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endlessthxxghts · 2 months

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Ch1: New Beginnings

teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k

Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.

Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of reader’s outfit (no size descriptions). Tío Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). “Author Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings” because it may result in spoilers (but there’s smut here…).

A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm🩶 to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx

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August 2024

“Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?” Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned.

The school year hasn’t started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! she’d tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?

“Oh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and that’s actually why I asked you to come in,” she states. “Are you aware of how smart that girl is?”

Frankie can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, she’s always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,” he beams.

“Oh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,” Mrs. Adams says genuinely. “So much so that I actually think she shouldn’t be attending here anymore,” the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements.

Frankie’s eyebrows twist in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. She’s one of our brightest. But,” she sighs. “She is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. I’d go as far as to say she’s a prodigy.”

“Oh,” Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesn’t know where she’s getting at. He tells her as much.

“What I’m trying to say is- Elena isn’t getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate she’s moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public school—at least here—cannot provide her with that.”

Frankie has always known his daughter’s natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic she’s really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhausted—because they worked on a topic she’s really good at. It’s too repetitive for her, but he wasn’t sure what other options he had.

Frankie takes a moment to think. “Even if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately don’t have right now,” he says with a heavy breath.

Mrs. Adams’ smile grows ten times bigger. “Mr. Morales-”

“Frankie, please,” he corrects.

“Frankie, there’s a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but I’ve spoken to the Director of Admissions. There’s a waitlist, and barely any get admitted—and it’s by semester, so you’ll have to keep up with re-enrolling her—but I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.”

Frankie sits in Mrs. Adams’ office, utterly stunned. He’s sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. “I- I don’t know what to say…” Frankie trails off.

“I know it’s a big step,” the teacher comforts. “But think about it.” She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. “Here’s the director’s card. I’ll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.”

Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities won’t be so rare for her as she gets older. That’s all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person.

So why does he feel so nervous? He’s dealt with change before, and he’s dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life could’ve been on the line—but nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all he’s ever known. It’s been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way.

He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. It’s 12 o’ clock right now—recess time—but he wouldn’t doubt she’s propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert.

“She’ll be escorted here in a few minutes,” the front desk lady tells him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Frankie says, resting his back against the wall.

A few minutes pass and the office’s door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughter’s giggles, an excited aura filling the room. “¡Papi!” she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach.

“¡Mija!” he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. “Wanna go get dessert?”

Her eyes light up like a million stars. “Please!!” she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankie’s grasp.

Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driver’s seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. “Brownie sundae spot or-”

“BROWNIE!” Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. “Okay, mija, brownie spot it is.”

Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elena’s wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. “Ay, tranquilo, tranquilo,” relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elena’s little head.

Today’s milestone, however, is much bigger than any they’ve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena.

“Papi,” she calls. “Are we celebrating something?”

Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. “We might be, mi amorcito.”

“Hm?” She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad.

Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. “Hey, guys! The usual?”

Elena answers first, very excitedly. “YES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!” She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy.

“What’s the occasion?” The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie.

“We’ll see after I talk with this little lady,” Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elena’s little cheek.

The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter.

“So,” Frankie states.

“So,” his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free.

“Do you know how smart you are, mija?” Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what she’s gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.

“Duh, papi!” She says, a troublemaking giggle she’s had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner.

“Alright, little smart ah-” Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. “You little smarty pants,” he corrects himself.

“Daddy, were you about to call me a smartass?” She scolds.

His cheeks flush a bright red. “You spend too much time with Tío Santi,” he deadpans.

She hums, nodding her head triumphantly.

“Anyway,” he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. “You’re so smart, mija, I was wondering… well, I was wondering if you feel like you’re actually learning?”

“What do you mean, papi?”

“Well, everything you’ve been learning so far is super easy for you, isn’t it?”

She ponders for a moment. “Yeah, it’s easy,” she confirms.

“Does it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?”

“A little, yeah,” she says a little softer. “But it’s okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me I’m her assistant,” she giggles with pride.

“You’re too good, amor,” he chuckles. “But what if I told you,” he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. “A really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?”

Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. “Me?! Really?!”

“Yes, baby!” Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. “And what if I told you they want you to go to their school?” Elena’s hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. “Would you wanna go, mi niña inteligente (my smart girl)?”

“So… I’ll learn harder things?” She asks.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks she’s having anxiety.

It’s not. “Then…” She settles for her usual diva answer. “Duh, papi!” She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey she’s about to embark on.

She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her father’s arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. “Thank you!!” She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair.

The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Morales’ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.

For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous.

You’ve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons you’d give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all.

So, now that you’re starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your life’s passion—yeah, you’re pretty nervous.

This school was created by the state’s local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldn’t care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system.

However, with time and careful planning, the program’s ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needs—regardless of their prodigal status—for little to no cost. It’s definitely an ambitious goal, but it’s one you’re absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.

You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principal—Ms. Sabatino—caught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasn’t even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could.

It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their “semester pregame,” they called it.

“You have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!” Ms. Smith—Linda, she corrected you—exclaimed.

“Powerhouse?!” You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?

“Yeah, you powerhouse, you!” Mr. White—Blake—chimes in. “You’re all anyone is talking about! Honestly, we’ve been dying to meet you.”

And lastly, Ms. Marshall—Leah—joins in. “You’re a real legend, ya know that, don’t you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,” she smirks, referring to their school’s mascot, the Rebels.

You flush under all their praise. “I really don’t know what you guys are talking about,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for our kiddos, like any of us would.” A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things you’ve done, but for the amazing students you’ve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isn’t a better feeling.

The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think you’re just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement don’t escape your super-teacher hearing.

Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. “Are you going to come though? We really would love to have you. We’ve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,” she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face.

“I’ll have you know-” he starts. “Oh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!” Ms. Smith cuts him off.

You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not me…but I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?”

“YAAASSSSSS!” Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. She’s definitely the life of the party with these three. “We have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. It’s a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but it’s all a part of the fun,” she says with a wink.

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. “Perfect! I can’t wait,” you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. It’s been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what you’ve been needing.

“Oh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!” Santi tells you, giving Frankie’s shoulder a punch of encouragement.

Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santi’s hand away with a scowl. “No.”

“Fish,” Santi reasons. “The Millers haven’t seen you in a hot minute since my ‘Lena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and ‘Lena!”

“We already celebrated,” Frankie corrects. “At the diner.”

“An adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

Frankie sighs. Santi’s right. “Who would watch Elena?”

“I already spoke with Yavonna last night,” Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice.

“Let me talk to Elena-”

“Fish, she’ll be fine-”

Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. “Let me talk to Elena,” he repeats, “and let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I don’t do anything without running it through with her first.”

Santi’s face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, “Fuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!”

Frankie grimaces. “Pope, cállate, por favor,” shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night.

“Tell ‘Lena Tío Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,” Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face.

“No,” Frankie says. Then he shuts the door.

Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. “Baby, tío Santi wishes you good night!”

Elena comes running down the stairs. “He left already?!”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo,” Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You kicked him out again, didn’t you, daddy?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I did,” Frankie stutters. There’s no lying to this little Einstein.

“Hey, baby?” Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. “Do you remember Yavonna? Tío Santi’s girlfriend?”

Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Yeah!”

“Well, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girls’ night?” He asks.

Elena’s smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mmm, tío Santi is nice and all, but he’s too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,” he retorts. “So, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.”

“Oh, okay,” Elena says as she giggles. “Have fun, papi!”

“I will, baby, thank you,” he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.

It’s Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. He’s nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involved—in both the child and the guardian’s life.

He’ll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isn’t like he wasn’t involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like he’s also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart.

He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal today—Ms. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they aren’t charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers.

He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again.

“Mr. Morales?” A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. “Ms. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.”

“Thank you,” he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering.

“Mr. Morales! Come in, come in!” Ms. Sabatino waves him over. “Sit, make yourself comfortable! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, ma’am, and please, just Frankie is good,” he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor.

“Okay then, Frankie,” she smiles. “Let’s see here,” she says, squinting to her computer. “Do you have the enrollment forms?”

“Yes, right here,” Frankie sets the folder in front of her.

“Perfect, thank you,” she replies. “Here, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elena’s profile.”

Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. “While we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?” she tries to joke, sensing Frankie’s anxiety.

Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. “Well, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,” he starts.

“The cost is no issue, I promise you,” she reassures. But it’s not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, he’ll be damned if he comes off as a freeloader—even though absolutely no one here views him that way.

“No, I understand, but it’s more so that-” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m a single dad. I’m the one catering for both Elena and I. We’re not very well off, but we’re also not entirely poor. Just enough to…not really afford this place,” he shakes his head, he’s rambling. “Anyway- sorry. What I’m trying to say is, money isn’t an issue, but I can’t just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isn’t in a monetary sense.”

This piques the principal’s interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that it’s done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. “I respect it,” she finally states. “A lot.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, not really sure how to respond to that.

Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort.

“I have one idea,” she offers.

Frankie’s ears perch up. “Yeah? Anything,” he replies.

“It’s a lot to ask of a parent,” she says. “And I know you’re eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if you’d like to say no, then say no, that’s all I ask.”

“Deal,” Frankie tells her.

“So, last semester, the head of our PTA—the Parent-Teacher Association—quit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly… anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, it’s a lot, but you’ll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.”

Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. It’s evident in the shocked look on his face.

“Like I said, I don’t need an answer right now-”

“What about the existing PTA parents?” Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this.

“I appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would… to be frank… be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell you’re nervous, but I can also tell you’re ambitious. I can tell you’d do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but they’re more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kids’ experiences.”

If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parents’ priorities are. He’s absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Are you sure?”

He isn't, he thinks. “Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh- okay, then,” Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. “Read this over- they’re just some little rules we’ve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. We’ve never had any issues before…besides last semester… but yeah, it’s just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if you’d like to quit.”

He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. He’s definitely not cut out for this. “Thank you, Ms. Sabatino. I’ll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,” Frankie says as he exits.

What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car.

The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. He’ll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.

Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day.

You’re in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone.

[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!

[5:48PM Leah] I’ve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get here…

[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, I’m not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.

[5:49PM Leah] Blake, I’m kidding, get your ass over here.

[5:49PM Blake] I’ve been outside, smartass.

[5:53PM Leah] Linda, we’re on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you don’t want a ride?

[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, I’m sure! I’m still picking out what I’m gonna wear to be honest. I think I’m gonna be a few minutes late.

[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?

[5:57PM Leah] 👀

[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: 👀

[5:58PM] Umm. No. I can’t make myself look nice for my friends?

[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no.

[5:59PM] Wow.

[5:59PM] Okay, I’ve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit.

You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you don’t necessarily have to get all dressed up. And it’s not like you’re getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then it’s been about an hour since you’ve got some… but human interaction? Yeah, no.

You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since it’s in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts.

It’s 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so you’re not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive.

When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time.

With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night you’re going to have. One that makes you think maybe you should’ve caught a ride.

The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. “Tequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!” She sings, already on her fourth to your first.

The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.

Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. It’s just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar.

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage.

Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. She’s content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and that’s all that matters. “We’ve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,” she explains. “I don’t know what I’d do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,” she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since you’re watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away.

It’s your turn for your eyes to gloss up. “That’s really beautiful,” you tell her.

Leah laughs a little. “Yeah. But don’t tell them though. I’ll have to strangle you,” she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think there’s truth behind that.

You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, “Promise,” you respond with a smirk. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want?”

“What are you getting?”

“Was honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. I’m tapped out.”

“Me too,” she grins. “I’ll get what you get.”

Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. “What can I get you, doll?”

“Two beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?” you ask a little shyly.

The bartender gives you a sweet smile. “I got you, honey.”

She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. “I gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,” you say, already whipping around and making your way back.

In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling it’s okay.

Two minutes, she mouths.

You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, you’re a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch.

As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and you’re quick to jump. “Hey, watch it!” You yell over the noise.

A large hand grabs onto the guy’s shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesn’t stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. “Benny, watch where you’re fucking going, man!”

“Oh, shit,” the tall, lean man turns to you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. “Can I… Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?” He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the man—Benny, apparently—away from you and to the other end where their other friends are. “Pendejo,” he mutters under his breath towards his friend.

You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, it’s like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to.

“Hi- uh, I’m- I’m Frankie- look, I’m real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,” he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on.

As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this man—at Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too.

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie,” you manage as you look up at him. He’s still standing. You’re sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, he’s tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand.

Little do you know, he’s also fighting the same battle as you.

“Can I get you a drink, Frankie?” you ask. Usually you’d never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more.

“Uh,” you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he can’t hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink?

He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him.

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. “I’ll have a beer,” he tells you.

“Coming right up,” you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartender’s attention.

You text Leah a quick I’m sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything.

The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesn’t accept.

Frankie is really nice. Really handsome…and sexy…but you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice.

As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, you’ve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that he’s a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. You’ve been witness to it a few times tonight—a hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drink—and it does nothing to calm your core’s ache.

The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.

“Oh-!” you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours.

Although quite nervous, Frankie’s confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hair’s width away. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Been dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,” you admit.

You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where he’s looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp.

He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldn’t care less right now.

Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again.

Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.

His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses.

Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you don’t even know it yet.

He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink.

You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you.

“Fuck, querida,” he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip.

“Frankie,” you beg. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

“Can I taste you?” He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action.

Fuck. “Ye- yeah- yeah, okay,” you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, it’s a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it.

Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. “Are- are you sure? I don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable,” he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re quick to grab onto him.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-” you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. “Yes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,” you say, tone a little needy on the backend. “You just took me by surprise, is all,” you whisper.

“Surprise?” He can’t stop his curiosity.

“I- I don’t know, guys don’t usually like-”

You don’t get to finish your statement before Frankie’s face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. “So what you’re saying is,” he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you weren’t propped up on the counter, you’d be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. “This pretty little thing hasn’t been treated properly in a long, long time?” He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety.

“How do you even know she’s pretty?” You quip back, matching his energy.

“Oh, I know she’s fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,” he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him.

“You flatter me,” you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break.

Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. “What’d I say?” He mutters to himself. “Fucking gorgeous,” he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine.

Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. “Fucking delicious, too.”

“Jesus, shit-” you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.

He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations.

He continues his tease until he hears you huff. You’re getting impatient. “Baby, please,” you whine. “Please don’t tease,” you pout at him then, and whether it’s real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face?

Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again.

Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.

“Oh, Frankie, yes-” you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue.

You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you.

“I’m c-close, Frankie- fuck- I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum- oh my God-” you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm.

The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and you’re so spaced out you don’t even realize Frankie’s been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankie’s fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankie’s doing.

Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. “That good, huh?”

“Finger lickin’, baby,” he says lazily.

He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. “Frankie-” you start.

“Yes, yes I did,” he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask.

He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place.

“You okay?” He checks in.

You melt under his sweet attention. “Never better,” you beam.

You two stand there in each other’s presence before you finally pipe up. “So how do you wanna…” you trail off.

“You wanna head out first? I got a bit of a… mess to clean up anyway,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“Oh! Right, yeah. Okay,” you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasn’t just inside of you. “I’ll see you out there,” you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out.

You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?!

You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and it’s really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway.

Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than you’ve ever experienced.

“There you are, silly!! Where’d you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear it’s been like an hour!!!”

You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say it’s okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool.

“Hey, sorry!” You scream over the music. “Just needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,” you lie. You’re too overstimulated—in many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet panties—to handle more ridicule from these three. “I think I’m gonna head home now, though, I’m kind of tired,” you tell her. “Where’s Blake and Leah?”

She drags you back to your guys’ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease.

When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later.

Except, he doesn’t.

Monday, August 19th.

Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area.

No luck. Of course.

Frankie’s Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping.

“¿Qué pasa, papi?” What’s wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs.

“Estoy bien, mi amorcito,” I’m okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head.

Elena didn’t bug further, but he knew she would soon.

Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged.

Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, he’s suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him.

He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye:

Ground Rules

He flips to the page.

He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are.

His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he can’t help but bite back a laugh.

No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions.

He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. “AHH! DADDY, DADDY, LET’S GO,” she’s jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix.

“Alright, alright, mi vida (my life), I’m coming,” Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back.

Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elena’s level. “Good morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?”

“YES-” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Yes! Yes, that’s me!” She says, a decibel calmer.

Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Elena, I’m Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!” She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly.

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles.

Ms. Sabatino rises. “Mr. Morales, it’s great to see you again!” He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. “May I walk you both to her class? I’d like to introduce you to her new teacher,” she directs the question towards both of them.

Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankie’s very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesn’t even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. “Oh, papi, please will you come?”

“Of course, baby,” he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory.

“Great!” Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. “Right this way.”

On the way to Elena’s new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, she’s the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but she’s practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. She’s a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesn’t really like that label much.

When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena.

Frankie really doesn’t know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elena’s voice is a muffled daddy, what’s wrong? throughout his panicked mind.

What’s wrong? He thinks.

What’s wrong is that Elena’s new teacher is you.

And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.

Fuck.

I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!🥹🥹 I poured everything I have into this story, and I’ve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.

Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!🫶

Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!

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undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

wet n' wild

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: “This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?” wordcount: 1.8k warnings: smut. p in v. frankie doing a bit of dirty talking. reader wears a white two piece/bikini. mutual appreciation of bodies - although slight mention of shyness about 'your' body. an: all thanks to this anon, i hope you appreciate how you made me rot.

As soon as it had begun—you’d hoped it would end like this.

The game of who could break the other started as soon as he'd pushed you into Santiago's pool.

The rules dissolved, disappearing amongst the soft waves made from your legs wrapping around his middle when you finally got him in the water, "jus' wanna float with you" you coo, wrapping it in naïveté as the pool floats moved past you and people shout over the music and sizzling food.

He believed you for all of a few moments. That is until you tightened your thighs, rocking yourself over him, smirking, fingers twirling a strand of his hair around and around. Just like you do at home.

Stop, his eyes said. Make me, you challenged silently, it having become clear that there would be no defined winner or loser.

Just a symphony of soft brushes and lingering glances, ones that make your face burn and your thighs press together as hours tick on by and the teasing increases. Each time he wraps an arm around your waist, you feel you're losing the edge, becoming powerless, desperation creeping up as you dig your nails into your palm, the sun drying your skin and two-piece doing nothing to quell the fire that swirls in your insides.

It's why you'd been cautious to slip from the party, from the laughter and loud yells. Sliding past bodies you don't know, moving between ones you do, as you head up to the house.

To freshen up, compose yourself.

But then you’d felt him follow.

A thrum darting through you, turning the fire into an inferno, it grows, showing no signs of simmering as your flip-flops clap against tiles. Even less so when you hear the backdoor slide open and then shut. Recognising that gait, that walk.

Your pulse thumps in your ear as he follows you, doing so down Santiago’s hallway. A part of you waiting. All on edge. Anticipation quickening the rhythm of your heart within its cage of bone as you turn your head, graceful, ear tilting akin to a curious animal, capturing the quiet sound of an opening door just as fingers wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back.

Game, set, match.

You do your best to hide your smirk—smother it in wide eyes and a blank expression. Innocence, all halo shining and white two-piece gleaming. You know Frankie sees through it—has been aware of each brush of your ass against the strings of his swim shorts.

It's evident in the way he looks at you, and pins you to him, all broad and spectacular as he moves you, back meeting the edge of the dresser as it digs into exposed skin. And, suddenly your throat is dry, unable to tear your eyes away from him if you tried. Because he’s crowding, all but looming—palm resting on your hip, the other cupping your cheek.

It’s brief, the seconds he provides. A flick of his gaze between both eyes, a confirmation requested and given with a smirk of your own mouth.

Then, he's on you.

Hot, wet mouth sliding over yours, tongue pressing past your lower lip, cursing somewhere at the back of his throat that he breathes into your own. Because fuck. A thought that grows, builds, but you do your best to bite back as your fingers grasp at bare skin, palms sliding over the flexing muscles on his shoulders and along his back before you grab a handful of his curls, droplets dripping down your wrist.

You don't fight the moan when he flattens his body to yours. Frankie flush to you, soft stomach against yours—no space between the two of you, nowhere for air to be except around the two of you—as his fingers splayed out on your hip. Keeping you where he wants you; where he needs you.

Here, here, here.

You lose yourself against his mouth. Drown in it; pleasingly overwhelmed by him, and desperate for more. Insatiable, in fact—as you become aware of his fingers at the crease of your thighs, parting them, ungluing them, fingers sliding over your fabric-covered seam.

The tip of his nose slides against your cheek, breath searing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire to your ear before he whispers, “Don’t think your bikini is wet from the pool, is it?”

It's instinct, barely muffled, a murmur of his name escaping—but better that than the moan you have to bite down on your tongue to suppress. More so as his fingers, all expert, competent, slide back and forth over your covered pussy. The thinnest layer being a barrier, keeping him from sliding into your heat and making you see stars.

“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”

You can't think, not as he teases the edge of your bikini.

Your name on his lips is elongated. Meaningful.

And, there's an answer forming somewhere, but it won't make it to your tongue. It thought, but barely given—never mind said—but he reads you. Pushing the fabric to the side, fingers parting you, retrieving a moan that does more than kiss the air.

You think you nod. You must do as sounds dull and thoughts silence as he sinks two fingers into you.

"Eyes on me, bonita."

And they pin to him just like he demands. Seeing only slowly drying curls and deep brown eyes. Admiring, mouth parting around silently pleas as he focuses on you, nothing else mattering, as he studies you, moves his fingers and thumb to get the sounds from you he knows he can get you to play.

There, you think. But he already knows. Frankie's attentive like that, swirling his thumb, circling and circling as your own hand slides between the two of you, palming him, feeling every thick inch of him as your teeth nip at your lower lip.

And he gleams as though reading your mind like he’s watching a movie in your eyes. Hand stopping, making your face scrunch before he's retracting it, fabric snapping back into place.

You barely have a chance to ask, never mind speak, before he’s shifting you, moving you with far too much ease until your back is bouncing on a mattress that isn’t your own—staring up at him as he tilts his head.

Fuck, he looks good.

Impossibly good. A thought you have constantly, almost continuously. Because it's him, all yours, forever 'mine'.

It's why shyness is gone, eroded. Hands rising, undoing the top of your swimwear until it parts open at your cleavage, exposing your breasts to him, nipples pebbling in the cool, drier air before you grasp them—take one in each hand and roll, squeeze, parting your thighs further as you mentally wish for his hands to replace yours—

“Or,” he says suddenly, grittier, all low and sounding closer to a grunt.

Jaw ticking to the side, eyes narrowing, as he takes one of your knees in hand, forcing it up, further into your chest.

"Is this what you wanted?”

Your heart hammers in your ears, thunders. It practically dulls all else—mind emptying of a party, of anyone walking in and catching the two of you. Least of all when he slides the fabric to the side, an order—direct and stern—to hold it for him, as you do so, all in awe, watching as he frees himself, swimshorts pooling somewhere at his ankles before he runs his palm up and down as he drinks you in.

And you’ve never felt more seen, more beautiful. Usually, a hand would have slid over your stomach, a thought crossing through your mind about the thickness of your thighs or the slithers of discolour that stretch across your hips.

But there’s none.

Just the sight of him, all handsome and pretty, stroking himself as he admires you undone and waiting.

“I ever told you how good you look?"

His eyes flick to yours at the sound of your voice.

"You do," you continue. "So pretty with your hand wrapped around your cock for me."

Sliding a finger over your soaked folds, breath hitching, you watch his eyes snap to it.

"Fuck Frankie," you whine. "Especially when you’re like this—when you’re doing this?”

It's silky, the way you let each word fall. Let it glide through the air to his ears as you earn a brow twitch.

“I want you, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, your free hand reaches for him, the mattress dipping as he kneels.

"Want you to fuck me so good we have to buy Santi new spare bed sheets, and not just wash them."

Leaning over, he smirks, pink sliding up his neck as his palm flattens to the mattress, all close to your head. "He never uses this room anyway," he retorts, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your teeth to bite down on the back of your hand. "So, someone should."

Nodding, you murmur something, words, letters at the very least.

“Fuck, who knew my girl was so dirty?”

Heat flushes through you, spreads—licks across muscles and bone as you stare down at the place the two of you could be conjoined—

“Frankie, please—“ the last letter barely forming as he pushes in, pussy taking him, inch by fucking inch, “—fuck, baby.”

His forehead finds yours, pushing it back as the back of your head meets the mattress as he slides himself into the hilt. All thick, suddenly nothing but full—mouth parted at it, before you begin to move, urging, pleading, before he’s moving.

Palm finding your mouth, you try to smother the moans and whines as he rolls his hips, gripping your hips, bruising, thrusting and kissing that part inside of you that makes his name fall in tandem from your mouth.

Distantly, you can hear him. Mumbling, babbling, lost in it: “I know, s’good for me. Feel perfect—always do. Look so good, querida—wanna fill you up. Touch yourself, come for me, baby. Please come for me.”

Fingers moving, sliding from holding the fabric for him to drawing circles, chin lifting, back arching into him as fire slides up your spine, the knot tightening in your stomach, muscles both tightening and relaxing. And it’s dizzying, vision blurring as you hear him talking you through it, murmurs of “that’s it’s baby, come on baby” as your fingers move on their own and your other hand clamps and digs into your own cheek, "can't believe you're letting me fuck you here, so perfect, mine, all—"

Hissing, moaning into his palm—teeth almost biting, piercing your skin as a tightness forms before you're clamping down. Before you snap, crack.

And you come.

And it's all but consuming, mind-bending and sound melting as he fucks you through it. Hips snapping against yours, skin slapping, as you hear him hissing, grunting, his name painted in spit and hisses against your palm as your legs shake.

You yank him down by the back of his neck, fingers full of curls, mouth slanting over his as you swallow his breaths, all hot and desperate—

“Come for me, Frankie.”

And he does. Hard.

And fuck, you know you're gonna have to replace more than the bedsheets.

an: hides and runs cause for me this was so filthy and I'm unwell from my own words

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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tightjeansjavi · 5 months

Text

worship

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

~word count: 1.5k~

Summary: cock worship with Frankie Morales

Pairing | Frankie Morales x f!reader

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

paciencia - patience

No es necesario mi amor - not necessary, my love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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pedge-page · 6 months

Text

Insatiable

Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :)

Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.

You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.

Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold."

The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.

And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.

You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.

“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots.

"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."

Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.

You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it.

Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?

To even consider if you wanted more...

You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.

Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.

It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself.

But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.

And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.

You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."

You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.

"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."

That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.

Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that.

Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.

Or it did, for a little while.

You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more.

Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?

Who the hell treats their friend like that?

That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable.

You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.

You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.

You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.

All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.

It scared you.

Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.

He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.

It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.

You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.

I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.

You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.

He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.

He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.

The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.

He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.

He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:

"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”

"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"

"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"

It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.

And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.

Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.

Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.

He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.

Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began.

He sat down with Pope a week after you left:

“You look like shit.”

Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”

Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.

Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”

“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.”

“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.

But damn it all, he still wanted you.

Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.

He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.

He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.

In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.

He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.

And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?

You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.

Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.

Just to stop feeling.

He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:

Disgust.

You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.

And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?

You dial him up quickly.

You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.

The phone rings out to voicemail.

He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.

He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.

You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.

You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.

Thank God.

You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.

Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.

You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."

You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.

"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."

You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his.

He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”

“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”

I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.

“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”

He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.

Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit.

“Please believe me,” he breathes.

"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"

"That's because of you!"

You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.

“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face.

He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did:

"I miss you, Querida.”

He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping.

You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“

“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.

You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away. Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”

“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“

He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"

You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."

Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.

You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“

He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.

“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you."

Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“

A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“

"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“

"High?"

Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”

His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again.

“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."

You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”

He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."

"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.

You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“

"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.

He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."

He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.

His jaw hitches. “Prove it."

You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.

"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"

"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”

His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch.

“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“

"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"

He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"

"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."

"How long?"

You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.

"Answer me!"

"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.

He haults his movements.

The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.

Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"

You nod shamefully.

"Did you fuck him?"

You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.

"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."

“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."

He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.

You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.

You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.

Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"

You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.

You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.

"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.

You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”

He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."

You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.

"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.

You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.

He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart.

By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.

You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.

“Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.

He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”

You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”

He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.

Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.

He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.

He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"

He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."

And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.

“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.

“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts.

You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.

He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.

He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.

Oh fuck, he’s so gone.

He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression.

He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.

You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed.

“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.

He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you.

“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.

“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.

You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you.

He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.

"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."

His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.

His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.

You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”

You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.

“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”

He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”

You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.

“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.

You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.

You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.

Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.

You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.

His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his.

“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.

Frankie wakes to a cold bed.

His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.

He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.

Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.

‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.

He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.

"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.

Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”

You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.”

He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep.

He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips.

“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“

“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”

A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.

“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.

You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.

Your big dumb idiot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”

Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 5 months

Note

frankie is a long time friend of a friend/runs in the same circles as you, and you both have a hate boner for one another. it all comes to a head bc he's the only one in the group chat who answers your call for aid when your [insert some busted appliance/plumbing fixture] and you're going to either fight, fuck or fumble this night.

WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE.

You ask, ye shall recieve. Thank you "nonnie" ;)

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, alcohol consumption, drug addiction, coke addiction, Frankie being mean/an asshole, Whiny Frankie Supremacy, weed smoking (medicinal), Ken Burns?, Country Music?, pining, angst, M!Masturbation, sub!Frankie.

Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Word count: 2.3k

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

Frankie pops his first beer of the night as he starts the next episode of the Ken Burns ‘Country Music’ documentary. He started it out of sheer lack of something better to do a few nights back, but now he’s hooked. He’s ready to settle in for the night, rolling a joint as a new message in the group chat comes in.

He checks it, only to see its you.

He locks his phone and turns it over; no way is he entertaining your bullshit tonight.

~*~

You sit there for what seems like forever, not a soul answering your cry for help in the group chat. You know it’s Friday night, you know everyone is likely to have plans, but the way water has flooded your kitchen is no joke.

So much for the joys of home ownership.

You lament as you wish there was a super contractually obliged to fix this mess. But it’s a week away from your next paycheque and you cannot afford to call in an emergency plumber. You’re about to give in and get your credit card out when a message comes through.

~*~

The credits roll at the end of the documentary and Frankie hums in approval, he realises he’s barely touched his beer, and his joint is similarly untouched, long gone out. He’s ready to put the next episode on and re-light as his modest buzz settles him into the recliner. Since quitting coke he’s found weed to be a welcome mellow fix that never tempts him too far but lets him mute the cravings otherwise. It has meant he’s gained a few pounds from all the munchies, but he takes that as a win. He was getting too skinny and working out is near impossible when so under-fuelled.

Absently he checks his phone again and his stomach drops.

No-one has answered your call for help, it’s been almost two hours. He shouldn’t care, the two of you butt heads on everything, you’re the Lex Luthor to his Superman. He hates you, at least, that’s what he tells himself. You challenge him in a way the other guys don’t. You don’t take his bullshit.

He swipes the message across to reveal the “Seen” tab, and his stomach drops. Everyone in the group chat has seen it, Alyssa, Barry, Benny, Santi, Will… the list goes on. There’s a pang of guilt in his gut as he realises just how desperate you must be right now.

He grumbles as he turns off the TV and snaps his lighter shut, putting his ashtray and joint aside. He’ll be damned if he leaves you hanging like this, no matter how much he claims to hate you.

~*~

You pace your hallway, waiting for the bane of your existence to arrive. You’re trying to put on a brave face, trying to ignore the coil in your gut. You play it off as anxiety, but you know it’s more than that.

You’re nervous because as much as you try and hate Frankie, he always gets under your skin. You’re always left wondering what his scruff would feel like on your skin, grazing your jaw, your neck. You hate Francisco Morales, but only as much as you secretly find him hotter than the sun.

He’s not a bad guy, you know he’s struggled with addiction, you know he and the guys saw some shit in the military. But there’s a rudeness reserved only for you when it came to social gatherings and interactions in the group chat.

You’d initially put it down to you being a new addition to the group – by way of Santi – after you two hit it off at a quiz night last year. But in that year, he has only seemed to close you off more and more. You’re almost at the point of looking for a new group of friends, if you’re completely honest with yourself. And you resent him for it.

You’re jolted from your thoughts as a fist pounding on your front door signals his arrival.

I have a doorbell asshole.

You grumble inwardly, but you tell yourself to play nice, Frankie’s doing you a favour here.

“Coming!”

You pause at the door, not wanting to seem too eager as you feel a nervous flutter in your stomach. You take a deep breath and swing it open to reveal Frankie in all his glory. Your chest constricts as you feel the inevitable bloom of desire in your core.

He’s wearing a floral pink and white Hawaiian shirt with a dark tank underneath that stretches across his soft belly. His sinful calves are on display under his tan cargo shorts and you try not to ogle him further as you welcome him into your home.

“Hey, thanks for doing this,” you start as he steps over the threshold, eyeing up your house with a methodical gaze, “Look, I know we’re not-,”

“Don’t worry about it, just show me where the sink is.”

He cuts you off, not looking at you as he speaks, and you bristle at his tone. It’s like he’s speaking down to a child, scolding you no less.

“This way,” you snap as you lead him into the kitchen and gesture at the sink, the cabinets below open ready for him. You feel his gaze on you. It makes you squirm, but you do your best to ignore the pooling of arousal in your panties.

“You turn the water off?” Frankie asks as he notices the multiple bath towels on the floor, sodden in your failed attempt to try and dry the place out. You’re just glad the kitchen is tiled.

“Yup.”

“Good,” he says almost to himself as he strips off his shirt, throwing it onto a countertop before getting on his knees. You prop yourself against the counter and wait, trying very hard not to stare as he gets on his back. He bends his knees to brace himself as he grabs the adjustable wrench that you’d been battling the U-bend with for the last hour. You try not to imagine how he’d look similarly stretched out on your sheets upstairs.

“Ok so good news, it’s not the U-bend,” Frankie says with a huff as he pops the entire faucet unit up and out of the basin, he rolls up onto his feet. You’re a little annoyed that he was able to determine the issue in minutes after you had spent over an hour googling and trying to fix it yourself.

“Oh?”

You are genuinely curious, so you push off from the counter to see what Frankie’s doing. He holds up the underside of the faucet, showing you a broken rubber ring sat at the neck of the mechanism. His shoulder brushes yours and you feel the fizzle of heat under your skin. Your heart flutters and you think he’s going to move away at the contact, but he seems only to lean in further.

He smells good. A faint hint of weed, which you know he has a prescription for, and his cologne, earthy and rich. It blends together into a smell you know by heart, something so uniquely Frankie, it makes you salivate. You hate how much you want a man who seemingly thinks so little of you.

“This happened to me last month,” he explains as he brings the offending washer into your eyeline, “Damn contractors used cheap fittings so they’re all going, Santi’s went last week.”

“So, I need a new tap? It’s that simple?” You groan in frustration, you’d been ready to spend hundreds of dollars to get this fixed, and here’s Frankie swooping in to save the day.

“Yup, but you’re not likely to get anything now,” Frankie looks at his phone, it’s way too late to be getting something decent. His eyes flick up to meet yours and you see his pupils dilate. There’s something in his deep, sinfully dark eyes that makes you wonder if you’ve been wrong about his feelings towards you all this time. But you avert your gaze, you’re probably just reading into things too heavily.

“Yeah, shit,” you sigh, “At least I’ve got bottled water, so I won’t die of thirst.”

“I can come by tomorrow to pick up and fit a new one if you want?”

The offer is out of Frankie’s mouth before he can stop it, his good nature tumbling out in an unusual display of kindness towards you. You furrow your brow, shocked by the sudden good will from him. It makes you nervous.

“Why’re you being nice to me all of a sudden?” You scoff, something about Frankie being so cold to you for the last year, only to play nice when you’re in distress makes your stomach turn. Like he’s trying to take advantage – or worse – pitying you.

“You needed help and no-one else was responding so I thought it was the right thing to do.”

He grumbles bitterly as he turns his back to you grabbing his shirt from the counter and hastily pulling it on as he turns to leave.

“You could have just left me hanging,” you snap, “What’s different today? Is it so you can lord this over me? Saving the poor little damsel in distress, another tool with which you can ridicule me with?”

“Ridicule you?” Frankie snaps, turning to face you, his face pained as if you’d struck him with a physical blow.

“Don’t play dumb,” you growl as you square up to him, “I hear the snide comments you make about me when we’re out with the others. Desperate this, lonely that.”

Frankie winces, he remembers exactly what you’re talking about now. That night months ago at a club in Orlando. You were dancing with someone you’d met at the bar, and he’d gotten jealous. He brushed it off to Will and Alyssa, going on the offensive instead of letting slip that he’d have done anything for it to be him you were grinding against. He just didn’t know you’d heard him as you went to get another drink.

“That was one time,” he growls but it’s a weak rebuttal and he knows it, “I was in a bad place.”

You know that; you know he was only a few months sober. He wasn’t in a good place when he first met you. But that’s no excuse to continue to treat you like he has ever since.

“Sure, but ever since you’ve looked at me like I don’t belong,” you hold his gaze, even as your eyes start to fill with tears, “Always dismissing my comments, rolling your eyes if I dare speak up in your presence, it gets tiring Frank- Francisco. You don’t have to like me, but they’re my friends too, don’t make me lose them just because you can’t stand me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way I swear.”

“Yeah well, save it,” you say, pointing to the door, “I don’t need you to save me Francisco, and I sure as hell don’t need your pity. Get out of my house.”

“That’s not how it is, I promise,” he pleads but you’re not looking at him now, your cheeks are hot with embarrassment and you’re trying not to say something you’ll regret.

“Please, just leave,” you snap as you feel tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, ok.”

Frankie sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, he brushes past you, and you hear a soft “I’m sorry.” As the door clicks shut behind him.

You feel your body tremble with rage as you find yourself unable to process the whole interaction. You pull out your phone and message the group chat.

You: Crisis averted.

You think you should add that it was Frankie who helped, but you’re feeling petty. All he did was show you the problem, he didn’t actually fix anything.

If anything he made things so much worse.

~*~

Frankie slumps back down in his recliner but he doesn’t turn the TV back on. Instead, he sits in silence and broods. He re-reads your message to the group chat and scowls. He has no right to be mad, not really, he knows that. But he really wishes he’d dealt with the situation better.

He looks down to his tented shorts and curses himself, the moment he showed you the faucet you were so close to him. The moment your arms touched he felt the rush of desire he suppresses every time he sees you. Now he’s worried he’s fucked it up completely. He can still smell you, the scent your bodywash he’s committed to memory now clings to his skin.

He forces himself upstairs and into the shower, running it ice cold, just to try and make his erection go away. But it doesn’t help. He’s painfully hard as he tries to think of anything else.

All he can think of is the way your skin felt against his, the way you called him Francisco. It was meant to spurn him, but he loved it. The way his name rolled off your tongue with derision. It’s all he can think of as he turns on the hot water and grips his cock. He pumps himself slowly as he feels the hot burn in his gut, he’s already so fucking close.

“Fuck,” he groans under the hot stream, “I’m sorry.”

He growls as he fucks himself harder to the thought of you putting him in his place. He’s never considered himself a sub, but it’s all he can think of now. He’s whimpering as he fucks his fist faster and faster at the memory of you chewing him out. He deserved it, and that makes it all the sweeter.

He wants you to make him suffer. Atone.

He comes with a whine as his spend splatters against the tiles and slowly washes away down the drain. He pants desperately for some time before washing himself off. He heads back downstairs to re-light his joint and watch another episode of his documentary. On a need-fuelled whim he texts you.

Frankie: If you want me to fix your sink, let me know, I’m free all day.

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

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romanarose · 22 days

Text

Cola

Chubby!Francisco Morales x fem!reader

Summary: Frankie loves how you taste so sweet…. “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola”

Content and warnings: Pussy eating like a mad man, ass eating, madly in love, desperately horny, feral Frankie, object insertion, fucked with a foreign object, don’t do this at home, premature ejaculation 💕

Immersivity: reader is AFAB and wears dresses, uses she/her

A/n: inspired by all them pics of Pedro in the Coca Cola shirt… yummy. Finals are DONE and it’s time for my return after a month of no fics!

Special thanks to @hornystan for proofreading and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for this amazing header! Thank you for making my return so special

Support writers, reblog and comment!

*************

Surely, this was what heaven was like.

Sprawling green meadows and rolling hills, your handsome husband flying you out on a helicopter to a private property. A wicker basket full of a picnic he packed himself had been tossed aside in favor of you humping Frankie’s leg as you both laid on the quilted blanket.

“Baby,” Frankie chuckles, eyes closed tight and nose scrunched up a little as you peppered his scruffy beard with kisses. Sunshine warmed your back in your red sundress, Frankie’s large hands pushing it up and over the swell of your ass cheeks. “We haven't even had lunch yet.”

“Don’t care, need you.” You mutter between kisses, desperately rutting against your dear lover like a bitch in heat.

“But the ice will melt!”

“Don’t. Care.” You kiss his sweet, pudgy face covered in salt and pepper facial hair. “Need. You.”

Frankie laughs again, but his strong arms lift you off his full tummy. “Baby, it’s hot out,” he smiles and sits up, prompting you to do the same despite your cute little pout. “C’mon, have a drink.” He reached into the basket where a few cola bottles sat in a tin bucket? full of ice next to some sandwiches and fruit he cut up himself, just for you. Sweet, sweet man. You packed his favorite, homemade red velvet cupcakes. The cream cheese icing was sitting in the iced tin along with the cola, ready to be added to the cupcakes, nice and chilled.

He opens a bottle, placing the lid inside the basket, careful not to litter, but you don’t drink right away. Instead, you watch as his hands flex to open another bottle, tilting his head back to chug it. His profile was immaculate. Your eyes scan down, taking in the curve of his nose, his softened jawline, plush lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle… but quickly move to his throat. He was a marvel, Adam's apple bobbing and a small trickle of cola down his neck…

With a refreshed, “ah!” Frankie places his trash in the basket, folds in his creasing stomach twisting as he turns. When he looked back, his eyes went wide. First, his eyes went to your discarded panties. Then to you. There you sat, legs spread open and bent, holding your coke bottle in one hand and pumping your desperate, needy pussy with the other. “Jesus, baby…” He licks his lips and you lament the leftover sweetness on his skin wicked away before your tongue could taste how the sugar mixed with his sweat.

“Frankie…” You whine, desperate and mewling for his touch, your desire so intense there was no way you could wait for lunch to end. No way in hell. Tears pricked at your eyes from the burn of the sun and the overwhelming need you had for him. It was always like this with Francisco, intense and burning and all-consuming even after all these years. It didn’t matter, you still fucked like there was no one else on the planet. To him, and certainly to you, there wasn’t.

Frankie mumbled a swear under his breath, his own chest heaving and already tight pants growing tighter. He orders you to lay down and like a good girl, you obey but he stops you. Frankie takes off his hat and plops it down on your head. “For your eyes.” With that, he kisses your lips and you get to taste the lingering traces of his drink. Then, he pushes you down.

You clutch the cold, undrank coke bottle in one hand, Frankie’s sweaty brown curls in the other, the bill of his hat protects your eyes from the sun. You were two orgasms in, drenched in sweat and probably smelling terrible, but he didn’t care.

“Baby?” Frankie asked, making your eyes flick down to him. His eyes were wide and wet, intense and brown. Fuck, he was handsome.

You’re panting, but answer him. “Yeah?”

“I’m real thirsty…”

Normally, you would assume he’s talking about wanting to drink your cum, lap at your pussy as you squirt all over him, hips bucking against his mustache… but honestly, it was hot and you assumed he wanted a drink.

“Here” You hand him the coke bottle in your hands sweetly, sitting up as you do but Frankie orders you to lie down as he grabs it.

You look at him confused but do as he says. Frankie always took care of you, you trusted him, so you laid back down on the heavy quilt, feeling the grass move under the weight of your head.

Knelt before you, Frankie looked a bit of a mess. His curls were all over the place, brown curls every which way, as sweaty as his beard was wet. It wasn’t even that hot a day, but you were working up an appetite.

“You belong to me, right?” He asks you, eyes roaming over your body up and down in your pretty sundress. He looked like he was about to eat you alive, like it was taking everything in him right now not to pounce on you like a werewolf. Francisco’s hands move up and down your bent legs, a sheen of sweat gliding them down, fingernails lightly digging into the meat of you r thighs as if only a thread of sanity was preventing him from digging his claws in and making you subject to his insatiable hunger.

“Yeah baby.” You whisper, breathy but without hesitation. “Every inch.”

Francisco's eyes were locked into yours, pupils black as night, threatening to swallow the whites of his eyes. “Tilt your hips up for me.”

Confused but obedient, you feel your brows furrow as you reach under yourself and hold your hips up. Your eyes couldn’t leave his, not if you tried, his hands so steady and sure he didn’t even need to look down as he slowly inserted the tip of the opened coke bottle into your tight hole. You gasped, though not so much at the intrusion; his fingers hadn’t stretched you yet, but you were used to taking his whole cock. No, the bottle was cold. Not freezing, not after being out of the ice a few minutes, but cold. Francisco pauses, eyebrows cocked in a question of your comfort.

You didn’t want him to stop. “Keep going.”

With a growl, it takes everything in him not to shove the full bottle straight up your cunt, but he knows better. Instead, he took his time. The first time he inserted the foreign object. Once he knew you were okay, all bets were off. Francisco vigorously pumped you, forcing your eyes to tear away from his as you lost yourself in pleasure, feeling the cool drink pour into your channel.

“Such a needy little pussy… she’s so desperate, isn’t she? She just needs to be stretched and filled all the time…”

“Fuck! Frankie! Shit, that feels - ohmyfuckinggod - so good! You feel so good, fuck, I love you so m- shit!” You were approaching a third orgasm, the fizzing of the carbonation a strange sensation in your sensitive insides, and his cock hasn’t even been inside you yet. Frankie couldn’t stop staring at your pussy, licking his lips and palming the erection in his jeans. He had so far been neglected, edging himself in order to bring you, and subsequently him, as much pleasure as possible. Your pleasure was his, your lust was his, your pretty cunt was his to do as he pleased. He could play games with you, shove whatever he wanted into whatever holes and you’d let him… but Frankie didn’t get off on humiliation, he got off on you.

He watched your pussy lips repeatedly swallow the bottle, bits of coke and cum leaking out of you as he began to overwhelm your body. His hand squeezed his dick, throbbing in his pants and he knew he wasn’t going to last. He’d have to recuperate and fuck your face into the grass after lunch. Right now, though… he was thirsty.

Frankie yanked your hands out from under you, pulling the bottle out as you whimper and feel the leftover spill all over your pussy and thighs. That would be annoying later, but that didn’t matter now, not when your loving, adorable husband was dropping to his stomach and latching his lip around your hole. Frankie was drinking coca cola out of your cunt.

He lapped and sucked and licked and drank, the pop fizzling out on your pussy lips as Francisco, whining and crying into your cunt as he came, desperately licked every inch of you. He needed to make this last, he needed to taste every drop, tasting your thighs for the sweet you were so desperate to suck off his lips a moment ago. His tongue was impossible to please, spreading your asscheeks to taste what had trickled down. Only when he seemed to run out of energy, his orgasm satiated, did he slow. You could feel the wetness from his eyes on your lips.

“I just love you so fucking much.” He kissed your swollen, fucked out pussy and closed his eyes, head resting on your thigh as his eyes drooped. He must’ve really tuckered himself out. “So sweet for me.”

*************

Please consider reblogging, if this flops I’ll scream

Inspo comes from Ozzie’s amazing Joel fic, beer bottle insertion

If this does well I’ll write part 2 with reader licking that cream cheese off his dick….

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me through a difficult month, it has not always been easy between school, and everything that happened, but I got through it and I’m looking forward to something new. I finished up all my assignments and papers even though it was absolute chaos lol and now all I have left is a couple online next semester and then I graduate. 💕💕💕💕

Each and everyone of you so so much, please take care of yourselves!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #Francisco morales #francisco morales smut #Francisco morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #francisco catfish morales #Francisco catfish morakes smut #chubby Frankie

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pimosworld · 3 months

Text

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)

WC-5.2k

A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1 Love sick

adjective: love-sick

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.

Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.

He’s home now.

The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-

How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’

His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks.

The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs.

His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open.

You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment.

You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut.

Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment.

The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger.

“Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside.

“Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt.

****

The house looks relatively the same on the inside.

Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day.

“I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.” You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite.

Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi.

“Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.

He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress.

He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him.

His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is.

He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him.

Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table.

“They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue.

Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh.

“You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him.

As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this.

He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew.

It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home.

****

Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early.

He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer.

“Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal.

Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature.

“You never take naps.”

“I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.”

He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest.

He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.”

Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”

“Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans.

Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly.

You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more.

****

Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him.

He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began.

It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance.

He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?”

“No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions.

He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him.

“Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering.

“A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity.

“You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start

“You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.”

“Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look.

You’re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?”

You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women.

“Wait…how do you know my name!?”

“I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned.

It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history.

****

It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall.

Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you.

It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future.

“Do you love her?”

The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears.

“How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice.

Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.

Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.”

Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did.

“You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.”

Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.” Fuck he’s back to Frank.

“I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes.

“You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face.

“You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it.

With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.”

****

Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you.

How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes.

“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you.

He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie.

“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers.

“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall.

He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him.

You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction.

“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head.

You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below.

His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.”

You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine.

He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting.

“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first.

Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders.

“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you.

“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.”

Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now.

“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep.

****

Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard.

It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @ghostslillady @criticalarchitecture @ael-xander @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @itsokbbygrl-library @mymo-n @lola-lola-lola @readingiskeepingmegoing

Tagging a few who might be interested:

@writefightandflightclub @reallyrallyauthor @campingwiththecharmings

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palioom · 8 months

Text

day eighteen - spanking

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 869

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; spanking, fingering, dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, squirting

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

The sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the small bedroom, the calloused palm of his hand hitting the soft flesh of her ass in a sharp smack, making her whimper. Trying to hold on to his leg, laid over his lap with her ass fully exposed and accessible to him.

“You’ve been bad while I was gone, querida.” Frankie said, landing another sharp smack onto her other cheek, the skin a bright red already, her hips squirming as the pain turned into pleasure. It shot straight to her pussy, wet and dripping onto his jeans, clenching around nothing as she squirmed, his other hand holding her in place. “Sending me pictures of you half naked like that.”

Two more smacks in quick succession, making her cry out.

“Thought you’d appreciate them.” She breathed out, words catching in her throat, trying to stay composed. It was hard with how good his hand felt on her ass, now soothingly rubbing over the stinging flesh. “Wanted to be nice.”

A lighter hit, right over her pussy, making her groan and kick her legs.

Fuck, she was sure she could cum from that alone if he did it a few more times.

“We both know that’s bullshit, baby.” Frankie said, watching her squirm and wiggle around on his lap, his fingers inching to her dripping pussy, feeling how wet she was. “Wanted to tease me when I had nothing but my fist to fuck.”

Pushing one finger into her, he heard her throaty moans, pumping it in and out a few times. He knew it wasn’t enough for her and she had hoped that he would come home all riled up from being away for a few weeks and fuck her right into the floor. Usually it worked, and in a way he liked the way she teased him with the pictures she sent.

Some barely let her nipples peek out from one of his shirts that she wore, others were completely topless or had her legs spread wide for him, giving him a full view of her pussy.

“‘M telling the truth, Frankie- Fuck!” She cried out again when he suddenly removed his finger and spanked her more, tears in the corners of her eyes. The sensation was too much but she also craved more, wanted him to fuck her. “Please, baby, I need you.”

He chuckled, hearing the desperation creep into her voice.

Frankie wanted her too, but after waiting for so long, he could definitely go without fucking her for another day if it meant he could get her off like this and teach her a lesson somehow.

“Nah, bebesita, know you can cum for me like this.” Another smack, on her pussy again, hearing her sharp whine and the sob that followed. When she turned her head to look up at him, he also saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. “C’mon, gonna count ten for me and then you can cum.”

How was his voice still so soft while saying this?

She nodded, holding onto his leg tighter, waiting for the first smack.

It took a moment, and she swore that if she looked at him again she could see him smirk.

Then it hit, a sharp smack on the roundness of her already red ass.

“One.” Still quite steady, despite how worked up she was.

Again, letting her breathe out a steady ”two”, a little wobbly already.

Three and four became more difficult, two rapid slaps after another.

The fifth one hit her right over her pussy, making her cry out. “F-Five! Fuck!”

“Fuck isn’t a number. You can do it, baby girl, c’mon.”

Smartass.

Six, seven and eight were quick again, quick but sharp and landing on the junction of her ass and thigh, her voice thin and shaking.

She swore if he placed the tenth on her pussy again she would cum, so close to bursting already.

The ninth one was a hard smack on her thigh, taking her by surprise, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Nine! F-Fuck, Francisco!”

“One more, baby. Almost there.” He cooed above her, his other hand rubbing over her back. “Be a good girl for me.”

As she hoped, the tenth smack landed on her pussy again, the “ten” she cried out lost in the guttural moan as she came, trembling hard on his lap, soaking his jeans.

Frankie watched in awe, his girl shaking and gushing all over him, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure if he could last another day.

Moving her around as she still rode out the last waves of her orgasm, he sat her sideways onto his lap, noticing the small whines she let out when her raw ass made contact with the rough denim of his jeans.

“You’ve been so good, bebesita.” He whispered, kissing her forehead before finding her lips. His thumb brushed away some of the tears, smiling at her. “Gonna show you how much I’ve missed you tomorrow.”

She nodded, letting out a huff of a laugh, happy to have him back, his strong arms around her.

“I should send you pictures more often, Frankie baby.”

He squeezed her side as he laughed.

“Yeah, maybe you should.”

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romana-after-dark · 8 months

Text

Apple

Bisexual!Dark!Santiago Garcia x fem!reader Bisexual!Dark!Frankie Morales x fem!readr Bisexual!Dark!William Miller x fem! reader

Masterlist : Taglist : Read on AO3

Summary: Based on an request. I took a little liberty here and there. You are married to Santi and you and him dabble in CNC scenes. This time, Santi enlists the help of Will and Frankie. Slowly, things start to devolve, and things get heated between the three men that was not discussed prior. This culminates when you try to safeword and you find Will's fingers in your mouth.

Contenant And Warnings: WARNINGS! DDDNE!: CNC FANASY BUT IT TURNS NON CON, DONT BE FOOLED. This is not simple a cnc scene. Safe word is stopped and ignored. Acts happen between the men that while not involving read, reader did not consent to her husband engaging in sexual acts with anyone other than her. Santi is a little mean to Frankie but Frankie is into degrading. Dick too big to take, bisexual madness, calling Frankie a puppy, desperate and needy Frankie, unintentional edging and premature ejaculation, bukkake, penetration before properly wet. IDK I feel like there should be more? LMK if I missed anything.

*I do not take requests, but if you have ideas, I'm happy to hear them and might end up using it if it speaks to me*

**********************

It all had started out as a simple fantasy, something you played with at night if Santi was gone or asleep; his life keeping him out at odd hours. Google said it was normal, having a rape fantasy; or non con/dub con as fanfiction called it, but in the real world it was just rape. Now, you didn’t want to be raped, let’s make that clear, and your husband was not a rapist, but the two of you had played around with some scenes where you were ‘forced’. Of course, the two of you always had safe words and signals that you weren’t afraid to use. You loved Santi dearly, he was everything to you and you appreciated that you could be open about your fantasies with him.

The idea had also been tossed around of sharing you with the guys. Santi’s best friend, Frankie, and the two Miller brothers were like family to you now, and you couldn’t deny they were all attractive, especially the older brother, Will. Will was tall, not as tall as Benny, but close, and he made up for it with insanely broad shoulders. He was handsome with kind eyes and you couldn’t deny you had wanted him mostly of all. Santi confirmed all the guys found you attractive as well. The sex hadn’t manifested yet, but after sharing a specific fantasy of yours, Santi had suggested this was the perfect opportunity to start.

Now, having all 4 of them would be a lot, so Santi talked to the guys first. Will and Frankie were interested, Benny was out. He said he was in for another scenario, but CNC just wasn’t his scene, no judgment.

The fantasy was simple. A home invasion. You weren’t going to know what day, but you’d go to bed with Santi as usual and wake up to 3 masked men beginning their assault on you. You had a safe word, of course: apple . You’d use that if you needed to.

Finally, the night came. Santi had given no clues as to when it would be, but you had assumed it would be night you didn’t work the next day. Generally, you hated your sleep interrupted, especially when you worked, so Santi planned it when you could sleep in nice and good the next day. Santi kissed you goodnight, cuddling you up in his arms like most nights and you fell asleep in his loving embrace.

You woke up to a gag in your mouth and hands pinned to the bed. You tried screaming, but only half-heartedly. You recognized Frankie’s soft curls around the handkerchief over his face, and knew right away what was going on. It was finally happening.

A firm hand slapped you before gripping your cheeks, forcing you to your husbands eyes. Will must be the one holding you down. “No need for that, bebecita” He chided. “We won’t hurt you if you behave, can you do that?”

This part was discussed, you were to keep quiet so they could take the gag out, allowing you to use the safe word if needed. Frankie was sitting back on his haunches between you spread open legs, looking hungrily between your barely clothed sex in your lacy underwear. You nodded for anti and he pulled down the gag, allowing you to get full breaths in as Frankie caressed your soft thighs.

“Please,” You beg them. “You can take what you want, please don’t hurt me! I have a husband.”

Frankie pulled down his sweat, freeing his massive cock from his pants and god, it lived up to the rumors. Big-dick Morales’s size was legendary, and you were getting wet just thinking about it.

“Oh baby, we’ll be taking what we want, don’t you worry.” He leaned in close, mouth up against your cheek. “You.” He nodded to Frankie, and with his leader's permission, Frankie pulled your panties aside and unceremoniously thrust into you in one go. You gasp, the air knocked out of you as you swear you felt him in your diaphragm. You weren’t properly wet and it stung, Frankies neediness taking over forethought for your preparation… but you adjust. You hear Will chuckle above you.

“Look at her, Fish. She can barely take you, how’s she supposed to take me?”

Oh. What’s that supposed to mean?

Frankie’s thrusts were desperate, his body folding over you in a whine as he ruts into you like a dog, panting like one too. “F-fuck, so pretty, so tight… o-ohmygooood.”

“Fuck her good, Frank” Santi demanded at the bedside. “Stretch her out for Will, don’t fucking cum yet.” What did Santi know that you didn’t? Was Will bigger than Frankie? How was that possible, and how could that even fit? Will’s grip was bruising at your wrists, his hips shifting and you could feel the head of his cock rubbing against where your head lay against his lap.

“Mmmhmm” Frankie moans. “I dunno if I can hold on much longer, Pope… please”

“Fish” Sternly, Santi warns him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” His hand skims over Frankie’s sweaty, bare back.

“Pope, I ca- ooohhhhh ” With a pathetic whine, Frankie’s hips stuttered and stalled inside you, filling you up with his warmth.

“God fucking dammit Frankie!” Santi shouted in faux anger, yanking Frankie off you and shoving him to lay on the. “Lay their and get yourself hard again, you pathetic old man. Will, help me flip her. Frankie’s going to watch.” The pressure from your wrists was released, and before you knew it the pair had moved you to your hands and knee.

Santi slid in without any problems, Frankie having stretched you out good, and Santi wasn’t small by any means either. “Your poor stretched out little hole.” Santi shoved your face in between Will’s legs, forcing you to feel his hardness even though his pants as he pumped you full. “Where’s your husband now, little girl? He still gonna want you after find out you let 3 strange men fuck you?” Above you, you could hear a wet smacking… were Santi and Will… No, he wouldn’t. You hadn’t discussed Santi kissing or touching others… he wouldn't do that without talking to you.

Santi was more deliberate in his movements. As your husband, he knew just where you hit to make out cry out; the sounds muffled by Will, Will’s musk in your nose as he thrust his hips at you for stimulation.

“Desperate girl.” Will mocked you. “I can hear your wet pussy from here.”

Frankie groaned, and Santi turned to see him just where he left him, on his back on the bed with his cock fully hard again in his hand. Santi grabbed your hair, pulling you up. “Will, take off your pants. Frankie, you weren’t very nice, were you? Not making her cum. Come give her a kiss to say sorry.”

Santi was on the verge of making you cum, your wall tightening up quickly as Frankie’s unintentional edging. Frankie crawling over to where Santi had forced your face to turn as he fucked you and did as he was told, kissing you sloppily. He was a good kisser, no holds barred, exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue and it felt like he was trying to devour you. You soon realize Santi’s intentions. Santi always had a plan, you see, every move was deliberate, intentional. You feel a new hand replace Santi’s and open your eyes to see Will’s hand fisted into Frankie’s curls as well. He held you both together as he knelt naked in front of you in all his golden god-like glory, pressing his hard member two your two pairs of lips.

“Fuuuuck” Will groaned deeply. “Yeah, make it nice and wet.” You continued making out with Frankie around Will’s thrusting cock when you finally came.

Everyone could feel when you did, Santi from your pulsing cunt to Frankie and Will from the way your jaw went slack, cumming so hard you collapse onto the bed, leaving Frankie to take Will’s cock.

“FUCK!” Santi pulled out quickly when you came, gripping both your ass cheeks and smacking them as he breathed heavy, trying not to cum. He couldn’t very well cum when he had chided Frankie for doing so. Not when he had a plan. “Enough of that.” By your hair, Santi pulled you up right, sucking bruises into your neck with his still-hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks. “Frankie, get on the ground, on your knees.” He continued playing with your body as Frankie moved, Will taking his place next to Santi. “Such a pretty little captive.” Santi shoved you back down, telling Will to do what he liked and he climbed off the bed.

Santi fisted his hands in Frankie’s hair and soon a room was filled with the soft gluck gluck gluck of Frankie getting throated. “Good puppy.” He praised. What was happening? Since when had your husband been gay? Why was he doing all these things you hadn't agreed too? You would have said yes, of course… but why didn’t he just ask?

Will, however, was taking his time. Always a patient man, he went last for a reason. He took his time undressing you fully, his heavy cock twitching in anticipation. “Beautiful, beautiful….” he murmured in reverence, fingers trailing all the way down your naked body. “I’ll go slow, princess. I promise.” He did, but it was still a lot, even after Frankie. Despite the slow start, when you had managed to take him all in he quickly sped up his actions. Fuck, it hurt. It didn’t stop hurting, tears falling down your checks even after an orgasm painfully opened your body up more. Will’s hands were all over you, groping and slapping and kneading, and it was all becoming too much. You tried to hold off, tried to wait until Will was done, but Will wasn’t going to be done anytime soon, was he?

William Miller was a patient man, after all.

It was too much, as your pillow grew wet with tears of pain, you began to say the safe word as will thumbed them away. “Ap- mmph!” Will shoved his fingers in your mouth and continued thrusting harder. You tried to talk, tried to communicate that you wanted to stop, but Will just laughed. “Putting up suck a pretty fight”

The fight was a part of the scene. Saying no was a part of the scene. The safe word was supposed to break it. You look to your husband, but he’s so lost in Frankie’s mouth he doesn’t notice. Another orgasm breaks, your body betraying you to Will’s assault.

“That’s number three, boys, I think I made up for Frankie.” He continued fucking into you and Santi yanked his friend off his cock, Frankie chasing him even still. “C’mon, puppy boy, other side of the bed.” He tugged the other man up by the collar of his shirt, and by the way he way panting from the face fuck, the puppy nicknamed seemed fitting.

Frankie knelt on the other side of the bed while Santi stood on his side, Will still fucking you. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes” Will, who only now removed his fingers from you. There was no point in safewording now.

“Y-es” Frankie choked out.

Will pulled out of you to your relieved sobs, the pain slowly starting to subside as the three men jerk their dicks in front of you, a chorus of moans from the men surrounding you. Their hot, warm cum coated your body in stickiness, creating a canvas of their own release on your skin.

It took a while for anyone to move, everyone laying on the bed with you as your mind reeled from what just happened. Will couldn’t have heard you, right? He never would had stopped you from saying your safe word if he knew, right?

Eventually, Santi drew you a bath and when he left, Will began stroking your hair. “Did so good, princess. So fucking good for us.” You wanted to vomit.

While in the bath, Santi and Will get Frankie to bed in another room, Will going to sleep with Frankie in his arms. You wouldn’t know that part, of course.

Santi cleans you off of all the cum, drains the bath and dries you off before laying you down in the bed. It was a palace of safety, your marital bed and now it was violated. Maybe you could convince Santiago it was time for a new mattress.

He dressed you in the warmest clothes, making sure you drank more water before laying down with you in his arms, cuddling like you had before this all started. “How was everything, bebita?”

Do you tell him? Do you tell him the man he trusted with his life, the man he trusted with you, the man who had saved him and Benny and Frankie countless times in the battlefield had violated you? How would you prove it? Would Santi believe you? You couldn’t bare it if Santi doubted you… and what if you were wrong? Accusing Will of something like that? Will was a good man, wasn’t he?

And what if you were right? What if Will did it on purpose? What if Santi believed you? How could you ruin one of his closest friendships? For something you weren't even sure was intentional… just like him getting his dick sucked by Frankie… it just happened. Unintentional. Thats it.

“Good, Santi. I’m just tired.”

Santi smiled at you, tucking you into bed and kissing your cheek. “I bet. You get your rest, mi chica perfecta. I’ll be right here.”

It was going to be fine, everything would be okay. It was a mistake, that’s all. A mistake. And him and the guys… it was just tonight. There was nothing to worry about. It was the heat of the moment. You close your eyes, letting sleep take you with Santi’s arms closely around your middle. It had to be a mistake, because Santi would never let anyone hurt you, ever.

What you didn’t know was Will heard you. Frankie heard you.

Santi heard you.

But they couldn’t stop. Not with Will destroying your sweet little pussy. Not with Santi jamming his cock down Frankie’s eager throat like they’d both wanted to for decades. It was all too good. They needed to cum on you, to mix themselves together in that way; a goresque take on blood brothers. All those years, all the sexual tension, the almost kisses, the nights they fisted their cocks to the thought of their friends mouths… but they could never admit it. They could never admit to themselves what they were; they needed a vessel, an interject. Something to conduct it all together so it wasn’t so goddamn blatant.

They needed this.

You needed this.

They needed you.

*************************

Thank you to the requester for this!!! and for your patience!!!

Remember, if you like my works, please check out tag list and masterlist!

Comments mean the world <3 Reblogs spread the work!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alwaysmicado @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @meveispunk @miraclesabound @neverwheremoonchild

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bitchesuntitled · 1 month

Text

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

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

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

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

Masterlist||AO3 Link||Parents to Lovers

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

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

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

—

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

“I need socks!” She hollers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter.

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.”

#Frankie morales #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales x You #francisco morales smut #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fluff

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endlessthxxghts · 4 months

Text

Hungry

Frankie Morales x afab!reader | W/C: 1.7k

Summary: You decide to go home on your lunch break. You call to see if your boyfriend can join you.

Content/Warnings: No physical descriptions of reader. No “y/n”. Implied that Frankie and you live together. Porn with a sprinkle of plot. 18+ MDNI!! Oral sex (both receiving). Face riding turned 69…Cumming untouched (kind of?). Cum eating. Please do let me know if I missed anything!!!

A/N: HI GUYS I’VE MISSED YOU. I’m on my university campus from 9-5, and I had a particularly rough day, so I went home on my lunch break (which I normally don’t do), and instead of lunch, I did something else. This was that something else. I hope you enjoy.👹

MASTERLIST || NOTIFS BLOG

He picks up after one ring. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

You don’t usually call him during your work day—the lab being too hectic even on your lunch break to enjoy anything other than the lunch you packed yourself.

“Nothing, I just- I miss you,” you tell him softly.

Today, though…Today is different. You’re exhausted and your other team members are also having a slow day, so you decide to call your boyfriend. You also decide that you deserve lunch off-site: in the comfort of your own home.

“I miss you, querida,” Frankie says, returning your warmth and gentleness tenfold.

Gods, his voice. The deep, softness of his voice never fails to make the butterflies flutter in your belly. And also… further below. You can’t help the next words that fall from your mouth.

“I want you.”

Only then does he realize—you’re not at the lab. He doesn’t hear the hustle and bustle of research going on in the background, he doesn’t even hear the air conditioning that’s always blasting in the break room. He’s called you once while you were on site, and he learned his lesson then. So, seeing you call today prompted him to think there was an emergency. And in his realization—yes, this is very much an emergency, but not the one he was expecting.

“You’re home, aren’t you?” He asks, really not needing the confirmation but obliges anyway.

“Yeah,” you say breathily.

“Do not go anywhere. Be there in ten, baby.”

“Make it five,” you whimper, ending the call, not wanting the formalities of a goodbye, too hung up on your dire need for him to handle hearing his voice without being able to touch him.

Frankie does make it home in five—taking my forty-five! he calls out to his boss as he walks out with no time for extra conversation. Professionally, that really wouldn’t do, but luckily, he’s always been on the good side of his superior.

“Querida!” He calls out as he enters the front door.

As soon as he’s through the door, you’re on him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he drops the keys in his hands to fully engulf you. The kiss is needy, desperate. You can’t help the moans already falling from your lips, and he’s just as eager to swallow them up. You do a mini jump, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he walks you two to your shared bedroom.

As he nears the edge of the bed, you untangle your legs from around him so he can sit down. But as soon as he’s hitting the bed, you’re straddling him once again, licking into his mouth as you grasp at the nape of his neck, your needy center grinding into his hard length.

Frankie’s lips break from yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, passing your chin, and settling on your neck, nipping and sucking the sweet spots that always have your hips bucking wildly into him, begging for more. He can feel the heat radiating from your center, his cock leaking at the sensation.

However, neither of you really have much time before you need to return to your respective jobs, and Frankie simply needs to eat.

His fingers meet the hem of your bottoms, pulling them down as you move your body around, allowing them to come down with ease.

Frankie starts leaning back, his hands trailing back to the meat of your thighs, grabbing them tightly and nudging you up his torso.

“F-Frankie, what-” you stutter, breathless and mind hazy from your makeout session.

You’re on your knees now, situated above his shoulders, your gaze looking down into his. “Sit,” is all he tells you.

“Frankie… we’re both on a clock here,” your voice waivers. Hesitant. When Frankie eats you out, he eats, and most of the time, he’ll continue out of his own pleasure well after however many orgasms he pulls out of you in this way.

“Just gonna make you cum, querida, promise,” he smirks, mischief written all over his face.

Without another word, he grabs your thighs, and forces your entire weight onto him, your thighs immediately clenching in the feeling as his tongue glides through your soaked folds. “Oh- Fuck,” you gasp, the pleasure hitting you all at once.

You can feel his smirk as your breathing grows heavier and your hips start to move on their own. Realizing what your body’s asking for, Frankie lifts you off of him and urges you to turn around. You don’t understand what for until his hands are guiding yours to grip onto his waist—your torso leaning forward at the movement.

Oh.

Oh, you like this. A lot.

In this angle, your pelvis opens up more for him, and you have more support to be able to freely grind against his face. This was Frankie’s main reason for repositioning you, but he didn’t realize what he just did. You now have complete access to the part of him that’s been throbbing for your attention.

Slowly, you let one of your hands glide upwards to his belt, the twang of his belt buckle making your mouth drool in response. Frankie pulls away momentarily. “What- what are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse and utterly aroused at what you’re about to do.

You smile to yourself at his question. “Just keep eating, baby,” you say, pushing your sex back into his face, his nose nudging a particularly sensitive spot making you moan at the contact. You can feel the way he groans into you, the vibrations sending more slick for him to greedily drink up.

You finally get his cock free from the restraining khakis, and your pussy flutters at the view. He’s painfully hard, his tip red and precum all over. You put him into your mouth, swirling the head with your tongue to collect everything he’s giving you. You lift off him with a pop, a moan and a so fucking good leaving your mouth before you spit on him—watching his cock twitch as your drool drips down his length.

You pump his cock a few times to spread the mixture of your spit and his precum down his length. Satisfied, you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue, pushing him as far back as you possibly can. Your gag reflex triggers then, your throat constricting around where he’s most sensitive, and he whimpers at the feeling, momentarily pausing his attention on you.

Using your gag to your advantage, you don’t stop bobbing up and down on his length, the sloppiness of it all sending him into a horny spiral. He loves having his mouth on you, but the feel of your mouth on him has his eyes rolling back to his head, his tongue slowing in his strokes as his body buzzes in the pleasure you’re giving him. His hips start fucking up into your mouth, and you moan around him, getting spurred on at his desperation.

“F-fuck-” he grunts. “Taking me- fuck- taking me so fucking good,” Frankie sighs, head falling back into the mattress. You almost made him forget his task at hand—which you genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’s always putting your pleasure first—but as soon as the fact hits him, oh, he’s going in.

Frankie grabs onto your waist, forcing your entire center flush against his face as he brings your clit to his mouth, sucking and nipping at it with a calculated intensity—the feeling radiating up your spine and down into your toes—hurtling you towards your orgasm within seconds. His cock slips from your mouth at his action, but right now, you really can’t think about anything else.

“Oh, yes, Frankie-” you gasp, “fuck, I’m gon- I’m gonna cum, please,” you whine, your cunt grinding wildly into his face.

“Mmmm,” he grunts. Cum for me, querida, you know he’s telling you.

Your orgasm is blinding, eyes clamped shut as your mouth mindlessly babbles praises to the man underneath you. “Oh my- oh fuck, you’re so-” you pant, unable to catch your breath at the intensity. “Good God, Frankie,” you whine.

Although you stopped paying attention to his thick member, the way your body convulses above him sends him to his own edge, cum shooting out and landing across his lower tummy, nearly half a centimeter away from splashing your face. You don’t realize this until after your breathing has slowed, your eyes finally peeling open and peering at the pooling milky liquid near his belly button.

As much as you can in your exhausted state, you pull your head up and dart your tongue out, coating every part of your tongue with his cum, a squeaky little sigh escaping you at the taste of his salty musk.

“Christ, baby,” you hear him mutter when he feels your tongue tickling across his surface.

You untangle yourself from his body, repositioning so your head is in alignment with his. “That was fun,” you say casually before pressing a lengthy kiss to his lips, tongue sneaking into his mouth, exchanging each other’s flavor.

“Yeah? Wanna go for round two?” Frankie asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Frankie!” You scold, slapping his chest. “We’re on a lunch break—no, we can’t go for round two!”

He pouts at you, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into one more kiss before you both have to leave again. As if your colleagues are watching you, both yours and his phone ring right as your lips begin to touch.

Jumping off the bed, you ignore your bottoms on the floor and run straight to your phone, answering it with your last name.

“Hey. No rush, but when do you think you’ll be back? Dr. Mowak is ready for your report if you are,” your lab assistant tells you.

Oh, fuck.

“Hey, yeah, I’m on my way back now, I accidentally caught up with a last minute… emergency,” you say, a little awkwardly.

You hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn around to see Frankie with a boyish grin, winking at you.

You roll your eyes at him, but the butterflies flutter all the same.

Or maybe it’s your stomach growling.

Shit, you’re hungry.

If you’d like to see more, check out my masterlist or follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to be updated on my new stories!! Much love to you all, thank you so much for reading and interacting with my silly little delusional self. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

@pedrostories

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undercoverpena · 3 months

Text

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

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465 notes · View notes

l0ngschl0ngking · 1 year

Text

These hands were made for worshipping you

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course

word count: 7k (of filth)

A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).

Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.

So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you.

So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.

He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.

So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?

And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.

You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.

You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion. She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.

When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.

So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes.

“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks.

“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out.

And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.

You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart.

He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.

Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh.

He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.

“Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.

You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.

“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.

He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.

“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.

You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.

His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.

He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.

“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-

“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.

After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.

It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.

He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.

He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.

The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-

If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.

You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”

“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.

“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.

“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.

“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.

He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.

“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.

You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.

“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.

He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.

“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.

When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.

He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.

“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.

“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.

“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.

“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”

A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.

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pedge-page · 2 months

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Every time I look at a pic of Frankie Morales, I insantly know that man wants his head buried between and crushed by a thick woman's thighs.

#frankie morales loves a big girl i stand by it #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales smut #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x plus size reader #frankie catfish morlaes smut #catfish morales smut #triple frontier smut

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 months

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I Hate How Much I Want You | Frankie Morales x Reader | Enemies to Lovers Part 2

Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Food mention, weed and cigarettes mention/smoking, Frankie grovels, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), unprotected PiV (reader is on BC and trust around STI’s implied), Softdom!Reader, Switch Frankie, Use of “zorra(slut)” and general filthy mouth from Frankie, Florida Humidity.

Let me know if I missed anything!

[AO3 Link]

Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Thank you for the encouragement from @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal @covetyou @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @medellintangerine and @speckledemerald for all your horny support <;3

Word count: 6k

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

You did it, you texted him back embarrassingly quickly. Slick fingers fumbling with your phone to pause your porn as his message came through. You had been seconds away from coming. You can’t believe he still wants to help after you ejected him so forcefully him from your home. You send him a text, just about managing with one hand as you continue to toy with your clit. Francisco Morales is not about to cock block your hard-earned orgasm.

You: Fine, I’m free all day.

You’re about to swipe back to your porn when you see him starting to type away immediately. You bite your lip, your spine tingles as you slowly build yourself back up to your peak.

Frankie: I’ll pick up the parts and some lunch, see you at 12.

You don’t respond, nor do you resume the video. Instead, you opt to think about Frankie as you increase the pressure on your clit. The way his muscles flexed under the dark tank top he wore, his salt and pepper waves that curl slightly at the ends. You imagine what it’d be like to have him pressed against your back, bending you over the counter as he fucked you from behind. You ache to feel his scruff scrape along your jaw as he whispers filth in your ear.

You’re coming hard in seconds, Frankie’s name on your lips as you feel your slick drip down the curve of your ass. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you tilt your head back, stretching out in post-orgasmic bliss. You eventually get up, making sure to pee and clean up before settling back down under your sheets.

You’ve never been so excited to see Frankie before, in fact, you often dread it.

It seems that there really is a first time for everything.

~*~

Frankie sits in his truck, parked down the street from your house. The clock on his dash reads 11:47.

He’s early.

Just like you, he’s way too excited to be back here. His fingertips itch as he tries to decide if he should just bite the bullet and leave his truck now. It wouldn’t be seen as over-eager, surely? He’s just making good on a promise to a friend.

Except you’re not his friend, he has made that pretty clear over the last few months. Anxiety churns in his stomach as he wishes he’d brought something to smoke with him. Even a cigarette would suffice. Instead, he’s chewing his lip, torn up over you and the way you looked so desperately hurt last night. He removes his ball cap with one hand before running his fingers through his damp waves, the Florida humidity doing a number on his hair.

He looks over to the plastic bag from the DIY store and his spare toolkit. He sighs as he sees not one, not two, but the three different faucets he had picked out for you. He tries to reason it that he’s just giving you options because it’s the nice thing to do. Really, he just wanted to please you, make amends for his shitty behaviour. Then he looks at the takeout bag in his lap and his stomach growls.

“Fuck it.”

He sighs to himself as he replaces his hat before grabbing the bag of faucets and his toolkit as he heads out of the cab.

He ignores the clock on the dash that reminds him it’s only 11:50.

~*~

The knock at your door startles you, before you grumble internally once again over the fact Frankie is spurning your perfectly good doorbell. But your annoyance is quickly muted by the smugness that comes with a sudden realisation.

He’s early.

You almost dance on the spot with morbid amusement at the fact that Frankie is already here. You don’t bother lingering this time, practically sprinting to the door to gloat. You pull the door open in one smooth motion and your witty remark dies on your lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks. There’s you, in your jean shorts and tank top, suffering from the extreme humidity. Your skin is sticky, your brow is beading with sweat, and you shift uncomfortably as you feel the wet heat pool in your core.

Then, there’s Frankie, a light sheen to his skin as his toolkit hangs off his shoulder, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. His thick thighs fill his cargo shorts as his belly swells a little over his white tank top. No over-shirt today so you have an unhindered, front row seat to the way his tan skin flexes over his strong arms. Not to mention his neck, thick and freckled. Fuck, you need to stop staring.

His face is flushed, cheeks rosy as he looks you over. There’s a darkness to his gaze that makes you shiver. Clearly neither of you are being subtle.

“So, the sink?” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched as you turn away, your heart is hammering in your chest as you try and calm down.

“Sure, I got you a few different options to choose from,” Frankie explains as he trails behind you.

You can feel him, the heat rolling off him is palpable as he shadows your every move.

“You could have just gotten me the one, I’m not fussy,” you say without thinking as you lean against the counter next to the sink, you look up to see Frankie looking a little crest-fallen and you course correct, “But thank you, that was kind.”

“My pleasure,” Frankie says as he sets down the various bags on the kitchen table, “Don’t have to stick around, I promise not to fuck it up.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” you say with a shrug as you notice the takeout bag, it’s from your favourite burger place.

He remembered?

Frankie says nothing more as he resumes his place on the floor from last night. He gets to work, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. His hat rests next to him on the floor. It’s almost domestic, him fixing your sink as you watch.

You feel a twinge of remorse in your chest as you see the way he can’t keep your gaze. His eyes flit to you every few minutes, as if he can feel you staring. You head to the fridge and grab a pitcher of iced tea, grabbing two glasses from the cabinets. You set down one of the glasses next to Frankie’s cap on the floor.

“I’m real sorry about things went yesterday-,” Frankie starts just as you pipe up.

“About last night-,” you say but you both freeze, eyes locking across the small kitchen, and you can’t help but mirror the smirk that spreads across Frankie’s plush lips.

“Go on, you first,” you insist as you take a deliberate sip of your iced tea.

“I just want you to know I am sorry you heard that shit I said to Will and Alyssa,” Frankie says with a sigh as he rocks up onto his feet, “, I was in a real bad place.”

“That’s not a real apology, Morales,” you say with a smile, appreciating his honesty if nothing else, “Go on.”

“Right,” he nods as he rifles through the plastic bag with the faucets, “First up, which one?”

You cross the short distance and admire the three different options. All options are fairly modern looking, but you linger for a while, selfishly getting closer to Frankie as you pretend to contemplate the options seriously. In reality you don’t care, you just want a working sink. You also just want to be in Frankie’s orbit.

“I like this one,” you say softly, your voice a little husky. You place your hand on the plastic packaging lightly, fingertips lingering as you look up into Frankie’s dark eyes.

“Yeah, that was my first choice too,” he says as he picks up the package, his fingertips brush yours and you don’t pull away, letting the callouses on his hands scrape against the back of your hand. You see the way his neck tenses as you fawn up at him.

“Who knew you had good taste?” You tease as you step away.

“Full of surprises, me,” Frankie says with a low chuckle as he clears his throat.

“On that note,” you say with a coy smile as you lean back against the counter, “You were grovelling?”

There’s a brief flash of emotion on Frankie’s face as he picks up his hat, securing it on his head as he grabs his glass of iced tea. His jaw ticks to the side as he takes a long gulp of the sweet drink.

“Right,” he says as he sets the glass down, turning back to the faucet as he disconnects the old one, “I was an ass,” he says with a sigh as his thick fingers make easy work with the tools and various intricacies of the faucet, “I can’t take it back, but I do want to say I’m sorry, for how I made you feel, and for the things I said.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” you say with a nod, “I didn’t mean to ambush you like that last night either, I’m sorry too, you were doing me a solid.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says with a huff, “I had it coming.”

“Maybe,” you concede with a smile, “But I don’t think I was completely fair, you’ve had your own share of shit to deal with.”

“My addiction, and my recovery, are my burdens. No-one else’s,” Frankie says with a stern look on his face. You hate how the shift in his tone makes you squirm; you know he’s not telling you off, but it doesn’t feel any less authoritative.

“Understood,” you nod as you gesture vaguely with your hand, urging him to continue.

“But I don’t do well with change,” he says as he continues working, looking away from you, “And Santi brought you into the group without so much as a heads up. I got defensive, I fell into an ugly pattern of behaviours. I’m sorry.”

“That’s very big of you, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says with a shrug as he stretches with a groan, “Looks like it’s good to go.”

You hover at his elbow as he tests the tap, the water flows freely and stops abruptly when Frankie flicks it off. The sound of running water halts and you’re left with your hip brushing Frankie’s thigh.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie,” you say, nudging his side with your elbow as you look up to see his eyes already locked on you. He’s leaning his one arm on the counter as he towers over you, and you can’t help but clench your thighs.

“Like I said,” he mumbles as he turns his body towards you. His tongue glides across his lower lip and you can’t ignore the charged energy between you now, “Just helping out a friend.”

“It’s not just about the sink, Frankie,” you say as you tentatively brush your fingertips over his hand.

“Oh? What else is this about?” He asks and there’s a light dancing behind his eyes, a smugness that tells you he already knows but he wants you to say it.

“There’s another reason why I’ve been keeping my distance,” you admit softly as you inch closer to him.

“That right?” Frankie breathes, his voice shaky as he threads his fingers through yours. You can’t believe it, the shift in your dynamic is giving you whiplash.

“Despite everything, Morales,” you say as you bring your other hand up to rest on his sternum. The contact sends heat rippling through your body as Frankie hums deep in his chest, “I think you’re a good guy, and really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” He rumbles, his free hand coming up to trail up your bicep the contact makes you shiver as you try to stifle a whine, “You think I’m hot?”

“I’m not saying it again,” you say with a little bite to your tone, “But I had to keep my distance, I didn’t want to get hurt.”

“I understand,” Frankie says with a subtle nod, his fingertips skimming your collarbone now, your cunt clenches in anticipation, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you say as you slide your hand up to cup his jaw, “But you can make it up to me, if you want?”

“Yeah?” Frankie rasps as he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“I want you to tell me what you want, Francisco,” you say softly as your fingertips move to the back of his head, threading through the damp hair there as you tug lightly, “If you want me so bad, I want you to beg.”

Frankie’s jaw falls slack as a strangled groan bubbles forth from the back of his throat. His half-hard cock stirs in his shorts as you close the gap between you both, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples harden as you feel the way his body shudders under your touch.

“I want to fuck you,” Frankie’s voice is a hushed rasp as he ghosts his fingertips along the angle of your jaw, “I want to make you scream,” he continues as the calloused pad of his thumb brushes against your lips, “I want to please you, querida.”

“Yeah?” You purse your lips against Frankie’s thumb, your lips tingling at the promise his touch brings, “You think you deserve to have me, Francisco? Do you think you can make good on your promises?”

“I will, or I’ll die trying,” his other hand tugs on your own, pulling you against him as he flattens his palm against the small of your back, “Let me try, please.”

You slowly open your mouth, tongue teasing against his thumb as you wrap your lips around the thick digit. A soft moan escapes you as you suck slowly, purposefully, as you maintain eye contact with Frankie. His eyes are glassy as he whines, brow furrowed as you release his thumb with a lewd pop.

“Bedroom, now.”

You order as you push back from Frankie, the sudden action jarring enough that you slip his grasp. A determined growl rumbles from behind you as you stride towards the stairs. You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, you can hear his heavy footsteps gaining on you and there’s a primal thrill to it. You pick up the pace, practically jogging to your open bedroom door as adrenaline and arousal scorch through your veins.

You’re almost over the threshold when you feel the press of his palms on your waist as he pulls you back against him. You don’t have time to proffer a witty remark before Frankie’s mouth is on your throat. The rough scratch of his facial hair along the slope of your shoulder has you squirming as he nudges your head to the side with his strong nose.

“Going to make you feel so good,” Frankie says with a growl before sucking gently against the column of your neck. His one hand trails down your front and you gasp as he cups your sex through your shorts. His thick fingers tease at the denim where it covers your aching cunt; fingertips swirling over your clothed core, and you can’t help the desperate little sounds you make as pleasure rocks through you.

“Frankie, please.”

You yelp as his teeth nip at the shell of your ear and your panties cling to your cunt, you’re dripping for him.

“Call me Francisco, please,” he huffs into your ear as he walks you forward, “Sounds so good when you say my name.”

“Yeah? You like it when I beg you to fuck me, Francisco?” You ask as your knees hit the edge of the bed, but you stop yourself from falling forward just yet. You know that’s what Frankie wants, but you’re not about to give over control just yet. You feel him straining against you, not wanting to manhandle you aggressively it seems, but you can feel the need in the way his cock presses against your ass.

“I do,” he whispers in your ear, “Let me show you how sorry I am, querida.”

“Show me, Francisco, let’s see if you can make me scream your name,” you lean back as you speak, pressing your cheek against his.

His lips brush against yours as he angles his head down to you, it’s like being struck by lightning. You gasp as he kisses you, almost tenderly, before you let go completely. You kiss him back, pulling his lower lip between your teeth. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his lips part for you. You lick into his mouth teasingly, asking for permission and he slots his mouth over yours in response.

His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with your own as he tastes you. His groans rumbling through you as he delves deeper past your lips, mapping you out, claiming you. You’re pliable beneath his large hands as you feel him bending you at the hip. The hand cupping your sex increases the pressure. The heel of his palm grinds against your clothed clit as his fingertips knead at where your shorts are beginning to soak through.

“On your front,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You do as he says, flopping forward onto the bed as gracefully as you can with his large hand still working at you through your shorts. It’s been a while since you last let someone take relative control in the bedroom. Often, you’re used to dictating the pace, your partners needing gentle encouragement – or sometimes a very firm hand – to ensure you got what you need from sex. But this is different, Frankie is different.

There’s a pause as Frankie removes his hand from your cunt, and you’re about to turn over and ask what the hold up is, when his hot palms spread you out. His fingers digging into the backs of your knees as he opens you up.

“Frankie, what are you-?”

You practically choke on your words as you feel him press his face into the apex of your thighs. He buries himself against the damp crotch of your shorts and inhales as he grinds his nose against your core.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you feel him mouth against your covered cunt, his hands travel up the backs of your thighs as he holds you open for him. You squirm at the depravity of his thick fingers pinning you down, his face pressed hard against such a sensitive spot. Being fully clothed only makes you wetter, like there’s something even more profane about the action while your shorts cling tight to your desperate pussy.

“Frankie please,” you whine, and you can’t stop yourself, you didn’t think you’d be begging so quickly, so easily for someone you were ready to kick to the curb only yesterday.

“What do you want?” Frankie asks as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shorts, trailing over the swell of your ass.

“I want your mouth on my cunt, take my shorts off,” you huff into the sheets as you feel the heat burn over your cheekbones.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to your inner thigh before his hands are on your hips, “Turn over for me.”

You carefully rotate your body, mindful not to kick Frankie in the face in your eagerness. You lie back and you clench around nothing at the way Frankie is looking at you. His eyes are glassy and blown out with desire, his face is pink in places where the denim of your shorts has irritated his skin. You lower your gaze to see the painfully obvious bulge in his shorts and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s big.

“So pretty like this,” he says absently as he rakes his eyes over your body. You’re still fully clothed but you’ve never felt so bare in your life.

“Frankie-,” you’re about to beg again when he makes a face at you as he hisses between his teeth.

“Please, call me Francisco, I really like it when you do,” there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and you nod slowly as you stare him down.

“Please, Francisco,” you say as you bring both hands up to grope your tits over your tank top, “Show me how good you are with that dirty mouth of yours,” you spread your legs wide for him as you speak, and the way Frankie’s nostrils flare makes you squirm.

Frankie settles himself down between your thighs as he throws his cap off to the side. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you aren’t focusing on the hat anymore. Frankie’s calloused hands trail up from your knees, scraping deliciously against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He dips his fingertips under the denim once more and you feel him shudder as they brush the outline of your lace panties.

“Don’t tell me you wore something nice for me?” He asks as he smirks up at you, his cheek resting on your right thigh as he waits for your response.

“No, Francisco, I wanted to wear lacey panties in the middle of summer in Florida, I like the way wet lace chafes just right.”

You’re taunting him and the way his cheek dimples, you know he’s loving it as much as you are.

“Poor baby,” he hums softly as he brings one hand up to pop the button of your shorts open, “Let me help you out. Let’s get rid of those wet panties, yeah?”

You don’t answer, the condescending tone of his voice makes your head fuzzy. You’re so used to being the one doing all the talking, it’s a blissful role reversal for you. You watch as Frankie slowly pulls on the zipper before you lift your ass for him to tug the oppressively tight fabric down. You keen upwards as you feel the humid air hit your slick panties.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie rasps as he drops your shorts to the side of the bed, his eyes firmly fixed on the slick, glistening lace just inches from his face, “I’d ask if this was all for me,” he says as he lowers his mouth to your lace-covered sex, “But I think we both know it is.”

You don’t have time to make a snide comment, nor do you think you could with how blissed out you are. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clothed clit and you cry out as his hot tongue swirls slow, lazy circles over the already drenched fabric.

“Francisco,” you cry out as he pressures your clit just right, you see stars behind your eyelids. You’re embarrassingly close already.

“So sensitive,” he hums as he teases a finger up and down the thin strip of lace covering your core, “So wet.”

You’re about to beg again when you feel the drag of his rough fingertips slide under the seam of your panties. You arch up, your head falling back against the sheets as you once again feel the warm air hit your slick cunt. You hiss a little as the fabric that clings to you peels away with a sharp pinch.

“S’okay, I got you,” Frankie whispers as he rolls your panties off your feet, you force your eyes open, looking down just as he swipes his tongue through your folds. It’s slow, deliberate, and makes your toes curl as the hot drag culminates with his plush lips kissing your clit. The press of his mouth on your most sensitive spot punches a strangled moan from your chest.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper, “Fuck yes, Francisco.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead he teases your clit in soft, barely-there flicks of his tongue as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth. The pleasure shoots through you as you writhe under him. He shifts slightly, draping your calves over his broad shoulders as he presses his whole face against your cunt.

“So fucking sweet,” he snarls as you feel him shake his head back and forth, lapping at your clit as he moves.

“Fra-,” you stutter, unable to form his full name, pleasure driving every conscious thought from your mind as you build to your peak.

“Go on, come for me,” he goads you as he holds you down with one of his strong arms. You feel the weight of it pin you down as you try and buck your hips. Your spine tingles with every flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrates through your clit.

“I’m-,” you cry out, loud and throaty as you clench around nothing, your gasping pleas filling the room as you come hard. You whine and scream as Frankie keeps going as your body is rocked with overstimulation.

“So pretty when you come querida,” he says softly as he eases off, peppering your slick folds and clit with gentle, teasing kisses, “Can you give me another?”

“Francisco,” you gasp as you feel two thick fingers tease at your entrance, “Want your dick, please.”

“So eager,” he chuckles softly as he eases the tips of his fingers inside you, teasing little pulses right at your entrance that have you arching your back as you whine in frustrated overstimulation, “Where is the fire from earlier? I thought you were in control querida?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss but there’s no bite in it, you know he’s right. You love that he’s right. It’s the kind of fuck you’ve been wanting for years, the kind where you can just let go, let him take what he needs from you while simultaneously giving you more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Like I said,” he smirks up at you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, “Come for me again and I will.”

“Stop teasing me and fuck me with your fingers, Morales,” you snap, wresting for some control of the situation.

“There she is, my little zorra,” Frankie hums in triumph as he eases his thick fingers inside you. You want to ask him what that means but you’re blinded by the way he sinks all the way down to the knuckle in one swift motion.

You moan at the way he doesn’t let you adjust, your slick walls already accommodating them with minimal effort. He curls them up as he drags them slowly in and out of you, pushing and pulling at that sensitive spot that makes your whole body twitch. Every time he hits it, he smirks, gauging your reaction as he works you right back to the blinding peak.

“God! Your pussy feels so good, squeezing my fingers so tight,” Frankie babbles, as if to himself before flicking the blunt tip of his tongue against your clit, “Come for me.”

You clamp down hard on his fingers as his verbal command sends you reeling. Your mouth is dry as you cry out soundlessly. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you through your orgasm. The languid pace careful, controlled, as he works you through it.

“There you go,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as he slowly eases out of you, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is gulp in deep breaths as you try and ground yourself. You stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before you feel the soothing touch of Frankie’s fingers tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Back in the room?” He asks you with a smirk as he lies there, his cheek pressed against your knee as he simply watches you.

“Yeah,” you nod with earnest, “That was just fucking amazing,” you chuckle, and you’re rewarded with a deep rumble of satisfaction from Frankie’s chest.

“Good,” he says airily as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive skin, “Want to keep going?”

“Fuck yes,” you huff through your nose as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Just needed to catch my breath.”

“You got condoms?” Frankie asks and you’re suddenly sobered at the request. You’re so caught up in the moment you didn’t even think about using one.

“I do,” you say but you raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you trust me, Francisco?”

“Yes,” he says with a questioning look on his face as he palms his cock through his shorts, “Why?”

“I’m on the pill,” you say as you retreat backwards up the bed, “C’mere,” you say with a curl of your index finger and Frankie moves without hesitation, still fully clothed as you spread your legs for him.

“You been checked recently, Francisco?” You ask as he kneels between your legs, leaning back on his calves as he looks at you with a wry expression on his lips.

“A few months ago, all clear,” he says cautiously as he runs his one hand through his slick hair, “Why, you want me to take you raw?”

You stifle a groan at the harsh language, you’re regaining control over the dynamic slowly. No way are you breaking stride now.

“No, Francisco,” you purr as you manoeuvre up onto your knees, meeting his gaze as you toy with the hem of his tank top, “I want to ride you raw.”

Frankie’s mouth drops open as you push up the edge of his tank top, forcing it up to his armpits as you lock and suck at the swell of his belly. He pulls it up and over his head as he watches you with wide eyes.

He’s sweaty and musky on your tongue as you follow the light curls of his happy trail. You press your nose against his belly as you unbutton his shorts. You whine at the sight of his grey boxer briefs, and the way the fabric darkens over the head of his cock.

“Look at you,” you coo as you palm his length, “Francisco, you’ve been holding out on me,” you say with a smirk as you look up into his lust-blown eyes. He stammers as you cup his balls through his briefs and press a kiss to the tip of his clothed dick. You know he won’t last long, but you can’t help but tease him a little.

“Strip for me,” you whisper against the side of his shaft as you squeeze his balls gently. He groans softly before you pull away, already stripping your tank top and bra as you watch him do as he’s told. His eyes are glassy, it’s as if a switch has flipped in his brain. The realisation hits you immediately.

Frankie likes this. He likes being told what to do.

He pulls his briefs down in one swift motion, letting his thick cock spring free and slapping wetly against his abdomen as he hurriedly pushes his briefs and shorts past his knees. He resumes his position on the bed, kneeling as he rests on his laurels. You salivate at the sight of him, his foreskin straining against the head of his cock.

“Good boy,” you breathe, stomach churning delightfully as you see the way Frankie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Legs out,” you gesture for him to straighten his legs and he obeys almost comically fast.

You crawl forward, hands sliding up over his shoulders. Immediately his hands fall to your hips, steadying you as you hover over his lap. It’s surely far too intimate – fucking like this – especially considering how you were at each other’s throats only yesterday. But there’s something about it all that just feels right. You press your forehead against Frankie’s, closing your eyes as his tip notches at your core.

“Oh fuck,” you hiss as you sink down onto his cock, your slick walls clamp down around the intrusion as you split yourself open with his dick. You whine as you reach the base, you’re so full, so snug around his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie echoes as he curls his arms around you pinning you against him, keeping you so impossibly close. You drop your head to rest in the crook of Frankie’s neck. Your lips latching onto his slick skin as you clench hard around him.

“I’m going to move,” you whisper against Frankie’s neck, “Let me use you, Frankie, want to fuck myself on your cock.”

“Please,” he whispers, as you nip along his jaw, “Use me.”

You whimper as you begin to roll your hips forward, lifting up as you savour every inch of his cock raking through you. You catch yourself just before he slips out of you, lingering for a moment, then pushing yourself back down. You cry out at the abrupt stretch as discomfort cedes to pleasure. Frankie’s grip tightens on your waist as you repeat the action again and again.

Each time more and more pleasure rocks through you as you use Frankie’s cock. You know he’s close, his brow is furrowed, and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You’re griding his cock inside you as you lean down to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Francisco,” you say, “Make me scream.”

He groans at the sudden permission to fuck you, body curling around you as he pitches you backwards. He stays buried deep as you’re pushed down into the pillows, your thighs pressed against your chest as Frankie gets you how he wants you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” Frankie snarls in your ear as he starts to move, his pace picking up rapidly.

“Me too,” you moan as he nudges your g-spot over and over again. You’re whining at every snap of his hips as pleasure arcs through you. Your fingertips dig into his back muscles as you cling to him. He snaps his hips harder and harder until you can’t hold on any longer.

“Francisco!” you cry out as you come hard around his length, your slick walls clamping down hard as you feel him stutter beneath you. He fucks down into you a few more times before he lets out a tight groan as he empties himself inside you. His hips still, your chests pressed together as you grin at one another.

You lie there for a few moments as you both try and catch your breath. Neither of you can stop smiling as you feel Frankie ease his soft cock out of you.

“We need to clean up and we both need to pee,” you say lazily as you roll onto your side. Frankie flops down next to you, a soft oof escaping his lips as he hits the mattress.

“We do,” he agrees as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheekbone, “You, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, more than good,” you babble as Frankie smiles at you, cheek dimpling delightfully.

“Good,” he says with a soft nod.

There’s so much hanging in the air between you. More than you can worry about right now.

“Let’s get a shower and replace the burgers you brought,” you say as you force yourself up, heading to the bathroom.

“It’s not my fault they’re inedible now,” Frankie grumbles playfully and you smile at him over your shoulder.

“Whatever,” you stick your tongue out at him as you turn on the shower, “Come on, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Alright, but I’m not the one telling Santi about us,” Frankie growls as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles against the back of your head, “I’ll never live it down.”

“Fine,” you agree with a smirk playing across your lips, “That means you have to tell the Millers.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air before Frankie curses under his breath. He realises too late his mistake and you just smile, leaning back into your former arch-nemesis’ arms, wondering how you got here; and what here even is. But you are sure of one thing.

Now you’ve had a taste of Frankie Morales, you’re never letting him go.

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

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