Its Very Unfair!

It’s very unfair!

DAKOTA DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE….. DO YOU ??????

Aw, Im glad you enjoyed it! 😍 I’m in love with this little blended family so much!

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

Walk in the Park

Little Dieter drabble for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub ❤️ Thank you @sweetenerobert & @jay-zzle for giving this a look over 🥰

Pairing: Dieter & GN!Reader

Warning: Cussing

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck!”

You startle, shooting up from the bench you decided to rest at, as a man stumbles out of the bushes.

“Are you real?!” He asks panicked, scrubbing his hands along the sides of his face, twigs and leaves scattered throughout his dark messy curls, eyes hidden behind alien eye-shaped sunglasses you’ve seen at a local party store.

Great, a deranged stranger. He looks familiar but you can’t quite place him, gripping the mace on your keychain tighter. Wary of his presence.

“I just—“ he says, taking a deep breath and leaning over. Palms against his thighs as he exhales slowly, “I’m all mixed up out here. A friend of mine suggested doing shrooms and taking a walk, to get to know nature, all that bullshit. Horrible idea. Ever seen a frog up close and personal? Scary, unpredictable fuckers. Lead me astray hours ago.”

You couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for the man, having had your share of similar shrooms trips.

“Feeling okay?” You ask, deciding to take the kind route, and sitting back down. The man is dressed in soft pj pants, a threadbare shirt, crocs, and a bathrobe. Interesting choice for a trip to the park but you’ve seen worse.

“I think I’m finally coming down,” The man shrugs, “My name’s Dieter by the way,” he adds, extending his hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Dieter,” you say, grabbing his clammy hand, giving a small shake, and sharing your name.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Dieter asks, pointing at the spot next to you.

“Go right on ahead,” you nod towards the bench.

You begin making small talk, sharing bits and pieces about each other’s lives. You learn he’s an actor, which is why he looked so familiar. Award-winning actor Dieter Bravo, the trainwreck that he is. The bathrobe should have been your tip, can’t even begin to count the number of times you’d seen that featured on all the covers of gossip magazines.

“Okay, now let’s get to the hard-hitting questions,” Dieter says, clapping his hands together, the alien glasses sliding down his aquiline nose, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Negative.”

“What about soulmates?”

“Not sure yet,” you laugh, shrugging, “Never found anyone worth my time.”

“That so?” Dieter asks, eyebrows peaking above the frame of his unique sunglasses.

“What is with those ridiculous sunglasses?” you ask, unable to contain a laugh, “I cannot take you seriously. You’re supposed to be some award-winning actor, yet you’re literally wearing pajamas and costume store sunglasses shaped like alien-eyes.”

“Inspiration, my dear,” Dieter smirks, “Inspiration.”

“Inspiration?”

“Of course! It’s for my next role, I’m a scientist on the search for answers of another life form.”

“So what?” You laugh, “You take shrooms, slap on some alien glasses, take a stroll through the park, and think you’re going to find your character?”

“Next question,” Dieter says, ignoring you, “Do you believe in aliens?”

“Of course.”

“Last question,” Dieter giggles, “Wanna have sex with me?”

You sit back, biting your cheek, looking at him. The patchy scruff on his face, his nose, his hair still scattered with leaves, and the earring dangling off his earlobe.

“Take the glasses off.”

He huffs but removes them, letting you get a good look at his face without anything obstructing your view. You look at those dark orbs, pupils still a little dilated, shaking your head.

“Maybe next time” you smirk, getting up and walking away.

Finally got to read this, I was so excited to see an update on it! This story has made a home for itself in my brain and I love it soo much!!!

a safe haven l ten

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze. 

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

This is so good!!!! Loved the detail and the way it ended?! 😳🫠

[Sin]ema- ex fiance!Frankie Morales x fat! female reader

Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Paring: ex husband!Frankie x fat/curvy/plus size! female reader

Summary: You are unhappy in your marriage but trying to hang on. When you ask your husband to spend more time with you, he thinks a movie date is in order. You don't expect to run into your ex fiance, Frankie, and his new wife there.

Rating: E for EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: infidelity, unprotected PIV, oral sex f!receiving, creampie, body insecurity, smoking- there are a few things I'm not tagging so as to not spoil them but they are tame.

Notes: I wrote this a while back in response to that dumbass anon and for some reason I just totally forgot about it!

When you told your husband that you wanted to spend more time together, this isn’t what you had in mind. You were hoping for something more like dinner. Out at a restaurant or a quiet night in, it didn’t matter to you. You just wanted to talk. Something your husband has no interest in. As evidenced by the fact that he brought you to the one place you couldn’t talk for your date.  Some days you find yourself wondering if this is all you’ll have to look forward to for the rest of your life. 

You only married him because that was the logical next step. Your whole relationship was just one milestone to the next, as dictated by the expectations society has set for you. Especially for women who look like you. Growing up in the 90s meant you were bombarded daily by the “heroin chic” look that was on the cover of every magazine. You could count the ribs of the models. By the time you hit high school, you had already been taught, however indirectly, that you weren’t pretty enough. There was too much of you. The fat girls in all the rom-coms were always the comic relief. The one someone had to “take one for the team” with. The one who had to settle for what she was given. 

To be fair, your husband never made you feel this way. He was genuinely interested in you. In who you are as a person. But somehow, it always felt like he loved you in spite of. Sure, you were what people would politely call “chubby,” but he loved you anyway. You had learned to love yourself years ago. Not in spite of your body, but because of it. Stretch marks, cellulite and all. You probably wouldn’t even know the difference between someone loving you just the way you are, and someone loving you anyway , if it hadn’t been for Frankie. 

Frankie had been the first man to see you for exactly who you were. Not someone who he could love if you just lost those twenty little pounds. Not someone he could diet and exercise you into being. Just you. And goddamn had he loved you. Every inch. Every roll. Every stretch mark. He reveled in the softness of your body. He worshiped at the altar that lay between your plump thighs. 

But, such things weren’t meant to last. You were engaged to be married, but something happened to him after his first tour overseas. When he came home he wasn’t the same man he had been before. He didn’t laugh as much. His eyes had a far-off look to them. As if he wasn’t really present anymore. He fucked you with an urgency, a fervor, that he never had before. Held on too tightly. Almost like you’d float away if he didn’t. Or he would, you were never really sure which. 

When he came home from his second tour he called off the wedding. Told you that you deserved better. He didn’t believe you when you said there was nobody better for you than him. When you think about what your life has become you almost want to say “joke’s on him.” Is it really, though? Perhaps the joke has always been on you. 

It feels strange to think of him after all these years, seemingly out of the blue. Especially since, or maybe because, you are concerned about the state of your marriage. You’d heard he got married a few years ago. You wonder if he ever thinks of you. Finally, it's your turn to hand your tickets to the theater employee. You don’t even remember the name of the film you are seeing. Some action movie you have no desire to actually watch. At least the previews will be good. 

You walk silently, hand in hand, with your husband to the concessions counter. You wait in line, shoulder to shoulder, without so much as a word passing between you. When you get to the counter he orders for you, a small drink and  popcorn each. When you get your snacks and turn to head for the theater, you are struck still. There he is. Right in front of you. Frankie. 

Even with the hat, you’d know him anywhere. Standing next to him, with her arm threaded through his, is one of the most gorgeous women you have ever seen. Their heads are bent together in laughter. He was always funny. The diamond on her finger reflects the bright lights of the theater lobby. You had played sick and stayed in your bed for three days when the news reached you that he had gotten married. You had found yourself wondering, what does she have that I don’t?

Now, standing before them, you think you might know. She’s all the things you knew you would never be. As much as you hate to think it of him, maybe this is the reason he called off your wedding. You didn’t even know he moved back. Your husband tugs your arm, pulling you from your thoughts. Just before you turn to walk away, Frankie’s eyes snap up and lock on yours. They widen in surprise and his mouth opens in a soft ‘o.’  

You move to walk away, intending to ignore his presence altogether, but he speaks your name. It’s so quiet you almost think you imagined it, until he repeats it, a little louder this time. Your husband nudges you with his elbow and gives you a curious look. Yo know you probably seem like a fucking idiot right now but you just can’t seem to make your mouth form words. 

Frankie catches on quickly and holds his hand out to your husband. 

“Hi there, Frank Morales.”

Your husband’s eyebrows fly towards his hairline as he recognizes the name, and its significance. He extends his hand to return the gesture. Frankie gestures towards his wife and introduces her as well, though you forget her name the second he says it. You shake her hand politely, giving her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. She doesn’t react to your name the way your husband did to Frankie’s. Maybe he never told her about you. Maybe you’ve made the whole thing out to be more serious than it ever was. Than he ever was. You nod along to the small talk you aren’t actually listening to. You can’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart inside your ears. 

Your husband shakes Frankie’s hand again and waves to his wife. You give her a slight wave and lock eyes with Frankie once more. There’s a sad look in his eyes and just maybe, a flash of regret. The corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile as he puts his arm around his wife’s shoulder and heads in the opposite direction. 

Once settled into the packed theater, you are thankful for the darkness. When the movie begins you don’t try as hard to hold the tears back. What are the odds that he would be here of all places, of all nights? You don’t pay any attention to the movie though you stare straight ahead at the screen. You couldn’t recap it if your life were dependent upon it, beyond the occasional explosion and maybe a nip slip or too. 

Suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. Your heart races and your face heats up. The room feels much smaller, the walls closer than they had been before. You take in a couple of deep, slow breaths, trying to quiet the unease that has taken root inside your body. The little voice nagging at the back of your mind, posing the question you haven’t allowed yourself in years. What if?

You need to get out of here. Get some fresh air. Your husband barely acknowledges your presence as you scoot past him, with a hushed excuse of “bathroom.” You climb down the carpeted steps and glance at your phone. There’s about thirty minutes left in the film and you wonder if he would notice if you just slipped back in just before the credits roll. 

You splash water on your face in the bathroom, drying it and your hands with a paper towel. You look in the mirror and fuss with your hair for a moment. You readjust the thigh high socks and pull your skirt down just a bit. When you walk out of the bathroom into the long hallway you look first left, then right. Left will take you back to the theater, back to the movie. Back to your husband. Right will take you out the side exit. To the alley on the side of the multiplex. 

The hydraulic door makes a loud click when it shuts behind you. A whiff of cigarette smoke invades your nostrils and you turn. Right there, next to the door, is Frankie. His back is against the wall and his right knee is bent, cowboy boot resting on the brick. He blows out another cloud of smoke and throws the cigarette butt on the ground. It rolls, embers still red and smoking, until it hits a crack in the sidewalk. You stand there and watch it until the tip turns dark and the last of the smoke wafts away into the night. 

“Hey there, bonita ”

You try to swallow past the thick lump in your throat as the heat once again flares inside your body. The sticky humidity of the night has your socks clinging to your thighs. The smoldering look in your ex’s eyes causes your panties to grow damp beneath your skirt. He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards you. You are once again frozen in place, unable to think of anything to say. He pulls his cap off by the bill and runs his fingers through his messy curls. You can still remember how your fingers feel tangled in them. How they would tickle the skin of your chest when he would fall asleep wrapped around you. 

“Guess I’ll leave you be. It was good to see you.” He spins on his heel and turns to head back inside. He gives you one last look, brown eyes as sad as you’ve ever seen them. 

Say something you fucking idiot!  

“Frankie. Wait.” 

He turns back around and closes the distance between you in just a few strides. His body crowds yours and you take a step back. Another half step and your back hits the brick. You suck in a deep breath and his arm extends, bringing his hand to rest on the wall beside your head. 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna speak to me, baby.” He rasps, inching his face even closer to yours. 

“I didn- I just- I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He places his hand at the hinge of your jaw and runs his thumb across your cheek. When you lean into his touch, closing your eyes, he moves his body even closer. 

“I thought maybe you didn’t miss me.” He holds your face just a little firmer, his lips barely brush over yours. “Not even a little bit.”  He smells like cigarettes and movie theater butter. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. Neither of you should. But you just can’t stop yourself from leaning forward a bit, hoping to catch his lips between your own. But just before you can, he pulls back. You open your mouth to protest but he places his finger over your lips. He grabs your hand and pulls you further down the alley. 

There is no light back here save for a single yellowing bulb, and Frankie pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns the flashlight on. Once he’s pulled you far enough away from the entrance to the alley, and any prying eyes, he pushes you back against the wall. He must have already gotten his fill of teasing because he immediately captures your lips in a ravenous kiss and presses his thigh right against your center. You grind down on him while your hands move automatically to his hair, knocking his cap to the ground. 

His hands go to your hips and he moans when the soft flesh yields under his touch. He inches his thigh even closer and you give his curls a tug. He releases your lips and groans low in your ear. His hands slide up your side, caressing the flesh that lives there. He drags them back down, dropping to his knees on the concrete. His fingers dip under your skirt, exposing the tops of your socks. His nostrils flare as he pops the top against your thigh. 

He lifts your skirt higher, until it sits up on your hips and he can see that you are already soaked for him. He buries his nose in the fabric, pressing it into your mound. The wet cotton is cool against your skin but the sensation is opposed by the hot breath he lets out. He inhales deeply and moans against you. He looks up at you and you are already so worked up, just one touch from him is liable to push you over the edge. 

“Fuck, I missed you bonita .”  

Before you can even respond he lifts your leg, resting your thigh on his shoulder. He scoots forwards on his knees until he can’t get any closer. He bites your mound softly through the fabric of your panties and your knees begin to wobble. He pulls them to the side with the hand that isn’t cradling your thigh against his face. His stubble pricks the soft skin there as he presses his tongue lightly against your clit. He doesn’t move it yet, just holds it there, savoring the taste of you. Reveling in the way it throbs against his tongue. 

Only when you start squirming and tugging on his hair does he finally move. He swirls his tongue in slow, precise circles around your clit. He still knows your body so well, even after all this time. He knows exactly how to have you dripping for him, whining for him. 

“Fuck! Frankie, please. ” You beg. 

“I know, baby. You need more.” He whispers. He stands from the ground and you whine at the loss of his mouth. “Turn around.” He instructs. You pout but do as he says. You know that whatever he has in mind, he’s gonna make you feel good. 

“Put your hands on the wall.” You look at him over your shoulder and he just cocks his eyebrow expectantly. “Do it.” 

You place your hands against the wall and your ass sticks out. Frankie grabs the waistband of your panties and drags them down your legs, lifting your feet one at a time for you to step out of them. You expect to hear the clinking of his belt but instead you feel his hand land a swat on your ass. From your position, you miss the look of delight as the flesh ripples from his touch. He grabs a handful of ass in each hand and spreads your cheeks apart. He resumes his previous activities. Long, slow swipes of his tongue. Through your folds and around your clit.

It doesn’t take long to have you teetering on the precipice. He still recognizes the signals your body gives him. He knows you are close. His fingers fly to your clit and his tongue breaches your entrance. His exaltation is rewarded with the feeling of your walls fluttering around his tongue. He laps up everything you have to give him and only stops when you bat his hand away. He plants a kiss on your ass cheek and lands another, softer swat on the other before he rises to his feet. His hands return to your hips and he presses his denim covered bulge against your asscrack. 

“Feel what you do to me, baby?” He asks as he pulls back onto him. Still coming down from your peak you can only nod your head in response. “I think he missed you even more than I did.” 

His hands leave you once more and the telltale sound of his belt being unbuckled and his zipper coming down fills the alley. He rests his cock, thick and uncut, on your bare asscrack. He reaches around you and runs his fingers through your folds, gathering your release. You whimper at his touch, aching for him to be inside you. 

He rubs the head in between your cheeks, down past your asshole until it catches on your entrance. Slowly, he nudges himself inside of your cunt. You’ve had bigger dicks before, longer ones. But you’ve never had one as thick as Frankie. Just on the edge of too big , he stretches you open around him. Your walls give way to him and he buries himself inside you. 

“ Oh fuck, baby!” He cries out, unable to keep his voice down.  

“You’re gonna get us caught.” You turn and look over your shoulder and are treated to the sight of the near-feral look in his eyes. Your insides turn liquid when winks at you. He’s just like you remembered he was, before the war took him away from you, devilish little grin and all. His hands move to the spot where your hips and ass meet. He grips you firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

He fucks into you with the same kind of desperation as the last time you were together. He knows this moment together is fleeting and now you understand the urgency he was feeling back then. With your hands planted firmly on the wall, you meet his every thrust. The slick sound of skin against skin fills the darkness in the alley. Your thighs begin to burn and Frankie’s pace falters. A half a dozen or so thrusts and he’s cursing out into the night. 

“Shit! Ohfuckohshit baby!” He cries and you are so fucked out you can’t even form a coherent thought. He spills inside of you and the twitching of his cock and the way he sounds when whimpering is dragging you over the edge again. He pulls out of you and his come slips out, falling to the pavement in thick globs. He spins you around by your elbow and your back is up against the wall again. 

He lays his head on your shoulder with his nose buried in your neck. Your fingers thread in his hair once more and you just stand there, together. Your chests heave against each other and you just enjoy the feel of each other, the smell. But nothing gold can stay and the moment breaks. You shuffle silently in the near dark, righting your clothes and deciding what to say or not say. Frankie picks his hat up from the ground and dusts it off with the same fingers that were buried inside you moments ago. You pull your panties back over your shoes and up your legs. They stick to your skin from your own arousal and the come that still dribbles out of you. You both avoid the other’s face. 

You walk hand in hand back down the alley until you reach where the light is. When you drop his hand he finally looks at you. 

“I’m not sure what to say here.” He admits and for the first time tonight you cannot read his expression

“It was good to see you.” you reply, mirroring his earlier sentiment. You walk out of the alley and back to the theater. 

“ Bonita , wait.” He calls after you. You slow down briefly, but square your shoulders and continue on. 

You use the bathroom and try to clean yourself up as much as possible before sliding back into your seat. Your husband leans over the armrest. “You okay”? He asks, never taking his eyes off the screen. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You take a sip of your soda, now mostly watered down. 

“You took a while.” He points out.

“Long line.” He doesn’t even acknowledge your response, more focused on the film’s climax. 

The credits roll after a few minutes and you stand. Your shoes stick to the floor in a way you hadn’t noticed before. Your husband grabs your hand at the end of the row and leads you down the steps. In the lobby you see Frankie and his wife coming out of their theater. She’s snuggled up under his arm, in the place that you used to call home. You and Frankie meet gazes for a moment and you both quickly look away. 

On the way home, you feign interest in your husband’s recap of the film and its best scenes. You nod your head and interject with an occasional “mhmm.” he holds your hand the whole way home, rubbing his thumb along your fingers affectionately. Once home, you get into the shower right away, wanting nothing more than to wash Frankie off of your body, out of your body. The smell of him, the feel, the taste. You fucked up. This shouldn’t have happened. The last thing you ever want to do is hurt your husband. Or break up Frankie’s marriage. 

By the time you get dressed and walk to your bed, your husband is already asleep. His face looks so peaceful. If only he knew. 

A few months later

You haven’t spoken to Frankie since that night at the movies. To be honest, you weren’t expecting to. He must have his own share of guilt and regret from that night. Yet, here you sit at a cafe on the opposite side of town. You sip your water and watch the door. You check the time on your phone even though you know it will show that only a minute or two has passed since the last time you looked. 

Finally, that mop of brown curls hidden under his ever present baseball cap appears. He looks around the small dining area for you and his face lights up when he finds you. You give him a small wave and he starts towards your table. When he reaches you he bends down and kisses your cheek, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do. 

He’s all smiles when he opts for the chair right next to you, as opposed to the one across. He places his arm on the back of your chair and his fingers skim along your shoulder. 

“I’m happy you called, Bonita. ” 

“I was surprised to find your number in the pocket of my skirt.” You admit. You almost threw it away a dozen times in the weeks after that night.

“I was hoping you would use it.”

“I really needed to talk to you.” You fidget with silverware on the table nervously and Frankie’s brows knit in concern. 

“What’s wrong, baby?”

You reach into the pocket of your jacket and close your fingers around the ziploc bag nestled safely in there. You hesitate a moment before pulling it out and setting it on the table. 

“What’s this?” He asks, picking it up. It only takes a moment for his brain to catch up. “Shit.” He says under his breath as he takes in the contents. 

Funny how something so small, just a couple of pieces of pink and white plastic, can mean something so big. 

“Shit.” He repeats, staring at the bag as that little pink plus sign stares right back at him. 

since tags are being fucky again I'm going to discontinue my taglist for a while. follow me over at @ramble-on-fics and turn on post notifications for updates!

Hey DD 🙏 Once again, thanks for your ask ❤️

I wanted to know, if you don't mind, what are your favorite Pedro (and/or his characters) gifs?

😘

I’m horrible with GIFs 🤣 But Dieter Bravo is my main love 😍 So any involving Dieter

Also any Frankie 😍

Last but not least, this one of Pedro himself 🫠🫠🫠