Word Count: 3k
Warnings: Lactation kink. Pregnancy talk. Fingering.
Author's Note: Don't look at me.
MASTERLIST | Frizzy MASTERLIST | Read on Ao3
“Elizabeth,” Frankie pleads with you, “it's fine, she’s going to be fine.”
You’re fussing over her back, unpacking and repacking it again to make sure she has everything she needs. Clothes, snacks, her tiny water bottle. The tablet that you don’t quite understand how to use but she does.
“Baby, it’s just for the night.”
She’s down for her nap, soft curls visible beneath the blanket she’s covered her face with and your heart melts. The frame of the tiny toddler bed Frankie built looking like a small house around her.
“I know she’s going to be fine,” you tell him, “it’s Benny, sometimes I think she loves him more than she loves me.”
“Well,” he crosses his arms, “that's her Benben. You know he gives her frappucinos right?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you exhale a breath, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you take a deep breath, “no wonder she never sleeps when he picks her up.”
“Wanna tell me what’s really going on then?”
You look at your daughter again, her tiny sleeping form so much bigger than it was yesterday and the day before and all the other days before that as she grows rapidly in front of your eyes. But the change doesn’t feel like it’s happening. It doesn’t feel like it’s happening until she’s away from you and suddenly she comes home a brand new person with new experiences and memories you weren’t apart of.
“Elizabeth Morales, where are you at?”
Turning back to him, he catches a tear with his thumb as his hand cups your cheek, “baby, what’s up?”
“She's growing up and I hate it,” you whisper, eyebrows knitted in concentration as you try to hold the sobs in, “soon she’s not gonna need me anymore and I just want to crawl into her little bed and hold her.”
“Yeah, baby,” his palm smooths your hair back, “I feel like that a lot too.”
“You probably feel it worse,” you insist, “why the fuck did I do that to you?”
He shakes his head, grabbing the small backpack from your hands as he pulls you into him, “we're not doing this right now, we’ve been over it.”
“You know what?” You push away from him, “I'm just gonna call Benny and cancel it, I’ll make plans with him later in the week.”
“No,” his hand wraps around your bicep as he gently pulls you back, “you’re ovulating and I’d like to spend a few uninterrupted hours between my wife’s legs.”
The flesh of his tummy gives under your touch, the thin material of his favorite t-shirt tightening around his middle and shoulders with age.
“This has holes in it, Francisco,” you pluck at the gape in his side, “we should really consider just getting you a replacement, my love.”
“Baby,” his voice is hard, “you’re changing the subject.”
“I know, I just don’t want her to go.”
“Is it that you don’t want her to go,” he asks, “or that you need the buffer of her being near because you’re afraid of being alone with me?”
That punches you in the gut, “you think I’m afraid of you?”
“No,” he laughs, “I just think that you’re afraid of being alone with me, truly alone like we used to be and the therapist thinks that it would be a great idea for us to separate our relationship from Emilia and figure out who we are together again besides just her parents.”
You scrunch your nose, “I know but sometimes I feel like I am just her mom.”
“You will never just be anything, baby,” he kisses you gently, “now go get ready for date night, I’ll get her up and dressed.”
He catches your attention with a sharp whistle as you leave the room, beaming when you turn back to him.
“Wear that blue dress,” he says, “the one with the little bow tie on your waist.”
“It's called a wrap, Frank.”
“Yeah, that one,” he kneels next to your daughter, stroking her hair back as he gives you a wink, “call you my little Christmas present.”
“Behave,” you command, “and if Benny gets here before I get out of the shower, please don’t let her forget Potato, I really don’t want her having a meltdown.”
“But if she does, Benny has a key to the house,” he turns his eyes to her, “isn't that right, mi amor? Benben will do everything in his power to make sure you don’t have a meltdown.”
She’s slow to rise, stirring under her father’s soothing hands as he gently wakes her from her nap.
“There's my girl,” he slides his hand beneath her to lift her into his arms as he stands, “tell mommy to stop staring at us and go get ready.”
Her small face nuzzles into his chest as he moves across the room to her dresser, opening the drawer and holding things up for her approval.
When you come out from the shower, you follow the voices to the living room, Frankie’s dad voice in full use and you can’t help but smile as you peek in on your husband and baby brother.
“Please remember,” he tells him, handing her small dinosaur backpack over, “that we don’t want her using her pacifier except when she’s sleeping.”
“No more meltdown binky?” Ben says, a shocked look on his face as he turns towards your daughter in his arms.
“Ben,” Frankie calls his attention back, “I'm serious, she’s teething and I don’t want her to have dental problems or I will make you pay for the Invisalign.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Fish,” he pinches the bridge of his nose in mock annoyance, “guess I’ll take another job in Peru.”
“Benjamin Joseph Miller,” you finally pipe in, stepping forward to take Emmy from his arms, “watch your mouth, she said titty the other day.”
He laughs, Frankie pushing his hand up to cover his own mouth.
“You say it too.”
“For sure,” you affirm, “except she said it in reference to mine and we’re weaning her off.”
“Why?” He asks, “isn’t it good for them for like five years?”
You scrunch your nose at him, “she has teeth now, Ben.”
“Say less,” he takes her again, “ready to go have fun, princess?”
You walk him to the door, Frankie trailing behind with his hand grabbing at the hem of your robe, “and don’t take her to any bars, Ben, she’s not your chick magnet.”
“Nah, we’re going to Target,” he turns and winks as he gets to the car, yelling back, “she's my hot single mom magnet.”
“I'm going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath as you watch him secure Emmy in her car seat, “using my baby to pick up girls.”
Frankie laughs into your neck, his lips pushing into the sensitive skin of your pulse point, “he told me that he’s sad you moved out again because you took all the snacks with you, says single moms always have snacks.”
“He's such an asshole,” you close the door as he backs out of the driveway, “and if you don’t stop tonguing my collarbone, we are not making it to date night.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna make it.”
He pulls you back with him, his arms locking in a cage around you as he sits himself on the couch. He turns you to him, playing with the sash on the cover you wear, “maybe I think we could just stay here all night, Netflix and chill as the kids say.”
“The kids aren’t saying that anymore,” you walk away from him, “you old farts caught on and now they’ve made up new new phrases.”
His presence draws up behind you as you reach the bathroom, “who the fuck is an old fart, Liz?”
“I did not send my baby to be my baby brother’s date getter just Netflix and chill,” you unzip your make up bag, “so get ready and take me on this mystery date, beautiful boy, or I will simply drive to my brother’s and bring Emmy home.”
The water turns on, his tshirt hitting your side as he tosses it away, “why don’t you join me, then?”
His pants are next, you can see out of the side of your eye, gently stroking himself as he stares at you and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Absolutely not, big boy,” you turn to the mirror, eyebrow pencil poised in the air, “you have twenty minutes because I’m getting hungry.”
His shower is quick, the scent of his soap filling the bathroom along with the steam as you finish your make up.
“God,” you huff at him when the water shuts off, hands quickly tying the sash of your robin’s egg blue dress, “I think this is the first time I’ve properly done my make up since our wedding.”
A low whistle finds your ears as he steps to your line of sight, towel wrapped low on his narrow hips.
“I think it’s a good idea if you go wait in a separate room, sweetheart,” his voice sounds dangerous and hungry, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“But my perfume—“
“Elizabeth, do you want sushi or tacos?”
“I…” you stop, stumped by the question, “I don’t know.”
He smiles, palming himself over the rough terry material, “I’ll bring you your perfume, baby girl, I’ll be out in five minutes.”
True to his word, he grabs your wrist gently when he meets you in the living room, spraying the delicate coconut and coffee scent across the skin there; repeating his motions on the other before tilting your head back to spray your neck.
“Did you decide what you want to eat?”
“Sushi,” you breathe out, “I can’t have it anymore if I get pregnant and you know how bad I wanted it last time.”
“You wanted a lot of things you couldn’t have last time,” he smirks into a kiss, “I think you’re just allergic to being told no.”
He all but drags you to the truck, helping you in with a pinch to the meat of your thigh, desperate to get you out of the house before he keeps you in it.
It smells like him so distinctly, but with more. The scent of fatherhood, crushed animal crackers and spilled apple juice, decorating the interior just as prominently as the one of frankincense and cedar.
“Can you call ahead and order to go?” He asks, throwing his arm around your back as he looks behind him to the street.
Your eyes narrow, “I thought we were going out, Francisco.”
“We are,” he winks at you, “just order the food.”
He stops at the liquor store on the way, a bottle of wine gripped firmly in his hands as he climbs back in and hands it to you.
The next stop is even quicker, his credit card handed over and swiped at the same time as the food is handed off. You can hear him saying thank you to the cashier and no problem, have a nice evening as he holds the door open for another couple through the windshield and arousal pools in your belly. Tugs at you in a wholly different way than the cramps you’ve come to know as laying an egg as Lydia puts it.
You can’t help staring as he slides in next to you again; the way his recent weight gain has filled out his jeans, the small pouch of his belly just visible underneath the grey of his shirt as the unbuttoned flannel frames his broad shoulders.
“What are you looking at, beautiful girl?” His eyes catch yours as he leaves the parking lot, “something on your mind?”
His haircut is recent, the longer curls you’d grown to love cropped short for the impending heat of summer with its stretched out days, and he’d shaved his beard in favor of a slight scruff along his chin.
“I’m just thinking that maybe we should have stayed home after all.”
“Yeah?” His eyebrow quirks up as the buildings and lights fade behind you, “I can turn around.”
The sun is close to setting, light hanging low in the sky as he drives off road into a field by the pond near the cabin Santiago owns. Your field. Your pond. The cabin you haven’t been to since Emilia was the size of a papaya in your belly.
“What are we doing here, Francisco?”
He unlatches the door on his side, “having our first date, my love,” he winks, “again.”
He’s by your side as you swing your door wide, taking your hand to help you down, as you place the food to the side.
“There are no blankets in the truck, baby.”
He lets down the tailgate, rolling the soft topper back as you peek over the side to see, “is that a mattress?”
“Mmhmm,” he kisses across your face as he pulls you into him, “I’m old, baby, my back can’t take just a pile of blankets anymore and I’d like to start stargazing again,” he tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “maybe camping.”
“And other things?”
His hands snake down your back, his knees bending slightly as he flattens his palms against the back of your thighs before dragging them back up underneath your skirt to grab your ass hard.
“And other things,” he affirms, nose pushing against yours, “come on.”
He helps you climb into the truck, small step stool pulled out of the backseat as he grabbed another handful of your soft flesh for support.
“Cute panties, baby,” he whispers, low like you’re not all alone, “hope you brought a replacement pair.”
Smiling, you sit at the edge of the inflatable mattress to pluck your sandals off, setting them to the side as you scoot back against the pillows towards the cabin of the truck.
He hands the food and wine to you over the side of the truck, laughing as he hears you tear into it before he can climb up beside you.
“Did you get enough gyoza for me too or are you gonna eat it all?”
“Just for that,” you point your chopsticks at his face, “I’m gonna eat it all.”
“Fair,” he laughs into your hair, a small kiss planted against you as you hear his shoes hit the ground.
The sun lowers further, painting the sky in dark blues and oranges. You take turns stealing from one another’s meals, exchanging small touches and old stories; taking pulls from the bottle passed between you like teenagers.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, rim of the bottle resting on your bottom lip as you blink doe eyes up at him, “breastfeeding has killed my tolerance.”
His body twists, huffing out a laugh as he opens the back window to set the trash inside for later disposal, and you catch a heated blush crawling up the length of his thick neck
“What's on your mind?”
He shrugs, warm brown eyes turning to you again as he wipes his palm along his face, “I know you’re weaning her off,” he looks sheepish, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a drink, right?”
“Frankie,” the bottle drops from your mouth, smiling into the kiss he presses against you, is that why you wanted me to wear this dress specifically?”
“Maybe,” he whispers, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger and opening it to give his tongue access to yours.
His kisses trail down your jaw, open mouthed and sloppy as he drags his teeth against your neck.
“Baby,” you cup the back of head, fingers flexing against his scalp, “I’m barely producing, you might not get anything.”
He presses into the split of your neckline, groaning at the feel of your bare flesh beneath his palm and squeezing the ever aching tissue as you arch into his touch.
“I'll be gentle, sweet girl,” he mumbles into the valley between your breasts, pulling the fabric aside to expose your hardened nipple to the fresh, spring air.
Your breath catches, his chuckle vibrating through your own chest as he lifts his head to look into your eye, “can I?”
He latches against you when you nod, hot mouth suckling gently at your flesh. He massages you, squeezing gently as his tongue flicks back and forth in an attempt to stimulate you.
“Fuck me, baby,” it’s a moan and a complaint locked into one, “nothing’s flowing.”
His smile stretches across your skin, eyes looking up at you with love as he bites gently. His hand slides down the front of your dress, squeezing against your lower stomach before pushing it between the meat of your thighs.
You open for him instinctively; his rough, gun calloused palm skating up to flatten against your soaked panties and press into you.
“Frank,” you gasp as he continues to suckle at you, “it’s coming.”
He snatches the bridge of your panties to the side, fingers dipping through and into you and he moans.
He’s hard against you, his heavy length pressing insistently to your side as he pumps his fingers in and out of the slick, dripping pool beneath your thighs.
The noises are obscene, spurring you both on at the risk of being caught despite being on private property.
A tingling sensation builds in your breast and belly, his thumb rubbing insistent rhythmic circles around your swollen clit and you clutch against him as you spurt into his mouth and around his fingers at the same time with a deep moan you’re not sure belongs to you or him.
He pulls away from you with a loud Pop, licking his lips only to scoop his fingers through your fold and smear the slick of you across his mouth; moaning diligently around each digit as he sucks you off of them.
“That's my girl,” he praises, peppering kisses across your face, “that’s my fucking girl.”
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