#frankie morales x gn!reader

[katsheadinclouds]

Give me a minute

Frankie Morales x f!/gn! reader

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend for a long time. You can share everything with him, except this time you’ve been dealing with your anxiety alone and have been having trouble putting it all into words.

warnings: soft!Frankie, anxiety, fluff, not canon compliant, no use of y/n, no pronouns or physical descriptions mentioned for reader. Not beta read.

word count: 3.6k

Notes: This is totally self-indulgent after having a bit of a rough patch in the past month. If you’ve been struggling lately, I’m sending you tenderness. It's only temporary and we will get through this.

Divider by saradika-graphics

Your Fridays with Frankie have become a tradition. You might go out for dinner, just the two of you, grab a drink somewhere, have a quiet night in, ordering takeout and watching a movie.

You always look forward to it, the moment when you see his dark curls peeking under his cap, his button-down shirts over his broad shoulders, the way he walks over to you with his head down, his hand tucked into the pocket of his tight jeans.

When he lifts his head up, his face lights up and it’s easy to answer the smile he offers you. Frankie always greets you with a hug. You don’t remember when you started to hug each other, but the longer you’ve known each other, the longer and softer the hugs have become. They linger and let you take a breath before you separate and go about your plans together.  

You arranged to meet up at your place this week. You’ve had to cancel for the past three times, with the same apologies and explanations, “I just need a bit of time to get adjusted to my new job, I promise it won’t take long now, it’s already better.” Even Frankie’s invites for you to join him, Santiago, Will and Ben have gotten you to offer him the same answer. You know he can pick your words apart by now. He knows you’re saying it all because you want to believe it to be true.    

Since the last time you saw him, you haven’t really had time or energy to take care of your home. You’ve piled dishes in the sink and now they’re spilling onto the counter next to it. You have clothes scattered here and there, the laundry basket full and your wardrobe getting emptier of possible clothes you could wear. Random piles of random things litter different surfaces, mail on the table next to the front door, your work laptop, and some papers you’ve dragged home with it on the dining table, only a small space cleared for you to eat at.

The coffee table next to your couch is covered with small bowls and mugs, some that you tried to pile and clear out but realized there’s no more space in the sink. A few books and magazines in different stages of reading, some with bookmarks, some with random pieces of paper sticking out between the pages.

You spilled your drink from one of the mugs a few days ago and the paper towels you used to dry it up with are still on the table, in crumbled balls. They left behind white fibers that stuck to the wood and now the table looks even worse.

The doorbell rings and you let Frankie in. You smile when you see him, but he can see the strain in it, how it’s like a change of clothes that you can take off when the door closes behind him at the end of the night.

Frankie leaves his usual blue cap onto the table next to your door, right beside your home keys, as he always does when he comes around. It’s a spot that you’ve started to leave empty just because you know he’ll leave it there. He pushes his fingers through his hair, mussing the flattened curls back into place. He reaches for you, closing you into a hug that makes you shut your eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses with gentleness in his eye, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Missed you too.” There’s a genuine glimmer of happiness on your face, until it reverts back into the forced strain against your cheeks.

He follows behind you into the living room and you can pick apart every inch of your apartment that you usually keep organized. You look at him over your shoulder, sensing the pulled together brows even before you see them. “I’m good, just a bit tired, don’t worry. Sorry about the mess.”

It has become a weird habit for you to clean before anyone comes over. That you have to have everything in order, comfortably homey but still kept together. Now the clutter stands out even more, out of place and out of the ordinary. Frankie has said it multiple times now, that you don’t have to clean for him at all. “I’m here to see you, not your apartment,” and he finished his words with that familiar warm smile that you answer every time almost reflexively.  

“No, no reason to be sorry, I’ve said it before –“

“Yeah, that you don’t mind if it’s messy, your apartment is messy most of the time as well.” You laugh but the sound splutters out of your throat painfully.

He offers you the snacks he brought; some new popcorn flavor that sounded good just a couple of days ago when he said he had seen them at the store. Now even the thought of them makes you grimace. He already pops a grape into his mouth when you leave him to make the popcorn in the microwave.

You stare at the puffing bag rotating on the glass plate, the smell of the cooking kernels wafting in the air already.

“Did you hear me?” The words settle into your ears slowly, one letter at a time, until you realize Frankie is talking to you.

“What?” The microwave dings and you take the hot bag out, dropping it into a bowl.

“I asked if you’d like to watch the movie you mentioned last week?” He cranes his neck when he hears your footsteps getting closer, the comfortable softness on his face giving you a moment of solace before your head is forcing you out of this moment with your friend again.

“Yeah, sounds good.” In reality you can’t remember what movie you had mentioned. You settle on your couch next to him and make room for the bowl beside the grapes that are still beading with water after you washed them. You pop the steaming bag open and dump the fresh, savory treats into the awaiting bowl.

“Oh shit, I forgot the beer,” you gasp out and are already standing up when Frankie stops you with his palm landing on your arm.

You see that softness on his face that you’ve become to find comforting in the time you’ve known him, but you can also see the worry underneath. The kind that is watching you, trying to understand what is going on through your actions since you’re not telling him what is on your mind. “It’s okay, we can drink later if we feel like it.” You nod your head almost in a robotic, twitchy way.

He presses play on the movie and the TV screen is filled with vibrant colors. The music from the intro is supposed to give you a sense of what’s to come. You only get more anxious from the booming instrumental and the echoing singing of a choir.

It’s a movie everyone is talking about. The memory of mentioning it to Frankie comes back to you slowly. You had wanted to see it, so you’d have something to talk about with the colleagues in your team at work who had gone out to see it together.

You’re not completely sure what the premise of the movie is but when the main character is the one looking in, watching others laughing and enjoying their time together, the feelings you’ve been swallowing come crashing down.

The lack of connections. The smile you have to force yourself to wear at work when you see your colleagues making plans with each other, discreetly turning their backs on you. The way you’ve started to believe your voice doesn’t really matter when no one answers you.

It's hard enough at your new job when you’re automatically the odd one out, the new one. Someone who needs a bit of time to find out their own place, the one who is always a little on the sidelines, always welcomed to join but doesn’t get an invite.

You act like you understand what the others are talking about. You listen to their stories of people you have no idea who they are. You laugh when they do, only to find out it’s an inside joke when someone says that you should’ve been there to really know what is so funny about it.

When you get back home you try to convince yourself you just need to work a little harder to show them that you’re a valuable part of the team already. You just need to push a little harder, do a bit more, be a bit more active to be seen for the person you are.

The first week you were glad to do it. Now you don’t know what has happened. Why are you feeling so discouraged, so dismissed, so empty and invisible. Your head feels so full and all these thoughts are suffocating you from the inside out.

Your thigh is pressed against Frankie’s as he focuses on the movie. You pull away from him, wrap yourself protectively in your blanket and curl in yourself, like a little turtle hiding itself in its shell. You feel the familiar sting in your eyes. It has been a while since you cried. You’ve been adamant in not letting those tears fall.

Now, watching this movie that is so far from what you’re experiencing, it somehow digs itself into your chest and forces out the tears that you’ve been holding in the whole day. You clear your throat, and discreetly wipe away the tears that spill from your eyes, breathe through your mouth to hide the sniffles from your nose. It doesn’t stop the salty droplets from falling. Hiding is only making you feel worse and the irrational need to escape takes over.

“Keep the movie on, I’ll be back in a sec,” you choke out and push yourself off the couch, dropping the blanket in the process. Frankie hears you cursing under your breath, but you don’t stay to lift it off the floor.

He follows you with his gaze and sees you wiping at your face. You lock the bathroom door and turn on the faucet immediately, drowning out any sounds under the hissing water against the sink. The movie drones on in the background, Frankie’s focus torn far away from it. He wasn’t that into it anyway, the settings and characters a bit too pretentious for his liking.

When you don’t come back in a few minutes, he pauses the movie and listens to the sounds from the bathroom. He hears your sniffles, followed by a whimper that isn’t something he’s used to hearing when he’s with you.

You’ve known each other for a few years now. There was a time when you were just acquaintances, passing each other when Santiago introduced the rest of the group to his new girlfriend and her friend, you. Ben and Will were their usual selves, asking questions and making you both feel welcomed and included.

Santiago kept his girlfriend under his arm the whole night, like they were glued together, and you sipped at your drink and listened to everyone talk with glinting eyes and a wide grin on your lips. You answered when someone asked you a question, and sometimes you got a word in through the excited chatter.

Deep down you were a little shy, just like Frankie. He could recognize a like-minded person a mile away. A little timid at first but after some warming up you dared to let your personality through. After the first time you met you often joined them for a night out at a local bar or came to listen to live music in a small underground club. Sometimes you even came to watch Ben’s MMA fights but those were mostly for meeting the group rather than to watch the match. You were too soft natured for it, you once said.

It happened sneakily, the connection you and Frankie built between each other. It was a surprising realization that you share the same taste in music, had similar opinions about movies you had seen, important core memories from a place you both had visited at some point in your lives.

Even after Santiago and his girlfriend broke up, you still wanted to join a night out. Suddenly the group melted away as you talked only to each other, not caring about the conversations the others were having. Your discussions were always deep and intimate even in loud environments.

There was an urge to always find out more of each other, to talk until you were too tired to form coherent sentences. You both were clinging onto every word, memorizing details that made either of you smile, reach for the other in understanding, laugh in a way that was like you had known each other always, familiar and comforting. It has always been easy between the two of you.

Frankie knows you have your off days. The days when you would much rather be on your own, maybe curl on your bed for a nap, have a bit more time for yourself to process the thoughts that race through your head. Sometimes you crave for the company of your friend, even if it’s only to spend time together and not do anything special in particular. It was a way to get you out of your head, to get you to forget the things that got you down in the first place.

You’ve told him about the experiences you’ve had before. How you’ve felt like an outsider. How it’s hard for you to trust others. How you’re always a little careful when meeting new people until you let them fully in. That made him proud that you had chosen him as your friend, as someone who you share your thoughts with, who you can be yourself with. Most of the time.

Frankie presses his hand against the bathroom door and listens. The muffled crying makes uneasiness settle in his chest.

“You okay?” He taps his knuckles gently against the surface. You clear your throat immediately and a strained “uh-huh,” follows.

“Can you open the door?” There’s a moment of quietness that he’s not sure you’re going to fill.

“You need to use the bathroom?” Your questioning voice is weak and thick. Something’s wrong. The uneasiness sinks heavily from his chest into his stomach.

“No, but I’m worried about you.” The silence that stretches after Frankie’s confession is excruciating as he waits for your decision. Are you going to let him in or pretend that you’re okay.

The continuous sound of water splashing against the sink stops when you turn the tap off. The stillness you offer him becomes unnervingly loud.

The lock klicks and you push the door ajar. Frankie is leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest, peering in to see your face. He reaches his fingers against the edge of the door and opens it more to let you out, to see your reddened eyes, the puffy turn of your lips, tears still streaking your cheeks even when you try to wipe them away.

You try to get some of the worry off his face by attempting a small smile. It only makes more tears spill from your eyes and Frankie’s heart chip from the edges as it thumps uncomfortably when he sees how broken you are.

“Come here,” he pulls you gently against his chest, cradling you in his arms.

The pressure is comforting, his arms around you, his large hands on your back, his fingertips digging into the tight muscles that only tell you about the stress and anxiety that have made their home in the deepest depths of your being. It has been with you for a while again, you just haven’t let it boil over. Until now.

“What happened?”

“It’s just… a lot” Frankie’s hands pause for a moment against your back, until he continues to trail them slowly up and down, warming up your skin under the cotton of your shirt.

“What is?”

“Everything,” you whine, and it feels so pathetic to be weeping against his chest, drying your tears in the worn fabric of his shirt, leaving dark spots against it. You squeeze his button-up on his back gently in your fists to feel his warmth and care against you, to get him closer. His breathing calms you down, the steady rhythm of his inhales and exhales encouraging you to follow his lead to soothe your stammering heart.

“Tell me about it,” he suggests softly, his voice in your ear, his breath against your skin. You nod and let him lead you back to the couch. He picks up the blanket off the floor and sits you down before he wraps it around the both of you.

Your body fits against Frankie’s side, his arm over your shoulders. You tuck your head against the crook of his neck and stare at your joined hands. You play with the hem of his shirt as his thumb caresses the back of your palm as light as a feather.

With every inhale you smell him a little more. His gentle sweetness and saltiness, that familiar scent of a cologne that is somewhere between fresh and warm. You once told him you liked it and since then he always wears it around you.

You notice the TV screen has gone black; the movie long forgotten. The popcorn and the grapes on the coffee table look trivial, like they don’t really belong there. Everything around you is a little tilted, a little off, with you.

“What’s the first thing on your mind?” You close your eyes and open your mouth. You let Frankie in on those thoughts that sometimes feel a little too scary to put into words, the immense loneliness and purposelessness glaring at you straight in the eyes.

It’s sometimes so hard to admit that you have those feelings, how you’ve battled with them for so long. They come and go, sometimes leaving you for longer periods and then sometimes swim in with a tide of other things that don’t go your way.

Frankie listens to you without caring about the soft noises from the street below your apartment that sometimes come in through the closed window. Every now and again his palm strokes down your arm until he squeezes you a little tighter against him.

You let it all out. Some of the tumbling words get accompanied by a fresh wave of tears. Some of them make you shake your head like you can’t believe you’re telling him all of this. Some you hear yourself say but feel as if you’re detaching from them and from you. And some hurt, heavy and agonizing in your body.

Until there’s no words left to describe whatever is left inside your head. It’s all just a jumbled mess of emotions at this point. Memories, words, people’s voices that you remember from years ago.

“Then there’s the clearest emotion.”

“What?” Frankie asks when you start to giggle.

“I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” His voice sounds like his mouth is right against your ear. His breath puffs against your forehead.

“Because I know I’m not alone. I know I have a purpose even if I don’t know it yet exactly. I know it’s all in my head and it still feels as real as everything around us. I just can’t seem to convince myself that I’m not worthless, that it’s all just a bunch of lies my anxiety is telling me.”

“Hey,” his commanding tone and the shift in his body makes you lift your head off his shoulder and look at him in the eye. He’s serious, the worry still ever present on his soft features, the downturn of his brown eyes a little heartbroken at your words.

The expression on Frankie’s face wipes away the self-deprecating jokes you’d want to make in a flash. They remind you to not laugh at yourself or how you feel. “Whatever your head tells you, you’re not worthless. No matter how many times I have to remind you of that, I always will.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, seeping into your consciousness slowly, and with care.

“I know,” you nod your head in confirmation, and hug yourself around him once more, your arm settling over the softness of his middle. You feel his lips press against your forehead, pressing still when you crawl even closer to feel that patient support he offers you in abundance. His scruffy cheek settles against your head as you feel yourself relax against him.

The tears stop flowing. The over critical voice that is always ready to put you down and remind you of your fears and failures in your head is a little quieter than before. The ache in your chest is a little duller. Maybe you needed a good cry, maybe you needed to tell someone that you’re struggling. Maybe it’s them both.

“Whatever you feel, it is as real as everything around us. I’m here for you, just like you’ve been there for me in my darkest moments.” The gentle whisper almost disappears into the setting dark behind your window.

“You can count on me.” You breathe the words in, feel the comfort of them. You nod against the steadiness of Frankie’s shoulder, and he sighs out in relief. He listens to your breaths slowing down until he knows you’ve fallen asleep. The quiet around him and the closeness of your body against his side make his eyes heavy.

The lights are still on when Frankie wakes up. He possibly slept for only a few minutes or maybe it was a few hours. He wouldn’t know. It’s still dark outside and he doesn’t want to jostle you when he sees the calmness on your face. The blanket on top of you both has slipped a little, fallen towards the floor. Frankie fixes it, giving you most of it to keep you warm and safe.

[morallyinept]

Ring Toss - A Frankie Morales One Shot 🍩

Summary: Frankie comes home with a box of treats, just for you.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.5k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶 "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit: Oral, M receiving/mild dirty talk. Delicious food porn with Frankie. What else is there to say?

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author's Note: Frankie and donuts... 🤤 Dedicated to lovely @secretelephanttattoo 🍩😘

MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The box of sweet, sticky treats is calling your name.

You can’t resist them. Nu-uh, no way. Your one weakness and he knows it.

You pout up at him, trying to be riled, but the smirk on his tan face blooms across those luscious pink lips of his, and despite you wanting to slap it off of his chops at his gall of tempting you - you know you can't resist his sweet face either under that patchy scruff.

“I’m on a diet.” You scowl at him, trying not to smirk back.

“Screw the diet, hermosa. You can have one, right?” Frankie shrugs, looming in front of you.

“Noooo. It’ll undo all the hard work I did at the gym today.” You whine. The ache in your calves reminds you to hold strong. And maybe not go so hard on the cross trainer next time...

Frankie scoffs, holding the box out to you and you continue to refuse the sugary, deep-fried treats that are inside ganging up on and leering at you.

You can smell them. Oh God. It's like he's opened up Pandora’s Box and colourful sprinkles and sticky, creamy glazes are calling out to you; luring you in like a Siren song only you can hear.

Hijo de puta!

“I got 'em fresh. I got the custard ones, I know they’re your favourite.” Frankie insists with a tempting pink purse of his lips.

“You did?” You ask leaning forward to peer into the box.

Yep, there they were; oozing and sticky with that thick gloop leaking out of one of them like it had been shot and was bleeding out its vanillary insides.

No, stop it!

“Yeah.” He nods, smiling pleasantly down at you from under that well worn in cap; his messy curls rioting behind his ears. Deep brown eyes penetrate you with a beguiling simmer laced around them.

It was really sweet of him, touching. He knows what you like and how to make you happy. It's the little things Frankie does that give you the constant heart eyes for him.

The way he holds open the passenger side door for you on his beat up Pickup, and always takes your hand as you step out like you're his queen.

The way he always greets you when you come home from work with a swamping, lingering kiss, pushing you up agaisnt the back of the door, readily equipped with his large hands squeezing and groping at your body affectionately, before you've even said hello to one another.

The way he stops off on the way home from his group therapy sessions on a Thursday, to grab a box of fresh donuts from Dough Boyz, and ensures your favourites are plentiful.

Frankie smiles with tempting, molten eyes. Big browns out on full display. That same puppy-dog look he gives you which renders you absolute mush at his feet, usually.

“I hate you.” You shake your head. The pout is back and it's staying put. Much like your stony resistance.

“You hate me, huh?” Frankie baulks with a tinkling chuckle as he scratches at his scruff under his chin.

You fold your arms, sinking back into the couch and refusing him, trying to watch the TV - anything to distract you away from that heady, saccharine scent that wafts from the forbidden box of calorific delights.

“Suit yourself, muñeca. More for me.” Frankie says casually, tossing the box on the coffee table.

“I hope you get fat!” You call to him playfully as he saunters off towards the kitchen, his laugh echoing around you.

"You want a coffee?" He calls back.

"No, thanks," you humpf in response.

He leaves it there, lid open whilst he goes into the kitchen. You glance at it; your eyes darting back and forth at the temptation of sticking your fingers in and selecting the one that oozes with that yellowy-golden custard you long to taste cloying around your gums.

It's a test. You know it. Leave it open to tempt and twist you into finally submitting, and then Frankie would walk in to catch you red-handed and to see half of them snarffed up; crumbs mottled down your top and smeared sugar constellations across your cheeks.

Oh, he is such an asshole!

Frankie pads back into the lounge after a few minutes with his coffee and sits on the sofa adjacent to you, putting his long legs up on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. He reaches forward for a donut.

You watch as his dexterous, thick fingers pry a glazed ring out of the box, and he sits back into the cushions getting comfortable, bringing it up to his mouth.

Oh, it's like watching a filthy, X-rated porno.

How those plush, pink lips would part and he’d bite into the dough, licking his lips free of the sticky glaze. Shrapnels of glaze getting stuck in the fuzz of his moustache.

He watches the TV absentmindedly whilst he feasts quietly, unaware you want to launch the box of sugary treats at his head for bringing them here, the shithead.

But you want one, you soooo want one.

No! I worked hard this week. No treats!

But one won’t hurt.

You can’t just have one though, can you?!

But he brought you custard donuts, he loves you.

Fuck!

His dark eyes flick towards yours and you look away as he brings his coffee back up to his lips and smirks.

You try to invest yourself into whatever the heck it is rolling across the TV screen, but the overwhelming scent of sugar, and the sound of him smacking his lips together, soon draws your attention away again.

Frankie sucks his fingers slowly; the squeaking wet sounds of them popping out of his lewd mouth, before he runs his tongue around his teeth, sounds like it's gunfire inside your ears, thundering.

Loud enough for you to know the bastardo is doing it on purpose. Louder than the steam coming out of your ears.

Fuck that fucking fucker!

Your willpower is waning as you stare at the box of donuts on the coffee table taunting and seducing you.

No, I'm not going to give in. He wants me to and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Nope!

You glance at Frankie and he's watching you again with those dark chocolate eyes. “Just have one, you know you want to.” He tempts you.

Yeah, all he needs is a horned tail and a pitchfork, right?

“That’s not the point, I can’t have one. You know I can’t.” You sulk, shaking your head.

“Why? Because you went to the gym? One donut isn’t going to fucking hurt, hermosa.” He scoffs, chuckling.

You turn away again. “You don’t get it.”

“Hey, I’m all for keeping fit, but a treat now and again in moderation is good, baby.” He smiles. "You've earned it."

You shake your head trying to ignore him.

“You’re really gonna resist?” Frankie questions.

You nod. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Well alright.” He sighs, admitting defeat.

You watch the TV again, smouldering away. You then see him reach forward and put his coffee cup down on the table in your peripherals.

He reaches into the box, with those wandering fingers once more. The one he pulls out is a plain one; the sister of the previous he'd just devoured.

He eyes it and then puts it back and reaches for another that takes his fancy instead; this time choosing one with sprinkles scattered across the pink, shiny glaze.

He sits back into the cushions again and looks darkly at you.

“You really won’t eat this?” Frankie questions.

“No.” You shake your head again feeling your brain rattle inside your skull.

“But what if I really want you to eat it, to enjoy it? I mean, I brought these as a reward for how well you’ve been doing lately at the gym… what a waste.” He sighs, shaking his head. He pouts at you too, those thick lips pursed out.

“Are you trying to guilt trip me, Morales? It’s not working.” You confirm, frowning.

"Ya lo veremos..." Frankie sighs with a slick smile.

"Stop it," you warn.

You watch him put the donut between his lips and then let go; it balances precariously between those plumpy, pink smackers and his fuzzy moustache.

With his hands, he simply reaches down, undoes the buckle on his belt, the button on his jeans, and then unzips his fly.

You watch, with widening eyes, as he pulls out his cock and pumps it a few times in his fist.

You can hear him groan around the donut hanging out of his mouth; eyes rolling back as he acqaints himself with his thick, swelling dick.

Oh shit...

He jerks on his cock; little wheezed breaths pelting out of his chest, until he's fully hard and rigid in his hand.

He looks at you the whole time he's doing it too.

“What... are you doing?” You baulk at him, feeling hot prickles dance on the back of your neck. The heat flares all over your body and you clench your fist around the throw over the couch you're sitting on.

He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively with a small shrug of his shoulders, unable to speak with the donut hanging out of his mouth; his saliva starting to melt the glaze that he can feel pooling in the corners.

Frankie then takes the donut from his mouth, licking crudely at his lips, and simply places it over his stiff cock. Sliding his thick member through the hole tightly in the centre, and pushes it down as far as it will go without breaking.

The donut rubber-rings itself around him and he lets go. His cock stands up right, fully hard and bobbing two and fro a little with the weight of the donut around it.

You swallow hard as he sits there waiting for you expectantly. He rests his arms over the top of his head; eyes peering darkly at you from under the rim of his cap. He juts his hips forward, challenging you brazenly.

Frankie's smirk is widening, and your cheeks are turning more red as the seconds wear on. Red with fury, red with abject need...

Oh, you son of a b-

“Frankie-”

“Eat it,” he encourages with an ever-widening grin and beckons you over with two fingers. "Come here."

You sigh, and then giggle in unison with him as he chuckles.

"You're such an ass."

“Come on,” he rouses, wiggling his hips from side to side and his cock rocks, life buoyed inside the donut and bites his lip suggestively.

You stand up, completely caving; a sound escaping you similar to a bear disturbed from their hibernation, and make your way towards him, utterly burning up now.

Yeah, he’s totally done a number on you alright.

“You’re gonna make a mess all over your jeans.” You roll your eyes.

He shakes his head. “You’d better eat it quickly then before it sticks.” Frankie teases as you approach him.

He runs his pointer finger around the orbit of the donut, in the pink glaze, and sucks it into his mouth.

"Mmm," he quips and klaxons sound in your ears.

“You’re such a bad influence,” you remark to him, trying to resist his allure.

He pulls you forward by your wrists and your face meets his. “It’s why you love me.” He purrs before he kisses you.

"I do, damnit." You sigh.

His lips are sweetly tasting and you suck on his bottom lip, sampling the crusted glaze and groan in delight at the sugar rush of it.

You reach down to feel his swollen head poking out the top of the donut oozing. You suck your fingers and they are sweetly swirled with the donut glaze and that salty glaze all of his own that beads from the slit.

“You taste really good.” You murmur to him.

“Oh, I know,” Frankie smirks. “You should have more of me, hermosa.” He incites.

You kneel down between his legs and crane forward. Looking up at him, you take a gentle bite from the donut, and he bites his lip again watching you.

Oh, it tastes fucking better than you could have imagined.

Your fingers are scratching inside the soft, downy hairs of his thighs into his groin as he thrusts his hips out a little more towards you.

The donut tastes fantastic, and you make sure to allow your lips to brush over him now and again, making him gasp and shudder.

Yeah, now it's your turn to tease the fuck out of him.

The gummy taste of the glaze coates him and sticks to his skin; you eat more of the donut from around his cock, savouring it. It's a sticky sweet mess that makes you whine. Makes you sweat. Makes your head swim and your sex pulse in desire and need.

"That's it, baby. Eat it all up..." Frankie encourages.

You scoff the donut around him, slowly revealing more of his impressive and hard cock that you long to devour.

Thick, veiny and so fucking hard. A beautifully flushed head that drips and throbs as you run your tongue over it, tasting every morsel of that sticky syrup.

Your body clenches and drools in response.

"Mmm," he croons, smiling.

Frankie runs his hands through your hair as you finish it; crumbs from the dough dotted around his length and dappled in the fuzzy short hairs at the base of him as you swallow your last mouthful of the wondrous treat.

His eyes burn into yours as he watches you lick up the side of his shaft where the glaze is stuck in wet globules, and you feel his cock pulse in response.

“Yeah…” He whispers, keenly and nodding at what's to come. "Suck it."

You open your mouth as you get to the top, placing him inside and you swallow him down.

“Fuck!” Frankie whines out; his head thrown back against the couch cushions as you give him that sweet, succulent head that he craves.

Your fingers claw into his thighs as you bob up and down, head stuffed inside his lap, sucking him clean. You lick and kiss the whole length of him. Tonguing around the head like a popiscle, licking up the thick vein on the underside of his shaft, and slurping him down deeper into the trenches of your throat.

You feel him put a gentle pressure on the back of your head; he wants you to deep throat him, to take him in all the way. To choke and gag on him as that frothy spittle hangs from your lips.

He grunts out as you do it; swallowing his thick, tasty cock deep inside your throat and pressing your nose against the skin above his groin.

You inhale him in, sighing in satisfaction as you do. You love the taste of him, the fullness of him. The way he packs you out around your cheeks.

He feels you heave around him and hisses out as the back of your throat squeezes around him.

"Eso se siente tan jodidamente bien, no pares..." he groans with a silky hiss.

Frankie pulls out and you gasp for air; crystal saliva strings dangling from his swollen head to your mouth.

He pulls you up and kisses you; tasting the donut, tasting himself and smirking at you.

Sucking on your tongue, Frankie whines and your body is burning up. You're craving more. The sugar rush floods through your veins making your fingers shake.

"More, baby." Frankie encourages. "You're so fucking good at that."

He lets go of you and you go back to sucking him off. Holding the base of him steady, and he throws his hands up again behind his capped head, shuffling down the couch a little; enjoying the show of you taking him in.

Hungry for it, hungry for him. Basking in that candy coated wonderland of that sweet tasting cock.

You work his shaft, pumping as you go to really get him going; massaging his balls that are aching to release, and give him plenty of eye contact as he watches you mouth on him.

“Fuck, baby I’m gunna come…” Frankie gasps; his thighs twitching and shaking as he releases, filling your mouth with that delicious, thick custard of his own.

He tastes so fucking good.

He watches, enthralled, as you swallow it all down, licking your lips and sucking your fingers afterwards.

“Yum,” you murmur at him with a wink.

Frankie smiles at you through flushed cheeks and blissed out brown eyes like he's high, utterly beside himself in post-coital dumbness for a few beats.

You promptly stand up and turn to the box on the coffee table, plucking out that weeping custard donut, and sit back in your spot on the adjacent couch and bite into it.

Frankie chortles loudly; cock and balls still out as you devour that delicious custard treat without any ounce of guilt.

"Knew you couldn't resist." He chants.

"You play dirty, Morales." You say around a mouthful and it's heavenly.

"Always, hermosa."

Yeah, one or two donuts won’t hurt, right?

I really hope you enjoyed reading this tasty treat with Frankie. If you did, please consider re-blogging this so others can also have their fill. I'd love to know your thoughts too. Thanks so much for reading! 🖤

MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

[nerdieforpedro]

A New Tradition with Frankie

Frankie "Catfish" Morales x GN reader

Fanfiction rating: Teens and up

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Masterlist / Frankie “Catfish” Morales Masterlist

Summary: An adventure in baking leads to fun and laughter at your expense. But in the end, his smile is what matters.

Warnings: likely bad baking directions, jokes in very poor taste, cursing, Frankie having fun at your expense, domestic fluff

Notes: I wanted to give Frankie some fluff. In my previous Frankie Fridays, I've been having that man work through his trauma. He needed some pure fluff and laughs. I did look up how to make gingerbread cookies but unlike many of the wonderful baking posts by @avastrasposts I have no idea what I’m doing. 😆 I made a post yesterday about what my chocolate chip cookies looked like and I cannot be trusted with an oven.

Word Count: approx. 1.2K

The directions had been clear and you read them twice before starting. You even tailored your shopping list to them and had double checked you had all the ingredients two days ago. Why do they all look like piles of lumpy dirt?

Now the ginger, cinnamon, brown sugar, molasses give it the brown color which makes sense. The wet ingredients you added after the dry because that’s what they always did on one of your favorite shows ‘Nailed it!’ and you made fun of the bakers who dumped everything in at once. You swear you’re not like them. You promise. 

The dough sat in the fridge for two and a half hours. The minimum was two but you were checking emails on your phone and lost track of time. A rolling pin was bought for this, you hadn’t owned one, never needed one but you got one. A good one not from the dollar store, but from Target. Rolled out the dough, shaped the little gingerbread cookies, set the oven to 350 degrees and put them in, rotating them halfway so they would bake evenly. The cookies had been rising and rising and maybe they rose a bit too much, but maybe it would fall like a cake. They all rise and fall right?

But now, these cookies mock you, they’re huge, puffy, oblong. Not the cute circles you’d cut out less than 30 minutes ago. What can you do with them?

“Hermosa (gorgeous), I’m home. Benny lost to the Raz guy again. He’s really got to train harder.” Your husband walked in, setting his keys in the dish by the door and slipping his boots off. He was making his way to the kitchen. You threw a dish towel over the cookies in a vain attempt to hide them. He’s a pilot whose job it is to keep track of minute details that can disrupt a flight plan. You’re not hiding anything. 

“Hey Frankie. Benny lost again? Maybe he should take a break for a bit like you said.” You smiled, your fingers nervously tapping your thigh. He was scanning you and the room.

“Hermosa. What’s under the cloth? This isn’t the day you murder me for wearing shoes inside the house is it?” He laughed moving toward you and those abominations called cookies. 

“No. And I mention one time how I don’t like dirt tracked in the house and you go right to murder Morales. Jeez.” You crossed your arms in false offense before pulling him close to you by his arms. “You have to pay the toll, you know. Just gonna walk in this house and think you don’t. Mighty full of yourself sir.” You grinned and placed a soft peck on his lips. Frankie smiled and put an arm around your shoulders, deepening the kiss before stepping back, holding the dishcloth.

“I’m a man who pays his debts.” He took one look at the oversized cookies and doubled over in laughter. “Hermosa no, baby why? These are the gingerbread cookies you talked about? They look like…like..”

“Don’t say it…” You covered your ears. You’d hear him anyways, but it didn’t stop you from being mortified that he saw them and what you both knew they looked like.

“Like what came out of Santi’s dog after he gave him that kibble with the extra fiber..!” Frankie continued to bellow with glee, clumsy stepping back. Your hands went from your ears to your hips, face burning with annoyance but also glee that he was able to laugh so freely. It used to be difficult to get a chuckle out of the man when he wasn’t with his brothers in arms. 

“I used to like you Frankie. Damn it.” At this point, you’re biting your lips to hold back your own laugh. Morales is red in the face, starting to wheeze.

“Hermosa, you know I love you.” Despite his eyes starting to water, he’s stepping toward you, in an effort to get away from him, you move to the other side of the table when he easily uses his long legs to intercept and catch you from behind, nuzzling his chin in your neck while still chuckling. “I love you and your shity looking cookies.”

“You’re lucky, you’re cute and I’m a sucker for men who like my shity looking cookies.”

You finally gave in and giggled in his arms as he rocked you from side to side.

“Did you try them? Are they edible?” He asked, waddling back over to the cookies with you.

“I hadn’t tried them yet. I was so taken with what they looked like.” You admitted. 

The both of you agreed to break a cookie in half to try. Now standing side by side, you counted to three and bit into the cookie. It was warm, fluffy and actually tasted sweet. Like gingerbread.

“Damn mi vida (my life), they look horrible, but taste great. This is your first time making them right?” Frankie asked, chewing it and downed the other half. He kissed your forehead, leaving a few crumbs from his patchy beard which you brushed off your head. 

“Yeah. I wanted to try and make a tradition for us, and surprise you. I guess I did both. Not exactly how I planned though.” You finished your half of the cookie as well, licking your lips. Proud that you did at least make something that tasted good. In the midst of studying the cookies, you saw a glint of something. Turning, Frankie had pulled out his phone and was snapping pictures of the cookies. “Morales! Don’t you dare!” You lunged in an effort to grab his phone from him, he put his hands up and out of your reach.

“I gotta save the memory of these cookies! You understand mi vida?” That booming laugh of his returned as his hands snaked around your sides. You twisted your mouth, determined to let him know that you weren’t ok with him taking pictures of your baking disaster. But he was laughing so much more, more than he had been in months.

“Just don’t send them to the guys. Please Francisco.” His smile curved into a grin.

“I’m Francisco now? Well maybe I should, since I’ve been downgraded to Francisco.” He touched his prominent nose to yours, rubbing it slightly. It tickled and you drew back before rubbing yours against his. 

“I just called you by your name. I’m serious. Don’t. Benny still calls me Baby Legs from when I did shots with you guys.” Morales bites his bottom lips before digging his face into your shoulder, you feel the vibrations of his laughter on your skin.

“I know, I know.” He assured you when he picked his head back up, he put his phone in his pocket and placed his palm on your cheek. “Next time we’ll bake them together, alright mi amor (my love)? We’ll make it a tradition like you said.” You both took another look at the bloated cookies and laughed together, echoing so the neighbors could hear if they chose to.

Tag List:

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23 @linzels-blog @joelmillers-whore @guelyury @laurfilijames @missladym1981 @pamasaur @alltheglitterandtheroar @din-djarins-riduur @daddy-dins-girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @yorksgirl @saturn-rings-writes @gwendibleywrites @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @undercoverpena @musings-of-a-rose @gnpwdrnwhiskey

[ohforficsakelibrary]

Woodsmoke

masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gender Neutral Reader. No physical descriptions of reader beyond having hair. Reader has a cat. Established but new-ish, implied long-distance-ish relationship.

Summary: Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme. If I've missed anything, please do tell me.

Word Count: ~1.6K

Rating: General? Two curse words and some kissin'. The remainder of my work is 18+ / minors DNI.

A/N: I do not know about y'all but I have been going through it lately. And Frankie Morales is my comfort character. This is not along the lines of my usual writing, and for that reason, I haven't tagged anyone. But I'm sharing it on the off chance that you, like me, just need a hug. I know this time of year isn't the easiest for a lot of us, and I hope maybe this gives you a little comfort. Comfort!Frankie, if you will. Please heed the warnings and read with care.

You are worthy of love.

You don’t have time to cry.

Not right now, on this highway, snowflakes flying towards you like crystalline stars at a speed twenty miles per hour slower than the speed you’d be moving at if they weren’t.

You can’t see the lines on the road even without tears in your eyes.

One thing at a time.

Like everything lately.

Just follow the tracks of the car in front of you until it gets you home.

Home to your house that’s empty save for a grumpy tabby cat.

Most days you swear your existence hinges on his.

He’s been your thing to look forward to for the last fifteen years.

Well, and Frankie is visiting this week. 

Provided that this storm doesn’t shut the airport down.

Fuck.

It’s not that you hadn’t been doing well without him. 

It’s that you hadn’t been doing well.

Too long without a mental break. Exhaustion that seeps with the cold into your bones.

Too many things on a to-do list that you can’t bring yourself to do on the weekends because it’s too long and your own time is so short.

Maybe it’s some malefic arrangement of stars and planets, perhaps.

You haven’t even started buying holiday gifts. 

And it sends you face-first into the dread of making a trip back home.

The place that was supposed to be your home.

And dread is the correct word, even if your therapist says you're making real progress. 

See, the thing is, your therapist doesn’t have to sit in the contents of the box of shit you dug out from the corner of your brain and emptied all over the floor of your mind.

She only helps you sort through it every other Tuesday.

It was in the box for a reason.

It was easier to carry that way.

_____

When finally you pull into your driveway and step out into fresh snow, it’s the smell that hits you first.

Woodsmoke.

Someone has started up the wood stove so that you don’t go cold, but you hadn’t been expecting company. You figure it’s your best friend who has a key and a standing invitation, and you’re not necessarily opposed to them being here. 

Sharing a bottle of wine would probably do you some good.

You stomp snow from your shoes and step inside to offer your layers to the hooks on the wall of the mudroom before you catch sight of the boots in the tray as you toe yours off.

“Frankie?!”

“One sec, babe!”

Frankie.

You wrench open the door that leads through to the kitchen and catch sight of him in front of the sink where he’s draining steaming water from a pot of pasta.

He looks up at you across the kitchen and winks.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he quickly pops the pot back onto a dead burner, slinging oven mitts off a fraction of a second before you collide with his chest.

“Baby,” he whispers, locking you in with an arm around the small of your back and the other at the nape of your neck. 

He smells of woodsmoke and cedar and Frankie.

Smells like home.

“You weren’t supposed to be here for another two days,” you pull back and look up into brown eyes framed by mirth-filled creases.

“I was keeping an eye on the weather,” he urges you against him again to nuzzle into your hair, “didn’t want to wait. There’s another front coming behind this one. Took an Uber from the airport. Got in about an hour ago.”

Pilots and their forecasts.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait.”

“So am I,” he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours. Soft and sweet. Perfect.

“I made pasta, thought you’d be hungry when you got in.” He grins against your mouth before turning back to the stove to stir tomato sauce. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, but there’s plenty for tonight.” Frankie turns off the burner.

And it’s so new, having a man in your kitchen. 

Making you dinner.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to go to the store,” you rake a hand through your hair as he winds a corkscrew into a bottle of wine.

So new, having arms to fall into.

“Don't apologize, babe. We’ll go tomorrow,” he sneaks another kiss as he fills your glass, one hand absently rubbing your back as he does. “Oh, I also fed the cat,” he points to stacked tins of cat food near the fridge, “from that, hope that was okay,” he fills his own glass. “He was hungry and he was insisting on spaghetti but I figured that’s not…”

“Thank you.”

It’s not more than a trembling whisper.

Because you’re fighting back tears.

This man warmed your house and poured you wine and fed your cat and made you a meal.

Because he cares.

Someone cares.

For you.

“Oh, hey no no no, cariño, what’s wrong?” He replaces his glass on the counter and cups your face in one massive palm.

Soothing with a gentle thumb over your cheekbone.

“This is so nice,” you breathe and the tears finally blur his face. “I just—no one has ever done this for me before.” 

It leaves your mouth slowly, like you're not even sure if you can say it.

If you're allowed.

Your view is quickly replaced by the grey and red of his sweater.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do, baby.”

And it makes your chest heave with the sobs you can’t hold in any longer as you wrap your arms around his waist, sinking into the way he presses you tighter against his heart.

The wool of his jumper eager to collect all of the tears you haven’t had time to cry. 

Because time stands still here, wrapped tight in his embrace.

And Francisco isn’t afraid of your mess.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t ask.

Instead, he tiptoes around the debris of that box to where you weep in the center of the chaos.

To where the child sits with hot tears streaming down their face.

And he looks straight into the heart of you with eyes as soft as the toy you clutch to your chest for comfort.

And offers himself instead.

He offers the breadth of his chest and the strong panes of his back. The vice grip of his arms and the gentle soothing of a palm.

He offers his whole self.

In the stead of the affection you were never given and so learned too well to do without.

In the stead of the wire-framed mother.

In the stead of the shell that should have been a father.

In the stead of all of the unkind words you clung to in the belief that they must be true.

For why else would they not love a child in the way that a child needs love?

For why else were you left lonely for so long?

And the back of your throat goes sore with the burn of his kindness.

Kindness that you still don’t believe you deserve.

“Put it down, baby. Let it go.”

Where Life asked you to soothe yourself.

“I’m here.”

Life offers him to you now. 

For Life, it seems, has taken pity on you.

Or perhaps It grew weary of how your grief made It ache.

“I’m here now.”

And so It proffered this apology.

One that you accept in the form of skin and muscle. Bones and blood.

A soft-hearted one with big kind eyes.

And Frankie holds you until the sobbing eases.

And thumbs the tears from your lashes.

Plush lips soften into a crooked smile.

"Are you hungry, cariño?" Whispered softly.

"Yeah," you murmur because you suppose you are.

"Can we sit by the wood stove?" He turns you towards the living room and lays a kiss at the crown of your head.

"Yeah, yeah of course."

"Good, because it's fucking freezing." And that finally pulls a laugh from your throat. "Go on," he smacks you lightly on the bum, "I'll bring you a plate."

You grab both glasses of wine and toss a few throw pillows on the floor before Frankie settles next to you with two shallow bowls heaped with pasta.

_____

When you've finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table, cat napping on a throw pillow near the pair of you, Frankie sits back against the sofa and pulls you to sit at his side.

"I'm sorry that I..."

"No," Frankie cuts you off and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't ever apologize to me for feeling, baby."

And you stare down into the dregs of your wine.

"Promise," he prompts with a nudge of his arm.

You look up at him through tired, but grateful eyes. "I promise, Frankie."

"Good," and he kisses you slowly, all warm lips and soft moans.

He regales you with stories from his latest trip until you settle in against him, head tucked under his chin. Lulled by the rise and fall of his breath.

You let him hold you here, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Safe by the gentle heat of a dying fire.

You'll be yourself again tomorrow.

But tonight you allow yourself this.

Frankie kisses into your hairline as you drift between this word and sleep. Your weight against him is soothing as he finishes the last of the wine, eyes trained on the windows beyond, tracking the path of snowflakes on their way to meet the earth again.

"Te comprendo, cariño," he murmurs, resting his cheek against your crown.

"Y creo que te amo."

[grogusmum]

JULY: Buck Moon

Frankie Morales x gn!Reader (nicknamed Rocket)

W/C: 1200ish

RATED: M

WARNINGS: Smut, missionary, unprotected sex because it's fantasy. If I've inadvertently indicated gender please DM me and let me know, and as always if there is something I missed please let me know in my DMs and I will add it.

A/N: Here is the July installment of The Wheel of the Year, my theme for @yearofcreation2023. Organized by the effervescent @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms

This is a companion to my one shot Your Spot Okay, I should admit from the jump. This is not all that pagany. It’s smut. Sorry. But not really. Oops. I just, okay, this is what happened on Frankie Friday, I was thinking about him and Rocket. I also kind of got interested in the challenge of writing a smut for a gender neutral reader, if I could manage it. Fingers crossed.

“Why is it the Buck Moon?” Frankie wondered aloud, sitting by the fire in his camp chair, watching the full moon rise.

“It’s called that by some North American tribes, its also called the berry moon and salmon moon by others. Cuz it’s berry pickin time and like spawning season- you know how salmon are,” you laughed. "Anyway, it's the Buck moon because, you know how they drop their antlers each year… then new antlers grow and are bigger? July’s when the male deer’s antlers are at their peak size,” you explained as you held up two bottles of beer, "want one?”

Frankie nodded.

You sat, handing him the beer, he murmurs his thanks as you clinked the bottles together.

“Peak size you say?” Frankie said after taking a long pull from the bottle, his cocked eyebrow and smirk didnt go unnoticed.

You snorted a laugh.

You and he had decided to take it slow, but there were definitely times when putting on the breaks was getting more challenging, especially since you did so much camping together. There was a lot of necking and humping like teenagers. Since there was no benchmark either of you were waiting for, frankly, the question no one was asking but mostly definitely wondering at this point was why?

“Like it represents, virility … abundance… passion”

“So, mmmm what do people do?”

You swallowed, “well, you know we’re doin it. We caught fish and grilled it along with the veggies we picked from your garden- which is amazing. Did you know you had such a green thumb?”

Frankie tucked his beer in the little holder on the arm of the canvas chair. Then he took yours, and did the same, his warm hand came to your jaw, turning your face to his-

“What else might someone do?”

“Well, you know people … just try … to tap into that energy and you know start something new?”

Frankies lips pressed against yours to punctuate every word-

“Tap virility?”

“Yeah” you whispered after he pulled away infintesably.

“Tap passion?”

Your ‘mhm’ was swallowed by Frankie sealing his mouth to yours. When he pulled away he pulled you out of your chair, and ran his hands down your sides.

“Are we done waiting?”

“Yyyyeahh” you groaned.

As it was a perfect July night, you had planned to sleep under that moon and the stars, with no tent. So you both just tumbled onto your bedrolls. The clearing, your spot, was so protected, so out of the way that neither of you held any self-consciousness at pulling at each other's clothes until you were both completely undressed. The large moon shown on his body, his broad shoulders, and the slight curve of his belly. Sitting on his knees in front of you, your eyes traveled lower to the part of him you have only ever seen and felt through his clothes, above his strong thighs his length jutted proudly, to your mind perfect in size, with an enticing curve. You knelt before him, and when your eyes came back to his face, he wasn’t smug, though with your mouth hanging open, he probably had every right. He was busy looking at your body, fully naked for the first time in front of him. It was worshipful. When his eyes met yours, there was a question.

Am I enough?

You shuffled over to him, taking the forgotten ball cap off his head, and ran your fingers through his hair. Then, you climbed onto his lap. Caging his hips with your thighs, his hard shaft pressed against you made you both moan into each other's mouth. He gave an involuntary buck, and you gasped at the feeling.

“Which way do you want me,” you asked.

Frankie groaned at the question, and in a swift move, he had you on your back, your legs high for full access.

“I want to look at your face, Rocket,” he murmured, rutting up against your opening. “See you come undone, and you can see what you do to me.” His hands ran down your chest, then his teeth grazed one of your nipples, raising it. He licked his hand and brought it between your legs, preparing your entrance for him. A finger entered slowly, and then he pressed another into you as you whined at the stretch of his thick fingers.

“Shhhhit, Frankie.”

“Rocket, you- fuck, you feel good.”

His fingers slid in and out, languid and purposeful, and your breath quickened. Frankie watched you as he lined himself up and slowly pressed into you. The stretch was exquisite but not painful. Frankie had made sure of that. But it’s his eyes that had your chest heaving, those dark chestnut eyes, the crinkle that is almost permanently etched between his brows, searching for your face, for discomfort, for whatever else he can offer you. Full seated, he rested his forehead on yours, grinding his hips slow and deliberate. The way he does everything. Thoughtfully, with purpose. When you pushed back and it was like you flipped a switch, he began to piston into you, deep, hard. His hands on the back of your knees hold you legs high, opening you completely, you held on for dear life. His open mouth on your shoulders and neck.

“Gods Frankie don’t stop-” you gasped as delicious friction pushed you closer and closer to your peak, at that moment he tipped your hips just a bit more and hit your walls at a different angle and the next thrust sent fireworks behind your eyelids, toppling you over the edge. Frankie felt you tighten around him, and the warmth of your release. He let go of your legs and caged your torso holding you in place, grounding you.

You knew he was getting closer, his rhythm became erratic, until the rubberband within snapped. Frankie fell forward, covering you, murmuring your name, your real one, peppering you with kisses.

Finally, your breathing slowed, your heart beating at a restful pace -

"So, um, whadoya wanna do for the sturgeon moon?"

Frankie's shoulders quaked with silent laughter, and he rolled off you and onto his side, though his strong arm kept you close, tucked into his chest.

"Whatever you want, Rocket."

*

You both lay sleeping, in the early hours. In the night Frankie had rolled over and you took over as "big spoon", your arm wrapped around his ribcage, legs tucked behind his.

"Rocket," he murmured, patting your arm, his voice rough from sleep, " Rocket, ten o'clock."

Your eyes opened, and you muttered the words back to him in confusion.

"At ten o'clock, Rocket. Look," he whispered with urgency.

His words clicked, and you looked up, away from "twelve o'clock" and saw a twelve point buck in the clearing, morning mist surrounding him.

Your arm tightened around him, and his warm hand that covered yours squeezed in return.

💚THANK YOU FOR READING💚REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED💚

If you care to read more of my Frankie stories or any of my writing you can find my masterlist here and if you would like to be tagged for any of my fics you can find my handy dandy taglist form here.

[trulybetty]

frankie morales x masterlist

{ x. main masterlist }

Maverick Series (Frankie x f!reader) Can all be read individually, or read in order as one whole series.

Stood Up Stood up for a date that left you in the pouring rain, you seek refuge in a sports bar and before you can change your mind the man next to you strikes up a conversation. Hangar Frankie has finally extended an invitation to come take a tour of his base. There's a possibility he may have ulterior motives though for bringing you there. Flings Five times things were supposed to be a fling between you and Frankie until it wasn’t... Bookstore It's been multiple moves across states with Frankie and with retirement from the service the two of you are looking at a fresh start.

One Shots

Bruised Knees (18+) my response to the post that launched a thousand thots.

[oogaboogasphincter]

REQUEST

Can I request a one shot with any Pedro character and f reader, where the reader had her dog put down and Pedro character does whatever he can to make her feel better.

I've just recently had my dog put down and my heart is broken.

Thanks

Band-Aid | Frankie Morales x f!reader

warnings: talks about pet loss, emotional grieving and pain, frankie is the best at helping you cope and trying to make you feel better <3 also works for gn!readers | 740+ words

a/n: i'm so sorry anon ☹️ losing your pet is one of the greatest griefs i think we go through. i wish i could give you a great big hug 🫂 i decided to go with frankie because to me he's like a literal human embodiment of a teddy bear, there to hold and snuggle with until you feel better 🧸 i hope these words can bring you some comfort 💗

Frankie will hold you for as long as you need it - all day long and through the night, he'll keep his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. He'll cradle the back of your head and hold you close, whispering to you that, "It's okay." It's okay to cry, it's okay to be upset, it's okay for your heart to be broken.

He understands the weight of having to make such a major decision. He also knows that you're a wonderful, caring parent and that you know what's best for your dog. He'll help you to see that with the grief that responsibility can bring, there is also an endless trove of love for you to receive from eternally.

Frankie gives you a safe space to express your grief. He knows that, despite the pain, it's the better choice to feel it than to ignore it and try to fight it.

He'll be your buoy on the days when you feel like you're drowning in a sea of sorrow, your umbrella on the days when the clouds just won't let up and pour down on you.

"The pain you feel is a reflection of the immense love you and your dog have for each other. It shows just how much you loved your dog and how much your dog loved you back. Unconditionally."

He talks to you about your dog, listening with a smile as you retell stories. From the silly, to the mischievous, to the happy, and every little moment in between, he listens to you with undivided attention.

He reminds you with soft sincerity that you gave your dog a wonderful life in those sad moments where you feel like you could've done more. Frankie will tell you that he knows, as much as your dog knows, that you gave them the best life you could. The love you gave your dog will shine brighter than any star in the sky, burning spectacularly with unconditional love. He philosophizes that souls never really leave us, even if their physical body isn't present anymore.

He's a big believer that the ones you love and lose will find a way to follow you, in some manner or another. Some believe that seeing a cardinal or a dragonfly is representative of the lost soul visiting you, reminding you that they'll always be there. Some believe in spirits or entities like friendly ghosts. Personally, Frankie doesn't place the soul in any one object and believes that they'll visit you in any way they can. On those days when the sun shines a little brighter and feels warmer on your skin than usual, like its' reaching down from the sky and giving you a hug; when the wind blows and sounds like it's singing a melody only for you to hear; when the ocean rises and falls in such a way that you swear it looks as if it's waving hello to you, only you. Frankie wants you to remember that your dog's love will surround you always, even if you can't see it.

Frankie will help you make a memory box for your dog, to create a safe space to visit when you need it. He understands that seeing all the places of loss around your house can feel overwhelming, and he hopes that by taking that sadness and compartmentalizing it into a place of happy memories, it'll lessen the gloom. Frankie will help you collect everything that reminds you of your dog, like their collar, their favorite toys, their favorite blankets and sweaters, and lots and lots of pictures of them.

Frankie also helps you to memorialize the things that you can't fit into the box that remind you of your dog. In the places where your dog ate, slept and played, Frankie will place plants that he says, "are only able to grow from all the love that lives there already."

Grief is not easy, but Frankie will be there to help you every step of the way. He'll share your tears and dab yours away delicately, he'll hold you together when you feel like you're falling apart, he'll take care of you when you don't have the energy to. But he'll also share your smile, laugh with you and help you to nurture and preserve the memory of your dog. The loss can feel like it'll be a permanent wound, but Frankie will do everything in his power to be your band-aid.

to anon 💌: please reach out to me and let me know if you're satisfied with what i've written for you! you asked for a one shot, and i know that i kind of wrote this in the format of headcanons, just because i really wanted to comfort you directly instead of having it as a narrative <3 i'd be more than happy to write something else/something longer for you if you'd like something different! 🫂🫂 or if you just need someone to talk to, my dms and/or inbox are always open 💗

💘taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @your-voice-is-mellifluous @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed

[sticktothestars]

Frankie: I'm never having a debate with Y/n again, they literally started their argument with "Riddle me this."

[marvel-and-mischief]

❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️

Day 16. Gingerbread House Decorating Disaster

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader Words: 805 Warnings: Frankie has a daughter, swear word

December Writing Challenge masterlist

Frankie was a wonderful dad. You’d known that from the moment you met him calmly wrangling a toddler in the candy aisle of your local store. He didn’t look exasperated or annoyed at all. He bundled her up in his arms, wiped away her tears with reassuring words and a sympathetic smile, and even had enough time to move his trolley out the way for you to pass, and apologised for the commotion. 

Frankie, on the other hand, would say he could always improve in his fatherly duties. That’s why he got stuck in at every opportunity, especially around the holidays, making moments as special as possible so she can remember them for the rest of her life. 

That’s how Frankie became elbow deep in icing and marshmallows a few days before Christmas. Him and Ariel, his four year old daughter, were sat at the dining table, silver and white icing being painted onto gingerbread pieces. Ariel was concentrating half on a job well done and half on the mini marshmallows that were forever disappearing into her mouth. Frankie was using white icing to paint on snowflakes, then dipping them into a plate of silver edible glitter which delighted Ariel. 

“It’s getting late,” you say quietly, leaning over Frankie’s shoulder to see the heavily decorated pieces of unassembled gingerbread house scattered across the table. Ariel lit up when she saw you, hands instantly reaching towards you. Her eyes were beginning to droop, due in part to coming down from a sugar rush if her sticky marshmallow covered fingers were any indication, and partly because her and Frankie had been decorating for close to five hours. 

“That is the prettiest, shiniest gingerbread house I’ve ever seen,” you say as you help her off her chair and into your arms.

“So shiny,” Frankie gave himself a once over, noticing specks of glitter on his clothing. “We agreed that when Ariel comes down to breakfast tomorrow all the pieces will be stuck together with magic.”

Ariel nodded half-heartedly against your shoulder, already halfway to sleep. Frankie gave her a kiss goodnight and left you to clean her up and put her down for bed. 

By the time you were finished you expected to find Frankie with a hot drink in the living room, catching up on sports results or flicking through shows to continue watching. When you didn’t see him you made your way back to the dining room to witness a very sheepish looking Frankie, conveniently shielding the table from your view.

You cocked an eyebrow, notifying him you know something’s up and he better tell you soon because you’ll find out one way or another. 

“I messed up,” was his only confession, drooping his shoulders in defeat as he stepped aside. At first all you could see was a pile of gingerbread pieces huddled together in the middle of the table. When you stepped closer you realised the brown icing tube, the ‘glue’ to stick the house together, was empty, the contents messily spread across all the pieces. You had no idea how this would have happened, so you looked to Frankie for answers.

“I thought I’d get started on assembling the pieces but that fucking-“

“Language.”

“She’s asleep,” Frankie huffed, crossing his arms in frustration before continuing, “that stupid glue doesn’t flipping glue anything! It all slid down until it… collapsed.”

“I was gone less than ten minutes. Don’t tell me you tried to assemble the whole house in ten minutes?”

Frankie looked affronted, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before giving up and slumping into one of the dining room chairs. You can’t help it, you begin to giggle. Which only makes Frankie throw his head back and groan.

“I knew you’d laugh at me.”

You reached over and ran a hand softly through his curls, bringing his head forward so he didn't hurt his neck.

“You’ve got to admit, it’s a little bit funny.”

Frankie eyed the mess on the table. All he could think about was Ariel’s little face when she saw a puddle of gingerbread pieces in the morning. 

“She’ll be so disappointed.”

You prodded the glue, seeing if you could salvage any of it but it had turned sludgy and hard in parts. It would be impossible to remove it and reuse. 

“Not if she gets to eat it for breakfast.” 

Frankie would have been impressed by the suggestion if he didn’t remember one thing.

“You’ve got that work thing tomorrow.”

You frowned, not understanding where this was going.

“So?”

"So I’ll be left with the sugar rush.”

You smirked, highly amused by the image of Frankie trying to keep a hyperactive pre-schooler under control, and leaned down to brush a kiss to his nose.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before destroying her gingerbread house.”

[archive-of-note]

First Writer Wednesday!

@writer-wednesday week 24

author's notes

Reader insert, poly relationship (Frankie x GN!Reader x Female!OC) reader is never gendered, referred to as “titi” by a child character in place of mom/dad/aunt/uncle etc. some very loose allusions to sexual activity, like hella loose, could not even be recognized unless your mind was already skirting the gutter. My terrible attempts at Spanish, do not hesitate to tell me if smth is wrong.

Female OC: Aliya. Imagine Bayonetta but toned down. She’s still confidant, she’s still flirty, but it’s more restrained. Actually used to be a stripper, worked through getting her MD, eventually became a pediatrician, still dances for fun because she genuinely enjoyed the physicality of it, and it’s a great way to keep active and in touch with her old coworkers. (we respect sex workers in this house!)

none of this is really pertinent to the story, but I wanted to give her some background

she does have some issues with Santi, she keeps her mouth shut about it though, but know if he ever tries to pull his shit again she will not hesitate to go for the throat.

I don’t know if it came across but I need you to understand that the insert has it down BAD for these two, we’re talking hearts and stars and fireworks in their eyes.

if i missed any warnings or tags do not hesitate to tell me

Simply Poolside Paradise

It’s hot as hell and there is barely a breeze.

Smack dab in the middle of August you wonder why you’re not inside, naked, and spread eagle in front of a fan.

A splash and whoop make you look up, and you’re reminded what you’re suffering for.

Frankie shakes his head, flicking water out of his hair and making you long for a camera to capture the Vanity Fair quality moment.

“How he was so oblivious to your interest I will never know.”

You shake your own head, and look to the woman who has just insulted you and Frankie.

“Well, Aliya, how’d you do it?”

She huffs, obviously rolling her eyes behind her large sunglasses as she smacks your arm with her paperback.

“That’s different.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking at her over the rims of your own sunglasses.

Instead of giving you a better argument, she just flicks your ear.

Snatching her wrist, you tug, pulling her into your lap as she squawks and flails gracelessly.

Frankie shouts from the other side of the pool, “You alright?”

You shout over her shoulder, “I’m being bullied!”

“You’re being bullied!? I’m being manhandled!”

You wrap your arms around her and laugh, kissing whatever bits of her you can reach as she playfully swats at you.

Suddenly you pull away, “Blegh,” cringing at the sour chemical taste of sunscreen.

She halts her wiggling, “What’s wrong?”

You click your tongue, trying to wipe the taste from your tongue without using your hands, “Tastes bad.”

“Slander!” Frankie’s voice booms from the edge of the pool, and he glares at you with a comical amount of contempt.

It takes you a moment, but once you understand what he means you gasp in horror, “I would never,” you squeeze Aliya’s waist, “imply such a thing.”

She tugs at your hair in retribution, “But you just did,” she starts trying to get out of your lap again, “you more than implied in fact.”

Whining, you hook your fingers into the strappier parts of her baiting suit, “Aliya,” you pout, gently tugging.

She humphs, crossing her arms and tilting her head away from you.

“Francisco,” she looks over her shoulder, “could you put lotion on my back?”

“Hey! I’m right here!”

She turns back to you, and even as you try to keep your eyes on her, you can’t help but flick your gaze to Frankie as he pushes himself out of the pool and all of that water pours down the thick expanse of his body.

You thoughtlessly lick your lips as he gets to his feet.

“Do you ever think with the head on your shoulders?”

Looking back to Aliya, you hum, wordlessly asking that she repeat herself.

She just laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Frankie grabs a towel from the bag beside your lounge chair, rubbing the side of his head, nose scrunching in a way that tells you he has some water in his ear.

Aliya cups your face, tilting your head up to look at her, “Not funny,” she leans in for a quick kiss, “just happy.”

The smile that breaks across your face makes you feel a little stupid, but Aliya’s eyes soften, and you don’t care.

“What about me?”

You turn to look at Frankie. His pout is so overdone that you can’t help but snort.

“C’mere, Flyboy.”

Smiling, he leans down and cups your cheek with one large hand, kissing you with a bit more fervor then is probably appropriate for his friend’s backyard pool.

“Blegh,” You make a face as you pull away.

“What?” Frankie looks worried.

You smack your lips to try and get rid of the taste, “You taste like chlorine.”

He huffs, but he doesn’t try too hard to keep his face deadpan.

“You better be decent! Ankle biters incoming!”

The three of you turn in time to see a little girl running and screaming toward the poolside.

“Tío Fishy!”

The little girl has her father’s hair, black, wavy, and with a decent puff from the humidity.

“Hey baby girl!”

He picks her up and she squeals in delight, suddenly several feet off the ground and loving every second of it.

“Santiago.” Aliya slips back into your lap, looking over your shoulder to the man who’s trailing behind Frankie’s daughter. It's not that she hates him, she actually thinks Santi is fun to be around. But sometimes the memory of the broken man who came back after going dark, lead on by promises of fortune, only to come back guilt ridden and empty handed, well, she might need some time to consider spitting on him if he were on fire.

He whistles, looking appreciatively at the woman in your lap, not feeling the subtle glare hidden by her frames.

You glare from behind the polarized lenses of your own shades, but more so to play up seeming jealous, just to lighten the mood.

“Titi,” tilting your head down, you soften your features to look to the little girl standing at your side.

“Hey starlight, how was shopping with Santi?”

Her mouth opens with a yawn, rubbing one of her eyes to really drive her want for nap time home.

“‘M sleepy.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

You turn to Aliya, “While it hurts me to say this, you might need to move.”

She holds a hand to her chest, shoulders relaxing once Pope is out of sight, “Devastating.”

“I know, I need to mentally prepare.”

Turning back to the little girl you ask in a soft voice, “You want to go inside to take a nap?”

She shakes her head.

“No? Why not?”

She doesn’t say, she just gives you the grabby hands.

You glance up to the sky, bright, blue, and not a cloud in sight.

“Gotta put sunscreen on, you still want to be out here?”

She nods, eyes closed and spreading her arms, already preparing for the process of being misted.

“It’s lotion, Stellita.”

She gives a little grunt, arms dropping and waiting.

You look to Aliya, and she already has the bottle in her hands.

“I’ll do it, grab a towel or two, so she has a pillow and something to hold.”

She slips out of your lap, and you do just that, taking a quick look at Frankie and Santi’s daughter splashing around in the shallow end of the pool, “Mari! Are you wearing sun screen?”

“What’s that?”

And that answers that question.

You give Frankie a look and he’s already walking back out of the water, holding the little girl aloft so she can’t wiggle around in a bid to stay in the pool.

Santiago shouts from near the shed, hefting a bag of coal over his shoulder, “Anyone hungry yet? Or can I hold off on the grill for a bit longer?”

You wave a hand his way, “I’m not hungry yet, but I think I’m getting there, still, no rush.”

You find some pool towels and start setting up a spot for Estella, in the shade and close to both you and Pope, but she whines, again giving you the grabby hands.

“I’m gonna need words here bebita, my mind reading doesn’t always work.”

She whines “‘na cuddle.”

“Es Calor, ¿estás seguro?” You flick your eyes to Santi, and he gives you a thumbs up on your Spanish.

“Sí, quiero mi titi.”

If you could die from cuteness you’d be six feet under right now.

“Alright,” you pick her up with one of the towels, sitting back in the pool lounger and getting comfortable and trapping yourself beneath the little girl.

“¿Bueno, estrella de mi vida?”

She nods, already mostly asleep against you.

A shadow suddenly covers you, so you look up, and standing over you is Frankie, with a patio umbrella that needs to be set up.

“Hey,”

“Hey,”

Frankie stares, but the sun blurs his face from view.

“Is something wrong?”

He stares a bit longer before shaking his head.

“No,” he plants the umbrella and opens it up, blocking the sun from where you and Estella lie.

“Just,” he locks the whole thing in place, “have I said I love you today?”

Blinking a few times you think it over, even though you don’t think he’s actually looking for an answer, “Yeah, when I made your coffee this morning.”

His smile grows, “Well saying it again won’t kill me.”

You shake your head, “No it won’t.”

Frankie leans in and kisses you, soft and full, before pulling away just enough to speak, “I love you.”

You close the gap between the two of you again, following him when he pulls back just a bit.

“Love you too, hermoso.”

He smiles in that way that makes his entire face scrunch up, eyes closing and crinkling at the sides.

You can't help but kiss him again.

“Tío Fishy!”

He tilts his head toward the pool, “Duty calls.” He doesn't move though.

“Mmhmm.” And you don't really make much of an effort to get him moving yourself.

“Tío Fishy!”

“Un momento, Mari.”

He kisses you one more time, then one last peck, before he takes two large steps and promptly jumps into the pool, splashing your legs and soaking Mari who is absolutely delighted by the chaos.

“Have I said I love you today?”

You look up to Aliya, taking in her cocked hip and the sharp points of her profile. Giving her an answer is easy after having already thought about getting ready this morning, “Yes, when I told you which sunglasses went with the hat and bathing suit, then when I packed a second book because I noticed you were very close to finishing your current one, and when I stopped you from drinking Frankie’s coffee.”

She makes a face, she may be okay with bitter flavors, but solid black coffee is too much for her.

“Well, I’m going to say it again. I love you.”

You grab her hand, “And I love you,” kissing the back of it you cringe again, “even when you taste like sunscreen.”

She laughs, before setting up the other lounge chair so she can share the shade with you.

[pedros-husband]

you steal their clothes

pedro pascal characters x male/gn! reader

characters included: Javier Pena, Joel Miller, Javi Gutierrez, Marcus Moreno, Ezra, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, agent whiskey, Silva, Oberyn Martell, Dave York, dieter bravo, Tim Rockford, Dio Morrisey

Javier pena: he thinks you look extremely hot in any of his clothes especially if you wear any of his tight jeans, the way the fabric clings to your ass has him reeling. and if your alone in the office/at home, he'll have you bent over a desk or in the sheets in moments. he doesn't hide how hot he thinks you look in them either, it's a lot of flirty comments and lingering touches. if you aren't in private he might walk up behind you and start trailing kisses down your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist as he whispers what he wishes he could do to you.

Joel miller: he won’t admit it but he thinks you look so handsome/gorgeous in any of his clothes, especially his flannel shirts, so when he catches you wearing one of them his eyes will light up and a small smile will play on his lips-only for a second though. Then he will silently walk over to you and wrap you up in his arms, smiling into your neck. And if it’s your day off he will push you down on to the couch/bed and hold you close in his arms, your face pressed into his chest as he runs his hands over the curves and contours of your body. If you try and mention how clingy he’s being and how he likes you wearing his clothes- he’ll shut you up with kisses and cuddles until you forgot all about what you where saying. (Sometimes it goes a little further and he’ll rip the shirt off you in heated desire, the buttons popping off as you gasp and he just grumbles about how he doesn’t care)

Javi Gutierrez: he smiles so wide like a puppy and sweeps you up in his arms whispering every pet name under the sun, kissing your cheek and trailing them down your arms and to your hands, telling you how he loves the way you look in his clothes. He will immediately propose that the two of you cuddle and watch all his favourite nick cage movies- and who are you to say no to that cute face?

Marcus Moreno: he melts when he sees you cuddled up in one of his hoodies and as long as he’s finished all his work he’ll drop anything he’s doing to wrap you up in his arms mumbling. How he’s so lucky to have you and to be your husband. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you and not necessarily in a sexual way he just needs to be touching you in some way, even if it’s just the pinkies touching on the couch if your working otherwise his whole body will be draped over you in a big bear hug.

Ezra: let’s be real he only really has a couple of undershirts and pants for under his suit so if you wear any of his clothes they’re going to be quite tight fitting (just pretend they would be okay) and so he’ll drool over you and immediately decide that the orlac hunting can wake a couple more minutes whilst he indulges in his favorite treasure…

Din djarin: he doesn’t wear anything other than his Mando armour like Ezra so instead if your a mando like him and you take your top armour off and are left in just your undershirt and trousers, he’ll flip the razor crest into autopilot and drag you back into the bunk room to retrace some tension he’s feeling

Frankie morales: he thinks you look so hot in his clothes even if it’s just his baseball hat (maybe with nothing else at all) and will twirl you around, smiling like an idiot, before swooping you up and putting you down on the couch, wrapped up in his arms. He won’t let you leave his grasp until the image of you in whatever your wearing is permanently engraved into his brain.

Agent whiskey: he thinks it’s the sexiest thing in the world, seeing you all cozy on the couch or doing the dishes in his shirts and shorts, he’ll walk up behind you , wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your neck, inhaling the smell of your cologne/ soap and smile. Sometimes he’ll whisk you off to the bedroom as well

Silva: he loves when you wear his cowboy hat or his old bandana, to him it shows that your his and no one else’s, and anyone who sees you will know that your his as well.

Oberyn martell: he has quite a few of each of his robes as spares and such as he’s the prince so when he catches you wearing his yellow robe his jaw drops to the floor. No matter if he’s attending an important meeting or training, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing and whisk you back to your chambers.

Dave York: he’ll play it off like he’s pissed that you stole his clothes but will secretly steal looks when your not looking, his eyes wandering over your body as he bites his lip. He’ll make a few phone calls to call in late and re arrange some plans so he can have you for a little while longer…

Dieter bravo: this man can already barely keep his hand off you so the second he sees you in something that’s his, he’s tackling you to the nearest bed/couch, looking at you with excited and hungry eyes, mumbling about how much better his clothes look on you but he’d prefer none at all.

Tim Rockford: he catches you wearing his shoulder holster in the mirror at home , and stops in his tracks, taking a couple steps back to leer through the door and admire how it looks on you. He will stare for hours until you’ve walked up to him and tapped him in the shoulder, snapping him out of his daydream with a bright blush on his face as you chuckle to yourself.

Dio morrissey: if you wear any of his necklaces/ leather jackets he’ll go feral. He thinks it’s the hottest thing ever and will pin you to the bed, trailing kisses along your neck and chest whispering curses under his breath as he progressively gets more and more hot and bothered.

————————————————————————————

A/n: sorry I haven’t posted any fics recently, I have had a flare up in my back and it’s thrown me off a bit, I’m working on a request that should be out soon hopefully and just a thank you to everyone as well :)

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite FRANCISCO MORALES Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 1

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 2

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 3

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 4

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 5

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 6

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 7

Francisco Morales Fic Recs - Part 8

Will be added to as I find more...

Jett's Pedro Character Favourite Fic Recs

[pedroshotwifey]

A Real Man Frankie Morales x plus size!fem!reader - Frankie has you sit on his face. (1.2k)

Fucking Mine Dave York x fem!reader - You help Dave get out some frustrations. (839)

One Condition Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect) - You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition. (4.9k)

Cramped Innocent!Din Djarin x GN!reader - As you tried to explain, the two of you really don't fit in the cockpit. (927)

Bargian Javier Peña x male!reader - You and Javi play through one of your scandalous fantasies (2.1k)

Salty Sweet Javier Peña x fem!reader - Javi eats you out on your birthday---with a deliciously kinky twist (1.3k)

Better Ezra x f!reader - You join Ezra on his unscheduled break, not knowing you're in for the ride of your lifetime. (2k)

Good 'n' Deep Fat!Frankie Morales x f!reader - Fat Frankie can't be sated. (2.6k)

What Matters Older Joel Miller x f!reader - Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more. (1.9k)

Needy Sub!Frankie Morales x dom!f!reader - Frankie gives you control for the night and you make sure he gets the most out of it. (1.6k)

Tease Sub!Dieter Bravo x sub!GN!reader x dom!Dave York - You and Dieter think it's fun to tease Dave, and Dave thinks he should teach you both a lesson for it. (2.4k)

Want some help on what to request? Try one of these links! (Make sure to specify which prompt list you’re using or I will assume it’s prompt list 1 :)

Prompt list 1

Prompt list 2

Prompt list 3

Prompt list 4

I am also willing to write for JDM characters (love me some Negan 🤭) , Oscar Isaac characters, Cassian Andor, and Rick Grimes! Feel free to suggest a different character and I’ll see what I can do! ❤️

Small letter about the requests (basically saying that this is a safe space for all of you to request whatever you'd like!)

[spaceagerabbit]

listen, the pedro characters and the oscar isaac characters would find you so pretty even when you’re just doing mundane things

like you’ll be laying in bed in a big t-shirt and pajama pants eating a bedtime snack (like a leftover cupcake or something), and he’ll just look at you with stars in his eyes and a small, soft smile.

you’ll look up from your snack and into his eyes, asking him why he was looking at you like that.

“you look so hot baby”, he would say, letting out a big loving sigh as he places his cheek to his palm.

your face is full of surprise for a brief moment before a soft smile is brought to your face as well, and you move your face down to the snack in your hand. you continue smiling as you eat and he lets out another dreamy sigh.

at one point he turns your head towards him, gently brushing a few crumbs off of your lips and then licking those crumbs off his fingers cheekily.

you can decide where this goes ;)

[grogusmum]

Let It SQUALL ❄️

This is part if the @pedrostories Secret Santa gift exchange 2022.

For: @something-tofightfor

With love: Hazel

Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

W/C:1400

RATED: T

You go to a tree farm to get your Christmas Tree and get a little help from Frankie.

It's your first Christmas alone, but you are determined to enjoy personal traditions built over a decade. This includes cutting your own tree...

So here you are, pulling into the tree farm's hardpan parking lot, hoping your hatchback isn't too small to bring one home. You remind yourself that it will be fine so long as you get a small tree as you get out of the car and grab your bow saw.

It really is a perfect day for it, snow on the ground from last night and some flurries swirling… you are bundled up in your favorite sweater with a scarf, gloves and good boots as you make your way to the field.

Holiday music floats over the parking lot and in the warming house, the smell of wood smoke and hot chocolate fill you with nostalgia.

A sweet faced dog with large pointy ears lopes by, you smile and your eyes can't help following. It's a dog, okay? The dog stops, tail wagging at a guy, you assume is his owner. He's comfortably handsome with soft brown eyes, a mustache and patchy scruff on his chin and cheeks. Layered a thermal shirt, button down flannel, and quilted barn coat, his head topped with a trucker cap with the tree farm logo on it. You note his coat has a patch with Frankie embroidered on it.

He gives you a crooked smile that displays a singular dimple. You give a small smile back and then continue your trek to the grove of trees, your face heats a little at being caught staring.

The music fades being replaced by the crunch of your foot falls and the aroma of pine and snow overtakes the smells from the farm yard.

You meander through the trees unhurried, passing the noble firs, gorgeous but expensive, best not to fall in love with one. Next the Douglases, then the Frasers… at the Balsams you turn into the rows, surrounding yourself in their scent. You take a moment to steep in it.

“I like the balsams too, humble, beautiful and the amazing smell lasts,” says a soft voice behind you.

“I love them,” you say, you had heard a second set of boots in the snow, turning to see that the friendly voice is coming from Frankie, the tree farm guy. “I just wish they held their needles a bit better.”

“Yeah, there’s always a catch,” he chuckles.

“There really always is isn't there," you smile.

“So, I followed you to see if I could help. Usually we get people out here in pairs or families…” Frankie trails off, not wanted to overstep. His hand comes up to the back of his neck, it is sweetly shy.

“Oh,” you say, have this broad, soft eyed tree farmer help? Pssh “That would be great!”

His smile lights up and you know you are in trouble!

As you and Frankie walk the lines of trees, you tell him you usually get a tall tree, your place, while not very big, has high ceilings, but now you only have a small hatchback to bring it home, so you need to stick with a 5 footer.

“Deciding which ornaments to leave in the boxes, that will be hard” you say with a sigh.

You walk in companionable silence for a few beats.

“Are you far?”

“No actually, I’m above the used bookstore right off Main,” you say absently as you walk around a small tree, scrutinizing it.

"I can," Frankie clears his throat, "I could bring- we offer delivery."

It takes a moment for you.

"Really?" You beam, then your face falls, "mmm, thank you butI really can't afford a bigger tree and delivery- "

"Delivery, under 5 miles, is free," Frankie confirms with more confidence. Though you get the feeling he just did that math. It's your turn to give a lopsided smile, as you thank him and move away from the small tree and head for the more mature ones.

You choose a narrow eight foot tree, Frankie makes quick work of falling it for you and drags it behind him as you make small talk. The temperature dropping as the day progresses and you begin to shiver.

"Cold?"

"Yeah, I didn't think it was supposed to drop like this, also thought I was going to be keeping myself warm with taking the tree down myself." Then you quickly add with a grin, "not I'm complaining. Thank you again."

"Well let's get you a hot drink and warm you up!"

At the warming house, you loosen your scarf and open up you coat. Frankie is aglow, ruddy cheeks from the chill and exertion as he hangs his coat up and adds a log to the woodstove. He smiles at a couple of the crew taking a break from the cold as he picks up two mugs-

"We got coffee, tea, hot chocolate and hot cider"

"Oh, um… I'll take the cider!"

Frankie, dimple showing, brings the two piping hot mugs over. You take the mug with both hands grazing his, murmuring your thanks.

After a sip-

"I love this space, and the woodcut ornaments… so, is this a family business?"

"Sorta, found family I guess." He says, "my buddies and I bought it, sort of defunked at the time…"

You continue to look everywhere but him-

"Nice"

Frankie on the other hand can't take his eyes off of you, "yeah."

Finally, you look over your steaming mug at him, "yeah."

You were kicking yourself internally for being so awkward. Why? Why must you be this way?

Then a bunch of phone notifications chime at once, you look at yours as several others do the same, including Frankie.

"Well, we'd better get you and your tree home, there's warning for squalls." Frankie says as everyone starts moving to finish up.

You nod and take another sip of the cider and set it down on the tray table set out for that purpose.

"I'm, um, a little nervous about my car getting it down the hill its not great in the snow…"

"Well, you're not far, how about I drive you in the pickup and you can get your car tomorrow, it's supposed to be clear tomorrow, no problem," Frankie guides you out a hand gently on your lower back. The tree is already in his truck and he takes just a moment to say something to a shorter man with black curls, who looks at you and then back to Frankie. He smiles and Frankie gives him a good natured shove.

With a whistle, his dog hops in the cab as the two of you clamber in.

"Is it okay if my dog joins?"

"Of course," you enthuse, giving the sweetie a scratch behind those big ears.

As with squalls, the snow is suddenly heavy and there are moments when it is white out conditions. You were so glad to not be in your little hatchback, you really needed to get a better car for the winter.

Frankie takes his time and soon enough you are in front of your bookstore, The Dancing Goat.

"Why dancing goat?" He asks looking up at the sign.

"That is an excellent question," you say with a smirk as you climb out of the truck.

You hear him chuckle, then shiver. With the wind the snow is coming down, and sideways, and up.

After the pair of you bring the tree up the stairs to the apartment above, and put the tree in the stand, you walk him back out to the sidewalk, finding the snow is worse.

"Maybe you should come back up, hopefully the squalls will settle in a little bit."

"Yeah, I can bring Raffi in?" Frankie asks, hand on the car door.

"Of course."

As you wait for the kettle, you start putting up the tree lights, Frankie falling very naturally in step with you, helping wind them around the tree. His dog Raffi finds your couch a perfect place to watch you both work, and gets cozy.

The kettle sings just as you finish the lights, so you plug it in with a voilà and you turn down the other lights and rush to get the tea brewing.

The windows with snow swirling outside them perfectly frame your merrily twinkling evergreen. You can't help but sigh and your eyes get bright with holidays past.

As a distraction, you pull out your phone, check the weather once more and then swipe over to your music app, selecting Skating by Vince Girardi and the quiet nostalgia of the Charlie Brown soundtrack.

"I think it might be a while."

"That's alright by me," Frankie says as he plunks down next to his already sleeping dog, he looks up an eyebrow raising and smile widening as he pats the cushion next to him-

"I'm still waiting to hear about the Dancing Goat."

Part 2

THANK YOU FOR READING 💚 AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS

If you enjoyed this, you can find more Frankie and my writng in general on my masterlist and if you would like to be tagged in future work, please go to my taglist form.

[trulybetty]

oct' 26 x campfire

Prompt: campfire Pairing: maverick!frankie x gn!reader (A/N: maverick is written as female in the main one-shots, but here I left it neutral) Word Count: 532 Warnings: a little bit of fluff, maybe some spice? mentions of alcohol - do I have to remind everyone that barely an edit took place? mistakes are my own Summary: outdoors & campfires with frankie

x. masterlist

There weren’t many people, if any, you’d go camping for.

You weren't necessarily against the idea, but you didn't quite understand the appeal. Why would you go out and spend the day conquering trails and peaks if you weren't going to head home afterwards to a hot shower, comfy bedding, and a glass of wine?

However, for Frankie, you made an exception.

He adored the outdoors, thrived in it even. The quiet of being away from the city, away from people seemed to bring him some peace, and for that, for Frankie, you'd suffer whatever consequence came from sleeping on an air mattress and bathing in freezing water.

You took a sip of the white wine Frankie had surprised you with, he'd buried at the bottom of the cooler under a bag of ice. His compensation for throwing a last minute request for you both to go camping that weekend instead of the lazy weekend at home you'd been looking forward to all week.

However work had been hard for him, between studying and the demands of the new job he'd taken on. It was still a struggle to find a balance between the two and make time for your relationship. Too many nights already you'd had to pry his book from his hands as you gently woke him and led him reluctantly to your bed.

The crackle of the campfire was the only sound that filled the air as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth radiating from the flames. You snuggled closer to Frankie, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulder, drawing you near. You rested your head on his shoulder and you felt him press a kiss atop your head.

As the night grew darker, the stars began to twinkle against the black canvas of the sky.

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. A wordless moment was exchanged between you both. So many years together meant that not much needed to be said between the two of you at times.

He leaned in to kiss you. The taste of the wine he'd drunk from your glass on his lips mixed with the smoky flavour of the campfire, making your heart race.

Frankie always had a way of making your heart race.

You shifted so to wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, savouring the feel of his lips on yours.

“Love you.” you whispered, as if you weren't the only two people out there for miles.

He pulled you tight against his chest again, you could hear his heartbeat against your ear, a gentle calming pulse that matched the rhythm of your own.

“I love you too Mav,” he murmured, tracing his fingers along the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he placed a kiss at your forehead this time.

The muggy days of summer had slowly come to an end, and the crisp air of autumn was starting to move in. You both knew that changes were on the way, but for now you were content to stay rooted in this moment, hold on to Frankie a little longer.

You could worry about the rest later.