#francisco morales x y/n

[psychedelic-ink]

fuck it I love you.

pairing: frankie "catfish" morales x fem!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

word count: 4.3k

summary: pope's his best friend, he shouldn't get jealous when you talk to him– he really shouldn't. But how can he not when you've been turning a blind eye to all of his all the flirting he's been doing for the past month?

warnings: jealous!frankie, possessive!frankie, reader struggling with self worth, pov switch, cum eating/sharing, oral (receiving), piv, dirty talking, lots of praise, mutual pining, dumb misunderstandings, creampie, nicknames

a/n: this might be one of the filthiest things I've personally written, also this was requested by my beloved @inklore for the prompt "do you think you deserve this?" but since it ended up being longer then a drabble (I have no self control) decided to make it it's own post <3

requests open for pedro pascal characters, moon knight & peter parker 💌

masterlist | AO3

The music in the bar is pleasant, a nice cool breeze blowing from the small fans scattered all around the small, yet cozy, space. Frankie enjoyed coming here. He especially enjoyed it when the company was to his liking. The laughter, the conversations, all of it tickled the inside of his stomach in the most enjoyable way. 

Tonight, however, despite having the gang back together, plus you, he doesn’t feel that giddy. 

His back is snug against the leather of the booth, the rim of his comically large beer glass touching his bottom lip as he glares at you and Santi. Typically, Frankie isn’t the type to get jealous. He knew Pope was a flirt and that it meant absolutely nothing, being a chivalrous man was as natural to him as breathing. You, on the other hand, wasn’t the type to flirt just because. He isn’t even sure if you are flirting or not. The only thing he does know is that you’re laughing at his unfunny jokes and touching his arm whenever you can. It’s clear to him that you’re tipsy, in all his years of knowing you you had proven to be quite a light weight, but still the closeness the two share annoys him. 

It didn’t help that you were staying with them during your visit. Hotels were expensive so of course both him and Santi had offered you to stay. They did have an extra room after all, what’s the point of it if no one stays?

Frankie, unlike his flirtatious best friend, isn’t the best at sweeping someone off their feet but he isn’t the worst either. He’s somewhat aware that he’s easy on the eyes nonetheless he can’t just bat his eyelashes when he wants someone to approach him. 

He has… some moves– some of them which he had tried on you during your visit– the aforementioned “moves” consisted of compliments, some light touches here and there yet it was clear to him that you weren’t interested. You didn’t shy away from him but you didn’t exactly do anything either. He just gave up after a while, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

Santi, of course, soaked up all of the awkwardness, teasing Frankie whenever the opportunity arose. The asshole even offered to give him lessons in how to woo a woman. Fucking smug bastard. 

So yeah, he’s positive Santi’s not actually trying to romanticize you. Sadly, he didn’t share the same confidence when it comes to you. 

The crease between his brows deepens when you burst out laughing and drop your head on Santi’s shoulder, your arm thrown around Benny’s neck. Santi briefly glances at Frankie, his lips parting with a chuckle despite the worry written in his eyes. Frankie huffs and lowers his glass back to the table. He needs to leave. Either he leaves or he’s raising hell and that wouldn’t do anything other than make an ass out of himself. 

Just as he’s getting up he hears your voice. His ass is left awkwardly hanging an inch up from the booth when he turns his gaze to you. 

“Are you leaving?” 

Fuck, the soft whine in your tone shoots right to his cock. He licks his lips and nods, trying to ignore the stirring in his lower abdomen. 

“Yeah, I’m feeling a bit…tired,” 

While sounds of disapproval rise from the rest of the group, Santi only raises an eyebrow. You lift your head up from his shoulder and clumsily get up from your seat, almost knocking one of the glasses over but thankfully Benny moves it just in time. 

“I should head back too, I wanna go to the farmers market early in the morning–” 

“Pope can drive you back,” 

The harshness in his tone not only surprises you but also him. The air stills for a moment, an uncomfortable silence consuming the group. Frankie ignores the way Santi frowns and only focuses on the way your bottom lip quivers, guess his plan about not making an ass of himself failed. Lifting his cap, he cards his hair back and places it back on, he clears his throat. 

“I–I need make a couple of stops before heading home, that’s why I–” 

You cut him off, your voice dripping with venom. 

“It’s okay, I get it if you don’t want me around,” 

If what Frankie said didn’t make the atmosphere uncomfortable, what you just said certainly did. His eyebrows disappear under the loose strands of his hair, eyes wide as his lips part in hopes to say anything that might ease the tension rising. Frankie has no idea why you said the thing that you said and he’s not sure if he wants to find you. 

In a last ditch effort to salvage the situation, he turns his gaze to Santi, their eyes meet and the other man playfully nudges you in the shoulder. 

“Come on cariño, he didn’t mean it like that. You should go,” 

Frankie takes a mental note to treat Pope for lunch later. 

When he turns back to you, you’re already staring at him, your lips a thin line. After exchanging glances, you nod and side shimmy out of the booth. Frankie groans as you say nothing and head straight for the door. 

“Man, that was brutal,” Benny chimes, a soft whistle accompanying his words. “Why did you even say that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot,” Santi adds with the roll of his eyes. “That excuse was weak, hermano. Where are you even going to go at this hour?” 

“Fuck me if I know. She looked really pissed too– What did she even mean by that? Why wouldn’t I want her around?” 

“Maybe because you avoid her like the plague when we’re home?” Santi replies with an amused glance and intoxicating curve of his lips. “If I were you I would start by saying sorry,” 

Frankie glances towards the door, the trail you left feels cold, his heart sinks into your chest. 

“Yeah, probably. Anyway–” 

He places his hand on Santi’s shoulder right before heading towards the door. 

“Don’t be late.” 

“Pope can drive you back,” 

The words still echo in your mind. He was such a slap in the face, you knew something was wrong. You fucking knew it. Even when Santi continuously told you everything was fine, you knew Frankie was angry at you. He had to be by the way he was avoiding you. 

And you damn well know why he was acting like that. It’s no secret that you had a minor infatuation with Frankie. You like him, he’s nice, funny and always by your side whenever you felt like the world was burning. The problem is that he sees you only as a friend and nothing more. Which is what you expect, no one ever sees you more than a friend. That’s your role in life. The one no one loves, at least, not in a romantical sense. And when Frankie got a whiff of your emotions, he pulled himself back. Typical. Soon he would outright just stop talking to you. It happened a million times before and it’ll happen a million times after. 

Looking up to the dark sky you sigh, the cold begins to seep into your skin, hugging yourself to stay warm you blink rapidly. You want to cry. It’s foolish of you but deep down you had hoped that Frankie would be different, that he would see you for you and love you for you. But you guess that was just a hopeless dream. 

A sudden warmth engulfs you and you jump, before you can turn Frankie is walking ahead of you, his jacket draped across your shoulders. 

“Let’s go,” he says, voice gruff. 

You stay in place for about a second, lips parted as you stare at him. You urge your legs to move but they stay glued to the concrete, your fingers come up to the jacket’s collar and tugs at it. Frankie’s scent files your nostrils, mint with a hint of cinnamon. Your pulse quickens and you take another languid breath of him, a soft moan parts your lips when you drag your attention back to Frankie. 

When he notices your lack of presence he turns and tilts his head. 

“You coming?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

The drive back is awkward. You know it, he knows it. 

And just as you suspected, he didn’t have anywhere to go, he just wanted to avoid you. 

You don’t say a word as you move past him to go inside, you let your bag fall to the floor and kick off your shoes. When you hear the door closing behind you, you’re already made it halfway to your room. 

“Can we talk?” he calls out. “I know I pissed you off, at least let me explain,” 

With a broken sigh, you head back. He’s already removed his signature cap, which in return made you realize you still have his jacket across your shoulders. With a grown, you place it on the back of the couch and turn back to him. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” you say a bit sharper than you initially intended. “I know why you’re trying to avoid me,” 

“Avoid you?” he blinks. “This again, I’m not trying to–” 

You snort, arms crossed in front of you. 

“Yeah right, I’ve done this dance a million times, Frank. Whenever anyone gets a whiff that I like them they decide they want nothing to do with me anymore. I get it. I’m used to it.” 

Silence follows and you’re somewhat pleased to cut your losses without completely destroying your heart in the process. 

“Is that really what you think?” 

You meet his gaze, heart nearly leaping out of your throat at his tone. Anger, you quickly identify. You’ve never heard him like this, voice trembling, a hint of a growl at the end of his sentence. 

“I’ve been trying to let you know how I feel since you’ve got here. All you did was ignore me and drool over Pope. I am not the villain. You do not get to make me out to be one when I’ve been trying all this time.” 

“I never flirted with him,” you whisper, averting your eyes. “Look, I get it. I do. Really. It’s not your fault, I’m not easy to love but you don’t have to lie about having feelings for me. All you had to do was talk to me. You could’ve told me to back off and I would, I thought we were friends,” 

Your vision is blurry when Frankie walks up to you, his hands squeezing your upper arms as a sign that you should look up to him. His gaze is softer now but it’s not enough to heal you. You’re suffocating. You can’t breathe, think, or feel. All you want to do is hide from the world and remove yourself from this situation. 

“Listen to me,” he grits his teeth. “I. Am. Not. Lying– Stop selling yourself short. You always do this. Just breathe and think for a moment, why would I lie?” 

Wet eyelashes kiss the underside of your eyes, a tear slipping from between them. The world spins, leaving only him and you in the middle of a hurricane. His one hand slides up to cup your cheek, he swipes the tear away with the inside of his thumb. Your chest heaves. Frankie’s leaning in closer and closer, you only realize what his intention is when you feel the firm press of his lips, tenderly moving against yours. 

Frankie breathes you in, tongue licking your lips as a silent plea for more. Heart fluttering, you open yourself for him, he mimics your movement, opening his mouth wide while pressing his tongue against yours. His other hand comes up to your other cheek, holding your face tenderly. Tears roll down your cheeks and he kisses them away, his lips wet when they travel back down to meet your own. 

“Frankie,” you whisper into his open mouth. “Frankie, I need more,” 

He mouths at the underside of your jaw, nipping your skin as he grins. His hands slide down to cup your breast, squeezing them, he coaxes a moan out of you. 

“After everything you put me through tonight– After flirting all night in front of me– do you think you deserve it?

“I–I–” 

His grin widens at your loss for words, lips still moving across your skin. 

“I’m just kidding, mi vida. Thought some humor would lighten the mood,” 

The tension you’ve been building up for the past couple of days melts when you feel his lips once more. His open palms smooth over your curves, tongue deep in your mouth as he tastes the silent moans slipping from your lips. You’re unaware he’s leading you somewhere, your feet move without the knowledge of where to go. But you don’t care. Not when his fingers are viciously pulling at your shirt and tugging it over your head, giving you only a moment to breathe before crashing his lips against yours once more. 

You’re falling, surroundings nothing but a blur as he sucks you down into the pit of intoxicating lust. You can almost feel the wind grazing against your burning skin–  

Wait, you’re actually falling. 

A gasp rips from your throat when you find yourself sprawled across the softness of a bed. Despite the blurriness of your eyes, you quickly identify the room not belonging to Frankie but to Santi. Unlike Frankie’s room that smells airy and fresh, Santi’s space smells of smoke and the overwhelming scent of bergamot that belongs to his perfume. 

“Fran–shit,” 

You’re interrupted by your own moan that suddenly slips from your lips. Frankie’s looking down at you, eyes a shade darker with lust and want. Eyes linger on the thick outline of his cock, his lips curl up, he palms the bulge, slowly and accompanied by the delicious roll of his hips. 

“Do you have any idea–” he rasps, hand continuing to stroke his clothed cock. “––how many times I’ve dreamed of this? How I imagined your wet pussy wrapped around my cock, your legs spread wide as I fuck you? Do you know how many times I helplessly humped some pillow just to have some semblance of your presence?” 

You moan at his words, the wetness between your legs grows. Just the thought of him moaning and whining while grinding against a pillow, thinking of you, it makes you ache for him even more. 

“Does that turn you on?” he muses, undoing the button of your pants and tugging the fabric down. “Me, coming into my fist an ungodly amount of times just thinking of you? Dirty girl,” 

His name parts from your lips in the form of a whine. 

“Don’t wear out my name just yet, you’ll be screaming it a lot tonight,”

Frankie’s fingers trace the seam of your underwear, he watches the way your thighs tremble for him. He presses his fingers between your clothed folds, feeling the moisture dampening the tips of his fingers. 

“Already so wet, I’ve done nothing else other then talk,” 

His eyes meet yours, your heart stills at the exchange. 

“Do you want me to fuck you on top of Santi’s bed?” 

Fuck, you don’t want to answer that, it’s too embarrassing. But despite forcing your lips to stay shut, your body doesn’t get the memo. Heat spurs between your legs, the dark patch on your underwear spreading. He chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as he starts to draw slow circles around your clit– It feels like electricity surging across your body. The pressure builds and you can’t help but raise your hips off of the mattress, meeting the caress of his hand. 

“I want to hear it from you baby, say it.” 

“I do,” you breathe out. “Please fuck me right here right now,” 

“Your wish is my command, princesa. Turn over,” 

All thoughts desert you while you shuffle on top of thick sheets. You raise your ass into the air, effectively burying your face into the sheets that smell exactly like Santi. For a split second it confuses you, especially when Frankie’s scent is nowhere similar to his friend. 

“You’re perfect,” he hums, hand going up and down your back, feeling the dip of your waist. “So obedient, so generous, so beautiful– Fuck, how could you even think I would want to avoid such a pretty thing,” 

The sudden feeling of his cock between your wet folds makes you jump, but he quickly eases you with the tender touch of his lips between your shoulder blades. 

“Did you enjoy riling me up all night?” he murmurs. “Well it doesn’t matter. You belong to me don’t you?” 

He continues to drag his cock, every time his length brushes the sensitive bundle of nerves you gasp, your body left shivering uncontrollably. His voice is dripping with sin, it’s like having the devil’s tongue licking your ear, you can’t fight it and you don’t want to. 

“You’re mine aren’t you?” 

“I am– I’m yours Frankie,” 

“Good,” 

You whine when the warmth of his lips disappear. He kneads the mounds of your ass, groaning at the way your drips across his cock, drenching it with your slick. Your breath is so stuttery that it’s basically just a string of short, sharp breaths. You want him. You need him. The illicit thrill of being fucked on top of Santi’s bed stirs you on, it makes you even more needy and desperate. All you can smell is the bergamot and the heavy scent of your slick. His nails rake across your back, the blunt tip of his cock teasing your entrance. 

“You’re shaking,” 

He leans in, mouth an inch away from your ear as soft whimpers fall from your lips. You’re on the verge of crying, you want him so bad that it physically hurts. 

“Tell me,” his breath ghosts over your damp skin, goosebumps erupting across your body. “Have you ever thought of me while fingering yourself? Did you imagine me fucking you just like this, right on top of my bestfriends bed– Or did you imagine me taking you in the kitchen, is that why you offer to cook everynight? To entice me with a good show of your behind?” 

Your defense is violently caught in your throat when he slams all of himself inside you without warning. The thickness of his cock walks the borderline of being painful and pleasurable, choked out breaths tears away from your lungs, the two feelings mixing into a mind numbing sensation. The way your pussy clutches tightly around him makes his hips stutter forward, pushing even deeper as he bites into your shoulder. 

“Fuck, baby– You’re gonna make me cum quick if you squeeze like that,” 

Mouth parting wide, you moan at his words, your insides fluttering around him. Spit dribbles out from the corner of your lips and wets the sheets underneath. Fuck, Santi was going to be pissed. 

“Mine,” he growls, straightening his back and holding your hips. “Mine, mine, mine–” 

Your eyes roll back when he starts to move his hips. Cock sliding nearly all the way out before he rocks back into you with full force. But despite all of that, he’s holding back. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch from where they dig into your hips. The sound of your guttural moans fills the air, a string of curses mixed with his name is screamed into the sheets. Your body is on fire. It turns into an object of desire, a tool for Frankie to use as a means for his own pleasure. 

You don’t mind, in fact you want him to take whatever he wants, you would be content with just this. Him, buried deep inside you, all the time. Not another thought lingering in your muddled mind. 

Frankie’s falling apart behind you, his own moans catching up to yours. He leans forward, clothed chest flushed against your naked back. You want to feel more of his skin but your pleas for it are nothing but incoherent whines. His arms coil tightly around you like a snake, pulling you even closer as he ruts into you like a wild animal. 

You can hear the silent whimpers of ‘mine’ being repeated to you again and again. 

Frankie’s about to explode. 

You’re squeezing him tight, a sheer coat of your slick forming a ring at the base of his cock. He’s somewhat aware you’re trying to ask for something, and if he wasn’t so far gone into his own pleasure he would tease you to speak up. But with the curve of your ass pressed against his pelvis, his cock coaxing all the sweet noises he wanted to hear since forever…he just can’t think anymore. 

He presses wet kisses into your skin. You’re making a mess out of Santi’s sheets, spit and slick dripping out of you like the most beautiful fountain he’s ever seen. In his mind, fucking you right here, on top of his best friend’s bed, solidifies the notion that you belong to him and only him. Fuck, he’s acting like a dog marking it’s territory. It was stupid but the way pleasure rings in his ears makes him think otherwise. 

“I’m about to cum,” he groans, the pace of his hips quickening. 

Frankie pulls you up with him, hand sprawled across your stomach while the other wraps around your throat. Another moan escapes him when you squeeze around him like some goddamn condiment. He’s surprised when you reach out and grab his wrist, the pressure is enough for him to slow down. 

“Frankie…I–I love you, you know that right?” 

His eyes widen, heart nearly beating out of his chest as he drags his lips across the column of your neck. He doesn’t want you to think anymore. He wants to fuck every thought out of your pretty head. 

Pulling back, Frankie slams his hips, he repeats it, again and again until you’re left a babbling mess. You tighten around him, moans and cries falling from your lips as his cock slides in and out. His lips are latched against your ear, his words practically a growl when he speaks. 

“Te amo, con todo, mi vida,” 

Your head falls over his shoulder, he mouths the underside of your jaw. He wants to ruin you, he wants to feel the way you convulse around him. His hand slides to your core, drawing quick, small circles around your aching clit. You cry out, panting as you gasp for air. 

“Con todo, todo,” 

Frankie nearly chokes when you come undone around him. Your tight pussy clenching and gushing while he continues to grind his cock deeper. He keens at the way you desperately throw your arms back and pull his head in a desperate attempt for a kiss. Finding it cute, he allows you to tug him close. He tastes the euphoria on your tongue, it makes his head spin. The pressure inside him builds with each stroke of your tongue, it builds and builds until he can’t take it anymore, every time he thrusts into you his eyes roll back– It takes him one more to follow in your footsteps and cum. 

His eyelids flutter as he moans into your open mouth, warmth builds around his cock, hips continuing to push forward while he fills you to the brim. He grits his teeth at the way your insides clamp around him, your moans filling the room. 

Frankie gently lays you down on your back. You're breathing heavily, chest heaving as you look up to him. He watches the way your legs part so he could nestle between them, but instead he eats up the sight of his cum dripping out of you. The sight makes his softening cock twitch with interest. A soft whimper falls from you when he presses his lips against the inside of your thigh, mouth leaving a wet trace of open mouthed kisses as it finds your wet core. 

Your eyes roll back when you feel the swipe of his tongue, he moans at his own taste, the vibrations making the dwindling rush of your orgasm spiking once again across your body. 

He looks up to you, observes the way your brows furrow with pleasure, lips parting in ecstasy as his tongue delves deeper. Gripping your thighs, he gently pushes them over his shoulder, pulling your pussy flush against his hungry lips. You writhe at the building pleasure, legs trembling while he licks you clean. 

Sucking more of himself into his mouth, Frankie slides up your body and crushes his lips against yours. When your lips part he pushes the cum into your mouth with his tongue, relishing in the way you moan for him, swallowing hungirly at what he has to offer. 

His cock is semi hard when you wrap your legs around his waist, he grins as he pulls back, a look of mischief glittering in his eyes. 

“Seems like someone’s eager for another round,” 

“It’s just,” you pant, rolling your hips against his cock. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, I can’t help it. Also–” you fist at his shirt. “I don’t want anything between us, Frankie,” 

Just as he leans in to capture your lips, there’s a loud, almost violent, knock at the door. 

“You two better get that shit cleaned!” Santi pipes from the other side of the door. “Until then I’ll take the guest bedroom– For fuck’s sake, after all the trouble I’ve been through to get you guys together. Un-fucking-believable,” 

“Whoops,” Frankie mutters against your lips, his grin wide. “So where were we?” 

“We should–” 

“We’ll apologize to him tomorrow,” he cuts you off, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You should focus on me, mocosa,”   

“Alright,” you whisper with a smile. “You’re all that matter to me, nothing else,” 

Frankie decorates your face with fleeting, soft kisses. His heart practically melts at the words– 

“Wait, did you just call me a brat?” 

[imonabitchparade]

It is Cruelty She Wants

Rating: Explicit 18+

Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab wife!reader (third person)

Warnings: BDSM elements, orgasm denial, slightly mean Frankie, crying, one (1) pussy slap, unprotected sex, creampie, bad communication skills, a hint of eavesdropping. Not beta’d. We die like Tom here. Uhhhhhh idk what else. Proceed with caution.

Word Count: 2,600

Summary: Frankie overhears you talking to a friend on the phone about how much you love him and how sweet and soft he is in bed. He also hears about how you wish he would just let loose and fuck you until you cry.

A/N: I’ve literally never written a fic before in my life nor have I posted anything of significance here and the FIRST thing I write is self-indulgent smut???? My excuse is that I’m ovulating.

18+ Under the cut

She was tied spread-eagle to the bed with a blindfold over her eyes. She trusts Frankie implicitly. She took an excited, shuddering breath. Her naked chest heaved. Her pussy was already wet in anticipation. Frankie stood at the end of the bed. His eyes roamed over his wife's beautiful body. He couldn't wait to give her the endless, torturous pleasure that she wanted from him. She said she wanted him to be mean, oh, he'll be mean. He stepped forward.

He lightly ran his fingers over her open, wet pussy lips. She gasped loudly and her legs pulled at the restraints to close. His teasing touch was unbearable. She mewled as she felt his weight dip down on the bed between her spread legs. She knew she was in for it now. His fingers continued their teasing ticklish dance over her sensitive pussy. Just barely touching her.

"God, you're so wet," he whispered, "Look at that pretty pussy." She moaned breathily as the puffs of his words caressed her pussy just as lightly as he was. Then, she heard the click of the vibrator. Frankie chuckled darkly as she tensed in anticipation.

"You like this little toy, don't you?" He teased her. She flinched as she felt the air vibrating just above her exposed clit. He was hovering the vibrator right over the sensitive nub.

"Yes!" Her voice came out in a breathy moan.

"Ohhh... You love it when your husband plays with you like this, don't you?" He growled.

"Mmm hmmm," she mumbled.

"But I'm not going to let you cum." He said huskily.

She whimpered in disappointment.

"I want you to beg me for it first."

With that, he descended on her clit with the small bullet vibrator. He circled her little pearl repeatedly as she squealed and moaned. Her hands and feet pulled at fluffy handcuffs that kept her tethered to the bed. She couldn't escape the delicious torture provided by her husband.

Frankie grinned an evil grin as he led the vibrator down to her quivering opening. He circled it a few times. She whined incoherently. He then nudged the underside of her clit with the vibrator. She shrieked and jolted. He chased the sensitive spot as she tried to get away. He grabbed her hips with his left hand and held her pussy in place as he wiggled the vibrator mercilessly under her clit. She moaned and cried his name as her hips tried to squirm under his strong hold.

He chuckled again at the state of her. "Aw babygirl! You just can't get away, can you?" He spread her pussy lips and set to circling her clit with the vibrator again. She cried out loudly and her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow.

"This is what you wanted babygirl. You wanted me to ruin you. You told me to make you cry and I don't see tears yet." She could feel his molten gaze on her through the blindfold. All she could do was whine.

Frankie knew he had her completely in his power. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She whimpered and squirmed. Her fingers clawed at the fluffy handcuffs. Her climax was coming, and it was going to be devastating. Nothing she did would help her escape her fate.

Except for Frankie pulling away the vibrator.

The sound she made was between a whine and a cry. Whatever it was pitiful.

"Ooooh, babygirl!" He mocked cruelly. The smile in his voice was clear. "You were so close, weren't you?" He slapped her pussy lightly, but it was enough to make her squeal. The wet sound of his hand hitting her echoed in the bedroom.

"I have a new toy for us sweetheart." She felt him shift on the bed. Her labored breathing hitched.

She felt him nudge her entrance with something. She gasped at the sensitivity.

"You remember that toy I saw you lookin' at a couple of weeks ago?"

She hummed a high-pitched "mmmhmmm" as he rubbed the toy on her sex. It was smooth silicone. Long, medium thickness, curved, and if her foggy brain remembered correctly, pink. That fucking sleek vibrator that he had caught her looking at on her laptop. She had squeaked and immediately shut it in embarrassment.

She moaned out loudly as he slowly sunk the toy into her. It was good. Really good. Not as good as Frankie but god did, she feel deliciously full after so much teasing and denial.

Frankie flicked the vibrator on. She squealed in surprise and her hips lifted as much as they could off the bed. Frankie growled as he slowly moved the vibrator inside her pussy. He watched her face contort in pleasure as he pushed deeper into her tight hole.

"Ahh... Ahhhhh," She moaned.

The vibrator brushed against her cervix. It was too much for her to take. She screamed as she was so close to orgasm. Her body convulsed as waves of pleasure rushed through her. Her thighs tried to clamp around his wrist as she fought to keep from losing control. She felt her climax build and peak.

Then, Frankie suddenly stopped. He yanked the vibrator out of her pussy. She nearly sobbed in despair as her orgasm was ripped away from her again. He got up from his place between her legs and placed the vibe on the nightstand.

"What?!" She cried out in frustration. He smiled wickedly.

"Please Frankie. Please... No more. Please. Don't do this anymore." She begged as she shook her head wildly.

"And why would I ever stop? I love making you beg, sweetheart." He said as he leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. She whimpered softly, but her hands were still cuffed to the bed.

"No more please, Frankie. Let me cum." She pleaded. He could see frustrated tears wet her blindfold. It was a beautiful sight.

"You wanted this, honey." He said as he lightly nipped her lip. She whimpered as she felt his teeth.

"I need to cum." She begged, "Please Frankie. Please." He groaned as he looked down at his wife. He was aroused as hell. Her body was so beautiful. So sexy. Her pussy was dripping wet. He could smell the scent of arousal clinging to her. He reached down and stroked her pussy with his fingers.

"Please," she whined.

"You know what I think?" He asked her as he fingered her pussy. He knew she was too sensitive from the toy, but he didn't care. He was going to make her come.

"What?" She mewled as she tried to push her hips back toward him.

"I think you just need someone to take control. You have such a brilliant mind babygirl but it's constantly going, isn't it? It won't keep quiet. You worry so much sweetheart." He murmured as he slid two fingers deep into her pussy. She squealed and arched her back as he fucked her with them. "You just need me to take your mind off it all. You need me to fuck you dumb, don't you? I just wasn't mean enough for you, huh?" Frankie's own breathing was getting labored as he fucked into her with his fingers. He was kneeling over her watching her moan and writhe as tears ran down her face from underneath the blindfold. "I heard you talking to Allison the other day. You told her that I've been too nice." He leaned down bringing his body over her. She mewled as she felt the scruff of his patchy beard on the side of her face. "You told her I've been too sweet to you, sweetheart. Is that true?"

"Fr-Frankie," she moaned, "n-no, that's not what I meant." She couldn't stop shaking. Her voice waivered as she tried to tell him how much she loves him and how good he has made her feel. But he wasn't listening. He knows she loves him. He knows she enjoys the sweet, tender love he's given her in the past.

"Tell me sweetheart. Tell me the truth." Frankie said as he gently bit her nipple. She flinched and shuddered.

"Yes, Frankie," she whispered. "It's true."

He pulled back his head and gave her a dirty smirk. "I'm gonna take that blindfold off now, okay babygirl?"

She nodded, unable to speak. She shivered violently as his fingers retracted from her spent and needy pussy. She felt him lift the blindfold. Her eyes widened as she saw his face inches from hers. He smiled at her and then her heart skipped a beat as he brought his tongue out to lick the saltiness from her tear-stained cheeks.

"Look at you, honey," he whispered as he nibbled on her earlobe, "Look at how beautiful you are." He then proceeded to bring his lips down to her neck as he sucked on her. His hand went to her breast, and he tweaked her stiff nipple, causing her to gasp and moan. He lapped at her throat as he continued to suck on her. Her body was slick with sweat and her thighs were painted with her arousal.

"Mmm, Frankie..." she trailed off. She wants to reassure him that he is an excellent lover but his big, warm hands on her were just so distracting.

"That's right babygirl. I'm going to make you cum." He murmured as he pinched her nipple, causing her to buck beneath him. He then brought his mouth back to her breasts and suckled on them. Her toes curled as he teased her nipples.

His hands left her breasts and went to unbutton his pants. She whimpered and looked at him hungrily. He chuckled at her hooded gaze. He released his cock from his pants. His long, thick length was dripping with precum and throbbing in his hand. The head was angry and red while the rest of him looked almost purple from being caged in his pants. He groaned as he stroked himself a few times. She was desperate for him. She whined as she looked at her husband. She wanted to rub her thighs together to soothe the ache. She couldn't.

He kneeled on the bed yet again between her legs. She was so wet. He could smell it as he leaned down to kiss her. She moaned into the kiss and arched her back in anticipation of his touch. He smiled as he caught the tip of his cock with his thumb and index finger and pressed it hard against her slick entrance.

"Take a deep breath babygirl," Frankie said huskily as he slowly started to enter her. She inhaled deeply and let out a blissed-out sigh as his cock pushed its way into her pussy. She was so sensitive from the toy he had used earlier that her body seemed to ache.

"Fuck!" She cried out as he added another inch or so into her. She felt stretched open beyond belief. He was stretching her pussy wide open.

"Don't worry babygirl, I'll make it nice and easy for you." He said as he gripped her hip in his large hand. "I want you to relax now. I know you're excited, but you need to calm down." His voice was a soothing balm to her sticky skin.

She felt him start to move in and out of her pussy. She hadn't even realized she had closed her eyes. He gave her time to adjust to his girth before he increased speed and depth. She moaned and whimpered. He had to clench his teeth and slow his breathing to not cum too fast. She felt heavenly around his cock. She moaned and writhed under him as he fucked her.

Her head was thrown back on the pillow as she struggled to breathe. He could feel her clenching around his cock, milking him. He loved the way her tight pussy hugged him. His breathing quickened as her lustful moans filled their bedroom. She was a woman in heat. The thought was unbearably arousing. He needed to fuck her hard. His cock ached from the pleasure of fucking her tight little pussy. He felt like he would explode any second as his balls drew up tightly. He gripped her hip tightly and began fucking her harder.

"Oh god yes, Frankie," she screamed as he fucked her faster. "You feel so good deep inside me." He groaned as he pushed into her tight hole. He had never been this rough with her. He always worried he would hurt her. He felt feral. Out of control. There was no holding back. This was Frankie's fantasy just as much as it was her own.

He pulled out and slammed back into her pussy with one powerful thrust. She moaned as he bottomed out inside her. Then he did it again, and once more. He was fucking her so hard now that he could barely contain himself. She was moaning and begging for more as he pounded into her. Her hips were squirming beneath him, trying to meet his thrusts despite the restraints. He felt his release building.

"Cum for me, babygirl," He growled in her ear as pounded her g-spot. "Cum for me."

"Oh god yes, Frankie," she screamed. He felt her pussy clamp down on his cock as she came. He kept pounding until his own orgasm overtook him. He gasped as he emptied his load into her pussy. She shook and trembled beneath him as he held onto her. They stayed like that for a moment. He was still buried deep inside her.

Finally, he pulled out and stood up. She was still hazy from her climax. He undid her restraints laughing quietly to himself that Santi's gag gift had come in so handy. He walked into their adjoining bathroom to get a warm washcloth.

She peeled her eyes open as she felt her husband gently wiping down her inner thighs.

"There's my pretty girl." He cooed at her. She gave him a dopey smile. She looked absolutely ethereal. The soft light coming through the curtains blanketed her features in a blue, hazy glow. Her tear-stained expression was one of bliss and happiness. Her body glistened with dried sweat. Frankie smiled and set the washcloth in the bathroom. When he came back into the bedroom, she stretched her arms out and made a cute little grabby motion. How could he not oblige?

He settled in behind her and brought her to his chest. He buried his nose in the back of her neck and wrapped them in the comforter that was slightly damp from their escapades. He inhaled her scent and gently kissed the back of her neck. She shivered and hummed.

"You know I have always loved how you take care of me, Frankie." Her voice was quiet and a little hoarse. "There was nothing wrong with how you have loved me before."

Frankie hummed behind her. The sound rumbled through his chest and through her body that was pressed against his. "I know sweet girl." He smiled into her neck giving her little kisses as he spoke. "You wanted something that you knew I could give you. You knew I was holding back. I love you and you deserve every bit of love I want to give you."

"Thank you, Frankie." She murmured, "I love you."

"And I love you." He whispered in reply. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt a mischievous grin appear on his face. "Those handcuffs Pope gave us finally have a use."

"Francisco Elizabeth Morales!" She whipped her arm back to slap his side as she buried her face in the pillow.

"Elizabeth?!"

[madlittlecriminal]

Francisco "Catfish" Morales

(*) ➞contains sexual innuendos/light smut

(**) ➞contains smut

(��) ➞contains angst/trigger warning(s)

(°) ➞authors personal favorites

(…) ➞request

(•) ➞holiday themed

(§) ➞alternate universe (AU)

(≈) ➞headcanons (HC)

(۵) ➞prompts

(❅) ➞blurbs

-Forgive Me (...)(۵)

[scrambledslut]

makes me so eepy

[undercoverpena]

up sky, low high

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: frankie takes you on a heli-ride. you decide to test his competency and take him for a ride.

word count: 1.9k warnings: smut. 18+. there's mouth to cock action in the sky - new kink for jo? maybe. jo's interpretation of how to fly a heli is deffo a warning in itself. everyone is safe. remember he's a professional, but don't try this in the air bbys. jo’s spelling—written on phone, forgive me. moodboard not reflective of reader. an: this wouldn't be possible without @morallyinept who not only thotted with me, told me to write this, filled me with confidence at the halfway point when i sent it to her but also made the prettiest banner and moodboard for this (see at the bottom). babe ily, thank you so much for this.

It’s not ideal—not even close to safe.

Finger pushing in on the button that releases the elements of your seatbelt as you swallow, staring at him. Gawking, in fact.

Frankie always looks good, a fact not fiction.

Whether it’s first thing in the morning, sleep in his eyes—fingers scratching over his soft stomach as he yawns. Or when his eyes are hidden under the bill of his hat, dark, all mahogany brown pupils blown with lust as the thing on the television becomes forgotten.

And while he does always look incredible, there’s something criminal about the way he looks right now. Piloting, all in his element, wearing fucking competency like he was the one who first birthed it as he keeps the helicopter in the air.

Short flight, he’d said when he’d helped you into the rental.

Now, you could bet on it.

Because you're not even sure how long you’ve been in the air, too busy gazing, hungrily undressing him as he flicks switches and checks gauges. Your understanding of what he was doing lost, barely reaching a basic level.

What you do know is that if he reaches over, slides his hand up your dress and touches the fabric covering your pussy, he’d find them soaked.

But then, he’d also likely notice the way you’re taking shallow breaths, that you’ve been squirming for friction for the past so many instructions—

Because of his voice.

It all low, husky—dragged through gravel when it comes through the headset. Pointing out sights, places, but he’s the only thing you want to gaze at from this height. From any height.

That’s why the thought had arrived, to begin with, the lucrative one. The one so far gone that you try not to consider logistics and just trust in the fact he’d stop you if it was too unsafe. Your voice barely steady through the microphone, asking—layered and wrapped with demand, as your pulse quickens and your palms become slick with sweat.

You know the idea is ridiculous. Yet, somehow, you find yourself moving up onto your knees, digging them into the chair you’d just been seated on.

That’s when you see it. The glimmer, the spark, before he whines out that he’ll maintain altitude as you palm him over his cargo pants. Feeling him harden, pressing against the zipper, all thick, long and delicious as your mouth waters.

Because you need him in your mouth.

A thing you must murmur because suddenly he’s helping—lifting his hips as he whispers an oh fuck, when you drag his layers down and your hand wraps around his cock. More so when you move your wrist, dipping your head to slide your tongue to lick up the bead of want already there at the tip.

Flicking your gaze up, you find hungry eyes staring back—ones lit by the sun, shades a plenty making up the lust-filled gaze that makes your mouth open wider as you take as much of him as you can.

Fuck it’s glorious.

Both the thrum of vibrations through the cushion seat under your knees as he keeps the thing in the air and the feel of his hot length sliding against your tongue. As you take him. As you make him hiss through gritted teeth when you try to take a little more of him than you usually manage—tears springing in your eyes and your throat constricting around him—

“Careful, querida,” he soothes.

Large hand cupping the back of your head, easing, aiding, as his cock rests at the entrance of your mouth, placed perfectly on your lower lip. Breath coming back to you; eyes blinking as he darts his eyes from the world below him to you.

“You okay?”

Until now, you weren’t sure if it was possible to be more in love with him. Then he proved that even up in the air he thought of nothing but what was best for you.

Nodding, spit trailing down your chin, droplets falling to your chest where it pools as fabric meets skin, you smile. Gleam. Grin. Before making him swallow a moan as you take him again, his head falling back.

It’s then, when you hollow your cheeks do you feel him shift, allowing him, as he gently thrusts to slide his length as far down your throat as it allows. Good girl, so good, my good girl—

Humming around him at his praise, a blend of languages as he calls you pretty and perfect. And you can tell he’s close, taste it on your tongue as he begins to rock his hips, as he begins to hiss—teeth biting down on his lip, imagining his knuckles whitening around the cyclic stick.

It’s enough to make you come from the thought—close to ruining your own panties further as you press your thighs together.

Closing your lips around him, sucking and adorning, showing him, etching your love for him with the way your tongue swirls over the tip, hand gripping his thigh as he groans your name. It followed by s’close, m’close baby—

Then he pulls you off him, all with care. Spit connecting your lips to his tip as you stare at him in confusion. The line dropping, snapping—it clinging to the curls at the base of him, soaking his hair like dew on a spring morning.

“Frankie…”

It’s all you manage to croak out. Eyes wide, thoughts barely present, all cock-drunk and adrenaline-fuelled—the scent of him still there, around your nose, musk and engine oil.

“Need to land,” he replies, short, jaw tight—cock angry and throbbing between his thighs as he flicks a switch. “Can’t… can’t fuck you, unless I land.”

You’re not sure he’s ever landed so quickly, never mind so clunky. Remembering stories, how he gloats at his prowess at most of his land landings. But you have no time to question, think, or ask, before he pulls off his belt, headset and hat before reaching to yank you into his lap.

It’s clumsy—a mess of limbs, a tight squeeze as your hands skate around his neck. But you forget about it all when his mouth crashes to yours. Kissing you so hard and hungrily your teeth clash. His breath is hot in your mouth as he pants at the feel, likely tasting himself as he slips his tongue into yours.

And it’s warm, his tongue. Licking into your mouth, large hands around your waist brushing your clothed core against his cock—the hiss reverbing down your throat as you swear you feel him shake. Tremble. So desperate for you that it makes him quiver.

You love kissing him.

Could spend hours doing it. Not caring about jaw aches when you’re tangled up with him. Like right now. In some field, in some place—

“Need t’fuck you, baby. Can I fuck you please?” he asks, voice low, but tinged with a plea.

His hand balls up your dress, the other hand hooking a finger in to pull your soaked underwear from your pussy before groaning at the sight. “Hold them for me, baby.”

Swallowing, smiling—you do. Lifting, nudging yourself closer as your knees screech on the leather as you become full of molten hunger. Hovering over him as he eases the head of his cock to your slick entrance, sliding it through your folds, eyes focused on you.

“Can’t wait.”

“Then, don’t,” you whisper.

Then he hisses as he pushes in, right between his teeth. One that’s born at the back of his throat and makes an entrance into the air. Cuts. Slices. The sound so fucking hot that you clench around him when he bottoms out—mouth open in an O at how full, stretched and stuffed you feel.

“No te muevas—lemme feel you, baby. Fuck—”

Your smile widens—practically smirking. Shifting on him as the hand on your waist tightens its hold. But, you’re not listening. Even less so when you press an open-mouth kiss to his skin as you begin to move, to slowly slide your pussy up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, querida—feel so—good—incredible. Tu perfecto. Made for me, you know that…”

It’s layered—all in a breath; you answer similarly when you say that you do. Practically pressing it into the air as you pant, resting your forehead on his shoulder, as the two of you are quick to find a pace.

It’s almost drowned by how wet you are, how loud it is when he begins to thrust up into you. All aching for one another, practically feral as you feel your slick clings to your inner thighs—likely smudging against his skin as your fist clenches at his shirt. Clit brushing against the tangle of coarse hair, you’re soaking, that makes you dizzy as he begins to fuck up into you.

All deep thrusts. Making you moan—feeling nothing but good. Perfect. Amazing.

Just how he always makes you feel this way. Every, single, time—

“Need you to come, baby,” he strains, rasps, groans as you feel his hand—all expert, calloused in the right places—snake between the two of you.

It’s there, trying to disguise between letters: desperation. Despair. His touch confirms it, finding your bundle of nerves as he makes you gasp, arch, tighten around him as your hand finds refuge on the back of his neck. Your fingers slide into his sweat-soaked curls, smearing against your fingers as you clutch, grip and grasp.

And you’re aware of it now. How the cabin is warmer—windows likely smothered in perspiration—but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your body. It licks at your neck, at the base of your spine, the backs of your thighs that meet your calves.

But you’re lost in it, in him. Wanting nothing more than to come; unable to speak from how much you want to. More so as his hips cant up into you, as you begin to see white in the corner of your vision—as your body becomes more fire than bone.

Tightening around him as he shifts, an angle that makes you see fucking stars as you whine his name like it’s made of one syllable.

“—that’s it, querida. Fuck, s’good for me, I love—“

It building, so near to snapping as you hear him babbling, rambling. Your mouth is just open against his neck, moaning—the noise slipping out of you as it slams into you. His voice fading, the world going quiet as you come undone, all pulsing, all clenching down on him as it crests.

But his hips push you through it. Chasing, seeking. His pace is all sloppy, difficult, lost as you blink your eyes open to see the way his face is scrunched, lips over his teeth. And if you hadn’t just, you swear you’d come against from the sight.

That look of sheer determination, skin bathed in sweat before his eyes find yours—crystallising, glazed over and fucked out—

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper.

And his expression pauses. Relaxes.

Smooths.

His hand tightens on your hip, grunting out your name—burying it into the air as his hips stutter. Then, he whines. Spilling inside of you as he collapses back into the chair, you pressed against him, jaw all slack and his eyes clenched shut.

And you swear you can feel his heartbeat. It is all out of step with your own.

Not that you care.

Smiles painted on your faces as your eyes met his, breaths ragged, your finger wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

Before his lips slide back over yours, kissing you, writing gratitude against your mouth as the muscles in his neck flex under your palm.

an: look how pretty this issssssss. thank you so much, jett.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 | Francisco Morales x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

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.

[polaroidpascal]

let me || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : after two weeks of frankie coming home knocking on death’s door from exhaustion, you decide to give him a break.

tags : fluff !!, no use of y/n, you taking care of frankie, very small nods to sex, undressing, showering together, cuddling, short and sweet glimpse into domestic life with frankie 🥹

WC : ~1.8k

a/n : i’ve never written pure fluff before, but the frankie brainrot has reached an all-time high and i desperately need to take care of this man. hope you like this little slice of domestic life with frankie 🫶 (not beta read or proofread much, just psa!)

You’re cozied up on your recliner reading a book in the soft light from your lamp when Frankie finally comes home from work.

He opens the door gently, tiredly. He never knows if you’re going to be asleep or not, so he errs on the side of caution just in case. Plus, he’s too exhausted to make more noise anyway.

You watch him from the corner as he sets down his keys. They clink against the ceramic dish that he made for you forever ago after you had moved in together. He sets down his backpack opting to unpack it tomorrow and hangs up his hat, running his hand and fingers through his curls with a long, tired sigh before he kicks off his boots.

He turns around to see you in your pajamas wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, book in hand, the lamp illuminating you from behind like an angel descending from heaven.

No amount of exhaustion can keep the tired smile from blooming across his face. “Hey, baby,” he says, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck to soothe the sore muscles there.

“Hi, love,” you say back sweetly. “How was work?”

He answers with another sigh and tired eyes, his smile fading just a bit remembering the absolutely packed couple of weeks he’s had. “It was alright, just tired.”

Frankie has come home beyond exhausted every day for the past two weeks. The first few nights, you were already asleep by the time he came home, unable to keep your eyes open any longer to wait for him. You had sent him a text telling him to wake you up when he got home, but of course your sweet boyfriend would never do that, not when you look so peaceful in your sleep.

One night, you happened to be awake when he came home, much to his surprise. He tried to play off how drained he was, bringing you in for a hug that swallowed you whole in his broad figure, whisking you off to your bedroom to try and ignore his exhaustion. But you could see it in his eyes from the moment he walked in that he was barely hanging on, and he definitely slept hard that night.

After that, you made sure you were up every night long enough to catch him walking through the door, picking up a new novel series to pass the time while you waited.

You rise from the recliner and shuffle over to Frankie in your fuzzy socks and his t-shirt loosely fitting your frame, the wide neckline exposing your collarbones. “You look tired, Frankie. And I’m not saying that in a mean way.”

He takes you in his arms and kisses the top of your head breathing another sigh, like he’s relearning how to breathe after being so busy all day. “I know, baby.”

You stay wrapped in each other's arms for a minute, Frankie’s head resting atop your own. His dead weight grows each second that passes and you let him stay until you can’t hold him up anymore. You rub and pat his back gently before you whisper, “Why don’t we go take a shower, hm?” looking up when he lifts his head again.

He looks back at you with his big, brown, pouty eyes and mumbles, “But you’re already in your pajamas…”

“I know,” you nod, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek and glancing across his face at his tired and beautiful features. “You’re always taking care of me. Can you let me take care of you this time?”

His eyes are still pouting and nearly half closed now as he pauses, then gently nods, letting you lead him to your bedroom.

He stands in the middle of the room reaching down to the hem of his shirt to undress but your hands stop him. He looks at you confused.

“Let me,” you say. He has no protests.

He watches you lift his shirt exposing his stomach and chest, raising his arms so you can slip it over his head. You toss it to the side while Frankie reaches down to take his socks off. Your hands move down to his belt, slipping it out of the loops of his jeans. It clinks to the floor and you unbutton his pants, slipping them down with his underwear. He watches you the whole time, stepping out when you reach the bottom before you stand up again.

When you meet his gaze, the love radiating from his eyes almost makes your heart burst from your chest. You smile gently at him, reaching up to give him a soft kiss before leading him to the shower.

You run the water warm, more on the hot side, and start to undress yourself. Frankie watches you strip, the way your shoulder blades move as you pull your shirt over your head and unhook your bra. The way your spine flexes as you reach down to pull your pants off and shimmy out of them. How angelically perfect the curves of your body look.

You turn around to look at him and see tears welling in his eyes.

Immediately, your heart drops and you rush to cup his face in your hands. “Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing, I just…” He looks your face up and down examining all the features he finds so beautiful and takes a breath. “I love you so much,” he says, the end of his sentence getting quiet, tapering off choked in emotion.

You stare at the gorgeous boy in front of you, exhausted from his hard work, so full of emotion that he’s brought to tears, and you feel your own eyes start to sting. All you can do is hug him and bury your face into his chest, his warm, soft skin pressed against you as your arms clasp around him. “I love you too, Frankie.”

You feel his breath get a little quicker as he tries to keep himself in check, the fight against his tears getting harder and harder. You pull back and wipe away a few strays that started rolling down his cheeks before pulling him into the shower.

You wash Frankie head to toe helping him clean the day off. He leans down some so you can wash his hair, making sure to give his scalp a little massage while you suds up his curls. His eyes close and he softly hums as your fingers card through each strand. He loves when you play with his hair.

You gently wash his back, watching the soap slowly roll down his body as you rub circles into his skin. The muscles look tight, flexing some just with the slow breaths he’s taking. You reach up and dig your thumbs into the visible knots you see near the base of his neck where he was rubbing before. His head drops forward a bit, a soft groan leaving his lips at the relief.

You turn him around and wash his chest, watching the soapy water cascade down his pecs and stomach.

He watches you as best he can, wanting to savor every second, and he can’t help but close his eyes at the soothing feeling of the warm water flowing across his skin… the soap erasing the dirt from the day… and most importantly of all, your feather-light, loving touch behind every movement.

You rinse his chest a little and give him a soft kiss to his sternum, handing him the sponge to wash the rest of his body while you wash your own.

He silently watches you move, feeling himself get emotional again thinking about how lucky he feels to have you. That you’d do this for him. That you care so much about him. The love in his heart threatens to burst at the seams.

When you’re both done, Frankie grabs your hips and carefully spins you around before leaning down for a kiss. A kiss that’s worth a million words all condensed into one little action. A kiss that screams I love you, endlessly and eternally.

You stay under the shower head, lips locked with the silent words of affection being exchanged. You only think to get out when you feel the water starting to run cold.

When you get out, you loosely wrap a towel around yourself before grabbing another to dry off Frankie. You rub his hair and his face, draping it around his shoulders and tip-toeing up to kiss his nose before you finish drying yourself off.

You slip back into your pajamas and Frankie puts on his sweatpants before you both climb into bed together. Frankie immediately plops down on his side of the bed, lying on his back and draping his arms over his eyes as he sighs deep, finally comfortable after the long, long day he’s had.

He feels you crawl into bed with him, your weight shifting the mattress around him as you climb on top of him, legs straddled over his sides.

He moves his arms to look up at you staring at his chest tracing circles onto his skin. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he rests his head back on his pillow, but you swear you can feel his entire energy shift.

“You okay?” you ask, resting your palms on his skin.

“I…” he starts, looking up at you with sad eyes. “I love you so much, you know that… I’m just… I’m really tired, baby. I don’t know if I can—“

“Frankie,” you cut him off. “I’m not in the mood either.”

He looks at you with his pouty doe eyes again. “You’re not?”

“No,” you assure him. “I just wanted to look at you. How pretty you are. How lucky I am to have you.”

Frankie’s chest gets tight, the tears stinging in his eyes again as he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve someone like you. Who loves him unconditionally. Who takes care of him so tenderly. Who is straddled on top of him just because she wants to look at him.

Before you can catch his eyes getting redder, he pulls you down to lay by his side, cradling you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “It’s me who’s lucky to have you, amor.”

You hum and settle into his embrace, inhaling his clean scent and relaxing against his soft skin. Just as you’re starting to drift off, you hear a faint mumble, “Thank you.”

And you don’t even need to respond. You just press your body closer somehow, planting a kiss to his chin before nuzzling into his neck.

And it’s the only answer Frankie needs.

[missgurrl]

Fic Recommendations

These are some of the fics that I've read that I have been left thinking about months after!

Please check these fics for trigger warnings and 18+ content at your discretion!

Joel Miller Wasteland, Baby! by "LittleR13" Plum by @thyme-in-a-bubble Letters and Sketches by "kay_erin" Never Let Me Down by "elmapache" The Wolf and the Moon by @misspearly1 Finders Keepers by @xokiwistarship Blue Jeans n Texas Dreams by @tightjeansjavi Cruel Summer by @proxima-writes

Din Djarin A Fresh Start by @theidiotwhowritesthings Ours by "tangerinefilm" Of Love and Time by @pentechics *Naboo Nuptial which is my own work

Frankie "Catfish" Morales No More by @albertasunrise Infernal Hearts by "honeymandos" In a Week by "notanotherquarantinefanfic" Near the Waters by "paisley_print" Green Mountain State by "pedro_djarin"

Javier Pena The Crush by @the-ginger-hedge-witch Not a Piece of Art by "notanotherquarantinefanfic" Maybe Today, Maybe Forever by @freedomatsea Learning to Live by @wheresarizona The Meeting Place by @absurdthirst, @wardenparker Just Dumb Enough to Try by "glitter_diety" You're my Best Friend by @autumnleaves1991-blog *Hoofprints which is my own work

*I couldn't find everyone's blogs, please let me know if I didn't tag you! And feel free to send your recs my way to add to the list.*

[jksprincess10]

Be polite || Sub!Frankie x dom!f reader

A/N: I have 0 excuses for this. Also, this is my first time writing for Frankie. Hope it’s decent. (Didn’t suffer through that terrible movie for nothing)

CW: Lots of praises, petnames (good boy, mi amor, etc), sub/dom dynamics, pussy eating (ofc), fingering, spitting, squirting

Masterlist

Francisco Morales was a strong man. A military veteran, an ex-coke addict, the father of a little girl he had with the woman who left him.

But boy, he was the complete opposite in bed. You never thought he liked being dominated, but you found out one time by accident. And since then… you had a routine.

“Cariño, let me take care of you.”

“Aren’t you gonna be polite about it?” You asked as you cupped his cheeks between your fingers, squeezing the flesh there to make him look ridiculous.

“Please, cariño…” He pleaded again.

“I’m still not convinced, mi amor.”

And then, he fell to his knees in front of you. “C’mon, let me… Let me eat your pussy. Please.”

You smirked as you looked down at him and grabbed on his curls, freed from his usual vintage cap.

“Since you’re being such a good boy for me.” You said. “Go ahead, Frankie.”

He kissed your naked thighs and slid down your shorts, leaving them around your ankles. His kisses migrated to the cotton covering your core.

“Always so eager, aren’t you?” You cooed. “My sweet boy.” You caressed his curls softly and Frankie melted into your touch. “Come on, don’t wait if you’re so eager, baby.”

Your panties joined your shorts, and you kicked the clothes away. You laid your back against the nearest wall to keep your body from falling limp from pleasure, you knew Frankie wouldn’t stop even when you were satisfied. He scooted closer to you, following you like a sweet puppy. You spread your thighs to accommodate his broad body, swinging a leg around his shoulder.

“Fuck, thank you, cariño.” Frankie whimpered as his nose met the warmth of your core. He nuzzled at the skin there, breathing you in, before he replaced the hook of his nose by his warm, wet tongue. He traced expert circles around your clit, hitting every pleasurable spot only like he knew how to.

You pulled on his curls to encourage him, and you heard him moan weakly. So, you pulled him away for a few seconds and looked down at him, his big brown eyes wet with tears.

“If you’re gonna moan, let me hear it. Don’t half-ass this, Francisco.”

“M’sorry…”

“Don’t fucking disappoint me again.” Then, you shoved his face where it belonged. He started lapping at your folds rhythmically, and you sighed in relief. You used his mouth, hips thrusting messily against his face, and you could hear the vibrations of his moans against your skin, sending you over the edge for the first time of many.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. “Please?”

“You’re so good for asking, Frankie.” You praised. “Open your mouth first for me.”

He parted his plush lips like you asked, looking up at you with dark brown eyes that had a certain innocence to them. You folded your knees, so you’d be on his level, and took his chin between your fingers.

“Keep your mouth open and hold it there.”

His eyes were sparkling with questions, even though he fully trusted you. You spat in his mouth, and he resisted the urge to swallow everything you were giving to him.

“Now, wet your fingers for me baby.” You watched as he did everything you asked, and smirked when you saw the movement of his throat while he licked around his fingers. “Now, you can.”

You straightened up and leaned back against the wall, looking down at him with dark eyes. You were wet enough to accommodate two of his big fingers, your walls stretching at the familiar intrusion. Frankie curled them upwards slowly and completed the pleasure cycle by using his mouth on you. You breathed in and out heavily and closed your eyes to concentrate on the fire building up in your stomach.

He accelerated gradually while sucking on your clit. You cried out as you felt the vibrations of his moans on your sensitive skin, coming undone again. He didn’t stop, though, waiting for more words of praises. You caressed his curls softly and looked down at him.

“You’re doing so good, mi amor. Keep going.” You praised softly.

You woke up the eager animal inside of him with your praises. He kept lapping at your overstimulated clit like a starved man, drinking every drop of your juices, while the tip of his curled fingers kept hitting the soft spongey spot inside of you.

You felt something snap inside of you, something more intense than before, but still familiar. You tried to warn him, but it was too late. You cursed, your body shaking violently as your juices spilled down his chin, on his shirt. He grunted against you, drinking everything he could. You pulled him off you and your back slid down the wall. You sat in front of him, completely limp.

“Fuck, sorry for the mess.” You breathed.

“Hmhm, don’t be, cariño.” He said as he licked his lips, cheeks red and curls all over the place.

You pulled on his shirt to bring him closer and kissed him sweetly. Your hand traveled from his chest to the front of his pants, and you stopped moving all together when you felt how wet the fabric was there.

“Good boys don’t cum in their pants, Frankie.”

[maggotzombie]

Hello Love, May I Please Request A Smut Where Pedro Pascal Is Injured From The Gym And Reader Doesn't Wanna Have Sex With Him Because She's Afraid To Hurt Him But He Convinces Her He's Okay Please?

gentle touches ; pedro pascal

PAIRING — Pedro Pascal x Reader (fem) SUMMARY — Pedro has overdone his workout and is feeling the results on his body. You're trying to give him space but he has other plans. WORDS — 3,3k TW — 18+ MDNI!, established relationship, mention of minor injury, very explicit smut (unprotected sex, oral sex, vaginal intercourse, very slight spanking, creampie), some language (you know, the dirty talking kind). A/N — This was a challenge. I was not planning for this to be my first Pedro fic (I'm actually in the middle of writing what I thought it'd be lol) but my mind quickly started putting this together once I got this request but, at the same time, I everything I wrote didn't sound right. So it took a little while hehe Hope you like it, anon! 😘

— 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

HE’S TRYING TO HIDE IT since he came back from the gym a couple of days ago and you’re pretending to not have noticed it. But can he really hide anything from your exceptionally vigilant eyes?

Pedro never was good at keeping things from you either. He usually spoils his own surprises because he’s way too excited about them so he ends up admitting what he’s been planning with a huge smile on his face. And, to be honest, you love how fast he talks when he’s telling you everything.

But, yeah, despite his trainer’s warnings, Pedro has overdone it in the gym and is feeling every bit of the consequences on his body. It doesn’t help that he’s not that young anymore and he’s also stubborn as fuck, even going as far as assuring you that everything’s fine when you ask him.

Either way, you’re giving him space to heal, not that he wants any. You’ve been positively ignoring the looks he has been giving you since you were doing a yoga routine in the living room yesterday.

You look up from the book you’re reading when Pedro walks into the room. His lips turn into a smile as soon as he sees you lying on the couch and he quickly makes himself comfortable on top of you, resting his head on your chest.

You chuckle, your fingers immediately burying in those amazingly soft chocolate locks of his. “What’s up, baby?” You ask opening your legs wider to accommodate his body.

“I’m bored,” His voice is a little muffled as he buries his face in your chest.

“Wanna go for a walk?” You suggest, looking down at the crown of his head.

“No, I'm not really in the mood to go out,” Your boyfriend says.

Figuring he’ll just tell you what he really wants at some point, you just say: “Okay,” And go back to your book, which you prop against his back.

Pedro rests his head more comfortably on your chest and you lower your hand from his hair to stroke his back absently. You don’t pay attention to his hands as he traces patterns in your skin but you can’t ignore the goosebumps they leave in their wake when Pedro caresses sensitive spots.

You catch yourself reading the same line multiple times before actually comprehending it. “What’s your book about?” He asks casually.

“Uhh… It’s a thriller,” You reply once you get your head together.

“It must not be that good, you’re not actually reading it,” Pedro comments, his hands carefully going from your hips to your thighs.

“Actually, it’s very good,” You frown, looking down at him. “What do you mean by that?”

He looks up at you with a slight smirk. “You haven’t flipped a page in five minutes.”

You scoff, embarrassed for getting caught right-handed. “That’s because you’re distracting me!” You point out. “Could you keep your hands to yourself, please?”

Still smirking, your boyfriend raises both hands before settling back down. But it doesn’t last too long. This time, he gets bolder and tucks his hands under your shirt, making you squirm under his touch.

“I have an idea,” He starts to pepper kisses on your chest. “Since you’re not that into that book and I’m bored, we could entertain each other.”

You don’t even reply because you’re so distracted by the way his nimble fingers tease one of your nipples over your bra. Your body begins to respond to the stimulation almost instantly, that sweet tingly sensation traveling down your spine and settling on your core.

Pedro’s lips against your chest make a shiver run through your body and he easily reaches up to your neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin before easing it out with his tongue. An involuntary moan slips past your lips as he suckles a hickey on that spot in your neck that makes you go insane.

When your brain starts to function again, you realize you’re tilting your head back to give him more access to your neck so he can continue his ministrations while your eyes are closed and you’re fisting his shirt.

Then it downs on you that it’s what he wants when he came looking for you. Which is fine, until you remember his injury.

“Hold on,” You abandon your book and pries Pedro’s face away from your neck with both hands on his shoulders. “I don’t think we shouldn’t have sex right now.”

He makes a face. “What? Why the fuck not?” He asks, confused.

“Honey, I don’t want to hurt you,” You thumb the spot on his cheek where his dimple appears when he smiles.

He shakes his head. “You’re not gonna hurt me, what are you talking about?” Your boyfriend reaches forward and attaches his lips to yours.

You don’t push him off you immediately. Instead, you kiss him back, getting lost in the sensation of his tongue in your mouth. Then you move him away again but not before biting on his bottom lip and eliciting a breathy groan out of him.

“I meant, more,” You say, panting slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you more,” You look down at his swollen lips as they look even more appealing now.

“I’m not hurt, baby,” He says, trying to go for another kiss but you stop him.

You glare at him. “Pedro,” You say and he sighs. “You know you can’t keep anything from me.”

“Okay! Yeah, I’ve got hurt in the gym a couple of days ago but it was a minor injury and I’m better now,” He confesses rapidly. “Can we fuck now? Because you’ve been killing me all this time with your yoga shit and these fucking tiny shorts,” Your boyfriend squeezes your ass and you can feel his erection when he presses you against himself.

You smirk at his confession. “Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” Pedro hums, dipping his head to kiss your neck.

You feel your skin prickle with goosebumps in response to his lips and you close your eyes. “Are you sure?” You ask again in all seriousness. “Are you really better?”

“I’m fine,” He rasps, dragging his lips across your jaw.

You buckle your hips against him unwittingly and he moans at the friction. You end up locking your legs around his hips and, in desperation, you hold his jaw and bring his lips back to yours. Pedro gladly kisses you back, tucking his hands into your shorts.

Settling into the couch, something pokes into your back uncomfortably. “Hold on, hold on,” You push him away again.

At first, he thinks you’re about to protest again. But, when you remove the book you were reading from under you and throw it carelessly on the coffee table before pulling him down by his t-shirt, Pedro knows he’s won.

Your boyfriend smiles into the kiss and holds your hip with one hand while grabbing your thigh with the other. He presses his erection against your core again just to hear your sweet whimper.

But he’s not the only one that knows your weak spots and you quickly work to your advantage, lowering your kisses to his throat this time. In addition, you slip your own hands under his shirt, and his reaction from your nails running up his back is to buckle his hips again.

“Fuck, baby,” He hisses as you nip his neck.

You suckle a spot, giving in a hickey of your own before moving away to see the product of your work. But you get distracted at the look of him – his disheveled hair is pointing in every direction, his lips are swollen from your kisses, and his eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown with lust. Everything is a product of your work as well.

“You’re so sexy, corazón. Mi mamacita perfecta,” Your boyfriend murmurs, looking down at you as his hands slowly run up your sides, taking your shirt with them.

You nearly melt into a puddle at him speaking Spanish. “Yeah, papi?” You ask.

The look on his face at your choice of words is downright obscene and he says something in Spanish under his breath that you didn’t catch. It also does make him move more urgently, taking off your shirt more and throwing it somewhere in the living room.

Pedro kisses you fervently before trailing his kisses down your jaw and neck. You moan at the feeling of his hands kneading your breasts and teasing your nipples over your bra. He slips both hands under you when you arch your back and easily unclasps the undergarment as his mouth travels further south, nibbling on your collarbone.

“Tan hermosa,” His warm breath against your skin gives you goosebumps again and you shiver in expectation.

He peppers your chest with wet kisses until arriving at the valley of your breasts. Your boyfriend drags his soft lips against your skin and his mustache tickles you, but you love it. You arch your back again and Pedro chuckles against your skin, sensing your desperation for him to take your nipple into his mouth. He mumbles for you to calm down in Spanish and does what you wish.

Immediately, you tangle your fingers into his curls, moaning at the feeling of his tongue. After a bit, he switches to the other nipple but keeps teasing the previous one with his thumb.

Even though the sensation your his mouth on your tits is wonderful, you’re getting so aroused that it’s starting to ache.

Absently, you push his head down. “Baby,” You whine, squirming under him.

“What’s going on, corazón?” Pedro’s hair is even messier now. He tilts his head, cupping your back as he looks up at you. “Do you need me lower?” He kisses your underboob and then the spot above your navel. “Maybe here?” His fingertips brush your clit over your shorts.

“Y-yes,” You sound winded at the slight touch. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” He nuzzles your stomach before dragging his lips and nose down your belly button.

Pedro keeps spreading feather-like kisses down your body and the anticipation only makes you ache more for his touch. You know he’s in the mood for teasing when he doesn’t waste the time slipping both your shorts and panties down your legs. He does take his time kissing the way back up your legs though.

You know you’re embarrassingly wet as you could feel the air colder against your core. “Mami,” Pedro muses after kissing your knee. “You’re dripping wet.”

Your boyfriend runs his index finger across your folds, gathering some of your slick, and it nearly makes you burst into flames. “Baby, please,” You stutter, buckling your hips toward him once again. “Stop playing around and eat my pussy, papi.”

He groans, as you expected, and moves toward your core quickly. Throwing your left leg over his shoulder and pushing your right one to expose you more, Pedro dives in, licking a long stripe of your pussy right away. You moan loudly and shiver at the same time, knotting your fingers into his hair again.

The vision of Pedro buried in between your legs is something that you want to burn into your memory. The way his hair falls over his forehead and how he closes his eyes in focus as his tongue works, lapping out everything you have to give him like a starved man.

As usual, he eats you out perfectly, alternating between sucking your clit and flicking his tongue on your folds. “Fuck, baby,” You cry out, buckling your hips against his mouth. “Your tongue feels so fucking good.”

Your boyfriend groans and the vibration only adds to the feeling, making you throw back your head with a loud groan. You hold his head harder against your pussy and you lock eyes with him as he pushes two fingers into you.

“Oh, shit, papi,” You gasp, moving your hands to your breasts.

He moves his mouth away and licks his lips. “Does this feel good, mi vida?” Pedro asks, pumping his fingers in and out.

“Yes,” You close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of his fingers.

Pedro moves one of your hands away from your boob and covers it with his own, pinching the nipple with his nimble fingers. The added sensation makes you clench around his fingers and he curses in Spanish, reattaching his mouth to your clit.

The combination of his tongue flickering quickly on your bundle of nerves and his fingers scissoring inside you has your legs quivering.

“Oh, God. No, baby, stop,” You ask, panting. You push his head away. “Stop,” You repeat. “I need your cock. I want to cum on your cock.”

“You will, baby girl,” Your boyfriend reassured you but keeps moving his fingers.

You reach out and grab his face, making him look at you. “I want your cock inside me right now, Pedro,” You demand more firmly.

He nods, pulling his fingers away. “Yes, vida.”

Pedro pushes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean as you sit up to help him out of his clothes. You remove his shirt but he attaches his lips to yours before you could do the same with his shorts. Even so, you reach out and pull his shorts and boxers briefs down to his thighs.

He opens his mouth but whatever he is about to say dies on his lips as you take him in your hands. Instead, your boyfriend groans and immediately thrusts into your fist. You pump his length a few times and he pulses in your hand, ready to stretch you out. So you line him up at your entrance without waiting for him to fully remove the rest of his clothes.

Pedro fills you up with a thrust, pulling loud noises out of both of your throats. “Fuck, corazón,” He rasps with his eyes closed, basking at the sensation of you squeezing him. “You feel so good.”

“You too, baby,” You say, searching for his lips. “You’re so big,” You gasp.

He kisses you and starts to move slowly. You moan as he stretches you out, wrapping your legs around his waist, your brain turning into mush. As the pace starts to get more rapid, you stick your nails to your boyfriend’s back, mewling as he nibbles on your neck and collarbone.

When Pedro grabs your left leg, raising your knee to waist level, your eyes roll to the back of your head. The new position gives him more space to move and makes his cock reach new spots inside you.

“Oh, shit,” You cry out, holding to him tighter.

“Yeah, baby?” Your boyfriend huffs, looking at you. “Do you like it like that?”

“Y-yes,” You whimper, grasping onto his arm. “Yees, papi, like that.”

You don’t even need to ask him to go faster because he does it as soon as you stop talking. The sound of his hips slapping against your thighs starts to get louder, echoing around the room along with your moans as he fucks you into the couch.

After a little bit, Pedro’s movements start to slow down. “Hold onto me, corazón,” He says.

“Huh?” Your lust-induced brain doesn’t quite register what he says.

Instead of repeating, your boyfriend wraps an arm around you and pushes both of you off the couch. He sits down with you on his lap and manages to remove his shorts and underwear, spreading his legs wider.

Pedro looks up at you, settling back against the backrest cushions. “I want to watch you ride my cock, princesa,” He says.

You smirk, resting both hands on his shoulders and starting to bounce on his length. “Like this?”

He rests his head back and closes his eyes. “Sí, bonita,” Pedro moans.

You giggle and, without halting your movements, you cup his face and kiss him. Your boyfriend rests his hands on your hips and you bite his bottom lip, causing him to squeeze your flesh.

Pedro’s attentive eyes rake over your body as you ride him, his hands following it sometimes. He cups your breasts, kneading them before guiding his mouth to capture your nipples again. You cradle his head, encouraging him to go on as your fingers massage his scalp.

He begins to thrust his hips up when your movements falter with fatigue. To keep meeting his movements, you readjust your body, resting your forearms around his shoulder to use the backrest of the couch as support.

At the same time, a slap to your right ass cheek startles you slightly but it also fuels your desire. Another slap to the other cheek has you whimpering lewdly and your boyfriend groans, holding onto your hips and helping your movements up and down on his cock.

You pull on his hair to make him look at you and he groans, grinning when he looks up at you. You take his lips and moan into his mouth as you grind your hips against his, enjoying the way your clit rubs against him. Pedro catches on to that and guides his thumb there.

A bolt of electricity makes you shiver the moment he starts to rub you and you throw your head back, cradling his neck as he looks up at you, rocking against him urgently.

He can sense your orgasm building up by the way your pussy starts to squeeze him. So he keeps toying with your clit as you return to bounce on him with more purpose, snapping your hips down onto him.

Your mewls don’t make a lot of sense anymore and Pedro’s groan joins your sounds. Craving more speed, he wraps both of his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as fucks you faster than before.

You scream, burying your nails on the cushions as your orgasm takes over you, your body trembling against Pedro. He doesn’t let you go and keeps fucking you through your orgasm, your pussy squeezing him deliciously and milking him perfectly.

“Fuck, baby girl,” Your boyfriend gasps. “Look at me,” He asks, feeling his cock swell.

You rest your forehead against his and he becomes more vocal, howling and shivering slightly as his thrusts start to falter. His cum coats your walls and he keeps fucking it further into you with the last snaps of his hips before slowing down to a stop.

None of you can form any coherent sentence and the only sound in the room is from your heavy breathing. With his cock still inside of you, your body keeps convulsing on top of him with aftershocks. Pedro curses when your pussy squeezes him again.

A soothing hand starts rubbing your back, easing you off the orgasm as your heart continues to race. He finds your lips and he kisses you sweetly, a stark contrast from the way he was fucking you literally a minute ago.

“Are you alright, corazón?” He rasps, his voice thicker.

“Yeah,” You croak out, raising your head from his and cupping his face. “Are you?”

“Fucking A, baby girl,” Pedro replies with a lazy smile and you chuckle.

“Does anything hurt?” You raise an eyebrow, playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

“Not right now,” He says truthfully. “The only thing I can feel is your sweet pussy making me hard again,” You roll your eyes but keep smiling. “Do you know you drive me crazy when you call me papi?”

“Why, honey. That’s why I do it,” You giggle at his face when you tell him that.

Once again, Pedro surprises you by lifting you up in his arms swiftly. You yelp, both in surprise and at the feeling of his cock sliding out of you. You begin to leak on him, but he doesn’t seem to care as he gets up from the couch.

You clutch onto him, looking at him questingly. “I’m gonna fuck your brains out in the shower,” He says, determined.

“Ay, ay, papi!” You say and giggle when he grunts, shaking his head.

[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║ XIX

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: once a month you and frankie play a game.

warnings: pray/predator, chase kink, piv, gun kink, facial, lotta pet names used by frankie, dirty talking

a/n: it's not mentioned specifically but there is a safeword in place, this is a consensual scenario. enjoy xx

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, the tips of your fingers tingling with fear, numb from the cold. Your lungs feel like they might explode at any given moment. They convulse as you inhale shuddering breaths, the air chilling your organs. Running becomes more difficult with every passing moment, the maze you’re in doing little in showing you the way out. He’s not that far away, you can sense his deep brown eyes observing your every move, taking across your skin like the prey that you are. 

Once a month you two played this game. Santiago, the fucking magician that he is, knew someone that owned a maze. It’s a horrific place, and you’re hundred percent sure that The Shining was filmed here. No one could convince you otherwise. 

Your feet slow down, coming to a halt. Another dead end. Chewing your bottom lip raw, you look up, all you can see is the dark cloudy sky. A series of loud caws echo within the maze, it makes you tremble and urges you to go back the way you came from. Just as you’re about to turn, you see a dark silhouette passing by. You jump, fear coating your skin in the form of cold sweat. The click of a gun follows and you immediately start to run the other direction, not caring if you’d already taken that path or not. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” you hear Frankie call out, his voice low laced with an unspoken threat. “I would’ve already caught you if I wanted to,” 

He means that. However, it isn’t your fault. The only thing you know is how to run, and even that you can barely do with such little exercise that goes on in your life. Frankie is a trained soldier, and a good one at that, you don’t stand a chance against his skills and  experience. You swallow, the knot in your throat growing as you desperately try to ignore the ache between your legs. You enjoy seeing him like this, it’s thrilling. There was just something so enticing about seeing him so in control, fully in his element. 

You will your legs to move faster but stumble instead, catching yourself at the very last moment. Your chest heaves, hurting and throbbing as you take in deep breaths. You feel sick, stomach churning uncontrollably. You feel disoriented as you run, every path you choose seeming familiar but not at the same time. Your mind tricks you into thinking that the moist soil underneath you starts to slip, the maze spinning and spinning. His steps grow closer, or maybe he’s already ahead of you. You don’t know. 

“I can smell the fear clinging to your skin. Being afraid isn’t going to help you sweetheart!” 

Where is his voice coming from? Is he behind you? In front of you? Shit. 

You lose this race every time, just once you would want to win. Just once you want to see that finish line–

Another turn and you see it, the iron gate. Ivy fills the emptiness between bars, roses mid-bloom scattered across the dark green. If it was any other moment you would revel in their beauty, take a mental picture, but you can’t stop when you’re already so close. Your calves tremble. You don’t hear nor feel Frankie anymore. Doubt curls around your mind like the ivy does to the gate, is this actually the exit? You’ve never seen it before so you don’t really have a base of reference. 

A slow cap rings into the night, the sound nothing bu mocking. Goosebumps lick your chilled, yet still warm, skin. You shudder at the sound, slowly turning as your heart beats like a bird in a cage. You see Frankie right behind you, his head tilted, a cruel-mocking smile tugging at his flush lips. The gun hangs loosely on his back, the strap covering a part of his chest. What a shame, you think as your gaze lingers on the strap. 

“You almost made it,” he teases, taking a step forward. “Congrats,” 

“I can still make it. You still haven’t captured me,” 

There’s an unbridled challenge in your tone, you tilt your chin up. The wind blows cold between you, his smile grows and you watch as his thick fingers curl around the strap around his shoulder. He gestures towards the gate with his chin, his grin never wavering. 

“Go on then, try to make it.” 

Your heart stills. The tone of his voice is enough to strengthen the pull your body already has towards him. You almost move towards him instead, your mind deeming that you’re already fighting a lost battle. His eyes glimmer with amusement, his eyebrows knitted together, it completes his look of pity. 

And only then you snap out of it. 

You run towards the gate, skin bursting with sweat, you feel the grime and dirt that clings to your skin. It disgusts you but you don’t care. Every nerve in your body is screaming for you to push forward, to run faster. You reach forward, a phantom sensation of iron touching your fingertips makes you smile– 

Your world shifts and the air is forced out of your lungs. The gate disappears. You feel his rifle on your throat, his chest flushed tightly against your back. You struggle but it’s in vain, his grip as strong as steel. Frankie hums, the curve of his nose brushing the side of your face, he inhales your scent and pulls you closer to him, you let out a whine. 

“So close,” he keens. “Yet so far,” 

He grinds his hips into your ass, a hushed gasp falling from your lips as you feel the hard outline of his cock. The gate forgotten, you lean into him, your body seeking to feel more of him. 

“I love watching you run, mi pájaro bonita,” his tongue touches your neck, a shiver climbs up your spine. “However, I think I like having you trapped in my arms a bit more,”  

You find yourself suddenly laying on the ground, the soil cold underneath your heated body. Frankie towers over you, still standing tall as he keeps the rifle upright between your legs. When your gaze flickers up to meet his, you can barely see the color of his eyes. 

“Make yourself wet for me,” 

When you stay completely still, he presses the gun further into your arousal, you whimper at the friction, your pussy already throbbing from the chase. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” 

You quickly shake your head, his tongue similar to what he used when he was still a soldier. Biting your bottom lip, you raise your hips, grinding up into the weapon with trembling legs. The pressure makes your eyes roll back, arousal staining the seam of your underwear. Frankie’s hungry gaze prompts you to move faster, and you thrust your hips accordingly. Each time you slide up the barrel of the gun, light bursts within your eyelids, little black dots hovering in your vision when you open them. Your moans become louder, breathier. For a split second you drag your heavy gaze up to him, a gasp parting your lips at the same time, with a growl he starts to move the rifle up and down, adding more pleasure to your already aching pussy. 

“Frankie–” you mewl, your back arches. “Please fuck me–” 

His nostrils flare as he breathes, exhaling from his mouth. You roll your hips, your gaze falling to the rifle, you see it shine with your slick. Your head falls and you stifle a moan with the back of your hand. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he rasps. “So pretty…You like it when I chase you around baby? You like it when I tease you with my gun?” 

A whimper escapes your throat and you furiously nod, lips still hidden behind your hand. Annoyed, Frankie clicks his jaw, head tilting to the side. 

“Words baby,” he hisses. “Let me see those pretty lips,” 

Shaking, you remove your hand. 

“I-I love it when you chase me around…and when you tease me with your gun,” 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. Frankie lets his gun fall to the ground and kneels between your legs. He tugs down your jeans, thumb notched between your wet falls. Frankie hums with approval. “So wet, want me to fuck you with my big cock now amor?” 

“Please…” 

When he’s inside you the world around you stops. Everything is a rainbow of blurred shapes and colors except for him, sparks fly across your mudded skin at the way he stretches you wide, a tingle of pain pooling between your legs and spreading throughout the rest of your body. It feels impeccable. Frankie lets go of his body, his full weight heavy on top of you, a feeling akin to a heavy blanket. His skin smells of sweat and gunpowder. As he thrusts into you, you inhale him again and again, reveling in the way he groans into your ear. 

It doesn’t take you long for you to shatter underneath him, the adrenaline and the pleasure combining into one mind numbing firework. Your body lifts from the patchy earth, arms wrapping around the column of his neck as your muscles go taut. His hard thrusts fades into a soothing grinding of his hips, his eyelids flutter as you squeeze his cock and gush around him. 

“You were just waiting for my cock to cum weren’t you?” he asks between pants and you whimper. With a smile Frnakie leans in to nuzzle your neck. “So good to me, always. Can I cum on your pretty face sweet girl?” 

“Yes,” 

Frankie chuckles at the way you pout when he pulls out of you, his cock still hard and heavy as he makes his way up to straddle your chest. The tip of his cock is a mouthwatering red, you stick your tongue out, watching with a lust filled gaze as he fists himself only an inch away from your face. His head falls back, your eyes follow the way his veins meander down his neck, his muscles tense as he groans. You swear it’s the most beautiful sound you hear. 

“Mine,” you hear him say from underneath his breath. “Mine, mine, mine–” 

He sounds hysteric, animalistic, it makes you shudder. 

“I’m yours,” you whisper, his gaze drops to you and you repeat. “I’m yours, now mark me, baby– Please,” 

His hips stutter as he cum, a loud moan following as thick ropes of cum stain your face. You feel his seed heavy on your eyelashes, on your lips, on your cheeks– You dart your tongue out to taste him, and as you do the feeling of his lips follow. 

Frankie kisses you deeply, tongue swirling in your mouth and sucking yours between his lips. You openly moan into his mouth, your insides shivering with the memory of his cock. 

He pulls away and you feel him wipe away the cum from your face, when you finally open your eyes, he decorates your skin with fleeting soft kisses. Your lips part with a giggle. 

“You’re tickling me– Stop!” 

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking down at you. “You lost, you remember this month's bet right?” 

You roll your eyes but your lips give away your good mood. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be cooking for two weeks,” 

“I still think it would be fair if we made it a month,” 

“Nothing about this is fair, in which universe do you think that I could ever outrun you?” 

“Hey you were actually close this time,” 

“Yeah you allowed me,” you place a hand on his cheek, thumb drawing slow circles across his damp skin. “I’ve read history before you know, you’re acting like one of those monarchs that gives their people hope on purpose so they keep submitting,” 

“How about I tie one hand behind my back next time,” 

“That sounds intriguing but you have nothing to worry about Frankie,” you lift yourself up to kiss him. “I love doing this, I don’t ever want to stop,” 

“Hmm, I’m happy to hear that,” 

“The tying your hand thing sounds fun thought, if we do that I can consider doing the punishment for a month if I lose," 

“You got yourself a deal.” 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

[jake-g-lockley]

hi there! I'd love to request prompt 4 and/or 7 with Frankie Morales, please, I would actually start screaming, hope you're having a lovely day <3

Chocolate Eyes (Frankie Morales x reader) Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompts: The hand behind their nape when they’re embarrassed, Almost kissing but someone walks in 0_0 A/N: Hi there!! Thanks for the ask <3! I hope you’re having a lovely day too. Frankie fluff is like a drug to me, so I hope you like this hehe Word Count: 1.6k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your best friend waddled around the room, looking for a dress that she had been begging you to try on. She moved particularly quickly for someone so heavily pregnant and it made you very anxious.

“Slow down Jess, you’re going to push that baby out of you.” you chastised her with a small chuckle.

Jessica yanks the white and blue sundress from her closet with a “Tada!”. You stare at it, wondering whether you could look even remotely pretty from something so beautiful. It had a low neckline, puffy sleeves and screamed summer but you shook your head, feeling that you could not pull it off.

“Oh come on, honey, you’ll look great. Trust me, you’ll definitely turn some heads.” she said, kissing your forehead and wiggling her eyebrows.

You rolled her eyes at her comment. She didn’t mean “some heads”, she was talking about one specific head that you’d pick out of the 7.8 billion heads on the planet. It had been a few years since you saw him, with you going to university. You had given up on him after he didn’t show up to Jessica’s wedding to William Miller, willing yourself to forget about him.

But here you are, a small sad frog playing on your broken heartstrings, trying to piece back together the feelings that you had for Frankie Morales. You missed his curly brown hair that was hidden under his cap and his beautiful smile that was accentuated by a perfect little dimple on his right cheek. You missed his eyes, the beautiful eyes that were the colour of freshly melted chocolate and were full of so much kindness.

You gave Jessica a small smile as she rubbed your shoulder sympathetically.

“Look, this is your chance to get to know all of the cute young bachelors that are going to be at the baby shower. I’m not letting you go without dolling you up. After all, this can just be my practice round before this little princess grows up.” she says, rubbing her tummy.

“Fine, as long as you don’t make me look like a clown.”

“Aye, aye, captain!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jessica kept her word and you gasped at your reflection when she turned the makeup chair around. Soft makeup adorned your face, accentuating your features and your hair fell around your head in magnificent curls. A jewelled headband adorned your head and the dress fit perfectly. You gave Jessica a big hug before holding her hand and leading her downstairs for her baby shower that you had been preparing for all day. At the bottom of the stairs you were met with Santiago who gave you the biggest smile and hugged you tightly.

“¡Ay, chica! When did you take your nose out from your books and decided to visit us?” He chuckled as you pout and punched him playfully in the stomach.

“Oh I’d save that punch for someone else if I were you, if you know what I mean.” he said almost immediately and you frowned further, administering another punch, making him groan. “Leave her alone Pope, how’ve you been, sweetheart.” Benny pulled you out of Santiago’s arms and into his, making you squeal.

“All good, Benny, still being a menace?” you smile sweetly up at the 6 feet tall man.

“As always.” he replied with a small smile playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but look around for Frankie, your eyes searching hopefully willing for them to meet his sweet brown ones, but to no avail. You sigh and help Jessica to her seat, when the front door opens and the atmosphere of the room changes. Your heart stilled the moment Frankie waltzed through the door, every cell in your body screaming for oxygen as you conveniently forgot how to breathe.

He looked different, a little older with a few grey hairs decorating his crown of brown curls. He had ditched his usual hat and casual shirts for a more formal button down and slacks. The crows feet were more prominent at his eyes when he grinned, but they framed the same beautiful eyes that you had been looking for all these years.

He stopped in his tracks when he looked at you but he didn’t look surprised at your presence, but more of your appearance. He took a second to look you up and down and you blushed, a smile creeping up your face as Jessica tapped your hand. William shoved Frankie’s shoulder with his, nudging him forward. It was then when you noticed he was holding two bouquets.

He knelt down in front of Jessica and kissed her forehead, handing her a bouquet of beautiful pink roses which she cooed at. He then slowly stood up and turned to you, his eyes big and wide as he took in your appearance from up close. You wanted to scream at him, hit him and walk away but you were held captive by his matured beauty. His hand found yours and he brought it up to his lips, kissing it gently, sending an array of butterflies to attack your insides.

“Hi.” he whispered and you didn’t realise how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“Hi.” you said back as you clutched the hand that he kissed close to your heart.

He handed you a bouquet of blue dyed Gardenias and you took a second to glare down at Jessica who was busy sipping on her juice and grinning at her husband.

“They’re beautiful, Francisco, thanks.” you whispered and he raised a hand to the nape of his neck and blushed.

You couldn’t help but grin at his bashfulness, letting him stir you aside as guests started to pile into the house with gifts and well wishes for Jessica. He plucked a flower from your bouquet and tucked it behind your ear, letting his hand slide down to graze your jaw and tip your chin up to meet his eyes.

“You look heavenly.” he breathed.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” you say, feeling yourself get dizzy from all of the attention he was giving you.

Your sweet dream was broken when Santiago yelled, “Catfish, you simp, come here we gotta toast!”

You rolled your eyes at your boys and smiled down at the beautiful bouquet, your heart feeling content for the first time in a long time.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You busied yourself with carrying the gifts up to the nursery, arranging them in piles so that the Millers could have a proper look at them once the party was over. A soft knock sounded at the door and before you could say anything, Frankie opened the door and slipped inside. You smiled at him and he carefully approached you, sitting cross legged beside you.

“Sorting the gifts, huh? Anything good in here?” his first full sentence to you in years made you look up from your work instantly.

“Other than burp clothes and tons of nappies, nothing that we could use.” you chuckled.

Frankie reached out and grabbed a big teddy bear, observing its face before hugging it close to his chest. The action made your heart yearn bad and you stifled a smile as you watched him snuggle his nose into the bear’s head.

“How’ve you been, miel?” he asked, tilting his head so that his eyes met yours again.

“Could have been better, you?”

“About the same as you.” he replied, sighing into the teddy.

“Feels like I’m missing something.” you decided to casually take a leap.

“Me too, miel.”

Frankie straightened his back and scooted closer to you, the smell of his cologne enveloping you in sweet memories. You bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows, almost as if you were pleading with him to do something about the gap that was between the both of you. Slowly, he got closer and closer, until you could count every single one of his eyelashes that framed his eyes perfectly.

If you tipped your head slightly to the right, your lips would have been on his and you would have felt complete but the door swings open for a second time, causing the both of you to jump away from each other. Benny Miller stood there holding a bottle of wine in one hand and his tie in the other and you mentally cursed him for his perfect timing. His eyes were wide as saucers as he noted the way your hand magically clutched onto Frankie’s thigh.

“Andddd that's another moment ruined by Benjamin Miller. You’re welcome folks.” he said, giving you both a two fingered salute and scurrying away before Frankie could come to his senses and beat the living daylights out of his best friend.

You found yourself giggling, remembering the other moment ruined by Benny that included his brother and your best friend attempting to get some alone time together.

“Oh that bastard, I’m going to kill-” Frankie attempted to stand up but you pulled him down, tired of waiting any longer.

“Shut up, Frankie.” You breathed before letting yourself fall onto the carpet and pulling Frankie down with you, causing his lips to come crashing down against yours with a shocked groan getting caught in his throat. He immediately took hold of the reins and kissed you back, years of tension easing from the way his lips moved against yours in a slow dance.

He pulled away only when he started to suffocate, refusing to leave the safe sanctuary of your soft breaths against your face. He kissed your forehead, nose and cheeks before lying down beside you and staring at the impressive mural that William had painted on the ceiling of the nursery. He laced his fingers with yours and kissed the back of your hand again, before clutching it close to his heart as his breathing slowed.

“We should do that more often.” you whisper into the air.

“We really should.” he whispered back, a smile gracing his face. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~~~

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 15- Overstimulation

Frankie Morales x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 1.6k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, established relationship, no plot, aftercare

Notes- All hail Frankie the pussy eating king!! I’m glad I swapped him out for Marcus M cause this works perfectly for our beloved Frankie!! I think y’all are really gonna enjoy this one too!! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!

~

“Oh God… Frankie…”

He hummed into you as he used his large, strong hands to keep your thighs parted. Frankie made the most obscene noises as he licked and slurped at you with abandon. Even after you already came once, he still didn’t let up and he devoured you like you were a warm meal on a cold winter’s night.

“Frankie… fuck…” you cried out as he licked along your folds and sucked at your clit.

You buried your hands in his hair and tugged as he moaned into you. The hum only added to the sensations as you lost yourself in him. Frankie sucked at your pussy greedily, and the loud noise echoed in the room, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was you and your pleasure.

“Frankie… I’m…” you panted as warmth spread across your entire body.

In response, he only tightened his grip on you and licked at you more, determined to make you cum again on his tongue. Your legs shook under his grip as his tongue flicked your clit over and over again at just the right angle. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to crash onto you and with a loud scream and a tug on his hair you came hard into his mouth. 

Breathless, you flopped down limp onto the bed as Frankie finally broke away from your cunt with one last tender kiss. Heavy breaths from both of you filled the room as Frankie lifted himself onto his elbows to watch you as you came down from your high… highs. 

“You ok, baby?’ he asked as he caressed your leg.

You blinked your eyes open and gasped when you saw Frankie. He had a glazed over expression, almost as if he was drunk, and his chin glistened from your juices. He had a look in his eyes that resembled a wild cat about to pounce on its prey and his broad chest rose and fell with his deep breaths.

“Fucking hell, Frankie,” you sighed as you collapsed down onto your back again.

Frankie laughed as he looked you over and took in the sight of you like this. But, as exhausted as you were, Frankie still wanted more. He craved you like a cat craved catnip, he needed you more than he needed air. And in this case, he felt that quite literally.

“Baby,” he cooed, “I gotta taste you again.”

“Again?!” you exclaimed as you shot back up. But when you saw the look in his eyes, you melted. You could never say no to those big brown eyes, and you knew how lucky you were to have a man that wanted to eat you out so much. In fact, Frankie seemed to like doing that more than anything else, even at the expense of his own pleasure. He seemed to actually take pleasure in giving you pleasure.

“If you want to stop we can…” 

“No,” you interrupted him and reached out and cupped his face, “I just needed a second to catch my breath,” you grinned, “You’re too good at this, Francisco Morales,” you pulled him close to you and kissed him deeply.

Frankie chuckled into your mouth, “I live to serve, baby,” he joked before he broke away and settled between your legs again, “But say the word if it gets too much, and I’ll stop. Ok baby?”

You grinned brightly, “Ok,” suddenly you never wanted him to stop.

“Good,” his tone dropped as he grabbed your leg and hiked it over his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, “Because I don’t wanna stop.”

Frankie dove into your pussy again and licked and sucked at you with a newfound need. You threw your head back and let out a loud scream as he ran his tongue along your already sensitive cunt. He licked and sucked so hard that for a moment you thought he was trying to suck your soul out of your body.

And when your next climax crashed into you, it felt like he was. You screamed even louder as your body trembled as you came hard. Your hands clawed at the sheets on either side of you as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

But, Frankie still didn’t let up. He broke away for just a moment to look up at you, and when you lifted your head and saw the absolutely blissed out expression on his face, you knew you were in for a long night.

“Fuck you taste so good,” he groaned before he buried his head between your legs again. 

You cried out as tears filled your eyes. After having cum three times already, you felt hot and overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. You knew you were safe in Frankie’s hands, and you trusted him with everything you had. And although you felt so overstimulated already, the bliss that was Frankie’s tongue still gave you a pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

And you craved more just as much as he did.

Frankie swirled his tongue around your clit a few times before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked hard. He rocked his head up and down as he licked along your folds, determined to reach every spot possible that could give you pleasure. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, and making you feel good gave him a rush that nothing else could.

You moved your hands and buried them in his hair once more as you felt your body tremble. Frankie groaned as he tugged your other leg over his shoulder and grabbed onto your hips tighter to hold you in place. You felt so wonderfully helpless, yet perfectly safe at the same time. 

“Fuck… Frankie…” was all you could get out before another orgasm crashed through you.

This time, Frankie didn’t let up and he kept going as he worked you through your climax and right into the next one. He bucked his hips against the bed as he cock strained while he continued to lick and suck at your pussy. It didn’t take long for you to cum again on his tongue.

When you whimpered, Frankie broke away and watched you for a moment as you caught your breath. His hands stayed on your hips for a moment before he moved them down to grab your ass. With an amazing feat of strength, Frankie lifted your hips up just a few inches to position your pussy closer to his face.

“Baby,” he murmured, “Can you give me one more, baby?”

You kept your eyes closed and your head down, but you caressed his head gently, “I think so,” you whispered.

He could tell you were nearing your limit, but Frankie wanted to make sure you were alright before he gave into his greed and ate you out just a little bit longer, “You sure, baby?”

You patted his head, “I’m sure,” you found your voice, “One last one, Morales, give me all you got,” you added with a smirk.

“Be careful what you wish for, baby,” he grinned before he dove back into you.

At this new angle, Frankie was able to better hit your clit with his tongue, and you screamed out when he sucked hard on you. He slurped at you like an ice cream on a hot day before he dipped his head down a bit and darted his tongue in and out of your entrance. The new angle and the new sensations drove you wild, and you laid out contently helpless in his arms.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your mind swam in ecstasy. You felt like you were on fire, and the only one that could put it out was Frankie. You felt like you would float away if it wasn’t for his strong grip on you, but you knew he would never let you go. As your emotions ran high, you felt your climax once again quickly build up within you.

“Frankie… You’re gonna make me… Fuck!”

You trembled as you shook in his grasp and came even harder than before somehow. Frankie moaned into your pussy as he bucked his hips against the bed and never let up his relentless pace with his tongue. As you gushed into his mouth, Frankie too felt his own release and as he rocked against the bed he spilled himself onto the sheets, finally ready to let go after hours of being between your legs.

Once you let out a loud whimper, Frankie finally let you go and carefully let you back down onto the bed. He quickly crawled up to lay next to you and wrapped his arms around you. Together, the two of you laid in a comfortable silence as you recovered from such an intense night.

“You ok, baby?” Frankie asked as he cradled you close, “I didn’t get too carried away?”

“You got carried away alright,” you retorted back with surprising wit for how tired you were, “But that was fucking amazing,” you added in a dreamy voice, “You’re amazing.”

Frankie let go of his breath and sighed with a smile on his face, “No, you’re amazing, baby.”

You hummed as you settled against his chest and listened to the sound of his pounding heartbeat. You were just about to fall asleep when you suddenly realized, “Wait,” you shot up, “What about you?”

A tinge of embarrassment came across his face, “Taking care of you… took care of me,” he admitted.

Your mouth dropped open for a moment before you grabbed his face and kissed him deeply, “You’re a menace, Francisco Morales,” you murmured against him, “But I fucking love you for it.”

Frankie chuckled, “I fucking love you too baby,” he smirked devilishly, “With the tastiest pussy on the planet.”

“Frankie!” you smacked him playfully, “I’ll get you back for that,” you said as you settled back down in his arms.

“Looking forward to it, baby.”

[scrambledslut]

[undercoverpena]

rips in perfection

francisco morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: you just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear.  you make my days better, morales. 

word count: 2.7k warnings: angst, but with happy ending. mention of wound on reader (head and palm). mention (blink and you miss) nod to prev. drug use and ptsd. sad boy frankie not thinking he deserves the girl. jo wrote this because she's twisty inside. an: as the warning states, i angst'd close to the sun. but it ends happy because i'm incapable of not doing so.

He knows it means something that you called him—that you allow him through your front door.

Frankie’s eyes immediately catch sight of your wound—spotting the clotting scarlet and dried cerise. The rip in otherwise perfection that you attempt to hide with a kitchen towel around your palm. 

It’s tugged from you, shutting your front door with his heel as he tries to eye the deepness of the cut. The one which has, at one stage, made tears track down your cheeks—creating a road of pain in your skin.  

You, as to be expected, pretend to feign indifference that he’s here. Forcing it up, all a front. 

He knows he’s the one making you do it.

Your ego-bruised, now matching the hurt that blooms under your skin and around your eye. It’s the sole reason he doesn’t push, just follows when you turn on your heel. Forcing him to watch helplessly as you try, struggle and fail to jump onto your centre island. Frankie only dares step forward when you shoot him a glare—it’s a toxic cocktail of warning and pleading. 

If he has to choose a battle, he knows which one he’d rather be maimed by. Choosing to be burnt by your stare, then risk a further onslaught of a blizzard cast his way as he helps lift you. Turning gentle when you accept his invitation to see, sliding fingers around your wrist, index finger over skin—wanting to whisper an apology when you wince. 

But he swallows it, letting it join the other unspoken words that sit in the depths of him. The ones decaying and rotting. All swallowed back. 

Frankie tells himself you’d think they were empty anyway—bitterness simmering like a broth inside you. Plus, he’s sure it wouldn’t have sounded right from him. Words had never been his forte, his expertise. Least of all when it came to you. 

They always balled up, messily clumping, falling all out of order between loose fingers and delivered with carelessness. Even when he plans them out, mentally shoving doubts and insecurities aside to say something comforting.

It doesn’t matter now. There are no soft eyes or clumped words. Instead, wave-like worry is crashing against him. Taking in your appearance, how you look unsteady. Weak. Dizzy. 

“Ay. ¿Estás bien?” 

He braces for your tongue. 

The brilliant way it manages to both burn, mark and leave people cold when you spit words at whoever has upset you. 

It’s the first thing that made him smile when it came to you. 

Even with Benny stuck to your side, Santiago just behind you, you still have the man hitting on you in the bar embarrassingly storming away—before switching back into a softer, less sharp-edged version of yourself to reply to Benny’s earlier question. 

Now he’s experiencing that same sharpness. You’re frustrated, annoyed—cross, and livid. A sea of synonyms, but none quite hit the mark. 

You don’t snap at him, though, just let four words crack through the silence, all shaky, and trembling: “Me duele la cabeza….”

It’s like you command him, the way his eyes flick up. Your eyes all soft, the harshness ebbed away by the situation—the edges of your aura more welcoming than it’s been for weeks. 

Frankie had spotted the swelling when he arrived, knowing every inch of you like you’re moulded in his mind—painted on the back of his eyelids, seeing you even when he blinks. 

It's easy to slide his hand up, pads gliding over your neck, feeling you swallow as he brushes over your jaw, cheek—turning you to look over the swelling, how it’s rounding out, beginning to change. 

He’s soft when he whispers that you need stitches in your hand, ice for your head, blinking at him. Letting his words hang before forcing yourself to nod—pointing to a box on the counter, the one you’d likely gotten out the moment he told you he was on his way. 

Your voice all hoarse, words catching on teeth as you tell him about the stuff inside the green box, the kit you’d pulled together—the sharp needle and thread, alcohol wipes and bandages.

Only as he rummages, casting a quick glance at you, does he see the veil fall. Spots how your face twists in pain, lashes furiously blinking back tears, your thumb pushing at the skin on your palm—leaving half-moon marks, like a trail around the split skin. 

“Thought you’d have called Pope.” 

Your eyes fall, land on a spot on the ground—living there, fixated as you bite the inside of your cheek. Letting it stew and seethe. 

“I did. Didn’t answer.” 

It’s cold, lacking emotion. But it lands with a punch all the same.

He hates how his heart plummets. Becomes more determined to rummage for nothing forcibly—just so he can choose to keep his head bent, the beak of his hat hiding the discomfort undoubtedly stitched into his face. 

Because it’s his fault, the reason the two of you keep taking chunks out of one another. The dance the two of you have done, the closeness he’s allowed to bridge. 

One minute good friends, next moment wrestling with feelings he's too afraid to say. Then he overcompensates, egging you on to flirt with a man at the bar, with the next second wanting to throttle anyone who looked at you.  

It’s hard to unknot when it changed—when he found it difficult to rip his eyes from you, and you had rooted yourself in his life. 

It could have been somewhere over beers or under the fairy lights at the Miller house—eyes shimmering, smile growing. It also could have been when the stars were too pretty on that camping trip, when you’d moved your sleeping bag closer to him, sleeping under rustling leaves and blinking stars—the two of you waking curled up together, realising for the rocks and sticks in his spine, he’s never slept better. 

It was sealed, all the same, when he’d tugged you down the alleyway, beer tasting on your lips as brick cuts into his hand, his other hand gripping you close—almost bruising. Lost in feeling heaven collide, his world shifting, your mouth moving with his under the flickering bar light, kissing you as though to tell you that you're all he needs.

That’s when it all slid into one, a hot pot of things he can’t discern—a collection of emotions too complex to ascertain. 

You didn’t try to be what he needed, just tried to show kindness—all-second nature, undeserving of a fuck up like him. 

“You gonna stitch me or kiss me, Francisco?” 

Your voice cuts through his thoughts, slicing and ripping memories in two. There’s an edge to it, your words—one that makes him snort—shaking his head as he returns to you, taking your hand gently but leaving no room to fight him. 

Frankie doesn’t ask if you want him to stay. He just stays. 

Once stitched, he helps you off the counter, tells you to change—that he’ll begin cleaning up your accident.

Between the third and fourth stitch, you’d told him how a vegetable caused you to slip, pot and glass shards shattering in the chaos. 

He brushes each of them until he’s sure no piece could ever find your bare foot, then he wipes the crimson from your grout. Only as he lifts his head to stand does he see the edge of the counter, the one at fault for the growing swelling along your brow line. 

An additional reason for the silence your usually acidic tongue fills. It taking a rest, likely as you will your brain to stop thumping. 

He runs his knuckles along it, gritting his jaw, letting his feelings throb in his chest. The ones he’s felt for so long, they’re harder to control—fighting, desperately, to get out and greet your ear. 

Even though he convinces himself you deserve better, there's no one else for him.

What he wants and what you deserve a conflicting push and pull inside of him that have forced awkwardness and silence to take up space in between you.

You deserve someone more whole, without failure and a record to go with it. 

Even if Frankie knows it would be easy to love you—just like it is to breathe. It's part of him, his affection for you. Steadily threaded through his muscles and bones.

But he can’t even meet his own eyes in the mirror when he dresses, never mind hold yours. He’s forever greeted by the parts of him forever changed by the things he’s seen—the things he’s done. The parts altered and desperate for rest—the entire reason white powder greeted his nostrils, to begin with. 

He was, and is, broken and ruined. All poisoned by memories of orders and decisions, pouring down rain and the sound of Benny shouting for Tom. 

Not that you see it. 

You just shine your light with determination through the cracks he allowed you to see. Lips blowing away cobwebs, fingers wrapping around door handles inside of him that you throw open and step through without fear. 

You make my days better, Morales. 

Those words had fallen with ease as you grasped his wrist in your hand, leaving him with a smile that lingered like smoke until it faded in the loud bar. The key to the lock, the thing which melted the chains and made him suggest taking you home, stealing a moment where he could live a fairytale of being able to enjoy you.  

He supposes it’s why he came—rushed, in fact. 

You’re so deeply woven in him, have been for so long, he’s not sure how to ever untangle you from him. For as long as he’s known you, you’ve held him together without even knowing. Sometimes, more than he wanted you to. 

A friend of a friend, a girl who joined the group one night and never left. Etching your name amongst the friends in a way not too dissimilar to how you’d carved your initials into his heart. 

It’s why he tries to rip out his feelings. Attempted to burn them, bury them. 

Endeavoured to be reborn coated in the failings and vermillion he’s been painted in so many times. Let the voices mount, allow the illusions win—that the shadowed parts of his mind create. 

You clear your throat, looking at him, hovering in the doorway in an oversized tee he recognises as his and a pair of fluffy socks. You’re fidgeting, pupils having swallowed all and any colour—no hope or pain living there. 

You’re good at concealing, able to shift and perfectly apply an expression that shields him from your thoughts or feelings, as though attempting to convince him you’re fine. 

You’re not. 

It thrums in the air and needles him. 

Has been doing so since he listened to you try not to shatter when he left that day. Even if he wanted nothing more than to turn back around, marry his lips back to yours, and feel your breaths against his neck. 

You didn’t ask him to stay. He didn’t ask to either. 

Standing there in a robe, fragile and questioning what it is you'd done wrong, not knowing (because he never explained it) that all you were at fault for was falling for him. That you'd bonded yourself to ruin and rubble somehow still shaped like a person.

If you've figured it out, you don't acknowledge it. You're smart, though. Aware.

Your teeth biting the inside of your cheek as the two of you allow awkwardness to bubble, the silence plucking the tension until it thickens and becomes suffocated. 

All because he accepted your invitation that night, instead of declining when he dropped you home. 

Spent the evening and morning showing you what he’s felt for months, a year. Feeling it given back to him, hearing it in the way you pleaded for more and dug your heels into his spine. Please, Frankie. Please. All enthralled in fantasy that was ruined by morning light that illuminated that look in your eyes.

The one you're wearing now. All bewitched and full of adoration because you love him, likely the same as he loves you.

It hurt him, too, to walk away. So much so it irks him on good days and frustrates him on bad ones. It merges with his annoyance at your stubbornness, the ones he’s forced you to have. 

You blink, try to hide from him. Conceal yourself. Try to survive in the watery current of feelings you won’t spill to him again. Opting instead to drown in their storm—the story you told yourself that isn’t anything close to the fable it should have been. 

It tugs at him as he moves closer—the air-tight, constricting around the two of you. His eyes take in every inch of your features—awaiting the micro-expressions, the ones you try to keep back from him.

He shouldn’t curl into your touch, but he does so all the same when light, fairy touches brush his cheek. When you shuffle closer, leaving a gap of barely anything between the two of you. 

It would be easy, less complicated, to kiss you. To surrender, lay down his objections and give in. 

He doesn’t.

The vinyl playing in his head, the one swirling with lyrics about what you deserve, the life you truly want, the type of man who could give it to you. The harmony sang by Santi, the backing whispered by his doubts. 

“Francisco…” 

The way you say his name undoes something.

Each syllable given a chance to stand on its own as it slips into the air with such ease, like an instrumental sound that hopes to compete with the music in his head. 

“You don’t love me?” 

He sighs, soft—barely discernible. “You know I do.” 

You snort, tinged in annoyance and pain different from the one in your hand and head. “Still believe I deserve better?” 

“No lo creo, lo sé.”

Something flickers, trips over your face. Akin to sorrow and disappointment—heartache. 

“Saying it in Spanish doesn’t lessen that you’re choosing for me, Morales.” 

He knows. 

Realises it’s unfair, cruel and an injustice. 

He wants nothing more than to choose you, to let you in. A carnal need rising almost to do so, born from continuous want and grown in worry. Images still present on the back of his lids with each blink, the way your voice had sounded on the phone, the way you’d looked at him when he arrived—the way your expression contorted when he dug the needle in. It all nicked him, tiny slices through him he’d bear for a while.

“…Frankie.” 

Silence.

He lets it bloom. 

Your veil is almost translucent as you stare, pecking at him, pushing him without touching or speaking. 

You’re too good, too kind—it is almost brutish that the world stuck an arrow in you with his name on it. 

“You really call Pope?” 

You swallow, telling him without speaking, before you shake your head. 

He snorts. Takes the words in, chews them—lets it dilute and inflate his heart as it thumps, and thumps. 

“I should have asked you to stay,” you murmur. 

He swallows. “I should have asked to stay.” 

It’s that reason alone why he takes off his cap, throws it on the counter before he turns to look at you. His mask gone, ridden. Yours falling, landing somewhere at your feet. 

Frankie pulls you to his lips, somewhat soft but more intentional. It’s needy, but reserved, awaiting you to melt into him so he knows he can slide the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip and earn himself a whimper. Begin healing the parts he’s self-inflicted by choosing avoidance over acceptance. 

But before he can do that, he wants to heal you. Kiss each edge of you that bore pain from his faux indifference and cold shoulder; each muscle that remained taut because of his excuse that now sounded weak, as the vinyl in his mind came to a stop, vanishing from the player as though it never existed. 

Because with you, like this—albeit without a swollen temple and a stitched palm—things make sense.

You make sense. 

Just like you always have. 

AN: some call it range going from joyous to angst, i call it ✨ sad girl jo

everyone say a huge thanks to @guyfieriii for once again letting me blurt pain at her, and she not only drinks it up, but urges me to make it hurt more. thank you for always collecting my tears and then handing me them back so i can sprinkle them over my work.

[sugarcoated-lame]

wip wednesday

(ik it’s technically thursday now i’m a little late lol)

@joelsgreys thank you for tag, my love!! 🧡

sometimes a bride - jake seresin x bradshaw!reader (sequel to always a bridesmaid)

here’s a little snippet <3

“Honestly… I’m kind of freaking out.” You tell your brother as he joins you on the sofa. Your voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough that he’s able to hear due to his close proximity.

You’re looking down to where you nervously wring your hands in your lap when Bradley speaks.

“Why? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” His words are matter-of-fact, but his voice is soft in that comforting, brotherly tone that’s only reserved for you.

“I- I don’t know.” You tell him with a light shake of your head. “I guess I’m just nervous?”

The words come out as a question and your gaze lifts to meet Bradley’s before you continue on.

“You know, it’s such a big, important day that I’ve spent so long dreaming of and planning for and– that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life and I just…” your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling, stopping to take a breath before you continue.

“I just love Jake so much and I… I just want everything to be perfect.”

…

untitled older bf!frankie morales x inexperienced reader - a little snippet from a *very rough* draft of an idea i’ve been working on

Tonight, you find yourself at his apartment for a little date night. The two of you cooked and ate a nice dinner together, and after Frankie cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes—which he refused to let you help with, ‘because I’m a gentleman’ as he’d told you with a playful roll of his brown eyes and a soft peck to your cheek, before sending you off to the living room to pick out a movie—the two of you are now sat on his comfy couch to watch said movie.

It’s some newer romcom that you honestly couldn’t remember the plot of, probably couldn’t even remember the title of if you were hard-pressed, because truthfully you haven’t been paying attention to the movie at all. Your mind is currently elsewhere.

You can hardly keep your focus on the film playing in front of you, your thoughts preoccupied by the man sat next to you on the sofa.

How can you be expected to pay attention to anything else when the soft, chocolatey curls that are spilling from the Standard Oil baseball cap you’ve come to learn is a Frankie staple, and his profile—the aquiline nose and the patch in his beard that you love to press sweet little kisses to, and the strong line of his jaw— are all caught in your peripheral?

Frankie’s broad frame almost makes the large piece of furniture look small, his long legs spread out comfortably in front of him and making his well-fitted jeans pull taut against his thick thighs.

no pressure tags: @sebsxphia @sunlightmurdock @hangmanssunnies @joelslegalwhre @blue-aconite @floydsmuse @floydsglasses @bobfloydssunnies @itsokbbygrl @inthe-dark-tonight @joelsgreenflannel @swiftispunk @sio-ina-bottle @topherwrites (sorry if you’ve already been tagged) and leaving the tags open for anyone who wants to share their wips 🧡