#idk the image of them flexing came to me and sat in my brain for like... two weeks...

[mabaki]

Mabaki and Laurane 🔥💙🔥

He's so proud of her LOL Laurane belongs to @mme-chouette

[viviansturns]

Can you do a Chris fic where they are best friends but secretly want each other. Like they’re going to have a sleepover and at the moment they’re in his room watching a movie or something and he does something that turns her on like idk taking off his shirt or something and she’s like staring. He asks if she’s good and she’s like stuttering and shit like ohh yeah I’m fine and says she’s gonna take a shower. So she goes in and tries to get herself off and Chris hears her so he goes in the bathroom and at first she doesn’t realize cause she has her eyes closed focusing on the pleasure and he doesn’t say anything just stares. Eventually Chris asks like “what are you thinking about” and there she opens her eyes and sees Chris and it leads to them fuckinh and feelings revealing and yea. That was a lot omg but like something like that would be sooo gooddd.

note to the anon: try not to send the same request to multiple writers because it makes it less original!

cw: walking in on showering, eating out, p in v protected, overstimulation, bigdick!chris

Chris had been your best friend since middle school—one of those friends who could knock on your window at 2 a.m. and you'd let him in without even asking why. He was safety, comfort, inside jokes and shared playlists.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was shirtless on the bed, watching a movie, and your brain was not cooperating.

“I’m telling you,” he muttered around a mouthful of popcorn, “if they just talked to the villain, this whole movie would’ve ended in twenty minutes.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you weren’t listening.

Because your attention was locked on the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips. The way his abs flexed when he sat up. The curve of his jawline, how it shadowed under the warm light of his bedroom lamp. His low eyes and sharp jawline and messy hair were practically transfixing you.

He turned to look at you, smirking when he caught you staring. “You good?”

You blinked. Swallowed. “What? Yeah. I’m—yeah, I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he said, teasing. He leaned back on his elbows, biceps stretching. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You scrambled off the bed. “I’m just gonna take a shower real quick.”

“Shower?” he echoed, eyebrows raised. “We’re mid-movie.”

You grabbed your bag and practically fled to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”

Your skin was burning before the water even turned hot.

The shower was supposed to calm you down. Wash away the images. Wipe your brain clean.

Instead, you sat down on the built-in bench, steam curling around you, and let your legs fall open. The water had been turned off minutes ago, but your skin was still damp, your breath shaky. A towel was wrapped loosely around your body, but your hand had already slipped beneath it.

You weren’t even ashamed.

You were too far gone for shame.

Your fingers rubbed slow circles, hips shifting against the tile. Your head fell back, mouth parting, eyes fluttering shut.

And in your mind, it was his voice whispering your name. His hand on your thighs. His mouth—

“Fuck,” you gasped.

Then—a click noise. You didn't pay attention at first, too focused on reaching your high.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your body jerked like you’d been electrocuted. Your eyes snapped open—and there he was. Chris. Standing just inside the bathroom door, half-shrouded in steam, like some fantasy brought to life.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. Just watched you, eyes locked on your hand still buried under the towel.

“You left the door unlocked,” he said softly. “I heard you.”

He stepped closer.

You didn’t move.

“I heard you say my name,” he added, voice lower now. “wanna explain that?”

Your breath hitched.

He came to a slow stop in front of you. Still shirtless. Still in those grey sweatpants. Only now, you could see the clear outline of his hard-on pressing against the fabric.

He knelt down, one hand bracing beside your thigh, the other gently sliding the towel back.

“Was it me?” he whispered.

You nodded. Barely.

And Chris smiled like a man finally unchained.

“Good."

Chris’s fingers grazed your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. You were still seated on the shower bench, towel parted now, barely covering anything. Your breath was stuck in your throat. His pupils were blown wide.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you.

“Then show me,” you said.

That was all it took.

He leaned in—not fast, not greedy—controlled. Like he wanted to savor it. His lips pressed to the soft skin just above your knee. Then higher. Then higher. Until he was inches from where your fingers had just been.

You whimpered.

Chris looked up at you, hand sliding under your thigh to hold you open. “You want me to stop, say it now.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Your hips lifted in response.

He smiled, just a little. “Didn’t think so.”

His mouth landed soft at first, just a kiss. Then a slow, hot lick that made your eyes roll back. His tongue circled you, teasing, not giving you everything yet.

You tried to grind against his face, but his grip on your thighs tightened.

“Let me take my time,” he said against your skin. “You rushed it in here alone. I’m gonna make it last.”

You were panting already. “Chris, please…”

He groaned like your voice alone could make him come.

He licked deep, slow and rhythmic, and when he found that perfect spot—the one that made your spine arch and your thighs shake—he stayed there. His tongue moved in firm, steady circles, his hand sliding up to press lightly on your lower stomach, holding you down when you started to twitch from the pressure building.

“Shit—Chris—”

He hummed, the vibration making your eyes flutter shut.

You came the first time so hard you forgot how to breathe.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as your thighs tried to close, even as your moans cracked and your back hit the tile wall, he kept going, pushing you through it, past it, into something raw and aching.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, his jaw flushed. He looked wrecked—but satisfied.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long,” he said, voice wrecked.

You reached for him, yanking him up to crash your mouth against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. His body fell into yours, hands framing your face, and the kiss turned frantic, desperate. All tongue and teeth and gasps between words.

You pulled at his waistband, dragging his sweats and boxers down together. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and hard and so heavy-looking your thighs clenched just from seeing it.

“Condom?” you breathed, tugging your lip between your teeth.

He nodded, panting. “Yeah. Bedroom. Top drawer.”

You stood—shaky, still flushed—and followed him out.

The bed was unmade, covers a mess from the movie earlier, but you didn’t care. You climbed on first, laying back, thighs still damp, eyes fixed on him while he rolled the condom on with trembling hands.

And when he hovered over you—head brushing your entrance, arm shaking a little with restraint—you looked him dead in the eyes.

“Don’t go easy.”

He groaned. “If I go any harder I might not last—”

“Then take your time,” you whispered. “But don’t hold back.”

He pushed in slowly—so slowly—and the stretch stole every word from your throat. You dug your nails into his biceps, mouth falling open.

Chris’s eyes were locked on where you joined, jaw tight, chest heaving. “Holy—fuck—you feel—”

“Holy fuck,” you gasped. “Y-y—so big.” he just groans out loud, not moving at all as he tried to catch his breath.

"D-Don't say shit like that," he mumbled. "I'm tryna last for you."

You just whimper in desperation, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him further into you, clenching. "Please, Chris. Move."

And he did.

Not fast. Not hard. But deep. Each thrust felt intentional, like he was trying to memorize your body from the inside out.

You moaned loud—long and wrecked—and he kissed you to muffle it.

The pace stayed steady, even as the pressure built. You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His lips found your neck, biting softly, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” he whispered.

“I-I’ve dreamed about this.”

He groaned into your throat. “Tell me you wanted me.”

“I always wanted you.”

His rhythm stuttered. He reached down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow and firm in sync with his thrusts.

Your back arched.

Every stroke was deep and delicious—dragging against that spot inside you just right, his fingers teasing you at the same pace, unhurried, like he wanted you right on the edge without tipping over.

“Chris—” your voice cracked. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Not planning on it,” he rasped, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, everywhere he could reach. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”

You clenched around him, tight and desperate, and he cursed again, dragging his cock out almost all the way before sliding back in slow and thick.

You whimpered. He smiled against your skin.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You like it when I take my time, huh?”

You nodded fast, nails digging into his back.

He shifted, pulling your hips up just slightly, angling himself deeper. The next thrust made you cry out—sharp and breathless. His hand never left your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your legs shake.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he said into your neck. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

He groaned, picking up the pace—just slightly. Enough to make your breath catch with every thrust, but still not fast. Not rough. It was a rhythm built to drive you crazy, to stretch it out until you were babbling nonsense into his shoulder, clutching at him like you’d fall apart without his body against yours.

You came like that—legs shaking, chest heaving, voice cracked and ragged from how long it had been building.

And even then—he didn’t stop.

Chris held you through it, whispering praise, mouth pressed to your cheek. “That’s it. That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.”

You gasped, blinking up at him. “Y-Your girl?”

He looked down at you, still inside, still rock hard, still moving. “You think I fuck just anyone like this?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a moan as he rolled his hips deep and slow again, dragging another soft wave of overstimulation out of you.

His fingers slid back to your clit. “Give me another.”

“Chris—” you whimpered. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “One more. Just one more, baby.”

You clenched your eyes shut, body twitching under him, so sensitive you could barely take it—but he didn’t stop.

You came again—your third—with a strangled cry, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold you still. His name left your lips like a prayer.

That finally broke him.

Chris shoved in deep, pace faltering, breath ragged as he fucked you through your aftershocks. “I’m gonna come,” he growled. “You feel too fucking good—I can’t—”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down into a kiss just as his rhythm stuttered into something wild and desperate.

And then he groaned into your mouth as he came, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you.

He stayed there—buried in you, panting, trembling, face pressed to your neck—while your fingers traced the sweat-damp skin of his back.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

"Now what?" you whisper

this might be buns sorry

[thatredheadwriter]

Pretty

frankie morales x reader

Alright, so you know ya girl has a bit of an oral fixation. And a thing for marking (seriously, I’ve already done a whole fic about it). So it shouldn’t shock you that seeing all these gifs of Pedro from TUWOMT in his little striped speedo has✨SPARKED✨ something in me. Something absolutely fucking feral. I love thighs. Idc who they belong to, they’re fluffy pillows of sexiness and they deserve to be shown a good time. Also, we need to call boys pretty. They are and they deserve to hear it more. I totally intended for this to be pwp, but then I got a little angsty with it, and then it got real fluffy, and idk man. I think it turned out ok, but this is not the fic I planned on writing when I started, and that’s ok. Also, I suck at endings, so I guess I just stopped writing words instead of properly closing it. Whatever. Please enjoy.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing

My extreme love of thighs

nibbling/marking kink

Kinda body worship

Elements of handjob

Mention of oral (male receiving)

Frankie doesn’t think he’s beautiful and handsome

Fairly mild (IMO) body-image-related angst (just Frankie’s this time around)

Mentions that maybe reader had some past body image issues (not explicit)

Pet names

Sickeningly sweet fluff

Making Frankie say that he’s pretty (not in a feminizing way, pretty doesn’t always mean feminine)

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

It was a lazy day. You lay with your foot at the head of the bed, arms crossed underneath you, reading your newest pick from the local library.

Frankie sat beside you, propped up against the headboard reading the morning paper. You knew if you teased him about his reading glasses and old-man habits he’d take them off and go back to squinting, so you kept your giggles to yourself.

When he didn’t need it to hold the paper, one of his warm palms rested splayed on the back of your thigh, rubbing up and down in what was meant to be a soft gesture, but was pulling your mind in another direction entirely.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t fucked your brains out the night before, but you couldn’t help but want more. He was too pretty, too handsome, although every time you tried to tell him so, he’d get all flustered and change the subject.

As your eyes trailed down his form, bathed in the morning light, you couldn’t help but appreciate him. His broad shoulders and soft tummy covered in the fabric of his favorite white t-shirt, down to his thighs, mostly exposed from the hem of his plaid boxers ridden up into the seam of his hips.

God his thighs were just perfect. You loved digging your fingers into them as he fucked your face, and so did he, even if he liked to pretend he was indifferent. They were your favorite pillow when you watched movies on the couch, and you loved watching and feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he came.

So when you finished your chapter, you sat up and pulled your legs up under you, turning to face your boyfriend with a pout. Sitting back on your heels, you chewed on your lip as you studied him until he noticed your stare and set his paper aside.

“What’s up, pup?” he asked, sitting up a little more so he could place a hand on your knee. Frankie loved to touch you, and you loved that about him. He always made you feel safe and adored.

“I wanna try something,” you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wiggled his brows suggestively, “If I remember correctly, the last time you said that, we ended up staying in bed for an entire weekend.”

When you didn’t react to his joke about the time the two of you had first tried cockwarming, he shifted again.

“Hey, what is it? You can tell me anything,” his brow was furrowed adorably, and you huffed a laugh.

“I…I just don’t know how to say it. Can I just show you?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your sleep shirt and looking up at him.

“Of course. I trust you, princesa.”

You smiled and tossed your book haphazardly up towards your nightstand before using his ankles to spread his legs, earning you a look of confusion as you moved between them. It didn’t go away as you settled on your belly between his legs, head right between his thighs.

“I don’t think this is new,” Frankie chuckled above you as you reached your hands out to begin caressing the insides of his legs.

“Oh, I’m not sucking you. Not yet anyways,” you clarified, still massaging his thighs. “Frankie, I just love you so much. You’re so pretty.”

“Not that again,” he dropped his head back to the headboard like he was annoyed, but you knew it was really to hide the blush creeping up his face. “I’ve told you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk bad about yourself. You’re so beautiful Frankie. Especially your thighs. God, I love them.”

You dipped your head to trail your nose along his skin there, the light hair tickling you as you searched for the perfect spot to start. The first kiss was light, testing his reaction. But as he relaxed under you, you grew bolder. Soon you were leaving litters of sloppy kisses all over his thighs.

When you first nibbled a little, you were afraid you’d hurt him with the way he’d sucked in a breath. But when you looked up at him, his eyes were blown with lust and his fingers were tangled in the sheets.

“Love you s’much, Frankie,” you murmured into his skin, now mottled with the evidence of your mouth on him. His cock strained in his boxers, and his hips bucked involuntarily when your nose grazed it.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I love you too, princess.”

You grinned up at him, resting your cheek against his thigh. Your fingers traced up the sensitive flesh and onto his boxers, slipping up under his t-shirt and into the fabric of his waistband. 

“Will you say it for me?” you asked, looking up at him with big doe eyes as your hand finally made contact with his achingly hard dick.

“Say-say wha- oh, fuck,” he cut himself off as your thumb swirled precum around his tip, toying with his frenulum.

“I want you to say that you’re pretty. Cause to me you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Seriously?” he all but pouted, frowning down at you.

“Frankie, you spent months when we first started dating telling me how beautiful and gorgeous I am, and I eventually started to believe it. I just want you to love yourself,” you said honestly, hand stilling inside his boxers as you waited for his reaction. “You’re always making little digs about being out of shape or gaining a little weight since your discharge, and I literally couldn’t care less. Francisco, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I just want you to see that. I love you.”

You could swear there was a tear in his eye when you finished, and he opened his arms wide, indicating he wanted to hold you.

“God, princesa, how did I get so lucky?” he sniffled a bit as you crawled up to his level, letting him wrap his arms around you and hold you, with you holding him back.

“I think I’m the lucky one, but that’s just me,” you grinned into his shirt. “I just don’t want you to ever feel less than, Frankie. And you always make me feel so loved, I just want to share it back, I guess.”

“Ok,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. He took a deep, shuddery breath before screwing his eyes shut tight. “I’m pretty,” he grimaced as the words came out, cracking an eye afterward to see your barely contained mix of amusement and adoration.

You leaned in and pecked a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Yes, yes you are. And you’re handsome,” another kiss, this one to his left temple. “And you’re beautiful,” a kiss to his right temple. “And you’re smart,” you kissed the center of his forehead. “And kind,” you kissed a cheek. “And an amazing father,” the other cheek. “And the sweetest partner,” you kissed one of the bare patches in his beard. “And a simply divine lover,” you kissed the other patch, although you missed a little bit because he was giggling underneath you. “And I am so lucky to call you mine.”

The last kiss you placed to his lips, but before you could pull away, he was pulling you in with his need.

You rolled your hips down on him, his hard cock still pressing into you through his boxers.

“Can you say it again for me?” you asked with your best pouty face, “You can even say handsome instead if you don’t like pretty.”

Frankie leaned in to kiss down your jaw, bucking your hips up against yours. “I think ‘pretty’ is growing on me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tugging him away by his hair.

“Yeah. Cause you’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’d kill to be anything like you, pup.”