Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader
Word count: 4.1k
Tags: So much fluff, established relationship, discussions of Christmas, the aftermath of brief peril/threat of drowning and hypothermia, cock warming, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it before you tap it please), shades of Dom!Frankie, porn with feelings, a bit of dialogue that may come across as cajoling (it sort of is) but Frankie and the reader are adults in a mature relationship, they can have some complicated emotions that include horniness, as a treat, more Christmas fluff
Summary: You may have made it safely out of the freezing water, but Frankie’s still working through some feelings about the whole thing- especially now that the generator is down. Plus, a Christmas surprise!
Author’s Note: This is set within the same universe as Sundress Season, All Day in the Sun, and Facing the Sunshine, although they can be read individually. It’s set immediately after Weather the Storm so you might want to read that one for context.
This began as me daydreaming about getting snowed in at a rustic cabin with Frankie and @the-ginger-hedge-witch was kind enough to encourage me (and assure me it wasn’t too close to her amazing Forest Ranger Frankie series.
Also, a special shout-out to my amazing writer wife @keeper0fthestars for beta’ing this on short notice. Your support means the world to me, mi media naranja. 🍊
Read on Ao3
You open your eyes to a world made new. The loft bedroom you and Frankie had slept in is small, with knotted pine walls, a tiny stone fireplace, and handmade rugs covering a flag floor. The solid four poster you find yourself in is laden with downy vintage quilts, their printed cotton worn soft with age. None of this catches your eye though- not when one full wall is a plate glass window overlooking the winter wonderland beneath. Stony cliffs hung with icicles, frozen springs, and faraway pinewoods fill your vision, all laden with a thick frosting of snow sparkling beneath a wintry sun.
It’s only when you spring to the window and turn around that you realize you’ve woken up alone.
There’s no answer, though he has left a stack of his own folded clothing on a nearby dresser, along with a steaming mug of coffee. It’s a small bit of comfort. While you’d ended the night wrapped in each other’s arms, there had still been a lingering trace of shortness in his replies, a sure sign that something is bothering him. Despite his assurances that he’s just glad you’re alright, you suspect he’s still on edge after your unexpected arrival and subsequent plunge into the icy water of a hidden pond.
Given the blurry, fear-tinged dreams you’d woken from, he might not be the only one.
You push that feeling aside, warmed by the mug of coffee and Frankie’s flannel shirt. It’s far too large for you, though his sweats are a better fit, and you’re grateful for the thick woolen socks, knowing they’ll keep your feet toasty- and help fill out the space in his extra pair of boots. Your clothes from the night before are steaming gently in front of the small hearth, its carefully smoored embers giving off only the faintest heat and light in the winter dawn.
Come to think of it, hadn’t the cabin itself been much warmer last night? The picture becomes clearer when you head to the bathroom down the hall and flick the lightswitch.
Remembering that Frankie had mentioned something about a generator, you wonder if its gone down. You spring through a brisk, cold-water morning routine (the water heater must be down, too). It occurs to you that being stranded on a mountaintop after a blizzard with neither electricity nor hot water might not be the safest way or most comfortable way to spend your Christmas, but you can’t find it in yourself to regret your hasty decision to join Frankie in the Millers’ cabin.
Dressed, freshly scrubbed, and wide awake, you bound down the stairs and follow the muffled sound of cursing outside.
You find Frankie kneeling in the snow, a look of deep concentration on his face, while he wrestles with a massive diesel generator set a few feet away from the cabin. Dusting snow off a nearby log, you sit beside him and offer up the rest of the coffee.
“I would have made some more but I wasn’t sure how to, with the power down,” you explain. If you’d known he was outside fighting with this rusty behemoth you’d have made more of an effort.
With a sigh, Frankie sets his tools down with more force than you think strictly necessary, though he accepts the warm mug with a weary smile. “It failed last night.” After taking a few sips he looks at you, his dark eyes alert, assessing. “You warm enough?”
“I’m fine, Frankie,” you reply, a little pointedly. “It helps that I’m practically swimming in your clothes. Lots of trapped warmth.” You spread your arms, showing off your baggy ensemble. It has the desired effect.
He huffs a small laugh before rising to his feet with a groan. You give a sympathetic wince as one of his knees pops audibly but he ignores it, joining you on the log and passing the coffee back to you. “If I can’t get it back up we’re in for a rough couple of days,” he warns. “The roads are too dicey so we’re stuck up here until they’re clear and I don’t know how cold it will get without the heat-”
You know that tone. He’s spiraling, caught up in uncertainties that wear his usual calm thin.
“Hey.” You stop him with a gentle word, tilting his face to meet your gaze. “It’ll be fine. What do we need to do?”
Frankie blows out a breath, calculating. “The cabin is pretty sturdy, and we have plenty of water. Food shouldn’t be a problem, especially since you probably brought enough for an expedition.”
“I like to be prepared!”
“Girl scout,” he teases affectionately.
You scoff. “You’re one to talk, Delta Force.”
“Fair enough.” Wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sounding more like himself, he pulls you in to kiss the top of your head, his lips stretched in a fond, exasperated smile. “I’m mostly just worried about keeping you warm enough.”
“Oh well if that’s all, I have some ideas,” you offer slyly.
“I’ll bet you do.” His voice is low, rumbling, though purr or growl, you’re not sure which. “Come on then, querida. If we can’t get this going we’re in for a morning of chopping down trees.”
As it turns out, you’re not able to get the ancient generator running again and Frankie spends a few frustrated minutes digging through a nearby tool shed before coming up with a rusty saw and an only slightly sharper looking ax.
The two of you spend the rest of the morning cutting down saplings Frankie assures you the Millers won’t miss. It takes a few tries to get the technique right but after a few gentle corrections and bits of advice from him, it starts to go a lot smoother.
It’s satisfying work. The day is sunny, though cold, and the pine-scented mountain air is bracing. After about an hour, you and Frankie fall into a quiet, satisfying rhythm, your piles of firewood growing higher and higher. You’re just starting to sweat through your second layer when Frankie calls for a break. It turns out he had made that morning’s coffee over a small campfire, and does the same now, pressing a steaming mug of canned stew into your chilly, gloved hands, only sipping his own once confirming that you’ve started in on yours.
As you’re taking a moment to appreciate the stunning mountain views, an unfamiliar noise filters through the clearing. Wolf song, lilting and haunted, rises plaintively over the snow-capped peaks. Your hair stands on end and you turn to Frankie in astonishment.
“Are there wolves near here?” It’s not fear turning your voice hushed but awe.
Frankie is already standing, scanning the horizon eagerly for the origin of the calls. “Just one pack. They were reintroduced a couple of years back, some sort of research thing, but we’ve never heard them.”
The howl continues. There’s just the one wolf calling, you think. “He sounds lonely.”
“Probably looking for his mate.”
“I hope she finds him.”
Frankie turns to you, an unreadable expression in his dark brown eyes. “I’m sure she will.”
After a few more minutes, the howling falls silent and you return to work.
“That has to be enough for a week, right?” You straighten, stiff from prolonged sawing, digging your fingers into your lower back to ease the tension there.
Looking over from his own, much larger pile of split logs, Frankie shrugs. “More like a day or two, but we can call it here for the day. Let’s head back to the cabin.”
On your way back, he mentions a few more ideas he’s had to make your stay at the cabin more comfortable. Rigging up a solar charging station for your phones. Piling snow around any chinks in the walls to keep out the searching wind. Catching trout for your meals.
Looking significantly at all the frozen water, you raise a brow and ask “how exactly?”
Frankie shrugs. “Ice fishing.”
“Ah, of course. How do you know all this survival stuff, anyway?”
“Training,” he says simply.
“Well, it suits you.” And it does. It’s exhilarating, not to mention comforting, getting to see him using his skills “in the field.” All the better for the fact that you’re not truly in an emergency situation. Not that you seem entirely able to convince him of that.
Noticing the way your breath is coming a little faster, the slight dragging of your feet, Frankie frowns as you make your way back to the cabin. “You should rest when we get back.”
If by “rest,” he means “spend an afternoon in bed together,” you’re all for it.
It turns out that’s not exactly what Frankie had in mind. Just as you’re stripping down to panties and one of his undershirts, he stands from his place lighting the fire and heads for the door.
“What happened to resting?”
He gives you an all-too knowing look. “Cariño, if I get in that bed I don’t think you’ll get much rest.”
“No,” he answers firmly, though you can see he’s tempted.
“Please, Frankie? I’m so cold.”
He snorts, seeing this for the melodramatic ploy that is, but gives in. “Fine. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Grinning in triumph, you scoot over. After shedding a few layers, he joins you beneath the covers. Both of you are still more than a little wind-chilled, and it takes a few shivery moments of snuggling to warm up- which is apparently more than Frankie is willing to put up with.
“You need to stop squirming,” he grits out.
“Oh? And why’s that?”
His teeth close playfully over your bare shoulder, making you yelp. “You know why.”
To be fair, you do. You can feel the reason stiffening behind you.
“We could just-”
“You need rest,” Frankie sighs.
“I’m fine,” you say, a little testily after having said it so many times today. After a tense silence you ask “that’s not the only thing, is it?”
Another pause. “No,” Frankie admits, his own voice tense.
“Well what, then?”
“Really? You nearly get yourself killed last night and you’re wondering why I might be a little annoyed still?”
“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that. You’ve already apologized and frankly, an icy plunge and your own fear is quite enough punishment thank you very much. Unless…
“Would spanking me make you feel better,” you ask, innocently, while wriggling strategically against him.
“No.” He stills you with a firm hand on your hip. Even with him behind you you can practically see the half irritated, half interested look on Frankie’s face.
“Why not? I thought we were both into that.”
“Not now,” he clarifies, a desperate edge to his voice. “You’d love it and I’m mad enough to enjoy it too much and feel bad about it later.”
“Ok so no spanking.” You wait a bit then ask brightly “just regular sex then?”
This time Frankie huffs an irritated chuckle but holds firm. “No. You need rest, damn it, so just-“
“Ok but what if you just put it in?”
There’s a loud pause. You know he’s considering it, can practically see him licking his lips.
“Please?” You’re begging now, sure that if you can get him to agree to that, it won’t be much harder to ask for just a little more.
“You know what? That does sound like a good idea.” There’s an edge to this voice that makes both your cunt and stomach clench, and you realize something:
You’ve underestimated Francisco Morales.
A dangerous move for anyone, and you’ve committed the dual sin of this and putting the woman he loves in danger. Your throat bobs. The very reasonable point that you are the woman Frankie loves isn’t much consolation at this particular juncture.
He’s going to make you regret this.
Even with this realization, you thrill at the brush of his hands at your hips, pushing your waistband down.
“Already so wet for me,” he murmurs. “Were you planning this all along?”
“Maaaaybe.” Your breathing picks up and you cant your hips toward him.
“So eager,” he chides, one large palm sliding between your thighs to push them apart. He’s taking his time, the bastard, and he only grazes the lips of your aching pussy with his fingertips before pulling back, leaving you whining.
“Easy,” he soothes. “I’ve got you.” He reaches between you for a moment and then the blunt head of his cock is nudging your entrance. It lays thick and hard against you, the faintest twitch pulsing against your heated pussy.
“Please what, cariño?”
Your fist your hands in the flannel sheets, already panting. “Please put it in me,” you whimper.
He pushes every thick, pulsing inch of himself into your waiting cunt- and stops.
You squirm in frustration, your body begging for more. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Consider it punishment for last night.”
Fuck, you really had underestimated him.
“You’re really still mad?”
God damn it. He’s stretching you out so perfectly, his fat cock seated right where you need it, but if he doesn’t start moving you think you might actually scream.
You try everything you can think of- grinding against him, pleading, clenching yourself around him tight enough to hear him hiss, but he remains implacable. Finally, there’s only one thing left to try.
“I’m sorry, ok?”
“What are you sorry for?”
You sigh, resigned. “Scaring you.”
“And being possibly slightly hasty.”
He starts to withdraw, threatening to leave you empty and more desperate than ever.
“Ok! Ok, reckless. It was dangerous and I won’t do it again.”
“Damn right you won’t.” Frankie shoves himself back inside you with one deep thrust, making your eyes roll back in relief.
He fucks you for real now, punctuating his thrusts with more chiding while you babble encouragement.
“Fuck that feels so good.”
“Oh shit, right there, yes!”
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
Even with his hands clutching your hips hard enough to bruise, you can tell he isn’t getting the leverage either of you need. You brace one hand against the wall as he fucks into you, pushing yourself back to meet him, but it’s not enough.
Frankie growls impatiently and hauls you to your knees, leaving you scrabbling for purchase amongst the sliding pillows. He pins you in place, one broad palm at the back of your neck, the brutal snap of his hips only gaining speed with this new leverage. You submit gratefully, hungrily, his dominance freeing you to give yourself over entirely to his sweet, savage thrusts.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he snarls, deep and fierce and wild.
You don’t reply, not in words. Knowing there’s no one for miles you howl for him, keening for your mate as surely as the wolf on the mountain. Bent over like this, his thick cock feels like it’s splitting you in two, its blunt head pounding relentlessly at that spot deep inside that makes you wail.
You want more.
“Greedy thing,” Frankie growls low in your ear. He’s leaning his weight fully on you by now, draping himself over your back, the two of you moving slickly together. Somehow, he works a hand between your bodies and you moan when his thick, searching fingertips slip and glide over your aching cunt. “Is this what you needed? My cock isn’t enough for you?”
Wordless still, you shake your head, legs trembling and hips rutting desperately towards him while his fingers circle your swollen clit. Drool trails down your chin but you’re too caught up to either notice or care. Frankie is pushing you to new heights, your body writhing and squirming beneath his shifting, powerful frame, the muscles in his back bunching as he fucks you into the mattress. It’s primal, almost painful, but you’re beyond conscious thought, responding purely by instinct.
“You’re close,” he pants, teeth closing over the delicate shell of your ear. “Do it, then. Come on this cock. Make a pretty mess for me and come right fucking now so I can fill you up.”
That edge of dominance in his voice is all you need. In a sudden, tightening rush, your body obeys. The cry that tears from your throat is that of a wild thing as the walls of your cunt clamp down hard enough to shove Frankie out if he weren’t laying on top of you and you’re dimly aware of his own answering cry as, with a rippling, infinite sensation, you come. And come, and come. It feels endless, a never ending series of waves that ebb and flow while he fills you, honeyed brine and his own salty seed slicking down your thighs.
On shaking legs, Frankie lays you gently on your side, using his own shirt to wipe you down, drying the worst of the damp ruin of the sheets below you. His lips press behind your ear and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his heaving chest once more.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, running a soothing hand over your hair while you drift on a sea of pleasure, only half hearing him. “Get some rest, mi corazon.”
You’re gazing out over the snowy mountains, your fingers splayed over a frosted windowpane. The glass is chill, unyielding- but brittle. You stare down at your dream-hand as, unavoidable as fate, it presses against the window until it creaks, the glass straining in its frame.
Cobwebs mar the crackling surface, an ominous sound snapping beneath your palm. There’s an awful, drawn out beat and then-
You break the water’s surface, flailing, pondweeds wrapped around your ankle to drag you down, down down-
No, sheets. Those are sheets. You’re back in the Millers’ cabin, safe in a nest of not just flannel sheets and handmade quilts but what you recognize by their slippery whisking as your and Frankie’s sleeping bags. He must have piled them on top of you to ward off any further chill.
Maybe he was right and the fall through the ice rattled you more than you’d thought.
You take a ragged breath, then another. You’re no stranger to nightmares, yours or his, and you close your eyes, soothing the panic galloping through your pounding chest.
Calmer now, you open your eyes to take in your surroundings once more. The room is dark and still, though you can make out the dimly glowing snow, lit only by starlight, blanketing the nearby mountains. Snowflakes kiss and tap softly against the window glass, and seeing it whole calms the remnant of your lingering fear.
A howl pierces the cold, glittering night and your heart skips a bit, waiting, hoping. Another song rises over the peaks, harmony and home, an assurance that the wolves have found each other at last.
With a smile, you swing your feet over the edge of the borrowed bed and pad through the darkness to find your own mate.
Frankie’s absence when you woke pulls at you a little. Was he still angry with you? Had you dreamt his kisses, the words he’d murmured sweetly in your ear?
You don’t have long to wonder. As soon as you push up on the iron latch to open the rustic bedroom door, golden light welcomes you. It spills over the loft, gilding the birch railing and rag rugs. You step into the gold-limned dark, drawn on by the scent of cinnamon and the ringing notes of your favorite carol.
Worn pine stairs creak beneath even your quiet footsteps, giving your position away to a grinning Frankie. He’s kneeling in front of a Christmas tree, neatly placing a final carefully wrapped package beneath its scented boughs.
His voice is soft and your tentative expression breaks into a sunshine smile. “Frankie, how-“
You gape at the cabin. It’s been transformed. Coffee filter snowflakes dance over window panes, lit from beneath by punched tin lanterns. Wait, no, those are soup cans, you realize with a delighted laugh. Frankie must have spent ages painstakingly punching out holes to create the swirling patterns gleaming like stars. The small Christmas tree propped in one corner is even decorated with a mix of what look like old-fashioned popcorn garland and the ornaments you’d brought from home, and both of your stockings, now laden with small gifts and lumpy parcels, hang from the mantlepiece.
This must have taken him hours.
“How long was I out,” you quip.
He chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist from behind. “Not long. I did a few things this morning.”
You reach up to kiss his cheek before settling into his hold, touched and more than a little relieved. “So you’re not still mad at me?”
“I was never-“
You cut him off with one raised brow.
“Fine. I was madder than I’ve ever been at you but… you know that was only the half of it, right?”
“Yeah,” you concede. What you don’t say out loud (though you’ll confess it later) is that you’d have been furious with him for pulling the same stunt. Instead, you lean back against him, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the soft press of his lips against your hair. It’s easier, after that, to put the incident on the ice behind you and focus on the matter at hand.
Without stepping out of his hold, you crane your neck and grin. “Did I see stockings?”
By the time you’re nearly finished going through the stockings, any tension is long forgotten. Frankie had loved the hiking journal you’d gotten him (“Since you’re journaling more”), and you’re already wearing the silky scarf he’d gotten for you (“It matches your eyes, cariño”). There had been the usual assortment of more practical items- toothbrushes and chapstick, scented lotion and hand warmers - along with a few other gag gifts, favorite candies, and inside jokes, but they’re almost finished now.
Laying the gloves aside, you reach into your stocking for the last item, expecting your fingers to meet the smooth, round skin of an orange. Instead, you draw out a foil-wrapped half of a chocolate orange. You raise your eyebrow at this. “Did you get hungry?”
He chuckles and pulls out the other half from his own stocking, holding it to yours to make a complete whole. “No, baby. Eres mi media naranja.” When you look at him, still puzzled, he explains “it means you’re my other half.”
The other gifts can wait, you think, as you lean in to kiss him, languid and sweet.
Frankie has one more surprise for you.
When you’ve unwrapped what looks to be the final gift, he reaches into his pocket, drawing out a small, silver-wrapped box. “I have one more present for you, baby.”
You reach out with trembling fingers. It’s light, and small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Frankie takes a deep breath.
“I only got the call yesterday. That house we put an offer in on- that farmhouse with the yard you liked? The real estate agent got in touch yesterday.”
Your breath catches. A wild hope springs up in your chest but you try to rein it in. “Yeah, the owners said they had a better offer?”
“It fell through,” Frankie grins. “Open the box.”
Your fingers tear through the paper, lift the lid and reveal a shining silver key. You lift your gaze to Frankie, tears sparkling in your lashes, and all you manage is a strangled “really?”
“Really, baby.” His own eyes are watering as you launch yourself into his arms. “That key is just symbolic- we can sign the papers when we get home. If you still want to, that is.”
“Of course I want to,” you breath, face buried in his shoulder. “Oh god, Frankie I can’t believe it.” It doesn’t feel real yet, the idea too perfect to be true. “Our own house…”
The other presents lay temporarily forgotten as the two of you talk through all the projects you have in mind for your new home, the little personal touches you’ll make to make it your own. At one point you even pull out a seed catalog from one of the bags Frankie had retrieved from your car, already planning what to grow in your new shared garden. You’ve always wanted to try growing blackberries…
The wind and the wolves howl outside and a winter moon rises, spilling silver light over the snow while the two of you snuggle close, dreaming of your shared future.