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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Drunk Words (Frankie Catfish Morales x f!Reader)

Drunk Words / Sober Thoughts part one of two

Summary: Frankie’s drunk off his ass and needs a ride home. PART ONE of a two part Frankie fic

W/C: 2.7k+

Warnings: language, copious amounts of alcohol, Frankie is absolutely shitfaced

A/N: THANK U TO MY BABE @sanchosammy for this idea!!! I love it so much I fuckin LOVE my baby frankie

As you roll over in bed, you groan. You’ve been up for about 20 minutes now, unable to return to the blissful sleep that had been enveloping you before. The time on your watch now reads 3:07. You frown and grab your phone, lying on your side. The light is bright enough to make you squint, and you smile at the text thread you’ve received from Frankie tonight.

The man brings nothing but happiness to your life. You really do love Frankie, not just platonically. You want to hold his big and strong hands, want to lift up his ball cap and kiss him on the forehead, want to fluff the hat hair he always gets from that Standard Oil cap. More than anything, you want to softly kiss that little patch in his beard. It’s just existing there, perfectly clean even when he’s almost at a full beard. His tough fingers scratch it and you giggle, looking away when he asks what’s so funny. Nothing, Fish, you immediately reply. Fishie, if you’re feeling a little more flirtatious.

Frankie might be feeling the same, you’ve noticed lately. He’s a little more touchy with you. He hugs you longer than the other men, makes you dance with him when a good song comes on. He lets it happen when you steal his ball cap and wear it, where he’d scold and smack any of the other men for it. He lends you his flannel when you’re cold, wrapping it gingerly around your shoulders.

It’s been a long time that you’ve been friends now. Just recently, you’ve come to appreciate him differently. The way he hugs you warms your heart still, but it makes your heart race and your hands sweat. It makes you want to lift your face from where it rests in his neck and kiss him softly, your fingers working into that little bald patch on his jaw.

Even now, as he’s clearly drunk, you adore him. How can you not?

Frankie 🚁: attachment: one image

You open the photo and laugh. It’s a blurry selfie of Frankie, an arm draped over Santiago’s shoulders. The two men make faces like they’re going to bite the other, and it makes you chuckle aloud. You can see his fluffy curls peeking out from beneath the cap, and you desperately want to play with them. The image is blurry, showing that it must’ve been moving while he took it.

Frankie 🚁: missing u tonight, Santiago says he doesn’t like me when you’re not around

Frankie 🚁: holy fuck their new beer is really good, you gotta try it soon

Frankie 🚁: lol I fuckin love the nachos here

Frankie 🚁: snati is so annoying, pls get him away from me

Frankie 🚁: u r probably sleep sorry :((((

Frankie 🚁: can we got o a zoo soon?? I wanna see animals 🦫🐈🐕‍🦺🦡

You laugh out loud at the words, at Frankie’s terrible typing. He must be shitfaced. He’s hilarious when he’s drunk.

The last text was only four minutes ago.

Me: Alright, Fishie. Stop drinking and eat something. No more beer.

Frankie 🚁: ha I’m drinking that Coffey shit… Kalua?? isk but it’s so gooood

Your phone rings, filling the screen with your profile picture of Frankie. It’s a photo of him smiling, his dimple evident. Your cheek is pressed to his, grinning just as wide. God, he’s so fucking cute. You love him so much.

You take a second and stare at the photo before pressing the answer button and putting it on speaker. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey,” he laughs, dragging the word out long and slow. “S’a shame you weren’t here, Will’s been buying all night.” His words are slurred and woozy. You can hear the roar of the bar behind him.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re shitfaced,” you laugh into the phone.

“Precisely,” he slurs, a smile clear in his voice. “I can’t drive.”

“I’m glad you realize that. What do you want me to do about that? I can have an Uber coming your way in ten minutes.”

“Will you pick me up?” He asks, his voice like a child’s. “Fuckin’ Ubers cost money, ‘n I just wanna see your pretty face.”

“Frankie,” you warn but feel your body warm at the notion.

“You got a cute little nose,” he laughs. “Just wanna boop it. Can I boop it? Just go… boop, boop boop. Right on the nose.”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’re so fucking lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Thank you,” he practically sings. “See you then. Mwah.”

You throw on a hoodie and walk to your car, not caring to cover up your patterned flannel shorts that you sleep in. Your hair is messy, you don’t have makeup on, you don’t really give a shit. It’s Frankie.

Once you reach the bar, you shoot him a text, and the four men stumble outside. “Yo!” Benny calls and rushes over to you. It’s clear his normal balance has left his body for the night, his body a little wobbly. He’s an excited drunk. He slams on your window until you lower it. “Hey, you missed out on a good time,” he grins. His words blur together too.

Frankie follows behind him, an arm thrown across him. He’s still got a little balance. “Missed you so much, cariño. Santi’s being an ass.”

You look up at Will. “These fuckers need a ride too?” He’s the responsible one of the men, even when intoxicated.

He shakes his head. “Got an Uber coming. They’re staying at my place tonight.”

Frankie puts a hand on the car to steady himself. “Knew you’d come. Pretty girl always comes through for me, even at 3 A.M., thank you,” he slurs happily, his eyes half open.

Santiago leans against your car. “Hey gorgeous. We missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get the grizzly bear in the car.”

Frankie laughs at the words. “Ooh, I like that. Big and fluffy but murderous.”

“I’m about to get murderous if you don’t get in the car right now, Francisco Morales.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Shit, man.”

Benny gives a whistle. The men all make noises in commentary and laugh, Will opening the door. Frankie flops down inside. Benny ensures that all of his limbs have made it in and shuts the door. “Don’t party too hard with him tonight,” Santiago calls and you roll your eyes.

The two of you drive off and out of the bar parking lot.

“Hey, Fish,” you say, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Buckle up. I’m not getting in trouble for your dumb ass.”

“You always do, though,” he mumbles and tilts his head to look at you. “You’re so good to me.”

“I’m a fucking saint,” you sigh sarcastically. “Seriously, buckle up. If you can’t do it yourself, we’re going to the ER for alcohol poisoning.”

“No,” he whines and pouts at you. “Just wanna be close to you. Wanna just…” he trails off and rests his head against your shoulder. “Mm. There. Your skin is so soft.”

“That’s my hoodie, Frankie.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, the scent clicking in his addled brain. “No, that’s my hoodie.”

He’s right, you realize. You grabbed a random sweatshirt and pulled it on before leaving. You’re the one who’s always cold at gatherings, leaving Frankie to share one of his many layers with you. You smile a bit. “It’s comfy.”

“I like it better on you. I really like you in my clothes, you know that? Wear them way better than I can. You just look so cute and so little.”

“Frankie, I’m 5’9,” you refute and glare down at him, where he looks up at you with puppy-dog mocha-colored eyes.

“Just look so small in ‘em. I’m like 6’0, you know that.”

“I do know that, Francisco. You remind us all the time,” you laugh, removing his ball cap and tossing it into his lap. “Still shorter than Benny. Get that hat off and I think you’re shorter than Santi.”

“I’m taller than him,” Frankie whines at the reminder. “How come Benny’s the baby and he’s so tall? He’s like a fuckin’ giraffe up there, can never see his stupid face,” he pouts.

“He’s too tall for comfortable hugs,” you nod in agreement. “And Santi is too short. And Will is too fucking awkward,” you laugh. You purposely leave out the bit about how perfect hugs from Frankie are, how much you dream about them and crave them.

His dark brows furrow as he looks up at you with glazed eyes. “Wha’bout me?”

The car stops for a moment as a light in front of you turns red. You smile down at him and push his messy curls from his forehead. “I like hugging you. You’re comfy.”

“Ha, grizzly bear hugs,” he slurs. “Y’should call me that more often. I like it when you call me things the boys don’t. Makes me feel tingly,” he laughs, lovestruck as he looks up at you.

“Tingly?”

“Yeah, like when they put the meds in before they steal your teeth.”

“Steal your teeth?” You laugh loudly, toying with one of the curls. “Do you mean get a tooth removed?”

“Same thing. I don’t like it when they do it then. I like it when you call me stuff though. Fishie makes me laugh and feel happy.”

“Oh yeah?” God, he’s so fucking precious. He looks at you like a puppy stares at their owner, pure and unadulterated love radiating from them. “I’ll need to call you Fishie more often then.”

It’s quiet for a while. Frankie’s head still rests against your shoulder. He can feel all of the tiny muscles move as you steer and navigate the car. He likes the way they move, making his drunken head even more floaty. After a few moments, he shifts to lean against the car door, just watching you.

The music drifting from the radio is soft and quiet. You almost think Frankie’s fallen asleep, since he’s so quiet, but you look over and see him gazing over at you. “Penny for your thoughts, Fish.”

You’re expecting something stupid. Frankie is quite the philosopher when he’s drunk, always asking odd rhetorical questions. ‘Is a muffin an unfrosted cupcake?’ has always been a favorite of his. He’s never quite made up his mind about it, waxing poetic about the difference in the two baked goods.

He always says something stupid, but this time, his sober thoughts become his drunken words. “You’re the most absolute prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he smiles at you, those pink lips curled into a soft smile. It shows off his dimple, and you want to scream from how cute he looks. One of his big hands reaches over and cups your face.

“You’re drunk,” you shake your head, looking back at the road. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, I mean yeah. Kinda drunk and really stupid, ha, but I mean it. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, cariño.” The backs of his fingers trace across the side of your face, resting on the side of your neck now.

You look down at yourself, still skeptical. “No, I know what you’re gonna say,” he pouts, beating you to the punch. “You’re in your pajamas and your hair is all messy ‘n whatever, but you’re so pretty. Your face is so cute. I love your nose. Just wanna…” he leans over and makes good on his promise for earlier. “Boop,” he coos as he pokes the tip of your nose, smiling wide. “You’re so cute. The guys make fun’a me because I never shut up about it.”

“Oh really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

“Yeah. Santi says I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, sitting back against the car window.

You gulp as you force yourself to grip the steering wheel harder, staring at the white dashes separating the two-lane road. “Yeah? What do you have to say on the matter?”

“I’m kinda thinkin’ he might be right.” His voice is small and quiet.

You shake your head again, eyes watering from the honesty. There’s no way he can think that. He’s shitfaced. He doesn’t mean it, there’s no way. He’s never been more than a friend, done anything to indicate romance.

Or… maybe he has, you reflect. He pays for your drinks most nights. He’ll order something you want and share it with you. He’s always a little touchier than he is with the boys. “You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, swallowing hard.

Whatever common sense he has left tells him to be quiet, so he does. He sits there silently for the rest of the drive, the tension palpable between the two of you. When you finally reach his house and park, you hold your breath. You don’t know what to do, what to say, but you can’t just let him go inside without saying anything. He sits up a little straighter as he realizes he’s come to a stop.

You bite your lip and look over at him. “I should help you inside.”

He nods and you turn off the car, putting the key in the pocket of your hoodie. You get out and walk to Frankie’s side, opening his door. He reaches his arms out to you and you chuckle a little. He looks like a helpless little child.

“Alright, grizzly bear,” you grunt as he swings his feet out and you help lift him to his feet. His arms cling to you tight until he’s standing up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and wraps an arm around your shoulder when he’s upright.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you chuckle.

Using you as a crutch, he walks alongside you and into his house. He fumbles with the key until you open it for him, then lock it behind you. He leads the way to his room, opening the door and sighing as he sees his bed.

“Not yet,” you say as he tries to get to the bed. “Come on.” You pull his flannel off, leaving him in the t-shirt underneath. “Okay, go on.” He flops down onto his bed with a happy noise. Once he’s down, you unlace his boots and pull them off, then his socks.

Standing at his side, you undo his belt. “Woah,” he laughs. “‘M way too drunk for that, pretty girl. Kinda wanna though.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fish,” you laugh and thread it through the loops, tossing it aside. “I’m getting your clothes off so you can sleep.”

“Oh,” he sighs, giggling drunkenly as you pull his pants off. “Kinda feels like we’re gonna fuck.”

“Maybe another time,” you tease and pull the covers over him. Pushing his curls from his face, you softly kiss his cheek. “Call me when you’re sober, okay?”

He frowns and grabs the hand on his face with both of his rough palms. “Don’t leave me,” he pouts.

“Frankie,” you sigh and look at your watch. “It’s 3:35 in the goddamn morning.”

“Then stay the night,” he begs. “You said you like hugging me. I want you to hug me all night long,” he sighs, kissing your fingertips. You smile softly. It’s a good offer, you have to admit. He makes it even harder to say no. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not here when I wake up.”

“Lots of things can happen while you’re asleep, Fishie. I can-”

“Mm, Fishie,” he says with a smile, his eyes fluttering closed. “Come snuggle with me, pretty girl.”

You sigh as you look at the man. It’s not like you haven’t spent time pressed into his side, watching a sports game or a movie. You and Frankie are affectionate friends. He looks so warm and inviting, his body radiating heat. “Fine,” you give in. “Only because I’m cold.”

“Not ‘cause you like me too?” he asks and rolls over, leaving room for you.

“We can discuss that when you’re sober.” The spot he laid is warm and cozy, his body heat making it perfect for you. You slide under the covers next to him and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

Frankie presses a sloppy kiss to your head, smiling. You can hear his slow and steady heartbeat. “G’night cariño,” he mumbles, lips still buried in your hair.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” you whisper.

He falls asleep almost instantly, and you’re close behind him. You’ve never been more at peace than when you fall asleep in Frankie Morales’s arms.

read part two: SOBER THOUGHTS

taglist:

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