This is fairly tame, though I know it’s not for everyone. Slice of life. Frankie/pregnant wife!reader. Some swearing, dirty talk, foreplay. 18+.
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“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
You turn, startled, looking over your shoulder and down at your husband. Frankie and his downturned mustache look up at you from the doorway, arms folded in disapproval.
“The vanilla extract is at the back of the cabinet,” you explain, shuffling your armful of spices and poking your head back in. “And I couldn’t reach it.”
“Get down from there right now.”
You abstain from rolling your eyes, finally nabbing the bottle you were looking for. “Frankie, it’s not a big deal, I was quick.”
“Not quick enough,” he grumbles. You felt his hands press on either side of your waist, steadying you as you shoved spice bottles haphazardly back in place. “I caught you. Get down.”
“I’m not feeble,” you grouse. He tutted beneath you, his hands squeezing insistently in a way that told you he meant business.
“Didn’t say you were.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“Remains to be seen. Come on. Now.”
You huff, turning back to him and allowing him to help you clamber down from the kitchen counter. He caged you in with his arms, mustache still disapproving as he looked you over, dusting flour off the oversized flannel you’d stolen. You smile as innocently as you can, doing your best to rein in the urge to laugh.
“The baby wanted French toast.”
“No excuse.”
“You like French toast.”
“What I’d really like is for my wife to use some of the good sense I know she has. It’d save me the heartburn to know she’s not climbing up on God-knows-what at all hours of the day.”
You lean in to kiss him despite the reprimand in his eyes. “You’re home early.”
“And a good thing, too.”
You wrap your arms around him this time, sneaking one hand under the back of his shirt and pressing it against his hot skin. “I wasn’t going to fall.”
“You’re pregnant,” he states. “And anemic. I don’t want you taking the risk.”
“My balance isn’t that bad yet. Scold me two months from now.”
“I’ll scold you if I damn well please.”
It’s your turn to pull at his waist, anchoring him against you as you kiss him, humming in satisfaction as he returns it. He’s warm and solid, and his mouth opens to yours as you coax him into something more significant, cupping his neck with your other hand. Frankie sighs, one of his broad hands slipping down to your middle and resting there. Heat seeps through flannel and shirt alike, warming you at the contact.
He broke the kiss first, pressing his forehead to yours. “What am I going to do with you?”
You tug him again by the belt loops and give him another kiss. “I can think of some ideas.”
At that he chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I mean it. No more climbing on countertops.”
“Worry-wart.”
“Risk-assessment is part of my job.”
“You like danger. Adrenaline fiend.”
Frankie reached up and grabbed your chin between thumb and forefinger, halting your teasing as he forced you to look him in the eyes.
“I’m serious. I need to know you’re not doing stupid shit just because I’m not around to stop it. Pregnancy brain is a real thing.”
“I don’t worry you on purpose.”
“Heartburn,” he reiterated.
“I want you to kiss me some more.”
He still looks like he’s disapproving of you, but his mouth slants against yours when you nudge your way back into his good graces with a well-timed squeeze of his ass. His strong arms, braced on either side of you, find the time to hitch under your thighs and you land back on top of the counter with him between your legs.
Francisco Morales kisses like he’s searching for something, thorough and timed with precision until it spills over into fervid, heated intensity. If you let him (and you often do), he’d spend the subsequent hour kissing you every way he could think of, desperate for your touch. His broad thumb sweeps over your cheek, his brow furrows in concentration, and he delves between your lips with an urgency matched by your own.
He breaks away only to stoop and kiss the dip at the base of your neck, his hat knocked off by your hand carding through his soft brown hair, and as you cling to him Frankie allows his exploration to gain traction: his hands pull you expertly towards the edge of the counter and hitch one of your legs up around his hip. The move sends your pulse skyrocketing and one hand drags up under his shirt to feel the expanse of muscle in his back flex as he moves. Hot, searing kisses score your shoulder as he hums in approval, dragging his sharp nose up the line of your neck to nip just below your ear.
“You just made a big deal about getting me off this counter,” you say breathlessly.
If there was one thing Frankie didn’t like it was being contradicted in his judgement calls, especially when it came to issues of perceived safety. For all the shit the guys gave him for being the quiet one who hung back and purposefully didn’t attract attention, Frankie was decisive, capable, and thorough when it really came down to driving his point home.
You couldn’t be blamed for pushing your luck with his patience, not when the results worked out so well in your favor.
He growls against your skin, and his hand tightens on the back of your knee as he grinds against you with purpose. The weight of him settling against your core was intoxicating; it had been a long day and now he was here, so close and broad and fully encompassing your senses. Letting him take the lead was more than okay, especially since he was always so eager to please.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks. The timbre of his voice sends a shiver up your back and you yank him closer. He moves against you, rocking his hips. “Do you know what I have to keep from thinking about all day at work?”
Your throaty groan spurs him on— Though it’s a struggle to form a thought right now, you’re still pleased to know you can have just as much of an effect on him, even after all this time. “Aside from worrying?”
His hands flex as you move, making the heat in your lower belly fan to a flame. The hindrance of clothes was quickly becoming unacceptable— You need him, and you need him now. He hums against your skin, and you clutch him tighter in the hopes he’ll take the hint and have mercy on you.
“I think about how much I can’t wait to come home in the evening and take you any way you’ll let me,” he says with a lazy roll of his hips. “Always so goddamn hot and slick it seems like I can still feel you when I leave in the morning.”
“Baby—”
He easily catches your hand in his before you can wiggle it between the two of you. He nuzzles a kiss against your palm, presses it to his chest, and hooks his forearm around your lower back. The heft of him between your legs makes you clench.
“I think about how nobody else gets to see you the way I do, the way you look coming out of the shower or riding me in bed these last few months.” He remains stubbornly in control of the moment as he suckles a tender spot into the delicate skin beneath your jaw. “I could be up to my elbows in work and all I can think about is the way you taste when you come on my tongue.”
“Frankie— Oh god please—”
“You like that, honey? Want me to make you come right here in the kitchen? I’ll do it. I’ll do it right now. You taste sweeter like this.”
“F-Fuck— Wait wait wAIT—”
Frankie froze, eyes darting up to you in immediate concern.
Tension pinches your brow. You try to catch your breath, one hand absently pressed to the side of your stomach as your expression turns serious.
“What? What is it?” His eyes clear as worry overrules desire and explorative hands turn to clinical assessment. You have to bite your lip, sheepish at the sudden mood shift.
“I— I changed my mind.”
He’s taken aback for a second as it registers. “Oh— Okay, are you—?”
“… I want fajitas instead.”
Frankie stares at you. He doesn’t move.
“… Fajitas.”
You nod, apologetic. His expression is still unreadable.
“… More than you want me to make you come?”
You really have to fight back a laugh this time. “… Kinda. Just for right now. I really, really want your fajitas.” You give him an apologetic shrug with some jazz hands for good measure. “I’m pregnant remember? But can you still make me come afterwards? Please? I love you.”
Frankie groans, rubbing the sudden stress from his face with both hands. He leans back against the island with a thunk and juts an accusatory finger in your direction.
I like to imagine that Din actually enjoys to feel the warmth of the sun on his face once in a while. Whenever he feels save enough to just relaxe and feel cozy
