#francisco morales smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 2 months ago

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OH HONEY, HONEY, I COULD BE YOUR KEVLAR || FRANKIE MORALES

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｡𖦹°‧￫ PAIR: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧￫ WC: 4.6k

｡𖦹°‧￫ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, smoking, some spanish dialogue cutely sprinkled in, reader is ex-special forces, established relationship, implied age gap, insecurity, semi-jealous frankie mmmh, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering, finger sucking, more brief allusions to a foot fetish whoopsies, p in v, public sex (bar bathroom RAAAHHH), creampie, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧￫ NAT'S NOTE: finally got off my ass watched triple frontier and i’m a changed woman. i mean it was kind of a snooze fest but pedro pascal in a slutty little baseball hat saying “come on, baby” for like three minutes? that’s pure cinema. i’m praying that my spanish isn’t absolute dog shit, i’m still not a hundred percent fluent and dirty talk is such a struggle so please give me some grace if it’s ass and maybe some pointers! that would be very very helpful thank you love you. title from beyonce's 'BODYGUARD' because it's a beyonce summer in this house. hope y’all love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune! extra special shoutout to angel @daydreamingmiller for the wonderful gif!

you and the boys go out...

The bar is buzzing, alive with easy laughter and the sharp crack of billiard balls meeting in the center of pool tables.

It's a dive in every sense of the word, a real shithole. The kind of place where you can smoke indoors because the owner doesn't give a damn. The walls are littered in old road signs and vintage rock band posters.

The floor is sticky and all the booths have tears in the bright red leather cushions. Neon signs are hung sporadically, each one lit up with a phrase more vulgar than the last, drowning everything in different hues of red and blue.

It’s perfect.

It’s familiar, safe in the only way a shithole can be when you’re surrounded by people who’d take a bullet for you. Who’ve taken bullets for you, just like you have for them.

You’re not drunk. You’re not even tipsy.

You’re a couple drinks in and resting on the perfect knife's edge of pleasantly buzzed. You’re warm, a tingly kind of warmth that seeps into your skin all the way down to your bones and loosens your limbs.

The cigarette you bummed from Will only adds to it, smoke flooding your lungs and curling in wispy grey loops around your head like a halo on every exhale.

Music floats in the space all around you, a beat up jukebox is shoved in the corner spitting out song after song.

Lynyrd Skynyrd. The Rolling Stones. The Who. Guns N’ Roses. The Doors. Aerosmith.

Fleetwood Mac when that quarter you spent thirty minutes ago finally gets put to good use.

You’re standing near the same booth the five of you always pack yourselves in, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and some beat up darts in your hand. Benny goaded you into a game of 501 after his third beer made him feel cocky enough.

You’re sitting at 113. Ben’s only at 326.

He’s at the throw line, one eye squeezed shut as he lines up his aims for what feels like the hundredth time. Going Mobile kicks on as you wait for your turn with dwindling patience.

"You gonna hit the board or just warm up your wrist for later tonight?" you say over the music.

“Fuck you.” Ben doesn’t let his gaze stray from the board, flipping you off with his free hand. He finally takes his shot, but his dart hits wide—buried in cork about four inches from the bullseye. ”Damn!”

You laugh, a low, warm sound, pulled from the back of your throat. “Alright hotshot shove over, my turn.”

“Come on, Sniper.” Santiago’s voice calls from behind you. “Make it three in a row.”

Your laughter doesn’t fade as you step up to the throw line, rolling the darts in your hand to feel the weight of them. Your fingers curl around them, metal cool against your skin, the sharpness of the tips familiar. You take your stance without even thinking—weight balanced, eyes narrowed, limbs loose. It’s second nature.

The first dart hits just inside the treble thirteen. Sharp thunk. Clean.

The boys heckle you from the table, ranging from supportive—Santi and Will—to whining about the board being rigged—Ben. You don’t turn around, but you can’t fight the smug smile on your lips.

Another flick. Another hit—just right of the center. Double twelve.

“Bullshit,” Ben groans. “You said you were rusty, you goddamn liar.”

“I am rusty,” you say over your shoulder, spinning the last dart between your fingers. “If I wasn’t I would’ve beat your ass three rounds ago.”

You line up your last shot.

“Call it,” you say to no one in particular.

“Bullseye,” Will says.

You exhale slowly, wrist held high and right foot forward. You throw.

Bullseye.

The table behind you erupts. When you turn around, Ben’s groaning from where he’s leaning against Santi’s shoulder, who just gives a few approving slow claps. Will’s got that quiet, impressed smirk on his face.

You catch Frankie’s eye, he’s grinning behind the rim of his Modelo. All spread out on the left side of the booth, one leg kicked up over where you were sitting. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, showing off the dark hair scattered along his chest and the chain he bought from a street vendor in Ciudad Juárez when he was there on an assignment.

The very same one hangs around your neck, just under your collar.

You smile, a real one—small and just for him in the way it tugs your lips up. Frankie winks at you from under the brim of his hat, a look you’ve seen hundreds of times swirling through the chocolate brown of his eyes.

Later, it says. A promise.

You can't wait.

“Loser buys shots.” You make your way to the table, leaning your hip against the edge. “Next round’s on Benny.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Kiss my ass.”

You smile down at him like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. “Not with aim like that, Miller.”

The laughter that surrounds the table is easy. That’s how it’s come to be with them. Even on days like this, when you all feel like ghosts, carrying sand in your shoes and shrapnel in your lungs.

It started a long time ago. You met Santi first, back in Kandahar. You weren’t officially on the books with the same unit as him back in the day—your ops were blacker than theirs—but you'd cross paths on enough shared missions to get familiar. He was cocky. You were mean. He liked that.

You pulled him out of a burning Humvee with a busted comms rig and a bullet in his thigh. He paid you back when one of your jobs got blown wide open in Girardot and saved you from bleeding out in a ditch after he dragged you two klicks to a medevac sight.

Through him came Frankie. He was quieter than you expected after all the stories, and thoughtful in a way that made you curious. It didn’t take long for something to shift there—some gravity between the two of you that pulled you closer before either of you had a chance to name it.

You still aren't sure when exactly it had changed. There hadn’t been one single moment. Just a hundred small ones. Quieter nights. Warmer looks. Shared smokes in the silence. And eventually, one drunken night back in Bogotá when he kissed you outside a safehouse, the rain dripping off his cap and into your collar.

Neither of you looked back.

Will and Benny came much later. A package deal, good on their own but great together. One couldn’t exist without the other. Ben brought the noise and a young, unshakable enthusiasm. Will brought the strategy and experience.

They all introduced you to Tom when you were back stateside. He was calculated and quiet, the only man you’ve ever seen clear a building with a heartbeat under sixty.

It all seems like a lifetime ago.

When you think back to it, it’s the smell of gunpowder and the phantom ache in your shoulder from the viscous recoil on your Barrett M82. It’s kevlar squeezed around your ribs tight enough to leave angry red lines of remembrance branded in your skin long after you took it off and the sound of bullets piercing flesh.

The six of you were never an official unit. You were all off-books more often than not. Contracts, black bag jobs, unofficial recon. Nothing that would stick. But when it went bad you called each other. Always. No matter the time zone. No matter the cost.

You’ve seen the best and worst of each other—on dirt roads, jungle trails, blacked out hallways. In safehouses and active war zones and cheap motels.

They’re your people. Your family, even if the word is slick with blood and drenched in ash.

It’s family nonetheless.

So when Santiago called about recon work in Colombia, you didn’t even let him finish the pitch.

You were in.

Now, months after everything went down—the heist, the Andes, the loss and anguish you all carried home—you’re here. In a shitty bar with your family. With Frankie.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“Alright, alright.” Ben stands from the booth, carrying five empty shot glasses. “Nobody ever said I wasn’t a man of my word, what are we drinking?”

“Surprise me,” Santi says, already on his feet. “I gotta hit the head.”

Ben nods as he walks off, turning his attention back to the table. “Surprises all around?”

You shrug, stealing a sip of Frankie’s Modelo. “Works for me.”

Will shakes his head, sliding out of the booth. “Hell no, I’m coming with. This isn't spring break, I’m not knocking back any damn tequila shots.”

You watch them go, disappearing deeper into the crowd until you can’t make out their silhouettes anymore. You turn to Frankie, resting your palms flat on the table. “You up for a game, Morales? I’ll let you win if you promise to make it worth my while back home.”

Frankie laughs. “Only if you throw it just bad enough I don’t notice,” he says, chin dipped low, voice just rough enough to make your skin prickle. His eyes are fixed on yours—warm, focused, like he’s already replaying whatever making it worth your while might look like. Probably more than once.

You smirk, pushing off the table. “No promises.”

You make your way over to the board, plucking the darts out one by one. You’re alone for the first time all night, almost.

“Are you always this good, or is tonight just for show?”

The voice is unfamiliar—low and a little too close.

You glance over your shoulder. Young, younger than you–early to mid-twenties if you had to guess. He’s tall, lean and muscular in a way that screams college wrestling. Sharp jawline, white teeth.

You give him a polite smile. Nothing that invites, but nothing too rude either. You’re good at being nice. Trained for it. There’s strength in it, control.

“Used to be better,” you say, turning back to the dartboard and yanking out the last one. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

“Wasn’t just a compliment,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve been watching you. You’ve got a great arm.”

He’s not the only one.

Frankie’s watching you. You can feel it before you see it. Like a hum under your skin. A pressure point at the base of your neck.

“Thanks.” It’s as dismissive as you can make it, a clear send off.

The guy doesn’t take the hint. “Let me buy you a drink, maybe we could play a round? I’d love some pointers, I’ve never seen a girl throw like that before.”

A girl. You don’t even flinch.

“I don’t think you could keep up.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I don’t know.” His eyes rake up and down your body with all the subtlety of a car crash. “I’m a fast learner.”

You keep your posture relaxed, but your hand tightens a little around the dart. “Maybe, but I’m already here with someone.”

His eyes follow the way yours flick to Frankie out of habit, sizing him up unashamedly. He snorts, turning back to you with a cocky grin. “Is that your dad, or something?”

You don’t even blink, just cock your head and smile—sharp as a blade this time. “Careful,” you say, voice overly sweet and saccharine. “This girl might just lay you on your ass for that.”

It takes him a beat too long to realize you’re not joking. Your tone is calm, flat, with that old edge you haven’t used in years. When it sinks in, his eyes narrow, mouth working like he’s deciding whether to double down or cut his losses.

Smart boy chooses the latter. “Didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he mutters, taking a step back.

You toss the darts on a nearby table. “Then don’t,” you say, and turn your back on him.

Frankie’s standing by the time you reach the booth, he’s already got that look in his eyes. Quiet, a little withdrawn. His mouth twitches like he’s going to say something but doesn’t. You close the space between you, laying your hand on his chest.

“You mad?” It’s soft, quiet enough so only he can hear it.

He shakes his head, brows pinching together. “Of course not.”

His arm slides around your waist, big hand spreading out possessively over your stomach. He’s not lying, you know he isn't. It’s not you he’s mad at, it’s not even the jackass slinking his way back to his buddies he’s mad at.

He’s angry at himself.

You can see it still simmering under the surface, and it’s not real anger. Not entirely. It’s something else entirely—the insecurity he carries. The one that creeps in late at night when he’s lying behind you in bed, one arm slung heavy over your waist.

The kind that whispers in his ear that he’s not good enough when he sees someone younger—someone who hasn’t been through what he has, who doesn’t have a road-map of scars or night terrors or hands that still shake sometimes when they’re too still for too long. Someone without graying hair or creaking joints or the softer gut that comes with love and recovery.

Frankie still doubts himself, even after all this time. He doubts that he’s really what you want, that you’re not just stuck with him out of guilt or some fucked up version of shared trauma that ties you together.

“Hey,” you say gently, reaching up to hold the side of his face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” His voice is gruffer now, lower. The furrow of his brow makes the skin in-between crease, you rub your thumb over it a few times until he relaxes his face.

You’re always struck by how handsome he is, even in the shitty neon lights bathing you both. His round, chocolate brown eyes stare down at you with so much care and love that it makes your chest ache.

“Get in your own head. You really think I’d be out here flirting with some college guy when you’re sittin’ twenty feet away looking like this?”

Frankie shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m fine, baby. Just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, that’s all.”

You lean into him, pressing your chest to his so there isn't an inch of space between you. “You’re the only one I want. You’re it for me, Frankie.”

He doesn’t speak, his lips pressed into a thin line as he holds your unwavering gaze. You hope he can see the look on your face, that he can hear the truth and the weight of your words.

He wraps his arms around you and he breathes you in, pressing his nose into your hair. The tension in his shoulders eases the way it always does when you’re close.

It’s nice, a step in the right direction, but it’s not enough. Not yet. You can still feel the stiffness lingering in his body, the way he’s holding you more out of possessive worry than relief—like he’s still scared you’ll bolt at the last second.

You bite your lip, an idea sparking to life in your mind. It’s a risk, especially when Frankie’s feeling like this—but it also has an undeniable warmth flaring up in your stomach, phantom flames licking their way up your legs.

Besides, you’ve never been one to back down from risky situations. You made a career out of it.

You pull back, only slightly, just far enough to catch his eye. You notice the second he sees your pupils, blown out and dark as an oil spill. His brows furrow again, but it’s different than before. It’s curious, a silent question you’re more than happy to answer.

“If you want…” Your hand trails down his chest languidly until you’re toying with his belt buckle, hooking your pointer finger under the band of his jeans and tugging gently. “I could show you just how much I want you.”

Frankie’s eyes darken, his lips parting on a shocked breath. His arms twitch around you, fingertips digging into the fabric of your shirt. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

You don’t even wait for him to respond, your patience fizzling out into pure, blinding need.

You grab his hand and pull him behind you, slipping into the crowd without a backward glance. You lead him down the narrow hall past the pool tables, past the jukebox playing Dream On, until you reach the dingy single-stall bathroom.

The door’s not even all the way closed before Frankie’s on you. He backs you up against the graffiti covered wall, mouth already on yours—hungry, possessive, a little desperate. You love it when he kisses you like this, like he’s staking a claim.

His tongue licks a dirty stripe over the seam of your lips, fucking into your mouth when you moan. He tastes like beer, like lime and salt and something under it all that’s just him. It’s addicting, you can’t get enough—you never can.

Your hands are greedy—yanking his hat off and letting it topple to the ground carelessly, your fingers tangle in his curls, nails scratching along his scalp.

“You’re mine,” you murmur against his lips, breathless.

“Yeah?” he pants, kissing you again, hands skimming down your body.

He presses you into the wall harder, his hips grinding against yours, and you can feel him already. Hard, thick and aching through his jeans. Your pussy leaks wet and sticky into your panties, impatient and wanting.

“You really think I’d want anyone else?” you whisper against his jaw, licking the stubble, biting it. “You think anyone could fuck me the way you do?”

Frankie groans, hips jerking forward. His hands dig into the meat of your hips, hard enough to ache in the best way. You hope that it takes, that your skin is bruised come morning.

You rut against each other like you’re still overseas, like there’s mortar fire behind you and you’re stealing time you don’t have.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” you breathe, arching up against him. “Tell me how to make you feel better.”

“Wanna taste you,” he says roughly, voice thick. “Muero por saborearte, princesa.”

Heat rushes through you like an electric shock, lighting up every inch of your body. “Fuck, yes–”

Frankie drops to his knees before the words leave your mouth, hurried hands not even bothering to unbutton your jeans before he’s yanking them down your hips. He groans when he sees your panties—damp and clinging to your folds, soft cotton pulled tight.

“Que cosita linda...” It whispered, soft and almost secretive—like he’s saying it to himself more than to you.

You brace yourself against the wall, one hand gripping the chipped edge of the sink, the other in his hair when he mouths you over the fabric. He presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to your pussy, the hot drag of his tongue through the soaked material making your knees threaten to buckle.

“Frankie,” you gasp, hips twitching toward him. “Don’t tease—”

He hums like he likes hearing you beg, like he needs it, and then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs in one swift, greedy motion.

The moment you’re bare to him, he’s buried between your legs.

He licks up your slit, slow and obscene, tasting everything you’ve made for him. He groans like it hurts, like your pussy’s a salvation and a punishment all at once. He spreads you open with thick fingers and dives in, eating you like he’s starved.

“Fuck—Frankie,” you gasp, knees almost giving, fingers fisting tight in his curls. He only groans, the vibration making your hands twist his hair tight in your grip as his nose bumps against your clit.

It’s loud, the way he devours you. He’s always been messy with it—and soon the filthy sounds of his mouth fills the bathroom, dirty slurps and sucks bouncing off the walls. Your head thunks against the hard brick behind you when you toss it back on a broken moan, you hardly notice.

You lift your foot off the ground, not hesitating as you press it against the thick line of his cock still tenting the front of his jeans. Frankie shudders, his eyes screwing shut as he bucks up into it, chasing the pressure.

“Shit, Frankie, I—” You whimper, dizzy, aching. “Need more—need your fingers—please—”

His eyes flick up to yours, dark and molten. “Show me,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, teeth scraping along the delicate skin there. “Show me what you want, hermosa.”

Your hand trembles as you reach down, slipping two fingers through the wet mess of your pussy. Slick and saliva coats your skin, eases the way as you circle your clit—once, twice—before you push them into yourself with a soft moan.

Frankie watches, eyes wide and rapt with attention. His hands knead the muscle of your thighs, his hips jerking up against the sole of your boot like he can’t help himself. “Mierda…look at you. So fuckin’ perfect.”

You fuck yourself slow, wrist twisting—and just as your thighs start to shake, you slip your soaked fingers out of yourself, strings of slick catching in the air, and bring them to his mouth. You don’t say anything, but there’s an unspoken order that fills the air between you.

Frankie’s a good soldier, he’d never disobey a direct order.

He looks up at you, gaze dark as he slowly parts his lips—his hot breath fans over your skin. Eyes locked on yours, he takes them in, sucks them deep, tongue curling around them lewdly. He moans at the taste, hand closing around your ankle to keep you in place as he grinds up against your foot harder.

You press your fingers against his tongue, rubbing the taste of yourself over his taste buds. Your pussy clenches weakly, pulsing with pleasure and emptiness.

Frankie pulls back, your fingers falling from between his lips with a soft pop. “Sabe como cielo.”

He doesn't give you a second to recover before he’s on his feet again, surging up like a man possessed. His hands grab your thighs, lifting you with ease, you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. Your boots clatter against the stall wall with the motion, the dull thud-thud-thud drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

"You're gonna let me fuck you right here?" he pants, rutting against your slick heat through his jeans, the zipper catching on your swollen clit. "Right here, in this filthy fucking bathroom where anyone could hear us?"

You nod frantically, arms looping around his neck. "Yes—yes, fuck, Frankie, please—"

"Say it again," he growls, teeth scraping over your jaw. “Say my name like that again.”

"Please, Frankie," you whimper, biting his earlobe. "I need you to fuck me. Right now. Right here.”

That’s all it takes.

Frankie fumbles with his belt, one-handed, the other arm bracing your ass, keeping you pinned to the wall like you weigh nothing. The second his cock springs free, it slaps hot against your thigh, smearing precome across your skin. Thick and flushed, angry red at the tip.

You glance down and moan, already slick for him, already open.

He fists the base of his cock, running the head through your folds once, twice—and then he’s pushing in, slow and deep.

The stretch makes you cry out, back arching off the wall as he sinks in slow, his hips flexing forward inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. You’re soaked and open from his tongue, but he’s still thick enough to sting just right. You feel all of him—every vein, every twitch.

Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulders, your thighs tightening around his waist to drag him as close as you can.

"Mierda…tan apretadita," Frankie groans, forehead pressing to yours, sweat already dotting his temple. “Siempre tan buena pa’ mí.”

You whimper, heels digging into his back as your pussy flutters around him. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust, his breath hot and erratic against your cheek.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding up into you slow and deep. “Nobody else gets to feel this. Nobody else gets to fuck this pussy.”

“Only you,” you manage, voice thick. “Just you, Frankie—fuck, please—”

He starts to thrust, hips snapping into you with filthy, wet smacks, the obscene sound echoing in the tiny stall. The sink creaks beside you, the mirror rattling in time with every thrust. You’re soaked, dripping, cock-drunk already.

Frankie captures your lips in another dirty kiss, all tongue and teeth and stealing the breath from each others mouth. “¿Que sucia, te gusta eso, eh?” He whispers against your mouth, nipping at your swollen bottom lip. “You like taking it like this, with all those people out there? Anybody could walk by and hear us, baby. They could hear how good you're taking my cock.”

You whine into his mouth, nails dragging down his back, you can feel the thin material of his shirt straining under the force. The silk is so delicate, so fragile. That much more strength and you’d tear it clean down the middle. It makes your stomach clench, the idea of Frankie walking back out into the bar with his shirt in tatters, the angry red welts your surely leaving on his skin on full display.

“Tell me,” he pants wetly against your cheek. “Dime la verdad.”

“Yes,” you whine. “I love it. Fuck—I want everyone to know. Want them to know how good you fuck me, how good you make me feel.”

Frankie groans, a deep, almost animalistic sound. He grips your thighs harder, burying his face in the sweaty column of your throat.

Your whole body jolts when he pounds into you deeper than before, the angle filthy, punishing. The dark hair around the base of his cock scrapes meanly against your sensitive clit with every thrust, teetering just on the edge of too much and just perfect.

You’re gonna come—you can feel it already coiling inside you, white-hot and snapping.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come, Frankie—” you cry, clutching his curls.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

"That’s it, baby," he pants against your throat, licking the sweat from your skin. “Dámelo. Come for me. Let me feel you soak my cock.”

Your orgasm rips through you like a gunshot—fast, brutal, and all-consuming. Your thighs tremble around his hips, your boots slam into the wall, and you clamp down around him so tight that Frankie lets out a raw, strangled groan.

“Dios,” he groans, the rhythm of his hips stuttering. “You gonna let me fill you up?” His voice is a snarl now, hips slamming forward. “Gonna let me come inside you, baby? Gonna walk out of here dripping with it?”

“Yes,” you beg, drunk on it. “Come in me—fill me up, Frankie—want you to come inside—wanna feel it—”

“Fuck.” He slams into you one last time and stills, every muscle in his body drawn tight as he spills inside you with a rough groan. You can feel it—thick and warm, leaking down your thighs even before he pulls out.

You stay like that for a long moment—both of you panting, trembling, stuck together with sweat and come and something sticky-sweet that lingers in the silence.

When Frankie finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are soft again. Warm and full.

You reach up, brushing a sweaty curl off his forehead. “Feel better?”

He nods. Kisses you slow this time. “I love you,” he says against your lips, almost shy.

“I know,” you smile, cupping his face. “Now help me clean up before someone breaks the door down.”

“…I’m not pulling out yet.”

“Francisco—”

“I just got in a good mood, bebita. Don’t ruin it.”

You laugh into his mouth, still full of him, still dripping down your thighs, and it feels like the first time all over again.

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! i had a lot of fun with this one love you chickens <3

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javierpena-inatacvest · 9 months ago

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All The Things We Never Said- Masterlist

Summary: You and Frankie Morales have been best friends since the 6th grade. You swore to each other that there would never come a day where life would be better without the other one in it. But as you grow up, you've learned the hard way that sometimes, just friendship isn't enough.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n no, reader has a name/nickname she's called by)

Warnings: *Each chapter will have their own individual warnings* SMUT(18+), angst, yearning (so much yearning), sick parent (reader's dad has ongoing cancer), childhood best friends to lovers to enemies to distant friends and back again

The story is written from both reader and Frankie's POV. The story jumps between present day and flashbacks, but is labeled in the chapter who's POV and what timeframe it takes place!

Main Story:

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Chapter 2- Awakening*

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Chapter 4- The Chase

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Chapter 7- For the First Time*

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In

Asks:

How old are Frankie and MacKenzie?

Extras:

Spotify Playlist

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hellishjoel · 4 months ago

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PEDRO PASCAL as FRANCISCO "CATFISH" MORALES Triple Frontier | Letterboxd Reviews

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #triple frontier

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vivwritescrappythings · 7 months ago

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never have i ever

frankie morales x fem!reader

your childhood best friend Ben takes you on a beach trip with him and his friends from the army. you and Frankie seem to get along like a house fire.

a/n: Written for @yxtkiwiyxt Kiwi’s Never Have I Ever challenge (open til March 1). Thank you so much for tagging me in this, it brought me out of my writing slump!

tw: fem reader, afab reader, drinking, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, dubcon, poor excuse for including he speaks Spanish, reader has hair long enough to grab, first Frankie fic so he may be poorly written, not proofread.

word count: 5.5k

MDNI

masterlist

—

The cool breeze carried the briny scent of the ocean, making the fire flicker as you stared into it. The bright light felt like it was burned into your corneas, but you couldn’t look away as it twisted and danced before you. You were already more than a few drinks in, your body warm and languid as you settled into the patio chair.

You blinked, your gaze swept over the thinning circle of people before you landed on the man next to you. Francisco… or Frankie… or Catfish–you weren’t exactly sure. You tended to settle on Frankie.

Ben had brought you along to a get-together with his army friends and respective plus ones in Saint Pete: they’d rented a house that was just a ten minute walk from the beach. You had an extra pull-out couch with your name on it for just the price of some food and alcohol. It was a no-brainer to tag along.

“Hey, nena, it’s your turn.”

His brown eyes looked like caramel in the firelight, his body angled toward yours as he spoke. You’d only met him yesterday, but he seemed nice enough. Definitely more of the drinking type, so you were peas in a pod.

“Sorry,” you breathed, wiping the excess hard cider off your bottom lip as you crossed a leg underneath yourself. You’d taken one of the blankets from inside with you, draping it over your shoulders like a cloak. All eyes were on you, reminding you of the hands that were held up, various amounts of fingers remaining. You still had all five.

Never Have I Ever was a stupid game anyways.

“Um, well...” you tried to think of something that wasn’t pathetically uptight. You took a deep breath, your cheeks warm as you stared at the fire. “Never have I ever… been in a helicopter.”

You already knew the reaction you would get.

“Oh come on,” Ben sighed, his third finger folding over his palm.

“I’m literally a fucking helicopter pilot, s’not fair,” Frankie complained, chugging the rest of his drink as his last finger went down—hand in a loose fist for a moment.

The rules were shaky when it came to what to do when you reached the end of your allotted fingers, everyone had just settled on finishing their drink. Frankie grabbed a new beer from the cooler next to him, twisting the cap off and taking a sip before stretching his hand open again.

It was just the three of you left, the others having gone to bed but leaving their patio chairs and empty drinks like sentinels in their absence.

“Never have I ever banged a football player,” Ben said as soon as Frankie had his new drink open.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Now that is a low blow,” you said, putting your thumb down. Playing games like that with Ben was never fun–the two of you had known each other since you were kids. You could exchange pointed shots all night at one another if you wanted to. “And I hardly call losing your virginity to a benchwarmer banging a football player.”

The laughs at your expense made you scoff. You took a drink of your cider to hide the flash of embarrassment on your face. “None of us even knew he was talking to you,” Ben said, snorting softly, “we didn’t think the kid had enough fire in him to handle you.”

“Well, I was stupidly waiting for another guy but settled for the first boy who was nice to me,” you mumbled in a sorry attempt to defend yourself, your face warm from more than just the alcohol.

Ben hummed his acknowledgement, eyebrows lifting. “Oh yeah, this super secret high school crush that you refuse to tell us about.”

You could feel Frankie cast a knowing look in your direction, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah because even though I’m over it you would make a big deal out of it because you know the guy,” you said, finishing your drink. You got up to get one from the cooler next to Frankie, hoping he would decide to take his turn already and change the subject of discussion.

Ben snorted, crushing his empty cup in a hand as he stood. “Whatever you say,” he acquiesced, stretching. Your gaze found the strip of skin that revealed itself as his shirt rode up, staring for a bit too long before you got a hold of yourself.

“Well, crazy kids, I’m going to bed.” Ben crushed you in a side hug, ruffling your hair despite your sound of annoyance. “Don’t let Fish keep you up all night, he’s a bad influence,” he said, hand rubbing over the cap of your shoulder as he stuck his tongue out at the other man.

“Psh. Don’t listen to him, nena, I’ll take good care of you,” Frankie protested, his lip twitched into a smirk as he gulped his beer.

“I think I’m plenty capable of handling myself,” you murmured, waving them both off with a hand. “Goodnight, Bennie.”

He wished you both a goodnight before disappearing into the house, you could hear the squeal of the sliding glass door closing behind him.

You lowered yourself into your deck chair, shifting it so you better faced Frankie at an angle. He still had his baseball cap on, strands of his dark hair curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. His cheeks were rosy from drinking, his smile a bit broader now.

“Whaddya say we keep playing?” Frankie suggested, watching you open your bottle. The condensation wet your fingertips, your nail picking at the softening label.

You were still too wired to go to bed. If you turned in you’d just be restless and on your phone until you finally passed out.

“Alright, fine,” you said, tapping your fingertips on the metal armrest of the chair. A smile found its way to your face, your five fingers stretching out. Frankie did the same, you could see the calluses on his fingers and palm.

“Never have I ever… skinny dipped.”

Of course Ben had told the story—your group of friends had decided to go skinny dipping in the nearby lake. But the moon wasn’t even out and no one could see much of anything. “I was in high school and it was dark,” you defended, putting your thumb down.

Frankie looked like he was the cat that caught the canary, drinking with you even though he didn’t have to.

“Okay, never have I ever played strip poker.”

He put a finger down. “Well I know what I’m making everyone play for tomorrow’s entertainment,” he said, taking a long gulp of his beer. “You’ve gotta let loose a little.”

Your face was hot, part of you wishing the ground opened beneath you and swallowed you whole. He loved to tease, his sarcastic tone making your stomach flip every time you heard it.

You gently shoved his chair with your foot, making it scrape over the paving stones. “I am loose enough,” you argued.

—

A snort pulled from you, morphing into a too-loud laugh. The empty bottles were nearly overflowing the side table you and Frankie were discarding them on. Both of you had finished your drinks of choice and resorted to passing a cheap bottle of wine back and forth, staining your lips purple.

“It was only one time, and you have to understand that I was so damn exhausted,” Frankie explained, leaning toward you as he spoke. His laugh belied his attempt at seriousness, his dimple showing as he snickered.

“You fell asleep during sex!” You let your head fall back against the chair, looking at the stars above you. They swam a bit. “That is kind of hard to do.”

“It’ll happen to you someday, nena, and you’ll think of this conversation.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you snatched the wine bottle from him, bringing it to your lips. The glass was cool against your mouth as you drank a swallow, just enough to warm your belly and keep your buzz. More than a buzz if you were honest with yourself.

“Never have I ever had sex with someone to make someone else jealous,” you countered, a knowing smirk on your face.

Frankie rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I didn’t realize that Ben was telling you all of our secrets.” He pulled his hat off his head for a moment, running his hand through his hair before replacing it. “Gonna kick his ass as soon as he wakes up.”

You wet your lips, trying to cover your giggles. “In his defense, he never thought we would meet,” you muttered, leaning against the armrest of the chair.

The fire was dwindling in the pit, casting tangerine-colored light across the two of you. Frankie said he’d put more wood on twenty minutes ago, but neither of you cared enough to actually do it.

“Well, it wasn’t my proudest moment,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This girl I was kind of seeing had been flirting with this other guy the whole fucking time we were out and I just lost it. Got a different girl to very publicly go to the bathroom with me.”

“So not only were you disgusting—you were disgusting in the bathroom of some bar?”

“Hey, hey, no need to judge me so hard,” he said, putting both hands up like he was pretending to be innocent.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating him. He had a similar relaxed posture, slumped against his chair in his white shirt and gray sweatpants. It was a miracle that he hadn’t spilled any wine on himself yet.

“I’ve just never been so desperate for someone’s attention,” you said, sitting mightily on your high horse.

That made Frankie guffaw, sitting up suddenly. “Oh yeah? Never have I ever had a crush on my childhood neighbor,” he said, a shit eating grin on his face as he scratched at the patchy beard on his jaw.

You could feel yourself stiffen, giving yourself away without meaning to. “I… I do not have a crush on Ben,” you protested, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh sure you don’t, nena,” he said, making you want to reach out and smack him. “Oh Bennie this and oh Bennie that, the only way it would be more obvious is if you had big fucking hearts in your eyes… well obvious to everyone except him.”

Apparently your embarrassment was loud and clear anyways, your attempts to be nonchalant failing miserably.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Frankie said, trying to placate you.

You scoffed, standing up as you drank a bit too much wine from the bottle, the excess dripping down the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed? I just found out that everyone has been watching me be a huge fucking idiot this whole time!”

He stood with you, hands smoothing over your shoulders as he crowded into your space. “I’ve got an idea if you’re game,” he said, catching your attention again.

“What?”

“Well… we could kill two birds with one stone, ya know?” It must have been clear that you didn’t know what he meant. “We can make Ben jealous… and cross something off your ‘Never Have I Ever’ bucket list.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered what he was saying. His hands rubbed down your arms, gently pulling the wine bottle from your fingers. He took a swig before setting it with the empty bottles, making them clink against one another.

Then it all clicked.

“You want to have sex?”

Frankie laughed, his big hands finding the flare of your hips. “I thought Ben said you were smart,” he teased, his forehead bumping against yours as he shuffled in closer.

You clicked your teeth at him. “I’m drunk… so what’s in it for you then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, a smile lifting his lip. “I get to have sex, that’s more than enough reason for me to want to do it.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking hour head as you lightly smacked his chest. “Men are ridiculous,” you mumbled, grinning softly as you looked up at him.

Frankie was smiling, showing off his straight white teeth in the light of the dying fire and blue glow coming from the in-ground pool. He moved closer, his aquiline nose nudging against yours. You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, smell the wine he just drank.

“Just tonight?” you asked, one eyebrow arched.

He nodded obligingly, grin growing impossibly wider. “I don’t catch feelings.”

You were drunk enough to think it was a brilliant plan—it would be impossible for Ben not to jealous if he heard you and Frankie next door. The idea was foolproof. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

—

Frankie’s room was just next to Ben’s, the two of you giggling with bottles of wine in hand as you followed after him. He’d grabbed an additional bottle from the kitchen when you snuck back inside to have on standby, the remaining quarter of the first bottle still sloshing around in yours.

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him as you opened his bedroom door. He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you inside, slamming the door shut behind you both. “Frankie!” you scolded between kisses, mortified that you were being loud.

“Waking him up is the point, nena,” he said, half carrying you to the bed. You rolled your eyes, holding the bottle for him to drink from before he confiscated both and set them on the nightstand. “C’mon, loosen up for me.”

He leaned down to capture your lips, messily licking into your mouth. You could taste the wine on his tongue, making you hum as you returned the gesture.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you muttered against his lips, knocking his hat off and foraging your fingers in his thick curls. You gently tugged at his roots, making him groan as he smashed you into the mattress with his weight.

“Thought you liked the hat,” he said with a chuckle deep in his chest, pushing the offending accessory the rest of the way off the bed.

You desperately pulled him back to you, hitching one leg around his hip as his arm flattened near your head for support. “Fancy restaurant rules. Definitely not allowed in the bedroom,” you said with a smirk. He huffed his disagreement against your jaw, shaking his head as his blunt teeth scraped over the thin skin.

It was messy. Tongues meeting and teeth clashing and nails scratching over fabric and skin alike. Playfully suggestive hums and giggles filled the quiet of the room. You were sure you were disrupting the rest of the house, Frankie’s bedroom right in the center of it.

The alcohol made everything so easy, whisking away your shirt and sweatpants before you even realized. You took Frankie’s shirt along with them, tossing it somewhere in his room.

He nudged your chin up with his nose, his tongue flattening over your windpipe. Your breath tripped, eyes squeezing shut. Admittedly, it had been a while for you. Everything he was doing was making your head spin.

The kiss turned sloppy with tongue as he traced his thumb beneath the waistband of your panties. Your manicured nails traveled over the expanse of his bare chest, following the soft ridges of the lean muscle and stray scars to the line of dark hairs beneath his navel. It was your guiding beacon, your fingers following it to the elastic waist of his sweatpants.

“Off,” you asked softly, snapping the elastic against the thin layer of pudge on his belly. “Please.”

He obliged quickly, pulling you up with him as he got off the bed to ungracefully shove them down his legs and kicked them somewhere into the room. Tight black boxer briefs hugged his quads, stretching as he knelt onto the mattress.

“C’mere, nena,” he practically growled, grabbing your thighs as he yanked you up onto his lap. You yelped, giggling as your legs bent at the knee and toes anchored against the duvet. His fingers sunk into your ass, dimpling the soft flesh as he held you close.

One hand skated up your spine, unlatching your bra easily. You cackled, leaning back as he pulled the straps down your arms and tossed it aside. “Didn’t know you were such a slut, Frankie,” you murmured, smirking as he palmed at your freed tits. Your nipples were pinched between his forefinger and thumb, making you arch toward him. “Unhooking a girl’s bra with one hand?”

He muffled your words with more kisses, stamping his lips over yours. “That takes some practice–should I be impressed or disgusted?”

“You never fucking shut up, do you?” Frankie asked good-naturedly, nipping at your lower lip as one hand smoothed against the small of your back. He pulled you close, squeezing your ass as he leaned forward to devour you further. You tittered, your forearm pressed against the nape of his neck as the scoop of your palm found the patchy beard at his jaw. Your hips rolled into his, nose pressing against his cheek as you smacked wet kisses on him.

“I’m not well-known for being quiet.”

The world spun around you before your back hit the mattress, the memory foam absorbing most of the impact. His rough fingers pulled your panties off in a smooth motion, his palms finding the insides of your thighs and pressing them apart.

“I’m counting on that,” he murmured as he kissed his way to the echo of your heartbeat, sucking small welts into the flesh of your inner thighs.

You were stunned into breathlessness, propped on one elbow as you watched him map closer and closer to the ache between your legs. He breathed in deep as he hovered just above your cunt–something that would have mortified you if you were any less drunk, but it only made you moan.

The tip of his nose brushed your clit, making your pelvis jump toward his face. “You have a gorgeous pussy,” he said dreamily, the drunken slur finally making itself apparent in his voice. He parted your slit with his strong tongue, making your eyes roll back in your skull before he fully dove in.

Your fingers clutched desperately at his hair, your breaths choking in your throat as your brows knit together. He made out with your cunt, a soft rumble in his chest making his mouth vibrate against you.

Infatuation and desire consumed you, leaving you dizzy. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair ruffled as his hands splayed wide across your thighs. You eagerly lifted your hips to his mouth as much as you could, whining as he lapped up the entirety of your sex, suckling at your clit each time before repeating the motion.

You found yourself thanking the attention to detail he was taught in the military: he picked up on every time your breath hitched or your voice became a whine and he made it happen again. And again. And again. To the point that you could feel just how soaked you were, not even the pace of Frankie’s tongue fast enough to keep your slick arousal from dripping to the duvet.

You’d never been so turned on in your life.

“Fuck,” you keened, the word tight in your chest as the oxygen left the room. You gripped his hair tighter, hips twitching. The tip of his finger pressed at your entrance, making your cunt flutter around the temptation of being full. His groan was muffled, met by your own grateful whimpers.

His jaw went slack, framing the entirety of your cunt as he pressed all of his weight into eating you out. The swirl of his tongue churning his saliva with each motion made you want to die.

Brown eyes met your half-lidded gaze from between your thighs. You were shocked to see just how pleased he looked, feasting upon you with the desperation of a starving man. Frankie had seemed like a lot of things, but a munch was not high on your list. Thank god you were wrong.

“You’re going to make me come so fast,” you gasped, almost embarrassed by how quickly you felt like your whole body was buzzing. Almost pathetically fast.

Steady presses of his tongue devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. You pressed the curls of his hair back from his forehead, a few beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. Soft lips wrapped around your swollen clit and sucked, bringing you to rapture as the tip of his tongue batted the sensitive bud.

It took one wet swirl around your clit to shatter you, your orgasm ripping through you. A wail escaped you before you clapped a hand over your mouth–even if you wanted Ben to know, you didn’t want to wake up the rest of the house.

Frankie grabbed the fat of your ass with both hands, pulling your cunt to his mouth as he licked you into oversensitivity. He didn’t stop until you were twitching with discomfort, pushing his forehead away.

He sat back, his facial hair shining wetly in the moonlight before he wiped it off on the back of his hand.

You were a panting mess, hardly able to think as he moved toward you. He massaged your buzzing skin with his big, warm hands, coaxing your soul back into your body. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmured quietly, his gaze steady as he watched you tremble.

The compliment split you open, endless hunger spilling out as you reached for him. You knew you wouldn’t be satisfied without having him inside you.

You could see the outline of his hard cock in his underwear, your free hand rubbing over it as he settled between your bent legs. The feeling of his weight above you helped your lungs find their rhythm as you pressed your thumb to the wet spot at his tip.

“So I’m that good, huh?” he teased, his voice unsteady as he started to grind himself against your hand.

Your laugh was breathless, your face on fire as you looked up at him. “I think all the booze helped, made me sensitive,” you said, your tone raspy and soft as your hand slipped into his boxer briefs.

The way his expression crumpled as your fingers curled around his shaft was delightful. A self-satisfied grin bloomed on your face as you started to stroke him, watching him through your lashes. His hips bunched into your hand, his forehead dropping to yours as he let out a groan.

“Shit,” he panted, one hand fisting in the white duvet. You relished in the way he already sounded wrecked. “I’ve gotta fuck you before you make me come in my boxers like some teenager.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from him before clumsily removing his underwear. The sight of his cock made your throat go dry, tip red and leaking. He looked painfully hard, curved up toward his stomach and a little to the left from a trimmed patch of dark, curly hair.

“Hands and knees, nena,” Frankie murmured, playfully swatting the outside of your thigh. “Wanna see that fat ass of yours–been staring at it ever since you got here.”

Your face was hot as you rolled over, spine arching like a cat’s as you settled on your forearms and knees. He grabbed you by the hips, yanking you where he wanted you: facing the arched mirror on the dresser. The sight of yourself made your arch deepen, your chest pressed to the bed as you presented yourself to him like a gift.

“Jesus,” he groaned, softly smacking your ass before he grabbed a handful of the soft flesh, shaking it. There was something close to reverence in his expression as you watched him spread your cheeks, dark eyes focused on your pussy. His thumb gently ghosted over your slit in a way that made you whine.

“Frankie, stop teasing,” you said impatiently, glaring at him in the mirror.

“Fine, fine, calm down,” he breathed, his knees finding their place between yours as his cock notched in the cleft of your ass. He rocked there for a moment before pulling back enough to ease into you with careful rolls of his hips. One hand planted between your scapulae, the other clutching your hip as you both exhaled your satisfaction with every inch of delicious friction.

It took you both a few moments to adjust, your went cunt finally relaxing enough to let Frankie fit entirely inside of you. He shushed you softly as you whined, barely fucking his cock into you as he rubbed circles over your vertebrae.

You rocked back against his thrusts, falling into a steady rhythm as the sound of your sweat-dampened skin smacking together filled the room. His hand moved from your back to the nape of your neck, grabbing a handful of your hair and tilting your head to make you look at him through the reflection of the mirror. The grip at your scalp was almost comforting as you melted into the sensation.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured low in his throat, his gaze taking in every detail of your reflection. Your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your lidded eyes. Your hair was twisted around his fist, ass jiggling with every connection of your hips.

It was hard to keep your eyes open, moaning wantonly as you kept your gaze on Frankie. Your expression was pornographic–enamored and thoroughly pleased as he stretched you open on his cock.

He curled his body over yours, meeting you at his waist and shoulders as his lips found the back of your neck and shoulders. “Ben must be a damn idiot to not see how pretty you are,” he murmured, sucking marks into your neck. You were too lost in the pleasure of the head of his cock carving deep into you to respond.

“Squeezing me so tight, nena,” he grunted into your ear, his hot breath making shivers prickle up your spine. His hold on your hair kept you in place. “This is the sweet little pussy of my dreams, milking me so good.”

Frankie kept running his mouth, spewing filth and praise that made you melt into a puddle beneath him. You were possessed with pleasure, almost drooling as you whimpered and moaned.

His hand left your hip, weight pressing you even deeper into the mattress as his arm wrapped around you. You sobbed as his fingers skated over your belly, pressing against your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles against it.

“Frankie, right there,” you gasped, fingers bunching up the duvet as you tried to breathe through the sensitivity, still tingling from your last orgasm.

“Greedy girl…” he chastised, chuckling into your ear as he kept working your clit without mercy.

Your cunt was fluttering around his cock, your sounds becoming louder and more wanton. He exhaled through his teeth with each thrust, his breaths sharp and punctuated in your ear. “Frankie,” you moaned–his name being one of the few words you could even think of.

“That’s it, let ‘im know who’s giving it to you so good.”

Oh yeah.

You were still trying to make Ben jealous. The thought had slipped your mind entirely as you felt Frankie’s cock press over every slippery ridge inside your cunt, setting your body alight.

Who knew if Ben was even listening, if he was even awake.

You repeated Frankie’s name like a prayer on your lips, further and further gone the closer you got to your orgasm. He yanked your hair gently, making your eyes flutter open again to look up at him through the reflection.

His lips were moving, cursing in Spanish as his jaw clenched so hard you could see it flex beneath his beard. You could tell he was close, too, starting to lose his steady rhythm as he sped up. Bruising kisses were pressed to your neck and shoulder, his cock splitting you open with frantic thrusts.

Then he started to beg, almost making you black out. “Come for me, nena. Come all over my cock. I wanna feel you come all over me, squeezing me so damn tight.”

His thick fingers were still rubbing your clit, coaxing you further and further to the edge. Spanglish filled your ears as he grunted and groaned, clearly holding back until you finished first.

“Frankie! Oh my god!”

Euphoria left you strung out, ripping at the seams of your sanity as your pussy spasmed hard around his cock. Frankie turned your head by tugging on your hair, contorting you so he could smash his lips to yours as his hips started to stutter. You felt him pulse inside you, groans muffled between your mouths as his come spilled inside your cunt like lava.

You wilted together, exhaustion and drunkenness catching up to you as you collapsed to the bed in a heap of limbs and sweat and come. It would be smart to get up, to clean yourself up and go sleep on the couch. But you were already so comfortable, Frankie nestled close to your back as he started to softened inside you.

“M’I sleeping here?” you asked, already yawning as you and Frankie lay on your sides. He reached for the throw on the end of the bed, yanking the fuzzy blanket up and over the two of you.

He kissed your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck.

“Of course, nena, you gotta come out of my room in the morning for this to work,” he muttered against your skin, yawning in response to you.

This. The plan. You could hardly consider it as sleep pulled you under.

–

The morning light woke you up, making you groan as you rolled over to bury your face in Frankie’s neck. He stirred as you did, a hand running over your hip to placate you as he pulled you closer. “Morning, nena,” he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

You hid from the sun in his clavicle, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. “What does nena even mean?” you asked after a few moments, voice sounding muffled.

Frankie’s hand ran up and down your side, clipped nails making goosebumps lift on your arms. “Means baby.”

It was simple enough. Just a normal nickname.

But you felt your cheeks warm, a thrill running through you anyway. “Yeah? You’ve been calling me baby this whole time?” There was a kernel of bashfulness in your voice.

He let out a huff of air, still too tired to laugh fully. “Yeah, I have.”

Silence lapsed between you two, your breaths even and slow as neither of you tried to move away. It was too comfortable for you to want to get up.

“You gonna go find Ben today?” Frankie asked, a twinge of something in his voice making you lift your head up.

You squinted in the sunlight, rubbing one eye with the heel of your hand as you fixed Frankie with your gaze. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, lips pursing to one side as you chewed the inside of your cheek. “Unless you wanted me to, of course.”

His tired smile soothed you, the hand running up and down your side inching closer and closer to your breast as he looked at you. “Nah, you should stay,” he said, thumb stroking over your nipple. He swirled it to hardness, heat already starting to pool in your lower belly despite your exhaustion.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

–

Ben and Will drank coffee in the kitchen in the morning, nursing their hangovers just like everyone else. Most of the group was awake and in various levels of pain, Santi cooking breakfast and Tom still wearing sunglasses. Their girlfriends were laying on the couches in the living room, curtains drawn as they sipped cups of water.

A giggle could be heard from Frankie’s room, the creak of a bedframe. No one understood how you two still had energy after going to bed at three in the morning. But, lucky for them, Frankie was resilient.

“Did they keep you up last night?” Will asked his brother, a hint of a smile on his face.

Ben nodded, blue eyes focused on his coffee. “Oh yeah, and you owe me twenty bucks.”

Will rolled his eyes–betting that Frankie would wait until the end of the trip to hook up with you had been the stupidest thing he’d done in a while.

#NHIE2025 #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales #francisco morales smut #reader insert

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cosmicaura7 · 3 months ago

Text

WEEKEND GETAWAY

Pairings : pedro pascal (francisco morales) x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, public sex, sex toy, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, edging, voyeurism?,

Synopsis : In where you and the rest of the boys took a weekend road trip to a cabin in the woods, but Frankie is looking more forward in getting you all to himself during the trip.

Word Count : 5k

-----

The drive to the countryside was long but the view was breathtaking. The road stretched ahead, flanked by towering trees and rolling hills, the golden hues of late afternoon casting a warm glow over the landscape. Inside the SUV, the mood was light. Santiago, Benny and Will were bickering over the best way to cook steak over an open fire, their voices mixing with the sound of classic rock humming from the radio.

And then there was Frankie, your husband sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting just a little too high up on your thigh.

"Frankie." You shot him a look, eyebrow raised.

"Hmm?" He hummed, eyes fixed on the road ahead but the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk. His fingers brushed higher, his fingertips teasing the hem of your shorts.

"What are you doing?" You murmured under your breath, trying not to draw attention from the boys in the back.

"Nothing, hermosa. Just resting my hand."

Liar.

His thumb stroked slow circles against your skin, warm and teasing. Your breath hitched and you shifted in your seat, resisting the urge to clamp your thighs shut. The last thing you needed was Santiago catching on and making a whole thing out of this.

From the rearview mirror, Benny’s voice cut through. "Hey, man, keep your eyes on the road, Morales! You kill us before we reach the cabin, I’m haunting your ass."

Frankie chuckled, giving your thigh one last squeeze before finally retreating, only to casually slide his arm back to the steering wheel. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your lips.

This weekend was going to be interesting.

The drive stretched on, the road winding deeper into the dense woodland, sunlight filtering through the trees in golden slivers. The cabin wasn’t far now. You should’ve been relaxed but you weren’t. Not when Francisco Morales sat beside you with a devilish smirk, one hand on the wheel and the other casually resting on your thigh, just like before.

Only this time?

This time, there was a small remote control in his pocket. And when he turned the dial? A delicious vibration thrummed to life deep inside you. Your breath hitched. Your hands gripped the edge of your seat as heat pooled low in your belly, the sensation striking straight through you like lightning.

Frankie’s grip on the wheel tightened. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to. Because he could feel the way your thighs tensed beside him. The way your breath shuddered.

"Something wrong, cariño?" Frankie murmured, voice low and teasing.

Bastard.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shorts, trying and failing to keep your expression neutral. From the backseat, Benny, Will and Santiago were still chatting away, completely oblivious to your predicament.

You gritted your teeth. "Frankie." You whispered sharply, eyes narrowing.

"Sí, mi amor?" He replied, finally flicking a glance toward you.

The heat in his gaze only made it worse. A slow burn of pleasure coiled tighter in your core, made more unbearable by the fact that you could do nothing about it. Not when the boys were right there. Not when the car was moving.

"Turn it off." You pleaded.

Frankie grinned. "Make me." And with that? He turned the dial higher. Your breath hitched sharply, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as a deep pulse of pleasure shuddered through you.

From the rearview mirror, Santiago’s voice cut through. "Hey, you okay?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Frankie answered for you. "She’s fine." He said smoothly, glancing at you with that smug glint in his eyes. "Just feeling a little warm, right, cariño?"

You glared at him. If you weren’t so dangerously close to unraveling, you would’ve slapped that cocky smirk right off his handsome face. But instead? You bit your lip and fought back a moan. And prayed to the Gods that this damn car ride would be over soon.

The second the cabin came into view, relief washed over you, only to be crushed in an instant. Because just as your release had been achingly close, just as that blissful edge threatened to send you spiraling into pleasure, Frankie turned the vibrator off, causing your entire body to become tense. Heat coiled tight in your core, frustration and need pulsing through you in waves. Your fingers clenched into the seat, your nails digging into your palms. You whipped your head toward him, eyes burning with a mix of rage and desperation.

But Frankie?

That bastard just grinned.

"Easy there, cariño." He murmured, voice smooth as silk and sounding way too smug. "Wouldn’t want the boys to notice now, would we?"

Oh you wanted to kill him or fuck him senseless.

At this point, either worked.

The truck rolled to a stop in front of the cabin, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Benny, Will and Santiago were already unbuckling, stretching as they stepped out, completely unaware of the absolute hell Frankie had just put you through.

You sat there for a moment, still shaking from the lingering tension in your muscles. Frankie leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Still feeling warm, baby?" He whispered, his hand dragging along your thigh, teasing and taunting.

You snapped. "Inside. Now." You hissed under your breath.

"Patience, mi amor." Frankie chuckled, finally pulling away as he stepped out of the truck.

Patience?

Oh, he had another thing coming.

While the men busied themselves inside the cabin, unpacking, grabbing beers and talking about the weekend ahead, you had other plans. Still aching from Frankie’s cruel teasing during the drive, you needed payback and you knew exactly how to get it.

The lake was just a short walk through the trees, its crystal-clear water shimmering beneath the afternoon sun. A light breeze tickled your bare skin as you stripped out of your clothes, piece by piece until nothing remained. Completely naked, you stepped into the cool water, sighing as it licked against your skin. Slowly, you waded in deeper until the water kissed your breasts, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Then just as planned, you turned your head toward the cabin.

And there he was.

Frankie standing on the porch, beer in hand, staring right at you. His entire body froze. His grip on the bottle tightened. Even from a distance, you could see it, his jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising and falling in slow controlled breaths. He looked wrecked.

And now you looked smug as hell. Biting your lip, you ran your hands over your wet skin, cupping your breasts, dragging them down your stomach, knowing exactly what you were doing. Taunting and inviting him to finally do something. Frankie’s eyes darkened. And then without a word, he turned back inside.

You blinked.

Wait.

What?

You expected him to storm down to the lake, rip you out of the water and take you right there against the rocks.

But instead, he left?

Oh, that bastard.

Before you could even process what just happened, a new voice called out behind you. “Damn, cariño. If I knew you were gonna go skinny-dipping, I would’ve joined you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Fucking Santiago.

Shit.

You whipped around, arms snapping up to cover yourself as Santi stood at the edge of the trees, hands in his pockets and smirking like the devil himself. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Pope?” You snapped.

“Oh, I do. But this? This is way more fun.” He chuckled, completely unbothered.

You were about to curse him out but then, heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed nearby. And suddenly, Frankie was there. Grabbing Santi by the collar, he yanked him back, his expression murderous. “Inside. Now.” He practically growled at his best friend before pushing him back towards the cabin.

“Relax, hermano. I was just enjoying the view.” Santi chuckled, hands raised in surrender.

That was the wrong thing to say. Frankie shoved him toward the cabin once again, his entire body rigid, shoulders squared as he turned back toward you. “You…” He growled, voice low and dangerous.

A thrill shot down your spine.

Oh.

“Inside. Now.”

Your heart pounded upon realizing you were in trouble and you loved it.

You gasped as Frankie’s strong arms hoisted you up over his shoulder, thrown like a sack of potatoes. “Frankie!” You yelped, kicking your legs but he didn’t even flinch. With one arm wrapped around your thighs, he kept you pinned in place as he reached for the towel slung over the porch railing. Roughly, he draped it over your bare form, gripping it tight so it wouldn’t slip. You shivered, not from the cold but from his grip. From the tension rolling off him in thick and heavy waves.

Oh, he was furious.

And so turned on.

As he carried you up the steps, past the open-mouthed stares of the others, you caught a glimpse of Santi, grinning like the bastard he was, mouthing ‘good luck’ before sipping his beer. You shot him a murderous glare. But Frankie didn’t say a damn word, didn’t even look at anyone. His focus was on you and on the lesson he was about to teach you.

The door slammed shut. Before you could breathe, you were tossed onto the bed. The towel slid off, leaving you bare and vulnerable, sprawled out beneath him. Your heart pounded. Frankie stood at the foot of the bed, his dark brown eyes burning, his chest heaving beneath his shirt. His hands went to his belt, slowly and deliberately.

Click.

The sound of the buckle sent a shiver down your spine. “You think you’re funny, huh?” His voice was deep, gravelly with restraint.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your breath hitched but you met his gaze with a smirk.

Wrong answer.

Crack.

The belt snapped between his hands. You gasped, thighs pressing together, already feeling yourself ache. Frankie saw it, causing him to smirk. Then in one swift movement, he climbed onto the bed, caging you in, his body looming over yours. His lips ghosted over your ear. “Oh, baby.” He murmured, dark, teasing. “You’re about to find out exactly what I’m talking about.”

Your breath caught as your body thrummed in anticipation. Because you knew that he wasn’t going to be gentle. You barely had a second to react before Frankie flipped you over onto your stomach. A startled gasp left your lips but it was quickly swallowed by the rough grip of his calloused hands dragging you onto his lap. “Frankie!” You started but the sharp smack that landed across your bare ass cut you off.

Crack.

A sharp sting bloomed where his palm met your skin, sending a jolt of heat straight between your thighs. “You wanna act like a brat?” His voice was low, dark and dangerous. “Then you’re gonna get treated like one.” Another spank, harder this time, made you whimper. Your fingers gripped the sheets as your body arched but he was unrelenting.

Crack.

Again.

And again.

Each slap made your skin burn, made you drip with arousal, made you crave more.

He could see it and he knew. The way your hips rolled instinctively against his thigh. The way your breathing turned ragged, your body practically begging for more. Frankie chuckled, his free hand trailing up your spine, gripping the back of your neck. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Look at you, baby.” He purred, rubbing a soothing hand over your heated skin. “So fuckin’ desperate.”

A whine left your lips as you tried to press your thighs together but he caught on immediately. He spread them apart. “Not yet.” He murmured, dragging this out just to watch you squirm. Your body was on fire, aching and needing him. But Frankie wasn’t done with you yet. And this was only the beginning of your punishment.

Your cheeks were hot, pressed against the soft sheets of the bed, your ass still stinging from the spanking Frankie had given you. You tried to move, to turn around and reach for him but he placed a firm hand on your lower back, keeping you in place.

“Nuh-uh, cariño.” His voice was silk and steel, a mix of amusement and dominance. “You don’t get to touch me after what you pulled back at the lake.”

You swallowed hard, your body trembling from the heat still coursing through you. Then a soft vibration buzzed against your inner thigh. Your breath hitched. “Frankie…” You whimpered, your fingers clutching the sheets as he dragged the toy closer but never exactly where you needed it. The vibrator pulsed, teasingly slow, hovering over your throbbing core. Your hips jerked instinctively trying to grind against it but he pulled it away just as fast.

“Oh, baby…” He drawled, the amusement in his tone making you burn even hotter. “So needy. Is this what you wanted when you went prancing around naked in the lake? Thinkin’ you could tease me and get away with it?” You let out a frustrated whimper, trying to press your thighs together but he caught on immediately. Frankie spread them apart.

“No escaping, hermosa.” His voice was firm. “You take what I give you, and that’s it.” The vibrator brushed against your clit, a quick jolt of pleasure, then it was gone again. He was toying with you. Your legs trembled as he hovered the vibrator near you, just close enough to make your skin tingle but not enough to push you over the edge. You were soaked, your body trembling, aching for his touch. But Frankie was enjoying every second of this, torturing, teasing and keeping you on the edge.

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you, cariño?” His voice was a low, husky whisper against your ear. “Or do you need more punishment?” You whimpered, desperate and a pleading mess beneath him. But Frankie wasn’t done, not yet.

You were shaking and your body was practically on fire, every nerve sensitive, burning and aching for Frankie to finally give in but he didn’t. He was merciless, dragging the vibrator over your swollen clit, pressing it just enough to send a sharp pulse of pleasure through you, only to pull it away at the last second. Your body convulsed as you had already lost count of how many times he had done this, how many times he had brought you right to the edge, only to snatch your orgasm away from you.

“Frankie, please…” Your voice was raw and desperate.

“That’s cute, cariño.” His deep chuckle sent a new wave of heat rolling through you. “But you don’t get to come yet.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

You let out a soft, broken sob, your body trembling beneath him as he finally pushed inside you, thick, hot and stretching you open. You gasped, arching your back but Frankie’s hands were firm on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted. He filled you inch by inch, slow and torturous, letting you feel every part of him. “So tight, baby.” He groaned, voice husky, his fingers digging into your hips. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, huh? So fucking wet for me already.”

You could barely think, barely breathe. Frankie pulled out slowly, just to thrust back in with a deep rough stroke, one that made your body jolt and your nails claw at the sheets. Your walls clenched around him, desperate, aching and needing more but then he stopped completely. You gasped, trying to push your hips back but his grip tightened. “Uh-uh.” His voice was smug, completely in control. “I decide when you come, cariño. Not you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You were so close, so fucking close. But he just stayed there, deep inside you, not moving, just throbbing, stretching you open and teasing you with his presence. You let out a frustrated whimper, trying again to grind against him but Frankie pinned you down harder. “Stay still.” He ordered, voice dark. “Or I’ll make you wait even longer.” You nearly sobbed but you obeyed. You had no choice as he was in charge, and he wasn’t done playing with you yet.

Your body was aching and trembling, your skin slick with sweat as you lay there beneath Frankie, completely at his mercy. He had been teasing you for what felt like hours, pushing you to the brink of orgasm over and over, only to cruelly deny you. But now he was finally giving in.

Frankie’s breath was hot against your skin as he snapped his hips forward, thrusting deep, hitting that spot inside you that made you cry out. “That’s it, baby.” He groaned, voice dark and hungry. “Come for me.” Your body obeyed instantly. Pleasure ripped through you, blinding and overwhelming, your walls clenching tightly around him as you finally came.

You barely had time to recover before Frankie kept moving, didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. “F-Frankie!” Your voice broke, whimpering and overstimulated, your body twitching beneath him.

But he just smirked, gripping your thighs tighter. “Oh no, cariño. You’re not done yet.” And then he thrust deeper.

Your vision blurred as another orgasm hit you, fast and hard. Your legs shook, your nails dug into his back, trying to ground yourself as pleasure wracked through you. But Frankie wasn’t stopping again and again. Your body convulsed, trembling violently, the pleasure bordering on pain as he wrung another orgasm out of you.

And another.

Until you were a trembling mess beneath him, unable to even form words, your body completely ruined. Frankie groaned, watching the way you fell apart beneath him, his cock slamming into you harder and deeper, dragging out every last bit of pleasure from your already wrecked body. “One more, baby.” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Give me one more.”

You couldn’t even think but your body obeyed. With a shattered cry, you came one last time, your walls pulsing, squeezing around him so tight that it finally pushed him over the edge. With a deep, guttural moan, Frankie thrust hard one last time, spilling inside you and filling you up as his body shuddered against yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the room were your ragged breathing, the pounding of your hearts. Then gently, Frankie brushed damp hair from your face, his touch suddenly soft and tender. “You okay, cariño?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You couldn’t even answer. You just whimpered softly, your body still trembling and completely spent. Frankie chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “That’s my good girl.”

You were out cold.

Completely knocked out, your body utterly ruined and trembling even in sleep. Frankie chuckled softly, brushing his fingers through your damp hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You did so good, cariño.” He murmured, pulling the blankets over your exhausted form. You barely stirred. With a satisfied sigh, Frankie pulled on his boxers and sweats, running a hand through his damp curls before heading downstairs to the kitchen. His pretty little wife needed food and water.

The moment Frankie stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by slow sarcastic claps. Santiago smirked from the counter, sipping a beer. Will and Ben were full-on grinning. “Ladies and gentlemen.” Pope announced dramatically. “Francisco Morales: The Absolute Menace.” The men burst into laughter, clapping, whistling and teasing the hell out of him.

“Do you assholes ever mind your own business?” Frankie sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Not when you two keep making it so obvious.” Benny grinned. “Man, we didn’t even need to hear it, we felt the damn earthquake.”

“Pretty sure you killed her, Fish.” Will snorted. “She still alive?”

“Barely.” Frankie glared.

That only made them laugh harder. “Damn, hermano.” Pope grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Save some for the honeymoon.” Frankie rolled his eyes, grabbing a bottle of water and a banana for you.

“Just make sure to drink some electrolytes, man.” Will said, shaking his head in amusement. “She’s gonna need it.” Frankie flipped them off on his way back upstairs. Their laughter followed him all the way up.

When Frankie stepped back into the bedroom, he found you still fast asleep, your body curled up in the blankets. Your hair was a mess, your breathing soft and the remnants of your love making still visible on your skin. He couldn”t help but smiled. God, he loved you. “Wake up, cariño.” He murmured, setting the water and banana on the nightstand.

“Can’t… move…” You let out a soft whimper, barely opening your eyes.

“I know, baby. But you gotta eat something.” Frankie chuckled, running his fingers over your cheek.

“M’never letting you do that again…” You pouted sleepily, burying your face in the pillow.

“Yeah, you will.” Frankie just smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You groaned softly, forcing yourself to sit up despite the ache in your body. Your muscles felt like jelly, your skin warm and oversensitive and your thighs were absolutely ruined.

"Atta girl." He murmured, handing you the water bottle. "Drink up, cariño." You took it with shaky hands, downing half the bottle before setting it aside. He handed you the banana next.

"Really?" You scrunch your nose.

"Potassium." He smirked, tapping your thigh. "You need it, sweetheart." You huffed, rolling your eyes but still taking a bite. Your husband watched you intently, his dark eyes soft but observant, making sure you were okay. He knew he wrecked you and while he wasn’t exactly sorry about it, he still wanted to take care of you. As you ate, he grabbed a warm cloth, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

"Let me clean you up, mi amor." You shivered at the feeling of the warm cloth dragging between your thighs, soothing and gentle. And then Frankie froze. His breathing hitched, his pupils darkening. Because as he wiped you down, he saw it.

His seed.

Still leaking out of you.

So much of it.

His stomach tightened, his grip on your thigh tensing.

Fuck.

He swallowed thickly, his free hand gripping your thigh just a little tighter.

You noticed immediately. "Frankie?" You murmured sleepily, tilting your head.

His jaw clenched, his dark eyes flickering up to yours. "Mierda…" He muttered, voice rough with lust.

"What's wrong?" Your brows furrowed.

Frankie’s gaze dragged back down, watching how much he’d filled you up. And despite just having ruined you, his body was already reacting again. Fuck, he had a problem. His fingers brushed against your inner thigh, dangerously close again. "Just look at you, cariño." He murmured. "Still so full of me."

"Frankie!" Your cheeks flushed.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your knee. "You want another one?" He murmured, lips brushing against your skin. "Huh, sweetheart?" Your breath hitched. Frankie chuckled darkly. "C'mon, mi amor…" His fingers traced slow circles along your thigh. "I know you can take it." Your stomach tightened, heat pooling again despite how sore you were. He looked up at you with hungry eyes. And you knew you were absolutely not getting any rest tonight.

Frankie wasn’t done with you yet. His dark eyes stayed locked onto yours as he nudged your thighs apart again, hands gripping your soft skin, thumbs stroking slow circles. Your breath hitched. "Frankie…" You whispered, voice still hoarse from earlier.

His pupils were blown wide, gaze heavy and dark as he lowered himself between your legs. "Mi amor." He murmured, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh. "I just need a taste." You shuddered, thighs instinctively trying to press closed but his strong hands held them apart. "Nuh-uh." He murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee. "Let me, baby."

You were already overstimulated, nerves sensitive but the way he was looking at you, you knew you didn’t stand a chance. Frankie dragged his lips along your inner thigh, leaving featherlight kisses, teasing you and making you squirm. His breath fanned over your slick heat and he groaned. "Fuck…" He muttered, voice strained. "Look at you, cariño… still so messy for me." His thumb grazed your entrance, feeling the warmth of his own release mixed with yours.

And that did something to him. His mouth latched onto you, tongue flattening as he licked a broad slow stripe up your folds. You whimpered, your fingers instantly gripping the sheets. Frankie growled against you, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You taste so fucking good, baby." He groaned, burying his face deeper between your legs. His tongue flicked, teased and circled, driving you insane with how slow he was taking you apart.

Your hips arched, back bowing but Frankie’s strong arms pinned you down. "Stay still, cariño." He murmured against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. "Let me enjoy my meal."

"F-Frankie…" Your thighs shook, pleasure building too fast as his tongue worked you open, lapping up everything he could get.

He groaned, hearing his name fall from your lips like that. His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you spread wide as his tongue delved deeper, tasted more and took more. Your body burned, pleasure coiling tight and tighter, and then he stopped. You whined, your body thrashing weakly.

Frankie just chuckled darkly, licking his lips as he looked up at you. "Not yet, cariño." He murmured in a teasing tone. "I want to take my time with you." His grip tightened, holding you down. "And I ain't stopping… until you're screaming my name."

You were a mess. A shaking, whimpering and overstimulated mess beneath Frankie as his tongue worked you open with slow and deliberate strokes. Your body twitched, hands weakly pushing at his head but he barely budged. "F-Frankie!” You gasped, legs trembling as another wave of pleasure threatened to crash over you.

His arms tightened around your thighs, locking you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, spread out, bare and at his mercy. His growl vibrated against your core. "Uh-uh, baby." His breath was hot, his tongue relentless. "You wanted to tease me earlier, remember?" You let out a high-pitched whimper, hands fisting the sheets.

Frankie dragged his tongue up, swirling it lazily, watching as your body twitched under his touch. Your thighs tried to close but he held you down, mouth latched onto you, refusing to stop. Your body was on fire, overstimulated beyond reason, yet he was still going and still taking more.

"P-please!"

Another growl.

"Please, what?" His voice was deep, husky, thick with hunger. "Tell me, cariño. You want me to stop?" You knew what he was doing. He was taunting you. Because you both knew the answer. Your body betrayed you, arching into his mouth even as you tried to push him away.

Frankie chuckled darkly, lips curving against your slick heat. "That's what I thought." And then, he flicked his tongue faster, sending you spiraling.

"Oh, fuck!" Your hands flew back to his hair but this time, instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer. Your body convulsed, pleasure hitting you in waves as he kept going, kept devouring you, determined to make you fall apart again and again. Tears pricked your eyes, pleasure too much, yet not enough.

"Mmm…" Frankie hummed against you, his deep groan sending another shockwave through your body. Your vision blurred, your brain fuzzy, your legs completely numb as another orgasm ripped through you.

And still, Frankie didn’t stop, didn’t let up and didn’t give you a single second to recover. He just kept eating you out, drinking in everything you gave him, fucking you with his tongue like a man who couldn’t get enough. Because he never could, not when it came to you.

The night had settled over the cabin, the air outside crisp and cool, while inside, the warm glow of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the wooden walls. The Triple Frontier men had gathered in the living room, beers in hand, roasting the shit out of anything and everything in the fridge, except for the glaring absence of one particular couple.

Frankie and you.

It had been hours since he carried you upstairs and neither of you had reappeared.

"You think they're asleep now?" Will furrowed his brows, glancing at the staircase.

"After what we heard earlier?" Pope snorted, taking a swig of his beer. "Doubt it. Morales has probably got her in a chokehold or something."

"Bro, if they’re still going at it, Frankie’s got better stamina than I gave him credit for." Benny grinned.

The three men exchanged looks before Will finally sighed. "Alright, let's check on them."

"You serious?" Pope raised a brow. "What if she passed out?"

"Oh, she definitely passed out at some point but we both know Catfish ain't letting her sleep just yet." Benny laughed.

Still, curiosity (and maybe a bit of concern) got the better of them, and the three men quietly ascended the stairs, their footsteps light against the creaking wood. The door to your bedroom was slightly ajar. Pope peeked through first and then froze. Benny, impatient, leaned over his shoulder and his grin dropped. Will, growing suspicious, took a look too and let out a low whistle.

Because inside, Frankie had you in his arms, making love to you like you were the only thing in the world. His large hands cradled your face, lips brushing over your temple as he slowly rocked into you, deep and deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, holding him close, your fingers buried in his curls. The only sounds in the room were the soft creaks of the bed, the ragged breaths you shared, and the occasional deep moan from Frankie whenever you clenched around him.

It wasn’t just sex.

It was something more.

Something raw.

Something real.

"Damn…" Benny, for once, was speechless.

"Let 'em be." Will smirked, shaking his head.

Pope exhaled, closing the door quietly before muttering, "Morales is so fucking in love, it's ridiculous."

"Yeah, but I don’t blame him. If I had a wife like that, I wouldn’t leave the damn room either." Benny snorted.

The men exchanged glances before retreating downstairs, deciding that maybe, just maybe, they should leave Frankie and his wife the hell alone for the rest of the trip.

#chat and chill #x fem!reader #x female reader #x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales #francisco morales x female reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales smut

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pedge-page · 1 month ago

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I did a nice exfoliating shower today & my tits r soooo soft l wish Frankie or Joel (ᵒʳ ᵇᵒᵗʰ) were here to appreciate it :( like SO SOFT. Should be roughened up a lil w some clamps & teeth idkkkkkkk

This is Frankie. He speaks to me as I read this.

Frankie loves your 'everything' showers. Sure, it eats up into his cuddle time with you and definitely isn't friendly to his water bill. but when you step out, all cozied in your towel turban and bathrobe, and the steam billows out, increasing the humidity of the room by 300%, it gives him shivers. What usually follows is your incredibly silky soft skin brushed up against his body, and the heat radiating from your flesh. All of it tickles his brain and muscles just right.

you grin, bouncing on the bed very excitedly. "mmmm," you hum, barely able to contain yourself. you start tapping your thigh, sighing loudly.

"you shaved?" he asks with a chuckle.

"AH HUH! DO YOU WANT TO fEEL?!" immediately you shove your legs at him, grasping his paws to drag against your calves and up your thighs. "ooooooohhhh smooooooooooooth," you whisper for him.

He knows you like being silly but fuck its turning him on so much. "Baby, I--"

"AND--!" you sit up and straddle his hip by surprise, eagerly shoving him down. you don't pay mind though, and neither does he the second you spread your robe from the chest, exposing your breasts.

"I exfoliated EVERYTHING. feel 'em!"

His jaw drops as you flash your beaming smile proudly. He doesn't need told twice; his hands slip up your ribs and cup the underside of your tits. "Jesus," he mumbles, mouth agape. "They're fuckin--"

"Soooffttttttt--I know!"

He gulps, nodding. You really had no concept of what you do to him. He tenderly squeezes them, one in each hand. Your tits had always been perfect, but there's almost an impossible extra softness to them. So warm and pillow-like, they practically melt in his paws. Experimentally, he pinches your nipples lightly between his thumb and finger. You groan, faltering a bit. It has him growling deeply in his chest as he continues to fondle your breasts. those soft puppy brown eyes get lost, staring at them with a drooling lip he keeps licking.

"You in there, Morales?" you laugh, twirling his curls.

He open his mouth but says nothing. Like his own breath is caught in his throat, and the only noise that comes up is a half gurgle, half groan. His response is to move his hands over your shoulders, dropping the robe further and exposing you fully to him. He licks his lip, staring at your chest hungrily.

"F-Frankie?"

Less than five minutes later, your silly mood had disappeared entirely. replaced by the desperate, whimpering little mess, like putty in his hands, rutting against his hard cock desperately. "Fish..."

He hums around your tit. Sucking harshly, he releases with a pop. "So sweet and soft. I love 'em." He smirks before dipping his head again to catch a nipple, kissing it softly before enclosing his teeth around it like a shark catching its prey. "Do this f'me more often babygirl?"

He kneads and pokes, licks and suckles your boobs. You feel like fainting when he squishes them together, sticks his tongue out and swirls around both nipples, trying to fit both into his mouth together. All while staring up at your with hooded, lust filled eyes and an mischievous grin.

You nod quickly, trying to stay focused through hazy vision. But when he clamps down on them again with the full width of his jaw, you fall back with a moan. Even as you try to squirm free, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you right back into his greedy mouth.

You really though this was going to be a fun, relaxing, movie cuddling night.

His hard length pokes your soaking core once again. You swear to yourself to only exfoliate 'everything' when you're ready to be pinned to the bed and devoured all night.

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pyronovas · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 | Francisco Morales x reader

summary | working your summer job you find yourself fawning over a boy you barely know, realizing by the end of the summer that letting go of him may not be the best idea.

content warning | young!frankie morales, reader is working in bar (if there’s some things wrong, just know i tried fjsjsj), background tf boys, phone texts, inebriated hook ups (frankie is a lil drunk but he’s okay i swear) smut out the wazoo, oral (m/f receiving, protecting p in v, hints of voyeurism, idk let me live in this dream pls

word count — 7.5k

The bar was supposed to be easy cash, a second job you picked up during the summer, between the interim of your final year of college and the beginning of your life—just some extra money to keep you afloat amongst the drowning seas of tuition debt. But, the job came with unexpected challenges—rude customers, drunk customers, (given that you worked in a bar you really couldn’t fault them) but it was the rowdy ones that really got under your skin. And you quickly learned the unspoken schedule of customers as they made their weekly round for a few drinks, some over-fried bar food, and a game of darts or pool.

Monday through Wednesday were some of your more favorite days, friendlier people who liked to visit earlier in the day before the bar got packed after sunset, some relaxed chit chat and a beer or two. They tipped very nicely, too.

Thursday was the slowest of the week, co-workers sliding in to catch a game of pool or watch some sports game on the old, ratty television tucked in the corner area of the bar, even with you squinting your eyes it was still barely visible and they almost always left the biggest messes at their table—but again, you couldn’t complain when it was only a few tables you had to scrub down.

Friday was always busy, the weekends just as bad—from open to close you were shuffling around behind the bar, in tune with your co-workers as you moved around each other. You knew some people by name and some would politely remind you—you saw about a hundred different faces every week, some were bound to slip through the cracks.

But, within your first week there, you found a particular group of boys would show up every Friday without fail—a few rounds of beers, a mountain of wings and fries and whatever else they could get their hands on, and a game or two of darts and a pool table they had just to themselves.

The charmer, Santiago, was the first to introduce himself.

A crisp hundred dollar bill slipped over in advance with a softer tone, “I’m apologizing in advance, they tend to get a little, uh, loud.” It wasn't the right word, but you smiled nonetheless, still checking the money behind the counter in case he tried to slide you a fake and mask it with a simple courtesy that wasn't shown often. Kindness.

You start their tab, grab their orders, and within twenty minutes their voices are already booming over the rest and arguing about a stupid game of darts, three other boys crowded around Santiago as their faces are within an inch of the board, fingers pointing all over.

There is a straggler, though—a man who’s similar in age to most of the boys, late twenties maybe? He had to be close to your age or just a little older but the sodden expression on his face made him feel much older, sipping at the round of beers you had brought by as soon as Santiago headed back for the table.

They call him Catfish, whatever that means—and it seems like they all have nicknames for each other and you wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem worth it. Your Rolodex of names in your head was already bursting at its seams and Santiago was the only one you could bother to remember, especially when he’s sliding over a chunk of cash in advance rather than blowing up his tab and then scrambling to pay.

For a few weeks it’s just that. They come in, Santiago pays, and then they spend a few hours in the back of the bar arguing like boys, rather than men. But, they always leave you a hefty tip when they don’t fill out their tab or when they go over and pay it out and then some.

And naturally, you’re curious. About them. About him.

So, when Catfish comes in on a Saturday night completely alone, that curiosity does get the better of you.

He doesn’t make much of a scene, sliding into the bar stool instead of taking up a table, and seeing how busy it is, he waits—quietly and with a faint smile on his face that you catch a few times in passing, refilling cups with ice and offering a polite smile back.

When you finally get to him you're slightly breathless, wiping your hands on the towel tucked into your back pocket, “Hey, sorry about—what can I get you?”

“Just a beer,” He says with a shrug, promptly sliding over a twenty as you pour and hand off the glass.

“Where’s the others?” You ask curiously, an attempt at casual conversation despite selfishly wanting to know.

“A party,” Fish explains, “Benny won his tournament so they’re celebrating that.”

The name sounds familiar but you can’t quite place it.

“The younger one,” He adds with a subtle smirk, seeing the furrow in your brow of you thinking too hard.

“So Benny, Santiago—but you get stuck with Catfish?”

It can’t be his actual name, but they never use anything else.

“Francisco,” He takes a generous sip of his beer before setting it down, tapping his fingers idly against the surface of the bar, “—but, just Frankie. If that’s easier.”

You tilt your head with a genuine smile, putting a name to a face and it feels fitting, the hat suffocating his mop of hair, curls peeking around the edge of his hat and the dark colored tees he always wore, some sort of dismay always written on his face. You can’t explain it, but it works for him.

Frankie. Francisco. Catfish.

“Well, Frankie—if you need anything just yell. That’s probably the only way I’ll hear you,” You tell him with a laugh before attempting to depart—the bar isn’t too bad at the moment, all customers dealt with but the roar of the bar is loud.

“Well—wait,” Frankie half shouts, grabbing your attention, “what’s your name? I gave you mine, seems fair to ask.”

You tell him with a shrug, “But, I only ever hear honey or sweetheart all night, so really, I’m whatever you want me to be.”

Frankie chuckles at that, looking away briefly as if to busy his mind with something else and you slip away then.

You don’t ask why he came alone—why he would skip out on a party with the men he came here every Friday night with—maybe he needed a break. Alone time. It wasn’t your business.

But, one Saturday becomes another. And two months later he’s come by every Saturday. Alone. And giving you his undivided attention. It’s sweet, you’ll admit that.

He isn’t as closed off on Friday’s when he arrives with the other boys but isn’t as outwardly friendly as say, Santiago would be during that time. But, Saturdays—he’s a whole different person. Lighter. Happier.

He only ever orders one beer, makes small talk, and lately—he’s been walking you to your car. So, not only is he nursing that beer over the four hours left in your shift by the time he gets there, he’s waiting for you. To clock out, that is.

Really, it’s against your better judgment. Allowing a total stranger to know what you drive, where you park, what time your shift ends, but Frankie is a… friend.

He isn’t like most of the customers, terrible at small talk and flirting and only making half-assed, nasty comments toward you when they get a few rounds in.

He’s seen it a few times. He never berates the guys, but he does pull your attention away, occupies your mind, and always manages to slip in a few words that make your legs go weak and encourage the dull throb between your thighs—even if it’s just a smile and an apology on their behalf.

Frankie always shows interests, ask about you and your life in the politest way he can without seeming like a complete creep—you can tell he doesn’t flirt often, by the way he’s quiet around his friends when you stop by their table or how he never asks for your number despite twirling his phone in his hands idly most of the night, trying to seem occupied but mostly staring at a blank screen until he finally gains the courage to ask you another question.

The first night he walks you to your car it’s quick—he stays until you close up for the night and walks around back, a careful and watchful eye on your surroundings as he nods and wishes you goodnight with a half-hearted smile, kicking himself in the ass for not just asking for your number.

And it continues like that for weeks, within those couple months, and gradually Frankie bursts out of his shell little by little until you both are giggling one night over a particularly rowdy customer, having gotten himself arrested for indecent exposure and broken a table.

His hand grazes your lower back as you walk out, a genuine mistake but you turn your head toward him quickly, soothing his worries with a smile as you stick the key into the lock.

“Don’t worry about it,” You tell him with a comforting tone, “I’m used to men being a little more handsy than that, so, if anything, you’re a gentleman.”

“Those aren’t men.” Frankie argues lightheartedly.

“Eh, men who act like boys,” You say, “they’re assholes either way you put it.”

Frankie nods, readjusting his cap on his head as he pushes his fingers through his hair.

You twist the keys in your hand and start the walk toward your car.

“Do you ever take that thing off?”

Frankie’s eyes dart up toward the hat and he chuckles, hidden under the scruff and grown out facial hair, “No. No, not really.”

“Would you do it if I asked you to?”

He contemplates but never gives you a straight answer, forcing you to prod him gently with the end of your key, “Don’t worry—I won’t. Not yet.”

Frankie’s fingers curl around the edge of your door as he holds it open and watches you climb in, mind swimming with a million ways to ask what he wants, but it never comes.

But, you see it on his face immediately, the caution behind his eyes in being so forward with you.

“Ask for it,” You tell him, turning on the ignition to your car, still looking at him as he looms between you and the car door, “—unless you want to make me ask.”

Frankie looks away briefly and you laugh softly at his sudden unabashed expression as he smiles and turns back to you, “Can I have your number?”

You hold your hand out in wait, thumbing in your number the moment the phone finds your palm. You send yourself a short text with a smiley face to make sure it goes through and hand it back over, feeling a sudden flutter of anxiety in your chest.

Not good, not bad—but it is something.

“Put it to good use,” You warn him, “don’t make me regret that.”

Frankie smiles wider that time, his teeth peeking out behind full lips.

“Right,” He agrees, “absolutely. I promise.”

He adds a soft goodnight and you depart, feeling your phone buzz again before you even pull out of the parking lot.

[Unknown Number]: Goodnight

You snort a quiet laugh to yourself.

An hour later, a toothbrush tucked into your cheek as you stare down at your phone when it vibrates. You had half the mind to save his number despite your exhaustion from the shift you worked.

[Frankie]: Home safe?

[You]: Yep. :) Thank you for checking on me

[Frankie]: :) Goodnight.

[Frankie]: Again lol.

It’s stupid—it shouldn’t make you smile. But, it does.

You quickly find every day occupied by Frankie in some form, through text or just the thought of him. He’s everywhere and you can’t seem to care—and you give up sleep in the middle of the night for text conversations that come from just wanting to hear from him, as nervous as you are to just call—you could, you knew he wouldn’t care. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You try to learn as much as you can about him.

[You]: Why Catfish?

It’s a random Tuesday when the text comes through his phone. He’s busy in class, cramming himself in as many hours as possible before he tests for his pilot license.

[Frankie]: Long story. Obnoxiously long. Why?

[You]: Just curious. It’s a strange nickname

[Frankie]: So what does that make me?

Frankie doesn’t get a response for a while and he knows you’re probably working, but he finds his fingers reaching for his pocket any time his phone vibrates in the hopes that it’s you.

[You]: Sorry. There was a mess at work.

[You]: It makes you strange btw

[You]: I’m kidding. But, it’s still a weird nickname.

Frankie can tell it’s you from the constant buzzing and he takes a peek at his phone.

[Frankie]: Oh shit. How bad of a mess?

[Frankie]: I know. Maybe I can explain it another time.

You’re busy wiping the beer off your face as you look at his text, the security dragging out the guy who had splashed the glass of liquid back at your face.

[You]: Some asshole threw a beer at me. Nothing new. Clothes are soaked.

[You]: Don’t try to make a joke about that or I’m double charging you this Friday.

Frankie frowns at the implication that you think he’s first instinct is to make a joke at your expense, but you can’t help to protect yourself from the behavior you’re used to from most men.

[Frankie]: Do you need me to bring you something? I can stop by on my way home?

[You]: I’ll survive. Thank you, though. My shift is almost over.

A couple days later you end up going down a fireshot line of questioning to get to know him, much to his surprise.

[You]: Okay. Birthday?

[Frankie]: April 2nd.

He returns the question to which you answer but add on another text with a joke at his expense.

[You]: Damn, a day short and that would be perfect for you. So, you’re an Aries.

[Frankie]: Yeah, whatever that means.

You laugh to yourself, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you walk through your local grocery store to pick up items for dinner that night.

[You]: It fits you. Oh! What do you do for work?

[You]: Fair game since you know what I do.

[Frankie]: We’re all in the army. I work on aircraft.

Oh, that’s…not what you were expecting.

[Frankie]: It’s new. I’m trying to get my pilot's license right now. I’ve got a big test coming up for it.

[You]: That’s so cool! Take me for a ride sometime?

You smirk to yourself as you press send.

[Frankie]: Yes.

You look ridiculous smiling at your phone in the middle of the aisle but you can’t help it.

In the army. A pilot. And a gentleman? Or, at least he’s provided himself to be nice enough. You were both young, so it didn’t surprise you that you were both unluckily single. But, Frankie seemed like such a catch—and it terrified you how badly you wanted him. Even in the simplest form.

A friend, a best friend, even. Or more, definitely more. But, you didn’t mind either way.

He’s due to take the test for his pilot license the Monday after your last shift, showing up with the boys on that Friday before—typical routine and behavior, but he does seem a bit more handsy. Santiago has always been friendly, but he does hug you this time he sees you, catching you on the way back to the bar and he plants a kiss on your cheek that you welcome with a soft, playful shove of your hand at his face and if it strikes Frankie with jealousy, you don’t notice.

But, he does shock you when he wraps an arm around your front and hugs you lazily, haphazardly slumping his other arm over your shoulder as he plants a kiss in your the hair at the crown on your head and rubs your hip with his thumb, leaving you dumbstruck and wanton the rest of your shift, frazzled every time you glance his way.

Santiago orders a round of shots toward the end of the night and thanks you with a wink, departing for the table and interrupting the idle conversation the men were entranced in.

You’re not sure what was going on, wiping down the counter as the night slowed down and casually flicking your eyes up to check on them, hearing them laugh occasionally, glancing your way briefly and suddenly Frankie was headed your way, fiddling around with the brim of his hat as he pressed a forearm against the countertop you had just wiped down.

You snap him gently with the towel and give him a look, he backs away slightly, hovering over the edge of the counter.

“What’s up?”

“They’re a bunch of dicks, I’m sorry.” Frankie deflected, glancing back at the boys who were staring on with sated smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of him fumbling and dropping the ball as he spoke to you. His eyes flick up wearily, soft and so distinct to him that it makes your heart ache. “Pope—Santiago, he dared me to come over and kiss you. And it’s stupid but if I didn’t at least try I would never hear the end–”

You pull him in by the collar of his shirt, the brim of his hat being pushed askew by the force as you press your lips to his in a simple, but unmistakable kiss. Tilting your head slightly as you pull away briefly to kiss him once more, dropping your towel to push your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and it seems like his brain catches up too late, his fingers barely grazing your neck as you pull away.

You pointedly look around Frankie to flip the other three off with both hands.

“Get out of here,” You warn playfully, “before I murder one of them.”

Frankie huffs a soft laugh through his nose before he turns away, speechless.

They were out of there within a few minutes, but an hour later your lips were still tingling.

Frankie is different that Saturday—more energetic, seeming lighter and more playful.

He drinks one beer, then two, surprisingly a couple shots of tequila—and before you know it, you’re seeing a much different side of Frankie than you're used to and it is quite the sight.

“Am I cutting you off?” You ask curiously, “I don’t want you nursing a hangover tomorrow when you have your test on Monday.”

“One more,” Frankie promises, “but—surprise me?”

You shrug, not finding a problem with it.

“Sweet or savory?” You ask him.

You feel your breath catch slightly as he pauses, his eyes doing a subtle drag over your body as you take a couple steps back, reaching for an empty glass.

“Sweet.”

It has an underlying tension to it neither of you address.

You make something up on the fly—fruity and sweet with the slightest bit of tang, nothing that screams Frankie but when you set it down in front of him and he drinks, his eyes widen slightly.

And for half a second you think he might spit it out, but then he’s chugging the rest down—and maybe it’s alcohol dulling his taste buds but he makes a quick show of assuring you he liked it, even if it’s mostly for your own benefit.

Shaking his head as he licks at his lips with his tongue in a way that feels so unnecessary that you can’t help but giggle, snatching the empty glass away from him as he smiles, his eyes half-lidded from the faint buzz he has going on, but otherwise he still seems fine.

You couldn’t let him get that drunk, not when he had so much riding on that test.

By the end of the night, your side hurts from laughing so much, forceably having to shove your hand in Frankie’s face to get him to shut up for half a second, his fingers circling around your wrist as he pulls you forward and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Stay. Let me close up and we can walk through the back.” You tell him and he nods quietly, though his grin never fades, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip idly while he watches you work around the clutter and reorganize, cleaning everything down before you’re flicking off the lights and nodding at him to follow.

If it were anyone else, you’d have given them a stiff kick to the balls and sent them on their way, but the moment Frankie noses at your neck your hard resolve melts and you shrug him away at how much it tickles your skin, feeling his hand wrap around the bicep on your left arm. He’s never been so touchy but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. In fact, you’re eating it up at this point.

“Frankie,” You warn him playfully, working and failing to lock the door as uses his other hand to squeeze at your side, “come on—I can’t lock up with you doing that.”

“Try,” He teases, challenges, and you can’t help but like the bolder, less restrained side of himself he’s offering up to you.

The gentle nuzzling quickly turns to kisses, wet and open mouthed as he practically drapes himself over you, one hand pressed into the brick wall beside the backdoor and you sigh softly, leaning into his chest as you finally get the door locked and shrug him away.

“Am I going to see you next week?” He asks hopefully, knowing that with August looming in the distance that your job at the bar was close to being nullified.

You shake your head with a bittersweet smile, “Tomorrow is my last day, actually. For now, anyway.”

Frankie’s brow furrows at that and he shakes his head slightly before he’s invading your space, hands cupping your face as he lifts your chin up to meet your lips and kisses you gently, your fingers coming up to curls around his forearms and you feel his lips part just as you pull away.

“What—what are you doing?” You ask him, feeling like an echo as he comes back to the surface with a delayed response, trying to kiss you again but you're pressing your fingertips over his lips until he realizes that you actually want an answer.

“I’ve wanted you all summer,” He admits and it makes your blood run hot, that distinct tingle of pleasure shooting down your spine and it is nothing you were expecting him to say, but tonight was full of surprises apparently, “do I need to prove it to you?”

He presses his forehead against your own and you shake your head in response. You believed him, you didn’t doubt him for a second—but it feels surreal. Those quick, fleeting summer flings you only hear about in passing, never expecting to experience it yourself.

You may never see him again, you had to strike the match while it was still in reach.

“Are there cameras back here?” Frankie asks hastily.

You snort, “No—we’re five minutes away from college dorms in the poorest part of town. People come here for cheap booze, not security.”

Frankie nods at that, “You’re right,” He responds but the end is muffled as he kisses you again, with less care and a lot more tongue as you open your mouth to him and find the words on your tongue are muffled by his.

And thank god the street lights were shit in the back alley, barely working amongst the occasional flicker, you eventually find your way in the darkened corner of the back alley with Frankie’s hand working at the button on your jeans, almost tripping over an overturned crate on the way there that causes you both to burst into a fit of giggles, laughing through the sloppy kisses Frankie can’t help but smother you with, sighing when his fingers dip past the denim and thin fabric underwear to cup your pussy with his entire hand, the warmth of his palm like an answered prayer.

His hat is frustrating though, constantly bumping and prodding at your head before you finally get fed up, plucking it off his head and tossing it to the ground with an annoyed sigh that forces a choked laugh from Frankie’s throat, dipping a finger down the center of your core before pressing inside of you, gasping at the sudden but welcomed intrusion. You release a shaky sigh and open your eyes to look at him, finding he’s plenty amused but still buzzed in his own way.

Half beer, half pleasure—but he looks like he wants to devour you.

Lucky for you, he was starving.

Your mouth hangs open slightly, breathing picking up as he angles his fingers and slips another inside, curling them toward you from within and you pull at the curls at the nape of his neck.

He smirks in amusement, “Wish you could see how needy you look,” Frankie comments, “all it took was a couple fingers, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Too bad it took you all summer,” You pester him as he picks up the intensity, using his other hand to push your jeans lower down your hips, “and some stupid fuckin’ drink to make you finally want to have sex with.”

“Sex?” Frankie jokes through a throaty chuckle, “Who said anything about—”

Your hand cups the front of his jeans firmly, a little harsher than necessary but you can tell he doesn’t mind, almost challenging you to tease him a little more but the moment you both hit a solid wall you’re tripping over each other’s feet and it pulls you back to the surface and despite your clothes being half-stripped away and Frankie’s hand still shoved down the front of your jeans, it brings back a surprising amount levity to assess the situation at hand.

“I mean, do you want to?” You ask him curiously, tucking a curl behind his ear as he blinks, considering how this would affect his relationship with you, as brief and fleeting as it was.

“You’re really asking me that?” He responds, “Of course.”

“Well, I mean you did just say—”

Frankie places his palm over your mouth, muffling the end of your sentence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He deflects, hoping you’ll play along.

You work at his belt without hesitation, far over the small talk and tired of wasting time. Frankie pulls his hand away much to your disappoint, pouting slightly as he drag his hand up your stomach, under your shirt until he’s got it tucked under your chin and mouthing of your bra greedily, the fingers of his other hand peeking around the fabric to pull it down, taking the soft, pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking with a satisfied groan as you dip your hand beyond his waistband and over his boxers, pulled tight against his thighs and groin. You could picture the sight of him in your mind for hours if you wanted, but you had him here, right here.

Why not give yourself a peek at the real thing?

Frankie is lost, deep within the exploration of your body that he doesn’t even hear your voice when you plead with him, his voice grazing over the delicate skin of your breasts as he pulls away, already ready to descend and yank your jeans the rest of the way down, press his face between your legs and feast on you like it was the best thing he’s tried all night.

But, there’s the pout again—so subtle he would miss it had he not finally given you his full, undivided attention and he was right. You are needy.

His thumb rubs at the small sliver of your lip that’s poking out, rocking his hips gently into the hand still tucked away into his jeans—there was such a distinct charm to him, melting under his gaze the second his eyes made contact with your own. Every time.

“I don’t wanna keep you,” You whine emphatically and Frankie almost immediately begins to shake his head—

No. No, of course not. You wouldn’t be keeping him at all. Not a chance, not a fuckin—his inner monologue is going wild but he finds you perking up at the slowly growing panic on his face.

“But,” You breath, the thumb that was resting at your bottom lip trailing down the valley of your breasts before he cups one gently in his hand, “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t give you at least something to remember this.”

“Couldn’t forget about you if I tried, actually,” He begins, but you shake your head, shushing him and pushing his hand away before you sink to your knees despite the immediate protest in your knees at the hard gravel—but god was it fucking worth it when you look up, half-lidded eyes staring back as you shake his jeans down his hips, just far enough that you can watch as he does the work with his boxers, cock bobbing free as he settles the band underneath his balls and if has to look away by that point, overwhelmed in the way your eyes roam but you don’t speak, clearly admiring and seering this to memory as you smile cheekily, taking his cock in your hand and jerk him slowly, thumb running along the vein that follows to the head of his cock.

“Get off the floor,” He begs pathetically, “gonna tear your knees up doing that.”

You laugh quietly to yourself and slide your tongue along the head of his cock, dipping down the slit of his head and to his shaft, pulling back at the skin and taking him into your mouth fully. He’s uncircumcised, thick and perfect—he fills your mouth out so beautifully in all his girth that you wonder just how much better it can feel between your legs, filling you out in the best way.

“Oh, jesus—baby, that’s,” You hum, bobbing your head in constant rhythm as your work your free hand around his balls, cupping them and allowing your other hand to cover the rest of what your mouth couldn’t take of his length and Frankie looks like he might actually pass out, looking around desperately for something, anything to lean on before he just settles for the wall behind you, resting both of his palms against the brick as he towers over you.

Frankie sighs shakily, dropping a hand to tuck against the back of your head, and your stomach swirls with anticipation as he allows himself to break his restrain a little, guiding his cock into your mouth with little aide given how eager you were as you took him as far as you could go, brush your nose against the trimmed patch of hair at the base and feel his hand flex in your hair, gripping it tight and attempting to pull you off to no avail, repeating the process until he’s begging for you to slow down, give him just a few seconds to breathe, ultimately finding that you don’t stop until he finally finds his voice again, stuttering out a desperate, “Stop, stop, stop–”

You pull away suddenly, worrying crossing your face but quickly dissipating as Frankie laughs, pulling you to your feet without much fight on your part and he does notice the few scraps on your knees, collecting with blood and he really wishes you would have listened but you brush him off, his body pressing you up against the brick wall behind you, pants still hanging at his thighs and his dick pressed against your stomach, shirt still sloppily bunched up over your tits.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, so vulgar it makes you pulse around absolutely nothing, his eyes roving over your face curiously, his thumb tracing over your lips, with a soft mumble, “God, I need you so bad.”

“My car,” You respond, tongue pressing against the pad of his fingertip as you nod behind him, “Condoms, they’re—in the car.”

Frankie makes a face, sort of amused but a little confused.

“Shut up,” You null his question before it slips out—”It’s precaution, okay? Guys love to pull the whole—”

“No, I—I get it,” Frankie answers, a small laugh rounding out his tone, “I just figured, you know—we’d…go back to your place? Or mine?”

Your hand fists into his shirt slowly, pulling him impossibly closer like he wasn’t already pressed against every surface of your body.

“What if I can’t wait?” Your eyes soften, looking up at him and catching the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, wanting to taste that tinge of sugar that lingers with him, “Would you fuck me right now?”

Frankie nods eagerly and you don’t hesitate, grabbing for his hat, placing it against his chest and gripping his hand in your own before you shove him away gently and lead him to your car, mostly covered in darkness aside from the obnoxiously orange streetlight that glowed overhead. Your clothes haphazardly pulled back up as you clamber into the driver's seat to reach over the console and into the glovebox, aware of the hand that slides between your leg as you search in the poor lighting, squealing when he squeezes at the flesh under his grip and shoving the foil wrapper into Frankie’s chest when you finally get your hand on the box.

“Off,” He tells you, pulling at the zipper of your jeans, “all the way.”

There was so much going on in your mind, nothing you could pluck out and focus on but it buzzed with excitement, anticipation, the kind of adrenaline that only comes in situations when your judgment is hasty and not fully-thought out. You’re barely kicking your shoes off and pulling your jeans past your ankle before Frankie is manhandling you into the backseat, and pressing his face between your thighs as he licks into you, a surprised gasp tearing from your throat as you grip the seats wherever you can.

Your pussy throbs under the care of his tongue, and he carries on obnoxiously, making a mess between your legs as his fingertips grip at the flesh of your ass and force you to open yourself wider to him, “Frankie—” You interject weakly, but he silences you with his mouth, sucking at your clit like it was his new obsession and you whine so pathetically that you find you covering your mouth in shame, biting gently at your bicep to muffle the flurry of sounds that came out after.

He pulls away some time later—minutes, hours, days, you can’t even place it. But, you hear him shift, the rip of the wrapper and the jingling of his belt as he shifts his jeans further down and slides into the backseat more comfortably, hovering over you. His hands squeezing at your hips, a comforting gesture as he speaks from behind you.

“Are you sure?”

It’s sweet, you can admit that. But, you don’t need that.

“Frankie.”

He wasn’t budging. Because, if by some sudden change of heart you didn’t want this, he wanted to know.

“Yes. Yes,” You say, turning slightly to look over your shoulder, his face only an inch or so away as you tuck your arm back and push your fingers into his hair, pulling his face next to yours as he pushes inside of you slowly, yanking gently at the strands between your fingers as he settles, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“Let me hear you,” He begs, “It’s just us.”

He hears you all the time, voice carrying across the bar but never like this—for him, only for him.

He pulls back gently, snapping his hips firmly and you hum softly, slightly giddy over the entire situation. He continues that way, so gentle and cautious that it makes you wonder why you both avoided this for so long, “More?” Frankie asks. You nod and his pace quickens slightly, a little harsher, and your hand grips onto the passenger seat beside your head for leverage as he chest rumbles with a deep sigh, “Fuck this is—baby, you have no idea.”

“Tell me,” You plead, the quiet creak of the car drowned out by your loud, pathetic moans as Frankie’s fingers curl around your throat and hold, no pressing or squeezing, just another place for them to find a home.

“Thought about this—so many times,” He admits, “came here for months—fuck, months. And then you show up and I was nervous—couldn’t, couldn’t even think of what to say to you. I knew I’d embarrass myself in front of them.” He squeezes then, a gentle pressure on your throat that has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“I had to see you alone,” His throat is tight, his breath a little quicker as he speaks, his hips snapping into you at a steady pace that clouds your mind effortlessly, “wanted you for myself—and, I would’ve fucked you that first night if you’d let me.”

You cunt squeezes him tight at his words and he curses, “So greedy, baby. She’s drooling all over me—such a fucking mess,” And you need to see him, face the man who’s finally found just the right amount of confidence to make you speechless. You lean up suddenly and force a hand into his chest and he only looks slightly confused before you’re pulling him inside and forcing him to sit into the cramped back seat, uncaring of the open car door as the car rocks with the weight of your bodies and you seat yourself on his lap, gripping his dick in your hand and sinking back down onto him without a word, curling yourself over him as you push away the hair clinging to his forehead, damp from sweat and his eyes are blown wide, staring up at you like he was under hypnosis, gaze locked on your own.

“Tell me now,” You challenge him—nowhere to hide behind his words.

“Would you—have let me fuck you that one night I walked you to your car?” He asks.

You smile guiltily, remembering the heat of his hand on your back, never really an accident.

“I’d have let you fuck me over the pool table if you asked, Frankie.” You admit, “In front of your friends too, if that’s what you really wanted.”

Frankie laughs weakly, giving you the lead as you lift your hips with a sudden eagerness.

“Is that what you want?” You tease him, “You guys are all about claim, right? Army boys love to show off—I mean, they’d probably be into it. Santi, for sure—”

Frankie covers your mouth with his hand and you giggle, biting playfully at the flesh of his palm.

He squeezes at your hip with his free hand, forcing you into a hurried pace as he begins to move his hips to meet your own, lifting off the seat slightly with every snap of his hips. Your cry is muffled by his hand but Frankie sees it in your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes that tells him.

“Touch yourself, babygirl,” He tells you, “Let’s see how bad you want it.”

You lean back between the open space of the driver and passenger seat, one hand gripping the upholstery of the seat while the other works between your legs, fingers drifting over your clit and into the mess of yourself that was leaking over Frankie’s cock from where it was buried inside of you and he wasn’t lying—you’ve never been so turned on in your life. Half-assed hook-ups and guys that didn’t give a shit about your own pleasure, Frankie was a goddamn dream and a hell of a good fuck.

You know your body well enough that it doesn’t take long, but the show is for Frankie’s benefit alone, head thrown back over your shoulders as your middle and ring finger circle your clit, occasionally wrapping your hand around what of his shaft was available as you tried weakly to move your hips, squeezing to pull a soft little gasp from his chest. It was such a damn shame you didn’t have him fully naked, splayed out on the mattress in your shitty apartment. You wanted to dig your nails into his skin, leave half crescent marks and a reminder of you for days, weeks even.

“Fuck, I’m right there, baby—” He warns, unexpectedly joining your own fingers and forcing you over the edge just before he pulls you in, a brutal snap of his hips before he’s muffling the deep groans of his orgasm into your skin, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder.

The next few minutes is spent in a blissful silence, moving off of him carefully as he discards the condom but never letting you drift to far, still curled up and half naked on his lap as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face, pulling you in for a kiss that takes your breath away, literally pulls from your chest and makes your heart stop.

Oh…this was not good.

You breathe shakily and pull away with a smile that masks that sudden ache in your chest and kiss again at the inside of his palm. He leans his head against the backseat, eyes closed as he catches his breath and groans slightly when you move off of him, oblivious and exhausted as you redress hastily beside him, pulling your jeans back up your legs and over your hips, slipping your shoes on and readjusting your shirt, shaking him gently when you fear he might have passed out right there in the back of your car.

“Frankie,” You call out, saying his name a few more times before you call out, one last time, “Francisco, hey.”

His eyebrows raise in question, a subtle smile on his lips as he peeks an eye open to look at you.

“I really need to get home,” You tell him, laughing half-heartedly at his drunken stupor, “you’ve gotta go.”

Frankie seems to realize then that he can’t drag this out any longer, redressing himself slowly as he climbs out of the car, watching you fiddle with your shirt and your appearance, trying to not look like you just got fucked in the backseat of your car.

He seems to notice the slight dismay on your face, knowing that your lives were diverting down different paths, but this was still the present. Now. And he was still here.

He presses you into the driver’s side door and kisses you then, hands crawling up the side of your neck and caressing the curve of it, dipping his tongue past your lips and really stealing your breath away, moaning into your mouth like you were the greatest thing he’s ever tasted.

You pull away regrettably when you feel him start to ramp up again, “Good luck on your test, by the way.” You tell him honestly, “You can text me the good news when you pass.”

Frankie chuckles, “I will.” There’s a long pause and then he’s speaking again, the few words you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, “Can I see you again?”

The hesitance is obvious on your face and it kicks Frankie down a peg, but he gets it. He wasn’t a boyfriend, barely even a friend. But, he was still hopeful.

“Maybe.” You offer, “I mean—you still have my number. I’m just a text or call away, you know.”

Frankie couldn’t admit that you were the only thing getting him through this summer without relapsing or making another misstep, that wasn’t your burden. But, the weight on his heart is heavy and his own to bear, welcoming the hug you offer him immediately and squeezing you so tight you might break, but of course, you don’t.

And he thinks that if he showed up broken, in pieces, that you would know exactly how to piece him back together, but he hoped that never happened. That maybe you might manage to escape him and he wouldn’t drag you down with him.

“Goodbye, Frankie.”

He smiles and nods, settling his hat back on his head as he steps away.

You leave soon after, not sure why this sudden dark cloud is looming over you.

Frankie never texts you about his test and the texts you send in the aftermath are never responded to—and eventually you give up, feeling like an idiot for being hopeful in the first place.

↝ beta: @chaotic-mystery

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #triple froniter #my writing

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

Text

worship

A/N: last night..I was hornknee on the main and this was the result

~word count: 1.5k~

Summary: cock worship with Frankie Morales

Pairing | Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: smut with no plot, cock worship, body worship, handjob, mutual masturbation, filthy talk, oral (female receiving) subby!frankie vibes, intimacy, established relationship, fluff, soft!frankie, boyfriend!frankie, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color or body type, translated Spanish from both Frankie and the reader. Pet names: querida, cariño, princesa, hermosa. +18 minors dni!

paciencia - patience

No es necesario mi amor - not necessary, my love

es necesario para mí, Frankie - its necessary to me, frankie

tócame, querida. Por favor - touch me, darling. Please.

“Baby, I want tonight to be all about you, okay?” Your boyfriend, Frankie Morales has always been a people pleaser in every aspect. Even though you have reminded him at least 100 times in the bedroom that his pleasure is also important, he always brushes it off and turns the attention back on you.

Well, tonight is going to be different. You’re going to show him just how much he really means to you.

“Hermosa,” he softly rasps. “I feel good when you feel good. You don’t have to provide me with any special attention, baby.”

You lean over his chest and gently press your pointer finger against the seam of his plush lips. “Shh. Please, Frankie. I want to show you just how much I really love you, and your cock.”

He’s stunned to say the least. His brows raise in unison as he brushes his hand across the apex of your bare thighs, stroking his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion. He visibly swallows hard, eyes flitting upwards to meet your gaze. “Querida, No es necesario, mi amor.”

You replace your finger with your lips, kissing him sweetly as your fingers gently skate across the patches of his beard. “es necesario para mí, Frankie.”

He licks into your mouth at a snail's pace so he can really get a taste of you on his tongue while your hand drifts slowly to his lap where his half-hard cock lay beneath the soft confines of his sweats.

“Hard for you already, querida.” His breath catches in his throat when you delicately trace the outline of his cock with the tip of your nail. His hips shift upwards, already desperate for more contact.

“I know, baby.” You smile into the kiss, letting out a breathy, soft sigh when he gradually presses your thighs open further for easier access. The panties adorning your body are a pair that he picked out himself, and you looked so beautiful in them.

“Can we keep these on, princesa?” He hums, low and deep as his fingers toy with the little pink bow at the hem of your panties. “The lace looks so pretty on you, baby.” He hooks his thumb through the elastic and snaps it back playfully, eliciting giggle to slip past your lips while your own fingers trail upwards, drawing patterns through the dark, coarse hair on his happy trail. His stomach clenches inwards from your feather light touch.

“Cariño.” You coo, “This night is about you, Frankie. If you’d like for me to keep them on, then I’ll keep them on for you.” You lightly gasp into the connected kiss when his fingers slowly glide upwards against the covered seam of your pussy. He breaks the kiss away momentarily, only so he can glance down and see just how wet you’ve grown for him already. He licks his lips, wetting them before he’s drawn back to his own pleasure as you nip playfully at the junction where his neck meets his collarbone. Teeth graze his bronzed skin as you bite down, drawing blood to the surface. His head tilts to the side to allow you better access to his skin. His lashes flutter shut, lips parting as he moans softly.

You trail your lips further, teasing, biting at his collarbones, and slide your hand southwards. His cock twitches in excitement as you make quick work of pushing his sweats down just enough to free his cock.

His hot breath fans your face when one large hand comes to grasp your jaw, pulling your face back upwards to his lips to meet in a bruising kiss.

“tócame, querida. Por favor.” He whimpers through the kiss, hips bucking upwards when he doesn’t immediately feel your soft touch.

There isn’t a minute in the day where Frankie doesn’t yearn for you, and your touch. He thinks about you morning, afternoon, night, and even in his dreams.

“Paciencia.” You tsk playfully under your breath and slowly slide your hand down the underside of his cock, feeling every vein and ridge beneath the soft pads of your fingertips.

He huffs through his nose, a chuckle vibrating up his chest as he shakily inhales your tongue licking into his mouth. “That’s my line, querida.”

“Hush, baby. Let me take care of you, Frankie. Let me take care of you and your pretty cock.” You drop your hand further, gently cupping his balls, squeezing them delicately, earning another breathy moan to escape his lips.

His head slowly falls back against the plush pillows. If his eyes weren’t shut in bliss already, they would be rolling back into his skull. His fingers begin to toy with your covered clit in languid, circular motions. He loves playing with you like this, feeling your slickness begin to build, and your pussy flutter.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, cariño. And your pretty pussy is so wet for me.” He’s already salivating for a taste, to bury his head between your thighs and delve into his favorite meal of the day; you.

“Feels so good, Frankie.” You praise him adoringly. “Does it turn you on when I say that you have such a pretty cock? It’s so beautiful, cariño. You’re so beautiful.” You gush, kissing him deeper as his hand cradling your face pulls you in even closer. If he could, he’d crawl inside of you and stay there forever.

“Fuuck.” He skin flushes from your words, cheeks turning ruby red, heart swelling in his chest as his thumb gently strokes your jawline. “Tell me I have a pretty cock again, please.”

You drag your hand upwards once more, hand wrapping around the base of his cock as you slowly twist your wrist in a corkscrew motion. You can feel him growing harder in your palm as your thumb swipes across the ruddy head, collecting pearls of precum that have begun to leak and dribble down the underside of his shaft.

“You have the prettiest cock I have ever seen, Frankie.”

His hips buck upwards into your hand pathetically as he whimpers your name over, and over again.

His mental state is at the most vulnerable, yet he has never felt more safe than with you. His lips break away from the kiss, a string of saliva keeps you both connected for a moment, like an invisible string. His head tilts down, cheek resting against the crook of your shoulder, hot breath kisses your skin as he lets himself fully indulge in unabashed pleasure.

“I’m so lucky to have you, cariño. Y-you’re so beautiful, and good to me.” He chokes out, teeth grazing your shoulder as he bites down. His fingers on your pussy begin to pick up their pace, wanting you to feel the same level of pleasure that he is experiencing. His attention stays focused on your clit, and between the steady pressure, and the fabric adding friction, you’re close to hitting your own high.

“You’re so pretty, Frankie. Always so pretty, but even more when you’re on the edge of coming.” You whisper as your freehand rests along his bare shoulder, before slowly sliding into his hair, playing with the soft curls at the back of his head, nails scraping at his scalp.

Perspiration has already begun to build and pool along his bronzed skin. Shiny, wet, slick, needy.

He bites down on your shoulder harder, drawing blood to the surface, eyes squeezed shut, whimpers falling against your skin.

“Oh fuck. I’m going to come, querida. I’m—I'm so close, baby.” He groans as you pump your wrist faster, feeling his cock tense and pulse around your palm.

“Good boy, Cariño. Come for me, Frankie.” You breathlessly request, and he obeys, letting himself go, crying out your name as he paints your hand and his bare stomach in his release.

His softened cock laid still against his stomach, chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. You kissed him sweetly, brushing a few stray curls that were stuck to his forehead with sweat.

His eyes were hooded as he watched your lips descend down his body, between his pecs, down his stomach. You dragged your tongue through his release, lapping every drop up from his sweat stained skin before his strong arms were pulling you back up to his face.

Even in his post-orgasm haze, his kisses were desperate as he tasted himself along your tongue.

“My turn.” He whispered and grabbed ahold of the hem of your ruined panties and yanked them down in a haste.

You couldn’t help but giggle when you felt his curls tickle the inside of your thighs, and the light, gentle scrape of his patchy beard against your sensitive skin.

He spelled his name out against your clit, over and over again, till you positively had nothing left to give him.

In the midst of it all, he found himself growing hard again, and eager, very eager, but now he focused on worshiping you, the same way you worshiped him. He came again with his hips rutting into the comforter as you leaked onto his tongue.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

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#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #Frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fluff #francisco morales #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales smut

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bitchesuntitled · 1 year ago

Text

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

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

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

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

Masterlist||AO3 Link||Parents to Lovers

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

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

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

—

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

“I need socks!” She hollers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

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

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

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

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

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

#Frankie morales #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales x You #francisco morales smut #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fluff

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capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

Text

The boyfriend act, part 15: "The one with the cabin and the river" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The weekend arrives quietly at Will and Benny’s cabin. Good weather, beautiful views, and you and Frankie doing your best to stay under the radar. At least, you try. WC: 16k

A/N: Hii, just wanted to quickly clarify one thing. I noticed a few confused comments about a specific moment, so here’s a quick explanation: When Frankie asks reader, during an intimate scene, "Are you sure you want to do it?" what he’s asking is whether she’s sure she wants to do it without protection, NOT whether she’s on birth control. She is, and he has no doubts about that. I mean she's not lying, he trust her. He’s just asking out of respect, to make sure she’s really okay with doing it unprotected. Oh, and about pregnancy theories… I love them! Lol If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! (also, If you've asked me before to tag you and your tag isn't on the list, please send me a message and let me know! Sometimes I miss comments!)

You were curled up on the couch in the living room, legs tucked under yourself, half-listening to whatever the guys had been saying before their conversation drifted into silence. You weren’t reading or scrolling or even thinking all that hard. Mostly just sitting there, letting the quiet settle into your body like it belonged there.

Then Will stood up with that familiar restlessness of his and walked toward the front door.

“Fish, about time!” He said, already pulling it open. He didn’t wait. Just stepped outside like he knew exactly what would happen next.

You sat a little straighter, leaning just enough to see through the front window. Headlights still on, engine ticking quietly in the dark, Frankie was climbing out of the car. It was a few minutes past nine. The sky was ink black now. Only the porch light and a slice of moon above the trees gave shape to anything beyond the glass.

Santi had picked you up from the apartment a little after five-thirty, even though Frankie had offered to take you himself once you’d closed the bookstore. He’d said it casually, almost too casually, leaning against the doorframe with his keys dangling from one hand. But you’d told him no. Not unkindly. You had already arranged everything with your brother, and more than anything, you didn’t feel like being interrogated by Santi later.

So you’d stuck to the plan. You got to the cabin around six-thirty, maybe a little earlier. The sun had still been visible then, hanging low and golden over the trees as Will met you outside, launched straight into a guided tour like it was your first time at summer camp.

Which, in a way, it was. Everyone else had been here before—plenty of times. You were the only new element in a place so soaked in familiarity.

The cabin was charming, in that nostalgic, heavy-with-memory kind of way. It had belonged to their parents. You could tell by how solid everything felt, like the furniture had grown into the floorboards. Three bedrooms—two doubles and one with three twin beds pushed against the walls. Will said their cousins used to come during the summer holidays, that the house would be full of voices and towels and sunscreen. That was decades ago. But the sheets were clean, the air smelled faintly of cedar and something citrusy Benny must’ve used to mop the floors. It didn’t feel abandoned. It felt cared for.

Frankie, though, hadn’t shown up when he said he would. He’d mentioned something vague about stopping by the grocery store on the way, picking up a few things. That was around six. Then nothing. Just the waiting.

Will came back in first, a gust of cold air following him.

“You hungry?” he asked, glancing back toward the open door. “We ate a little while ago.”

“I’m good,” Frankie’s voice replied, a little rough around the edges. He stepped into the room with a backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes found yours for no more than a heartbeat—two seconds, maybe three—but it was enough. You looked away, down at your phone, even though there was nothing new on the screen. Your thumb hovered like you might scroll, but you didn’t.

Then Benny’s voice carried down the stairs. Something about being late, but it didn’t sound angry. Just loud.

Santi clapped a hand on Frankie’s shoulder and asked about Henry, his tone lighter than the question deserved. Frankie shrugged, said he was fine, but that he was tired. Said he’d explain later. Benny was already motioning him upstairs, and Frankie followed without a word.

You stayed where you were, eyes on the glow of your phone, ears tuned sharply to the movement in the house. You weren’t sure why your chest felt heavier than it had when you’d first sat down—but there it was. A quiet weight. Just there.

Figuring out the sleeping arrangements hadn’t taken much discussion. It was late and no one had the energy for negotiation. Santi and Yov naturally claimed one of the double beds—there hadn’t been any doubt about that. And Will, with his usual unspoken authority, had declared that you’d take the other.

“It just makes sense,” he said, already turning away as if that settled it. And it did.

Benny, Frankie, and Will would take the room with the single beds, and no one questioned it. Frankie hadn’t said a word either way, just nodded slightly when Benny pointed toward the stairs. You wondered if it mattered to him at all, if any of it did.

Half an hour later, the house was quiet. People peeled off one by one, murmuring goodnights and stretching out aching limbs from a day that had felt too long. The plan was to wake up early and explore the trails behind the cabin, maybe head down to the lake before the sun got too high.

But you and Santi stayed outside. The others faded into bedrooms and darkness, and the porch lights hummed above your heads, attracting moths and casting long shadows on the wooden floorboards. You were sitting side by side in the hammock, careful not to shift too much and tip the balance.

“I don’t know,” Santi was saying, voice low. “I’m just saying… you could call her.”

You sighed, pulling your knees up closer to your chest. “But she doesn’t call me. She calls you. Maybe that’s the answer right there. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

You crossed your arms, like the words had left a mark on your skin and you needed to shield the spot.

“Mom calls me because I call her,” Santi replied, not unkindly. He tilted his head back, eyes on the stars. “Last time we talked she asked what was going on with you.”

“She could ask me that,” you said. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you.”

He exhaled, slow and frustrated. “Did you guys fight or something?”

You shook your head. Not really. Not in the traditional sense. There hadn’t been yelling or dramatic exits or anything you could point to and say this is where it all cracked.

What had happened was quieter. A slow shift. A strange, weightless sort of distance that crept in when you weren’t looking. She had become harder to read. Her answers to simple questions—how are you, how’s your day—sounded like rehearsals, like they were meant to steer the conversation somewhere safer. Somewhere away from herself.

Then one afternoon, she had said something. A comment dressed up like advice. You needed to start living your life, she'd said. You needed to stop being so hesitant, so afraid of stepping into yourself.

And it had hurt. Not because it wasn’t true, but because of who it was coming from.

You’d snapped, in that quiet way you sometimes did—no shouting, just words that cut because they were too honest. You reminded her that she had left Austin. That she had chosen not to live in the same house where your father’s absence still lived in every room. You asked how she could tell you to be brave when she couldn’t bear to exist in her own memories.

It wasn’t a fight. But it wasn’t nothing either.

You hadn’t spoken properly since. A few messages. Nothing with weight.

“It’s complicated,” you finally said, voice low.

Santi stayed next to you for a little while longer. The air had gone heavier after the conversation about your mother, but he had this way of knowing when to shift gears. He was good at that—distracting you without making it obvious. Redirecting your thoughts like it was something casual, not a rescue.

“So,” he said after a few moments of silence, his voice light again, as if nothing complicated had ever been said, “how’s everything going with Bill?”

His eyes were bright with amusement.

“It’s almost done,” you replied, stretching your legs out in front of you, “it’s looking really nice. Why? Thinking about stopping by again? Bill said you could go whenever—”

“That’s not what I asked.” He cut in, laughing, clearly pleased with himself.

You paused. “Oh,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Then… what exactly did you ask?”

Santi pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play dumb.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gave you a knowing look. “I know you’re seeing him.”

You tilted your head. “I’m not.”

“Oh no?” he said, sitting up straighter now, emboldened. “Then who are you talking to every night?”

You froze, not dramatically, just enough for your shoulders to go still. But you didn’t stop smiling.

“What?”

“When I was at your place last week, you got a phone call and practically blushed. You were all, ‘I’ll call you back’ in this sweet little voice. Same thing a few days later, when you came home—you literally got up from the table mid-sentence.”

“Right,” you said, drawing the word out a little, like you were buying time. “That was Emma.”

Santi laughed, short and loud. “Emma?”

“Yes,” you said, more confidently now, folding your arms like a period at the end of a sentence. “It was Emma. Who else would it be? You thought it was Bill?”

“I don’t know,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe. I thought I heard a man’s voice through the speaker.”

You shook your head, gently but with emphasis. “Nope. Definitely Emma.”

The words hung in the air between you for a second, and just then, your phone vibrated softly in your hand. The screen lit up. You looked.

[Frankie🍾]: Are u in bed yet?

You didn’t answer. You just locked the phone quickly, turned it over in your lap so the screen faced down, and pretended nothing had happened.

When you glanced back up, Santi was already watching you.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you, and then, like he was giving you space to lie one more time, he said, “Well. If it’s not Bill, it’s not Bill. I believe you. It's someone else, then.”

You said nothing. You held his gaze. The smile was still there, barely.

He looked away then, exhaled through his nose.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, pushing his palms against his thighs and standing in one easy motion. “Don’t stay up too late talking to your friend.”

You didn’t respond. You just watched him walk inside, the screen door creaking once behind him. Then you looked down at your phone again, still facedown in your lap. You didn’t move. Not yet.

As soon as Santi closed the door behind him, you reached for your phone.

There it was. You read the message again.

[Frankie🍾]: are u in bed yet?

Your fingers moved instinctively across the screen, barely a pause between thought and action.

[You]: No, I’m outside, Santi just went in

Read.

You watched the three dots appear, vanish, then reappear again—like they were thinking. Or like he was.

[Frankie🍾]: Will and Benny are knocked out. Are u going to stay outside?

You hesitated just long enough.

[You]: I’m going in now

[You]: why?

You stood, brushing imaginary dust from your legs. The porch creaked under your feet as you moved to the door, screen still glowing in your hand. You didn’t look away. Not even as you turned the lock behind you. Inside, the house was dim.

You made your way upstairs, each step sounding louder than it should have. Halfway up, your phone vibrated again.

[Frankie🍾]: Can I see u?

You didn’t hesitate this time.

[You]: sure

[You]: in my room.

[You]: be careful, don’t make noise

There was a pause. A longer one.

Then:

[Frankie🍾]: do you think Santi will take too long to fall asleep?

You pushed open your bedroom door but didn’t shut it all the way. The air inside felt cooler, or maybe that was just your skin reacting to the shift in atmosphere. You dropped your phone on the bed, peeled off your clothes quickly—mechanically—and pulled on a soft pair of pajamas, barely registering the feel of cotton against your skin.

When you picked up your phone again, two new messages blinked back at you.

[Frankie🍾]: I’ll wait ten minutes

[Frankie🍾]: don’t fall asleep

You rolled your eyes, lips curving into a quiet smile that no one saw.

Then you slid under the covers, not bothering with the sheets, settling instead on top of the comforter like it would be temporary.

[You]: I won’t 🙄🙄

You left the phone beside you on the pillow, screen lit, waiting.

About thirty minutes had passed when a weight landed gently on your shoulder—waking you up.

Your eyes opened with a soft, confused flutter, and there he was. Frankie. Standing beside your bed, mouth curved into a smile.

“What happened?” he whispered, voice low and rough at the edges. “Did you fall asleep?”

You blinked at him, propping yourself up on your elbows, your brain still wading through the haze of sleep.

“Hey,” you said, automatically glancing toward the door. “No. I just closed my eyes for a second.”

He gave a small, disbelieving scoff and sat down beside you, settling at the edge of the mattress near your legs.

“I texted you,” he said. “Like twenty minutes ago.”

You sat all the way up now, folding your legs beneath you, studying him in the faint light that came from the hallway.

“Shit, sorry.”

His expression was softer than usual—he looked a little tired, a little resigned. The kind of tired that comes from something heavier than lack of sleep.

“It's okay. I wasn’t going to come in, but I went to the bathroom,” he continued, leaning back slightly, his palms flat against the comforter behind him. “And your door was cracked open and... you were just lying there. Asleep.”

You let out a small groan, rubbing your face. “Sorry. It’s been a long day, okay?”

“No shit,” he murmured, eyes falling shut for a second. You looked at him, then at the floor, the silence between you stretching comfortably for a beat.

Then, quieter, you asked: “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

When he looked at you again, his face shifted—barely, just a flicker—but you noticed it. A crack in the armor. You reached out instinctively, brushing your fingers along the back of his neck. His skin was warm, the gesture familiar in a way that made your chest ache a little. You scratched lightly, your touch barely there.

He exhaled slowly, and when he met your gaze again, the exhaustion in his eyes had deepened, no longer tucked away.

“I saw Rachel today,” he said.

You went still, your hand frozen at the base of his neck. Something in your chest tightened—sharp and unexpected, like you’d swallowed something bitter before realizing it was poison.

“What?” you asked, softly. “Where?”

“At the grocery store,” he said, eyes still focused somewhere below you, like he was replaying the moment. “I left the house late. Was on the phone with Luna for a while, and stopped at this place, sort of out of the way—outside downtown. She lives near there, but I didn’t think about it. Honestly, she hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing at the memory. “I was heading to the checkout, and then suddenly—she was there. Just there. She grabbed my arm and said my name like it was some kind of... reunion or something.”

You pressed your hand more firmly against his back now, not sure if it was comfort or instinct or something more selfish.

“Frankie,” you murmured. “Are you okay?”

He gave a little nod, like it didn’t mean much.

“Yeah,” he said. Then looked at you. “I mean... I didn’t expect it. That’s all.”

You searched his face, unsure what exactly you were looking for. “What did she say to you?”

“She asked how I was doing,” he said, voice quieter now. “Said it was nice to see me again. Then she asked about my family, and right around then, the cashier finished ringing me up. So I just—left.”

You looked down, your gaze settling on the soft folds of the blanket beneath you. You didn’t respond. Not because you were trying to be evasive, but because nothing coherent came to mind. There was just the pressure of your hand still resting against his back and the quiet awareness of how warm his body felt under your fingertips. Solid. Present.

“She looked different,” Frankie added after a few seconds. You glanced up, catching the distant expression on his face. He wasn’t really here anymore—he was somewhere else entirely, tucked into a version of the past only he could see. “But I can’t figure out what changed.”

You exhaled. “Time’s passed. You’ve changed. The way you see her probably has too.”

He turned his head toward you, and for a moment he just looked at you like he was trying to decide if that explanation made him feel better or worse.

“Maybe,” he said. Then he shifted, lying on his back. “Anyway. I left. That was it. I was really late coming over. Sorry.”

You smiled—barely—and then moved in closer, your body folding into the space beside his. You lay down beside him, your legs extended off the side of the mattress just as his were. It wasn’t a natural sleeping position. It felt temporary. Like neither of you was fully ready to commit to comfort.

“I was thinking about you,” you murmured. “Before you came in.”

Frankie turned his head slightly, looking down at you as you rolled onto your side, your cheek resting against the curve of his chest. His hand found its way to your back, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

“I was starting to think maybe you wouldn’t come,” you added, quieter now.

“I wouldn’t miss this weekend,” he said, simply.

You made a soft sound in your throat—half acknowledgment, half something else—and closed your eyes. Your fingers moved over his chest in absent strokes, like muscle memory.

There was a smile on your lips. Soft. Unforced. But under it, lodged somewhere in the hollow of your chest, was that same bitter pang from earlier. Faint but persistent. And you couldn’t quite name it.

When your alarm buzzed at seven, it felt like it cut through a dream.

You stirred, barely awake, and instinctively pulled Frankie closer, tucking your body against his. Your cheek pressed against the warm rise and fall of his chest. He made a low sound in his throat—half groan, half exhale—but didn’t wake, not really. His arm tightened faintly around your waist in response, like his body understood your presence before his mind did.

Then your eyes fluttered open and the weight of what had happened landed all at once. You pushed yourself upright.

“We fell asleep,” you said, pressing your palm to Frankie’s stomach as if that might somehow help. “Shit. We actually fell asleep.”

You ran your hand over his ribs in a distracted motion, trying to rouse him. His face barely shifted at first, his brows knit together as if you were intruding on something sacred.

“Frankie,” you said more urgently, your fingers closing gently around his arm. “Wake up.”

He blinked, one eye then the other, and squinted at you, disoriented. “What?”

“We fell asleep,” you hissed.

That got through to him. In an instant, he sat up, the covers slipping off his bare chest. His eyes widened.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“Seven am.”

He ran both hands through his hair and then sat there for a second, unmoving, trying to gather his thoughts. Then he held up one finger, a gesture for silence, and tilted his head. You listened too.

There were voices now, faint but distinct. A laugh. The creak of a floorboard. Footsteps moving across the wooden floor of the cabin.

They were awake.

Frankie dropped his face into his hands. “Will and Benny saw my empty bed.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “But no one knows where you were. They didn’t see you here.”

He turned to you. “Where else would I be?”

You looked at him, his wide eyes, his tousled hair, the shape of him still imprinted in your sheets. Then, absurdly, a laugh bubbled up in your throat and you covered your face to muffle it.

Frankie gave you a withering look, but then his mouth twitched. He tried to fight it, but a crooked smile formed anyway.

“Don’t laugh,” he said.

You dropped your hands and sat upright, taking charge. “You need to leave. I’ll check the hallway.”

You climbed out of bed, your bare feet pressing against the cool floor as you padded to the door. Frankie stayed seated, still shirtless, clearly trying to recalibrate his entire nervous system.

“And what am I supposed to say if someone asks where I was?” he called softly behind you.

You shrugged without turning. “Tell them you went for an early walk. You needed air. That sounds plausible.”

He paused. You could tell he was running the script in his head. Eventually, he gave a faint nod, convinced.

You cracked open the door and peered down both sides of the hall.

“All clear,” you said. Then you turned back and made a beckoning gesture. “Come on. Quiet.”

His steps were quick but soundless. He reached you at the door. Just before he slipped past, he paused and turned back to you.

He reached out, his hand sliding gently along your jaw before pulling you in. You were already smiling when he kissed you—soft, unhurried. Your hand came up to his face, your thumb brushing his cheek. The other rested on the doorframe.

Then you pulled apart. Your eyes met and lingered.

But then his smile faltered.

His eyes flicked to something over your shoulder, and you turned.

“Shit,” Frankie said, turning to look at you again. There was no one there.

You let your backpack slip from your shoulder, the weight of it landing softly on the dry ground. A sigh escaped you before you could think about it, drawn out and exhausted, like your body had finally caught up to the heat pressing against your skin. The Texas sun had a way of making everything feel heavier, like it wasn’t just light, but something dense and physical settling on your shoulders.

Ahead of you, the river shimmered like a gift. Cool, blue, the kind of blue that doesn’t exist anywhere else except in water. It twisted gently, reflecting the same sun that had turned your cheeks pink and your shirt damp against your back.

You watched the water for a moment, letting yourself believe it was a prize, a quiet reward for keeping pace with everyone this morning.

Behind you, the group had already started to scatter, finding patches of shade beneath an oak tree, tossing down their bags, laughing softly about the hike. You didn’t join them right away. You turned your head and watched them from a distance, caught somewhere between the relief of arrival and the residue of everything.

You’d left the cabin early. Not too long after you and Frankie had gotten up.

When you came downstairs, Santi and Yov were already in the kitchen, eating toast and eggs and talking around bites. Will had just walked in from outside, his voice carrying that wide-open tone he used in the mornings, saying something about how perfect the weather was. He passed you with a smile, disappearing into the living room.

You slid into the chair beside your brother, careful not to draw attention to yourself, especially not to the fact that Frankie wasn’t there.

“Where’s Ben?” you asked, reaching for a piece of toast, trying to sound casual.

Santi shrugged without looking up. “He went to grab something upstairs.”

You weren’t usually hungry this early—it made your stomach feel strange—but you forced yourself to eat anyway. Just enough to get through the day. Yov placed a plate in front of you, scrambled eggs and toast, and you thanked her with a quiet smile. You poured yourself coffee despite Santi’s insistence that you’d want juice.

You had just lifted the mug to your lips when Benny appeared beside you, already dressed. He sat down next to you, tugging his cap into place, and studied you for a moment before speaking.

“Do you have something for your head?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing before answering. “Yeah. A cap.”

“Good,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. He nodded, like he was proud of you for remembering something so obvious, even though you’d lived in Texas long enough to know better than to forget it.

“Where’s Fish?” he asked, his voice light.

“I thought he was still upstairs,” Santi said through a mouthful of food. “Didn’t see him come down.”

Benny raised his eyebrows. “He wasn’t in bed when I woke up.”

Your eyes dropped to your plate. The toast there became infinitely interesting, as if your life depended on inspecting its edges, its uneven crust. You could feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

Santi’s gaze lingered on you. “Did you see him?”

“What?” Your response came too fast, the pitch of it sharp. “No. Why?”

He tilted his head slightly, the beginning of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Just thought maybe. Maybe you knew, I dunno.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t look up.

“I think I heard someone leave earlier,” Yov offered, her tone gentle. She glanced at you. “Maybe around an hour ago.”

Will came into the kitchen then. He didn’t look at anyone, just went to the sink and turned on the tap.

“Who?” he asked as he rinsed his hands.

“Frankie,” Santi said.

Will nodded. “Yeah, I saw him outside a moment ago.”

It hit you then, how your throat felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with thirst.

Frankie walked in a few minutes later, dressed for the hike, or whatever it was they were calling this. White T-shirt, cargo shorts, grey cap.

You didn’t look at him for long. Just enough to say, “Morning.” Barely louder than a whisper.

Then you turned back to your food. Pretending you hadn’t just been thinking about him the entire time.

Two hours had passed. Now you stood with your arms folded across your chest, watching the river from where you’d stopped. The air felt heavier now, dense with heat and dried sweat, but there was something calming about the slow, steady movement of the water. It had that look of invitation. Blue and soft, like it knew how badly your body ached and was promising relief. You didn’t move. You just stared.

Then, without needing to hear him, you felt him.

“Looks like a good spot to jump in,” Frankie said.

You turned your head, only slightly. He was right next to you, hands braced on his hips, his gaze focused straight ahead. The corners of his eyes were pulled tight against the light, his jaw set in that way you were beginning to recognize, calm, thoughtful, like he was already weighing what it would feel like to fall into the river.

The sun lit up the back of his neck, catching on the damp curls that had slipped free from under his cap. His hair glowed in shades of brown and something warmer, like honey or amber, though you weren’t sure how much of that was the actual color and how much was the way you were looking at him now.

His skin shimmered under the light, a thin sheen of sweat painting it gold. You felt something low in your stomach twist. You could see the fine lines where his shoulder met his neck, the kind of lines that made your mouth feel heavy with want. You wondered, almost absently, what he’d taste like—salt and heat, skin soft and warm against your tongue, his pulse thudding steady beneath your lips.

You knew you’d spent most of the morning watching him.

At the beginning of the hike, he’d been just ahead of you, walking with long, purposeful strides that made it hard not to notice the lines of his body. His legs, the rhythm of them. The way his back shifted every time he adjusted his pack, the way his arms caught the light. Even the way he turned his head to talk to Santi or Will—just his profile. It was all you could see.

And all you could think about was how much you wanted to be alone with him. Just the two of you, without all the others, without the space between your bodies feeling like something you weren’t allowed to cross.

Later, after someone had insisted on taking photos—of the trees, the group, a blurry attempt at capturing the light through the leaves—he’d fallen behind. Your personal viewing window had closed. He and Benny stayed at the back, talking in low voices.

Now, he was here again.

Your eyes dipped to his forearms—folded now, skin taut over muscle—and then back up, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah,” you said. “I like it. It’s not that high.”

He glanced sideways at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“Spoken like someone who’s jumped out of a plane.”

You shrugged, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth like it was no big deal.

“I’ve jumped off a rock before.”

“A cliff?” he asked, tilting his head, intrigued.

“This isn’t a cliff,” you said, glancing down at the water. It looked cooler than before. Or maybe your body had just gotten warmer. “It’s like... a few feet. Barely.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. When you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, head tilted just slightly, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Would you ever want to jump off a cliff?” he asked, voice casual, but his gaze a little too direct to be casual at all.

A smile spread across your lips before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to add something else to my list?”

He frowned, just a flicker between his brows, and then shrugged. “Just throwing it out there.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “The list is officially closed.”

“God, Shortcake, you’re boring,” he murmured.

Then he nudged your hip with his, barely a touch, a quiet kind of teasing. It made you laugh, without thinking.

But the laughter died on your lips when a hand curled gently around the back of your neck.

Santi.

You hadn’t noticed him walking up behind you. His hand was firm but affectionate, his other hand landing on the back of Frankie’s neck like you were both kids caught whispering during class.

“What kind of trouble are you two trying to cook up now?” he asked, smiling.

“For now?” you replied, matching his tone. “Nothing at all.”

Santi gave a short, skeptical laugh and let you both go, already shifting into a new conversation with Frankie that you didn’t really catch. You took the moment to drift away, feet finding the shaded patch of ground where Yov was already sitting with a water bottle in one hand, her legs stretched out. She had her face turned up slightly to the breeze, her expression open and peaceful in the way yours wasn’t.

You peeled off your t-shirt. The air kissed your skin immediately, fresh and clean, and the faint scents of sunscreen and fabric softener rose up from your body. You folded the shirt, setting it on your backpack, and pushed your shorts down too, leaving them in a heap on top. It felt good to be lighter, closer to the air, the river.

“This place is so pretty,” Yov said, tying her hair up without looking at you. “I’m surprised it’s not more crowded.”

You nodded, opening your water bottle, the plastic clicking softly between your fingers.

“Will said it’s the location. This part’s kind of tucked away.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “There were way more people back near that ranch we passed.”

“Yeah, totally.” You popped the bottle cap with your teeth, then took a long sip, cold water trickling down your throat.

Yov was digging through her purse, eyes focused, fingers moving.

“By the way… I’m glad you and Frankie are getting along better.”

Your head turned toward her too fast, voice higher than you meant it to be.

“Yeah? I mean—yeah. Me too. It’s not bad. It’s—”

“He’s sweet with you,” Yov said, cutting in softly. Her smile didn’t fade. “And you two look good together.”

Heat bloomed across your face, impossible to ignore.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like that,” you said, too quickly. “I mean, yeah, we’re finally... getting along. That’s all.”

Yov looked up then, eyes calm, her expression unreadable but kind.

“I didn’t say it was like anything,” she said, voice light. “Just an observation. Santi told me you’ve gotten close. I think it’s nice. Honestly? I always thought you had chemistry.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. I mean, it takes a lot of chemistry to argue the way you two used to. It was like watching a play. Perfect timing, every time. Very entertaining.”

You huffed, laughing a little despite yourself. “Don’t worry. We’ll probably still argue at some point. It’s kind of our thing.”

Yov stood and brushed off the back of her legs. She gave you a small, satisfied glance over her shoulder as she made her way toward the riverbank, a few steps from the large rock you had been standing on a moment ago, like the conversation hadn’t meant much. But you stayed frozen there for a second, her words echoing somewhere you couldn’t reach just yet.

You looked toward the river, where Frankie was now stepping into the shallows with the guys, water glittering around his ankles.

Eventually, you waded into the water too. It reached your waist, cool and patient against your skin, tugging softly at your limbs like it had all the time in the world. You didn’t say anything to the others. Just walked past them toward a more secluded stretch, still within earshot but distant enough to let your thoughts unfold without interruption.

The current brushed along your sides, steady and alive. You lifted your arms, letting your fingers drift beneath the surface as you leaned back a little, shifting your weight into the water’s quiet resistance. It moved around you like silk, circling your body with something that felt startlingly close to affection.

You closed your eyes.

Behind you, their voices lifted and fell in pieces. They were planning dinner. Something about starting a fire out back. Benny was lobbying for something delicious and meaty, “a real meal.” Will wanted to order something instead. Santi mentioned needing a nap. Yov told him to get over it. And then Frankie added a few quiet remarks.

You stood there, eyes closed, chest light.

For a moment, you thought of Mr. Darcy—curled in your apartment, probably asleep on the windowsill, or just now waking up to the sound of Ester opening the door. You trusted her. She was a nice old lady that lived alone in the building next door and liked to send you pictures of him while you were away. Once, she texted a photo with the caption your prince is inconsolable. And you’d stared at the image for longer than you should’ve—his expression, the vague misery in his posture, like he was punishing you with silence. Poor guy.

You tipped your head back into the water. It ran over your scalp and into your hair, cool and comforting. It was so quiet inside your own body you almost didn’t recognize it. Nothing pressing in your chest, nothing unspoken straining against the cage of your ribs. Just this stillness. This softness.

The sun filtered down in loose golden streaks. The trees framed the sky above you like something from a picture book. You could hear the others laughing again. Someone had said something funny, and you could tell by the way Frankie’s laugh cut through the others.

It curled its way toward you across the water.

And for the first time in longer than you could remember, you weren’t thinking about what came next. There was only this: your body buoyed gently by the river, your fingertips grazing the current, the sound of their voices threading through the distance like a string tying you to something solid.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been floating there. But when you opened your eyes again, it felt like coming up for air after a dream. The world looked soft-edged and brighter somehow, voices drifting faintly from the shore like the low hum of a radio in another room.

You turned in the water and began to swim back. The conversation came into focus as you got closer.

“What are you guys talking about?” you asked.

“Santi wants to set Fish up with someone,” he said, half-laughing.

You reached them and tilted your head. “Yeah?”

You looked at Frankie then. His eyes dropped to the surface of the water, and he gave a sheepish shake of his head. Color had climbed high on his cheekbones, blooming across his face. You caught yourself smiling before you meant to.

“Cass,” Santi answered, grinning. “You remember Cass, right?”

“Your neighbor?” you asked, brows arching.

“That’s the one,” he nodded. “Frankie already knows her. He thinks she’s nice.”

Frankie groaned and threw a handful of water in your brother’s direction. “I said she was cute one time, Santi. Four years ago.”

Santi wiped his face and laughed. “Still counts. And since you’ve been so open to new experiences lately, I figured, why not?”

Frankie made a noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Santi didn’t answer right away. He looked at Frankie for a moment too long, like he was waiting for something to register. Frankie just blinked at him, brow furrowed.

“The bar,” Santi said finally. “The other night?”

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re like a tabloid.”

Benny perked up immediately. “What happened at the bar?”

You weren’t sure what expression to wear. You tried for neutral but it felt like your face might betray you at any second. You looked around, feigning curiosity, hoping someone else would speak first.

“Fish didn’t go home alone,” Santi said, smug as hell,.

Will turned to Frankie, arms crossed. “You told him about that?”

You frowned, confused. Frankie clicked his tongue, like the sound could cancel out whatever was happening around him. His gaze dropped again, feigning indifference—but when he looked back up, it landed squarely on you. Just two seconds, maybe less, but his eyes said it all: what the fuck.

Will let out a low laugh, tilting his head. “Okay, so I’m not the only one who was confused?”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Benny asked, eyes narrowed behind the glint of sunlight on water.

Yovanna exhaled like she’d seen this show before. She leaned back into the river, elbows skimming the surface as she looked up at the sky. You caught her eye; she gave a tiny shake of her head.

“They’re just bored,” Frankie said. “And nosy.”

“I went to see him the other day, Sunday,” Santiago offered, lifting his hands and splashing water between them like punctuation. “And he wasn’t alone.”

You felt your throat tighten, a constriction that came on too fast, like your body was bracing for impact before you could stop it.

“I don’t know who he was with,” Santi added casually, and just like that, your breath returned. “But this asshole let me ramble on about a lawnmower for two full minutes before even mentioning he had company.”

Will blinked, processing.

“Oh, wait, I thought that...” he started, then cut himself off with a short laugh. “Wait, that’s why you texted me at, like, seven in the morning too?”

Benny snorted and tilted his face toward the sun.

“You’re all ridiculous,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “This is embarrassing. Can we not?”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, jaw tense.

“I’m not trying to meet anyone else,” he said, and this time his voice held a different kind of weight.

You noticed how his gaze shifted—glanced near you, past you, never landing.

He turned to Santiago, eyes narrowed, and hurled another splash of water at him. “And you are the nosiest motherfucker I know.”

Santiago just laughed, shaking his head as the water dripped down his cheeks. “Yeah, well. Sorry.”

You stepped back a little, your movement gentle, instinctive. You caught Will watching you—eyes squinting against the sun, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he smiled.

“Anyone else?” Benny repeated, with a smirk. “Who’ve you been hanging around with, Fish?”

You looked away instinctively. Your eyes shut tightly.

“I thought you didn’t care, Ben,” Frankie cut in, his voice light but unmistakably pointed.

“Yeah, well, you're not exactly making it easy,” Benny shot back, laughing.

“Leave him alone,” Yov interrupted, already holding up her phone. “And stand closer. I want a picture.”

You opened your eyes just in time to catch Frankie glancing at you. His cheeks were flushed a deep, unmistakable red, like he’d just stepped out of the sun.

Time moved oddly after that. An hour maybe, or something near it. You weren’t keeping track. You were sitting under the wide arms of a tree with a book resting in your lap: The Dangers of Smoking in Bed. But your eyes were only pretending to read. The words blurred at the edges. You kept glancing up at the others, who were lying in the sun, limbs tangled with ease, sunglasses perched lazily, passing around sandwiches and sweating bottles of soda and beer cans.

Frankie turned his head and looked at you. No shirt, his swim shorts clinging to him, and the cap he’d soaked in the river was still damp, now resting on his head. Thin beads of water traced slow, quiet paths down the slope of his neck and spine.

He stood, stretched, walked toward you without a word. Then he sat down next to you, the shade folding around the both of you like a loose blanket. No one else seemed to notice.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay? Hungry?”

He held out a sandwich. You took it from his hand.

“I’m fine. You?”

Frankie sighed. “I’m okay. Santi’s been on my case a little, don’t you think?”

“On you about what?”

Frankie shrugged, his eyes drifting out toward the river.

“I dunno. He doesn’t know anything, right? You haven’t said anything?”

“No,” you said, your fingers brushing a page you weren’t reading. “Why?”

He lifted one shoulder again, casual but not quite. “Just had a weird feeling.”

“Benny told him this morning you weren’t in bed when he woke up,” you added, still not looking at him. “But that was all.”

“I climbed out the window this morning,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, then looked at him fully, mouth parted in disbelief. “Frankie. We were on the second floor.”

“I know.”

“You jumped?”

“No,” he said, like the idea insulted him. “There’s a tree right next to it. I climbed down.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet and stunned. “You’re unbelievable. Sneaking around like some teenager.”

“Me sneaking?” He turned to you with mock offense, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight—we’re sneaking. Don’t go pinning this all on me, gorgeous. This takes two.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth twitched at the corners.

He watched you for a second or two, then dug into his backpack and pulled out his phone.

“Can I take a picture of you?” he said, and his voice had dropped, quieter than it needed to be.

You blinked. “What?”

“Just look at me,” he said, holding up his phone. “Please.”

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks. “I look awful.”

“No, you don’t. Smile.”

He snapped a few pictures, fast, before you could duck or turn away. You sat there, trying to look normal while every inch of you buzzed with self-awareness. No one else seemed to be watching, and yet you felt exposed.

Frankie lowered the phone, still looking at the screen. He smiled—small, crooked, a little amused.

You didn’t ask to see the photos. He didn’t offer to show them.

Frankie sat slouched in a folding chair, facing the fire, his elbows resting loosely on his knees, the weight of the day clinging to him like something physical. He exhaled—long, worn out, the kind of breath that came after too much sun. Around him, the guys lounged with beers in their hands, half-laughing, half-exhausted, their faces soft in the amber light of the fire. The air had cooled just enough to make the heat from the flames feel nice.

To his right, you sat—one chair over, with Will in between. Will looked content, his long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back slightly, like he could fall asleep right there if no one spoke to him for five minutes.

The day had dragged in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, just thick. Long. Saturated with too much sun, too much heat, too much of you.

That morning, by the river, Frankie had been doing everything in his power not to look at you. Or at least, not to stare. Which, honestly, felt impossible. You had appeared in that damn black bikini like you didn’t know what it did to people. To him. And maybe you didn’t know. Maybe you really were just running your fingers through your wet hair and stepping in and out of the water because you liked the way it felt on your skin.

Or maybe you did know. And if you did, you were dangerous in a way he wasn’t equipped to handle.

Water had dripped down your body in small, glinting rivulets, catching the sunlight as they moved over the lines of your stomach, your arms, the curve behind your knee. And every now and then, Frankie caught himself watching, tracking those drops as if all his military training culminated in that action. He’d looked away, swallowed hard, pretended to be focused on a conversation that didn’t exist.

On the walk back to the cabin, you'd sighed, soft and barely audible, pressing your hand to the back of your neck as if the weight of the day had suddenly caught up with you. Your eyes were closed, and there was something so unconsciously sensual about the gesture that it had lodged itself under Frankie’s skin. You were wearing a soaked t-shirt over your bikini, and it clung in places it shouldn’t have. And your shorts—God. They barely covered anything. He’d walked behind you most of the way back, jaw clenched, stomach tight, hyper-aware of the memory of his hand on the exact place where your thigh met your hip.

He reminded himself, over and over, that he was a grown man. A rational man. That whatever this was, whatever pull you had over him, he had to control it. He had to. But that didn’t change how much effort it took not to reach for you.

When you finally made it back to the cabin, you disappeared into the bathroom without saying a word. He heard the shower come on and stood still for a moment, hand on the back of his neck, the same way you’d done earlier. The guys, of course, decided it was the perfect time to go into town and pick up groceries for dinner. It should’ve been quick. In and out.

But then Will saw a car he liked outside a dusty mechanic’s shop just past the store, and that was it—they’d been there for over an hour, poking around under the hood, talking to the owner like they were going to make a deal. Frankie had stood there half-listening, half-simmering, his mind tracing its way back to the cabin again and again.

When they got back, the sun was lower. The living room was dim, save for the flicker of the TV. Yov was on the couch with you, and you were practically curled into yourself, eyes fluttering closed, head leaning against the backrest like you hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but couldn’t stop it from happening.

The afternoon had passed with an easy weight to it. Santi offered to help Benny with dinner, and no one really objected. The rest of you wandered around the cabin, some settling on the porch with drinks, others inside pretending to be helpful. There was music playing low from someone’s speaker, and the kitchen filled with the scent of grilled vegetables and meat, a later with the sound of clinking silverware and opened beer bottles.

By the time everyone sat down to eat, there was a kind of collective exhaustion in the air. Plates were scraped clean. Jokes became quieter. At least one of you sighed audibly after finishing their second helping. The energy didn’t fizzle out; it softened.

And then Will, eyes bright, insisted on making use of the night.

“You can’t just go to bed with the sky looking like that,” he said, gesturing up with his beer. “Come on. It’s perfect out.”

So someone grabbed wood, and someone else lit the fire, and chairs were pulled around the growing flame. The sky stretched above you; clear and velvet-black, scattered with stars, while the trees rustled gently. The fire cracked steadily, its soft amber glow dancing on the faces around you.

Frankie noticed you had your phone in your hand. So he reached for his own, brightness dimmed almost to nothing. Opened the chat.

[Frankie]: I’ll go see u when everyone’s asleep

[Frankie]: DO NOT fall asleep

He looked up. You glanced down at your screen, then back at him, just briefly. No one noticed.

His phone buzzed quietly.

[🍓]: YOU don’t fall asleep, you’re too old to be climbing out windows

[🍓]: and you’re impatient. did something happen?

Frankie took a sip of his beer. He started typing.

[Frankie]: nothing

[Frankie]: just want to be alone with u

He wrote another message, stared at it for a second, erased it.

Then, typed again.

[Frankie]: I want to see that bikini again

A beat later, he saw the shape of your mouth lift—something involuntary, too small for anyone else to catch, but not for him. Not when he knew what had caused it.

Then you stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, casually, to no one in particular.

Frankie didn’t track you with his eyes. Instead, he glanced toward Yov, who was laughing hard now, explaining something to Will with wide hand gestures. Benny and Santi were in their own world.

Two minutes passed. Maybe three.

Then you were back, settling quietly into your chair again. Not saying anything. Not looking at him.

He kept his eyes forward, mouth resting against the lip of his beer bottle. The fire popped quietly between you. The others kept talking.

Then his phone vibrated again. A tiny sound, barely noticeable. He raised the bottle to his lips and, without really thinking about it, unlocked the screen with one hand.

The chat was still open.

A new message. From you.

It happened in an instant.

One second, Frankie was lifting the bottle to his lips. The next, he was choking on it—actually choking. A sudden, involuntary cough broke in his chest, and he leaned forward with a hand pressed tightly to his mouth, trying to contain the sound, the sputter, the mess of it all.

The bottle clinked against the leg of his chair as he set it down, coughing into his fist. His other hand moved fast, locking his phone and flipping it face-down in his lap like it had burned him.

“Jesus, Frank,” Santi said, half-laughing, half-concerned, as he reached across to tap him between the shoulder blades. “You alright?”

Frankie nodded without lifting his head, his eyes watering slightly. He couldn’t answer yet. Air was caught in his throat, and he could still taste beer where it didn’t belong.

“I’m fine,” he managed, voice hoarse but steady.

The others laughed, murmurs of concern already shifting back to amusement. But Frankie wasn’t laughing.

He could still feel the image burned behind his eyelids.

After a moment, he turned his phone over again. Unlocked it. Looked.

Your face wasn’t in it. You’d been careful. The angle was soft, almost casual. It looked like you were lying down. One hand lifting your shirt, along with your bra. Skin exposed. The gentle curve of your breasts in dim light. Nipples tight.

Frankie locked the phone again.

He looked over at you.

You were saying something to Will, smiling like you hadn’t just lit him on fire. You didn’t glance in his direction once.

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled through his nose, eyes fixed on the fire now, pretending to care about the conversation he couldn’t hear. Pretending his body wasn’t suddenly too warm in the night air.

He wasn’t going to survive this. Not tonight.

You were lying on your back, half-buried beneath the covers, your phone balanced against your knee, the screen casting a faint blue glow across your face. The only other light in the room came from the small warm lamp on the nightstand.

The knock was soft—three taps. You blinked, then turned your head toward the door, your pulse lifting slightly without permission.

You got up without speaking, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor. When you opened the door, Frankie stepped inside, shirtless, his hair soft and tousled, one hand raised like a warning.

“Shh, be quiet,” he whispered, his voice low but not sharp. “Just—listen.”

You paused. In the silence, you heard it—someone snoring faintly down the hall.

“Dead asleep,” he confirmed, his mouth curving with amusement as he moved past you.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. Watching him sit on the edge of the bed.

“Good,” you said under your breath, still smiling. “But we can’t fall asleep tonight.”

He leaned back on his palms, spine loose, legs apart. “I don’t plan on sleeping.”

You joined him, sitting just close enough that your knees brushed. You tilted your head toward him.

“So what are you planning?”

Frankie squinted, skeptical and amused. “Me? What are you planning?”

“Me?”

“All innocent,” he said, scoffing lightly. “M' not buying it.”

Your lips parted with a soft, guilty smile you didn’t bother to hide.

You reached up and touched the side of his neck, just under his ear. His body responded almost instantly, his frame inching closer to yours like you’d flipped some invisible switch.

You kissed him gently, without rush, your mouth brushing his tenderly. Your hand slipped down the line of his chest, pausing where skin met waistband.

When you pulled back, the kiss lingered in the air between you, a warm and breathy echo.

Frankie exhaled slowly through his nose. His eyes were on you now—serious, weighted, hungry.

"I nearly died out there, just so you know."

You turned to look at him, a smirk tugging at your mouth.

“Oh, right. My bad.”

Frankie’s lips twitched, a crooked grin appearing as he leaned a little closer.

“Your brother was right next to me. I mean—right there.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I don’t think he was that close. No way he saw your phone screen.”

“It was excruciating.”

You gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Did you like it?”

And as you asked, you reached for the waistband of his pajama pants, your fingers curling under the elastic.

Frankie’s smile shifted. Something about it softened, like the quiet that follows a long day. He looked warm in the low light, a little wrecked from tiredness, eyes heavy-lidded but intent on you. That exhaustion only made you want him closer.

“Of course I did,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “I'd make it my lockscreen.”

You laughed, the sound low and easy, and he went on, grinning now. “Or print it out. Stick it to my fridge like a motivational quote.”

“That’s absurd,” you said, nudging his shoulder.

“I could frame it. Put it right on my nightstand,” he added. “So it’s the first thing I see in the morning.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as your chest tightened with affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

Frankie chuckled and leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek with unexpected tenderness, while his other arm anchored him against the mattress. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, and then—slowly, unhurried but wanting—and his hand left your face, slid down, and slipped beneath your shirt like it had been waiting there all night. When he reached your chest, his touch was careful, fingers shaping to your skin. He found your nipple and pressed just hard enough to make your breath catch and your mouth open against his.

He broke the kiss, lips brushing your cheek. “Shh. You have to be quiet, okay?”

You nodded, dazed, already giving in to the way his mouth began to explore your neck, his breath catching every time you made a tiny sound. But still, you held yourself back—barely. You just let your hand wander down his stomach, pausing, and then kept going. Deeper, slower, until you felt him—hot and hard under your touch, his body reacting to you instantly.

Frankie exhaled against your skin, almost a gasp, his hand still curled beneath your shirt. His thumb brushed softly over you, teasing, while his eyes found your face again. He watched you closely, something wild and reverent flickering behind his expression as your hand moved beneath his waistband. His gaze was steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second of you.

And all the while, you kept touching him. Just like that.

You shifted your hips back, just enough to give yourself space, and tugged his pajama pants down with both hands. His cock sprang up, pressing against his abdomen for a second or two—heavy, flushed, impossibly warm-looking—before you reached for him again.

You glanced up at him once, your lips parting, and then you leaned in, letting your mouth hover just above him. You licked your bottom lip without thinking, some reflex of want and anticipation, and then brought your mouth to him, starting with the head, soft and sensitive, your tongue circling the tip in gentle, wet passes. His hips flexed, just barely, like he was trying not to move.

You took him in little by little, your lips stretching, adjusting. The weight of him on your tongue felt somehow both foreign and familiar. Each inch you pulled him deeper, your throat relaxed, focused entirely on the way he felt, the sound of his breath.

Frankie’s hand slid down your spine, pausing at the small of your back. His fingers splayed out and then moved up, over your shoulder blades, until he reached the back of your neck. He didn’t push, didn’t guide—he just touched you, his palm resting there like he needed the anchor. His breath had gone rough around the edges, ragged but restrained, like he was holding himself back for your sake.

You lifted your head slightly, then sank back down. You began to move—repeating the motion, letting your mouth glide over him with increasing confidence, your tongue shifting and shaping around him inside the heat of your mouth. It didn’t take long to find a rhythm you liked, one that made your thighs press together and your hand grip firmer at the base, thumb smoothing over a spot you knew he liked to have touched.

Your own breath was coming in shorter bursts now, warm against his skin, but you barely noticed. You liked the feel of him like this. Hot and full in your mouth, your lips stretched wide, the taste of salt and skin and something entirely him coating your tongue. You felt possessed by it. Content.

Frankie’s fingers wandered again, skimming the line of your spine like he was memorizing it. Then they tangled in your hair, gentle, his touch reverent. He brushed the strands away from your face and tucked one behind your ear with a kind of care that made your chest ache.

You pulled back slowly, letting him slip free from your mouth with a soft, wet sound that made both of you inhale at the same time. Your hand wrapped around him, still moving, still giving. You looked up.

His eyes were fixed on you, wide and dark and glazed with heat. His mouth was parted slightly, like he was halfway to saying something but forgot how.

And when he smiled—crooked, dazed—you smiled back.

He guided you back with one hand at your shoulder.

“Lock the door,” you whispered, barely audible.

Frankie didn’t hesitate. He stood abruptly, his pajama pants and boxers dropping in a tangle at his feet. He stepped out of them in a single movement, already crossing the room. You watched his back as he reached for the latch, his muscles shifting under his skin.

While he moved, you leaned back and slid your pajama shorts down your legs, folding them and setting them aside like it mattered where they ended up. Then you shifted to the center of the bed, body alert, waiting.

The frame creaked as Frankie returned and climbed back beside you. The noise was louder than you expected in the quiet, and you flinched.

“The bed,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

He smiled against your skin. “I know.”

His hands planted firmly on either side of you, bracing himself. Then he bent down to kiss you. You felt the full weight of it—the pressure of his mouth, the wet insistence of his tongue slipping past your lips. You moaned without meaning to, the sound escaping from somewhere deep in your chest.

Frankie pulled back, lips brushing yours. “Quiet.”

His hand moved to the hem of your shirt, and he leaned back, kneeling between your legs. You sat up, wordless, lifting your arms as he peeled the fabric over your head.

He didn’t hesitate. Your panties were gone a breath later, your legs parted easily beneath his touch. He held your thighs in place for a moment, looking at you like he was trying to memorize the exact way your body curved beneath him.

Your whole body was buzzing, tense and wanting. You’d been feeling it for hours, ever since he'd looked at you that morning, with that unreadable expression. The way he’d watched you with his jaw tight, his hands fisted casually at his sides. You’d known then. And now, right here, in a darkened room where noise wasn’t allowed, the want had sharpened into something more unbearable. Something thrilling.

He dipped his head to your neck and bit down, not harsh, but enough to make you twitch. Then his mouth started its path downward, grazing your collarbone, the slope of your chest. When he reached your breast, he opened his mouth and took your nipple between his lips. His tongue moved in small, greedy strokes, and your back arched without permission, a gasp caught in your throat.

He pulled away, his mouth wet, his eyes bright with mischief and something rawer.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his voice low. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

Your fingers found his hair, the other hand cupping his jaw. “Yeah?”

“That damn black bikini,” he muttered, his tone husky. “You don’t even know what you were doing to me. I wanted to tear it off with my teeth.”

A shaky laugh bubbled from your chest. You tugged gently at his hair. “You’re a mess.”

Frankie laughed quietly, the sound low in his throat, and brought his fingers to his lips. Then, without another word, his hand slid down between your legs, fingers brushing over the wet heat of you like he already knew exactly what he’d find.

You inhaled sharply, your hips bucking toward his hand almost instinctively, your body answering him before your mind could catch up.

He dipped his head to your neck, pressing a kiss there—open-mouthed, breath warm—just as his fingers began to explore, working you open with a steady rhythm that made your legs tense and your pulse scatter.

Then, without warning, one finger slipped inside you.

You gasped, but it was soundless, your mouth parting like you wanted to cry out and forgot how. The only thing you could hear was the wet, unmistakable sound of his hand working against you, obscene and quiet at once in the dim room.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, voice gravelled and close to your ear, like a secret. “Fucking dripping for me.”

Something inside you clenched at the sound of him—the gritted warmth in his voice, the weight of his breath against your skin. You shivered, not from cold but from the ache of it, from the way your body lit up when he spoke like that.

“Show me,” he said, “how quiet you can be with a full house.”

Your hips started to move again, grinding into the pressure of his hand, your eyes fluttering shut. Frankie didn’t stop you, he only pushed another finger inside, filling you deeper this time, curving them just right until they found that place that made you unravel. Your mouth opened on a moan you couldn’t release, your breath stuttering as your head dropped back against the pillows. The muscles in your stomach tightened. You felt out of control.

Frankie lifted his head, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. When you opened your eyes, his face was hovering above yours, eyes dark and locked on you, watching every twitch, every shudder.

Then his thumb pressed against your clit and began to circle, light at first, then firmer, with intent.

It was too much. Everything was hot and electric. Your body felt like it could crack open. Your chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. You gripped his forearm without realizing.

He murmured, “So damn beautiful,” like he was speaking to himself more than to you.

And then—everything stopped.

His fingers stilled. The heat between your legs cooled into confusion.

Your eyes flew open.

He was watching you like he’d forgotten his own name. His chest rising, flushed from collarbone to cheekbone. He looked... wrecked. Beautiful. And totally gone for you.

His hand drifted from between your thighs to the curve of your waist, then higher, stroking across your stomach with featherlight reverence.

“I need you to do something for me,” he murmured.

You blinked. Your breath still hadn’t evened out.

“Frankie…”

He lay down beside you without speaking, shifting onto his back. The pillow beneath his head was tossed carelessly to the floor. Then he propped himself on his elbows, eyes already scanning your face. You pushed yourself upright, the sheets rustling around your thighs. His hand found your hip first—fingertips brushing your skin, grounding you. He rolled onto his side and slid his palm to your waist.

“Sit on my face,” he said into your ear, the words rough-edged and close. “Come on, baby.”

It made you laugh—quietly, nervously. Your mouth twitched into a smile before you could suppress it.

“Frankie,” you whispered, placing a hand on his chest, the heat of his skin spreading beneath your palm.

He was already lying flat, arms outstretched, looking up at you like he’d been waiting.

“I’ve never—” you started, shaking your head, voice catching like you’d run out of air. “God.”

“You’ve never done it before?”

You shook your head again, a little embarrassed, feeling your face go hot.

“That’s okay,” he said softly, tapping two fingers against his mouth like an invitation. “You want to try? If you don’t like it, we stop. No questions asked.”

The tension in your chest unraveled, just a little. He always said things like that—as if your pleasure was just as interesting to him as his own. Maybe more.

You bit your lip and nodded. The nerves didn’t vanish, but something steadier took over. Wanting.

You straddled him, knees on either side of his ribs, heart thudding. He gripped your thighs immediately, guiding you higher on his body, closer to where he wanted you, where you now felt almost dizzy with anticipation. You braced your hands on the headboard behind him, catching your breath, your stomach twisting like you were standing at the edge of something enormous.

Frankie’s hands tightened at your thighs. Then he pulled you toward his mouth, gently but insistently. And when his tongue met you—just a soft, almost reverent touch—you let your eyes fall closed.

He groaned beneath you, not loudly, but enough that you felt it vibrate straight through your core.

“Sit down, baby,” he murmured into your skin.

You looked down at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth already open.

“I’m gonna crush you,” you whispered, voice tinged with breathless laughter.

He clicked his tongue, grinning faintly.

“You won’t.” His grip tightened. “Come on. Sit.”

And so you did.

You let your body go, easing your weight onto him, feeling the warm, slick press of his mouth between your thighs. He didn’t hesitate—his hands firm on your hips, holding you there, anchoring you. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes—no, not deliberate, more like he was savoring you. Like he’d waited all day for this.

The feeling was overwhelming. All-consuming. You gripped the headboard tighter, eyes fluttering shut as you rocked gently against his mouth, your stomach coiling with heat and need.

You didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. You couldn't, anyway. Just his hands, your body, the impossible tension building, the tender chaos of it.

Frankie held you tighter, groaning into you again, and you wondered how you’d ever gone this long without knowing what this felt like.

His mouth moved with intention, his tongue tracing the shape of you like he already knew exactly how you liked to be touched there. He sucked, not too hard, just enough to make your hips jerk forward instinctively, but every time they did, his hands pushed you gently back into place, grounding you. Holding you where he wanted you.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, your eyes squeezed shut, head tipping back as if you couldn’t quite bear the intensity. Your breath came out in broken fragments, shallow and fast, your body rising and falling with every pass of his tongue.

And then it happened—unexpected, sudden, like being pulled under by a wave you didn’t see coming. Your orgasm hit before you could prepare for it, the muscles in your stomach tightening so fast it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes, you were almost sure of it.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, hard, trying to silence the noise you felt building in your throat. It took everything in you not to cry out. Not to let him hear just how good he was making you feel.

But he didn’t stop.

The sounds he made—wet, insistent—echoed in the space between your legs. It was obscene, and it made everything inside you clench tighter, made your whole body feel like it was overheating.

It became too much. Your hand flew down to his head and you pulled back, your thighs twitching with aftershocks as his mouth slipped from you with a soft, wet sound.

You stayed where you were, breath coming in ragged pulls, your chest rising like you’d just run full speed down a street. Your entire body felt like it was burning, but you didn’t even think to move off him.

Frankie didn’t ask you to.

He read the moment with perfect clarity, even through the haze. His voice came next: “On your side.”

You obeyed without thinking, without a word. Rolled onto your side and slid backward until your body found his, your ass pressing against the hard length of him. He groaned at the contact, the sound dark and close behind you.

One of his arms slipped underneath your body, curling around your waist, pulling you tighter. The other found its way between your thighs, his fingers slick with your arousal. And then, without hesitation, he pushed inside.

You gasped, just air this time, and your lips parted as the stretch filled you up. He didn’t wait. His hips began to move at once, rhythm urgent, the sound of your bodies meeting soft and rhythmic in the silence of the room.

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. His body was everywhere—behind you, around you, inside you—and the only thing you could do was feel it all. Every thrust. Every soft exhale. Every little tremor that said he was holding back, but barely.

“Oh, my God, Francisco—yes,” you gasped, your eyes shut.

His hand reached your mouth, fingers broad and warm, pressing over your lips. Not roughly. Just enough to muffle the sounds that kept trying to escape you as his hips worked harder, each movement more forceful, more certain than the last. His other hand slid over your stomach, fingertips finding that tender spot just above where you were joined, stroking you in quick, perfect circles.

The bed barely made a sound. Everything felt quiet except the wet hush of his body moving against yours and the jagged rhythm of his breathing right beside your ear. Like the whole world had shrunk to just this room, this bed, the breath and pressure and heat between your bodies.

It overwhelmed you. The depth of him inside you. The weight of his hand covering your mouth. The sensation of his fingers coaxing pleasure from you with such effortless precision. His voice wasn’t speaking anymore, but you could still feel it all over you.

You whimpered beneath his palm, and your body gave in. Your eyes stung. Your ears buzzed. The orgasm crashed into you without warning, without buildup, folding your body in half from the inside out. It was swift, sharp, all-consuming. You didn’t even recognize the sounds leaving your throat, but it didn’t matter. He had you covered. He had all of you.

And still, he didn’t stop. He moved through the aftershocks, chasing his own release, until finally his hand left your mouth and traveled up your stomach, wrapping around your middle, dragging you back into him. His arm held you tight as he came, a low, guttural sound rattling through his chest, so quiet, and yet so visceral. You felt it against your back like thunder under the skin.

You lay there like that, pressed together, tangled in sweat and heat and breath, until the edges of your awareness started to return.

He leaned in, kissed the slope of your shoulder with such aching softness it made your eyes flutter closed again. Your hand reached back instinctively, your fingers slipping through his hair, resting there.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. Your bodies remained pressed together, your skin still warm, the rhythm of your breathing gradually settling into something calm and even.

Your eyes were shut, lashes brushing the pillow, and your cheek rested against the curve of his bicep. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, and it almost lulled you into sleep.

Frankie gave you a soft pat on your butt. “Don’t fall asleep,” he murmured, voice rough and barely audible.

You let out a small click of your tongue and turned slowly until you were facing him. The room was dim, the outlines of his face just visible in the warm dark. You watched him for a few seconds, unsure what to say, or if anything even needed to be said.

“No one’s ever made me feel like that before,” you said eventually. It came out quiet, not as a compliment or a confession, but just the truth.

He reached up and touched your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers.

“That’s unfair,” he said. “We’ll do it again when we’re home. Then you can be as loud as you want.”

A breath of laughter escaped you as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so cocky.”

He laughed, too—low and sleepy. He blinked slowly, his gaze heavy-lidded and content.

“You’re tired,” you murmured. “You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tempted, to be honest.”

“No?”

“A cold bed, small and empty... or a warm one with you in it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Not much of a choice.”

You shook your head, laughing again, but quieter this time. “Okay, but you have to leave before it's too late. We really can’t fall asleep again.”

“I’ll set an alarm,” he said. “I’ll leave before anyone wakes up. Promise.”

You pretended to hesitate, your finger drawing an invisible shape on his chest. “Hmm. Okay. Deal.”

He kissed your forehead, and neither of you said anything else for a long while.

When you woke, the space beside you was empty. The sheets were still warm, but Frankie was gone. The indentation of his body remained on the mattress, a quiet reminder that he had, for a time, been curled up there, next to you.

You stretched, arms above your head, a yawn tugging out of you without effort. The clock on your phone glowed 9:03 a.m. You had slept deeply—without interruption, without dreams. The kind of sleep you hadn’t realized your body had been craving.

The air in the room was soft and still. You gathered your clothes and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a gentle click. The shower hissed to life, warm water cascading down your shoulders, and you leaned into the sensation. As you ran the soap along your arms, your mind replayed the night before in quiet, vivid flashes: skin against skin, his hands at your waist, the breathless sound of your name in the dark.

Every place your fingers touched now felt like a memory. Like he’d left a map of himself on your body. You smiled, a private smile, one that rose uninvited and uncontainable. Something lodged itself in your chest, unfamiliar and too big to name. You didn't try.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with movement. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with toast and fabric softener and whatever someone was frying on the stove. You felt groomed, refreshed, and ravenously hungry. Everyone was already halfway through breakfast, laughing in fragments, stacking plates, mapping out plans for the rest of the day.

Will and Ben would be leaving in a couple of hours. Santi mentioned that he and Yov were planning to head out after lunch. You took a sip of coffee, the mug warm in your hands, and said, with what you hoped was casual ease, “I’ll go with Francisco.”

Your brother barely glanced up. “Sure,” he replied, like it was the most unremarkable thing in the world.

Across the table, Frankie looked at you. No words, just a glance that lasted a fraction longer than necessary. His hair was slightly damp, and there was a cup of coffee in front of him. And something inside you twisted, in a way that felt strangely comforting. You smiled.

You weren’t sure what it was, this new thing blooming in your chest, but it was there. Undeniable. Present. And it buzzed quietly at the thought of being alone in a car with him again. Just the two of you, nowhere to be but next to each other.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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cosmickid-inmotion · 1 year ago

Text

Cola

Chubby!Francisco Morales x fem!reader

Summary: Frankie loves how you taste so sweet…. “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola”

Content and warnings: Pussy eating like a mad man, ass eating, madly in love, desperately horny, feral Frankie, object insertion, fucked with a foreign object, don’t do this at home, premature ejaculation 💕

Immersivity: reader is AFAB and wears dresses, uses she/her

A/n: inspired by all them pics of Pedro in the Coca Cola shirt… yummy. Finals are DONE and it’s time for my return after a month of no fics!

Special thanks to @hornystan for proofreading and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for this amazing header! Thank you for making my return so special

Support writers, reblog and comment!

*************

Surely, this was what heaven was like.

Sprawling green meadows and rolling hills, your handsome husband flying you out on a helicopter to a private property. A wicker basket full of a picnic he packed himself had been tossed aside in favor of you humping Frankie’s leg as you both laid on the quilted blanket.

“Baby,” Frankie chuckles, eyes closed tight and nose scrunched up a little as you peppered his scruffy beard with kisses. Sunshine warmed your back in your red sundress, Frankie’s large hands pushing it up and over the swell of your ass cheeks. “We haven't even had lunch yet.”

“Don’t care, need you.” You mutter between kisses, desperately rutting against your dear lover like a bitch in heat.

“But the ice will melt!”

“Don’t. Care.” You kiss his sweet, pudgy face covered in salt and pepper facial hair. “Need. You.”

Frankie laughs again, but his strong arms lift you off his full tummy. “Baby, it’s hot out,” he smiles and sits up, prompting you to do the same despite your cute little pout. “C’mon, have a drink.” He reached into the basket where a few cola bottles sat in a tin bucket? full of ice next to some sandwiches and fruit he cut up himself, just for you. Sweet, sweet man. You packed his favorite, homemade red velvet cupcakes. The cream cheese icing was sitting in the iced tin along with the cola, ready to be added to the cupcakes, nice and chilled.

He opens a bottle, placing the lid inside the basket, careful not to litter, but you don’t drink right away. Instead, you watch as his hands flex to open another bottle, tilting his head back to chug it. His profile was immaculate. Your eyes scan down, taking in the curve of his nose, his softened jawline, plush lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle… but quickly move to his throat. He was a marvel, Adam's apple bobbing and a small trickle of cola down his neck…

With a refreshed, “ah!” Frankie places his trash in the basket, folds in his creasing stomach twisting as he turns. When he looked back, his eyes went wide. First, his eyes went to your discarded panties. Then to you. There you sat, legs spread open and bent, holding your coke bottle in one hand and pumping your desperate, needy pussy with the other. “Jesus, baby…” He licks his lips and you lament the leftover sweetness on his skin wicked away before your tongue could taste how the sugar mixed with his sweat.

“Frankie…” You whine, desperate and mewling for his touch, your desire so intense there was no way you could wait for lunch to end. No way in hell. Tears pricked at your eyes from the burn of the sun and the overwhelming need you had for him. It was always like this with Francisco, intense and burning and all-consuming even after all these years. It didn’t matter, you still fucked like there was no one else on the planet. To him, and certainly to you, there wasn’t.

Frankie mumbled a swear under his breath, his own chest heaving and already tight pants growing tighter. He orders you to lay down and like a good girl, you obey but he stops you. Frankie takes off his hat and plops it down on your head. “For your eyes.” With that, he kisses your lips and you get to taste the lingering traces of his drink. Then, he pushes you down.

You clutch the cold, undrank coke bottle in one hand, Frankie’s sweaty brown curls in the other, the bill of his hat protects your eyes from the sun. You were two orgasms in, drenched in sweat and probably smelling terrible, but he didn’t care.

“Baby?” Frankie asked, making your eyes flick down to him. His eyes were wide and wet, intense and brown. Fuck, he was handsome.

You’re panting, but answer him. “Yeah?”

“I’m real thirsty…”

Normally, you would assume he’s talking about wanting to drink your cum, lap at your pussy as you squirt all over him, hips bucking against his mustache… but honestly, it was hot and you assumed he wanted a drink.

“Here” You hand him the coke bottle in your hands sweetly, sitting up as you do but Frankie orders you to lie down as he grabs it.

You look at him confused but do as he says. Frankie always took care of you, you trusted him, so you laid back down on the heavy quilt, feeling the grass move under the weight of your head.

Knelt before you, Frankie looked a bit of a mess. His curls were all over the place, brown curls every which way, as sweaty as his beard was wet. It wasn’t even that hot a day, but you were working up an appetite.

“You belong to me, right?” He asks you, eyes roaming over your body up and down in your pretty sundress. He looked like he was about to eat you alive, like it was taking everything in him right now not to pounce on you like a werewolf. Francisco’s hands move up and down your bent legs, a sheen of sweat gliding them down, fingernails lightly digging into the meat of you r thighs as if only a thread of sanity was preventing him from digging his claws in and making you subject to his insatiable hunger.

“Yeah baby.” You whisper, breathy but without hesitation. “Every inch.”

Francisco's eyes were locked into yours, pupils black as night, threatening to swallow the whites of his eyes. “Tilt your hips up for me.”

Confused but obedient, you feel your brows furrow as you reach under yourself and hold your hips up. Your eyes couldn’t leave his, not if you tried, his hands so steady and sure he didn’t even need to look down as he slowly inserted the tip of the opened coke bottle into your tight hole. You gasped, though not so much at the intrusion; his fingers hadn’t stretched you yet, but you were used to taking his whole cock. No, the bottle was cold. Not freezing, not after being out of the ice a few minutes, but cold. Francisco pauses, eyebrows cocked in a question of your comfort.

You didn’t want him to stop. “Keep going.”

With a growl, it takes everything in him not to shove the full bottle straight up your cunt, but he knows better. Instead, he took his time. The first time he inserted the foreign object. Once he knew you were okay, all bets were off. Francisco vigorously pumped you, forcing your eyes to tear away from his as you lost yourself in pleasure, feeling the cool drink pour into your channel.

“Such a needy little pussy… she’s so desperate, isn’t she? She just needs to be stretched and filled all the time…”

“Fuck! Frankie! Shit, that feels - ohmyfuckinggod - so good! You feel so good, fuck, I love you so m- shit!” You were approaching a third orgasm, the fizzing of the carbonation a strange sensation in your sensitive insides, and his cock hasn’t even been inside you yet. Frankie couldn’t stop staring at your pussy, licking his lips and palming the erection in his jeans. He had so far been neglected, edging himself in order to bring you, and subsequently him, as much pleasure as possible. Your pleasure was his, your lust was his, your pretty cunt was his to do as he pleased. He could play games with you, shove whatever he wanted into whatever holes and you’d let him… but Frankie didn’t get off on humiliation, he got off on you.

He watched your pussy lips repeatedly swallow the bottle, bits of coke and cum leaking out of you as he began to overwhelm your body. His hand squeezed his dick, throbbing in his pants and he knew he wasn’t going to last. He’d have to recuperate and fuck your face into the grass after lunch. Right now, though… he was thirsty.

Frankie yanked your hands out from under you, pulling the bottle out as you whimper and feel the leftover spill all over your pussy and thighs. That would be annoying later, but that didn’t matter now, not when your loving, adorable husband was dropping to his stomach and latching his lip around your hole. Frankie was drinking coca cola out of your cunt.

He lapped and sucked and licked and drank, the pop fizzling out on your pussy lips as Francisco, whining and crying into your cunt as he came, desperately licked every inch of you. He needed to make this last, he needed to taste every drop, tasting your thighs for the sweet you were so desperate to suck off his lips a moment ago. His tongue was impossible to please, spreading your asscheeks to taste what had trickled down. Only when he seemed to run out of energy, his orgasm satiated, did he slow. You could feel the wetness from his eyes on your lips.

“I just love you so fucking much.” He kissed your swollen, fucked out pussy and closed his eyes, head resting on your thigh as his eyes drooped. He must’ve really tuckered himself out. “So sweet for me.”

*************

Please consider reblogging, if this flops I’ll scream

Inspo comes from Ozzie’s amazing Joel fic, beer bottle insertion

If this does well I’ll write part 2 with reader licking that cream cheese off his dick….

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me through a difficult month, it has not always been easy between school, and everything that happened, but I got through it and I’m looking forward to something new. I finished up all my assignments and papers even though it was absolute chaos lol and now all I have left is a couple online next semester and then I graduate. 💕💕💕💕

Each and everyone of you so so much, please take care of yourselves!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #Francisco morales #francisco morales smut #Francisco morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #francisco catfish morales #Francisco catfish morakes smut #chubby Frankie

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javierpena-inatacvest · 8 months ago

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Chapter 7- For The First Time

Summary: Eight days ago, you kissed Frankie Morales for the first time. Eight days later, you want to do more than just kiss him.

Word count: 8.6K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) protected p in v sex, loss of virginity/first sexual experience for Frankie and Reader (some brief mentions of momentary discomfort bc of it) oral (f receiving- building the lore for Pussy Eating King Francisco Morales brick by brick), vaginal fingering, Frankie's got a big dick (it's also part of the lore, don't @ me) sweet and awkward teenage love, Frankie being everything and more, lots and lots and lots of consent, a four letter word that starts with an L, please don't yell at me, they're both 18 at this point in the story!!!

A/N: Soooooo all of a sudden I blinked a this was 8K plus words WHOOPS 🤠 I ain't gonna lie with y'all, this may be one of my favorite things I've ever written and have cried the whole way through it 😭 My plan was to have Frankie picking up MacKenzie from work in this chapter too, but obviously things got away from me very quickly, so that will be next chapter's problem!! Your kind words about this story mean so much to me, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!!! 🥺💕

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Summer of 2007, Age 18

123 days.

That night Frankie told you he had made up his mind to join the Army after he finished with high school, you counted out every square on your calendar from April 15th to August 16th. You had 123 days left together before you left for college and Frankie left for boot camp.

But April 15th was 2 months ago. 67 days ago, to be exact. Each day you crossed off your calendar filled you with a little more dread than the last. You tried not to think about the dwindling number, or the impending doom of August hanging behind July and June on the wall above your desk, but it was hard to not let the thought constantly nag in the back of your mind that the carefree summer days of spending practically every waking minute with Frankie were coming to an end.

The only thing that seemed to put you at ease was just that- after the hurt and sadness of Frankie’s departure had subsided enough, you had promised each other that the last bit of time you had together, you’d do everything in your power to make the most of it.

If there was anything you knew the other was good for, it was keeping a promise.

There was no denying that the past 67 days spent with Frankie had been nothing short of magical. It seemed like for once in your life, everything was falling into place exactly how you wanted it to.

Your soccer team had won the state championship, Frankie being the first to rush onto the field to congratulate you on your victory after cheering for you at the top of his lungs the whole game. The stress of school seemed to become irrelevant, your teachers easing up as you came to the close of your Senior year, you and Frankie’s after school hangouts now focused less on homework and more on goofing around. Graduation had come and gone, you and Frankie both walking across the stage of your high school gym, diplomas in hand, teasing the other relentlessly about how awful the other looked in the stupid, tasseled caps they had forced you to wear.

Then, there was prom.

It had been no question that you and Frankie were going to prom together- it was an unspoken, standing agreement that the both of you had since the start of your senior year. For as much as homecomings or school dances had never been your (or Frankie’s) preferred way to spend a Saturday night, there was an undeniable excitement you had about it you couldn’t really quite describe. You kept chalking it up to the fact it was the biggest night of your senior year, or that all your best friends were gathering together to have an incredible party filled with dancing and fun.

But neither of those things could account for the butterflies in your stomach when Frankie showed up at your front door, tuxedo on and flowers in hand, watching his jaw drop and heart stop when he laid eyes on you.

“You look beautiful, MacKenzie.”

From that moment on, those 4 words hadn’t stopped ringing in your ears.

They rang in your ears as he held your hand the entire night, refusing to unlock his fingers from yours.

They rang in your ears as you felt him grab your waist while you danced.

They rang in your ears as he lovinging teased you about your drunken hiccups off sips of stolen beer cans in Santi’s basement where the party had traveled to long after prom had finished.

They rang in your ears in the middle of your moonlit street as Frankie walked you home, making it no less than ten steps past Santi’s porch before he froze, staring at you like a trembling deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, weirdo?”

“There’s something I wanna do. I’m terrified you’ll hate me forever if I do it, but I’ve wanted to for so long and I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

“Frankie, what are you-”

“Can I kiss you, MacKenzie? Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“F-Frankie, I-”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget that I-”

“I was scared you would never ask.”

It wasn’t until then you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss Frankie Morales.

Now, you’re absolutely sure that you never want to stop kissing him.

There’s something about the warmed, welcomed June air that makes you want to throw every caution you’ve ever had to the wind, finally understanding what all of those books and movies had meant about falling victim to a summer fling.

Ever since that night at prom, Frankie Morales was the only thing in the world that mattered. It had only been eight days since his lips had met yours under the midnight moon, but every day since, neither of you had passed up a chance to sneak away for stolen kisses and bodies tangled in messy dances of limbs, finding any excuse to spend a moment alone together.

Maybe your pink cheeks and goofy grins were enough to let the world know how hard you had fallen for your best friend- even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t care. Right now, consequences don't exist.

Right now, the only thing that does is you, Frankie, and a four letter word that lingers in the back of your mind.

They especially don’t exist when you’re wide awake at one in the morning for the third night in a row, unable to sleep as butterflies rumble in your stomach and fly up to your chest after another day spent with the boy four doors down.

You toss and turn under your sheets, unable to stand staring hopelessly at your ceiling another minute. You reach across your bed, plucking your phone off your nightstand, finding Frankie’s name in your messages.

You:

Hey, are you still up? I can’t sleep

It’s barely ten seconds before his contact is lighting up your screen, making your heartbeat just a little faster.

Frankie :) <3

Im up 2. I cant sleep either

Cant stop thinking about u

You:

Me either, even though we literally spent all day together haha

You smile at your screen as you wait for Frankie’s response, fingers anxiously tapping on your keyboard until your phone lights up again.

Frankie :) <3

Do u wanna come over?

I wanna see u

Your face scrunches in confusion, sitting up in your bed to peer out your window, like Frankie would be able to see your puzzled expression from down the street as you type back.

You:

I mean, yeah, but it’s 1 AM Frankie??? What about your mom?

Frankie :) <3

Shes working overnight at the hospital

She wont be back until like 9 tomorrow

Its just me

You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling that’s beginning to brew in your stomach as you read his last three texts. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation washes through you at the idea of letting yourself indulge in the teenage rebellion of sneaking out of your house in the middle of the night. An even stranger mix of nerves and something else you can’t quite explain floods your veins at the idea of sneaking out of your house to find Frankie, alone in his bedroom.

The feeling you quite can’t explain churns faster in your gut and travels down your lower half when you realize if you’re alone with Frankie in his bedroom, you want to do more than just kiss him.

You:

Are you sure??

Frankie :) <3

Promise

I really wanna see u Kenz

At this point, the strange feeling that’s seeped through every inch of your body must have made it to your brain, because you’re convinced it’s the reason you don’t know how to breathe anymore.

You:

Okay

I’ll be over in 10 :)

Frankie :) <3

Ok :)

Come in thru the back door

Txt me when ur there and ill let u in

You’ve never been up and out of your bed so quickly, fumbling with your comforter and pillows just enough to resemble something close to a body under your sheets if god forbid either one of your parents wakes up and decides to check on you for the first time since you were a toddler.

Your breath trembles, inhaling and exhaling in long and deep rises of your chest, carefully tiptoeing across your bedroom floor. You’d give anything to be in something cuter than your pajamas, but opening your closet seems like too risky of a move in your plot to escape.

You grab Frankie’s sweatshirt hanging over your desk chair, quietly shuffling it over your head before attempting to use the moonlight spilling in through your window as enough illumination to comb your fingers through your messy hair and wrangle it into a quick braid. It’s hard to tell from the half lit reflection staring back at you in the mirror, but you pray the once over you give yourself is enough to keep you from looking like a complete mess when you show up at Frankie’s door.

The adrenaline of it all seems to kick your nerves to the curb as you stuff your phone in Frankie’s sweatshirt pocket before your fingers gently wrap around the curve of your doorknob. As soon as you open the door, you’re well aware of the ramifications that could await you on the other side.

You’re also well aware that consequences are temporary, and no amount of fear of future punishment is keeping you from making it to Frankie’s bedroom tonight.

It’s a James Bond worthy performance, the way you sneak down your staircase, avoiding every crack and creak with expertise, stealthily sliding past your parents bedroom and across the family room until you’ve crept through your kitchen to find your back patio.

You flinch with every squeal of the sliding glass door as you nudge it open, just enough to squeeze your body through. You grimace your face in fear as you pause, back to the bricks of your house, waiting for someone to catch you in the act.

A few moments pass and the silence of your home stays stagnant, giving you the all clear to bolt across your backyard, dashing through your neighbors lawns until you find yourself at Frankie’s, hands shaking as your fingers punch at your keyboard.

You:

I’m here! Let me in!

As your thumb presses send, your adrenaline has waived just enough to let the anxious tension take hold of your body, palms sweating and heart racing so fast it just may beat out of your chest. Your teeth gnaw at your fingernails, waiting for his response to text you that he’ll be right there, or he’s about to let you in, but this is Frankie- It should be no surprise when he opens the back door immediately. There’s not a chance in hell he hasn’t been waiting for you down here since the moment you texted him you were coming.

“Hi.” You whisper, biting down your lip to contain the smile that’s spread across your face as he’s opened the door.

“Hi.” He whispers back, tongue darting between his lips as his eyes wander up and down your frame before locking with yours.

His palm grazes your cheek, cradling your jaw as he steps into you, chest to chest while your lips lock in a gentle, electric kiss, the kind that makes you want the taste of him to linger on your tongue forever.

“You wanna go up to my room?” He asks, the hot breath of his words dancing across your skin as his mouth still hovers over yours.

Before, you would have quipped him with some sort of witty, sarcastic response, teasing him that you’d rather stay out in the pitch black and get eaten by mosquitos until he dragged you inside, eyes rolling at your sass. Now, the best you can manage are shaky breaths while you nod your head in agreement, praying your brain will let you form some sort of coherent thought before you speak.

Frankie grabs your hand as he pulls you into his house, taking the familiar path through his kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, the pounding in both your chests filling the silence for the words you seem to lack.

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him as you make it to his room, your bodies tangling and intertwining in a frantic dance, stumbling across the floor until the backs of Frankie’s knees collide with the bed, the two of you toppling over in soft giggles onto the mattress.

“Fuck, I missed you.” Frankie sighs, one arm wrapped around your hip and the other resting on your face as he leans back in for another kiss, your smiles pressed against each other.

“It’s only been like, three hours since I saw you last, dummy,” You quietly snicker, letting your hands wander up his chest, “You really missed me that much?”

“Yeah, really.” He replies in between kisses, fingers digging just a little bit deeper into your side, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kenzie. You’re all I think about. You’re all I ever wanna think about.”

You try to swallow the lump that’s lingering in your throat, but with each second that passes, it seems to grow, trapping the words your brain is fighting to get out. The simple bliss you’ve found in pressing your mouth to Frankie’s has become overshadowed by the looming tension spreading through you as you imagine the soft plush of his lips across your skin, or the way you want his hands to creep down the waistband of your shorts and ease the ache that’s been building between your legs.

Your body freezes at the realization that you want to tell him that you can’t stop thinking about him either, that you can’t stop thinking about the fact you want more than just his lips pressed against yours, how you want him to be the first one you feel inside you, that he’s the only one you ever want.

That there’s nothing more than you want to be his.

It doesn’t take long for Frankie to realize he’s making out with a half open mouth, pulling away with concern as he studies the pained expression across your face.

“Kenz, a-are, are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?” Frankie stammers, gulping as he shifts himself to follow your lead and sit up on the bed.

“N-no, no, it’s just that- fuck- I just- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” You stutter, face growing hotter and hotter as you furrow your brow, eyes peeled to Frankie’s blue and green plaid sheets as you try to find the words you want so desperately for him to hear.

Frankie reaches out his hand, gently resting it on the bare skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your pajama shorts. You glance down at the way his fingers carefully rub back and forth, trying to calm your nerves enough to look at him.

“It’s okay, Kenzie. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m here to listen.” He responds, trying his best to be the anchor in your storm, despite his own nearly shot nerves.

“I- I- I really like you, Frankie.”

“I really like you too, Kenz.” He smiles softly, just enough teasing inflection in his tone to get you to giggle, just a little.

“I just- I- um, do you- Frankie, do you- do you ever think about doing more than just kissing me?”

A stark silence fills the room, quiet enough that each breath through your nose and thump in your chest amplifies and echoes in the space between you. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek watching Frankie’s face go blank, eyes widening with every second he lets your question process. His Adam’s Apple bobs in sync with the trembling exhale he takes before he looks back at you, praying that your word vomit hasn’t led to a detrimental mistake.

“Do um, holy shit- you mean like, l-like what? Like, like, h-having sex? W-w-with you?”

He’s panting like he’s just finished a marathon, his eyes darting wildly between you and his sheets, terrified to answer your question with anything else but his own question to make sure he’s really just heard what you said.

The tops of your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod your head just enough, the subtle shake just enough to let him confirm his suspicions that you’re asking as a way of letting him know how often it’s crossed your mind.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think about it.” He stammers, feeling his fingers tremble against your skin, hand still resting on your thigh, “D-do- do you? Um, think about it?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, voice shaking as you reach down to lay your hand over his, letting your fingers slide between the gaps between his knuckles until they intertwine, gripping each other tightly, there was no chance the other could float away.

The silence shifts to a different type of tension, a thickness in the air so palpable, it makes it just as hard to move as it does to breathe. The two of you stare at the interlocked hand resting on your thigh, stuck in a game of chicken of who dares to make the first move into the uncharted territory you’ve entered.

“I- I’ve never-”

“Me either.” Frankie interjects, cutting off the end of your statement.

It’s almost humorous to admit it out loud, like the both of you didn’t already share every detail of your lives with one another, and had somehow managed to let this fact fall between the cracks.

The two of you let out quiet laughs to yourselves, finding comfort in the comradery to work up enough courage to let your gazes meet again, wondering if Frankie can see the same yearning in your eyes as you see reflected in the soft brown his.

“MacKenzie, I- I-” he mutters, scrunching his face with his swallow, trying to compose himself, “I only wanna do what you wanna do. I don’t- um, I don’t want you to think that if- if you don’t want to, o-or whatever, that I would be mad. I promise I would never, ever be mad at you because of that. Y-you know that, right?”

“I know.”

There’s not a part of you that doubts it. Not for a second. You know that there’s no one else on the face of this earth you trust more than him.

There could be no one else but him.

“You know I would never be mad at you either, right?” You ask, relieved as you watch Frankie gently nod his head.

You’re not sure if it’s instinct or the weight of the tension that makes you lean into him, foreheads pressing together so that the messy curls of his sleepy hair are tickling your skin. You can hear how hard his heart is beating, waiting on your every breath as he leans back into you.

“I want to. I want you, Frankie.”

“F-fuck- Are you sure?” He asks, his free hand creeping across the sheets, carefully sliding up your thigh and under his sweatshirt you’re wearing, letting his fingers toy at the softness of your stomach and the waistband of your shorts.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, your own hand traveling up his leg and towards the tented fabric of his pajama bottoms.

“I-if it’s too much, t-tell me to stop, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, MacKenzie.”

“I know you will. I trust you, Frankie.”

“O-okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s then your mouths crash together in a messy dance of tounges and teeth, an instant electricity igniting in your core with anticipation and want. It’s frantic yet sensual, the way there’s nothing more you want than him, but can’t bear to miss a moment to take it all in, savoring every second you melt into him.

As your hands wander across each other’s bodies, Frankie shifts you to lay on your back so he can cage his frame over yours, the ends of his fingers barely daring to roam any farther than just below your hips or too far above your stomach.

“C-can I take off your shirt?” He asks, already breathless at just the sight of you underneath him.

“Technically your shirt, Morales.” You smirk, making his cheeks turn even more pink at the way you giggle when you say his name.

“It’s yours now, looks way better on you than it does on me. Drives me fucking crazy seeing you in my clothes, Kenz.” He grins, carefully tugging your sweatshirt and the shirt underneath it above your head as you lift up your arms, helping him wriggle it free.

As you pop out from under the fabric, the first thing you notice is the way Frankie’s jaw is hanging open, eyes wide as can be as they stay glued to your bare chest.

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers to himself, tongue darting between his lips, staring at the way your nipples have hardened from being exposed and aroused. “Um, w-wow.”

Seeing you topless sparks something in him to do the same, reaching over his shoulder to tug his t-shirt off his back and over his head, leaving nowhere for the heave of each heavy rise and fall of your chests to hide.

Slowly, Frankie lets his hands slide up your stomach until he’s palming your breasts, grouping each one in his hands, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against your sensitive buds.

He leans down to kiss you, starting at your lips before trailing down your neck and collarbone, until he reaches your chest, carefully kissing each handful he has in his grasp.

You’ve never felt your core ache the way it does now, throbbing with want and need for more, just from the way Frankie’s groping you. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling- you’ve touched yourself before with this exact scenario playing in your mind, but never has it made you feel like this.

“Y-you can take off my shorts, i-if you want.”

“O-kay.”

The gentleness of Frankie’s gaze makes your heart skip a beat, the chocolate brown of his eyes locked on yours as he scoots himself down the bed until he finds himself settled between your legs, now parted open for him.

It’s then you’re overtly aware that Frankie is about to see you completely naked, a new wave of anxiety crashing through you as heat rises in your cheeks and makes you fidget the fabric of his sheets between your fingers.

“I- I- I’m not wearing cute underwear. S-sorry.” You stammer, wincing as Frankie’s thumbs begin to dip below your waistband.

“Seriously, Kenz?” He chuckles, pausing in his tracks to shake his head in disbelief, “Do you really think I care what underwear you have on right now?”

“Well, n-no, but-”

“You really think I’m about to turn down having sex with you because you’re not in the right underwear? That you won’t even have on in like, three seconds?” Frankie snickers, trying to help ease your clearly visible nerves.

“Shut up.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you playfully swat at him, forgetting about the fact you were topless and immediately clamming up again as you felt your breasts sway against your chest. “S-sorry, I- I’m just kinda nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Frankie questions gently, wrapping his hand around your calf, thumb softly circling your skin.

“Well you’re about to see me naked for the first time, Frankie. I think that’s a pretty fair reason to be nervous.” You force the stifled laugh stuck in your throat, attempting to uphold any confidence you have left in your facade.

“You’re about to see me naked too, Kenz. Would it make you feel better if you saw me pantless first?”

He says it like he’s teasing, but you know there’s a part of him that’s serious- that he’d do anything to make you feel better, even something as simple as being the first to forgo any clothes on his bottom half.

“No, I know, Frankie, it’s just-”

“Do you know how beautiful I think you are?”

It catches you off guard, how quick he is to stifle your protest, the warmth of his words flushing your cheeks, now shifting to fit the delicate grin that’s growing between them.

“You’re so beautiful, MacKenzie. Everything about you, I swear.”

He must feel the butterflies churning in your stomach, his hands sliding down your thighs to grab your sides, leaning over to press soft kisses just above your waistband. He stares up at you once more, giving each other subtle nods of reassurance as his fingers play with the elastic, carefully helping you to lift your hips just enough to shuffle your bottoms down your legs until they’re a crumpled pile on the floor.

It eases the tension that’s built throughout your body as you watch in real time how Frankie’s brain short circuits, mesmerized by the view that’s revealed itself between your legs. You timidly squirm your lower half against the sheets, just enough to feel the sticky warmth of your arousal that’s been pooling since the minute you stepped foot in Frankie’s bedroom.

“H-holy- holy fuck. O-oh my god.” Frankie murmurs to himself, eyes locked on the puffy, wet mess of your pussy, “MacKenzie, I- wow. C-can, um, can I touch you?”

“Mmhmm. Y-you can touch me, Frankie. F-fuck, I want you to. Please.” You whisper, letting your legs part for him more, clit pulsing with anticipation to feel Frankie’s fingers.

“I-if it doesn’t feel good o-or, you know, you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay, Frankie.”

You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this wound up, every throb of your core pulsing through your body with so much intensity you’re convinced you may explode if Frankie doesn’t touch you this second.

The pads his fingers gently slide over your swollen lips, collecting the slick that clings to them before he brings them to your clit, his precise and delicate touch still making you gasp the moment he starts to circle around your sensitive nub. He swirls his fingers with the lightest touch like you’re made of glass, scared he’ll break you if he dares to push too hard.

“You can, fuck- you can press more if you want.”

“Okay. I just- I didn’t wanna hurt you, or anything.”

The corner of your lips curl with a soft smile, the stiffness in your muscles relaxing with how warm and safe he makes you feel.

“I-in the same place, though? Same circles, just like, more pressure?” He asks, quietly calculating his next move as you shake your head in response.

Frankie begins to circle again, slowly increasing the weight of his fingers against your clit, brushing against it in just the right way to make you whimper in delight.

“Oh my god-” You sigh, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

“Good oh my god, or bad oh my god?” Frankie questions, terrified he’s done something to upset you.

“No- no, good oh my god. K-keep doing that.” You stammer, pulse quickening as a familiar tingle of pleasure begins to build in your stomach.

Your reassurance gives Frankie the boost of confidence he needs, drawing tight circles around your nub with the pads of his fingers for a few moments, until his thumb takes over, leaving his middle two fingers free, ghosting over your entrance.

There’s a louder moan as Frankie barely slips his middle finger inside of you, lightly prodding in and out of your hole, welcoming the new fullness in the warmth and wet of your walls.

He pumps a few more times, letting his finger sink deeper with each stroke until he’s knuckle deep, reaching further than any spot you’ve been able to feel yourself. It’s when a second digit joins his first that you feel nearly breathless, the stretch and sting making you wince for a moment as you adjust, realising how much thicker and stronger his fingers are than your own when you touch yourself.

Frankie immediately notices your tense expression, quickly pulling back, raising his hands like he’s been caught in the act, guilt ridden look painted across his face.

“Fuck, Kenzie, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Frankie! It feels good, I promise, your fingers are just a lot bigger than mine.”

He tilts his head in confusion for a second until the lightbulb clicks with him that he’s not the only one in the room who's ever been horny and taken care of themself to help solve their problem.

“Wh-what do you think about? Wh-when, when you touch yourself?” He asks with a quiet caution.

“I- I think about you, Frankie.”

You answer without hesitation. Not to appease him, not to convince yourself, but because it’s the truth. You’ve thought about him more times than you can count.

Your answer ignites another spark of self-assurance in him, carefully letting his thumb swirl against your clit as his middle finger gently slides back into your entrance, working up to the same tempo he was at a few moments ago.

“I think about you, too. All the time.” He confesses, a willing admittance now that you’re laying your cards out on the table for him.

“Well, there was one time, a long time ago, I thought about Orlando Bloom after I watched Pirates of the Caribbean.”

You’re not sure what spurs on your unnecessary addition to your comment, but it makes you and Frankie both snort, needing a moment to compose yourself from your fit of giggles.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re really into pirates?” Frankie laughs, biting down on his lip.

“No, you dork! That’s not- Jesus, you know what, forget I ever said anything, okay?” You sigh, rolling your eyes at Frankie, trying to will away the reds and pinks that plague your cheeks.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Kenz, don’t worry.” He teases, his smile slowly shifting to a stoic sort of concentration as he stares down at his fingers pressed against your pussy. “I- I wanna try something.”

“What?”

“Can I um, can I go down on you?”

“Wait, really?”

Despite your own inexperience, you weren’t naive enough to ignore the rumblings from friends of friends, or stories of girls on your soccer team, constantly complaining about how all their boyfriends wanted them to suck their dicks with nothing in return. They’d claim it was gross, or weird, or that it would taste disgusting, so you’d be hard pressed to not believe that every boy under the sun mostly likely found themselves in the same school of thought.

“Do you not want me to?” Frankie questions, trying to hide the small pang of disappointment you’re sure he feels in his chest at your puzzled reaction.

“N-no, it’s just that- I didn’t think that- I thought guys thought that was gross.”

“What? Who said that?” Frankie scoffs.

“I don’t know, like, Sarah and Morgan from the soccer team always complained about how their boyfriends never wanted to because they said it was gross or whatever.”

“Well Sarah and Morgan’s boyfriends have a single brain cell left between them after all the hits they’ve taken during football this season.”

The two of you laugh again, finding relief in the way your friendship prevails through the discomfort.

“You really don’t think it’s gross?”

“No. I- I think it’s kinda hot.”

It’s now Frankie’s cheeks that are flushed with crimson, trying his best to hide his embarrassment. You can tell he has more he wants to say from the way his eyes dart between yours and the bed, forcing you to tilt your head with that little nod he knows means that you’ll keep pestering him until he breaks. Lucky for you, it won’t take much.

“Santi stole this DVD from his cousin's house, and honestly most of it was so stupid because obviously it's all fake. Like, no one’s that excited to get fucked at a doctor’s office. But anyways, there was this one part at the beginning where uh- where the guy goes down on the girl and I- um, I don’t know. I- I wanted to try it, I guess.”

“Really didn’t think I was gonna have to worry about not picturing Santi in my head tonight.”

You and Frankie giggle as you pretend to gag at the thought of Santi becoming a part of you losing your virginity, praying there never comes a day he finds out he’s in part to thank for Frankie’s peaked curiosity.

“I- I want you to. If you want to.”

“I want to. Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

The pace of your pulse begins to quicken again, watching the way Frankie’s face lights up as he races to position himself between your legs, laying flat against the mattress with his face hovering above your heat, his hot, trembling breath tickling your folds.

You swear he licks his lips before his mouth meets you, but the slow, long drag of his tongue across your clit already has your head thrown back against his pillow, the warmth and wetness lighting you up from the inside out with jolts of electric pleasure.

He repeats it a few more times, languidly lapping in smooth and steady strokes, each with just a little more pressure than the last. It’s instinctual, how you buck your hips towards his face, like your body knows it wants more before your brain can process it, signaling to Frankie you’ve given him the okay to keep going, to give you more.

Little gasps escape your parted lips as his tongue moves faster, circling your clit the same way he had with his thumb, making your body melt into the mattress. It’s almost unearthly, how good it feels, little fires igniting in your stomach with every flick of his tongue.

You don’t mean to startle him with how loudly you whimper as he intensifies the pressure, mouth still latched around your clit while his brown eyes peek up at you, breathlessly nodding to him that he shouldn’t dare to stop now.

He takes it as a sign to test the waters even further, letting his middle finger be sucked into the warmth of your velvety walls before ever so carefully sliding in another. The stretch is still there but the sting has faded, his fingers a welcomed addition to ease the way you realize you’ve been clenching around nothing, subconsciously desperate to fill the empty ache in your core.

Inch by inch, he sinks them deeper until you feel him bump against a soft spot inside you that makes you scream in a way you’ve never felt before, fireworks exploding everywhere in your body as his tongue and fingers work in tandem.

A familiar tingle rapidly begins to build at the base of your spine, except the same type of tingle you’ve experienced alone has never multiplied and compounded in the same way this one does.

Desperate for something to grab on to, one hand fists at Frankie’s sheets, the other, shooting down to the messy curls of his hair, burying your fingers until they disappear under his unkempt locks.

You’re not sure if you’re so pleasure drunk you can’t think straight, but you swear you can feel that stupid, smug smirk pressed against your pussy as you hold onto him for dear life.

He keeps the same pace with his tongue, fingers prodding in just the right spot to make you feel like you’re losing control, limbs numb and shaking like jello as you feel the tingle creep down your legs and up through your chest.

“F-Frankie, I- oh fuck- fuck, oh my god, fuck, I- I- oh my go-ahhhhhhhhhh-”

It’s all consuming, the way the pleasure washes over you, like waves crashing into the shoreline- relentless and never ending. There’s a moment you’re convinced your body’s left this planet, floating off in space in a cloud of endless ecstasy.

You’re not sure how long you’re lost in the electricity of it all- Minutes? Hours? Years? You’d believe any and all of the above. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as you come to, greeted with the image of Frankie still settled between your legs, wild haired and goofy grinned.

“Frankie…. Holy fuck.”

A beaming, boyish smile lights up across his face at the way you’re panting, wiping the shiny slick stained around his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah? D-did it feel good? Did you um- did you-”

“Yeah. Holy shit. Remind me to thank Santi’s cousin if I ever meet him.”

“Jesus Christ…” Frankie sighs, rolling his eyes at your giggles, heart melting at the way he can’t hide his rosy cheeks and curled lips every time he looks at you, “It felt good though? Like, Actually?”

“Yeah, it felt really good, Frankie.” You coo, watching Frankie prop himself up to sit back on his haunches, letting your gaze wander down his bare chest until you reach the clearly tented fabric of his pajama pants, lingering just long enough for him to notice where you’re staring.

Silent tension fills the room again, the both of you realizing that you’ve only conquered one part of the journey you’ve embarked on together, and that the second half of your travels pose many more risks than the first. Frankie is the only one you want by your side as you brave your adventure together.

With a little push, your back parts with his mattress, sitting up to close the gap between you. You’re close enough now that your hands can roam up his thighs, softly palming at the stiff bulge straining under his pants.

“Oh f-fuck-” Frankie stutters, jaw going slack with ever pass your hand makes over his erection.

“Can I take off your pants, Frankie?” You whisper, burying your head in the crook of his neck, craning your head just enough so that the hot words of your breath dance in his ear.

You can barely finish your sentence before Frankie’s scrambling off the edge of the bed, standing up straight to give you the easiest access to shuffle his pajamas down while you kneel on the mattress.

You pray Frankie can’t feel the way your fingers shake as they sink under his waistband and brush against his stomach, pulling his bottoms down just slow enough to memorize the subtle V that sinks between his hips, or the soft trail of barely there brown hair under his belly button that thickens with every tug.

With one final breath, you slide them down enough to finally free what’s been hiding underneath, his length fully hard, bobbing as it springs free. This must have been what it felt like for Frankie, understanding the way his eyes went wide and brain went blank after he saw you for the first time.

It’s not like it’s a surprise to you, the concept of what he’s had tucked away in his pants.

What does, is how the sight of it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“F-Frankie… Holy shit.”

“What? I-is something wrong?” He winces, immediately bracing himself for the worst.

“No, it’s just- just like, Holy shit, Frankie.” You reiterate, making it very clear you’re more than impressed as you gesture at what’s hanging in front of you.

“O-oh, t-thanks.” He stutters, a sweet shyness overtaking him as a result of your admiration.

You scoot yourself closer, a boldness overcoming you as you delicately wrap your hand around his length, slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. You pray that whatever you’re doing feels okay, but from the way Frankie’s whimpers and moans escape from his parted lips, you take it as a sign you’re safe to take another step further.

“Since you went down on me, do you want me to go down on-”

“N-no!” He pauses, drowning his face in his palm for the way he’s panicking, making you drop him from your grasp, “No, I- uh- shit- sorry, sorry, no it’s just- No, not because I don’t want you to- b-believe me, I really want you to. Like, really want you to.”

“O-okay, so?”

He must feel awful for the puzzled and pained expression on your face, reaching with both hands to cradle your jaw, making sure your gaze is fixated on him.

“I’m sorry, I promise nothing’s wrong, I just- fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet and I know if you go down on me, I will in like two seconds, and I wanna cum when we’re having sex. I-if you still wanna, ya know, have sex. Jesus, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I think I’m- I’m nervous, too. ”

The top of your teeth graze your lower lip, batting your lashes in heavy, long blinks, your lips curling in a sympathetic smile that you’re not alone in your uneasiness. Finding comfort in the uncomfortability, together. Knowing how easy it would be for him to play it all off like no big deal, or pretend to mask the confidence he lacks, and yet, he doesn’t, makes you want him even more.

“Do you still want to? I- I’m nervous too, but I want to. It makes me feel less nervous that it’s with you.”

The tender kiss he plants on your lips as your bodies move in sync down the bed is the only answer you need, shuffling backwards towards the pillows while Frankie hovers his body over you, mouths only parting to let you settle into the mattress.

Each kiss becomes more frantic and desperate than the last, mouths melting together as your tongues wrestle. The way he kisses you is all consuming, enough to make you feel like the only people in the world that exist in this moment are you and him.

“You sure you want to?” He gasps, fighting for his words to escape his parted lips.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, barely soft enough for him to hear.

The two of you nod, Frankie shifting his weight to reach across you, shuffling through the drawer of his nightstand until he fishes out the box of condoms he has hidden away. He sits back on his knees, carefully ripping a square from the line of packages, tossing the rest over the side of the bed. He’s even more delicate as he tears the edge of the foil he’s holding in his hands, removing the rubber and methodically rolling it down over his shaft.

“It’s on right... Right?”

“Yeah. I practiced putting them on earlier this week so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when I tried to do it the first time. Although I think telling you that probably makes me look like an even bigger idiot.”

“No it doesn’t,” You softly reassure him, “I’d rather have you do that than put it on wrong. I don’t want any of your babies yet, Morales.”

Yet.

You’re not sure what makes your brain decide to add those three letters into your sentence. You’re also not sure why you don’t hate that it did. There’s a part of you that thinks there’s a chance that maybe Frankie didn't hear it, but you know that boy would die before he stopped hanging onto every word that fell from your lips.

There’s a part of you that also swears he’s trying with everything in him to keep from smiling.

Your attention shifts with Frankie’s body, hovering back over yours with his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, sinking his hips to line himself up with your entrance. His tip brushes against your clit, a familiar jolt of pleasure swirling in your stomach at how you clench around nothing, anxious and aching to feel him inside you.

“I-if it’s too much, or it doesn’t feel good, or you wanna stop, just-”

“I know, Frankie. I’ll tell you, I promise.”

Your low exhale syncs with Frankie’s gulp, each of you bracing yourselves as you finally feel his tip breach inside you. You try your best to relax, squirming your bottom half with each inch Frankie sinks himself deeper. You’re sure there’s a wince as he pushes past the halfway point- not painful, but a sting and stretch in a way you’ve never felt. Frankie freezes, gently grabbing your hip.

“You good, Kenzie? You want me to stop?”

“No, I’m okay, just kind of stings a little, but it still feels good. Maybe if you didn’t have such a big dick, it wouldn’t be a problem.” You tease, letting out a little huff of laughter.

It’s now Frankie’s turn to scrunch the muscles of his face, cocking your head at the grit of his teeth.

“Frankie, are you okay?”

“Yup. Yup, I’m good. When you laughed it squeezed my dick and it felt really good and I’m trying not to make a fucking fool of myself right now.”

“Sorry, no more laughing, got it.” You grimace, desperately trying not to giggle at Frankie’s pained concentration as he shakes his head at you. “Y- you can keep going, though.”

“F-fuck, o-okay.”

There’s another deep breath before he’s pushing his hips towards you, taking his time as you feel the pain start to shift to indescribable pleasure, the feeling of how full he is inside of you making every wire in your brain short circuit.

“Holy fucking shit.” Frankie whispers under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good, MacKenzie.”

You wish you had the words to tell him how you feel the same, but the best you can muster is a muffled moan that escapes from your unhinged jaw, brain empty at the sweet stretch of his fullness, stagnant inside you.

F-fuck Frankie. Oh my god.” You murmur, letting the muscles of your face untense so the weight of your eyelids can flutter open, soaking in the image of Frankie above you. The rest of your body follows, slowly beginning to relax as you adjust, yearning for more than just his hips flushed against yours. “Y-you can move, Frankie.”

He lets his arms sink from the plank he’s holding, letting your chests flush together so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into your skin with the first thrust of his hips, steadily sliding in and out of your heat, savoring every second of the sensation.

“You still okay, baby?” Frankie coos into your ear, the new nickname only adding to the way you want to clench down around his length as he keeps his languid pace, dragging his cock along the warmth and wetness of your walls.

“Mhmmm. You can go faster, i-if you want. F-fuck, it feels so good, Frankie.”

The way you whimper and whine his name sets off a low rumble deep in his chest, lips locking with yours as you feel him pump just a little harder, his length nudging the same, savory spot he had found before with his fingers. Your hand shoots up to wrap around his bicep, nails marking crescent moons in his skin.

Every move he makes is solely based on your reaction, reading the way your body responds to him before daring to take a step further. Your iron grip and sweet moans are enough to spur him on further, a steady rhythm now working through each thrust of his hips.

There’s a new knot in your stomach that starts to tighten, building in your gut and slowly creeping its way to spread throughout your body. The coarse hairs curling at the base of his shaft brush against your clit just enough to spark a jolt of electricity to your core, bucking your hips into his with each thrust. You’re desperate to reach the same high he had given you before, eager to ease the ache of your sensitive bud.

Frankie picks up on the way you rut back into him, snaking his hand down your front, making just enough space between your bodies to let the pads of his fingers find your clit. The pressure he adds with the circles and swirls makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat, overwhelmed with arousal by how all encompassing Frankie is.

It’s hard to believe how quickly you find yourself becoming addicted to him, your body yearning to become one with his and never separate. You want your heart, your soul, for all of it to be his, and only his, to be unable to find where you end and he begins.

The only thing you want is to be his.

With each stroke, your pussy flutters faster around his length, the tingle that had formed at the base of your spine now seeping through your veins, teetering on the brink of collapse.

“F-fuck- fuck, Frankie, don’t stop. Fuck, I- I think I’m- I’m close.”

If it was anyone else, there would be no words to describe the embarrassment from the pathetic whimper you let out at the way Frankie groans while he punches into you. A look of pained concentration splays across his face, focusing with every brain cell he has left to make sure you finish first.

“Shit- I- I- fuck, I’m close, too.” He stutters, chest heaving in between each word.

He presses his forehead into yours, meeting you with the tacky sheet of sweat that now clings to his skin and dampens his curls. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his body laid across yours- you almost dare to wish that this moment, this feeling, would never end.

But the way he whispers your name, each letter warm and tickling your skin, a sweet symphony only he can sing is what sends you over the edge, pushing you past the point of no return.

“M-MacKenzie… f-fuck, MacKenzie-”

Each syllable is an explosion inside you, lighting you up to send sparks through every last limb until you’re sobbing his name, singing his own sweet song back to him.

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankiefrankiefrankie-ahhhhh-”

The dam inside you finally breaks, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you as you squeeze around him, swallowed whole by the electricity of it all.

There’s not much your mind can process after you snap, but there’s enough strength left to keep your gaze locked on Frankie and the way he gasps as his jaw drops after you’ve finished. He’s just as lost as you, relishing in your afterglow as he chases his own high, each thrust more sloppy and erratic than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit MacKenzie, fuck, I’m gonna cum so ha-aaaaahhh-”

There’s only one last shift of his hips before he’s spilling into the condom, a final moan that follows his release as he collapses into you. Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy as you pant in the soft silence that fills the room.

The quiet brings a gentle comfort, basking in the bliss that radiates off each of you as you let yourselves drift back to earth, praying it gives you enough time to remember how to speak.

It’s Frankie who arrives back first, too consumed with your own journey back to hear the way his voice breaks as he carefully whispers your name.

“MacKenzie?”

“Yeah, Frankie?”

“C-can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

His sweet call brings you back, thumb brushing against the warmth of his cheek, waiting on every word he's working himself up to say.

“MacKenzie, I- MacKenzie, I- I think I love you.”

It's then you're sure your heart stops- four little letters forcing a smile so wide across your face, your positive your cheeks may hurt for days after.

Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll keep hurting like this for the rest of your life.

“Can I tell you something, Morales? I think I might just love you, too.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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hellishjoel · 10 months ago

Text

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt.

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco.

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past.

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything.

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment.

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning.

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have.

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story.

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book.

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying.

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best.

To forgive or to forget.

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift.

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since.

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you.

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable.

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep.

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together.

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off.

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued.

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you.

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.”

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly.

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold.

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked.

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more.

Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat.

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass.

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.”

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together.

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him.

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips.

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt.

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour.

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee.

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw.

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap.

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well.

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee.

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body.

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt.

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make.

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit.

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust.

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together.

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat.

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name.

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better.

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit.

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you.

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure.

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock.

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven.

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze.

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips.

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive.

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening.

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency.

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear.

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.”

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call?

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables.

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t.

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family.

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-”

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall.

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches.

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away.

Your name echoes once, twice.

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen.

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse.

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones.

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words.

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese.

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.”

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance.

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family.

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that.

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash.

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie.

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head.

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face.

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words.

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie.

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response.

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence.

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.”

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant.

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room.

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him.

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows.

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man.

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant.

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop.

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder.

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him.

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales.

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again.

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

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