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Alt Version)

Bedside Manner (TLOU2 Spoilers!)

Taboo

Part One (SFW)

Part Two (SFW)

Tennessee Nights (Part One)

Tennessee Nights (Part Two)

Fall In Love In A Single Touch - modern!Oberyn (fluff & hurt/comfort)

A Breath Of Fresh Air - (Dubcon Smut)

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musings-of-a-rose · 5 months

Note

First sentence fic game!

“I don’t understand why you can’t leave things unbroken, myself included!”

Broken

Pairing: Frankie Morales x wife!reader

Word Count: 670+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“I’m so sorry, querida.”

“It was supposed to be just a few days.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even want you to go in the first place!”

Frankie is quiet for a moment before sighing. “I know. I should have listened, but-”

“But you just do whatever he tells you to do, right? Whatever Tom wants?”

“He was my leader for so long it’s just habit.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that shit, Frankie. You’re a 43 year old man.”

His eyes fill with tears and for one second, I want to drop this argument, run to him and hold him close, tell him everything will be alright. But I promised him I’d never lie to him, cover my emotions, that I’d always be upfront and honest no matter how hard it is, so instead I stand my ground.

“I begged you not to go, Frankie. Begged. You left me. You left us,” I gesture towards our daughter’s bedroom across the hall. “You almost made me a widower and not for the first time! But then you almost made her fatherless. How could you do that?”

“I went to get the money to make a better life for you both.”

“Please. You went because Tom told you to and Santi batted his stupid eyelashes at you and you couldn’t say no.”

“That’s not it at all. I want to take care of you. Both of you!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about money, Francisco! I only cared about you!”

“I lost my job, querida. What do you expect me to do?”

“Not get yourself killed! You’ve put me through so much hell, and then I got pregnant and you did it again with the drugs, and then you up and disappeared for nearly 2 weeks to Colombia on some..some…heist or whatever! You could’ve died in those mountains and I’d have never known-”

“I know, I’m sorry querida-”

“I don’t understand why you can’t leave things unbroken, myself included!” I sit down on the bed, burning my face in my hands as tears roll down my cheeks.

Frankie walks over to me, hesitating before putting his hand on my leg, rubbing small circles into my exposed skin. I let him do that for a few moments before I lean my head on his shoulder. Immediately, he shifts towards me, pulling me into his broad chest and embracing me as I cry, heaving tears that are so no classy as I let out all of my fear and worry and anger from these last 2 weeks. I drop my hands and bury my face into his chest, inhaling his scent and feeling the warmth seep from him into me, grounding me and comforting me as he’s done so many times before.

“I thought you’d left me forever, Frankie.”

He squeezes me closer. “I almost did. But I fought for you, for our daughter. I had to get back to you. I was so scared I wouldn’t make it, but I fought. I love you, querida. I will always fight for you. And I’m sorry for…everything.”

He holds me in silence for several more moments before speaking quietly, brushing his lips across the top of my head as he presses a kiss into my hair, inhaling my scent.

“Please don’t leave me.” He says it with such a small voice, almost no hope behind it, like he’d understand completely if I did. I sit up, my hands moving to cup his face, scratching the little patches in his bead. Frankie sighs into my touch, briefly closing his eyes before opening them, his eyes wide and worried.

“I could never leave you, Frankie. I just need you to be on our team. Talk to me when you’re having a hard time. I didn’t sign up for only your good parts. I want all of you. Ok?”

Relief floods his face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I promise, querida. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

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#frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales

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stargirl-in-dilfspace · 1 month

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Look After You (Christmas Fic) - Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

[moodboard for moodboard’s sake]

Summary: It’s the first time you’ve had Frankie home for the entire month of December, and you have some exciting news for him.

content/warnings: fluff, established relationship, reader & frankie are married, they have a daughter, girl dad frankie, classic christmas (no sad beige bullshit here), reader is pregnant, pregnancy announcement, their daughter is rambunctious & sweet, daughter is named Valentina (Val for short), Santiago appearance, alcohol mention (santi and frank have a beer lol), these two are so sweet you wanna throw up [2k-ish words]

a/n: okay first fic on tumblr, this feels weird. and yeah it’s wayyyy too early for Christmas but i hate that it’s snowing where i am and im pretending im happy about it (aka writing fics about Christmas) let me know what you think!!! <3

Christmas had stopped being a time to relax a long time ago. Even more so once you had your daughter. And your husband. But, Frankie was plenty of help, this evening, among many others, he’d offered to completely take over the bedtime duties for Valentina, that you normally split 50/50, so you could have some time to yourself, which you opted to wrap gifts.

It was the 23rd, and the wrapping was a little late admittedly. He’d offered everything under the sun, a hot bath, a home cooked meal, etc. You’d chosen to wrap gifts. This was the first year you got to spend the entire month with him. And Val was three. You settled down on your bed, with a bunch of gift bags, wrapping paper and a few bows. The gifts you planned for your daughter on your left, and a few for your husband on the right.

By 7 o’clock, you’d wrapped everything. Gift tags were what you had left. In your hand writing, you started to write your first name. On your daughter’s gift. You silently laughed at yourself, trying again, with a different tag, addressing it to Val, from Mama.

You’d never get used to it in the best of ways.

You smiled at the tag, feeling stupid. Stupidly happy. The amount of joy that children got out of Christmas, would last forever, and seeing the joy from your daughter made all the work worth it.

Then you got down to your husband’s little stack. A few useful items he’d asked for, a book he’d wanted, and a framed photo of the two of you. One from the day you told him you were pregnant with Val. Taken on a digital camera, he’s smiling wide, genuinely, while you press a kiss to his cheek. He had been trying to find time to get all the photos printed off the camera and frame some, specifically that one to put on his nightstand. You wrapped that last.

Cause that wasn’t the only part of the gift. You had a letter, and more importantly, a pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

You looked at it for a moment, you only found out a few days ago, and decided you’d surprise him on Christmas Eve, with the photo.

A swift knock was put on the bedroom door, to which you hid everything at your side, throwing your sweater over it. “Francisco Morales if you walk in here you may not live to see Christmas Day.” You call out, in a joking tone, as the door cracked open.

“Hey there, Mrs. Catfish.” You place the voice immediately. Santiago. “Heard you were wrapping gifts in here?”

“Yeah, you’re safe.” You chuckle lightly, standing up off the bed to hug him as he stepped in to greet you. “What’re you doing here?” You wrap your arms around him with a smile on your face.

“Holy…shit.” You furrow your brows, hearing his tone as you pull back, following his gaze. Fuck. “Looks like it’s Mama Fish of two.” He chuckled, looking back at you with a smile before you shushed him quickly.

He got a kick out of the nickname he’d come up with when he’d found out about Val.

“Yeah, looks like it.” You smile, the reality kicking in a little. “Frankie’s supposed to find out Christmas Eve so keep it zipped.” He chuckles again, taking it to heart.

“How far along?” He asks as you made an effort to finish putting everything neatly into its little box, and labeling it with his name.

“Four weeks. Only found out on the 19th.” You say quietly, stuffing presents into the closet, behind some storage boxes, stacking a few spare blankets over it for good measure.

“Damn.”

“Don’t even do the math, Santiago.” You warn with a fake scowl.

“Guess me taking Val for the weekend paid off.” He jokes as you shoot him a look, opening the door and leading him back out into the hall to the living room to find Frankie.

The Christmas lights on the tree were plugged in, blues, red, purples, oranges, greens, yellows…you’d refused to give in to the sad beige trends, you wanted your daughter to have the Christmas you did. Full of life and color, and strange ornaments with memories and crafts and photos. Frankie was in the kitchen in the fridge, digging for drinks.

“You found her?” He calls to Santi, to which he replies with a simple “yep.” “Either of you want a beer?” He asks, Santi gave you a look to which you held up a finger in warning.

“No, honey, just water for me.” You reply, and he came into the living room a few moments later, two beers and a water. You thanked him and smiled, sitting down next to him on the couch while Santiago sat in one of your armchairs.

You spent the rest of the evening talking, catching up and laughing. Your daughter slept like a rock, and eventually you checked on her, making sure she actually was asleep. She was the spitting image of both of you, snoring softly. Your pride and joy, you never thought any man would ever make you feel safe and loved enough to have a child, a home.

The last two weeks, you’d been watching Christmas movies with Val and Frankie, curled up on the couch, as she got all excited about Christmas, and winter, and presents.

Last night, she’d begged to make cookies she’d found in an old cookbook of yours. Gingerbread cookies the three of you decorated to look like each other, accompanying the little house she decorated. She passed out from a sugar high on the couch between you and Frankie at only 6 in the evening. A miracle, for a girl like her. He’d talked to you about how much he loved the two of you, quietly playing with your hair, for almost an hour before you both fell asleep.

By the time Santiago left, you both were tired, like average toddler parents were. You drag a blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it up and over the two of you, curling up with him for a minute.

“Good day?” Frankie asks, like clockwork each night he wanted to hear what you had to say. His eyes reflect the Christmas lights, and somehow every ounce of admiration and love he held for you.

“Good day. Got all the presents wrapped.”

“I’m glad, all ready for Christmas?” He rubbs your arm, pulling you closer.

“Very. You?” You look up at him, hand finding his soft brown curls, you see him wear more frequently now. Standard Oil practically owned his head of hair until you came along and convinced him the curls and little grays were perfect to you.

“I think so. Wrapped your gifts last week.” He grins down at you, hand falling at your waist, fingertips grazing your back and pulling you just a bit closer. You smile at him, God, you love him. His eyes shine a little more in the light of the tree, pulling you up to kiss him sweetly, your hand pressed gently to the side of his face.

“I love you.” You murmur, reaching just a bit farther up to press a kiss to the tip his nose, one of many things you adore about him.

“I love you, hun.” He kisses your cheek in return, letting you rest on his shoulder, just against his neck. You play with the hem of his shirt, yawning slightly. “How’s a hot shower and bed sound?” He asks with a slight chuckle, you can feel it deep in his chest, with his heartbeat. The one he knows beats just for you.

By the next evening, dinner is served, chicken (considering your daughter won’t touch turkey), mashed potatoes (her favorite), and green beans (cause somebody needed her greens.)

“Mama, do we get to open presents tonight?” Your daughter asks, her spoon spinning around in her potatoes.

“Only one, since Santa hasn’t come yet, sweetheart.” You grin, watching her take another bite, smiling at you and Frankie.

“Do you think I’ll be able to hear the reindeer? When he’s on the roof? Cause I can’t see Santa?” Val asks, pulling her hair out of the little ponytail done by Frankie from earlier when she’d “helped” him outside shovel the snow on the sidewalk, messy from her little hat.

“I don’t know about that…but I heard Santa has been leaving behind something extra special if we leave him some milk and cookies tonight.” Frankie smiles, explaining to his daughter what she could expect if she tried to stay in her bed and sleep.

“Hmm…I think we should get to bed soon, Val cause Uncle Santi called before dinner and told me Santa had already come to his house.” You hum like it's nothing, and your daughter shoots up, finishing the remainder of her plate, and Frankie smiles at you.

“Can we go get my pjs? And brush my teeth? I wanna go to bed!” Val forgets she could even have one present tonight.

She takes Frankie’s hand, tugging it a little, watching you for approval. She drags both of you, through her bedtime routine like you usually have to do for her. You kiss her goodnight, and tell her Christmas will be there the sooner she goes to sleep, and that you love her. You lean on the doorframe, watching Frankie talk to her, telling her goodnight and that he loves her.

Your hand finds your abdomen without really thinking. Jesus Christ do you love him, and God are you glad to be the one having his children.

You quickly tuck both hands in the pockets of your jeans as he turns to you, walking out with you. He takes your hand, leading you back to the living room.

“I’ve got something for you.” You say softly, he presses a kiss to your head. You reach under the couch, as you’d hidden it earlier in the day, and he chuckles a little. You hand him the box and settle with your legs over his lap, he brushes your knees with his free hand. He looks at you to see if it’s okay to open, his hands making the box look much smaller than it was. You nod, encouraging him a little, a small smile on your lips.

He shakes off the top, pushing back the wrapping and looking at you, a large grin on his face, taking up the photo frame, setting the box beside him. He pulls you in tightly, still holding the framed photo. “I’ve been meaning to do this, this is amazing, thank you-”

“Frankie, I’d take another look in the box before you thank me, honey.” You joke slightly, he lets go of you, giving you a confused look, taking the box back up, taking back some more of the wrapping, he looks back up at you, his eyes wide, and you don’t even know how his smile got better. He wraps you up in his arms again, pulling you up to hold you as close as he can.

You’re every good piece of him, you’re the one thing he could ever dream to have.

“We’re having another baby!” He’s impossibly happy, excited and holding you tight, kissing you repeatedly before you can even say another word. “I’m a dad, again…” He lets you go a little to look at you, glancing down at your stomach, and back to your eyes. “Thank you…”

Those big, brown eyes and that smile, that got you here in the first place.

You’re smiling, blushing with how excited he is. He pulls you back in, once again, elated, with little tears at the corner of his eye, holding you close. The only place he wants to be.

“I- I’m only four weeks. Only found out a few days ago, just wanted to surprise you.” You stumble over your words, and he kisses the side of your face, still holding you but loose, so you could breathe, and he could look at you.

“It’s amazing. It’s more than amazing, it’s the best fucking Christmas gift.” He grins at you, hands rubbing your arms up and down as if to warm you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Francisco.” You just about melt into his arms, his comfort the same as a blanket while it snowed outside.

He made you happier than you could’ve ever believed you deserved, let alone believed you would find. And yet, he reminded you somehow everyday of how much he didn’t deserve you.

#pedro pascal #writing prompt #christmas #fanfic #triple frontier #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #established relationship #pregnancy #wife!reader #pregnancy announcement #fluff #new writter #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales is too fucking cute and a girl dad send help

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javierpena-inatacvest · 1 month

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Maybe, Baby?

Summary: You and Frankie aren't trying for a baby just yet, but when your weird symptoms start to throw your body for a loop, you start to wonder if you actually might be pregnant

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

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap, silly gooses), creampie, praise kink, size kink (if u squint), unintentional breeding kink (lmaoooo, it's me, sorry not sorry), birth control/family planning, pregnancy (or maybe not? part 2 maybe? hehe) symptoms, Frankie and reader mention being closer to 30 than 16 (turns out when you're an adult, it's not a teen pregnancy anymore), reader has hair that can be played with, Frankie being the sweetest husband alive (all the gold stars for him), Frankie is so excited to be a dad that I just may pass away

A/N: I know y'all voted for me to finish chapter 20 but i lied (I'm so sorry), but I wrote this in a day and husband Frankie was really speaking to me on this one 😭 This one is brought to you by my raging baby fever and perhaps some real life inspiration WHOOPS, art imitating life on this one ig 💀 Poorly beta'd bc that's how I roll!!!

Ever since getting off birth control a few months ago, your body had felt… different.

While you were glad you had made the change for yourself, you still found yourself shocked every month when a new sort of symptom decided to appear at some point in your cycle that you had never dealt with before- acne in new places, weird cramps, and crazy mood swings that showed up out of nowhere before your period were just a few of the things you were learning to manage as you figured out your body post birth control.

Another symptom you hadn’t expected was that now, you were insatiably horny.

All the time.

While Frankie had been more supportive and caring in helping you deal with all of your not so pleasant symptoms than you could have hoped for, he was also more than happy to help you with your newly found positive one, too.

The only problem was, after so many years of not having to worry about the consequences of your sex life on birth control, you and Frankie were finding it very hard to adjust to be more… careful.

As you got hornier and hornier, the box of condoms that Frankie had bought after you stopped taking the pill had been seeing less and less use, and to be honest, hadn’t really seen the light of day from the back of his nightstand drawer in about a month an a half- and if you were being even more honest, on top of that, Frankie’s pull out game was almost nowhere to be found.

You both knew that you wanted a family in the future- That was a part of your reason for getting off birth control to begin with. The two of you had agreed to hold off at least for a little longer to try and get your life more in order before bringing a baby into it, but with with your new lack of protection when it came to sex, and constant horniness around the clock, you both were beginning to have a feeling that that your agreed upon timeline for having a baby might be harder for you to maintain that you thought.

Especially when you found yourself morphing into an unspeakably horny monster when you were ovulating.

So little did you realize, that as you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom as the two of you were getting ready for bed and you caught a glimpse in the mirror of Frankie, stripping out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers as he searched around in your dresser for pajamas, that was the reason you nearly spit out your entire mouthful of toothpaste to try and get a mouthful of something else.

You couldn’t help but ogle at your husband's broad body and freckled tan skin, muscles flexing as he shuffled through your drawers, pulling out an old, worn gray t-shirt and tugging it over his head, running his hand through his messy, curly hair before searching for his pajama bottoms.

At this point, you had honestly braced yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter to keep yourself from falling over at how mouth-watering he looked, already feeling the wetness beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear at the thought of wanting to rip his clothes off just as fast as he had put them on.

Letting out a yawn, Frankie raised his hands above his head so a sliver of his soft belly peaked out between his waistband and shirt hem before making his way into the bathroom, sleepily padding along the tile floor until his body was behind yours, chest flushed against your back and arms wrapped around your waist. Even more prevalent, his bulge pressed against your ass, making the wet spot in your underwear grow damper by the second.

“You ready for bed, querida?” Frankie cooed, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and smiling at your reflections in the mirror.

While you were absolutely ready to get into bed, sleeping was not going to be your activity of choice.

“I think that maybe…” You paused, turning around to face Frankie, his body caging yours against the counter, palms splayed flat on either side of your hips, looking down at you with his sweet, brown eyes, “I think that maybe we should do something else before we go to sleep.”

“Something else, huh?” Frankie smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as your hands began to run up and down his arms, slightly squeezing the muscles of his biceps as your fingers crept under the fabric of his shirt sleeves. “And what might that something else be, Hermosa?”

“You know exactly what it is, Fransisco. You expect me to watch you just roam around shirtless in our bedroom and not get all hot and bothered? God, you’re so fucking hot.” You moaned, letting your hands run up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in for a long, electric kiss.

“Damn, what’s gotten into you, babe?” Frankie chuckled, trying his best not to blush at your comment, sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I don’t- Fuck, I don’t know, I just know that if you don’t fuck me right this second, I think I’m gonna explode.”

While your statement may have had a flair for the dramatic, it was just about as close to the God’s honest truth as you could get- You were so worked up, you felt practically feral, the ache in your core so strong that you really did feel like you were on the verge of implosion.

Before you even gave Frankie time to respond, your lips were crashing into his with a ferocious intensity, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt as you stumbled back towards your bedroom, bodies bumping and bouncing against the walls and door frames, mouths never parting as the back of Frankie’s knees finally hit the mattress, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed.

Crawling overtop of him, you were already straddled over his hips, grinding your bottom half on the bulge growing in his pajamas as your hands crept under the hem of his t-shirt, running along the tanned, soft skin of his chest, making him let out a low groan that rumbled in his throat.

Frantically shuffling himself further onto the bed, Frankie’s hands dug into your hips and over your ass as your hands slid down from his chest to his waistband, fingers tugging at the elastic to shuffle his bottoms and boxers down his legs, quickly followed by your own, dropping to a crumpled pile on the floor.

Feeling your fingers wrap around his cock, already painfully hard, you swirled the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb before dragging your hand up and down his length, leaving Frankie sitting up in surprise while he watched you begin to hover over him, dragging his dick through your folds.

“Hermosa, are you sure you don’t need me to-” But before Frankie could finish the rest of his protest to make sure you were ready to take him, you were already sinking down onto him, whimpering at the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness, followed by the ragged moan escaping Frankie’s lips.

“Oh fuck… Nuh uh, Frankie. I need to feel you, baby. Needed to feel you inside me.” You whined, taking Frankie cock inch by inch until he had bottomed out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure.

Normally with Frankie’s size, you would have needed to warm you up first, but with how wet and worked up you already were, you were able to take him with ease, desperate to feel him buried deep inside you.

“Jesus fucking christ, queirda, you’re so fucking wet. Fuck, baby.” Frankie moaned, feeling you begin to slide up and down his length, coating him with your arousal with each swirl of your hips.

Arching your back, you jutted your hips forward, bracing your hands on Frankie’s strong thighs, circling your bottom half against his, whimpering at his fullness and the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your clit, selfishly already longing to chase your own high to ease the ache that had been burning in your core.

“Fuck, Frankie, you feel so good. Feel so fucking full with you in me.” You whimpered, bouncing even harder and faster on Frankie’s cock, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping his and wetness dripping from your heat coating the walls of your bedroom.

“Yeah? This what you wanted, pretty girl? Wanted me to stretch this pretty little pussy out and fill you up?” Frankie groaned, gritting his teeth as he began to jut his hips up into yours as you rode him, the added depth of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure.

And for as fucking good as it felt, the horny monster you had morphed into had you greedily craving more- to have Frankie stretch you open in a way that had you seeing stars, so much that you could still feel the next day, long after the two of you were finished.

“I-I want more, p-please, baby. Fuck- Fuck me harder, Fransisco.” You cried, your sweet voice whimpering his full name turning him almost as feral as you were, letting out a low growl as he grabbed you by your hips, flipping you so that your back hit the mattress and he was caging his broad body over yours.

Practically ripping the t-shirt still covering your upper half off your body, Frankie dove face first between your breasts, groping one while hungrily sucking at the other, flicking your pebbled nipple with his tongue, his free hand reaching down to line his cock back up with your entrance, sliding back in to your aching core with ease.

Frankie let himself sink all the way back in, filling you to the brim before hooking his arms around your knees, pressing your legs against your stomach, smirking to himself at the ragged moan you let out as the new angle opened you up even further.

“You want me to fuck you harder, Hermosa?” Frankie mewled, slowly dragging his length out of your heat, looking down to see your shiny slick soaking his cock before looking back at you and the wrecked expression plastered across your face, frantically nodding in desperation. “Tell me how badly you want it, sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I need you so bad, Fransisco, please.” You begged, damn near close to tears with how deeply you needed to feel Frankie ease the emptiness inside you. “Please, baby, I- oh fuck-”

Before you could even finish the rest of your plea, your breath was already hitched in the back of your throat as Frankie began to pound into you at a relentless pace, tightening his grip around your thighs while he pressed them closer to your chest, grunting with each rut of his hips into yours.

“This what you want, querida? Meirda- so fucking wet and tight, baby girl. You feel so fucking good, holy fuck.”

It didn’t take long for the all too familiar tingle at the base of your spine to start spreading through your body like a wildfire as Frankie continued to slam into your g-spot, making you chant his name like a prayer, your brain at a loss for any other words than “Fuck, Fransisco.”

And as if you already weren’t close enough, when Frankie reached down to thumb at your clit, rubbing in relentless circles against your sensitive nub, you knew you were a fucking goner.

“That’s it, Hermosa. Cum for me, baby. Want that- oh fuck- want that prefect pussy to fucking soak me.” Frankie groaned, feverishly pounding into you, desperate to feel you come undone for him giving him long enough to fight off his own high that was rapidly building in the pit of his stomach.

A few more thrusts were all it took to have the coil snapping in your belly, crying out Frankie’s name as you came, orgasm ripping through your body with a blinding intensity, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging open while pleasure and euphoria flowed through every ounce of you.

Still blissed out and wrecked out of your mind, your eyes shot open as Frankie’s mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans in a messy dance of tongues and teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Jesus fuck- fuck, I’m close too, baby. W-where do you want me, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, barley holding on long enough for you to answer, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his hips began to stutter, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow with every ounce of self control he had left.

Still barley coherent enough to form a sentence, your brain blurted out the only thing you could think of, and the only thing that you really wanted in the moment.

“Inside, Fransisco. Fuck, cum inside me, baby.”

That alone was almost enough to send Frankie over the edge, letting out a long, low groan, sloppily rutting into you as his brain went blank alongside yours, starting to babble incoherently.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- you want me to fill you up, queirda? Fuck, I’ll fucking fill you up so good you’ll be dripping out of me for days. Oh fuck, shit baby, fuck, oh I’m gonnaahhhhhh-“

Just like that, Frankie took one last thrust, spilling deep inside you, coating your walls with his spend as his body slumped into yours, the pair of your chests rising and falling in sync as you both came back down to earth.

“Jesus Christ… Holy fuck, Frankie.�� You giggled quietly to yourself, blissfully filled with post orgasm ecstasy as your husband carefully pulled himself out before rolling over next to you on the bed, pulling you close against his chest.

“Fuck me, Hermosa, holy shit.” Frankie chuckled, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead, tracing small circles on your back as he held you, heat radiating off of each other's sweat-ridden bodies. “God, I love you. We should probably get you cleaned up. You wanna shower?” He asked, smirking as your face lit up at his nearly rhetorical question.

“Only if you’re up for round 2, Morales.”

“My eyes are up here, Fransisco.”

“Hmmm? What did you say?”

“Exactly my point. Can you stop looking with your man eyes and look with your normal, helpful people eyes to help me decide on a dress for Benny and Victoria’s wedding?” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you raised an eyebrow at Frankie, his gaze still fixed on your chest.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be helpful.” Frankie huffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes at you, playfully throwing his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the dressing room door, looking you up and down in one of the cute floral dresses you had picked to try on for your friends’ upcoming wedding. “It’s just that… Nevermind.”

“It’s just that what, Frank?” You asked tilting your head in confusion at your husband as his eyes traveled back to your breasts, furled look in his brow like he was really staring there to prove a point.

“It’s just that- Baby, I don’t know if it’s just the dress or what, but your boobs look huge. Like, they always look good, believe me, but like… Whew.” Frankie whistled, practically shaking his head in disbelief at how good you looked.

“Really?” You asked, turning around to face the mirror in the dressing room, gently cupping your breasts, grimacing as you held them in your hands. “Yeah, I guess they do… Honestly, I was gonna complain about how sore they’ve been all day. I wonder if maybe my period is just coming early?”

“Maybe? You did ride me pretty hard the last couple nights and put on a good show, so maybe they hurt from all that bouncing and-”

“Frankie! We are in public!” You playfully scolded, giving him a flimsy slap to the chest to cut off the rest of his thought, the two of you quietly giggling to yourselves and trying to “Shhhh” each other from drawing too much attention to your dressing room stall. “The dress, you goofball, yes or no? Sooner we pick, the sooner we can go get food, because your wife is starving.”

“I vote yes on the dress. You look beautiful in it, querida.” Frankie smiled, stepping behind you to press a kiss on the side of your head.

“You just like it because it makes my boobs look huge.”

“What? Can you blame me for wanting to stare at my gorgeous wife’s boobs all night?”

“God, you are ridiculous, Fransisco. Fine, boob dress wins. Now let’s get out of here and go get some food before you get stuck in a titty trance and I die of hunger.”

While the rest of your Saturday was spent enjoying the delicious Mexican food that you had picked up on the way home and a much needed night in on the couch with Frankie, there was a tiny part of your brain that couldn’t seem to shake his comment from earlier about how big your boobs looked.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him, because truth be told, they felt huge, too. They had been sore since you had woken up this morning, and while you had chalked it up to what you and Frankie had been up to the past few nights, or bad PMS symptoms, there was still just something about you that felt off.

Later that night, during your movie marathon, you had paused whatever new action movie Frankie had been begging to watch since it had popped up on Netflix a few days ago for a popcorn refill.

While Frankie meandered around the kitchen waiting for the next bag of popcorn to finish popping, you stayed curled up with your blanket in your corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, until a sharp twinge began to cramp in your lower stomach. The feeling took you by surprise, digging your fingers into your side to try and ease the dull and achy sensation as your face scrunched in confusion, wondering why in the world you had what felt like period cramps in your belly.

“Hey, you okay, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, returning with popcorn in hand, his face painted with concern to see the pained look scrunched between your brow as you curled deeper into the couch.

“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I just um, I just had a weird cramp I guess. Probably just ate all that popcorn too fast.” You replied, trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince Frankie that you were overthinking whatever mystery symptoms had just flashed through your lower half.

“Here, lemme just set this popcorn down and then I can rub your back while we finish the movie, okay?” Frankie smiled softly, setting down the bowl on the coffee table before crawling back under the sea of blankets on the couch with you, laying your head against his thigh like a pillow while his hand traced up and down along the small of your back.

“Thanks, Frankie.” You whispered quietly, taking a few deep breaths as the familiar warmth of your husband’s palm worked up and down the worn fabric of his shirt that you had put on earlier.

“Of course, baby. If you need anything else, just let me know, okay? Just promise me you’ll take it easy on the popcorn if you have any more there, Killer.”

The two of you laughed quietly as Frankie leaned down to press a soft kiss into your messy hair laid across his lap before picking up the remote to let the rest of the movie play as your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“What’s inside this box?”

“Open it up and find out! It’s a surprise for you!”

“Okay? Huh, why is it just a pregnancy test in there?”

“It’s yours! Congratulations! You’re having a baby!”

“Ahhhhh!” You shrieked, panting as you woke from a cold sweat, shooting up from the couch. “What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, coming to and realizing that you were now awake and had only been dreaming moments before this. Running your hands over your face, you blinked a few times to be greeted by the dim light of the TV still flickering in the background, Frankie sprawled out and snoring by your side where the two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch during the movie.

“What a weird fucking dream…” You sighed to yourself, shaking your head as you quietly pushed yourself off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, pulling your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to check what ungodly hour of the night it had to be since the two of you had crashed on the couch.

2:07 A.M.

You let out a low grumble, pushing your sweatpants down to your ankles as you sat down to pee, blinking your eyes open wider to look through the notifications piled on top of each other on your lockscreen. Mindlessly swiping through a few junk emails and text messages from group chats, one notification in particular caught your eye, rousing you from your half awake state.

“Feeling down? As you begin your Luteal Phase of your cycle, it’s normal to be less cheerful compared to last week when you were Ovulating! Click to track your cycle symptoms for today!”

Oh shit.

You could feel your heart beginning to race as you opened up the app, scrolling to the calendar tracker for the month. Swiping through the days, it didn’t take you long to realize that despite all of your weird symptoms you had been chalking up to PMS, you were almost two weeks away from starting your period. Frantically scrolling backwards, you began to try and rack your brain of all of the times in the past week that you had sex with Frankie while you would have been ovulating, and out of that number, how many times he hadn’t finished inside you, let alone even attempt to pull out.

And that number was a big, fat zero.

That’s when it hit you like a fucking freight train- You weren’t PMS-ing.

More than likely, you were pregnant.

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling and heart pounding as you buried your face in your trembling hands, your mind flooding with a million different thoughts all at once.

How could you not remember that you were ovulating? Would Frankie be upset? The two of you weren’t even trying for kids right now. Would you be a good Mom? What were you even going to need to do to prepare? Your house was starting to get small for just you and Frankie, let alone a baby. How were you going to find a new place to live in 9 months? And get a new car? How were you-

“Baby, you good in there?” Frankie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a yawn as he opened the door, bright light flooding into the hallway and revealing the sobbing mess you had become, still pants down, hunched over the toilet.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Baby, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me, Hermosa. Are you okay? What happened?” You could feel Frankie’s demeanor immediately switch as soon as he saw you in the bathroom, instantly dropping to his knees by your side, his hands gently grabbing your face to shift your gaze towards him, carefully swiping his thumb to dry the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks.

“Frankie, I- I- Fuck.” You stuttered, gulping hard as you tried to catch your breath, fighting back your nervous sobs as you locked eyes with Frankie, wondering how in the world you were ever about to brace him for the news you were about to tell him.

“Hermosa, what is it? Please, tell me baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie pleaded, softly squeezing your face in reassurance as he waited for your response.

You took a few more deep breaths, composing yourself enough to at least try to get a coherent thought out, swallowing hard as the words left your mouth.

“Frankie, I-, Frankie, I think- I think I’m pregnant.”

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his jaw practically hanging open as he tried to process what you had just told him, wondering if he hadn’t heard you right in his groggy state.

“W-what?”

“I think I might be pregnant, Frankie.”

Before you could even bear the thought of looking at his face again, filled with fear that it would be a look of shock and disappointment, you buried your face in your hands again, fighting with everything in you not to cry and keep your composure.

Frankie sat quietly for a moment, his hand covering up the gaping hole his jaw had made as it nearly hit the floor, shaking his head in disbelief before wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling your hands to look at him.

“R-really? You- fuck- You really think you’re pregnant?”

As your eyes met his, you couldn’t believe the look on your husbands face- Not only was Frankie practically grinning from ear to ear, the sweet brown of his puppy dog eyes were welling with happy tears of their own, waiting on your every word as if he still didn’t believe what he was hearing. Silently, you began to slowly nod your head, biting down on your tongue, your heart feeling like it was about to shoot out of your chest.

“You’re...y-you’re not upset?” You stammered, sitting up a little taller at Frankie’s reaction.

“Upset? Hermosa, why in the world would I ever be upset?” Frankie laughed quietly, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as his other hand cupped your jaw. “Querida… There’s nothing more I want on this earth than to have a family. And-fuck- The fact that it gets to be with you? That you might give me a family? How could I ever be upset about that?

“Well it’s not like we were really trying for a baby, Frank. We said another year or two. With the house and money -”

“Hey. We’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise, we’ll be more than okay.” Frankie smiled, his goofy grin still stretched wide between his cheeks, finally easing some of your worry.

“I don’t even feel like I’m old enough to have a kid. I feel like I need to call up MTV to tell them I’ll be on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.” The two of you snorted, shaking your heads in awestruck disbelief that a stupid joke about a reality TV show could soon become your reality.

“Well considering we’re married, have a house, and most importantly, are much closer to 30 than we are 16, I think they may have a hard time pitching the show “Married Couple Has a Baby”.” Frankie teased, giving you a playful nudge as the two of you laughed, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before trying to dig into details. “Did- Did you take a test? How long have you known?”

“No, I don’t know for sure yet, Frank. It’s… It’s just a feeling, I guess. But the huge, sore boobs, weird, period-like cramps and the fact that we really haven’t been the most careful are all pretty good clues.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, we’ve tried to be care-”

Before Frankie could even finish the rest of his thought, you were already giving him the sassiest look you could muster in your overwhelmed and sleepy state, making the two of you laugh again he let out a sigh of defeat.

“Okay, yeah, we really haven’t been that careful at all. Sweetie, listen, I- I know it’s not what we had planned, but… I mean, if you are pregnant…” Frankie paused, smiling at your stomach as he gently place a hand over your belly, tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, “Baby, I would be so excited. Nervous as hell, but so fucking excited.”

“Me too.” You sniffed, looking down at Frankie’s palm splayed across your stomach, heart swelling at the thought of Frankie being dad, thinking of how sweet and caring and perfect he’d be as you grew your little family together. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled Frankie in close, letting out a shaky sigh, whispering your words through happy tears.

“I love you so much, Frankie.”

“I love you so much too, Hermosa. More than anything.”

For the sake of Frankie’s shoulder, you pulled away to wipe your tears to keep from soaking your husband’s shirt, quietly laughing to yourself at the fact that this whole time you had been talking to Frankie, you had still been pantsless, hunched over the toilet.

“It probably would have been way more romantic to tell you all of this not at 2:30 in the morning, pantsless and hunched over the toilet like a little gremlin.” You snorted, Frankie following suit as he shook his head, running his hand through the sleepy curls of your hair.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, mi amor. C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.”

As the two of you sleepily trotted your way upstairs, curling together under the warmth of your comforter with Frankie’s chest pressed against your back, you couldn’t help but smile as his arm draped over your stomach, hand resting on your belly while his thumb traced soft circles on your skin, imagining what it would be like if a few months from now if you really were getting ready to add another member to your family.

The next morning, as the sunrise began to spill through your curtains, casting bright orange and pink shadows on your bedroom walls, you couldn’t help but stir as the familiar scent and warmth of Frankie’s body was missing from his side of the bed.

As you sat up in the sea of blankets and comforters, softly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you saw Frankie’s frame quietly sneaking through the bedroom door, fresh mug of coffee and bag of breakfast in hand with a stupid smile plastered across his face as he was greeted with your barely awake grin.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Frankie cooed, setting down the coffee and breakfast down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, pressing a tender kiss into the sleep-ridden ends of your hair before wrapping his arms around you in a long embrace.

“Good morning, handsome.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a little grunt and laying your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s all this for?” You asked, gesturing towards the coffee and oversized McDonald’s bag, assuming it was the reason for Frankie’s absence when you woke up.

“I- I don’t know, I uh- I was just really excited when I got up this morning. It was early, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I made a trip to CVS to buy some pregnancy tests for you and figured I’d pick up breakfast on the way home.” Frankie smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, brushing past his untamed morning curls. “I know- I know you can’t really take the tests yet- I spent a lot of time reading the boxes in the store and wasn’t really sure what the best one was to take, so I got like, 4 different ones for when it's time.”

“God, you’re so sweet. You’re the best, you know that? It’s about to be a long week of waiting before I can take one of those. Do you- fuck, Frankie, do you think it could really be positive?” You asked, tears beginning to well in your eyes again as you smiled up at your husband, already beaming back at you, picturing the two pink lines showing up on all of the tests he had bought for you.

“Maybe, if we’re lucky.” He smirked, gently cupping your face, swiping his thumb across your face. “But if it’s not, then maybe… Maybe we start trying for a positive one on purpose.”

“R-really?” You grinned, biting down on your lip in excitement.

“Really, really.” Frankie replied, bringing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss, soaking in the sweet taste of you on his tongue. “And maybe…”

“Maybe, what, Fransisco?” You giggled, bringing your mouth back to his in a sweet and sloppy kiss.

“Maybe…. We start trying right now, ya know, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want all those pregnancy tests to go to waste.”

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