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pedrito-friskito · 10 months

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happy summer babes!!! 🍉🦀🏄‍♀️ thank you for the amazing sleepover fun!! I'm going with 🎲 ROLL FOR FIC 🎲 because it just sounds so fun and I hope I do it right lmaodvdf rose gold sparkles set PP character list and ofc smutty (are we surprised??? no ofc not)

love u to the moon and back!!!

MY DARLING SWEET SIL 🤍

yes yes yes roll for fic ROLL FOR FICCCCCC - we landed on: Frankie Morales and “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

love you MORE 🥰

done for - frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: drinking, brief violence (frankie punches a guy), unwanted advances from a third party (nothing explicit), car sex, dirty talk, I love frankie morales this was way too much fun to write

You’re the only reason Frankie comes to this bar.

It’s not his usual scene. Will dragged him in a few months back — despite his protests, but the eldest Miller brother was always stronger than Frankie, so he was left with little choice. But then he stepped through the doorway, spotted you behind the bar, and it didn’t matter that the music was too loud and every other person in the place looked to be at least ten years younger than him.

“What can I get ya?” you’d shouted over the music when he and Will approached the bar, leaning forward and giving him a healthy eyeful of your cleavage. Will shouted back his order and had to elbow Frankie in the ribs to get him to spit it out.

He called out the first beer logo he saw on the taps to your right, and you winked at him as you fished a glass out from beneath the bar and started filling it.

The pair of them lingered at the edge of the bar a while, Will combing the crowd for his fiancé, who had said she’d meet them there, and Benny, who was never one to say no to a night on the town. Will eventually spotted her, and after polishing off his drink, headed into the throng of people on the dance floor, leaving Frankie alone..

“Your friend abandoned you?” you called, and Frankie turned so fast he nearly fell off his stool. “That wasn’t very nice of him.”

“Nah, his girl’s here,” he responded, finishing his beer.

You took his empty glass and refilled it without asking, and when he opened his mouth to protest, you waved a hand at him. “It’s on the house.”

He shouted his thanks and you winked again.

The bar became an almost weekly occurrence, every Friday night like clockwork, either or both of the Millers in tow, and Frankie knew he was getting a little too hung up on the way your eyes lit up when he walked up to the bar. A few times, you finished your shift while they were still there, and finished your night on the other side of the bar top, drinking Benny under the table and talking to all three of them.

Before Frankie knew it, you were…friends, for lack of a better word.

“I don’t know why you don’t just ask her on a date, Fish,” Benny drawled, turning and walking backward in front of Frankie and Will, putting his arms out wide. “She’s into you, I know she is.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re the great expert on women,” Will jabbed, grinning at his little brother.

Frankie shook his head, lifted his shoulder. “I dunno. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“Can’t do that if you don’t give it a shot,” Benny threw back, dodging Will’s fake punch. “What’s the worst that’s gonna happen? She says no?”

Both the Millers looked at him and Frankie felt his cheeks flush. “Well, yeah.”

“Then onto the next one, my guy!” Benny shouted, grinning broad. “That’s how it goes!”

Will rolled his eyes, shoving at his brother until he nearly stumbled backward. “Ignore him. You know I hate admitting when Benny is right, but I agree with him. She does seem into you, Fish. Gets all smiley when you show up.”

It just became a matter of finding the courage.

Tonight’s the night, he’s decided. It’s been a few weeks of hyping himself up, fake conversations in the bathroom mirror until he gets sick of staring at his own pathetic reflection. He’s seen you a couple times since Benny and Will’s pressing, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed your being a little more attentive to him than the Millers, leaning a little closer on the bar, your shoulders pressed together when you’re off shift and flagging down another bartender to order.

It’s late. He had a long day to say the least. He’s tense, his whole back a twisted knot of muscle from the moment he woke up. You seem a little off too, your smile tighter than usual when you greet him, something strange in your eyes when you slide his beer across the bar top. When you bring him a second, nearly an hour and a half since he arrived, he sees it again, and catches your wrist lightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer, too quickly, eyes darting down the bar before meeting his. “Fine. No Millers tonight?”

“Nah, just me,” he replies, “sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you shoot back and your face softens, the tightness receding. “Always happy for your company, Frankie.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “The feeling is mutual. What time are you done?”

You flick your wrist, glancing at your watch. “Another hour. Why?”

“You wanna go somewhere after? Get something to eat?”

He’s shocked at himself. The words roll so smoothly off his tongue, but when your eyes widen just slightly, embarrassment makes a home in his gut, his ears scorching and for once, he’s grateful for the dim lighting in the bar.

But then your face splits in a smile, and that strange look in your eyes is gone. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You tap your fingers against his on the bar as someone calls your name and he nods as you step away, grinning to himself as he sips his beer.

An hour later, and you’re cashing out for the night, talking quietly to one of the other bartenders. You’ve stopped by a few times to check on him now, getting him a glass of water and confirming you’ll still be out on time. The second time you came by, the strange look in your eye had returned, your gaze darting around as you spoke to him, and the tightness wasn’t just in your voice, in your mouth, but your whole body. It makes him uneasy.

He watches as you disappear through the doors that lead to the rear of the bar, and five minutes later, you reappear at the far end, changed out of your work uniform, your purse over your shoulder and a sweater slung over your arm. Frankie keeps his eyes on you as you try to close the distance between you and him, but halfway, something stops you.

Someone stops you.

It’s a hand on your arm first, halting you, and then the man rises from his stool, towering over you, and Frankie knows what that strange look in your eye is.

It’s fear.

His gut twists as he pushes himself off his stool, tossing a bill on the bar top as he steps away. He’s far enough that he can’t hear what the guy is saying to you, but judging by the look on your face — your eyes not only fearful, but watery too — it’s nothing good.

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” he says, trying to sound as smoothly as possible as he steps around the man, offering you his hand. Your eyes go wide when you see him, and Frankie slides himself between you and the guy, turning to face him. They’re about the same height, and Frankie squares his shoulders.

Behind his back, he flexes his fingers wide, and you slip your hand into his, squeezing tight.

“Move, asshole,” the guy spits, and Frankie raises his brows.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he quips, “no.”

“We were having a conversation,” the guy continues, and makes the most comical looking angry face that Frankie has to stifle his laugh, “and you interrupted it.”

“Didn’t look like a conversation,” Frankie replies and pushes you another step back, trying to angle you towards the door that leads outside. “Looked like you grabbed her without her permission and were trying to scare her. Not a good look, my guy.”

“I’m not your guy, fucker. Now let me finish my conversation; you don’t wanna get your lights punched out for a dumb bitch like this one.”

Over his shoulder, he hears your sharp inhale, and the hand not wrapped in yours clenches into a fist. “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

“Do you even know her? Clearly you’re just as dumb as you look if you think she’s worth this sort of trouble. You don’t—”

Frankie decks him.

His knuckles explode in pain as his fist connects with the guy’s jaw. When was the last time he even threw a punch? He’s honestly not sure, but he releases your hand to hold his hurt one, and you cling to his arm.

“Frankie.”

It’s a good shot, cuz the guy drops. He falters back against the bar, spilling his glass, and it pours over the edge of the bar and onto him as he falls to the ground beneath the bar. His mouth is full of blood, and he moves like he’s trying to get up, but Frankie steps forward, you still half-wrapped around his arm, and steps on the guy’s chest.

“I said, watch your fucking mouth,” he spits, and pushes his boot down hard before turning away. Your eyes are wide, shining in the dim light, and you grab his bad hand gently, inspecting it.

“You…” you trail off, shake your head. “Why did you…”

“You still wanna get out of here?” Frankie asks, and he swallows hard, waiting for your answer. Did he scare you off? Fuck, did he—

“Yes.”

The moment the night air hits his face, Frankie feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s never been the guy to go punching other guys in bars. That’s been Benny’s MO, most of the time, Will a few times. Santi only gets testy when he drinks tequila, but that’s almost every time they go out.

But…he put his hands on you. And it was obvious you didn’t want him to.

He offers you his good hand as you step off the sidewalk, crossing the street to where his truck is parked. He walks you around to the passenger’s side, opens the door for you, and you clamber inside, dropping your purse to the floor of the truck, but then you turn back, grabbing his shoulder.

“I should explain,” you start, fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt. “He’s…he was a mistake.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he tells you, and your eyes soften again, your hand tugging at his t-shirt now. “I don’t make it a habit to go around punching people, but anyone could see he was making you uncomfortable, and I…I’m sorry, if it freaked you out.” His gaze drops, staring at his boots on the curb, your feet resting on the truck’s sidebar.

You cock a brow. “You’re apologizing? You just defended my honour in front of a bar full of people and you’re apologizing? Frankie.” You slip two fingers under his chin, lift his eyes back to yours. “I might have some explaining to do when I go in for my next shift, but you don’t have to apologize, Frankie. I should be thanking you.” Your hand curves to cup his jaw, and your thumb fits perfectly into the sparse patch in his beard, stroking light at his skin. “I am thanking you.”

He doesn’t know who leans forward first. He feels like he’s falling, for a moment, until his palm hits the leather of the seat, and your other hand moves up, knocking the hat from his head before your fingers lock into the curls at the back of his head. Your mouth tastes like mint and he hopes he doesn’t taste too much like beer as your teeth graze his bottom lip.

It’s a heavy kiss. He can feel it seeping down his throat, spreading through his limbs, spiking his bloodstream. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about kissing you from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but something in the way you’re kissing him now, something like desperation in your movements, tells him he’s not alone in that.

The noises you make have him half-hard in his jeans. He goes to plant his other hand beside your hip, but you let go of his jaw to grab his wrist, redirecting it so his palm lands on your thigh instead, feeling how warm you are through the soft fabric of your leggings. His thumb digs into your muscle, finding you hotter towards the seam, and his breathing comes faster. “You still wanna go get something to eat?” he asks, the question more of a gasp than anything as you first try to chase his lips, but then instead let your mouth glance across his jaw, down his neck and over his pulse.

“No,” you answer, kissing your way back up. “I want you to take me home, Frankie.”

He makes it halfway.

Halfway before the hand you’d curled around his bicep slides further and further down, cupping his cock through his jeans, your body leaning across the centre console and your breath hot on his ear: “Pull over.”

He does as you ask, coasting the truck along the dirt shoulder. The road is empty; you’ve only been passing cars once every few minutes thus far. As soon as he shifts into park, your belt clicks open, and you’re shuffling across the seats, swinging one leg over his waist to settle into his lap.

You kiss him hard, licking into his mouth, hands roaming his hair, tugging at the strands. It steals his breaths, pulls low moans from his chest, and you drop your hips, grinding down on him. He palms your hips, tilting his head back against the headrest as all his blood flows south, cock now straining against the zipper of his jeans.

“Would you fuck me right here?” you ask, your mouth sliding across his jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath his ear. “Right now?”

You’re wearing a skirt, and as Frankie opens his mouth to answer you, you grab his wrist, leading his hand right up under the edge of the fabric, between the juncture of your thighs. He hisses when you press his fingers against your underwear, nearly soaked through.

“You feel that?” you murmur, and Frankie feels like he’s drunk, desperate to press his fingers into you, hear more of those noises you’d made when he first kissed you, see what other sounds he can pull from you.

“You’re sure…?” he asks, the words trailing off, one brow arching, and the hand not curled around his wrist moves from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb stretching up to trace his eyebrow.

“I’m sure,” you answer, “if you are.”

It’s a mad shuffle of fabric and hands, you reaching for his belt as he shifts you back slightly, both hands diving beneath your skirt. You moan as he runs his hands over you, unabashedly reaching beneath the elastic of his boxers to pull his cock free. Frankie groans when you lean forward and spit, saliva dripping off the end of your tongue and bullseyeing the tip of his cock. Your palm covers him a second later and his hips lift off the seat, chasing your warmth.

He gets his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, smirks when he strokes you clit and you mewl, your hand stuttering on his cock. “So wet,” he remarks, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck, licking at your pulse. “Wanna spread you out and eat you for days.”

You say his name like a prayer, and Frankie can’t help himself. His fingers pinch the fabric of your underwear and he tugs. The lace rips easily, the soft tearing sound mixing with your breathing and moans.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he tells you, and you shake your head, sinking down deeper onto his lap, guiding his cock to rut along your soaked pussy. “Fuck.”

“I’m on the pill,” you breathe out, and he nods, “and I’m clean.”

“Same,” he replies, but the word snaps when the tip of his cock catches where you’re the wettest. All you’d have to do is angle your hips and—

You slide onto him in one fell swoop, his cock filling you to the brim. It’s your turn to toss your head back, and your hands move to his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt while his return to your hips.

There’s something desperate in the way you move, and Frankie hopes his movements echo yours. He’s never had his cock ridden this hard, and when you grab his chin in one hand, force his eyes up to yours, he knows he’s done for.

“You feel so goddamned good,” he manages to grit out, and the face-splitting grin you give him makes his heart ricochet in his chest.

You tilt your upper body back slightly, and Frankie takes it as an opportunity. He grabs the hem of your shirt and shoves it upward, exposing your bra. Your eyes follow his movements, and you open your mouth, letting him press the hem between your teeth, you keeping it held up while he curls his finger in the cup of your bra and pulls. Your back arches when your nipple becomes exposed, and he moves quickly, latching his mouth around it, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin.

It’s hard to meet your thrusts, bodies bent in the truck cab as they are, but he does what he can, both hands roving your back as you keep moving, pulling yourself up and slamming back down. A few more thrusts, and he finds your clit with his thumb, fingers curling around your thigh as he strokes it.

“Frankie,” you nearly wheeze, head tilting back on your shoulders, lips parted in the most perfect o-shape. “Oh fuck, god, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he commands, head snapping up to stare you in the face again. Your features are bathed in moonlight, shadowed and illuminated, and he’s struck by how beautiful you are. “Cum for me.”

It ripples through you like a tidal wave, and Frankie feels every single moment. The way you go impossibly tight, every muscle in your body bearing down on him, but your hips still snapping. The way you flood his cock, the way your face screws up with pleasure, hands clawing at his shoulders as you ride him through it. It’s a miracle he doesn’t follow quickly, forcing his body to savour your orgasm before trying to find his own.

You drape yourself over him as you come down, your chest heaving as your hips slow, but don’t stop. He turns his head as you rest yours on his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You look so pretty like this.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “Fucked out?”

He grins back, hums in approval. “Can’t wait to see what you look like once we actually get home.”

“You didn’t cum yet,” you nearly pout, and he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he can wait, but you shake your head, a finger over his lips that has his cock twitching inside you. “I wanna see you cum.”

It doesn’t take much. You’re so warm around him, doubly wet from your orgasm, and you ride him impossibly harder. The whole time, your hand cups his jaw, lips near his ear, whispering the dirtiest things that have sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine.

He tries to stifle his shout as he cums, painting your insides, and you swallow the noise, lips covering his, tongue poking past his teeth. He leans his forehead into your chest, tries to catch his breath. “If we were closer to my place, I’d drive the rest of the way just like this.”

You grin like the devil as you slowly disentangle yourself from him, both of you groaning as he slips out of you. He mourns the loss of your weight against him as you shuffle back into your seat, the scent of sex now permeating the air in the truck. It’s intoxicating.

You don’t settle back completely, however, still leaning halfway across the console, your thighs pressed tightly together as you lay your palm on his thigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I have other ideas as to how we can spend the rest of the drive,” you say, lifting your jaw to kiss his. “How long’s your refractory period?”Oh yes, Frankie thinks to himself, he’s done for. He had a hunch the first time he saw you behind that bar, but now, as he shifts the truck back into drive and feels his cock twitch with attention as your hands roam, he knows it for certain.

#my fics #frankie morales #sleepover sundae #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #done for

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