This Is Delightful.

This is delightful.

I adore the way Frankie and Jay have so much trust in Alma, and she clearly feels so safe coming to them with her problems. They are totally the parents that let any of their kid’s friends crash in their guest room.

It also warms my heart how much passion they have, Frankie and Jay have clearly always been crazy for each other, but it was so special to see that at this age too.

Thank you for taking my prompt! ❤️

I Hope You Dance [a Jay and Frankie fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: TeenagerParent!Jay and Frankie, allusions to J & F having sex, underage drinking, vomiting, mention of girls kissing, teenage bisexual panic.

Words: 1,817

Summary: Jay and Frankie have a childfree night when Alma, 15, calls in panic from a party and asks to be picked up. Mom and dad to the rescue in more ways than one.

A/N: @beesmall asked the following: "What are things like for Jay and Frankie when the girls are a little older? Would love to hear about how they navigate the teenage drama years." I hope you like it! (Title is shameless stolen from Lee Ann Womack's song of the same name. I don't particularly like the song, but it fits the fic *shrugs*)

”MOOOOOM!”

Jay puts down the knife she was just about to use to cut vegetables, and looks over at Frankie, who’s frying meatballs at the stove.

”Is that girl about to die or what the hell is going on?”

Frankie chuckles. ”I think she might.”

The stairs groan under the running feet of a very stressed teenager, and the second after, Alma shows up in the kitchen.

”Mom, where’s my purple plaid?”

”I don’t know, honey, I don’t have a crystal ball,” Jay tells her patiently as she cuts up the tomatoes. ”And what have I told you about yelling like that?”

”Not to,” Alma pouts, but she’s still vibrating with pent up energy. ”But mom, if I don’t have the plaid, I won’t have anything to wear to Kat’s party!”

”You have a closet full of clothes.”

”You don’t get it!”

Alma storms off again in search of the beloved plaid, and Jay sighs deeply.

”My daughter cares about fashion. What did I do wrong?”

”Now, now,” Frankie chides her while shaking the frying pan in order to turn the meatballs. ”There are worse things a fifteen-year-old could do, you know that. Ours is actually very balanced.”

”Oh, I know that. But I still don’t understand how I’m supposed to know where her clothes are. Our kids fold their own clean clothes, and put the dirty ones in the hamper.”

”Maybe Bianca borrowed it.”

”If she did, Alma’s going to kill her.”

Alma reappears, now carrying the purple plaid and a very relieved look.

”Where was it?” Frankie asks lightly, knowing the answer.

”Where I left it,” the girl mutters, but she seems less stressed now.

”Imagine that,” Jay quips with a teasing smile, which is met by an eyeroll.

”Okay, mom.”

”Lay the table, please. Dinner will be ready soon, and then I’ll drive you to the party.”

Alma accepts without comments, and Jay watches her in secret while preparing the salad. Alma may be something of a tomboy who doesn’t really care about makeup and skimpy little party outfits, but she still cares about what she looks like. That purple plaid is her favorite, and she’d obviously want to wear it for a party.

After dinner, Jay takes Bianca to a friend’s house for a sleepover, then picks up Alma’s friend Joanna, and drives the girls to Kat’s house for the party.

”Remember that you can call for any reason,” she reminds her daughter before dropping them off. ”If anything happens, if something feels wrong, if the two of you wanna go home. Okay? At any time.”

”Sure, mom,” Alma nods, already getting out of the car. ”I’ll call, I promise!”

”Have fun!”

Confident that Alma will reach out, Jay drives back home to the old farm that she and Frankie bought and fixed up with the South American money all those years ago. Frankie’s waiting for her, grinning mischievously at her from his chair on the porch when she ascends the stairs.

”What?” she grins back, knowing full well what’s on his mind. The older the kids get and the more time they spend away from home, the more the sturdy bed in the master bedroom has to suffer. The years haven’t diminished the love and attraction Jay and Frankie have for each other.

”Come here, mama...”

///

The phone wakes Jay from her slumber, but as soon as she sees her oldest daughter’s photo on the screen, she’s wide awake.

”Hi, sweetie.”

”Mom?” Alma’s voice is small and unsure. ”Can you come and pick us up?”

”Alma, what’s the matter?” Jay’s in full mission mode immediately, getting out of bed and pulling out clothes from the closet. Frankie sits up as well, hearing that something’s amiss.

”Joanna isn’t feeling well, she had a lot to drink, and there are some older guys here...”

”I’m on my way, honey. Are you safe there? You want me to call 911?”

”Just get here, mom.”

”Fifteen minutes, honey.”

Frankie’s up as well, pulling his jeans on.

”What’s wrong?” he wants to know as soon as Jay hangs up. She pulls an old army hoodie over her head.

”Joanna drank too much, and apparently there are some older guys there. I think Alma’s fine, but she wasn’t feeling safe.”

”I’m coming with.”

Jay nods, and a couple of minutes later, they’re in the car, leaving the farm.

The party’s in full swing when they get there, but when Jay marches in, grim-faced and heavy-booted, it puts a damper on things. Not even the seventeen- and eighteen-year-old boys dare say anything when she turns her steely gaze at them.

”I’m only gonna say this once,” she proclaims loudly. ”Everyone who’s not on Kat’s year, get the fuck out. You have ten seconds, then I’m calling the cops and holding you down until they come and arrest your asses.”

Five guys get up quickly, picking up six-packs, and quickly making their way past her, only to meet Frankie’s broad shoulders towering menacingly over them at the door. A car engine starts, and it’s like the rest of the crowd lowers their sholders. Jay quickly finds Alma and Joanna in the bathroom, poor Joanna sobbing into the toilet bowl. After making sure that both girls are okay, Jay and Alma help lead Joanna out, where Frankie picks up the lurching girl, and carries her to the car.

”You can’t tell my parents, they’ll kill me,” she sobs in the backseat. Jay and Frankie exchange glances as they get in the front seat, Frankie driving this time. Joanna was supposed to spend the night at their house, and maybe it’s better to stick to the plan, and deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

They make it home with a couple of stops so that Joanna can throw up by the roadside, Jay and Frankie comforting her, Alma watching with a lost look on her face. When they finally get home, they put Joanna up in the guestroom with a bucket, an extra blanket, painkillers and water. After making sure she’s okay, they leave her to sleep.

Jay exhales deeply once the guestroom door clicks shut behind her. Walking into the kitchen, she glances at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s two am. She hears Frankie call her softly from the living-room. Walking there, she finds her husband and daughter on the couch. Alma’s looking confused and tired, and Frankie has his arm around her shoulders.

”I’m sorry, mom,” she whispers, and Jay hurries to her, sitting down next to her.

”Alma, honey, you have nothing to apologize for.”

”I should’ve taken better care of her.”

”It’s not your responsibility,” Frankie reminds her gently, and Jay nods.

”He’s right. You did everything right, Alma, you looked out for your friend, and you called us when you couldn’t handle the situation. I promise you, Alma, you did exactly right. I’m proud of you.”

The girl’s eyes fill with tears. ”Really?”

”So, so proud,” Frankie confirms, and Alma sobs.

”Even when I drink? I mean, with mom...”

”Honey, I’ve told you, I know you’re going to drink sooner or later,” Jay reminds her. They’ve had this conversation before, and so far, Alma hasn’t once come home drunk. ”I just want you to be careful when you do.”

”It wasn’t even that good, so I couldn’t drink much.”

”Yeah, it tastes shit, doesn’t it?” Jay chuckles. Alma smiles weakly through her tears before sobbing again.

”Joanna’s gonna be mad at me.”

”She’ll be fine in the morning,” Jay guesses. ”She’ll probably feel ashamed, but it’s okay. She’ll come around.”

”No, I mean...” The girl clams shut, and Jay strokes her neck gently until she’s comfortable to share.

”We were dancing and having a really good time and... I kissed her.”

Oh, my poor baby. Alma came out as bisexual about a year ago, first to her beloved uncle Benny, shortly later to her parents and sister. It hadn’t changed anything for Jay and Frankie, except that their first week after the coming out was filled with frantic googling on how to support their daughter. Dating, Jay had realized, would maybe be a little trickier for Alma, but she had resolved to give advice and help whenever her daughter asked for it, not before.

”You think she’ll be mad at you for that?” Frankie asks her gently. Alma shrugs.

”She got really weird, and then the guys showed up, and they had beers and she just started hanging with them.”

”Baby, I’m sure you’ll patch things up,” Jay tries to comfort her. ”Just let her sober up, live through her hangover which I’m sure will be epic, and then you can figure things out.”

”She kissed me back.”

”Then I hope there’s an even bigger chance that things will work out,” Frankie points out. Alma shakes her head.

”Her mom and dad are really strict. They’ll kill her.”

”No they won’t,” Jay tells her firmly. ”We’ll see to that, honey, I promise. It’ll be okay.”

Alma takes a deep breath and sighs it out, relaxing visibly.

”I love you mom,” she whispers, and now Jay embraces her tightly.

”I love you too, Alma.”

”I love you, dad.”

”I love you, mijita.” Frankie’s arms are around them both, warm and reassuring.

They help their daughter to bed before retiring to their own bedroom for the second time that night.

”Christ,” Jay yawns as she undresses. ”I guess it begins. The dating and heartache phase, not to mention drinking.”

”But we did good,” Frankie reminds her, already in bed and waiting for her. ”She did everything right, just like you said.”

”Yeah, thank fuck.” Jay joins him between the sheets that still smell of their earlier love-making. She settles against him and yawns again.

”But I can’t believe our baby girl is so grown up already,” Frankie adds, his voice quivering a little. Jay passes her hand over his chest in half a caress, half a shove.

”Please don’t start bawling about out kids growing up yet again, I’m too tired for that shit.”

”When will you stop pretending like you don’t think it’s super cute that I get so emotional?” he chuckles, and Jay has to smile.

”When hell freezes over.”

”You’re a hard woman. But you did amazing with Alma tonight.”

”It was teamwork, baby,” she reminds, now angling her face up towards his. Their lips brush against each other. ”I’ts always teamwork.”

Frankie hums before pressing his lips to hers for a long, sweet kiss that ends with both of them yawning.

”Goddammit, I’m too old for this,” he mutters, and Jay lays her head down on his shoulder again.

”You and me both. And we still have to deal with whatever fresh catastrophe those two come up with tomorrow.”

”That’s for tomorrow,” Frankie rules, and Jay agrees. Right now, both of them are happy with what they’ve accomplished, and deserve some sleep.

Everyone should watch the Terror because it's a masterpiece on a million different levels but you should be aware of what it will do to you. I just watched an hourlong history channel documentary about a dude who tried to go to the North Pole on a submarine in 1931 and I was riveted. I read a 400 page book about the Franklin Expedition this summer and I thumbed through pictures of the Shackleton Expedition and was absolutely amped when the Endurance was found. I'm almost certainly going to cave and buy a rare Canadian map detailing the route of the rescue efforts to find the Franklin Expedition. This is who I am now. It happened to me and it will happen to you

actually my photo.

imagine this is what your mornings look like. your little cup with sugar and cream; his black and strong. he’s so soft and sweet in the mornings. his voice rumbles and all he wants to do is hold you, coming up from behind and burying his face in your shoulder.

he’s so warm; soft tummy and hairy chest pressed right up against your back. all you smell is coffee and him.

“mornin’ baby,” in his sleep laden texan accent.

this is just something i’m curious about. for folks who frequently send asks on anon, why is that? and if you’re someone who only uses it on occasion, what would make you choose to use anon? feel free to reblog!

listen. i'm thinking about frankie morales in soft grey sweatshorts. nothing underneath.

he's just freeballing it, going about his day. he woke up half hard, got semi-dressed bleary eyed, and is doing nothing about it as he wanders around his house.

soft swell of him against the fabric, the curve of his cock pressing soooo deliciously against the fleecy inside. he's so sensitive like this, rutting into the light pressure, barely aware of the fact he's doing it. he just feels good all over. and hey, maybe he's running high off the feeling, the low ache below his navel, the pull of something. maybe he pulls the curtains and doesn't try to hide the shape of his dick incase a neighbour walks past.

he lets it drag on because it feels so nice. brain a little fuzzy as he half finishes tasks, because he's just a little too horny. he just likes teasing himself a little, playing a game with himself like this. sometimes he wonders what it would be like if you were here, playing this game, too. both half dressed, touching each other, rubbing up against each other, slanting open mouths and breathy whines before breaking apart and absentminding another task when it gets too heated. orbiting around each other because you can't be that far from the other's warmth when you're all cloudy and wet like this.

he tugs at himself through the fabric when thoughts of your mouth, your ass, your tits, your tight, wet warmth threaten at his mind. maybe he gets a little carried away in the kitchen, fingers dipping below the waistband to actually wrap his hand around his cock, mouth falling slack as he pumps himself slowly. the other hand gripping the lip of the sink, backyard blurring as his brain replaces the sight with the memory of fucking you right here a couple of weeks ago. how you sounded, how you felt. silk slick of him swelling to full size in his palm, achingly hard, dribbling precum.

he squeezes his base, imagines how you'd coo at him. so pretty, so needy, aren't you baby boy? and he huffs, so fucking warm, sweating with arousal. cock now straining against his shorts, grey stained darker around his tip. quietly satisfied as he observes how long, how thick he is like this. balls heavy, edging himself until you walk through the door, having spent most of the day in bed with your hands between your thighs, thinking of him.

maybe he sends you a photo or two, a video before you arrive. drawing out the inevitable, drawing out the fun of it. and when he finally gets you on his couch, when he slides your panties to the side, you're still so wet from your last orgasm, throbbing at the thought of him. and he's been so close all day, it takes ten minutes max for you to be falling apart at the same time. messy and, impossibly, still so turned on.

you spend the rest of the day, well into the evening, making each other come as many times as possible. the hours before you arrived making him heady, making it difficult to let you out of his grasp for even a minute. only barely sated when you fall asleep still wrapped in each other, waking some time after midnight to do it all again.

anyway. i was just thinking about it.

PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER The Last of Us (2023-) 1.04 "Please Hold to My Hand"