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absurdthirst · 2 days

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Evidence of a Date {Tim Rockford x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN(ish), snuff films, power of suggestion, hypnosis, compulsory need to fuck, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male and female receiving)

Comments: Asked to assist Detective Rockford with finding evidence on a supposed snuff tape, you find it to be very different from what either one of you were expecting. Leading you to some surprising outcomes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Tim Rockford MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Getting called into the Captain’s office is never a good thing. No matter how clean you keep your nose or what rank you are, even as a Detective. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Knocking and opening the door, you are surprised to see Rockford sitting in a chair opposite the captain’s desk.

“Come in, shut the door.” He waves you in and your stomach twists, wondering what the hell is going on. You’ve worked with Tim before, but not recently. You’ve been too busy with your own caseload. “I need you to do something for me.” Captain Carnell is a no bullshit man, a pragmatist who hated sitting behind a desk. “Tim’s got a video he needs to go through, evidence.” You frown slightly, unsure why that should have any impact on you. “It’s a snuff film, supposedly and the forensic team refuses to touch it.” He grumbles and you still don’t quite understand.

Tim shuffles awkwardly. “I need to watch it. And I need another set of eyes.” Your head turns towards him. “You can keep your mouth shut, unlike 90% of the others around here.” It’s true, cops like to gossip and if it is a snuff film, the details need to be kept quiet while the investigation is ongoing.

“I see. And that’s why you called me in?” You ask the captain.

“Yes.” Carnell nods. “Tim asked if your cases could be transferred and you to help him on this, and I think it’s a good idea. That way there’s no talk of sexism if the case goes nowhere.”

You nod. “Of course.” You agree, not sure if you’re dreading watching the video or spending all your time with Tim more. It’s hard working with someone that you are hopelessly attracted to and know that it’s unrequited. “I’ll move my cases over to Robertson and we can get on the case right away.”

Your captain nods, “excellent. After closing time, go to the break room. He’s secured the room so it will be just you two.” Tim nods, crossing his arms and you glance between the two men. “Go back to your paperwork. Half an hour…the office will be closed up after everyone heads out and you can get started.”

You nod and Tim shuffles a little as he exits the office, holding the door open for you. “Thanks for helping with this. It’s - it could be the breakthrough we need and I know it’s gonna be hard to watch but I’m glad you’re helping me with it.” Tim says quietly as you stand in the hallway before you get to the bullpen.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know what to expect. Hopefully it’s not too gory, you have been to plenty of crime scenes, but you had hoped to go to a party tonight after work. Even if you stay late to work on the case, you could get there later. “We’ll watch the tape and then make any notes before we go back through it again.”

Tim nods, reaching out to squeeze your upper arm. He can’t help but think you look gorgeous today. Well, every day really but you’d never want him. He’s older. He’s divorced and has a ten year old son. He’s got baggage and you deserve the world. With a sigh, he makes his way back to his desk, eager to finish the work day to spend time with you. God, he’s pathetic. He’s desperate to spend time with you. Even if it means watching a snuff tape. The day seems to drag by and finally he sees his colleagues starting to pack up and he wipes his hands on his pants, glancing across the room to your desk.

Your cases have been passed off you and endured the grumbling, telling Robertson to talk to the captain if he had a problem with it. Finishing up some paperwork while you wait for everyone else to go home. “You leaving?” One of the other detectives comes by your desk on his way out.

“No.” You shake your head and look down at your file. “Backlog of paperwork. Captain’s on my ass about it.” You know most of them have every intention of heading down to the bar for happy hour. “Drink a beer for me though, okay?”

Tim is asked the same thing except he got waggled eyebrows as most of them know about his crush on you…everyone except you apparently. He sighs and pushes back from his desk after everyone is gone. “You want a coffee before we get started? I’ve got…something to add if you want to take the edge off.” He says, pulling out a small flask as he looks at you.

“Detective Rockford.” You sound scandalized, but you grin as you pick up your coffee cup. “Absolutely.” You laugh as you start to walk towards the break room. “At least if we can’t go for happy hour, we can brace ourselves for what is to come.” You tell him, emptying out the sludge in the pot and setting it to make a fresh batch. Lord only knows how long you will end up staying. “So where did you get this tape from?”

Tim sits down and sets the flask down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa in the break room. He’s slept on the sofa before. Especially when he was trying to crack the case of the old woman who was murdered for her inheritance. It kept him up all night and he ended up sleeping in the office a few times while looking over the case. “I have an inside contact. He’s looking for immunity and he left me a copy of the tape. Some mafia bullshit…it’s heavy. Supposedly.” He tells you, watching you make the coffee.

“So don’t plan on wanting to eat, got it.” You frown, deciding it was a stupid idea to ask Tim if he wanted to go out to that little dinner down the road from your apartment anyway. You were work colleagues, not romantically linked. “As long as it’s not a kid, I’ll be fine.” You admit softly, looking up from where you are pouring sugar and creamer in your cup to get it ready for the coffee. “I hate when it’s kids. I can’t imagine how you feel, having your son.”

Tim shakes his head, rubbing his cheek. “That - any kid - it kills me. Wondering what I’d do…how id feel if someone - I think you’d be locking me up because I’d burn the fucking world if something happened to Billy.” Tim confesses and you come over to the sofa with your cup and a cup for him. “Thanks sweetheart.” He says, grabbing the remote. He doesn’t call you sweetheart in front of the other guys but you’ve always been close to his heart. “You ready?” He asks you, wanting to make sure you’re mentally prepared.

It’s almost embarrassing how much you enjoy when he calls you sweetheart, not taking offense to it at all. It’s almost like an endearment and you cherish it. “I’m ready.” You tell him after taking a deep breath, knowing you need to be professional.

He grabs the flask, pouring a generous amount of whiskey in each mug before he sets it down. “Just to take the edge off.” He says before he takes a sip and hits play on the tape. He’s tense beside you, waiting to see the gruesome scene unfold.

"I hope that we don't have to finish the flask and go find a bottle." You murmur as you immediately take a large sip of your doctored coffee. Enjoying the slight burn before a naked woman walks into the view of the camera. Obviously set up in some kind of bedroom. "Well, fuck." You hiss. "It's gonna be one of those snuff films."

Tim shifts awkwardly as the woman comes over to the camera, her tits swaying as she adjusts it before she steps back and a man appears behind her. “Yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t told that this was - yeah. Sorry.” He blushes slightly, knowing he’s secretly wondered what you look like naked more than enough times.

"It's okay." You take another sip of your coffee before you look over at Tim for a split second, eyes flying back to the tv. You watch as the man starts to massage the woman's tits. "It's not like I've never watched porn before." You tell him, wanting him to relax slightly. "Caucasian female, approximately mid to late twenties, brown hair, Caucasian male, mid forties, short blond hair." You observe. "It looks like there is a tattoo on his left bicep."

Tim had completely forgotten to take any notes, his mind shamefully thinking about you naked and him behind you palming your tits. He leans forward, clasping his hands together to force himself to pay attention. He watches the couple fondle each other and he feels guilty that you’re having to watch this. “I- I’m not sure if he’s the one that gets killed.” Tim says, paying attention as the man’s hand slides down to rub the clit of the woman.

"Most snuff films, it's the woman who's murdered." You huff quietly, biting your lip and frowning slightly when the screen flashes for a split second. "I-" you shake your head, afraid you might have just imagined it. The woman's moan hadn't stopped so you just continue to watch. Your cunt bottoms out when the man slaps her pussy and then starts to rub again, his other hand still toying with her right nipple. "He's left-handed?" You ask, not quite sure but it's a strong theory. "Most often men finger a woman with their dominant hand."

“This is supposed to be the tape of the victim.” Tim says, trying to work through the evidence despite his cock twitching, suddenly aroused and he puts that down to being close to you.

You hum and lean in, trying to pretend the foreplay in the video isn't erotic, or you aren't getting turned on. It's natural, that's what you are trying to convince yourself of. That your panties would be soaked already if you were just watching a normal porn, alone in your room where you could pretend your hand was Tim's. Clearing your throat, you swear you see the screen flash again, but the audio doesn't stop.

Tim swears he saw something flash on the screen but he doesn’t bother telling you. He is trying to conceal his rapidly hardening cock. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “I - this isn’t a normal snuff tape.” He murmurs, confused as the man pushes his fingers into the woman, her moan echoing in the break room as the image flashes on screen again and he pays attention. “You see that?” He asks, curious if you’ve seen it.

You gasp, but you don't know if it's from the fact that Tim might have seen the same flashes you have, or from how warm you are getting. How your entire body seems to be lighting up, aching for someone, Tim, to touch you. "I- yes?" You almost ask as you try to keep from moaning quietly.

“What - What does it say?” He asks, wondering if you’ve seen it better than he did and he tugs on his tie, loosening it and undoing the top button. Suddenly overheated, he shifts his feet and his fingers flex as he smothers down the urge to touch you.

“I don’t know. It’s- it’s flashing too fast to read.” You know you should probably stop the tape and go back, but you can’t. “Is it- fuck, it’s hot in here, right?” You ask him, biting your lip when the woman cums on the tape, moaning softly as you wonder if Tim would finger you before he fucks you or if he would just shove his cock into your needy pussy.

“Yeah. It is.” Tim murmurs, suddenly boiling hot and he unbuttons a couple more buttons on his shirt, his tie pulled over his head to fling it down on the sofa. The man grabs the woman, dragging her to the bed and he wastes no time pushing into her, her moan echoing in the room and the screen flashes again. This time slower. The word ‘Fuck’ flashes again, and again. Tim is rock hard now, unable to tear his eyes away from the tv.

“It’s saying ‘Fuck’.” You breathe out, unsure why someone would cut that word into a snuff film. “Right?” Your cunt is throbbing and you squirm as you watch the couple fuck on the screen. You bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing regulated and you want to touch yourself, or have Tim touch you.

“Ye-yeah. That’s what I- shit. It’s so hot.” He says, unbuttoning another couple of buttons and he undoes the wrist buttons, rolling his sleeves up. ‘Fuck’ flashes up on the screen again and Tim grunts, unable to resist palming his cock through his pants. “So-sorry. I- shit. I’m so hard it hurts.” He confesses, “you should - you should go.” He says, trying to get you away from him before he breaks.

You snort, pressing your thighs together. “Of course you are. We are watching two attractive people have sex.” You reason. “And it’s been a long goddamn time since a man made me cum.

Tim frowns, turning his head for a second to look at you before he focuses on the screen again. “It has? How? You’re - Jesus. You’re gorgeous. I always thought you had a secret boyfriend or something and just didn’t tell us.” He admits as the man fucks the woman harder and the screen flashes again. ‘Fuck’ Flashes and almost burns in his retinas as he sees it when he blinks.

You squirm again, wanting to shove your hand into your panties and rub your clit. “No time to date.” You groan. “You know how it is. Long hours. Turbulent cases. I just- have a vibrator.” You hiss when the screen flashes again. “Fuck! Why does it keep telling me to fuck?” You cry.

Tim bites his lip, his gaze flicking between you and the screen. The man flips the woman over to push back inside of her, making her cry out. ‘Fuck’ flashes again and Tim shakes his head, “I don’t - shit - I can’t - I need to-” He surges forward to cup your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours as ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ repeats in his mind over and over again until he no longer controls himself.

It’s such a fucking relief to feel his lips against yours that you let out a small sob. Pulling him closer and pressing your entire body against his as ‘Fuck’ flashes in your mind again and again. Driven by some unseen force that is practically compelling you to touch the other detective. The need for him clawing under your skin like a drug.

His hands slide down to grab your waist, dragging you not his lap as his tongue slides into your mouth. The moans continue on the tv and the word ‘Fuck’ continues flashing in his mind. “Fuck.” He rasps out. “I- I can’t stop. Tell me to stop.” He managed to choke out despite grabbing your hips to drag you down on top of him.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out, rolling your hips down shamelessly to grind against his hard cock. You don’t know why you need him inside you, but you desperately do. “Touch me, Tim.” You beg breathlessly. “Please baby.”

He can’t deny you. He helps you grind down on his cock, his hands sliding up to squeeze your tits through your blouse. “I - shit - I need to - to be inside of you.” He tells you, reaching down to work on unbuttoning your pants and he pushes his hand inside to find you wet and ready for him.

"Fuck." You whimper at the first touch of his thick fingers against your clit. "Yes, need- fuck, I need your cock." You groan out, reaching down around his own hand in your pants to squeeze his cock through his. "Now Tim." You insist.

Tim groans when you squeeze him and he slides his fingers between your folds, groaning at how wet you are. “Fuck. I- stand up. Take your pants off.” He demands, working on his belt buckle and his cock is aching, he’s in pain. The word ‘Fuck’ keeps flashing on the screen as the moans continue to pour out of the tv speakers.

Scrambling to your feet, you nearly fall over in your haste to strip down. Pushing down your pants and kicking them off with your panties, your knees shake in need and you are panting like you've just finished a marathon. "Oh fuck." you turn back around and find Tim with his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously. "Oh shit, let me- I need-" You dive back onto his lap, eager to sink down on his thick, uncut cock.

He grabs your ass as you reach between you to grip his cock and he groans when you start to sink down onto him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” starts to echo on the tv but Tim isn’t paying attention, to obsessed with the way you are sinking onto his cock. You’re so wet and tight and he loses his ability to breathe as you settle into his cock.

The slightly intense, grim detective looks amazing as he moans for you. Feeling his cock scrub against your walls in the best way as he breaks you open. Making your mouth drop open and a loud moan of his name, your arms wrapped around his neck to keep you upright.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiittt.” He hisses in delight, groaning your name as you start to rock on top of him and his hands slide up to work on the buttons of your shirt, wanting to feel every inch of you. The buttons become tiresome so he just rips your blouse, sending buttons flying across the room and he groans when he finally gets access to your tits, pulling them out of your bra so he can duck down and take a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out when his mouth attacks your breasts. Never imagining he would be such a dominant lover. Tearing your shirt off has you clenching down around him and squeezing him tight in your walls. “More.” You beg, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it, pressing him into your breast. “More, baby, fuck.”

He bites down, sucking on your tits, alternating as he groans into your flesh and you whimper, making his cock twitch inside of you. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’ continues on the screen, the moans stopping from the couple as yours replace them, the words on the screen flashing constantly and Tim hisses as he grabs your ass, lifting you up to place you on the sofa so he can fuck into you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine when his cock slips out of you but the second he is driving back into you, your scream rings out. Scratching your nails down his shirt, you wish he was undressed. At least so you could feel his skin under your fingers.

He grunts, leaning down to kiss along your neck. “Imagined this so many fucking times.” He admits shamelessly, “imagined fucking you on my desk. In my bed. In here. In the captain's office. Imagined you a fuck ton. Shit. So tight. Knew you would be.” He rambles, his thrusts deep and slightly frantic as the mantra continues around you.

You moan, unable to believe that he would imagine fucking you. You have never thought he noticed you beyond working together. “Imagined how good you’d feel. How thick you would be.” You confess as he punches deep inside you. “Better that I could have imagined.”

Tim groans, spurred on by your words and the repeated mantra urging him on and he hisses your name as he pushes deep. “Wanna - wanna feel you cum.” He says, reaching down to rub your clit.

You shudder, clenching down around him and digging your nails into his shoulder as you lunge up to bite his chin. “Yes, fuck, fuck me harder.” You beg, driven by this invisible force.

He clenches his jaw, pushing deeper, harder, faster. Sweat beads on his forehead as he kneels on the sofa, lifting your thigh over his hip to get even deeper inside of you, his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You choke out, feeling that familiar polling in the pit of your stomach. Except it’s better than using your toy at home. The nerves screaming in pleasure and you kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” repeats over and over and Tim hisses as he rocks into you, trying to get you to cum. It’s like he needs you to cum like he needs to breathe. “That’s it. Shit. Gettin’ so wet on my cock. Cum for me. Cum for me.” He begs, his cock twitching as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

The harsh, jarring thrusts are everything you need and more. Pushing you closer every time his hips snap forward and if there was ever a question of Tim Rockford’s ability in bed, this answered it. “Gonna baby.” You squeal, not making any sense, but it doesn’t matter. Your orgasm crashes through you and all you can do is cry out wordlessly.

“Yesss. That’s it. Good girl.” Tim hisses as you clamp down around him and he swears he could fuck you all night long just to hear you cry out his name like that. He rocks you through it, his jaw clenching and he releases a deep groan as he buries his cock deep and cums inside of you, painting your walls.

You whine, loving the feeling of his hot cum filling you up. Panting as you try to catch your breath when he drops his head on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” He echoes, his cock still hard inside of you. The mantra is still playing on the tv and it’s wiggled into Tim’s head, making him ache for more. “I need - wanna fuck you from behind.”

You are surprised that he can keep going, but you can’t deny that your body still aches for more. “Yessss.” You hiss, clenching down around him and biting your lip. “Fuck me again. Never stop fucking me.”

Tim groans, pulling out of you and his dark eyes focus on the cum dripping out of you and he watches you shift onto your knees. His fingers wrap around his cock as you position yourself until he’s notching himself at your entrance and pushes into you with a groan.

“Fuck!” You cry out, enjoying the sharp ping of pain when he pushes deep and his cock hits the back of your cervix from this angle. “Jesus how are you single with a dick like that?” You moan.

“The job.” He chuckles, grabbing your hips and he starts to push deep, setting another harsh pace. “Divorced. Father of one. Not exactly - exactly Prince Charming.” He says breathlessly as his cock hits hard against your cervix.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, dropping your head down onto the back of the sofa and rocking your hips back. “Don’t- fuck, don’t stop.” You beg him, barely getting the words out as he slams into you over and over again.

“I can’t.” He says truthfully and he slams into you, over and over. Desperate to hear and feel you cum for him again. “Can’t fucking stop. You’re - shit - this pussy is - fuck. Never wanna pull out.”

Moaning softly, all you can do is clench around him while you take his cock over and over again. Feeling like he's in your guts every time he snaps his hips forward and you want him even deeper. "Don't." you pant over your shoulder. "Just fuck me forever."

Tim nods, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck as he pushes into you over and over again. “I will, baby. Oh I fucking will.” He promises and groans when you clench around him. The tv keeps flashing and he hears ‘Fuck’ in the back of his mind over and over. “Jesus Christ. Never wanna stop.”

Your eyes slip closed. 'Fuck' flashing in your mind over and over again. Like you are possessed by this need to fuck. You moan his name and push your hips back. Needing more. Needing him deeper inside you. It doesn't matter that you've always dreamed of having sex with him, you need more of it. You whine, biting your lip so hard that you almost feel your teeth break the skin. Humming in agreement as you push back more forcefully. Letting his hips slam against your ass hard enough to rock you forward and press your chest against the back of the sofa.

“Good girl. That’s it. Yes. Yes.” Tim grunts, loving how you are pushing back against him. “Keep going. Keep - fuck - need you to cum again.” He pleads, leaning over your body to kiss along your neck, his hand cupping your tit to squeeze and pinch the nipple.

Gasping at the pain, you reach down. Frantically rubbing your clit as he hammers into you from behind. Striking that perfect spot deep inside you. "Gonna cum!" you squeal seconds before you clench down around him.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum. Shit - need you to-” He chokes when you clamp down on his cock and he groans when you soak him, his cock nearly trapped inside of you but he manages to move to work you through it and he’s so close. “Shit. Baby. I- I’m gonna - I gotta - fuuuuuuckkkk.” He growls as he cums for the second time, painting your walls.

Whimpering Tim's name, you relax into the sofa, feeling him coating the inside of your cunt in his seed. Closing your eyes and sighing at the feeling, a small smile on your face. "So good. Feels so good." You moan quietly.

Tim exhales shakily, turning his head to see the screen has gone gray and he pants, leaning in to kiss your neck before he slowly pulls out of you, his cock finally going soft. “Shit.” He hisses and shifts to sit down on the sofa.

You turn slightly, grabbing your ruined shirt to sit down so you don’t leak cum all over the sofa. Other officers use it too. “God.” You pant, flopping back and trying to catch your breath. “That was- holy shit.”

Tim’s chest heaves, the mantra finally leaving his mind and he leans against the sofa after tucking himself away. “I guess…I guess it’s not, uh, it’s not a snuff tape.” He chuckles breathlessly.

"No." You frown slightly, wondering why it was said to be a snuff film when you think you saw both people in the film, alive and exhausted. "I- it was so strange. I kept seeing the word 'Fuck' flash on the screen between the scenes. Did you?"

“Yeah. It’s like - it’s like it burned into my retinas and all I could think of was fucking you and Jesus…I - did you want me to - or have I just-?” He can’t even sound out his thoughts, too horrified at the thought of it being what it could be.

"No!" Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. "I wanted you to." You promise, rushing to reassure him that it was something you had been very enthusiastic to experience. "I needed you too. It was like I had to have you or I was going to go crazy." You admit. "I thought I was pretty good at hiding my feelings."

The detective’s head swivels over to look at you. “You mean you- this wasn’t just the crazy hypnosis snuff video? You - Christ above, sweetheart. You have any fucking idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you…about being inside you…about loving you.” He adds softer than his prior exclamation.

You bite your lip, trying and failing not to grin at his confession. It seems like what could have been something troubling has turned out pretty fucking good. "So, I guess it was a good thing that you watched this with me rather than Robertson." You joke softly.

Tim’s eyes go wide as he turns to look at you, “thank the fucking Lord.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “That video…I don’t know what the fuck that was but we, uh, we gotta report it because this - it might not be so consensual for the next ones that get it and it could be dangerous.” He says, trying to focus on his job again instead of the way your lips look utterly kissable again.

"Who gave you this tape again?" You ask with a frown. "Why would they tell you it's a snuff film when it's.....obviously not?" It is concerning that it was given to a detective, and you wonder if it was meant to cause havoc in the department. Or the crime lab. "Normally this would be examined by the crime lab......not us."

“Yeah. The, uh, you know Greg? He gave it to me. Told me the crime lab didn’t have a working VHS so I’d have to watch it if I wanted to get the evidence from it.” He says and frowns, “he - he kinda knew I had a thing for you. Might’ve mentioned it when he noticed how pissed I’d get when the others talked about you behind your back.”

"Others talk about me?" You frown slightly, although you know shit talking is a part of being a cop. Especially a female detective in a male dominated field. "And Greg told you to watch this...with me?"

“They - they talk about your body. Your ass…what they wanna do to you. I- I try to shut them down. Say it’s disrespectful and yeah…he told me to get the captain to have you assigned to the case and I thought it was just to have your brains on the case…not - not this.” He gestures to the tv.

"Do you think Greg knew what was on the tape?" You ask quietly. reaching out and taking his hand and squeezing it gently for his kindness. For sticking up for you.

Tim looks down at your hands and shakes his head, “I don’t know babe. I- shit. I’m so sorry I put you in this situation. We gotta try and trace this tape back. We can’t let this shit get out.” He says, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I know." You nod as you look over at where the tv is still displaying a gray screen. "Maybe we need to take the video out of the station." You hum. "You know how nosy all these assholes are."

Tim nods, “I can take it home. Hide it.” He says, squeezing your hand again. “And I- I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you sometime.” He adds, staring at the gray screen as he anxiously awaits your answer.

"I don't think we are going to get much work done tonight." You admit. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." You shrug. "I would say let's go to that dinner around the corner, but you ripped my shirt, so how about I make you dinner at my place?"

Tim nods, “how about I meet you at your place and I can pick up some Chinese food. Save you cooking.” He adds, “and then maybe we can talk about what happened when we are clear headed.”

"That sounds good." You agree, standing up and picking up your panties and pants after you tuck your boobs back into your bra. You wonder if he will blow you off, or if he wants to actually meet you at your place.

He knows your order from late nights in the station with everyone. He stands up, adjusting his shirt and he grabs his tie, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry about your shirt. You, uh, want to use my jacket?” He offers, knowing you’ll want your decency when you leave.

"I've got an extra shirt in my desk drawer." You tell him with a grin. "For those all nighters." You know he understands that. Most detectives keep a complete change of clothes in a drawer just in case. "But help me hunt down the buttons?"

Tim nods, kneeling down and he blushes when he sees how far the buttons went. “I was - Jesus. That video made me feral.” He admits and picks up a few buttons. He hands them to you and when you stand there, he gently reaches up to cup your cheek, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to kiss you softly.

You've kissed, but it had been frantic and needy. This is so much more gentle. A real kiss that is not because of that video. "I- thank you." You murmur quietly.

“You deserved better than that for our first time.” He murmurs as he pulls back, “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises as he looks at you. “Lemme grab your shirt from your desk just in case.”

“I don’t know.” You admit as you pull your pants back on. “I think multiple orgasms and being fucked within an inch of my life was a great first time.” You laugh. “Although I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to suck your cock.”

Tim smirks, feeling confident now that you want him again and enjoyed earlier. “Don’t you worry baby. Maybe later…we can explore each other a little more.” He smirks and you giggle. “Let’s get out of here.” He says, walking over to the TV to eject the tape.

“That’s an amazingly suggestive tape.” You hum as you watch him analyze the tape like it might tell him its secrets. “Let’s go, Rockford.” You order with a smirk. “I’m starving and the captain authorized overtime, but I’d rather have our next viewing of the tape be in my bed.”

Tim’s eyes widen, “you wanna - I’d rather have you without watching the tape.” He tells you and you smirk, nodding, “that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He grins and follows you into the bullpen so you can collect your things. “You wanna come in my car or I can follow you?”

You smirk and shrug. "I might as well take my car." You tell him, "since I think that we won't be back in the office until next week." You wink at him. "Might cause some rumors if I leave it here."

Tim nods, willing to follow your lead and he grabs his things as you put the shirt on. “Come on, babe.” He says once you’re ready and he guides you out of the station to your car, glancing around to check out the surroundings like he always does.

You smile at the way that his hand rests on your hip. Protective and possessive. Waiting until you unlock the door to hold it open for you. "I'll meet you at my place?" You ask, glancing over at him. "You remember how to get there?"

He knows where you live, having dropped you off during late night stakeouts and ops. He waits until you’re in your car with the door locked before he makes his way over to his vehicle, quick to leave the parking lot and follow you to your house.

It's a bit nerve wracking, knowing Tim is following you. Excited in a way that you don't understand, you keep watching his car in your rearview mirror.

He grips the steering wheel, a little nervous actually to be going to your place if you are regretting sleeping with him. He calls up the Chinese restaurant to place your orders and he makes his way there. After picking up the food, he makes his way to your place and rings the doorbell with the food in hand.

In the spare time you had while Tim got the food, you had jumped into a quick shower. Bare feet and comfortable clothes are what greets him when he knocks on the door and you open it with a smile. "Hi." You greet him, waving him in. "Do you want a beer? Something stronger?"

Tim chuckles, “tempted to have something stronger but a beer will do. I don’t wanna be on anything around you. Especially after that fucking tape.” The tape is currently hidden in his glove box. “I wanna be sober around you.”

You nod in agreement and lean in to press your lips to his. "A beer it is." You hum, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "I'll get the beers and some plates."

Tim checks your door is locked before he follows you into the kitchen, setting the bag of food down on your counter. “I haven’t been in here since you hosted that party after Samson closed that cold case.”

“Yeah, that’s been awhile.” You open the fridge and grab two beers to open before you turn back to him. “That was right after you and your wife divorced.” You wince slightly. “I’m sorry about that. I know it was rough. I hated that you were under a lot of stress during that time.”

Tom shakes his head as he takes the beer from your hand. “It was over a long time ago. We - we stayed together for our son and - shit. She really gave me hell.” He confesses, “anyway. I, uh, I guess I never really asked about your dating life. Never wanted to know if you had a boyfriend that I could be jealous of.

“No dating life, not when I wanted someone at work.” You confess.

Tim's eyes widen as he absorbs your words before he chuckles, "you mean you were lusting after Jackson?" He teases, knowing the nearly retired old man is not the one you wanted. "I, uh, seriously though...I didn't know. I was a little busy eying you up without being a creepy asshole." He admits, licking his lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried about being creepy.” You smile softly. Despite the fact that you had been junior to him. It’s one of the reasons you respect him, he wouldn’t abuse his authority. Now both of you are equals, so there is no worry about improprieties. “Although now you can eye me up however you want.”

"Well that's good to know." His eyes slowly trail along your body, enjoying the fact that he can unashamedly admire you. "You're so fucking pretty, baby." He says after a moment, his fingers flexing around the beer bottle.

“Do you want to eat and talk, talk or just eat?” You ask, not sure what he wants to do. Despite the fucking that had happened at the station, you still want to touch him, but you know you can’t just act like a horny teenager.

"Let's talk and eat. You need to eat after how I - you know." He clears his throat and blushes a little. "I kinda - I kinda wanna touch you again but only if you want." He adds, suddenly nervous.

“I want to touch you too.” It’s endearing that he had fucked you so hard earlier and now he’s blushing. “If you want, of course.” You smirk slightly as you turn back to the cabinets to get the plates and silverware.

Tim’s eyes drop down to your ass as you get the plates. “Of course I want to.” He scoffs like you asked him a ridiculous question. “Baby, let’s sit down and eat. You need food after I - well, I’m starving.” He admits, taking out the containers after opening the bag.

You hum, dipping out some of the food onto plates and take them over to the small table while Tim carries the beers. “We do need to refill the tanks, so to speak.” You laugh. “I have to admit, I was shocked when you kept fucking me.”

“So was I!” Tim exclaims with wide eyes. “I ain’t eighteen anymore and I- shit - that kind of stamina…not my normal gig I gotta be honest. Usually I cum once and that’s it. I need a nap and a snack before I’m ready to go again.”

“A nap and a snack, huh?” You giggle at that, finding him too cute and you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m normally a ‘once and I’m good’ kind of girl too. But tonight?” You point to his sweet and sour chicken. “Eat your snack baby.”

He grins, liking the way you think and he must admit he’s eager to have you again. He grabs a plate to start serving up his food and he grabs his beer and follows you into the living room after you’ve grabbed your own plate. “You wanna watch something on RV?” You ask and Tim bites his lip, “maybe not the best considering the last thing we watched.”

You snort and nod, biting your lip as the two of you sit down. “So, where do you see this going?” You ask quietly. “Something serious? Causal? I wouldn’t blame you after the divorce.”

Tim sets his plate down on your coffee table, "honestly? I kinda want to date you. I want to take you out for dinner and see where this goes." He admits, "unless you want casual but...I'm not really a casual kind of guy."

“I don’t really like casual either.” You admit, turning towards him after setting your own plate down. “I would have put up with it for you.”

He's taken back at your confession and he smiles, "guess we both suck at casual. I was thinking about asking you out, you know? I just didn't want to be that creepy older guy that asks you on a date and makes it awkward at work when you said no."

“I would have said yes.” You promise, leaning in and touching his hand. “Tonight just….sped up the timeline.” You joke. “And will give us one hell of a first date story.”

Snorting, he nods as he takes a bite of orange chicken as he squeezes your hand with his free one. “Yeah. Maybe we can edit it a little bit.” He teases, “and hopefully you include the detail of me having a big cock.” He jokes, winking at you.

You giggle and your cunt clenches. “Don’t worry. That fact will be repeated with the high praise on how well you use that cock.” You promise. “Don’t think I’ve ever been fucked so well.”

Tim can’t help but grin with pride at your statement and he swears he will make you feel that way if you let him touch you again. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

Both of you finish your meal, chatting about different things, different cases you had been working on. Setting your plate down with a content sigh, you drain the last drops of your beer and look over at Tim. “So, do you want to go back to my bedroom? We could take a nap, or….”

He watches you for a moment, “bedroom…I wanna touch you in a bed. I wanna have my mind be my own when I touch you next.” He says, reaching for your hand to pull you closer so he can lean in and press his lips to yours.

You can agree with that. As much as you needed him back at the station, you want to be in control. This time, your arms go around his neck because you want to keep the kiss going, slowly feeling his mouth out as it starts to deepen.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans into your mouth, loving how you feel as your fingers tangle in his hair. “Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth when you’re a little rougher but he loves it.

You love how his embrace is solid. The steady weight of him beside you makes you shift to straddle him. Settling back into his lap and pressing close, there’s not the urgency of before, but you are learning each other

His hands trail along your body, enjoying how you feel pressed against him, and the kisses are slow, passionate and he loves it. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass and he can’t resist slapping your cheeks before he grabs them again.

“Tim!” You gasp into his mouth and laugh, enjoying the smug smirk on his handsome face. Reaching up, you tangle your fingers back into his hair as you continue to make out. You know how he feels inside, but this is almost more intimate.

He kisses along your jaw, down your neck and bites gently over your pulse. “You’re so Goddamn beautiful. Inside and out. Why you want me, I’ll never know.” He confesses, knowing he’s fucked up but he’s gonna take this opportunity to be with you by the fucking horns and ride it as long as you want him.

“Because you are a good man.” You’ve seen plenty of men who pretend to be good but they are rotten at their core. Tim Rockford is honest, noble. “I want to take you to bed,” you confess softly. “Can you go again, or should we just cuddle?”

Tim nods, "I can go again." He is surprisingly half hard and he rocks up to grind against you, showing you he can be ready. "Let's go to your bedroom." He says, smacking your ass again and you stand up. He stands up after you and takes your outstretched hand as you guide him to your room.

In your bedroom, that’s where your personality shines. The bright, beautiful colors of your bedding and the natural light. The bookshelves are loaded down with novels and the slightly messy open closet door. “Sorry.” You move to close the door. “Didn’t think I would have company today when I left.”

Tim snorts, "this is nothing. You should see my place. It's chaos. My boy leaves his fucking legos on the floor and guess who steps on them in the middle of the night?" Tim asks you, eyebrows raised.

You giggle, imagining him cursing and stumbling over the blocks in the dark. “Ouch.” You wince sympathetically. “I know that hurts.”

"It does." He tells you with wide eyes, glancing around your room before he exhales softly and steps closer to you. He reaches up to cup your cheek, "I really do think you're beautiful." He murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Can I eat you out?" He asks, curious if you'll be happy for him to do that.

It’s your turn to be surprised by the request. “I- yes.” You sputter. “It’s- are you sure? You want to do that? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we- you came inside me.”

Tim snorts, “I put it there. I’m sure I can clean up my mess.” He says and smirks at you, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get naked. I wanna see all of you. Wanna taste every inch of you. Take my time.”

“It’ll be nice seeing you this time.” You admit with a grin, letting him pull your shirt over your head and reaching for the buttons of his collared shirt. “Never had a boyfriend who would go down on me after sex.” You admit with a giggle.

Tim lets you push his shirt off of his shoulders and he’s a little self conscious. He’s not toned. He’s strong but he’s not abs and no body fat. He likes his food and he doesn’t tend to have a lot of time to exercise. He flusters slightly when you run your fingers down his chest.

“Sexy,” you coo softly, wanting to touch and kiss every inch of him. You knew that you were attracted to Tim, but your cunt is dripping at the sight of his chest and he hasn’t even removed his pants yet. “So fucking sexy.”

“You are.” He hums with a smirk and he reaches for your bra, unclasping it to pull it down your arms before he flings it across the room. “Baby. Fuck. You’re so sexy.” He murmurs and reaches up to cup your tits, squeezing them. “Great tits.”

You laugh, amused at the awe-filled look on his face as he palms your tits. As if he can't believe that he is touching them. "You've got a great cock." You hum, reaching down and cupping him. "Feels good. I want to see how it feels in my mouth instead of my pussy."

Tim groans at your filthy words. "Shit baby. You - you are fucking incredible." He compliments you as he gropes your tits. "Wanna - wanna make you cum. How do you wanna cum?" He asks, curious and eager.

You whine, eyes closing at the feeling of his hands on your body and the promise in his words. Anything you want is yours it seems. “I want you to eat me out.” You admit breathlessly. If his head game is good, this man is the complete package.

"Fuck. Take your pants off." He demands, his cock aching in his pants and he decides to push them down after unbuckling his belt. His boxers soon follow after he kicks off his shoes while you strip down to nothing. "Shit. So fucking gorgeous. Lay down." He demands again, the edge in his voice is raspy but commanding.

You shiver, laying down and wondering why it’s so sexy that he is taking control. You watch him, greedy as your eyes roam over his nude body. “Come here.” You beg, wanting him to touch you.

He shifts to kneel on the bed, his hands trailing along your thighs until he's pushing your legs open so he can take in the sight of your cunt. "Fuck, I-" He can't say another word as he surges forward to bury his face in your cum slick folds.

Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair. Closing your eyes, you enjoy how eagerly his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s magical, breath stealing as he devours you. Making you so glad that you had invited him home.

He groans into your flesh, loving how you taste, and he hisses when you tug on his hair in a way that makes his cock twitch against your sheets. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you spread open so he can devour you.

Tim isn’t proper when he is eating you out. He’s messy, ravenous. The sexy little grunts and sighs as he takes you apart with every flick of his tongue has you moaning his name, rolling your hips down to meet his eager tongue.

"Fuck. You taste-" He groans as he pulls back for a second before he surges forward to bury his face in your folds again. He loves the tangy taste of your arousal and the salt of his cum. He doesn't give a shit about tasting his own essence on your flesh and he laps at your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, baby.” You moan, rolling your hips again and whimpering his name once more when he tightens his grip on you.

He shifts, letting go of your flesh so he can push two thick digits inside of you. Calloused from holding a pen all the damn time and he curls them before he resumes sucking on your clit like a candy.

“Shit.” You hiss, shuddering and your breath catching at the curl of his fingers deep inside of you. Pressing perfectly against that magical place that makes you squeal out his name when he presses again.

He groans your name, “that’s it baby. That’s it.” He mumbles into your cunt when your walls flutter around his fingers, pressing against that spot over and over again. “Cum for me.” He demands before he resumes sucking your clit.

It doesn’t take you long. Only a few more minutes before he is pulling you apart. Your nerves fraying and your entire body bursting with pleasure when you start to come apart. Crying out his name and flooding his mouth with your cum.

Tim eagerly laps up every drop. He pumps his fingers into you, loving how you moan and writhe under his mouth. He caresses your thigh as he works you through it until he feels you relax, practically melt into your mattress.

You whimper, letting go of his hair and trying to drag him up to you for a kiss. Desperate to give him the same kind of pleasure that he had just given you.

His lips meet yours and he slowly withdraws his fingers, enjoying the way you slide your tongue against his and his wet digits grip your thigh. “Wanna be inside of you again.” He murmurs between kisses he presses to your jaw, needing to hear you say you want him again.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly. You’ve imagined it so many times but if he would rather fuck you, you are all for it. “I will always want you inside me.”

Tim bites his lip as you lay under him. “I kinda want you to suck my cock. Then I want to fuck you.” He decides and you giggle, pushing on his chest. He obediently shifts to lay down, his hard cock resting on his stomach and you move onto your knees.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a slow squeeze. “Imagined myself on my knees for you so many times.” You admit. “Even wondered if I could fit under your desk.” That makes you giggle again, imagine having his cock down your throat while he types up a report. “Now I get to taste you.” Lowering your head, you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, tongue pressing against the bead of pre-cum.

“Oh fuck.” Tim hisses when you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock. “Baby. You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs, unable to close his eyes, wanting to see every second of this and burn it into his memory.

You preen under his praise, taking him deeper and wanting to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had in his entire fucking life. Holding onto his hip while you take him down to the back of your throat and swallowing around him.

“Jesus.” Tim hisses as you swallow around him, your jaw almost unhinged as you take him deeper and your eyes are watering. “Fuck, sweetheart. Look so good.” He murmurs, reaching down to caress your cheek, enjoying the feel of his cock pressing against your cheek.

You hum, letting it vibrate through him with a grin. Enjoying the feeling of his hand on your cheek while you concentrate on not choking. You want to take him deeper, to wrap your lips around the base and you slide your fingers out from around the base to hold onto his hips.

“Oh oh oh shittt.” He hisses before he pants, his cock twitching down your throat as your nose brushes the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Baby. Baby. Shit. You gotta - I can’t - it’s too much.” He admits and grabs the back of your neck, trying to pull you off of his length.

You lift off of him with a gasp of air. “You don’t want to-“ you bite your lip but Tim shakes his head. “Want to be inside you.” He reminds you, rolling your body under his again and your legs fall open to brace on either side of his hips.

He’s slower this time. Hovering over you, he reaches down to grip his cock and he positions himself at your entrance. He pushes into you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he braces his hand on the side of your head.

This time, he slides into you an inch at a time. Slow enough that you swear you feel his heartbeat fluttering against your pussy walls. Letting you moan softly and wrap your legs around his back, heels pressed into his tiny ass as you enjoy being split open by him again.

He exhales shakily once he’s fully inside of you. Groaning your name as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Fucking perfect.” He murmurs, cock twitching when you clench around him. “Gonna take our time. Want you to cum again for me.”

As frantic as the time in the station was, this is equally as slow. More like love making than anything else as Tim slowly pushes and drags his cock in and out of your walls. It's a good thing, since you are a little sore from earlier, but you wouldn't have him stop for anything in the world as you two kiss.

His lips press against yours over and over again, his weight shifting onto his forearms so he can press his body against yours. Your heels dig into his ass, pushing him impossibly deeper with every thrust into you and he swears he could stay like this forever.

You moan his name, holding him tight as you move with him. Wanting to be as close as you can get without crawling up inside his skin. “Fuck.” You whimper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he grinds down into you. It’s intense and totally consuming in the best possible way as he builds you back up.

"So fucking beautiful. So fucking smart. Too good for me. Too fucking good for me." He murmurs as he kisses along your neck while he rocks into you, his hand reaching back to lift your thigh higher so he can grind even deeper into you.

“Why?” You gasp out, unable to comprehend why he would think you’re too good for him. “Handsome, smart, sexy, capable.” You groan, clenching around him. “You’re a fucking catch.”

Tim chuckles against your neck. “I fucking - I got more baggage than a Goddamn airport, baby girl. I gotta - I have an ex wife and a son. It’s not - most women don’t wanna get involved in the drama.” He explains breathlessly as he rocks into you.

“No drama.” You moan, tightening your legs around him. “Mileage.” You tease playfully. Despite having an ex-wife, you know that he’s a good man, not a perfect one - but a good man. His son, well, he would be part of the deal and you couldn’t imagine thinking otherwise.

“Mileage.” He repeats with a chuckle. “Like an old corvette.” He jokes and slides his hands under you, getting even closer to you. His hips rock against yours a little faster, wanting to feel you cum around him.

“Classics are still fucking sexy.” You whimper when he hits deep inside you, striking the perfect angle. “There, fuck, right there Tim.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He frowns, concentrating on that spot to make you cum. He pushes into you a little faster, not changing the angle of his hips and he watches your brow furrow and your mouth fall open. “Shit baby. Look so good.” He murmurs, “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling the tension nearly snap the next time his hips rocket forward. Almost cumming right then. You just need one more thrust. Your body lurches when he pulls back, lifting up to meet him, and you squeal his name when he thrusts back into you, making stars erupt behind your eyes.

“Shit.” Tim hisses when you clamp down on his cock. “That’s it baby. Shit. So tight.” He pants, loving how wet you feel around him as your nails dig into his back. He works you through it, slow and deep despite the vice grip on his cock, and he kisses slowly along your neck.

“So good.” You whimper, panting for breath as you come down from your high. “Want you to cum.” You murmur softly. “Fill me up again.”

Tim clenches his jaw, his pace picking up a little more as you tell him to cum. He pants, rocking into you harder and faster, practically folding your body in half as he seeks his own high until he chokes, his body coming to a halt as his cock twitches. His hot cum paints your walls and he hisses your name as he rides his orgasm.

He’s fucking gorgeous when he cums. His eyes are closed, jaw slack with pleasure as he pumps you full of cum. Groaning and twitching deep inside of you, making you moan again. “Fuck baby.” You coo, caressing his neck and cheek. “Amazing.”

He exhales heavily as he relaxes. His lips meet yours as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss is slow, his tongue caressing yours, and he enjoys being inside of you.

You let the kiss linger, not in any rush to pull away and you don’t drop your legs from around him until your breathing has calmed down.

Tim nudges his nose against yours, shifting onto his side with you while he's still inside of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. "So I should definitely take you on an actual date." He says, his dark eyes on you.

“Maybe.” You smile as you answer him, leaning up for another kiss. “Maybe a romantic crime scene. We can flirt over evidence markers.”

Tim chuckles, “we do that anyway. But I mean, an actual dinner. Wanna take you out. Wine and dine you. What do the kids say nowadays?” He teases, nudging his nose against yours. “Well, they say Netflix and Chill.” Tim snorts, “pretty sure we already did that. Snuff Tape and Fuck.” He jokes before his face gets serious, “dinner. Wanna treat you right.”

“That sounds good to me, detective.” You murmur with a smile. While you don’t know why the film came to be in your possession or who had made it, you’re sure that you’ll figure it out. After all, Tim Rockford is a legend on the police force, solving cases and in this case, putting this one to bed.

#pedro pascal #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford imagine #merge mansion

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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Q: You are able to live in the universe of one of your fics, which one would you pick? And who would your soulmate be?

Honestly??? I'm partial to Pero. I like a grumpy asshole. 😂. Or Dave. as weird as that might sound.

If I could live in a universe of one of my fics? Hmmmmm. I would probably want to live in the Wish You Were Here universe. Who doesn't want a hot superhero husband???? Agree @wardenparker???

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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Hello for your AMA

Do you have a favourite fan fic trope, as a reader and as a writer?

Probably miscommunication? I love when they get their feelings on their shoulders and don't talk or think rationally. Or make assumptions. It's very on point for reality sometimes.

Both as a writer and a reader, I love having a little angst in a story. Although I know sometimes @wardenparker frets because we must have happy endings. (I completely agree most of the time 😂)

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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Beauts 💅🏽

#pedro pascal

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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Weekly Writing Round Up: April 14th - 20th 2024

Fics:

One Night in St. John's {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

#pedro pascal #weekly writing round up #the mandalorian #pero tovar #agent whiskey #marcus moreno #dieter bravo #max phillips #dave york #frankie Morales #marcus pike #oberyn martell #ezra prospect #javier peña #javi gutierrez #tim rockford #joel miller #max lord #zach wellison

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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can somebody help me I totally forgot the name of a Din fic.I think it was an age gap story (series) and he was a sugar daddy while she worked as a tailor (I guess). Then she becomes his sugar baby but I can’t remember the rest. The last time a read a chapter was probably around summer 2022.Do you remember the name??😭😭

Anyone?

EDIT:

I believe @dincrypt is back!!!!

Everything & More on AO3

Thank you @toobusyshrimping !!!!!

#find a fic

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absurdthirst · 6 days

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WardenThirst Writing AMA!

Good morning darlings 🧡✨

My apologies for the slight interruptions in the post schedule for Hummingbird Has Landed, but @absurdthirst and I thought it might be fun to open up a little session of Ask Me Anything on this lovely Sunday.

So ask us anything! Questions about characters, inspirations, settings, plots, or anything else are fair game. And not just about our soulmate stories!

The only rules are that this is not a request for prompts, and it is meant to be a positive experience for all! Because of that, we won’t be answering anything that could contain spoilers. (And I know someone is going to ask, so yes, The King’s Queen is still on hiatus. It is *not* abandoned.)

Let’s enjoy a Sunday together, lovelies!

#writing ama #wardenthirst

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absurdthirst · 8 days

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A Night to Remember, part 1

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: This story is told with flashbacks! Age gap (reader's age is not stated but she is probably 19-21ish), period misogyny/gender roles, socioeconomic topics, mention of deceased spouse, deeply naïve/innocent reader, domestic abuse mention (passing), threat of self harm (passing), Gilded Age "society" comes with its own warning, food/alcohol mentions. Summary: Separated from the man you love by parents who don't approve, you have spent the last two years touring Europe with your aunt and uncle. At long last your father has sent word that you are allowed to come home, and purchased passage for all three of you aboard a brand new ship: the RMS Titanic. But for as beautiful as the ship is, your only thoughts are still of Jack. Notes: The anniversary of the Titanic's sinking gave us a little inspiration this year. Please enjoy a little period romance Jack because we can never have enough of this cowboy.

Ignoring the bustling around him, Jack sweeps his hat off his head at the familiar scrolling handwriting. He would damn near know it better than his own scrawl, having re-read the few letters you had exchanged with him. He wonders, fingers brushing over the dried ink, if you had managed to hide his letters away or if your parents had destroyed them when they had whisked you off to Europe and away from him.

Mr. Jack Daniels Care of Belmont Park Elmont, NY 11003

The return address is just as clear, that looping penmanship so indicative of well-bred young ladies tweaked by your own fierce passion in writing the letter. It reads Venice, Italy. A palazzo is named specifically. The name of an estate rather than a building number, but the envelope has held. A journey halfway across the world and yet it has reached him.

Murmuring your name, Jack Daniels, Kentucky born and bred, lifts the envelope to his nose and inhales. Hoping to catch the scent of your rose perfume that had always made his heart race from the first time he had met you, nearly three years ago. Disappointed to find it just smelled like parchment, he brings the envelope down and flicks his thumb under the wax seal, his stomach twisting in anticipation of what you might say.

Darling Jack, I oughtn’t to call you that anymore, but some things simply do not change. My heart, it seems, is one of them. I beg you to forgive the impertinence of so short a letter after so long, but I find myself speaking to you each day without fail and just once I wished beyond wishing that I might have a reply from you to read with my own eyes. I haven't forgotten you, though I am sure you have long moved on. I wish you joy. I wish that we would run away together and live our lives without guilt. That you would come to Venice and take me away from the thoughtless, devotionless existence that has plagued my last two years without you. I have never been happier than lying in your arms in your cottage on Long Island, darling. They were the very best times of my life, though you will chuckle at that and remind me that I am young. May your dreams come true, Jack. All of them, without exception or rule. May you have happiness with whatever life and love you have chosen. My heart remains— Ever yours, Sugar

Eyes closing, Jack pulls the letter closer, kissing the sign off that is his nickname for you. It’s dated. March 12th. Just shy of a month to get from Italy to his waiting hand. Opening his eyes, Jack turns around to rush into his small cottage, needing to pack and hurry to the port. Hopefully there will be a ship leaving today.

******

The letter was sent in secret. You had walked it to the post yourself while your aunt was out shopping and your uncle having his habitual afternoon nap. But just days later at supper, there was news that you never could have predicted simply tipped into your lap like your mother's nervous little dog when she tired of carrying the thing.

“We will be leaving for London in three days.” Your aunt informs you with a pleased smile. “Your father has secured us tickets home on the most modern cruise liner.”

The stricken look of shock on your face could never have been false. Your fork almost fell from your hand as your jaw dropped open and eyes widened with it. "Home?" You ask, heart leaping in your chest at the word. When your father – her brother – had announced that you were being sent to holiday with your aunt and uncle for unknown years in Europe you had given up hope of actually being able to come home to New York ever again.

“Yes.” Her eyes sparkle and she shifts in her seat with excitement. “We will be doing some shopping and filling out your wardrobe before we leave.” She promises. “Your parents have arranged a proper suitor for you.”

The excitement rising in your blood plummets immediately, turning your stomach and making your body into iron with the heaviness of dread. "Arranged a suitor or arranged a marriage?" You ask dryly, choking on tears as you reach for your wine.

“A suitor with a proposal coming soon.” She shrugs slightly. “Apparently he is very invested in your father’s business and is smitten by your photographs.”

“So he thinks I’m pretty and wants Father’s money.” Having lost your appetite, you push your plate away and set down your fork with resolute determination. “And if he decides he likes my face better than my manner, I suppose he will simply beat me someplace that can be covered by my gown?”

“Why do you always insist that any proper husband would treat you poorly?” Her once happy smile turns into a firm frown and she sets her fork down. “Is this still about that man?”

“It’s about the fact that half the girls I came out with got married off to men who were good business partners to their fathers but awful, hurtful husbands to them. And their opinions should have been what mattered!” In an instant your napkin is out of your lap and slapped down on the table along with your discarded fork. “But now that you mention him, Auntie? No. Jack never raised a finger to me even when I angered him.”

“Go to your room.” Your aunt’s voice is quiet, but there is extreme displeasure lacing her words. “You seem to be tired.”

“Exhausted.” The command could not be more welcome, and you shove back from the table before a footman can scurry forward to help you. “If I simply lose my delicate balance and topple out a third story window rather than marry whatever monster that Father has hand-selected, please blame it on my drowsiness.”

“That is enough.” Your uncle is a quiet man, letting your aunt normally handle the outbursts that had become lesser of late. Now he stares at you with a disappointed expression. While his thoughts on what should be done with you are his own, your father would never agree to it, it is not his place to interfere. “Your father would not arrange an evil man to have your hand.” He reminds you. “He wants you to be safe, provided for.”

“But he has no regard whatsoever for my happiness,” you remind your uncle, biting back anything more you might wish to say and sweeping out of the dining room to run for the stairs — regardless of how unladylike it might be to anyone who sees you.

Your aunt sighs, closing her eyes and wishing that she hadn’t said anything. You would have gone along happily and now you are going to make the trip miserable. “Don’t worry dear.” Your uncle reaches over and takes her hand gently to squeeze it. “She will understand once she has met the man.”

“I dearly hope so.” Your aunt agrees with a frustrated sigh.

“She thinks she’s in love.” He squeezes her hand again. “Remember when you thought you wouldn’t be able to marry me?”

“I would have burned down half of New York to get to you.” It sounds nicely dramatic, but it never would have been necessary. Their match was controversial only for a brief moment when her mother investigated his family’s financial holdings and given a thorough clearing within weeks. “But she is…a wilder thing than we were.”

“Which means she will settle down when she figures out the man her father has in mind is actually a good one.” He hopes that is the case, anyway. “That Daniels man was her first love.” He still thinks there was nothing wrong with the match, but he wasn’t your father.

"He was unsuitable." She sniffs, having fully agreed with her brother and her sister-in-law on that point. The horse breeder – or whatever he was – is beneath her family in every way that matters. "Almost all first lusts are unsuitable." As your aunt, and as a woman who considers herself knowledgeable in such matters, she refuses to believe you were actually in love with the man. "That is part of growing up. And it is well past time that that girl grew up."

Sighing softly, your uncle doesn’t comment, understanding they have different opinions on the matter. They had never been blessed with children, so he can concede that he might feel differently if he was your father. “Finish eating, dear.” He urges with a smile. “We will have a sherry afterwards.”

******

The shopping is...agonizing. Why one person needs so many gowns is beyond your understanding despite having been raised in society. It simply should not be a sin to wear something more than once, but your protests fall on entirely deaf ears. From shop to shop, you are dragged from Venice to Paris and then from Paris on to London. Days upon days of traveling, shut up in a little room with your aunt as she chatters away and your uncle is allowed the mercy of being elsewhere. A truly unfair advantage paid to him by virtue of being male.

“You will love it.” The excitement of the upcoming trip spills over into afternoon tea and she smiles broadly as they set the tea service down in between you. “We have second class tickets because that is all that was available, although from what I’ve heard, the Titanic’s accommodations are so luxurious, we won’t notice.”

As long as there is more room to move than in this damnable train, you could not care any less. "Second class still seems fine enough. You could roll me into a trundle with the rats in steerage and I would simply be glad to be going home." Thinking of the letter than you wrote to Jack – how silly it was, how he likely threw it into the fireplace without even opening it, or gave it to his new wife to burn, an even more sickening thought – the best that you are able to do right now is stare at your tea instead of drinking it. "How long will it take to get from London to Southampton?"

“Only a few hours.” She assures you with a smile. “We have a hotel room, and tomorrow, we board the ship. It’s the maiden voyage.”

"I know, Auntie." It's all you can do to keep from rolling your eyes. She's like an absurd peacock showing her feathers to anyone who will listen. "All the world knows it is Titanic's maiden voyage."

She huffs slightly and reaches for the sugar cubes. “You could be a little excited.” She complains. “You act like you are being tortured. Shopping, traveling, all things you wouldn’t be able to do if not for your father’s hard work and savvy business dealings.”

"Father inherited his business from Grandfather, and married a woman whose own grandfather also made scads of money." In your lap, your fingers twist around each other. Over and over and over again. "I am excited to go home again. The size of the ship does not matter, or how splendidly dressed the passengers will be on board."

Your aunt sighs in exasperation and presses her lips together. You are so ungrateful for the life you have. Instead of continuing the conversation, she pours the tea into her cup and stirs it gently.

There is a long pause of relative quiet but for your aunt making the most noise possible stirring her tea, and you nearly growl at the racket but know better. "Auntie..." Carefully and with a measured tone in your voice, you raise your head and try not to shake with the rage you truly feel. "Has Father written you about the man he...procured?"

The spoon pauses in raising her cup and she looks up at you for a moment before looking back down at her tea again. “He has.”

"Might I...hear something of him?" Pretending to be interested will go a very long way toward soothing your aunt's temper and scowling lectures, but it will also allow you to gauge precisely how much trouble you will be in when you arrive home. If you might be able to simply interfere in the arrangement or if you will have to pack up a bag and sell your jewelry to buy train passage as far west as possible.

She lifts a brow and contemplates making you wait for the actual meeting, but despite butting heads with you, she loves you. “He’s not older, actually quite young.” She admits. “Attended Oxford and has already caused quite a stir amongst the reputable businessmen.” She shrugs slightly. “He has attended the opera with your parents several times and has his own box seats he enjoys it so much.”

Written out on paper, it does not seem an unreasonable description, which only makes you more skeptical. The sort of young men your father approves of are the ones who remind him of himself – arrogant and rude know-it-alls most of the time. "What sort of business is he in?" You ask, delicately prodding for details with appropriate inquiries.

“Shipping.” Your aunt answers. “He apparently has been looking to expand his interests and was looking to invest in the motorized carriages.”

"How very modern." Not what you were expecting, but still not anything that insights a passionate reaction from you. It sounds like the life of a man who lives in his office and considers his wife and children to be an obligation rather than a joy. "And he studied at Oxford?"

“He did.” She picks up her tea and takes a demure sip before setting it down and picking up a small sandwich from the tiered display. “Your father wrote that he is well spoken, and surprisingly progressive in his views.” She glances at you. “He supports the women’s suffrage movement.”

“Very modern, indeed,” you say again, trying not to mumble or roll your eyes. It is a social coup for a man to support women’s suffrage, but in your opinion that is more a failing of the injustice between sexes rather than a glowing report of a fair-minded young man. There is no real, logical reason not to give women the right to vote except that the precious temperaments of fragile men will feel less special for having to share the right. Women are every ounce as human as men and every bit as intelligent. “No doubt he saw with his own eyes the cruelty that women protestors were subjected to in England.” Whether or not it moved him is another question, and one you doubt.

Your aunt suppresses another sigh and falls silent, deciding it is better to eat her sandwich than to engage. Your tone, whether or not you realize it, is sarcastic. Plenty of women would be overjoyed to have their father match them with someone who has promised more freedoms than most husbands. It also seems as if your mother has failed to impress than women have influenced their husbands and taken control of their situation behind the scenes through subtlety for generations.

A train ride in agonizing silence will be your punishment for not being able to bite your tongue, but you have never been good at pretending to be something or someone you are not. Years ago— in the shining light of a future that was wide open — it was even something that had been admired about you.

******

Race day. A day that always spikes Jack’s blood with the thrill of a prospective success. Years of training, generations of breeding, have brought about this moment and he is darn near giddy to experience it. The tracks are different from the ones in Kentucky, so the jockey had been putting Brutus through the paces vigorously so the horse will follow his commands when the gun goes off.

You oughtn’t to have wandered away from the others. You know that. But if you had to hear your father and brother congratulate themselves on being ever so clever about their most recent business deal even one more time, you might scream. Wandering down to the stables to see the horses before the races seemed harmless enough, and the sugar cubes in your pocket stolen from the tea table in your family’s box will be a lovely treat for them.

Jack’s eyes narrow when he sees a pretty girl hold out her hand to a horse, his horse. “Hey.” He strides towards the stalls that holds his racers, he doesn’t immediately think of foul play, but he can’t be too cautious. “What are you feeding him?”

“It’s just sugar.” Though you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of a gentleman’s disapproval, you are old enough to know it would be his own folly to hurt you and young enough to believe that that is enough to stop any man and make him a gentleman. “A sugar cube from the tea tray. Nothing more. This sweet angel nudged my pocket. He must have smelt them.”

At the sweet tone of your voice, Jack relaxes. His shoulders rolling down and he slows his pace so he doesn’t seem as aggressive. “Sugar.” He hums, a smirk on his face when he sees how pretty you are. “That seems appropriate. Brutus likes sweet things.” He tells you. “Forgive my harsh approach, I’ve had someone feed a horse some molded oats right before a race.”

“How awful!” And how incredibly unfair, you think, turning back to the beautiful racehorse in his stall. To be sickened over someone else’s concerns when he did nothing wrong? Despicable. “There is nothing to forgive, sir. You were doing your duty in protecting this angel.”

Jack grins as he watches you coo over the beast. Sugar is a very apt description for gorgeous creature in front of him. “Jackson Daniels, sugar.” He introduces himself with tip of the Stetson he still prefers over the more fashionable options. “Jack to all my friends, which I hope to count you amongst.”

When you fluster and give him your name with a small curtsy, the most curious warming feeling in the world overtakes you from toes to nose. Like you have just been wrapped in a blanket of warm embers in the already considerable June heat. “Charmed, Mr. Daniels. That is—Jack.”

Reaching out, Jack pats Brutus’s neck as he watches you demure politely. “No need for that, sugar.” He hums, offering his other hand. “Handshake’ll do me just fine.” It’s rare for a handshake to be offered to a woman in New York, he’s discovered. Most not used to his respect.

It might be the first time you have ever been offered a handshake from someone other than family, and certainly not with such an outstretched and sure palm. Like he is ready to shake your entire arm off. Still, there is an element of curiosity in you, and coupled with the boldness of youth it means that you reach out your gloved hand and set it in his with feigned confidence. "I don't believe I have ever seen you here before, Mr.–" You catch yourself again. "Jack."

Jack grins wider when you correct yourself and winks at you, shaking your hand firmly. “Just came up.” He admits. “My horse farm is in Kentucky, but I decided the races up here needed good horses to run.”

"Do we not have good horses here in New York?" Judging by the sleek coat on Brutus before her and his friendliness in begging for attention, perhaps Kentucky horses are superior. At least for being friendly beauties, and you give him the gentle strokes of his coat that he begs for without hesitation.

“They’ve been bred with inferior European horses too much.” Jack snorts. “Saw one that a man swore was pure Arabian and there wasn’t a drop of that blood in that colt.”

“You can tell just from looking?” Of course different breeds of horses have different appearances, just like dogs. But it must require an exceptional eye to tell from sight alone.

Jack chuckles slightly and shakes his head. “It was a horse that I had declined to buy less than three weeks earlier. I knew the breeder. He had bred him off a quarter horse and a highland pony.”

“How terribly untrustworthy of the man to lie to his customers.” It earns a shake of your own head, but a far less amused and dismissive one. “He ought to be reported to the authorities for such fraudulence.”

“The man who had tried to sell him to me, had bought him, knowing what he was and forges papers on the horse.” He huffs. “I just made sure that people know how he does business.”

“Then I think you must be a very good man.” Your hand stops moving on the bridge of the horse’s nose, and you avert your gaze for just a second to avoid looking this man in the eyes too long and finding yourself entranced.

“Try to be.” Jack admits, bracing his hands on his hips and wondering what a pretty thing like you is doing unattended. “Don’t always succeed, but I tell myself tomorrow is another day.” He chuckles.

“We must strive to be better tomorrow than we are today.” It was something your governess had instilled in you from a young age, though you deeply suspect that no such advice was given to your brother as a boy. “I agree entirely.”

“Are you here to watch the race today, sugar?” Jack asks, knowing your name, he’s already memorized that but he likes the way your eyes sparkle when he calls you sugar.

“My brother is parading his new fiancée around for all of society to fawn over her.” The heiress that had been hand selected by your parents and presented to your brother at your coming out ball last season is pretty, rich, and dim — all the things that are apparently required in a wife.

“I can only assume you do not approve?” His brow ticks up, amused and surprised to hear a younger lady speak so candidly. It’s refreshing, if he is honest.

“I do not approve of treating a woman like a trophy.” In point of fact, this man might be the very first person to ask your opinion on anything beyond the arrangement of flowers or the cut of a dress. The naked fact of that nearly makes you startle as you answer him. “I do disapprove of her, though I wish we had more in common and that she perhaps liked to read more.” You punch your eyes shut, the warmth of embarrassment high in your cheeks, and look away again. He is smirking at you and it is making you feel….most unusual. “Forgive me. I—I have spoken out of turn.”

“Au Contraire, Mon Chérie.” Jack tsks, shaking his head. “You might be the first woman I’ve met in society that gives me more than what she thinks I want to hear.” He tells you. “It’s refreshing.”

“The follies of youth,” you breathe on a wry chuckle. “My mother says I am too young to know better, but that seems dismissive to me.”

Jack snorts, dragging his eyes and up and down your very prim dress and shakes his head. “You look old enough to me, sugar.” He promises. “You’ve just got spirit.”

“I am old enough.” Old enough to take spirit as a compliment and to feel your cheeks turn to fire over it. “But it is nice to be asked my own opinion for once.”

“I’ve found that most women are smarter and more cunning than the best businessmen ever dream of being.” Jack chuckles. “My own dear momma a formidable foe. One that I couldn’t blame my father for not wanting to cross. He listened to her advice and was better for it.”

“The idea of a man actually listening to his wife’s advice would have him laughed out of my father’s house,” you admit with a frown.

“Then your father is losing out on valuable advice.” He shrugs slightly and reaches out to stroke the stallion’s neck. “Isn’t that right, Brutus?”

The horse nickers happily and nudges your hand before lowering his head and nosing your pocket again. “I have more sugar,” you admit, your smile turning slightly guilty. “Would you mind terribly if I gave it to him. I would have asked before but I did not see you.”

He chuckles softly and nods his permission. “Never been envious of a horse before.” He drawls.

It takes a second to understand his meaning, but when you do you feel as though not just your face is on fire — but your entire self has been set alight with a keen sense of pleasure. “Do you…have a particular sweet tooth?”

“Insatiable.” Jack leans in, a charming smirk on his face, sensing that you are not so innocent, despite your genteel upbringing, that you won’t get the double entendre.

You swallow thickly, half disbelieving that you even asked the question but now shivering under the implication of his answer. Men are hungry. You have been told that before. But seeing it before you is less fearsome than it is alluring.

He doesn’t say anything else on the matter, he looks back at the horse affectionately. “He’s waiting on his sugar, sugar.”

"Oh—I—of course." Pulling off one glove and reaching into your pocket so quickly that you pull the fabric of your dress in the process, you produce two sugar cubes from your pocket and place them in your flattened palm for Brutus to claim his treats.

Brutus greedily gobbles them up, his tongue lapping at your palm and Jack whistles out a small sound. “Damn jealous of a horse.” He snorts to himself in amusement as you giggle at the way the whiskers on his muzzle tickles you.

"And you are not shy to say so." At your full height, with your shoulders back and your head up, the grin on your face looks positively bold. About as bold as the erratic beating of your heart as you take in the exceptionally handsome man before you. "I'm not sure if that is exceedingly bold or if I should be flattered."

“Perhaps a bit of both.” Jack offers, grinning broadly at your moxie and stepping closer to you. “Would you like—”

“There you are!”

"Father!" Your hand had still be outstretched to let Brutus lick the last remnants of sugar from your palm, but you jump at the sound of his voice and clasp both hands behind your back like a soldier standing at attention.

“You know you shouldn’t run off.” He huffs, walking towards you and his eyes assess and dismiss the cowboy beside you. Obviously one of the stable hands.

"I wished to visit the horses before the race," you explain, although that should be fairly obvious given where you are. As far as your father knows, riding horses is one of you truest joys in the world, so it should not surprise him too terribly. What he does not understand is that you typically ride in order to be left alone as much as for the freedom.

“We must get to our seats before the race begins.” He lectures, and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to hand to you. “Come along.”

"Of course." Brutus gets one more pat to his elegant nose before you accept your father's handkerchief and dab away the moisture of the horse's licks from your skin. The last is to carefully replace your glove, and then you offer the terribly handsome man in his Stetson a short bob of a curtsy. "Thank you very much for allowing me to visit with Brutus, Mr. Daniels. And best of luck to you in the race."

Your father turns his head when he hears the man’s name, having heard of his reputation of turning out fine stallions. He might have to come back and talk to the man if the race went his way. For now, he nods stiffly and turns to walk out of the stabled sure that you will follow. There is no choice but to follow. Not for you. But for one moment before you turn to go, the smile you have for Jack Daniels is beaming.

******

“I don’t care what you’ve got, I’ll take it.” Jack had finally pushed his way to the little counter, his bag slung over his shoulder. The good thing about being ‘less of a gentleman’ like your father had accused him of when he had come to ask for your hand, was that he could travel light. He didn’t need steamer trunks and hat boxes. He had hightailed it to the port and was standing in front of the Cunard desks, demanding a ticket. “Anything that leaves today? Tomorrow? I have to get to Europe. Italy.”

"We have nothing bound for Italy this week, sir." The honorific might be said, but the young lady at the ticket desk just huffs at him in her thick Brooklyn accent. "The only ship left for the day makes its final dock in Fiume." When he doesn't react, she tilts her head and taps her pencil on the desk. "Austria-Hungary. You can take a train back to Italy when you dock."

“You have a room? A hammock? Whatever you have, I will take it.” He pulls his wallet out of his jacket pocket and opens it up. “How much?”

Obviously slightly bored and unimpressed by her customer's haste, the girl glances at a sign on the inside of her ticket counter and recites the answer to the question from there. "I have a second-class cabin available for forty-five dollars or a bed in third class for twenty-nine dollars and seventy-five cents."

“Give me the second-class cabin.” Jack doesn’t mind being in third-class if he has to, but the bars are better in second-class. He pulls out five ten-dollar bills to hand to her. “Please.”

"Name?" She takes his money easily enough, and pulls out a ticket along with the passenger list to add him to it. Last minute ticket sales are never unusual but they are a bit of an annoyance.

“Jackson Daniels.” He tells her, relieved to be clutching the ticket in his hand. “The Third.” He adds, hating the official moniker, but it might be useful to have it known that he has a background of some influence.

The girl raises an eyebrow of interest at him but doesn't betray anything more, writing out his name on the passenger manifest once she's given him his stamped ticket and then handing over his change. "Have your passport ready to be inspected, and proceed to the health check before boarding," she instructs him, pointing toward a roped off section of the dock for twenty yards off to the right of where they are standing.

“Thank you.” Just because he’s in a hurry doesn’t mean he doesn’t possess manners. He nods his thanks and hustles over, eager to be on board and setting sail towards you.

******

The second-class shared stateroom that your father had procured for travel across the Atlantic came with one distinct disadvantage. Regardless of the size of the cabin – which was not altogether too small or too confining thanks to the modern construction of the ship – or the appearance of the bunked beds which was unexpected to your family...it is the reality of traveling in such close quarters with your aunt that will tax you all the way back to New York. Shared stateroom is the designation, but the fact is that your uncle will have his own room while you and your aunt occupy the other. The shared bathrooms with other passengers in your section of D Deck seems to be the most horrible trial your aunt has ever endured and you have no choice but to listen to it.

“I don’t understand why they did not have bathing facilities in each room.” Your aunt huffs for the hundredth time. “That woman down the hall spends too much time in there.”

“Because it’s second class, Auntie,” you remind her for the fourth time. “At least we still have our own stateroom.” It isn’t that you would mind the bunked beds and shared rooms of Steerage — it’s that she would make like a living hell for anyone and everyone nearby.

“At least the accommodations are nice.” While it wasn’t the first class cabins that she longed to get a glimpse of, there was nothing wrong with the cabin they had been shown to.

“Very nice.” You’re not so blinded by your own attitude toward the entire experience in Europe that you stray into being ungrateful for it all. It’s just — more than a bit upsetting. Being banished to a different continent to keep you away from the man you had fallen in love with was a more than slightly desperate tactic on your parents’ part. “Auntie.” Still dressed in your fine morning clothes, you turn to face your aunt again as she flitters about the room. “Might you allow me to take a walk around the ship? Acquaint myself with our facilities so that I can give you a tour myself this afternoon?” It’s a gamble. She might want to keep you on a tight leash on Titanic. But then again…it’s not as if you can leave the ship.

The decision takes a few minutes, but reverentially she nods. “We do not have anything scheduled until tea this afternoon.” She admits. “And I should lie down. The first night was restless.”

“Rest, Auntie.” That is something you can encourage, since she is usually of a foul mood without good sleep. “I will explore second class and may sit a while above decks to watch the ocean. But I will return for tea.”

“You should really take your uncle with you.” She murmurs, already moving towards her bed. She won’t insist, it’s more an insistence of acknowledging propriety. Although there is not too much trouble you can get into on the ship, the stewards are too proper to allow a young woman where she isn’t supposed to be.

“If I sense trouble I will find the first gentleman in a White Star uniform that I can find,” you promise her. To date, you have never actually broken a promise to your aunt and uncle and you intend to uphold that streak.

“Enjoy the fresh air, dear.” She is too busy leaning down to unbutton her shoes to really pay attention, not noticing when you open the door and leaves.

******

“Jack?” You had thought that slipping away from your brother’s party would be precarious at best, but it proved fairly easy. Simply accepting a few dances with a few specific young men, as tiresome as those dances proved to be, was enough that your parents seemed to forget you were even in attendance afterward. The absolute luck in finding out that your brother’s new Long Island estate was almost directly next to the little cottage Jack was renting for himself? You could have crowed with joy. Though the visits between you were never too intimate, the simple fact that you met with the man unchaperoned in private areas spelled scandal if anyone ever found out. Even if all you usually did was help him feed or groom the horses while you talked, it would not have mattered. No one would have believed that more had not happened.

Now you open his front gate to move through his little garden, and knock quickly on his front door in your silk evening gown that is surely shining in the moonlight and giving you away. But you don’t care. Not a jot. Not when you can slip away so easily to go and see him.

Jack had been indulging in reading the paper when he hears your voice. Aware of the party going on next door, he hadn’t taken offense when no invitation showed up. “Sugar?” His growing affection for you has him smiling as he stows the paper away and quickly walks to the front door from his seat in the small parlor. “This is quite a surprise.” He admits, opening the door to find you standing there alone and looking more lovely than the sunrise.

“I slipped away.” And you’re giggling about it, giddy with how badly you’re misbehaving and how gleeful you feel to see him.

He shouldn’t encourage you, but it’s damn refreshing to have a woman toss away all the societal games that the upper echelons love to play. Your interest in him is obvious and he would be liar to claim that he was not equally enamored. “Naughty girl.”

“I danced with everyone I was meant to before I left.” It’s a rather meager defense, but a defense nonetheless. Jack doesn’t demand manners or posturing or for your nose to be in the air. He cares for your opinions. Your feelings. Your dreams. “I thought I could coax you into a game of cards or chess…” But that is when you bite your lip, embarrassed on behalf of your terribly snobbish family. “They swore they invited you, but I know you would have come if they had…so surely they lied.”

“Perhaps the invitation was misplaced.” Despite the fact that it is very clear your father looks down on Jack, he doesn’t speak ill of them. It would not help you. “Doesn’t matter.” He snorts. “I’d rather have tea and play cards with you than dance and make small talk.”

“At least you talk with me.” When he steps back to let you inside you don’t hesitate, bringing your rebellion to an entirely new level. You are now alone in the house of a man that you are neither related nor married to. Only the two of you. Alone. “The sort of men that my mother keeps flinging at me only want to talk at me or hear me parrot their opinions back to them.”

Jack chuckles, knowing quite well what you think about that. “I can see why you ran away.” He teases. “I’ll put the water on to heart, unless you want something stronger?” He asks, smirking slightly. You have had sherry and wine, but he had let you have a sip of the bourbon he had brought from Kentucky out of the flask he kept on him.

“I’ve heard that people sometimes put that into tea?” It was a recipe in one of the cookbooks that your new sister-in-law had received prior to marrying your brother a month ago. She had tossed it aside with a snide comment about it being a gift for their cook instead of for her. “Is that so?”

“That and a little honey will soothe the rawest throat.” Jack nods and smiles. “That’s what we will have.” He decides. “Let me get the water on to boil.”

Without the direction invitation to sit or to make yourself comfortable after Jack excuses himself rom the room, you twist your fingers around themselves in his small parlour and look at the photographs sitting atop the tables and mantelpiece. Aside from a few taken of Jack’s various and prized race horses or the occasional photograph of those people you assume must be relatives from how prominently displayed they are, there is one large photograph of a younger Jack standing with a woman outside of a large — very large — farmhouse with his arm around a beautiful woman in a white lace dress. He looks so terribly proud and deeply happy, and you can feel your heart sink the longer you stare. This is Jack’s wife. Of course he’s married…why would he not be? He must think of you as some troublesome or pestering little sister the way you hang around him with stars in your eyes when you ought to be anywhere else. Idiot girl. How could you ever think he felt the same sparks and aches for you that you feel for him? How truly naive you are. How utterly foolish.

Jack fills the tea kettle and sets it on the stove, enjoying the gas flame and not having to stoke a fire in order to heat the water. When he comes back into the parlor, you are standing in front of a picture that makes his heart ache, a sharp stab that isn’t quite as jagged as it had once been. He steps towards you closely, finding you frowning and twisting your fingers together as if agitated. “Elizabeth.” He murmurs, looking at the photo and finding it to be so long ago, though it really wasn’t.

“S—she is very beautiful.” Finding that any other words stick horribly in your throat, your eyes drop to the carpet beneath your dance slippers and you nearly choke on the effort it takes to summon more. “You…you must love her very much.” The crack in your inflection makes it seem like a question but it isn’t. It can’t be. Not with her photograph here for him to see and smile at.

“She was.” Jack can admit that, there was a time he viewed her as the most beautiful woman in the world. “And I did.”

“Did you…” Glancing up at him reveals a bittersweet shadow over his handsome features, and you falter. “Is she no longer with us?” You ask, as delicately as you can.

He nods. “Five years ago.” He murmurs softly. “Sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometime it feels like a lifetime ago.” He glances away from the photo and meets your gaze. “The ache is less now, for some sweet reason.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” It May be the first lie you have ever told him. And it isn’t even technically a lie. You are sorry that he has been hurt. It is only that the idea that he is no longer married seems to let your heart soar again. Not that it should. Not that simply being a widower means he reciprocates your feelings in any way.

His ghost of a smile means that he hears the insincerity in your words but he can’t blame you for them. “No you aren’t.” He reaches out and taps your nose. “But I won’t hold that against you.”

“I’m sorry you were hurt when you lost her.” The clarification seems important to him, and you fluster at being exposed in your lie. “Grief like that is not something I would wish on anyone.”

“I would not either.” He admits softly. “In one horrible moment, I lost Elizabeth and the son she was carrying.”

“Jack.” Your heart drops directly into your toes to hear that, and you reach for him instinctively. “How awful. I really am so terribly sorry.”

He lets you hold him, not shying away from the touch like he would have with someone else. “It’s okay, Sugar.” He murmurs quietly.

Although short, the embrace is still as inappropriate as this entire illicit visit, and you force yourself to let him go after a few moments of hushed quiet. “Too many people leave us too soon.” You murmur, shaking your head at your own encounters with loss and grief as though the shake of your head might shoo them away.

“I believe it makes room for the new people who have yet to come.” It’s a bold theory, one that he has just come around to realizing.

“That is…very brave of you.” And not a stance you might be able to manage for yourself, if you ever lost someone like him.

He doesn’t agree or disagree, just watches you. Wondering if it would be improper to kiss you after such sad tales.

“I…didn’t mean to intrude on your life.” And now you’re shuffling nervously in place, grateful that the ample skirt of your gown hides the movement. “The photograph caught my attention.”

“You didn’t intrude.” Jack shakes his head. “I have nothing to hide from you, sugar. You can know anything and everything you want.”

"That sort of knowledge." Knowledge given so freely, you mean. "It can sometimes be dangerous."

“Nothing dangerous when I would share anything with you, sugar.” Jack promises.

Anything is dangerous, and you can feel your palms sweat beneath the thin layer of protection provided by your gloves. Jack makes you giddy and nervous in equal measure, with a twisting sensation low in your belly that you have no name for but makes you ache in the most pleasurable way. "I would share anything with you, too."

“Anything, sugar?” He asks, shuffling an inch closer to you and studying you with frank appraisal.

There is a hint of something there that you should probably be wary of. Something that at the very least is a line to be crossed, and once you step over it you will never be able to step backward again. But for the chance to be closer to Jack, you really would throw every caution to the wind. "Anything."

He smirks, nodding ever so slightly and his hand brushes the fabric of your voluminous skirts as he takes your waist and pulls you closer to him. “Good.” He hums as he leans in and nudges his nose against yours, feeling you inhale sharply and brushes his lips over yours before he presses them firmly against yours.

You should break away. Or slap him. Or storm out the door at his utter impertinence. Instead you find yourself frantically attempting to pull off your evening gloves to be able to feel him. A kiss ought to be the beautiful prize of a successful proposal or the sweet reward for patience at the end of a joyous engagement. But this stolen kiss in his parlor after running away from a party? It might be the most remarkable thing you've ever felt, and you press into it with wild abandon.

When you press against him, Jack groans quietly, deepening the kiss slightly, although he doesn’t slide his tongue into your mouth. Unsure if you are ready for such a move yet.

Long moments pass before you're forced to pull back from him, despite wanting to continue kissing him more than needing air. After getting your gloves off, your fingers had ended up tangled in his shirt front and they're what anchor you to him now.

“My apologies, sugar.” Jack breathes out with a small chuckle. “But I don’t regret that for a single moment.”

"Please don't apologize." Although you're practically gasping for breath, you keep close to him and try to grasp control of your whirling mind without success. "I have never regretted a single moment spent with you. Least of all this one."

“Kiss me again, then.” Jack demands, challenging you to take charge and give into what you want.

He might as well have commanded you to continue living, because you could swear that your heart is beating louder and truer than it ever has before in your life. The fistfuls of his shirt let you tug him back into you with determination, and you tilt your head to slot your lips against his again like you're coming home after a lifetime away.

Jack’s lips curl up against yours, enjoying the enthusiasm you are displaying and his other arm slides around your back to hold you close. This time his tongue slides against the soft seam of your lips to beg for entrance.

The unexpected sensation makes you gasp, wondering if this is the way he kissed his wife. If this is that 'passion' you have referred to between couples after their marriage vows. The glide of his tongue against yours when you sigh to let him in is exquisite and addicting, but when the thought of that married passion leaps back into your head and you remember that that is how children are conceived, you jump back with a mortified expression of concern on your face.

“Did you not like that, sugar?” He asks, releasing you and watching you as you reach up to touch your lips. He knows you are innocent, but he had hoped you had read some of the lurid dime novels some young ladies enjoyed.

"N-no...no...that is...I believe I may have liked it...too much?" The rush of dampness between you legs is another clue, along with the weakness in your knees.

He grins, his mustache twitching slightly. “Nothing doing with liking it too much, sugar.” He teases. “You can love it. I’d rather you love it.”

"I do." Two little words with so much significance, but your head is still swimming with worry. "I just...I have broken so many rules to come and see you tonight...but I think that if I should find myself in the family way it would be both of our ruin."

Jack’s brow wings up in surprise and he freezes for a moment. “The family way- sugar….” He frowns slightly and he should be ashamed of how hard he is to discover you are this innocent. “Were you planning on giving me your sweet body tonight?”

"I had no plan when I came here." Hopes? Yes, of course. But no plans at all besides wanting to see his face. "But...that kiss..." Your fingers find your lips again, chasing the sensation and feeling utterly awash in your own confusion. At how utterly uninformed you apparently are. "I sense I may have...missed a vital detail. Though I confess I have no idea what it could be."

“Sugar,” he holds onto your waist again and looks you in your eyes. “Kissing me will not find you expecting a babe. We can kiss all we want.” He murmurs, a slow, reassuring smile crossing his face. “The area that I know is throbbing and wet right now is where I would need to be in order to plant my seed inside you.” He hums. “Have you ever seen animals breed, my innocent sugar?”

The question makes your eyes widen, expression transforming from confused despair to flustering embarrassment all in an instant. "Once..." you admit, wondering how he knows the state you are in, in this moment. "I grew up with dogs. And once when I saw them...wrestling..." That is not what they were doing but you have no word for it. "My father laughed and told me there would be puppies soon."

“Similar.” He doesn’t mock you, just reaching up and stroking your cheek. “So, until we get to that point, you don’t need to worry about anything like that. I promise you.”

"So..." When you swallow, it seems to wash the thick nerves away purely because of how deeply you trust him. "We can kiss as much as we like?"

“As much as we want, sugar. We could kiss all day.” He nods and licks his lips. “And you taste so sweet.”

"Then perhaps," you reach for him again, emboldened and curious and yearning for the taste of him again. "I will never want to go home again."

He chuckles and lowers his head again. “Maybe one day, you won’t.” He suggests before he kisses you again.

******

The second-class library on C deck is more than likely to become your retreat during this voyage, you can see that straight away. It stands adjacent to the smoking room and is accessed by its own stairwell so you needn’t be worried about getting lost on the vast expanse of Titanic’s many public areas. The mahogany tables and chairs remind you of the dark, heavy wood of your father’s imposing household — austere and unflappable. But the light sycamore wood in the paneling and columns that brings only Jack to mind. His beautiful little cottage of well-appointed rubbed sycamore furniture and comfortable informality had been your escape. Your shelter from the storm. If the world had ever known how often you had leaned into his side on that deeply upholstered green sofa and kissed him until you forgot how to think or breathe or be in any other way? Well…society would certainly have exiled you but you would not have minded that at all. Yes, this library will do for you. To read a book each day from breakfast time until dinner quite becomes you, and helps you not to think too hard on the letter you sent back to Long Island weeks ago. Perhaps he is not even there anymore. He may have returned to Kentucky. He may have found another exquisite Elizabeth despite his protests that he would love you until the end of his days. You would not blame him if he had — despite the heartbreak. A man with such a loving heart as Jack Daniels should not have to be alone. Wandering up to the promenade on C deck reveals a surprise indeed, as mamas with children of all ages playing together on the endlessly long promenade.

“John! John dear! Be careful!” A mother, holding a baby and huffing at the exuberance of her young son as he runs around with a group of older boys. “My greatest fear is for him to fall off the side of the ship.” She murmurs, mostly to herself as she bounces the little girl that is probably only a few months old.

“Children are not so careless as we fear when the dangers are obvious.” The young woman looks no more than a year or two older than you and the little girl in her lap giggles happily then waves at you, liking the sound of your voice. You wave back without hesitation. “I am sure he is just as afraid of the chance of going overboard as you are.”

“It is our first time traveling without my husband.” She admit, smiling at you for being so kind to reassure her. “It is more daunting than I had realized when he asked if I needed a nanny to come.”

“Would you…like company? Some help?” You offer, coming a step closer and introducing yourself. “I cannot say I have children of my own but I have always enjoyed them. My young cousins were my greatest joy growing up and our governesses taught me much.”

She startles at the seemingly genuine offer and sends you a small smile. “Just having another adult to talk to would be lovely.” She admits with a smile. “I am Charlotte Weatherby.” She introduces herself.

“It’s very lovely to meet you, Charlotte.” There is a folding chair near her that can be rented, and you quickly pay your dollar to the passing steward to sit down with Charlotte and her baby. “Are you on holiday or returning home?” You ask by way of making conversation.

“Returning home.” She keeps her eye on John and then glances over at you when it’s obvious the older boys are also watching out for him. “My husband had to go back on an earlier passenger liner. There was a problem with the business he owns.”

“Oh?” Polite But interested, you put your hand up for the little girl to clap both of her hands against, as this seems to be what she wants most in the world. “Nothing too troublesome, I hope?”

“Nothing that I can gather, but you know men.” She rolls her eyes and gives a small laugh. “I have told him that it’s his first child.”

“The same that my sister-in-law tells my brother.” That so many women tell their husbands. Or at least that’s what you have heard in passing conversations in parlors the world over.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me, he loves our children.” She frowns slightly, aware of how it might sound. “He just works hard so that the children can enjoy a better life.”

“I do not doubt it.” She deserves an assurance, since she clearly cares for her husband, and you offer her a kind smile to match. “We all must work hard in our own ways to make our lives the happiest we can be. And our children’s futures the brightest possible.”

“Of course.” She glances down at your hand discreetly and wonders why a woman of your beauty is not already married. “What of you? Traveling back home after a vacation?”

“Returning home after some time abroad with my aunt and uncle.” And even though you are excited to be released from your exile, it is still bittersweet. There will be no Jack in his Stetson on the pier to welcome you home with open arms the way you dream of. At best it will be a stranger in an unknown taxi to whisk you back to your parents’ house. “Are you from New York?” You ask in return.

“Chicago.” She hums. “Although my husband had recently thought of moving the business to New York” she adds. “It would be a big change for us.”

“Chicago and New York are not so different.” From the depths of your reticule, you produce a thin silver case and extract a calling card from it. The case always remains there, even though you have rarely had occasion to hand them out or leave them at a house. Venice had no friends for you, and neither did Berlin before it. “Call on me if you are ever visiting the city, or write if you decide to move. At the very least, I can offer you some company and perhaps some help in getting settled.”

“Oh! How lovely.” She accepts the card gratefully and is careful to keep it away from grasping fingers from her little girl. “I will be sure to do so. We are not planning to move until this summer.” She explains. “Hopefully summer in New York is better than the ones in Chicago. It can become incredibly humid.”

“New York in summer can have its charms,” you admit with a guilty grin. Summer now contains all of your happiest memories. “Though my family normally summers on Long Island. It will be a good chance for you to settle yourselves in without the fuss of too many neighbors around if you do move in that time of year.”

"Long Island, you say?" She perks up slightly as she heard the titbit of information. "I will have to suggest it to my husband. "Perhaps a cottage by the shore would be appropriate. The children love the shore of the lake." She admits. "It's why they are so comfortable on a ship."

“I adore Long Island.” The sincerity of it surprises even you, but the place truly holds so many wonderful memories for you. “And I recommend it highly. For all year long, even.”

“Then I will make sure that we tour sufficient homes there.” She decides with a tilt of her head. “Any other advice you might impart?”

“If your husband enjoys racing, I recommend Belmont for a track.” The small smile that plays on your lips holds even more fond memories. An extended summer session spent in so much passion that it follows you in every thought. “There is a gentleman there who — well, he was there when I was last in New York — he also teaches children to ride, if your son has any interest.”

“Oh lovely.” She lights up at the prospects. “He does love racing, but more importantly, I love to ride.” She shifts the baby. “I would like to get back to it. Do you ride?”

“I used to.” It’s the most diplomatic answer you can manage while still maintaining a pleasant smile on your face and speaking to this very nice woman who surely is not interested in your troubles. “There was not much opportunity for it while traveling with my relatives.”

“That is such a shame.” She hums. “Perhaps you will be able to indulge in the sport again once you return to Long Island.” She laughs as she watches the boys play again. “Or maybe they have horses in First Class.” She jokes. “They have every other possible luxury.

“Perhaps they do.” You laugh with her, enjoying the easy camaraderie and the sight of so many children at play. If your family had not interfered and your father had not been so contrary, you might be sitting here with your own baby in your lap. “We shall have to find a steward and inquire. For curiosity’s sake.”

“The tickets were a horrible fright to obtain.” She confides. “My own dear husband told me that the first class cabins had been sold out before the ship was finished. Everyone wanted to sail on the ‘Unsinkable’ Titanic.”

"I cannot blame them, truly. Our tickets were a surprise from my father and I think his only real disappointment was not being here to use them himself." Given her own small confidence, you bend a little. This woman is a welcoming and soft presence that you feel drawn to for no reason other than her kindness. "But I think perhaps he intends to brag that he brought me home on the Ship of Dreams and then shuffled me off to whatever husband he has selected in my absence."

“Oh.” Her smile slips slightly and she bites her lip. “You do not know the man?”

"My aunt denies having been given his name in any of my father's letters, but the description she gave certainly does not sound familiar." The best you can do is a small shrug, not about to allow yourself to be visibly upset or amongst the joy of children playing. "But do not worry about me, my dear new friend. I have no intention of going through with it."

“Oh?” Her brows wing up in surprise and she glances around to make sure that no one else is listening nearby. “How do intend to do that?”

"I will simply leave their house if they try to force me into an unhappy marriage." Although it is far easier said than done, you know it can be done with the right amount of hard work. The most difficult thing will be finding somewhere to live and there are boarding houses all over the city. Every single moment of listening to your aunt talk about this gentleman and this match and this future ahead of you? You have spent it all planning your escape. "I have been fortunate to be well-educated. I can find work as a governess or a school teacher."

“If I have not moved by then…” Her bag is a cluster of toys and necessities for her children, but she manages to pull out her own calling card. “You will be welcomed in Chicago.” She promises, feeling like you will be a good friend despite just meeting.

“It seems as though life may change for at least one of us very soon.” Her card is deposited into your reticule after a glance down at its simple elegance, and you smile despite yourself and your own nerves. “How fortunate we are to have made a new friend for that journey.”

“Perhaps you would like to dine with me tonight?” She asks with a friendly smile. “The cabin stewardess for my section has a maid that will watch the children for me.” She explains. “Since they are too young to attend dinner.”

“I would be delighted.” Any excuse to avoid your aunt and uncle’s disapprovals is more than welcome, and perhaps this new friendship will persuade your aunt to continue allowing you freedom in the ship. Second-class may not be as spacious or splendid as first, but it certainly provides enough diversions for you and Charlotte Weatherby and her two small children. “I should return to my aunt for tea,” you admit wearily. “But I will join you for dinner and we will arrange some time together as well. I am very glad to have met you, Charlotte.”

“I am delighted to have met you.” She agrees. “I should get the children down for a nap.” She admits, standing up and calling for John. “John! Tea time, my love.” “Mamaaaaaa!” The boy complains in protest, wanting to keep playing, but he does as he is told with little extra fuss, making you smile as you drift back toward the stairs leading down from the promenade. In your dreamworld, you are going to meet Jack for tea to tell him about your new friend — but that is only a dream.

______

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absurdthirst · 10 days

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PEDRO PASCAL in DRIVE-AWAY DOLLS (2024)

#pedro pascal #drive away dolls

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absurdthirst · 10 days

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One Night in St. John's {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15.3k

Warnings: Alcohol/drug use, infidelity, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, regret, abusive relationships, emotional/physical abuse, isolation, baby trapping, domestic violence, threats of death, weapons, drugging, hostage situation, death by gun violence, PTS, shock, therapy, confessions, oral sex (male receiving)

Comments: Drunk and high, you and Frankie give into the desires you've kept hidden from one another. One night in St. John's, one brief moment in time in each other's arms. You go back to your lives, sure that it's causing Frankie to pull away from your team even more, but there's a more sinister and heartbreaking reason.

A/N: Domestic violence/abuse comes in all shapes, sizes and genders. If reading about an abusive relationship would be triggering, please do not read.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Your nerves are shot, hands shaking, your entire body shaking as you sit under the hot water as the dirt and blood swirls down the drain. You’re alive, although you could have been like Tom, wrapped up in a blanket and carried out from the mountains where he had been killed. You had carried his body, cried and grieved, now alone with your thoughts and they aren’t exactly the happiest. Lonely and hurt, you try to ignore the baggie you had in your bag, now sitting on the table out in your room. Trying to resist snorting the fine white powder to manage the pain, to forget. Salty tears mix with the water as you cry in your first shower since you had tried to steal from Lorea and had ended up running for your lives.

Frankie sighs as he puts the phone down on the nightstand. He’d just spoken to Darcy who let him speak to Ava. The ten month old has no idea what he’s saying but he had to speak to his daughter. He had to speak to her after nearly fucking dying, after Tom died. He rubs his eyes and runs his fingers through his damp hair, feeling antsy and like a caged lion. He needs to get out of this damn room. He gets dressed and makes his way down to the hotel bar, ordering a whiskey as soon as he’s sitting down and he groans at the first sip he takes.

“This seat taken?” You ask him and he looks at you, “you want a drink?” He asks and you nod so he gestures for the bartender to come over. You order your drink and turn to look at Frankie. He’s so handsome, even with exhaustion seeping deep into his bones, he makes your heart flutter but he has a girlfriend, he has a daughter. When you get your drink, you hold it up towards Frankie, “to Redfly.” He nods, clinking his glass with yours. Tears sting in your eyes when you look in the mirror behind the bar to you and Frankie, the realization that you came so close to death still weighing heavy. “That was a shit show, huh?” You joke softly, trying to conceal your watery eyes.

“Yeah.” Frankie blows out a breath and sighs, shaking his head. He wants to cry but he doesn’t feel like it will come out of him. Too used to repressing his feelings until he explodes. He feels it, itching under his skin, clawing to get out. “You doing okay?” He asks gruffly, clearing his throat and motioning towards the bartender for another round.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and you shake your head. “I keep- all i can see when I close my eyes is Tom. Dead on that mountain. How it could’ve been all of us. Any of us. And Molly and the girls…they are going to be devastated. I feel so guilty. Like there was - we could’ve saved him.” You know that’s not possible, Tom got himself killed but you feel guilty for your captain getting killed on your watch. The bartender sets another whiskey down for Frankie and you turn to look at him, “I can’t - we nearly died.”

“We didn’t though.” Frankie insists, picking up his drink and nudging yours over in front of you. “Fuck I wish this was something stronger.” He grunts as he tilts his head back and throws back the shot. Feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat. His life is in shambles, no one knows how bad it is, not even Benny and for a moment, he wishes it had been him on that mountain.

You pick up your drink and down it, needing to feel numb like he wants to. “I have…I have something stronger. In my room.” You confess, “it’s, uh, I picked it up when we were in the coke fields.” You confess, knowing you shouldn’t have grabbed the packet but it was right there and you didn’t know if you were going to live or die.

He had been tempted. Surrounded by all that cocaine, he had been sorely tempted to take some. To know you have some in your room makes his stomach twist and his craving get even stronger. “Fuck.” He stands up and reaches into his pocket for some cash. “What the fuck are we waiting for?” He asks you. “I want to fucking forget the last week and a half.”

You nod, standing up and you grab your room key, quickly making your way up to the third floor and you open your door, hearing him close it behind him and you grab the baggie, working fast to cut lines on the desk in the corner. Frankie rolls up one of the hundred dollar bills from the bag you grabbed from Lorea’s and you use your hotel room key. “Ladies first.” Frankie says, handing you the bill and you bend over, snorting the line and you shake your head at the rush you get immediately before you hand the bill to Frankie.

Anticipation curls in his stomach as he bends down. Blowing out a breath, he closes his mouth and snorts up the entire line quickly. Groaning and tossing his head back as the jolt to his system immediately slams into him and the euphoria washes over him. “Shit, shit.” He huffs, leaning down and doing another line in his other nostril before gasping and handing the bill back to you. “It’s fuckin’ pure.”

“Purest shit I’ve ever done. I, uh, I haven’t done this for years. Not since college.” You confess and bend over to do another line. The second hits you hard and you set the bill down as you wipe your nose, shifting to sit on the bed. “Shit. I feel…peaceful.” You sigh, your racing thoughts finally silent as you close your eyes, feeling the bed dip as Frankie sits down next to you.

“Only goddamn time I have peace.” Frankie hums, feeling the lovely floating sensation start to drift over him as his mind goes fuzzy and the smell of your shower gel seeps into his nostrils. His cock twitches and he thinks about how fucking beautiful you are. “Only time I get hard now too.” He blurts out, the intimacy in his relationship dead and buried, he had used to hide the fact that he couldn’t get it up for her anymore, able to fuck while high had been a good thing for him.

You open your eyes and frown when you look at him, “Darcy…she doesn’t - wow.” You finish lamely and clear your throat. “Sorry. That was-” He murmurs and you shake your head, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “It’s okay. Nothing leaves this room. It’s just the two of us. Whatever we say or do doesn’t leave here, okay?” You reassure him, wanting him to know he can trust you.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell you. To lay out everything that’s been happening and how miserable he is. Turning and looking into your concerned, beautiful eyes, he’s hypnotized by their color and depths. Not thinking about anything but you, he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours with a moan.

You respond, much to your shame, you respond and reach up to cup his cheeks. Your lips move against his and you pull back after a second. “Frank-” You murmur but he silences you with another kiss, not wanting to think about anything but you. You allow him to drag you down and you tangle your fingers in his hair as his tongue slides along your lips and your tongue meets his with a low groan.

He wants you, he’s always wanted you, but right now he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t touch you. His cock is already hard, throbbing as your tongue slides against his and he flips you onto your back and straddles you, pushing against your belly with his straining bulge. “Want you.” He manages as he pulls away to start biting and kissing along your jaw. “So fucking long. So beautiful.”

You can’t resist, fuelled by booze and coke, you can’t say no to the man you’ve been in love with for years. You couldn’t say anything when you served together and when you found out about Darcy and her being pregnant in the same sentence, you resigned yourself to being his friend. “Me too. Always wanted you. Fuck, Cat. I need you to - please. Fuck me.” You beg, reaching up to grab the back of his shirt, tugging on it and needing to feel his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so soft.” He marvels, stroking your sides and kissing your neck. “How are you so soft?” He’s imagined this thousands of times, sometimes when his hand is wrapped around his cock and sometimes when he was fucking Darcy. Luckily he had never moaned your name. Frankie kisses down your chest and circles your nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth like a hungry baby.

You gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair, “Frankie.” You whimper when he bites down and he sucks where he bites. You wrap your leg around him and grind into him, pushing his bulge into your covered pussy and you moan in response.

He rocks his hips, shamelessly rutting into the hot core between your thighs. It feels better than he could have imagined and he’s not even inside you yet. He suckles until your nipple is swollen, moving over to the other breast and he knows he wants to bury his face in your cunt. “Take- take your fucking shorts off.” He growls, tongue dipping into your belly button as he moves lower.

Your heart beats out of your chest, already dripping with anticipation and you follow his growled demand without hesitation. You lift your hips as much as you can so you can take your shorts off after unbuttoning them and Frankie is impatient, reaching down to drag them off of your legs along with your panties, pushing your thighs apart when you are bare beneath him.

“Fuck.” He groans, seeing your wet folds and reaching out to spread them wide to expose your clit. “I’m so fucking hungry.” He lunges forward to slide his tongue through your folds and around your clit, pressing his nose to your mound with the enthusiasm of a starving man.

"Fuck!" You yelp, surprised at the ferocious way he buries his face into your cunt and you swear you nearly cum then and there when you look down and see his eyes are already black, pupils blown wide from the coke, and hungry. You moan and tug on his hair, "fuck, Frank - shit." You pant, lifting your leg up onto his shoulder.

It just makes him push deeper, sliding his tongue down to push up inside you. Loving the way your soaked walls clench around his tongue. He wraps his arms around your other thigh and pushes it out, opening you up more to his mouth. He would swallow you whole if he could. Cock throbbing in his jeans, grinding into the bed beneath him and swearing he could stay right here all night feasting on you.

"Oh God!" You cry, your head pressing into the mattress and you can't believe how good he feels, how good his tongue feels. Better than you've ever imagined and you've imagined it a lot. For years, you've wanted Frankie and now that you finally got him, you are breathless. "Shit. So good, baby. God, you're so good." You pant, getting closer as his nose presses against your clit.

He loves praise, soaks it up and is desperate for more. He moans into your folds and curls his tongue up inside you. Your fingers in his hair are magical and he hates pulling away for a second but he wants to suck on your clit.

Your stomach twists as you get closer to cumming and his lips suck harder on your clit. "Fi-fingers. Need your fingers, baby." You plead and moan when his thick digits push inside of you. "Yesss." You hiss, squeezing your eyes shut and it doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge with a moan of his name.

As hard as he is, he wants to see you cum again. Needs to see it, to feel it. Your cum floods his mouth and it's like ambrosia. Making him moan as he laps it up and pumps his fingers into your grasping walls. Enjoying the squelch of your wetness around his fingers.

"Shit." You hiss as you are pushed into overstimulation but he doesn't stop. You moan his name again, a desperate plea for what, you aren't sure. You don't want him to stop but it's so intense. "Oh fuck." You moan, thighs starting to shake as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Give me another.” Frankie demands, pulling away so he can swallow and then sucking your clit back into his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s wanted to pleasure someone he’s drunk on the sensation, greedy for more.

You gasp for air, every breath taken from you by his mouth and his fingers. "It's too much." You pant and Frankie growls, "another."

You can't deny him, pushing through the overstimulation and falling over the edge to another orgasm. "F-Fr-" You try to get his name out but all you can do is squeak.

Frankie groans, working his mouth even harder as he watches you. Your entire body arches up and he feels the spurt of precum soak his boxers. Finding it to be a gorgeous sight as you gasp and writhe for him.

You collapse against the bed, eyes still closed as you try to calm down after the best orgasms you've ever had. "I wanna see you." You tell him, shifting out from under him and kneeling on the bed. He follows your orders and lays down, working on unbuttoning his pants and you shove them down his legs after he kicks off his shoes. Throwing them to the floor, you focus back on Frankie and see the bulge in his boxers, the dark look in his eyes, and the way his chest heaves. You reach up to hook your fingers in his boxers, pulling them down, and you moan at the sight of his hard cock. "Fuck, you're thick." You murmur, spitting into your hand then you wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the feel of the silky hot skin.

“Shit.” He hisses, rocking his hips up into your grip and groaning your name. He’s imagined you touching him, never quite able to imagine it as good as this. “Fuck, are you- what do you want?” He demands breathlessly. “I need you baby.”

“I want to - I want to ride you. I- I have an IUD. Please Frank. I need you inside of me.” You beg and he nods, leaning down to grab your arms so he can drag you up his body. You shuffle to straddle him, his cock between your folds as you grind down on him and the drugs combined with the high you get from Frankie has you feeling on top of the world.

“So goddamn beautiful.” Frankie groans, tearing up to press his lips to your shoulder. He should be desperate to get inside you, but he loves how you are rolling your hips over his cock. Holding tight to your back as he pulls you down and kisses along your shoulder.

You moan, turning your head so you can press your lips to his, not wanting to waste a second of this night together. He isn’t yours. Can never be yours. This is all you’ll have. You reach between you, gripping his cock and you lift up to position him at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto him and you whimper against his chin at the stretch.

“Holy fuck.” He pants, cock twitching and it’s all he can do to keep from rocking up into you. Trying to give you time to adjust. The Coke and the feeling of you are nearly making him black out from pleasure. “So good baby, fuck you are so tight and sweet.”

You exhale shakily, shifting to brace your hands on his chest as you take all of him. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the coke and the fact that it’s Frankie beneath you. “Feel so good, Frankie.” You whimper, caressing his chest as you give yourself a second before you start to move on top of him.

“So good, baby.” He groans. “I can’t believe that it feels so good. Move baby.” He begs you, fingers digging into your hips as he braces his feet in the bed.

You moan, nodding as you start to rock on top of him, lifting up until you can sink back down onto his cock. His thighs lift you so you can move forward and you grind onto his cock. “Fuck.” You pant, jaw dropping at the angle.

“That good, baby?” Frankie grunts. “Your little cunt is squeezing me.” His hands squeeze your hips, not slapping, he would never slap you. He groans when his words affect you and he squeezes your hips again. “You like that, baby girl? You like me telling you how tight your pussy is on my cock?”

You nod, speechless from the dirty talk. His rough voice sends shivers down your spine, and you move a little faster on top of him. "Shit. Yes. I do. I love it. I wanna - wanna hear more, Francisco." You demand softly, leaning down to kiss along his jaw.

“Fuck.” When Frankie is high, he’s more talkative, the thoughts inside his head just come pouring out of him easier than he would sober. “Always wanted to fuck you. Imagined it, dreamed of it, jerked off to the thought of it.” He admits with a dirty grin. His hand slides up to your breast and he squeezes it, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So many nights. The entire time we served together, I wanted you.”

“Oh God.” Your stomach clenches at his dirty confession and you pant against his collarbone, clenching around him. “Me too. Shit, so many nights spent wishing you were in my bed. You were inside of me. Always knew it would be amazing. And it is.” You reveal, rocking back onto him, “it’s so good.”

“So good.” He groans in agreement. “You- I -“ he shakes his head. “Fuck me.” He begs, knowing that he can’t tell you that. Not with the way his life is. He can’t drag you into his mess, not when he doesn’t know how he’s getting out of it himself. Or if he’s getting out of it.

You reach for his hands, gripping them as you start to move faster on his cock. “Fuck baby. Oh God.” You pant, tits bouncing as you work yourself towards your orgasm as your knees dig into the mattress.

“That’s it baby, ride my cock.” Frankie groans. “Always- fuck, you’re better than my fantasy.” He praises, watching you and completely enthralled with the sight.

The awed look he gives you sends you over the edge, his eyes glassy and mouth open as he looks at you like you’re a goddess. It makes you cum and you clamp down on his cock with a strangled choke of his name, falling forward until your forehead is pressed against his. Body shaking above him and he thrusts up into you to help you prolong your high.

It’s the best sex he’s ever had, groaning your name as he watches you cum. It’s a vision that he would love to have burned in his brain. Rocking his hips up frantically as he chases his own end.

You try to grind back onto him, wanting him to cum inside of you. “Cum for me, Francisco. I want to feel you.” You beg, kissing along his neck, wanting to leave your mark but knowing you can’t.

“Fuck, fuck.” Frankie groans, unable to resist giving you what you want. Especially since it’s what he wants too. He thrusts up into you wildly, only making it another half dozen thrusts before he’s filling you, painting your walls with hot spurts of his cum.

You hum with satisfaction, shifting to press your lips to his. His tongue is harsh against yours as his hips slowly thrust into you as he rides his orgasm and you run your fingers through his hair as he fills you. After he stops, he rolls you onto your side and curls around you. You smile into his chest, closing your eyes as the high of the drugs and the sex courses through you. There’s so much you want to say but you can’t. You just have tonight. Tomorrow, you deposit the money and Frankie goes home to his family.

Frankie hums, grateful when you don’t want to talk. All he wants to do is hold you. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down on his chest as he closes his eyes. “Wanna sleep here.” He mumbles quietly.

You hum back, placing your palm on his chest to feel his heartbeat, reassured that he’s safe and alive. You kiss his Adam’s apple, “sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow is gonna be messy.” You murmur, closing your eyes as exhaustion overwhelms you along with the crash from your high.

****

When Frankie wakes up, the light is starting to filter through the curtains and he’s sober. Realizing that he hadn’t been dreaming is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. He can’t believe that he got to touch you, although he feels bad because he cheated. He made you a cheater and that was worse. He shifts slowly, not wanting to wake you up until he is out of the bed. Grabbing his clothes and fleeing quietly.

When you wake up, the sheets beside you are cold and you squint, feeling that headache you get after drinking too much but now it’s a combination of booze and coke. You sit up and bite your lip after you shake off the haze of waking up. He left. You shouldn’t be upset about that. He has a family. Shit, you - he cheated and you cheated with him. Shame burns inside of you. He has a baby with Darcy, he - he has a partner and you cheated with him. You feel dirty, shifting out of bed and you get into the shower, desperate to wash off his touch, hating that you can still feel his lips on your skin. The thing you wanted forever makes you sick with disgust at yourself. You stay under the water until it goes cold and reluctantly dress to meet the boys to deposit the money that will make you all for the rest of your life’s.

****

You watch Benny walk out of the room after giving his share to Redfly’s family and you know you have to do the same. Signing your name before you get up to follow the boys, your eyes meeting Frankie’s for a moment and he looks away. Your heart shatters but you’re reminded that you can’t tell anyone about last night.

Frankie frowns as he stares at the contract in front of him. It’s a lot of money. Money that he could use to leave Darcy. Get his pilot’s license back and leave the horrible relationship he’s in. Get custody of the baby, hopefully. Or at least not get fucked with visitation. It’s hard to not think about this, even though he knows that he should give the money to Redfly’s family. The man died. His kids deserve that money. Still he stares at the contract for far longer than he should before he crumples up the paper and signs the document to give the money away. Sadness and despair overwhelming him, even as he slaps Pope on the shoulder and ambles out of the room like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders.

You watch Frankie as you stand in the middle of the street, passers-by pushing past but you stare at Frankie, knowing this is it. He will go back to Darcy and who knows when you’ll talk to him next. He keeps to himself nowadays and even Santi has trouble trying to get hold of him. “You’ll need these.” Santi says as he hands everyone back their passports. “I guess I’ll see you all next at the funeral?” Will says and you nod, knowing Frankie can’t avoid that. “See you soon.” Will steps forward to hug you, kissing your cheek and Benny then Santi does the same. Next is Frankie and you struggle to maintain your composure as you hug him tight.

Frankie tries to hug you as quickly as possible but he can’t help but linger for just a moment. Clinging to you for a second as the dreams of the future, a future with you, slip away. “Well, I gotta get home.” He tells the group, not looking any of you in the eye. He nods and turns around to disappear into the crowd.

****

It’s hard seeing Frankie again, all of you in dress uniform and you see Darcy holding Ava as she sits in a pew behind Molly and the girls. It’s hard to be around Frankie because he’s not even texted you since you’ve been back. Not that you expected anything of him when you got home but a check in would’ve been nice. You’ve texted him, asking him how he’s doing and you’ve been left on read. Your heart aches for Frankie but today, it grieves for Tom, your leader, and you focus on him instead of the man you yearn for.

Frankie doesn’t even dare look at all of you, knowing how pissed Darcy is that he didn’t come home with the money he had promised her when he had left. He knows she blames all of you for the fuck up in South America and why she cannot have a life of luxury. Instead, he focuses on the funeral, his part in the honor guard so he can finish up and leave. Darcy doesn’t want to stay past the burial.

When the service is over, everyone is heading to Molly’s house for the wake and you are confused when you arrive there after stopping for gas and don’t see Frankie or Darcy. “Where did Frankie go?” You ask Santi who sighs.

“Darcy wanted to take Ava home and Frankie had to go too.” He explains and you frown, knowing it’s not like Frankie to leave early, especially when today is about Tom.

****

“I still can’t believe you gave the money away.” Darcy shakes her head after putting Ava down for her nap. “You’re a fucking spineless bastard.” Darcy hisses at Frankie who stands there with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched. “You should’ve been selfish. For Ava. For me. I already bought a Louis Vuitton purse for my birthday because you promised you’d get me something to make up for being such a failure and getting suspended at work. I gotta take it back. You know how embarrassing that’s gonna be for me, baby?”

“I’m sorry, baby.” The apology is automatic, his heart starting to race as his pulse jumps up. “I’ll- I’ll pick up more hours.” He’s got part time work that’s been able to sustain them with his retirement and disability. “You don’t have to take it back, baby. You keep it.”

Darcy shakes her head, “no. I’ll take it back. I don’t need you telling me that we need to be budgeting the groceries. Honestly, you’re pathetic. Leaving your family for two weeks and you didn’t bring back anything to show for it.” Darcy scoffs and Frankie frowns, “I got seventeen grand.” Darcy snorts, “yeah? And where’s that gone? On trying to fight your suspension. When we met, I thought you were capable of looking after me. I thought you were gonna take care of me and our daughter but you’re a failure. How are you gonna make this up to me?”

Frankie swallows, hating how she continuously pokes and pushes him, grinding him into the dirt with her venom. “However you want me too, baby.” He placates, moving towards her automatically to wrap his arms around her. If she pushes him away, he knows he needs to just be quiet and let her vent her disappointment. But she would also accuse him of not caring if he didn’t make a move to comfort her, so he was picking one and seeing if it was the right move today.

Darcy lets him wrap his arms around her and she slides her hands down his back and under his uniform to pinch his side, making Frankie wince. “I don’t need your fucking comfort, Frank. I need you to do your job to provide for this family.” She hisses and pushes him away, “my parents told me to not have the baby. Didn’t think you were good enough for me and you know what? They were right.” She shakes her head and turns towards the counter to make herself a cup of coffee.

Frankie sighs, although he makes sure that she doesn’t hear it. That would cause another fight. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises. “I’ll get my license back and then we won’t have to worry about anything.”

Darcy snorts again, “you better otherwise me and Ava will be gone. I’ll move in with my parents.” She threatens and pours her coffee. After a few moments, she says your name, “did you see her? She looks like she’s put on weight. I don’t think anyone was fooled that her uniform still fits properly. It looked like she was about to burst out of it. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No one's gonna wanna date the Pillsbury dough boy.”

Frankie frowns, looking at her back and wondering if she’s serious. His friend and teammate died and she’s commenting about your looks? You don’t look any different than the day you left the Army. “Her uniform was fine.” He tells her. “Nothing was ill fitting, she could pass inspection today.” He knows you haven’t gained any weight, but he can’t say that. The image of you riding him is a secret memory, one that he will think of often.

Darcy turns, staring at her partner, “really? She could pass inspection?” She mocks his words, “all the others were thinking it. She’s a fatso, Frank. And she shouldn’t have gone with you all to South America. Trying to run with the boys. I bet that’s why Tom got killed, because you were all running around trying to protect her. She’s useless. She is a military groupie gone too far and she thinks she’s capable but she put you all in danger.” Darcy gives her opinion without any remorse, speaking her mind as she always does and she turns back to pour creamer in her coffee.

“She didn’t do that.” Frankie snorts, shaking his head. “You need to stop fucking talking about her like that. She’s got just as many medals for courage and valor as Ben, she’s not a military groupie, she’s a veteran and deserves respect.” He snaps, pissed off that she constantly belittles your accomplishments.

Darcy moves so fast he doesn’t even register that she’s slapped him until he sees her hand lowering from his face. The sting comes a few seconds later and he realizes he went too far in his defense of you. “Don’t you ever - ever - defend that fucking bitch in my house, okay? She has always pined after you and you disrespect me by giving her compliments? No, Frank. No. You fucking apologize right now to me.” She demands, crossing her arms.

His eyes are wide, unable to believe that she just hit him. She’s shoved him, slapped at his chest but she’s never hit him in the face. “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not apologizing for her being a veteran.” He tells her, his stomach churning and twisting in anxious nausea. Fearful of what she might do again, but still not ready to talk bad about you. You’ve never done anything wrong to her, until this trip, but Darcy doesn’t know that.

Darcy doesn’t hesitate, turning back to her coffee and she grabs the spoon she has in the mug, turning back to Frankie and pressing the spoon to his neck. He winces but she grabs the back of his neck to keep it pressed to his skin. “Apologize. To. Me.” She demands, pressing the spoon harder into his neck.

Frankie hisses, the hot spoon burning his skin but he almost doesn’t apologize. Deciding that he’s had enough of her shit until he hears Ava start to cry, obviously not wanting to go down for her nap. With the mood she’s in, Darcy would take it out on his daughter and he can’t have that. “I’m sorry.” He chokes out. “I’m sorry, baby, I- I don’t know what I was thinking.” He tells her breathlessly. “The funeral, losing Tom, it’s fucking with me. I’m not thinking straight.”

Darcy pulls the spoon away from his neck, setting it down and reaching up to cup his cheek. "It's okay, baby. I know it's been stressful. For me, too. I love you. You know that, right?" She coos, leaning in to kiss the burn she left on his skin.

Frankie shudders but he makes himself wrap his arms around her again and snuggle into her. “I know. You’re the only one who could put up with me.” It’s a statement that she’s said over and over again and he is starting to believe it.

“That’s damn right.” She chuckles, “I better go check on Ava.” Darcy says, leaning back with a smile at her partner and she walks out of the kitchen to check on the crying baby. Frankie exhales shakily, leaning against the kitchen counter. He has faced combat in the most dangerous areas in the world, nearly died from bullets flying past him, and flown a helicopter under high stress but Darcy seems to crumble his strength. Her power over him stems from keeping Ava safe and his morality. He would never hit a woman so he takes what she does to him. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s so tired of fighting.

****

It’s been weeks since you heard from Frankie and the guilt is eroding your insides. It’s haunting you and you don’t know how to handle it. You’ve never been a cheater and not hearing from Frankie has you worried that you’ve ruined your friendship. You decide to send him a text, saying hi and asking how he is.

Frankie’s phone is constantly being checked by Darcy since his outburst. Nearly every night and he has even stopped talking to Ben as much as he used to. Not wanting to rehash every comment he made to his buddy or what his mentality was. When he gets the text from you, he panics and nearly deletes it, but then it would cause a complete shitstorm. Instead he doesn’t even open his messages and waits for Darcy to look through it.

“Why is she texting you?” Darcy asks, pausing the tv and grabbing Frankie’s phone. “She is asking how you are. Why would she ask that? Have you been talking to her behind my back? Have you - explain this, Frank. Now.” She says, shoving the phone towards him.

“What? No! No, I haven’t been talking to her!” Frankie defends. “I- she’s probably checking in with everyone. Tom died, Darc. It - it’s heavy shit. We all blame ourselves.” He quickly rationalizes. “I’m not talking to her, you told me not to and I’m - baby, I’m not going to jeopardize my relationship with you.” He tells her, reaching out to rub her arm.

Darcy shrugs off his touch, “don’t fucking lie to me!” She shouts, despite Ava being asleep. “She’s a whore. Trying to take you away from me. I see the way she looks at you. She wants to tear our family apart and you are letting her do it. You never touch me. We don’t have sex. It’s her, isn’t it?” Darcy cries, starting to sob.

“No, no baby.” Frankie shakes his head and wonders if she suspects something. Guilt and worry curling in his stomach. “No, you told me that I was treating you like my sex toy, I - I didn’t want you to think that’s all I wanted from you.” It was ironic when he used to want sex that she would complain, now he doesn’t even ask and she complains. “Only you, baby.”

Darcy sniffs, wiping her eyes, “yeah?” She asks and Frankie nods. “Good. I Don’t want you talking to her.” She narrows her watery eyes and shifts to sit beside him once more. She grips his chin and leans in to press her lips to his. “You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” He can’t. She reminds him everyday and for the hundredth time since he came back, he wishes he had been the one killed. If it weren’t for Ava, he would have left her, long ago. But he knows she will never let him see his daughter again. “I won’t talk to her.” He promises quietly, mourning the loss of all of his friends since he has been with her. He will end up completely alone.

“Good.” She kisses him again, letting go of his chin and she settles in to watch the tv again. “You’re so good to me, baby.” She coos, sliding her hand down his chest to play with the buttons of his shirt, “makes me wet when you do what I want.”

Shit. He knows she wants sex now, especially since she’s brought it up.

“Yeah?” Frankie grunts, capturing her hand and sliding it down and onto his thigh. “Let me go pee, baby.” He asks her. “That way we don’t have to worry about anything when I take you to bed.”

Darcy nods, biting her lip as she smirks and watches him go into the bathroom. Frankie locks the door behind him and braces his hands on the sink, looking into the mirror. He doesn’t want to have sex with her but he has no choice. If he doesn’t, she will hurt him again, either emotionally or physically and his biggest fear is her hurting Ava. He will take every slap and pinch she gives him if his daughter is safe.

He finds the baggie he has hidden under the towels and in the linen closet. Working fast, he puts some onto the back of his hand and snorts it, wiping his nose. It’s enough to numb him to do what he needs to do, his thoughts drifting to you and how you looked riding him. He sniffs and hides the baggie again, splashing water on his face before he heads into the bedroom to do what he needs to do.

****

“Is Frankie coming?” You ask Santi who glances at his watch.

“He didn’t respond.” He says and you frown. No one has heard from or seen Frankie for weeks since you returned from South America and you don’t want to see him. He’s ignored you since you parted ways and you’re hurt. You thought your friendship would survive but he refuses to even text you back.

Frankie had barely been able to convince Darcy that if he didn’t show up to Benny’s fight that it would look strange. He had promised her he would just go to the fight, immediately coming home and he would have one beer. Nothing more. And he wouldn’t talk to you. Frankie shakes his arms and then wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks in, nervous about seeing everyone. The bruises on his sides twinge, reminding him of the promise he had made to behave.

Your eyes widen when you see Frankie sit down, shocked that he made it when Pope didn't think he would. His eyes meet yours after he greets everyone with a nod and you offer him a small smile that he returns until it drops, his eyes widening slightly before he turns his head away from you. Your heart twists with that and you wonder why he's actively avoiding you. He clearly regrets that night and now, so do you. Frankie's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket to see a text from Darcy. ‘Remember, one drink baby. Don't talk to her. Don't linger. I want you home as soon as it ends otherwise I won't be happy. Love you.’

Frankie swallows harshly and stows his phone, leaning over to Pope. “Gotta leave after the fight.” He yells over the crowd. “Baby’s not feeling good.” He lies, knowing no one would blame him for that. The fact that you lean in and he’s close to touching you makes him jerk back and sit straight, sure that Darcy would catch your perfume if he touched you, even innocently.

Darcy texts Frankie several more times throughout the fight, even asking him to take a photo of it to prove where he is. It's strange because she never accused him of cheating until he came back from South America. Maybe something changed, maybe he changed. He doesn't know but he concentrates on Benny and cheers him when he wins. "I gotta go. Tell Benny congrats." Frankie says as he slaps Santi on the shoulder and he looks at you with those beautiful brown eyes. "See you later." He offers you a small smile then rushes off before the crowds try to leave and you frown, turning back to Pope.

"Something isn't right with him." You assess and Santi nods, squeezing your shoulder until you focus on Benny as he approaches with blood smeared on his face from a broken nose but a wide grin from his win.

“Where’s Fish going?” He had seen his friend in the crowd as he was in the ring. He frowns slightly when he realizes that Frankie isn’t just going to the beer stand for another brew.

“He had to go, the baby isn’t feeling good.” Pope tells him with a frown. “He told me to tell you congrats on your win.”

Benny huffs and takes the towel that Will tosses him to wipe his face. “Something’s wrong with him. He’s not answering my texts, like- at all.”

“Have you spoken to him?” Will asks you, knowing you and Frankie have always been especially close.

You shake your head, “I’ve texted him but I get left on read. I don’t know what’s going on. I- I am worried about him.” You confess and the boys nod.

****

“What took you so long?” Darcy asks as she stands in the hallway.

Frankie barely gets a chance to shrug off his jacket before she’s on him. “I hit all red lights, baby.” He explains and Darcy shakes her head.

“It was her. Wasn’t it?” She accuses, “you fuck her in the bathroom? Mind you, you wouldn’t be that late coming home. You’ve never had the stamina, have you?” She laughs cruelly.

Frankie’s shoulders slump but he doesn’t rise to the bait, knowing it would just start a vicious fight. “No babe, I left as soon as the fight was over. I just got caught up at the lights.” He knows that he’s going to get slapped again. Since the other day, she’s slapped him on the cheek whenever she gets mad. Making him feel even more ashamed every time he thinks of hitting her back. Becoming the monster he’s always been afraid that he is.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” She surges forward to slap him and grips his chin, leaning in. “You even smell like cheap perfume. I can’t believe you.” She lowers her hand, “I give you everything. Sacrifice my body to give you a child. Give you a home to return to and you want to throw it all away for some whore who could never love you like I can.”

“I swear to you, Darcy.” Frankie whines, nearly flinching when she moves again. “I didn’t do anything, I sat by Pope. Maybe he’s seeing a new girl, I don’t know. I came straight home.”

Darcy stares at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” She says and spins on her heels, making her way back into the bedroom and she shuts the door, effectively locking him out of his room. Frankie looks down at his hands, shaking from both anxiety and anger. He hates Darcy but he can’t leave, his daughter isn’t safe around her. The other day Frankie found Ava gripping a knife and Darcy laughed and said it was nothing, she wants her to learn how to use utensils to be a proper lady. He strips down to his boxers and lays on the sofa, wishing he could escape this situation and keep his daughter safe but no one would believe him.

****

It’s been a few days since Benny’s fight and the guilt of sleeping with Frankie is becoming too much. Darcy posted some photos of Ava and Frankie on her Facebook page with them out for brunch - her new designer bag on display - and you felt the heavy pit of guilt in your belly. You have to tell her and you’ll tell her it’s all your fault. Frankie will be at work so you make your way over to his house, ringing the doorbell and shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as you wait for Darcy to answer the door.

Darcy huffs, pushing herself off the couch with an annoyed grunt. “Hold on!” She grumbles as she walks over to the front door and opens it. Annoyed and immediately glaring when she sees you at the door. “What the fuck do you want?” She hisses. “Frankie doesn’t want to talk to your pathetic ass, so do us both a favor and fucking leave him alone, okay?”

Your eyes widen and you know she has never liked you but her attitude takes you back. “I, uh, I know you don’t want to talk to me but I need to tell you something. Please. I, uh, I need to get it off of my chest.” You tell her and she crosses her arms, scoffing but allowing you to continue. “I slept with Frankie. In St Johns. We, uh, we were high and had a few drinks so we weren’t thinking straight and I’m so sorry Darcy. I wanted to tell you because you deserve to know and I can’t keep this secret any longer. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat.” You admit and she chuckles, “every cloud.” Her comment makes you frown and you are confused, “you aren’t mad?”

Darcy snorts and shakes her head, “I knew that Frankie fucked you.” She lies with a nasty smirk on her face. “A pity fuck, that’s what he called it when he told me about it.” She shrugs slightly. “You know men, if a whore is gonna throw it at them, they’ll take it. Thank God you didn’t give him something, but he much prefers my pussy over yours. Said he can’t even look at you now, so disgusted with the thought of you naked.” She chuckles evilly again. “Might want to lose a few pounds.”

You feel your eyes sting and your stomach twist. Hearing what Frankie said about you makes you feel sick. Darcy could be making it up but why would she lie? She knows about what happened.

“He said you were the worst sex he’s ever had. It was the adrenaline from surviving, he told me. He hasn’t talked to you because he didn’t want to embarrass you. You need to go. He’s my boyfriend. The father of my child. He’s mine. He belongs to me.” She says and you swallow down the lump in your throat, uneasy with her words but she’s not wrong.

“Yeah. Uh, I- I’ll go. I wanted to tell you because I thought you deserved to know and, um, yeah. Bye.” You choke and she waves at you as you make your way down the driveway to your car. Pulling away from the curb, tears streaming down your cheeks and you curse that night, you curse Frankie Morales. Your heart breaks and you need to take some time to get over that asshole. He’s with Darcy and he loves her.

****

“Baby, I’m home.” Frankie calls out and comes in to find Darcy sitting on the sofa, “come here baby.” She coos and he sets his stuff down before sitting on the sofa next to her. She leans in to kiss him and Frankie nearly flinches. “I missed you today.” She coos, caressing his cheek.

“I missed you too.” He lies, “where’s Ava?” He asks and Darcy explains that she is at her parents’ house.

“I wanted a romantic night in with you.” She says and Frankie feels repulsed but what can he do? “So…” Darcy trails off and grips his chin, “when were you gonna tell me you fucked the whore in St John’s?” She asks him, her eyes hardening.

“What?” Frankie shakes his head, immediately denying it. She’s been accusing him of cheating since he got back from South America. “Baby, why do you keep saying that?” He demands, making her squeeze his cheeks even harder. “The whore told me herself, Frank.” She spits, the spittle flying into his face and making him cringe. His heart sinks but Darcy keeps talking. “Bitch came to my house, wanted to ‘confess’ because she felt so guilty. She should, spreading her legs for you when she knows you have me, have Ava.” Frankie starts to shake, knowing that Darcy will punish him, badly, for you showing up and telling her what happened.

“You lied to me, Frank. Over and over. I’ve done so much for you. Sacrificed so much for you and this is how you repay me? By fucking the woman you’ve been in love with for years?” She hisses and Frankie shakes his head. “No use denying it. I know you love her. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’ve never looked at me like that. I knew you would leave me for her so I decided to take action. Poked holes in the condoms we used until I got pregnant. Wanted to make sure you were mine.”

Frankie gasps, nearly choking on his own breath at the knowledge that she had baby trapped him. “You-“ He growls, his head snapping to the side when she slaps him.

“Don’t you fucking say a word, you cheating bastard!” She screams, her voice breaking because of how high it gets. “You humiliated me! All your bastard friends know, laughing at how you banged your whore.” This time, her fist is closed when she hits him, punching him in the jaw and Frankie grabs her hand.

“Stop fucking hitting me!” He shouts.

She screams, wrenching her hand away and she stands up. “That’s it. I don’t know if this shit will happen again. It can’t happen again. I’m gonna invite her over here. Gimme your phone.” She orders and he shakes his head. She sees his phone on the kitchen counter, rushing over to pick it up and Frankie tries to follow her but she’s quick to grab a knife from the counter, aiming it at him and he knows he could take her down but not without hurting her.

“Darcy!” He barks, jumping out of the way of the knife and back several steps. “Are you fucking crazy?” He asks, watching the knife carefully as she spins around again and looks like she wants to murder him. “Put the knife down.”

She shakes her head and grabs his phone, texting with one hand to bring up your name and text an invite over to the house, she hits send and tosses the phone across the counter. "She'll come. I know she will. Fucking pathetic bitch can't leave you alone." She scoffs, waving the knife again. "And you're gonna let me talk to her." She laughs manically, setting the knife down and opening the drawer. Before she had Ava, Darcy was a nurse so it wasn't hard for her to procure what she needed. She grabs the syringe as Frankie approaches to try and get the knife away from her and she is quick to stick the needle in him, pressing down on the needle to push the sedative into Frankie's bloodstream. She wants him to watch you suffer but she knows he won't allow it so she needs him to be restrained.

****

Being drugged is nothing like getting high. Frankie groans, head pounding and his mouth feels dry. Trying to move his arms, he can’t and he tries harder, feeling the resistance that forces his eyes open.

“You’re awake. Good. She’s on her way.” Darcy reveals and Frankie shakes his head, trying to speak but he’s still lethargic. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take care of this. You’ll never truly love me until she’s out of the way. I’m gonna do what needs to be done.” She promises and picks up the gun she had taken from Frankie’s gun safe. She knows the password is Ava’s birthday so she was able to get into it.

“D-Dar-“ Frankie’s tongue is heavy and his mind is so jumbled from the drugs she had pumped into his system. He doesn’t want this, horrified that you might be killed because of his mistakes. He shakes his head again, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. His hands are bound, he’s zip tied to a kitchen chair. “D-don’t.” He croaks out.

You frown when you receive the text. Confused about Frankie’s invite to his house and the wording isn’t like the man you’ve known for years. You know something is wrong and you want to find out. Especially since Darcy had told you what Frankie had said. You get into your car and make your way over to Frankie’s house. Parking down the street, you sneak around the house and your eyes widen when you look into the house and see Frankie tied to a chair, and Darcy walking around with a gun in her hand. “Shit.” You curse, knowing you have to protect him and yourself and especially Ava. You step back from the house and call the police, explaining the situation, and after you hang up, you exhale shakily, anxious to keep Frankie safe.

“Darcy, think of Ava.” Frankie begs, the drugs wearing off and he is panicked. “You won’t get away with it. You’ll be in jail.” While he would love to be away from her, he is trying to keep her from killing you. “We’ll move.” He promises. “Sell the house and move across the country. Away from everything and start fresh.”

Darcy scoffs, "I will get away with it because you're going to help me deal with her after. Even if we moved across the world, she'd still be in your fucking mind. You won't forget about her. You'll still be tempted and I won't allow it. I can't. You're mine. You belong to me." She growls, fingers adjusting around the gun.

Outside, the police arrive quietly, pulling up in their SUVs and you meet them to explain what's going on. "I think she's going to kill him. I think she's gonna try to kill me." You explain and the police officers nod, speaking into their radios.

Inside, Frankie is still trying to convince Darcy. “Baby, no. It was a mistake.” He lies, knowing that his time with you was the best he’s ever had. “I had done some Coke, just to- just to forget the image of Tom’s brains splattered on the fucking rocks.” He tells her. “I didn’t realize what I was doing and then I left, I didn’t talk to her. I haven’t had anything to do with her.”

Darcy shakes her head and aims the gun at him, her anger getting the best of her, “you’re a fucking liar. I know you love her. I know you love her more than me and if she was gone, you could love me like that. I want you to love me like that. Don’t lie to me. I know you want her. Have always wanted her.” Darcy shouts, just as the front door flings off of its hinges and the officers yell at Darcy to drop the weapon and get down on the ground.

Frankie shouts, begging her to put the gun down. Knowing they will kill her if she so much as twitches wrong. Not wanting Ava to deal with the fact that her mother was killed when she’s older. Darcy screams, incoherently and spins around on Frankie. “You bastard! You called them!” Despite the fact that there was no way he could have called the police. He had been tied up.

“Darcy, no!” The shots echo in the house, deafening him and he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the pain to start where she shot him.

The bullet flew into the kitchen cabinet behind him and the other shots were the police taking down Darcy. Yelling fills the house as the officers rush forward, kicking the gun out of Darcy’s hand and checking her pulse. “We need an EMT. Now.” He says and speaks into his walkie.

“Is she dead?” Frankie gasps as the officer comes towards him, pats him down before he lets him go.

“Yes sir. She was a threat and she had a weapon.” He says and Frankie exhales shakily.

“Frankie! Frankie!” You shout, pushing into the house despite the officers telling you to stay put. You run over to Frankie, cupping his cheeks, “are you okay?”

“I- no,” Frankie pants, staring at Darcy’s crumpled body and closes his eyes. “She was gonna- she was gonna kill you.” He manages before he lowers his head and tries to keep from sobbing, relieved that you are here and safe.

Your eyes widen, “kill me? Because we - oh God.” You choke, putting it all together when she had Frankie tied up and the gun in her hand. “Shit. She wanted to kill me.” You whisper and the police officers come over to escort you and Frankie outside and they take Frankie aside to take his statement but he wants you to stay with him. Reluctant to have you out of his sight, you stand beside him as he starts to give his statement.

Frankie starts to tell them everything. The abuse, the escalating violence. He pulls up his shirt to expose the bruises. How erratic Darcy had been acting, although he doesn’t mention the trip to South America, just that things had gotten worse since he had come back from out of town. He hates it, feeling humiliated as the police look at him first with disbelief and then pity as he continues to tell them about being abused by his girlfriend. He can’t look at you right now, afraid you would be disgusted with him for not manning up like Darcy always told him to do.

You feel sick. Hearing what Darcy did to Frankie has you wanting to scream and cry and make the world burn. You want to go and get a gun and kill Darcy again, just for the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. Tears sting in your eyes and the officer takes his statement and tells Frankie he can’t stay in the house so you wipe your cheeks and say that Frankie can stay with you. You turn to look at him, hands reaching out but pulling back in case he doesn’t want to be touched. “Frankie. I- I’m so sorry. I- I should’ve known. I should’ve helped you. I - shit. You - the ways she’s hurt you.” You choke, wishing you could go back in time and keep him safe from Darcy.

“No.” Frankie shakes his head. “She- she would have hurt Ava.” He tells you breathlessly, trying to keep his emotions bottled up. “They- they never would have given me custody. I would- I had to protect her. If she was hitting me, she wasn’t hitting our little girl.”

You can tell Frankie is on the edge and you want him to be safe before the emotions hit him finally. “Come on, let’s go back to my place. Where’s Ava?” You ask with wide eyes, worried that the little girl is in the house still.

“She’s at Darcy’s parents house. They - oh God. I gotta tell them - Darcy is dead.” He says with a whisper and he hates the fact that he’s happy about that for himself but not for Ava. “She’s safe for tonight. You’re in no state to be around her. Come to mine and you need to sleep.” You say, grabbing your keys from your pocket and guiding him up the street while the police handle his house.

“I don’t- I tried.” Frankie rambles as you steer him towards your car and open the door for him. “I stopped talking to everyone, stopped doing anything that would set her off.” He doesn’t understand why she hated him so much. Was he just that horrible? “Nothing- I failed at everything. I was- wasn’t good enough.”

“Frankie.” You shake your head as he gets into the car, “this isn’t your fault. Darcy was an abuser. You aren’t to blame for how she treated you. You are a good man. She - she was wrong. She abused you.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye as you look at his distraught face.

“Poor Ava.” He bites his lip and closes his eyes tight, trying not to cry. “She- she’s gonna grow up with me and I’m gonna fuck her up. I - she always told me I was useless.”

You kneel down beside the car, “can I touch you?” You ask, wanting to hold his hand and he nods. “Francisco. You are the best father. You’re a good man. You’re not going to fuck Ava up. Darcy would have. She would’ve manipulated her like she did you. You are going to get through this. It’s gonna take a while but you’ll be strong for Ava. You can do this. I promise you.” You squeeze his hand, hating how broken he looks.

“Are you sure?” Frankie asks quietly, clinging to your hand. “I- I have to admit something.” He tells you. “I had been thinking that I should have been the one to die on that mountain. That way it would be over for me.” He sees the horror on your face. “But you- that night- it’s how I’ve been keeping sane lately. Remembering you, that night.”

You want to sob then and there, hearing that Frankie wanted to die because of Darcy. It makes you even angrier but you control yourself and place your hand over his holding yours. “Darcy has hurt you and you need to heal from that. Ava loves you. The boys love you. I love you. You’re so loved and we need you, Frankie. She’s gone and you’re still here. It will take time but you’ll be what Ava needs.” You assure him.

“How could I let it happen?” He asks seriously. “I’ve fucking killed people, and my girlfriend was abusing me?” He sounds bewildered because he is unable to rationalize that in his mind. “I don’t- I didn’t stop it, I just- I guess I am less of a man.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t stop it because of Ava. Because you are a good man and you didn’t want to hurt Darcy even though she was hurting you. You’re not less of a man. You were manipulated and abused. Mentally controlled. Verbally and physically abused. Sweetheart, this isn’t your fault.” You promise him, “this isn’t your fault.”

Frankie sighs, feeling exhausted. “I couldn’t let her kill you.” He admits quietly. “I- I almost hit her, but she knocked me out with something.” He looks into your eyes. “Can you-? I just want to get out of here. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

You nod, letting go of his hand and you make your way around the car to get in the driver's seat. You start the engine and make your way down the street past the police cars and the black van so you can get Frankie somewhere safe. He’s quiet for the drive and when you pull up on your driveway, you cut the engine and look at him, “do you want something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” He murmurs quietly, looking at the front of your place. He honestly wants to shower until his skin is red and then sleep for the next year. “Can- can I shower?” He asks, turning his head quickly and looking at you with wide eyes. “I- I need to feel clean.”

“Of course you can.” You hate that he asks you like that. Like you’re going to slap him for inconveniencing you. “Come on.” You say and open the car door, moving fast to unlock your home so he can get comfortable. “You know where the guest room is. You can stay as long as you like. There’s fresh towels and I think I have a pair of your sweats from when you stayed over a few years ago when you were having your house painted.” You say and he nods, making his way to the bathroom. When he shuts the door, you allow the tears to fall. How did you not see this? How did you let him be abused by Darcy? Why didn’t you check on him more? You feel incredibly guilty.

Inside the bathroom, Frankie turns on the shower and sits on the toilet seat. Shell-shocked and unable to believe what happened. Having a small breakdown when he imagines what could have happened if the police hadn’t come and you had walked into his house. If Darcy had killed you. He slaps his hand over his mouth, starting to sob and trying to keep it quiet.

You wipe your eyes and splash your face with water. You know you didn’t have a clue about the abuse Frankie was facing and you wonder if your presence triggered her or if you made it worse in some way. Her words when you went to tell her about you and Frankie ring in your ears when you remember how vehemently she declared Frankie to belong to her. You wish you had seen the signs. You have to be strong for Frankie though.

Eventually, Frankie climbs into the shower and nearly burns his skin off, scrubbing harshly with the soap and rag to feel clean again. If the tears mix with water and slide down the drain undetected, he doesn’t acknowledge them. Waiting until the water runs icy cold before he turns it off and steps out to wrap a towel around his waist. The bruises are visible. Some fresh and dark purple, others a sickly green and yellowish, making him grimace in the mirror as he traces them before turning away and opening the door. Grateful that you have given him a place to stay tonight.

You look up when Frankie exits the bathroom and comes into the living room with the towel wrapped around his waist and you see the bruises. You choke on your breath, tears in your eyes and you stand up to walk over to him. “Can I- oh God. Frankie.” You sob, reaching up to gently wrap your arms around him and you feel the guilt almost suffocate you.

“I’m okay.” He’s not, but he will be. Overwhelmed by the fact that he is free, he wraps his arms around you and crushes you against him, burying his face into your neck. “Thank you.” He whispers. “For being here.”

“Always, sweetheart. I’m always here for you.” You promise, sniffing as you run your fingers through his hair. “You’re okay.” You echo, “You’re safe.” You promise and you caress his neck. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” You murmur, knowing he must be exhausted.

“I don’t want to be alone.” He whispers and you hum, “you can stay with me. If that’s okay?”

“Please?” It’s pathetic and he can hear Darcy’s voice in his head, reaming him for needing you to sleep beside him, but he tries to ignore that. Sighing softly in relief when you take his hand and guide him towards your bedroom. He needs to be near you, to know that you are okay and that he is safe. It was another reason he had gone with you that night you were together. He had been terrified it had been you on that mountain and then relieved that you were still with him.

“I have your sweats. I’m gonna get ready for bed. I’ll be five minutes, okay?” You ask and he nods. You caress his back and make your way into your bathroom, getting ready for bed. Once you’re in your tank top and shorts, you shut the door behind you and see that Frankie is already in bed. You turn off the lamp and slide under the covers, wrapping your arms around him. “Goodnight Frankie.”

Frankie sighs, relaxing when he wraps his arms around you. Closing his eyes and pressing his nose into your hair. “Goodnight, and thank you again.” He squeezes you tight and settles into the bed, holding you close.

****

It’s been six months since the night Darcy tried to kill you and Frankie has been going to therapy. He is in a much better place and is a loving father to Ava. During his therapy sessions or other appointments, you look after Ava. Darcy’s parents were ashamed of their daughter and her abuse, they have been giving Frankie some space until he is ready to have them back in Ava’s life.

You look up as Frankie comes into the house and Ava rushes over to him, “dada! Dada!” She cries and he bends down to pick her up, kissing her cheek.

“She’s been a good girl?” He asks you and you stand up from the rug scattered with toys.

“She always is.” You coo at Ava. “You want some coffee?” You ask and he nods, holding Ava on his hip. He moved a few weeks after that night, unable to live in that house full of horrid memories and his new place is cozy enough for him and Ava. He got his license reinstated and the boys have been supporting him through everything. Things are finally starting to look up as Frankie is able to process what happened to him at the hands of Darcy. You quickly prepare the coffees and get some milk for Ava along with one of the cookies she loves and she rushes over to eat the cookie on the rug, making you chuckle. “She can never sit still. Just like her father.”

“That’s because if I’m still, I’m gonna fall asleep.” Frankie jokes, smiling at the sight of Ava happily eating a cookie and watching TV. She hadn’t asked about Darcy much, and seemed to accept that momma had gone to Heaven and she wouldn’t see her anymore. In fact, he had often wondered if she had started being mean to Ava because the young girl seems so happy. “You are so good with her.” He tells you, taking the cup of coffee with an appreciative smile. “I don’t think you know how much I owe you.”

“Nothing. You owe me nothing. There’s nowhere else I’d be. I - I love Ava and you needed help. I couldn’t let you do this all on your own after dealing with Darcy. I wanted to help you because I love you both. So much.” You smile and pick up your own cup of coffee. Telling Frankie you love him has become second nature but the true depth of your feelings has never become a subject you’ve been brave enough to broach, especially since he’s been healing physically and mentally from Darcy’s abuse.

Frankie’s stomach flips and he takes another sip of his coffee. You’ve said you love him almost every day and you don’t even know how much it means to him. He’s talked about you in therapy, about his feelings for you and the therapist has encouraged him to start talking to you about them. About how he’s always been in love with you, how he’s still in love with you. That despite what Darcy put him through, he would like to see what could happen with you in a relationship. “I love you too.” He tells you honestly.

His words make your heart thump and your eyes meet his over your cups of coffee, but you don’t get your hopes up that he means he’s in love with you. He’s been through so much. The last thing he probably wants is to get into a relationship. He needs time to heal and to ensure Ava is happy and safe. “I know you do.” You tease softly, “it’s the pasta dish I make, isn’t it?”

“It’s the fact that I’ve always been in love with you.” He admits, setting his coffee mug down and shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes are searching yours and he’s reminding himself that you wouldn’t react harshly, even if you didn’t feel the same way. “I don’t know what you want. Or how you feel, but Dr. Thomas said that I should talk to you.”

Your eyes widen as you realize he’s serious and you set your coffee cup down so your shaking hand doesn’t spill it everywhere. You stare at him for a moment from the other side of the kitchen and you bite your lip. “You want to know how I feel? I’ve been in love with you since we first met. That night we all went out to the bar to get to know each other and you bought that hat off of some guy in the parking lot. I have been in love with you every day since then and I’ll be in love with you every day from now on. I love you, Frankie. With everything I am.”

He closes his eyes, nodding. As he absorbs the idea that you feel the same way that he does. Feeling the warmth settle in his chest and he bites his lip as he opens his eyes. “I-“ he steps closer to you and reaches for your waist. “I would think about you.” He admits softly. “When Darcy was being really bad, I would remember that one time we were together. It - it saved me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest and simultaneously breaks when you hear that Frankie had to escape like that. You swallow harshly and reach up to cup his cheek, “I wish I could take away everything she did to you.” You whisper, caressing his cheek.

“I -“ he leans into your touch and sighs. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to move on.” He admits quietly.

“You can move on. You need to confront what happened, be stronger from the experience and move on.” You murmur, leaning in to gently kiss his chin, his stubble scratching your lips. “I love you, Francisco.”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “I want to kiss you sober.”

You nod, moving slowly so he can pull back if he wants and you lean in to softly press your lips to his. It’s gentle and sweet and everything you’ve wanted with Frankie, your body lighting up at the connection. You don’t move to deepen the kiss, wanting him to control this.

He sighs again, sliding his arms up and around you. Softly pulling you closer. He doesn’t think that you will push him away but he wants to give you the time to. If you want to keep it simple.

His hands squeeze your waist and you lean into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You whimper when his tongue slides against yours and it’s like coming home, like you belong here with him at this moment.

Frankie wants to live in this moment. Feeling your hands on his body, worshiping him with your fingers as they caress his neck. His daughter laughing at her cartoon, safe and sound. He kisses you until he feels like he can’t breathe. Pulling back and smiling at you. “Stay tonight?” He asks softly.

You nod, breathless and lips swollen from his kisses and you whimper when he kisses you again. ****

“She’s asleep.” You tell Frankie as you walk into the living room after putting Ava to bed. She had clung to you for a while until she finally passed out on your shoulder and you put her to bed. Frankie looks up from his phone and sets it down. “You don’t have to put the phone down.” You assure him softly, “I’m not gonna check it.” You promise, knowing that’s part of his learned behavior with Darcy.

“I was texting Benny.” He tells you with a self depreciating grin. “He’s checking on me. Again.” He had been embarrassed, but he told them all what had been happening. Since then, all of them checked in with him at least once a day. He knows they are worried, wanting to make sure he doesn’t start using again.

You come and sit down beside him on the sofa, reaching for his free hand. “They love you. They all wanna make sure you’re okay.” You say and squeeze his hand. “Baby, you’re doing so well.” You praise him.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and he squeezes your hand. “I don’t want you to feel like we have to do anything.” He tells you. “But, I - I want to.” He admits. “I’ve been- I jerked off in the shower before you came over.” The therapist had urged him to not hide his needs and to be honest with you. So he is.

You inhale sharply, your stomach twisting with arousal, and you’ve been trying to hide your attraction to him, uncertain if he wants to touch or be touched after suffering such a traumatic event. You shift a little closer to him, “I want to- I want you. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I just want you, Frankie.” You murmur, leaning closer to softly kiss him.

He hums into the kiss, his memory of your only night so far is burned into his brain but he wants something different. That was lust fueled, frantic. “I want to make love to you.” He whispers, moving to kiss along your jaw. “We fucked the last time, I want to make love to you.”

You lean into him, moaning softly at the thought, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, “I would love that, sweetheart.” You murmur, leaning back so you can kiss him properly. His tongue slides against yours for a moment until you pull back, “take me to your bed.” You order softly but you want him to be in control tonight. He has to be comfortable.

He’s nervous now that he’s not high. That he’s doing this with a clear mind. Old anxieties spring to the surface but he pushes them down. You aren’t Darcy and you wouldn’t criticize everything he did in bed. He’s already half hard, proving that he didn’t have any issue getting it up for you.

You stand up and hold your hand out to him. He takes it and escorts you to his bedroom. The bed is messily made but you don’t care about that when Frankie is pulling you close again. “I love you.” You murmur, cupping his cheeks before you lean in to kiss him. His fingers play with the hem of your shirt and you pull back so he can drag it over your head. “Can I take your shirt off?” You ask him and he nods. You move fast to take his shirt off, caressing his skin - free of bruises and no physical scars, except the ones he got in battle, displaying the abuse he endured. “So handsome.” You murmur, admiring him.

Frankie twitches slightly, not that he doesn’t believe you think that, it’s just he’s always been a bit reserved. The other guys were hit on more than he was, though he did alright. He reaches for you, wanting to see your body again. Compare it to the memory he has. “I love you. You are gorgeous.” He hated all the hateful things Darcy had said about you, none of them true. His hands slide under your shirt and he groans as he reveals your plain bra.

You feel gorgeous under his touch, despite the comments from Darcy. You reach down to squeeze him through his pants but he drags your bra down your arms and he’s ducking his head to wrap his lips around your nipple. You gasp, gripping his shoulders, “Frankie. Shit.” You hiss when he bites down, making your cunt clench around nothing.

Frankie moans, his cock fully hard and pressing against his fly. He loves the way that you respond to him and the way your nipple tightens in his mouth. Fingers trance up your spine before he works on undoing your jeans. Wanting to see all of you, touch you. Your taste is still a flavor on his tongue, but he wants to drown in it.

You whimper when he switches to your other breast and whine when he pulls back so he can push your jeans down your legs. “Fuck baby.” You gasp when his hand slides between your legs to rub your clit through your panties.

“Let me make you feel good.” He begs softly. He’s not doing this because he has to. He’s doing it because he wants to, he needs to. His fingers rub the material, groaning around your nipple with the wetness that starts to soak through.

You whimper, rocking your hips down to meet his fingers, and you grip his shoulder while your other hand reaches down to squeeze him through his jeans. “I’m yours. You can do what you want.” You promise him.

“I’m yours too.” He promises, twitching under your touch and loving how eagerly you want him. He pushes under your panties and starts to slowly stroke your clit as he kisses back up your chest and then to your lips.

You moan into his mouth, snaking your hand into his boxers, squeezing him as his fingers rub your clit. “Fuck baby. Never forgot how thick you are.”

“Yeah?” He’s proud of the fact that you think he’s thick. “Do you like it? Thick, I mean? Did it feel good?”

“I loved it.” You promise him, jerking him slowly as his fingers rub your clit and you close your eyes as his lips kiss along your neck. “I love you. Everything about you. Even your demons. I love every part of you. Accept every part.” You promise breathlessly as you squeeze him. “God, I need you inside of me.”

“You don’t want me to eat you out?” He asks in surprise. He had thought you had enjoyed it that night but maybe you just didn’t want it right now. “You’d rather I fuck you?”

You can tell he’s anxious and you pull back to look at him. “Baby, your tongue is literally magic. I never came from oral before your tongue came along. I loved it.” You reassure him, “I just - I want to feel connected to you.” You explain, hoping he understands that this is more than just sex. You want to feel him in your bones, in your soul.

Frankie smiles, relieved that you had cum. He had sworn you had, but he had also been high. “I get it.” He promises you, reluctantly pulling his hand out of your panties and starting to drag them down. “I want to be connected to you too.” He smirks slightly, feeling confident that it will be amazing. Everything with you is amazing.

You smile and caress his cheek with your free hand and you reach down to shove his boxers down his legs. He is throbbing and you want him to feel loved, to feel cherished. You sink down onto your knees, looking up at him. “I love you.” You declare and lean in to wrap your lips around his cock after gripping him. You want to make him feel good, feel cherished.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie chokes out the sound and tries not to buck his hips forward. Chasing the sweet heat of your mouth and the way you softly suckle him. “So good baby. Fuck, baby.” He coos softly, reaching down and stroking your cheek. You look so fucking pretty with his cock in your mouth. “I love you so goddamn much.” He promises, knowing that you don’t pity him for what happened.

You moan around his cock, loving how he is caressing your cheek and praising you. You love how comfortable he is, no longer ashamed of himself after months of therapy. You pull off of his cock, jerking him with your hand, "I love you. You want to cum down my throat or inside of me?" You ask, wanting him to choose.

“Inside.” He croaks out, pulsing in your hand at the thought. “I want to be inside you, so deep I don’t know where I stop and you start.”

You let go of him and shift to stand up, leaning in to kiss him. "How do you want me?" You ask and he murmurs against your lips, "on your back." You nod, shifting to lay down on his bed, naked and aching for him.

Frankie takes his time, standing up and slowly stripping. Watching as you lay down on the bed and spreading your legs to show him your dripping cunt. “So fucking gorgeous and all mine.” He groans, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down to expose his pre-cum stained boxer briefs.

You moan, “all yours baby.” You shift onto your elbows so you can watch him strip off, his pants kicked aside and his fingers wrap around his cock to slowly pump himself. “I’m yours. Always have been. Since we met.” You promise, chest heaving as he kneels on the bed.

“I wish I had Ava with you.” He admits as he shuffles closer. “You are perfect, great with her too, not just me.” He slides a hand along your thigh. “I used to dream of us being a family.”

You look up at him, “we can have a baby together if you want. Give her a sibling. Not now. But when we are ready.” You tell him.

“Yeah?” He groans quietly, imagining how good you would look round with his baby. “I want that. One day when we’re ready.” He slowly strokes his cock again before moving into position between your thighs.

You inhale deeply, eyes focused on him, and when he notches himself at your entrance, shifting onto his elbows, and you reach up to caress his chest as he starts to push inside of you. “I love you, Francisco.” You murmur softly, looking at him with adoration as he pushes inside of you.

It’s slow. Healing almost, as he closes his eyes. Head pressing against your forehead as he lowers himself on top of you and slides his arms under your back. “I love you, baby.” He promises breathlessly. “So much. You’re my everything.”

You whimper as he pushes into you. “Everything.” You echo, knowing it’s always been true. You caress his back as he pushes deep inside of you and you feel full and complete. Taking a moment to catch your breath, you look at him to take in the moment.

Frankie groans your name when he bottoms out, feeling like he’s home deep inside you. The look of adoration in your eyes makes him want to cry and he knows that Darcy never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning. He leans in and presses his lips to yours, twitching when he does.

You caress every inch of skin you can reach, loving how he feels inside of you, and you kiss him tenderly, unrushed. You want this to last forever. You murmur his name against his lips and he starts to move inside of you, making you gasp.

It’s overwhelming. Every time he rocks his hips he feels like he’s in Heaven. Holding you tight and groaning your name as he kisses you over and over again.

You pant into his mouth, heart pounding and skin on fire as rocks into you. It’s sweet and unhurried and takes your breath away. “Fuck, Frankie. This is better than last time.” You confess as he kisses down your neck.

It is better than the last time. Both of you are sober and there’s no lingering guilt because of Darcy. Nothing but the two of you and the pleasure that your love can bring to each other. “I know.” He rasps out. “Never want it to end.”

“Me neither.” You gasp as he rocks into you and you lift your hip, changing the angle, and it makes your breath hitch as he hits something incredible inside of you. “Shit. There, Frankie.” You pant and he nods, brow furrowing as he rocks into you, focusing on that spot. “Oh God.” You cry softly, “oh shit. That’s - oh I’m gonna-” You whine, clamping down on his cock seconds later.

Stealing his breath, Frankie watches as you come apart under him. Barely able to move as you hold his cock in your spasming walls, he grits his teeth as he tries not to cum. Wanting to make it last a little longer. Although he knows he’s going to wrap himself around you all night rather than slink off in shame.

Your eyes are clenched shut as the pleasure surges through you, making your toes curl, and you know you could never live a day without Frankie. You need him now like you need oxygen. “Fuck baby. I- oh God.” You pant, walls relaxing after you soaked his cock with your cum.

“That’s it, fuck you’re so pretty when you cum.” He praises breathlessly, kissing down your jaw. “Love you so much, need you. Want you forever.” He can’t imagine anything else but you.

His words make your heart pound in your chest and your entire body is responding to him. “I need you. Forever, Francisco. I’ve always been yours. I belong to you.” You promise him with a sigh.

He groans quietly as he starts to move again. Knowing that he will cum soon, he slides a hand between you to rub your clit. “Yours baby, I’m yours.” With Darcy, it had been forced, but with you it’s completely honest. “Want you to cum again, baby.”

You whine softly, overstimulated but he pushes you over into pleasure again and you tangle your fingers in his hair to drag his lips back to yours. You wrap your legs around his hips, pushing him deeper and trapping his hand between you. You whimper into his mouth, getting closer until you fall over the edge again, clamping down on his cock.

This time, Frankie is right there with you. Choking out your name as he pushes deep, wanting to be just as buried as he can manage to be when he starts flooding your womb with his hot seed. Panting with every spurt until he’s collapsing on top of you and pressing his lips to your neck.

You caress his back, eyes closed as you realize he’s safe and you’re together. Everything you ever dreamed to come true is now true and you’ll spend the rest of your life protecting him, loving him. He’s still healing but soon, you want to be his wife, the mother of his children, and spend the rest of your days by his side. It’s a bright future with Frankie, something he never imagined possible: a future with you, him, and your children.

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