AHHHHHH!!!! This Was Absolutely Worth The Fucking Wait @gracieispunk Killed It ONCE AGAIN! The Way Tenant

AHHHHHH!!!! This was absolutely worth the fucking wait 😍😍😍 @gracieispunk killed it ONCE AGAIN! The way tenant girl is so crazy she legit finds out where Joel’s gonna be 🤣😂😅 But we all know he can’t resist her ❤️

Sexy Bob The Builder

maintenance man!joel🛠️ x f!reader / 3.7

Happy Halloween 👹

Warnings: infidelity, teasing, facebook stalking, tool play🪛(yes), fingering, dirty talk, a smidge of oral (f!receiving), mutual pining (squint).

AU Master / can be read in no particular order

You crash a Halloween party to surprise Joel, who’s wife also happens to be with him.

—

Mrs. Anderson’s son recently got engaged and decided to throw a Halloween party, in the mansion he recently moved into with his husband.

It’s a modern, newly built home on the nice side of town, where the neighbors water their lawns throughout a massive drought and hire hedge trimmers.

They had asked Joel to do some maintenance work around the property during the build, therefore, he and his wife were invited.

You found out they were going when he came over yesterday, to look at your heating. Brushing it off like it was something so uninteresting, when years ago you would have killed to be invited to one of those ‘rich people’ parties.

‘Are you dressing up?’, you had bugged him over text and had gotten no response. Joel’s silence only prompting you to look up the lovely old woman living above you on Facebook. Eventually leading you to the very open profile of her soon to be rich son-in-law.

Scrolling through his profile pictures, you come across a picture of the two of them in front of a large home, holding a ‘SOLD’ sign, and after zooming around the photo you’re able to find exactly where it’s located.

–

The night before Halloween, while shopping for costumes with your friend, she asks what the plans are. Having trusted you to come up with something fun, you don’t hesitate to mention it.

“There’s this Engagement Party happening in Glendale..”, you’re too hesitant, despite your excitement. Watching as she holds up a slutty nurse costume in the quiet store mirror.

“Oh?”, she sounds half persuaded already, so it shouldn’t take much more convincing.

“Was thinking we could crash… would be like old times,” you refer, to the times when the two of you used to jump fences in Glendale, and swim in rich people’s pools late at night. Having to sneak out just before sunrise to avoid getting caught.

“Oh I don’t know, will there be old men there?” You laugh, knowing she already agrees right away. Turning to you, she holds up the costume, “What do you think?”

You stare at the outfit hanging over her body and smile genuinely, “I love it.”

She squeals and turns back to the mirror, folding her hair around her face as she tries to visualize how she’ll do it for the night of.

“What are you wearing?”, she asks, without looking at you.

You fidget with the costumes in front of you, “Sexy Bob The Builder,” and she looks over at you puzzled, “I’ll show you later.”

Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, “Wait,” she walks closer and cocks an eyebrow, “Is a certain maintenance guy going to be there?”

You both break into giggles and you throw your arm around her neck, nuzzling your face into her hair while walking over to the cash register.

–

The next night is Halloween and you’re turned sideways in your bedroom mirror, fixing the strap waistband of your bikini bottoms, before turning back and adjusting the tools within the matching set.

Your friend lays on her stomach on your bed, flipping through an old Cosmopolitan Magazine from the collection under your bed.

“That’s - a lot,” her eyes widen while they fall down your body in a brown Carhartt bikini, with actual tools tucked into the front of the bottoms and each bra cup.

“Good,” you reply, flatly. Tilting your head from side to side, too zoned out on the way you look to show any emotion.

“Does she know who you are?”, she asks, flipping another magazine page and looking at your reflection through her brows. Referring to Joel’s wife.

You draw out a no, in response. Still distracted by yourself and sticking each hand into your bikini top to lift your breasts. Turning towards her, you hold up black heels and your Doc Martens lace up boots, “Which ones?”

She looks at both choices quickly before rolling onto her back with the magazine,

“Definitely the boots.” You don’t question her decision, only sit at the edge of the bed next to her, and tie them up.

Rolling back onto her stomach, she tosses the magazine onto your bedroom floor in front of your mirror, and watches your reflection. Already dressed in her nurse costume and waiting for you to finish getting ready.

“I think you’re playing with fire tonight,” her voice is quiet, testing, and she leans her head on your thigh as you finish tying your second boot. You sit up straighter and brush her hair away from her cheek, looking at her in the mirror and smiling. Yours eyes wide and lifeless, trying to be scary in a joking manner.

“Oh babe, you should know by now,” you pull yourself off your bed and she sits up, laughing through her nose, and watching you give yourself one final look over in the mirror, “That’s what I do best.”

–

There are lots of people of all ages at this party, coming and going as they please. The large front lawn littered with extravagant, expensive halloween decor, multicolored lights, and sound machines.

You and your friend eventually walk through a cloud of fake smoke once you reach the front door.

“Welcome,” says a very smooth spoken woman, hovering with a tray, whose face looks professionally painted like a skull. She passes you both a green drink in a plastic martini glass, with what looks like an eyeball candy on a stick, floating inside it.

You smile awkwardly in thanks, and continue to walk through the foyer, turning to your friend who crashes her cup lightly into yours.

“Cheers?”, she laughs at how ridiculous all of this is. The two of you tossing back the sour green liquid and setting the cups down on a random side table, before wandering through the rest of the house.

Immediately you can’t help but look for Joel. Scanning clusters of people, in hopes you’ll recognize him if he’s dressed up, but seem to have no luck.

You smile slightly when you see your friend twirling her hair, obviously flirting with a man twice her age dressed as Zorro. She catches you staring and gives you her signature nod that she’s good, before you head back to the main living space, clearly still looking for Joel.

As you eye the abstract artwork covering the high vaulted walls and the large glass chandeliers in almost every room, your legs carry you up the winding staircase towards the top floor. Groups of people holding their mystery green drinks and looking you up and down as if it’s clear you don’t belong - especially in such a revealing costume.

Unphased, you continue to walk up the stairs, hearing multiple conversations while you do. People talking about a supposed honeymoon in Bora Bora, two others admiring a piece of artwork that makes absolutely no sense, and two women at the top of the stairs conversing in awkward small talk.

One of which, you recognize.

You follow the mousy octave and your eyes land on his dark green flannel. Only this time, it’s not him wearing it, it’s her.

She’s dressed like him.

His tool belt that’s been on your floor multiple times, hangs from her waist and you swallow dryly. Her conversation with the other woman, drifting off as soon as they both lay eyes on you. Her honey, amber-coloured iris’ digging into your frame, before she gives you a fake smile, and shifts over. Moving out of your way to let you continue your search for her husband.

“Thanks,” you mumble and her simple response cuts through the loud thump of music around you. Becoming the loudest voice in the room, by far.

“No problem.”

Your heart beats loud in your ears. The mix of excitement and arousal swirling low in your stomach, translates into shaky hands and a star filled vision.

You can still smell her despite how far away you are now. You can feel her warmth, see her fucking stare when you close your eyes.

Her voice gets louder and louder as it rattles around in your brain. Making you dizzy, you head for the bathroom. Needing a minute to get your shit together, or else you’ll have to ruin your friends night by leaving early.

You knew Joel’s wife was going to be here but for some reason you didn’t think you’d ever get that close to her, let alone hear what she sounds like.

You begin to feel sick the more you think about it.

How soft she sounds. If she sounds like that with Joel, for Joel, in bed with Joel.

You wonder if she wears his clothes often and how he feels when he sees her in them. If he gets annoyed with her like he gets annoyed with you, if that flannel smells like him, if he’ll rip it off of her when they get back home later. You want to reach into your head and remove your brain to avoid thinking about this any longer.

–

Eventually you locate a quiet office at the back of the top floor, down the hall on the right side. Shutting the door behind you, you press your back against it and take a few deep breaths with your eyes squeezed shut. Trying to relax the subconscious panic that Joel’s beautiful wife ensues. Not sure why you feel like this when you both had almost gotten caught by her before.

When your breathing steadies, you blink your eyes open and survey the small space. Dimly lit by only a desk light, you walk over to the large windows that take up an entire two walls. Sitting on the ledge and pulling your bare legs into your chest, you feel strangely out of place and self conscious all of a sudden.

Trying to take your mind off of it, you watch hundreds of people wander around the backyard below you. Some swim while others hover around a long table filled with food. Little groups scattered about, probably talking about the new car they just bought or the lavish trip they’re taking next month.

Watching them oddly chokes you up with resentment and a hint of jealousy, that they most likely don’t know what real struggle is. You can’t bear to watch any longer. Looking away, your eyes drift to the door just as it opens. Voices from the party pour in with Joel before they muffle back out when he closes the door. Locking you both in the small room.

Turning to face you, his nostrils flare and he squints in anger.

“What the fuck - are you doing here?”, he tilts his head and places his hand on his hip, resembling a father scolding his child, “you followin’ me now?”

Feeling more emotional than usual, you sarcastically laugh as you clear your throat. Running your thumb under your nose with a sniffle, before turning to face him as you sit on the window ledge. Dropping your legs, you reveal your full costume to Joel and his expression softens with a deep inhale as he looks you up and down.

“So you didn’t dress up,” you smile deviously, and he drops his head to stare at the ground, letting out a big sigh. Pinching the bridge of his nose he lifts his head to look at you again, before dropping his hand and responding, “You really shouldn’t be here.”

You scoff, playfully looking off to the side, and sit up straighter. Pushing your chest out towards him, with your breasts pooling over the edge of your tool filled bikini top,

“Don’t you like my costume?” Changing the subject, you look back at him and raise your eyebrow. With your lips twitching, you continue to taunt him, “wearing it just for you.”

He winces, squeezing his eyes closed like it will deafen your voice, but slowly walking closer to you anyways. Like he hates how magnetic you are.

His eyes open to watch the rise and fall of your chest while hovering over you. Making eye contact before he shuts off the desk light, to keep people from the outside - looking in. Only allowing you to see the silhouette of his face from the lit up backyard.

“You got some real nerve, you know,” he mumbles, his eyes falling lower along your body, watching the way you become completely still waiting for his next move. Pretending to be so fragile when he knows he could split you open right here, with his wife only a few feet away, outside that door.

He shouldn’t but he can’t help himself.

He finally gives in and gently grabs at the tools in your top, dramatically pouting as he inspects them.

“Not bad?”, he breathes as he pulls out the screwdriver, investigating the handle, “Nice, thick handle.”

His deep voice, all quiet like that, sends a shiver through your entire body. Arousal pooling in your bikini bottoms and you shift your legs together, catching Joel’s attention immediately.

“Mmm,” he moans low as he watches your body squirm under him, still twirling the screwdriver in his large fingers. “My wife’s outside,” his eyes fall to your legs while you shift on the window ledge, blinking up at him with wide eyes.

“So?”, you cut him off.

“So,” he leans further into you, his other hand coming to rest against the ledge next to your ass, “We should behave,” your face is not far from his when he holds up the screwdriver between you, creating more distance.

You exhale in frustration, onto his lips before grabbing it from him, clearly annoyed, and he eyes your thighs again. Still not moving away like his words suggest.

You sit up straighter and he watches your body adjust. Your eyes half lidded and lustful as you lean back against the window. The cold glass creating goosebumps all over your soft skin and Joel reacts. Running a finger from the top of your shoulder, over your bicep, only making them worse.

“S’okay,” you breathe, bringing your legs up onto the ledge and spreading them. Planting the heel of your docs firmly into the surface, “You can just watch.”

Those words burn through Joel’s brain, creating the same fiery need he felt when he first touched you in your apartment shower. When you saw his ring and didn’t bother to respect his boundaries of being a married man. More so, he’s angry at himself for not respecting them.

For wanting you, then and now.

He leans back a bit to get a better look at how you pull your bikini bottoms to the side. Exposing your center to him, soaked and glistening from roughly 5 minutes of interaction in total.

He almost whimpers when you run your middle and index finger through your folds and he hears it. The sweet sound of your arousal and whines filling his ears and traveling down into his cock. Your eyes fixated on him and watching his breathing change, his eyes getting darker.

“Oh - shit,” your words get stuck in the back of your throat and your mouth drops open, the more you touch yourself.

“How’s it feel?”, he murmurs, his eyes pinned to your core and hypnotized by the movement of your fingers.

Wouldn’t you like to know, you want to say, but you don’t.

You answer back, playing along in a cheap effort to get him to keep talking. Bringing you closer as your other hand grips the screwdriver for dear life.

“Oh - fuck, so good,” your words broken up and breathless. Pulling your brows together and biting your bottom lip as you watch his body tense up.

“Mmm - bet it does,” he wets his lips and rolls his shoulders while he watches you dipping your fingers into your entrance, gathering your arousal, and rubbing slow circles into your clit. Sitting up a little to watch yourself so desperately beg for him by the way you lazily touch yourself, teasing him.

“Need you, Joel,” you whimper, watching his face when you rub up and down your slit before using two fingers to spread yourself for him.

“Shit,” he whispers, adjusting his stance and sucking in a deep breath, “she does, doesn’t she” he reaches for your wrist and helps you rub yourself. His eyes lifting to your face when he slowly pushes your middle finger inside, both of your mouths parting, inches away from each other.

You whimper again and Joel groans, “oh fuckk,” his eyes flutter shut as he pushes and pulls your own finger in and out of your heat, dying to know what it feels like but refusing to let himself touch you.

“Just know it’s so wet, so fuckin’ tight..isn’t it?”

You frantically nod, pleading silently for him to keep going, but instead his hand moves to your other that holds the screwdriver. Making you hold it by the long, thin shank and helping you drag the thick handle along your slit.

“Slow baby, slow,” he coos, letting go of your wrist and watching you continue to drag the tool along yourself, his hand moving to his crotch simultaneously. Palming himself through his jeans. “Let me see,” he whispers, inhaling through his nose while biting the inside of his lip.

You know it’s taking everything in him to keep his resolve from crumbling and his mouth or his own hands from taking over.

You oblige and continue to run the screwdriver handle along your slit, dipping it into your entrance while Joel groans.

“Inside, now,” he orders softly, and you comply. Slowly pushing the tip of the handle inside and moaning when you feel the stretch of the oddly shaped object. The end of the handle being larger than the part closer to the metal.

“That’s it,” he hums, interrupted by a slight moan at his own hand against his stiff cock in his jeans, “In and out baby, just like I do it.”

You release a pathetic whine and Joel sighs when he sees your wrist shaking. Wanting to speed up the process as you’re already close just from him talking you through it.

Your head pushes back into the window and you begin to speed up your movements, pushing and pulling the screwdriver, faster.

“I said slow,” Joel growls low, close to your face.

And when you’re crying out to him, he’s thankful the music outside the office door drowns you out. “I can’t” you pant, creating a pace with the tool, “wanna come.”

“For fuck sake,” he mutters. Aggressively pulling the tool away from you and placing it down on the desk. “Can never be patient, can you?”

You can’t help but smile and nod no, while biting your lip and adjusting yourself to sit up higher with your legs still spread. Watching Joel roll up the sleeves of his denim long sleeve, the fabric digging into the curves of his arm as he finally gives in to touching you himself.

“Didn’t want to fuckin’ touch you with her outside the door,” your stomach drops at the way he so loosely mentions her, with his fingers replacing yours against your cunt. Those words alone, inching you closer.

“But - oh fuck -”, he moans as his two fingers push deep into your tight hole, “you can’t do as you’re told.”

He works his fingers inside you. His bicep flexes as he curls his fingers to stroke your g-spot and thrust his thick digits in and out. Getting faster as he goes. “Always need my fuckin help,” he continues to mock you, pulling you closer to your release.

“Oh god, yes, Jo-”.

“Shut up,” he cuts you off and covers your mouth with his other hand. Getting down on his knee to get a better angle at you and alleviate the ache in his back, from being hunched over. The different stance allowing him to go faster, creating the wettest, filthiest sounds as he fucks you with his fingers.

“Don’t get to say my name here, not like this,” he grunts, gritting his teeth only to soften his expression when you squeeze against his fingers. Slowing his pace, he watches as he pulls them out covered in your arousal, and brings them to his mouth. Sucking you clean off of him, before pushing them back in, “So close, aren’t you baby?”

“Mhmm,” you nod and he drops his hand from your mouth. Yours moving to grip his forearm against your stomach, keeping him close while the other holds his shoulder. Your lips flattening shut to keep yourself from screaming.

“S’right,” he feels another squeeze of your cunt, “Think you can come for me - quietly?” You nod again, fast in response, and his hand moves itself up your torso to your neck this time. Gripping the entire top of your throat, just below your jaw. His eyes going completely black as they flit from your face, to your core, then back again.

His fingers curl up inside you and reach deeper into that soft spot. The pad of his middle finger tapping rapidly until your whole body tenses and your orgasm washes over you. The thump of the music fading out of your ears and your eyes squeezing shut while your hips rock fast against his hand. The only sound you can hear his joel’s voice while he continues to fuck you through it.

That’s it, baby. Just like that. So fuckin’ pretty when you soak me.

You begin to shake, your core tightening so hard to try and force him out. Trembling from overstimulation but unable to rid the feeling of needing more from him at the same time.

Your orgasm wanes and your body collapses into the window with exhaustion, before you flinch at the feeling of Joel’s tongue sweeping across your folds, followed by a low mmm.

“Taste so fuckin’ good baby, s’too bad,” he gets up and adjusts his dark wash jeans. Watching as you fumble to sit up straight and move your bikini bottoms back into place. Your chest heaving as you both watch each other.

“Didn’t answer my question,” you pant, “You like my costume?”

He rolls his eyes, “what’re you supposed to be?”

You smile with a raised eyebrow, “Sexy ‘Bob The Builder’.”

Joel lets a crooked smile take over his face before looking down at his feet. His eyes are lit only by the ongoing party outside when you see him looking at you through his brows, one last time.

“I love it,” he mumbles. The silence takes up way too much space between you, before he stands up straighter and looks away. Dragging a large hand over his mouth before turning towards the door, “You should get outta here though, before someone realizes you’re missing an invite.”

—

Sorry I kept ya’ll waiting for so long.

Hopefully hbf! And javi p will be out this week (Halloween fics)

I appreciate all your love and support as I’ve been super busy with life ://

AU Master / no taglist: @graciessideoftheweb for just fics

@jay-zzle this is the ULTIMATE photo shoot in my opinion. Like I said, never wanted to be a dirty mattress before but here I am 🤷‍♀️😅 although the pic you sent me earlier… 👀 “Stair way to heaven” 😍🤤😍🤤

periodic reminder to myself that this photoshoot was not a hallucination

one of the greatest achievements in male sexuality

I fucking love sharks! What better way to express that than get a new tattoo? 4th tattoo this year

Reblogging so I can read it later ❤️❤️❤️

AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox. 

(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)

Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings;  sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man. 

People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled. 

The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front. 

“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him. 

“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.

Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside. 

“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room. 

“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”

“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?” 

He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. 

“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble. 

“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now. 

“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside. 

“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.

—

“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more. 

He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground. 

“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.

“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.” 

“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child. 

“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.” 

“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile. 

“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.

It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own. 

The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.

The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed. 

“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair. 

“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face. 

“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house. 

“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.” 

The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well. 

There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been. 

You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years. 

Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole. 

Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through. 

—

The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it. 

He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things. 

With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens. 

He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those. 

By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep. 

-

It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest. 

Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.  

He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out. 

The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known. 

You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return. 

He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away. 

She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away. 

A very brief moment. 

The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury. 

His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good. 

–

The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall! 

“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop. 

“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again. 

“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face. 

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.” 

“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights. 

“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love. 

It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.

“Will you listen to me at least?” 

“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place. 

“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.

“That’s an understatement.”

“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”

“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.

“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?” 

You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man. 

“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.

“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.” 

“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed. 

“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.” 

“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle. 

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh. 

“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.” 

“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go. 

Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down. 

Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away. 

“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”

“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”

“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.

“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms. 

“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip. 

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.” 

He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.

“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–” 

“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.” 

“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”

“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”

“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.

“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words. 

“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury. 

“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again. 

“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“What?” She frowned.

“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”

“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?” 

“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 

“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”

“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to. 

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day. 

“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.

-

The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–

You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind. 

Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes. 

Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.

-

He didn’t let you wonder.

His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door. 

He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple. 

“You’re here.” 

“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.” 

“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence. 

“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”

You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house. 

“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists. 

“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space. 

“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.

“I, uh, I had some coffee.” 

“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it. 

“Well, no–”

“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work. 

“Can I help?”

“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment. 

Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam. 

When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out. 

“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice. 

“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.

“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite. 

You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat. 

He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him. 

“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet. 

When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy. 

“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile. 

“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.” 

“I know.” 

–

He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing. 

“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke. 

“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response. 

“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up. 

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”

“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”

“Good, now let's get to work.”

-

Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again. 

He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system. 

“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound. 

A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching. 

“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-” 

“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face. 

“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 

The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women. 

“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.

“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”

“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.” 

“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed. 

“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician. 

-

You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.

“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself. 

“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly. 

“Oh. I’m glad.”

“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.

“What was what?”

“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned. 

“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.” 

“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him. 

“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.” 

You sighed, ignoring just how right he was. 

There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it. 

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger. 

“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo 

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.

You set down your things. 

“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find. 

“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you. 

“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.” 

“Yes, but I can do it–” 

“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well. 

Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up. 

He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon. 

You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs. 

“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.

“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.” 

By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone. 

“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit. 

“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him. 

“Are you done with the windows?” 

“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.”  He gestured to the pile on the counter. 

“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment. 

“But your hand–”

“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.

-

The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad. 

He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly. 

“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”

“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise. 

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?” 

“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice. 

“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone. 

-

Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house. 

He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again. 

The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours. 

It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly. 

The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze. 

He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you. 

“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”

“...You…?”

“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring. 

“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly. 

“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms. 

“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.

“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way. 

“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.” 

He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is. 

“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you. 

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.

“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you. 

“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him. 

“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. 

You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it. 

“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”

Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck. 

“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes. 

“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke. 

“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin. 

“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss. 

“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born. 

“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom. 

Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation. 

He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation. 

“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.

It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.

“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.

“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day. 

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.

“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything. 

You moaned at the way he filled you.

The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock. 

There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.

“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm. 

He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.

“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside. 

You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.

“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork. 

“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?” 

“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“

“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer. 

“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.” 

“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“

“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.

“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.

-

He’d fucking blown it. 

By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes. 

He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back. 

He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted. 

-

Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away. 

No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again. 

You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it. 

Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing. 

With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–

He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you. 

Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–

You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters. 

Bluebell, my love, 

I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–

It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him. 

The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour. 

There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.

“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?” 

“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed. 

“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.

“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.” 

“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again. 

“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done. 

“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was. 

“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house. 

-

Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another. 

“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly. 

“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”

“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?” 

“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.

“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.

“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed. 

“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.

“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.” 

-

The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression. 

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow. 

He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache. 

“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy. 

“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle. 

“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours. 

“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted. 

“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside. 

“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game. 

“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”

“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him. 

“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured. 

“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue. 

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy. 

“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you. 

“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most. 

“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed. 

You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke. 

“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words. 

You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts. 

“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him. 

His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press. 

“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding. 

He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him. 

He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax. 

“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words. 

“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out. 

You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you. 

There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider. 

“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable. 

“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged. 

–

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I cannot wait for more of this duo! 😍

i like the way you masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

“just thinking, I could help you solve it—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.” Frankie stares. “I don’t—I don’t find you repulsive.”

key themes: best friends! friends with benefits. smut. idiots falling in love. series warnings: banter. friendship. frankie has a key to your house. smut. p in v. fwb!rules and set up. smut (i know i said, but there's actually a fair bit of it) dedication: none of this would be possible without @ghostaholics

WORK IN PROGRESS - UPDATES ON WEDNESDAYS Spotify playlist

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO.

CHAPTER THREE.

Through the Motions

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Summary: You and Frankie decide to start a family. Regardless of your mental illness and the challenges it faces.

Warnings: Mental health, cussing, pregnancy, bit of angst, comfort, fluffff, pretty much sums it up

A/N: Sooo…. This would be my first fic I’ve ever actually put out for the entire world to read. I used to have several 5 subject notebooks full of fanfic for myself and my cousins to read cause they were the only ones I trusted with that part of my brain. 15 years later and here I am. I had 4 different friends read it before I posted. All of which gave amazing input and helped me with wording, grammar, punctuation, etc. I love you guys!!! @hessofather(knows all about mentally ill pregnancy cause she did that), @jay-zzle(Spanish expert), @bi-panda(help with grammar and punctuation) and Sarah(helped with wording, who needs to get a tumblr)

Special shout out to: @chloeangelic- Thank you for being so helpful to this newbie with your writing advice! You saw this fic before it became what it is now, hopefully it’s still as interesting as you thought it was to begin with @gracieispunk for just telling me to go for it! ❤️❤️❤️

HERE GOES IT! 🫣

Masterlist

At the time you felt like this was a good idea, that you were strong enough to handle it, that it would get better as time went on. Except now you’re not so sure.

*****

It was your idea first, trying for a baby and Frankie was ecstatic. You’d discussed kids before but it was always in a wishful way, too nervous to stop the meds to actually try. Late one night while in bed you decide to talk about it once more.

“What if you can’t handle my episodes?”

“Such as…” He asks moving on his side propping up his head with his fist.

“Well… I’m kinda, actually no, I’m crazy without meds. You haven’t had to experience that side of me but other people have. I had so much rage in me all the time, I would snap in an instant at the smallest of things, there were days I couldn’t even get out of bed. I almost lost my job at one point.” You say rubbing your face trying not to think of the past without meds. He moves your hands and cups your cheek turning your head towards him.

“Hey now, we don’t have to do this. It’s up to you. I’d love it if we could have a version of you and me out in this world but it’s not a necessity if you don’t want to. I’m still going to be here whether we decide to do this or not”

“Oh god, the manic episodes! I’ve gotten those under control finally because of the meds but the mania was almost just as bad as the depression! Sooo many bad decisions, honestly surprised I don’t have a kid already. Definitely had a rise in my labido during the manic episodes,” with widened eyes and a panicked look you start to back track “Sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m rambling now.”

“Shhh, we all have a past,” Frankie laughs, shaking his head, “If we’re being truthful here though- if we try for a baby that would be helpful, right?”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I guess you got me there.”

*****

Thinking about it and doing it are two completely different things. The trying part was definitely fun and then it happened. Those two pink lines happened a lot faster than you were expecting. What now? You have to get off your meds. That’s what you have to do now. It’s really happening. There is now a life growing inside of you. You thought you were ready for this. Mentally trying to prepare yourself for the moment the meds had to stop, the pregnancy hormones and what they’ll do, the changes your body will go through, the mindset you’ll need to have going through this, so much to prepare for. Then the first slip up happens. It took 3 weeks, 3 weeks for the first incident to happen.

“Oh, I see!” You say gritting your teeth, “So I need to have supper ready for you when you get home? Like I’m some 50s fucking housewife?!”

“That’s not what I even said. All I asked was what are we having for supper? I did not mean what are YOU making for supper.” Frankie said as calmly as he could. He never thought his army training would help him in a situation like this. They teach you how to handle dangerous territories, hostile situations, survival, and so much more. But this? No one ever trains you for this. For a hormonal, mentally ill, pregnant lady.

You can feel your face hot from anger turning into one of embarrassment and shame instead. Your bottom lip begins to tremble. You realize your mistake immediately. Not sure if it’s the mental illness or the hormones rushing through your body. It all kinda feels the same right now. Frankie notices the change immediately and rushes towards you.

“Bebé, bebé, bebé,” He says quietly wrapping his arms around you, pushing your head into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll get through this just like everything else. I’m here.”

“I hate this!” You sob

*****

Your entire pregnancy you feel as if you’re going through constant loops. The manic and depressive episodes coming in waves. You sense it before it happens, a lot like when you can smell rain before it starts. The only thing is when. When is it going to hit you? Will it be a depressive episode? Where you find it near impossible to even get up but you have to in order to make sure things are ready for this baby. Will it be a manic episode? Where you have so much energy it feels like you’re going to crawl out of your own skin but also in a way beneficial because you can get so much ready for the nursery. Will it be one of sadness, anger, anxiousness? What will it be and can you make yourself stop it? Doubtful, you never can, just like now.

**9 months later**

He plops down at the kitchen table sighing. The baby has finally gone to sleep. After 2 hours of crying there is finally silence.

“What‘s wrong?” Frankie asks

“I don’t know.” you sigh, putting the last bottle in the dish rack to dry.

He can tell something is wrong by your actions. The way you’ve been rigid. You’re so stiff. You’re so tense. You feel on edge about every little thing.

The baby is crying. Needs changed again. The baby is crying. Needs fed again. The baby is crying. Needs soothed again. The baby is crying. When is there time to sleep? So over-stimulated it’s almost too much to bear.

It’s only been 2 weeks since the baby arrived and you’re back on meds finally. As with all things though, it takes time.

“What’s wrong? Hermosa, please tell me.” he asks again

“It’s just one of those days.”

One of those days, the hatred for yourself you feel. Am I a good mom yet? Am I doing everything that needs done? Is there anything I missed? I have to be perfect on the outside. Why am I NOT perfect on the outside? Can I even pretend to be perfect? The internal battle is almost too much. You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want him to see how much your mind is making you suffer because he will see it, he always sees it now.

“Baby, please talk to me!” He pleads

You push yourself off the kitchen sink and finally turn around wrapping your arms around yourself and you know he sees it. Your mind starts racing. He thinks you’re a failure. He wants to give up on you. He doesn’t want to deal with you anymore.

He gets up and takes a step closer, you take a step back. Not ready for the comfort, the consoling, the pity party to ensue. He grabs you before you can get too far away.

“You're an amazing momma. Don’t sell yourself short!”

“Hold on,” You start to remove yourself from him, “I need to get the hamburger out for supper tomorrow.”

He furrows his brows letting you go and sighs, “Will you sit down, please?”

Reluctantly you sit down and your mind starts racing and panicking again. Why does he want me to sit? Why did he sigh? Is he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?

The baby monitor goes off and you start to get up again

“Stop, sit. I got this. Stay here.”

So you sit. You sit at the kitchen table with your mind spiraling and wondering what to expect next. Can he change the diaper? Can he make the bottle if the baby needs feeding? Can he soothe the baby to go back to sleep? What does the baby need?

You hear the crackle of the monitor

“Momma is so tired, isn’t she? She needs a break sometimes. She takes such good care of you while I’m at work.“ the baby starts to wail louder, that must be the getting diaper changed cry, “Oh yes, I know mi vida, it’s so cold and momma does it better but daddy is here and can do it too.” Low and behold you are correct!

The baby stops crying. Soothed for now. Who knows how long it’ll be before they’re awake again. Frankie comes back to the kitchen.

“Mi amor, we should get to bed.”

You nod while he grabs the baby monitor then your hand, in a daze you let him lead you to the bedroom. He helps you change your clothes for the first time in three days. Frankie grabs your brush, he gently brushes til the knots are out of your hair and he puts it in a bun the way you like. He grabs you around the waist and guides you into the bed. Laying there together, he’s whispering words of praise to you, “Eres hermosa, you’re a good momma, you’re perfecto for me and our baby” placing soft kisses to your neck with each phrase, and then you hear his soft snoring. With silent tears falling down your face you finally start to drift off to sleep, you suddenly remember you forgot the hamburger meat. You try to move but with Frankie’s warmth and tight grip surrounding you you easily give up, guess there is always tomorrow.