#Francisco Morales x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javierpena-inatacvest · 1 year ago

Text

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy.

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate.

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for.

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period.

Your cycle had been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag.

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military.

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it.

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response.

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood.

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration.

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.”

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man.

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work.

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband.

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending.

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie.

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!”

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath.

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-”

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.”

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door.

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway.

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it.

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood.

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear.

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants.

Your period had come.

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie.

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ”

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply.

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.”

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first.

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.”

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply.

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘”

“Oh shut up, meanie.”

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍”

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way.

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch.

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband.

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?”

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest.

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace.

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you.

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-”

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse.

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem.

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.”

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.”

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him.

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you.

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you.

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza.

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-”

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?”

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?”

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.”

“I think I can make that happen.”

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest.

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy.

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth.

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you.

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core.

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you.

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices.

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period.

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man.

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths.

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.”

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds.

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt.

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot.

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool.

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over.

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue.

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name.

“Frankie, holy fuck.”

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could.

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.”

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt.

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace.

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over.

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him.

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity.

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him.

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate.

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word.

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.”

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there.

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did.

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.”

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in.

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.”

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high.

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss.

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss.

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight.

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.”

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

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aurorawritestoescape · 3 months ago

Text

THE PHOTO

Frankie Morales x f!reader || 580 words

Summary: you find Frankie’s photo.

Tw: none, fluff, young Frankie, insecure reader, pining, loveeeee

A/n: I needed some comfort so I wrote this little thing, inspired by the picture above. Hope you’ll like it<3 kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more Frankie

You’re looking at a photo of Frankie and soon tears well up in your eyes. Strong emotions overwhelm your heart and you take a deep breath and press your palm to your chest, trying to calm down.

Frankie and you were group mates in college. You saw each other almost every day but you tried to keep your distance, hiding a huge crush on the guy. Full of insecurities and fears all you dared to do was to steal glances at him here and there, but sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, you couldn’t help but stare.

During classes you would daydream about taking his cap off, running your fingers through his soft curls, hugging his broad shoulders, kissing his plush lips. He often chewed on his pencil, brows furrowed, gaze full of thought, and you were sure that it was the cutest thing in the world.

Whenever Frankie caught you looking at him, he would smile, and your cheeks would immediately heat up. You’d drop your eyes to the desk, frozen, trying to stop your heart from beating too loudly.

That smile of his, playful but never mocking, when directed at you, was a highlight of your day. Yet you were not the only one he smiled at, you thought, he was just friendly like that. You weren’t special.

Frankie was wonderful - kind, helpful, handsome. He’d never be with someone like you. You tried very hard not to idolise him but the nagging voice in your head always reminded you that you didn’t deserve him, weren’t worth his attention. You used to avert your eyes from his, as they were too piercing, too beautiful, they burnt you every time you felt them set on your face.

One day Frankie and you came to classes early and the hall was empty except for the two of you. He began chatting with you and you talked back, shyly at first, shaking like a little bunny inside. But the more you talked, the lighter you felt, and soon you were laughing at his jokes, looking him right in the eye. The fire that had scorched you before turned into the sun, warming and gentle, breathtakingly exciting but comforting at the same time. Your soul was singing when he was there with you and you thought that your heart was right when it had chosen him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on your part but Frankie seemed upset when the other students joined you.

Lost in the memories, with the picture still in your hand, your eyelashes still wet, you don’t notice Frankie walking up to you until his strong arms wrap around your waist from behind and you feel his bearded chin rubbing the delicate skin at the crease of your neck. His naked chest is warming up your back like a furnace through your thin nightie and you happily sink into his embrace as he asks,

“What are you doing here, my love? You know I hate waking up alone.”

“Nothing. Just found this photo of you by accident. Look, you were so young and handsome.”

“And now I’m old and ugly, uh?” He grumbles with a fake annoyance in his voice and you giggle, turning around and throwing your arms around his neck.

“Well, maybe less young but as handsome as ever,” you whisper against his lips before giving him a soft kiss. Frankie hums with pleasure, hugging you tightly, and then parts from your mouth to gruff,

”C’mon, let’s get you back to bed, Mrs Morales.”

“Love when you call me that,” you purr and gasp when he lifts you in his arms and carries you to the bedroom.

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story<3

MASTERLIST || more Frankie

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #fluff #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #pedro pascal fluff #frankie morales x f!reader #fanfiction #the photo fic

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 2 months ago

Text

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar.

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips.

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies.

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing.

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed.

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight.

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess.

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron.

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent.

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit.

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?”

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.”

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants.

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.”

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway.

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup.

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you.

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly.

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day”

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you.

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue.

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length.

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee.

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.”

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker.

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then.

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat.

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant.

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers.

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.”

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.” He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.”

Holy fuck, you were flirting.

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest.

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit.

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver.

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type.

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out.

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care.

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded.

“Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant.

“Okay, well...see you soon then.”

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe.

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you.

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm.

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even.

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him.

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business, a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life.

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest.

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said.

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.”

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off.

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.” You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation.

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant.

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected.

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep.

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.”

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel.

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease.

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily.

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment.

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this.

“Go ahead.”

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him.

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible.

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue.

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies.

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin.

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy.

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice.

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom.

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed.

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew.

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess.

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect”

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?”

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip.

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties.

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin.

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously.

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence.

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted.

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby"

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.”

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal.

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed.

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely.

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried.

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it.

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you.

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long."

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch.

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip.

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie”

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other.

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum.

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow.

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfic #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier au #pedro pascal character fiction #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction

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flightlessangelwings · 5 months ago

Text

To Feel Your Body Against Mine

Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word count-4.5k

Prompt- secret relationship

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), secret relationship, feelings, praise, sex in a public bathroom, softness, oral (f receiving), creampie, alcohol mention, a shitty ex, attempted assault (not detailed), mild violence (not against reader), happy ending, reader is a bartender/waitress, reader is Santi's sister but not physically described at all other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- For @burntheedges Roll a Trope writing challenge! I'm so excited to be able to participate and I got such a fun trope too! And I definitely made myself hot and bothered writing that second spicy scene lol! I hope everyone enjoys this!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

“Mmm… Frankie…” you moaned as you leaned your head back against the bathroom mirror.

He hummed your name in your ear as he smirked against your face.

“We’re gonna get caught if we take too much longer,” you huffed as you felt the warm embrace of his body against yours.

“Yeah,” he groaned as he thrust into you, “But you feel so fucking good, baby,” his tone dropped as he thrusted again, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Frankie had you on the bathroom counter in the employee bathroom at the bar you worked at. The moment the two of you had the chance to slip away, you took it, and quickly you clawed each other’s clothes off, desperate for one another. To have his cock fill you up again filled that need that left you feeling empty. To be connected to him once more was something that your body, and your heart, craved more than anything. To feel his strong arms around you as you wrapped your legs around his waist made everything feel perfect, even if you were currently in a dirty bathroom.

And Frankie’s feelings reflected yours. From the moment he first met you all those years ago, he instantly fell for you. And to finally have you in his arms, to feel himself inside your pussy, to be able to call you his… it was better than heaven for him. Even from the second he walked into the bar and saw you with the drink mixer in your hand, the way your breasts swung then you shook it, he knew he was going to fuck you in the bathroom the moment he got the chance.

Your relationship was perfect. Even from the first night you spent together, it felt as if the two of you had been together for years. Everything just fell into place perfectly, like you were two puzzle pieces that finally clicked together to form the picture that was your life. Everything felt right. Everything felt perfect, like things were the way they should be.

It was almost perfect that is. There was only one problem: no one knew. No one could know. Because you were Santigo’s sister.

“He’ll freak out if he finds out about us,” you had once told Frankie, “Let’s just keep it between us for now. We’ll figure out the right time to tell him later.”

But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered to Frankie now was you. You were the entire world to him as he fucked you in the bar bathroom. The way your mouth dropped open to let the beautiful cries flow freely was more intoxicating to him than the drinks you served. The way your breasts swung with his every thrust was captivating. The way your inner muscles clenched around his cock sent jolts of pleasure up his spine.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he groaned.

Sweat lined your brow as you clung to Frankie. One hand buried itself in his hair, tugging hard, while the other dug into his broad shoulder. All you could do was scream in pleasure as he rocked faster into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck! Frankie, right there!” you moaned as you arched your back.

With one harsh grunt, Frankie thrust forward and both of you fell apart at the same time. You and Frankie both cried out as your bodies trembled against each other. Clinging to each other for dear life, you moaned loudly. Thankfully, the loud music from the bar drowned out your screams, yet at the time neither of you cared about that. All you cared about was the other as you rode out your climaxes together.

Frankie huffed as he stilled himself inside you for a moment, hot and sweaty from the passionate lovemaking in the tiny bathroom. He let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes for a moment before closing them again to kiss you deeply. He savored the taste of you on his tongue as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you, swallowing the whimper you let out. His hand cupped the side of your face as his thumb stroked your cheek tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbled as he rested his forehead against yours.

“So are you, Frankie,” you smirked back at him before you kissed him again. But, as much as you wanted the moment to last forever, you knew time was against you. “We really do need to get back now,” you sounded disappointed, “Don’t want anyone to get suspicious.”

Frankie’s face dropped; he didn’t want the moment to end yet either, “Yeah,” he nodded as he helped you dress before slipping his own clothes back on.

Placing his trusty hat back on his head, you gave him one last kiss, “You go first. I’ll be behind you in a second.”

His dark, pleading eyes looked into yours as three words rushed to the tip of his tongue. But, just like every time before, they remained unspoken as he unlocked and left the bathroom.

You let out a deep sigh as you turned to the mirror and adjusted yourself for a moment before you also left your little hideaway and went back to the real world. The real world where as far as anyone was concerned, you and Frankie were just friends.

You grinned from behind the bar as you watched the guys at their table. Santiago, your brother, and the guys who got each other through tough times that you couldn’t even imagine all laughed together. The four of them best of friends, brothers in arms. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but you could tell they enjoyed their time together, as they always did when the four of them convened.

“There you are, nena!” Santiago exclaimed as you walked up to the table with a tray of drinks, “Where’ve you been?”

Frankie swallowed nervously, but hid it under the brim of his hat.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s busy in here,” you gestured over your shoulder to the crowd at the bar, “Some of us work for a living,” you added with a smirk. Glancing over for a brief moment, you caught Frankie’s eye and saw him relax his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah,” Santiago shrugged, “As long as these assholes keep their hands to themselves and off my sister.” He shit a pointed glare towards another table of guys who made no effort to hide the way they checked you out when you walked by.

Will and Benny burst into laughter before Will spoke up, “Man you really have the overprotective brother thing down pat, don’t you, Pope?”

“Yeah,” Benny added as he sipped his drink.

Santiago rolled his eyes, “Shut up, assholes.”

You mirrored your brother’s eye roll before you turned and walked away, aware of a pair of eyes stealthily on your ass as you did so. A grin lit up your face while your back was to the guys.

Chatter echoed around him as he lost himself in your figure as the guys went back to their conversation. Vaguely, he was aware they were reminiscing about good times in the past before they turned their attention to Benny’s upcoming fight. The Miller brothers seemed to focus more on each other as Will gave his usual encouraging words to his little brother.

“Que pasas, hermano?” Santiago asked, noticing Frankie’s distant expression.

Frankie shook himself out of his thoughts and back to his best friend, “Nada,” he replied a little too quickly, “Nothing,” he repeated in a more leveled tone, “Just thinking is all,” he said as he took a sip of his drink and savored the taste that mixed with your that lingered on his tongue.

“That’s dangerous,” Santiago quipped playfully.

He rolled his eyes as he adjusted his hat. After a breath, Frankie chose his words carefully so as to not arouse suspicion, “Would it really be so bad if your sister found someone? Like found the right someone who treats her well?”

He pointed a stare at him for a moment before he took a swig of his drink and answered, “If it were the right person, yeah. She has a habit of picking real shitty ones though,” Santiago made a face as he pictured a particular ex of yours. But, he decided Frankie’s question was harmless, “But for now, I got my best friends watching over her when I can’t,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Thanks man, I know I can count on you.”

Frankie gave him a smile that hid the way he truly felt, “Anytime, man.”

“Oh Frankie… Ay mierda,” you moaned as you writhed on his bed.

The moon was high in the sky, illuminating Frankie’s bedroom. It was just the right amount of light to make for a romantic night in, and Frankie took full advantage of it. In between your legs he found a bliss unlike anything else. There was only one place he loved kissing you more than your lips…

Frankie groaned into you as he dug his hands into your thighs. As much as he wanted to tell you how beautiful you were or how delicious you tasted, he just couldn’t break himself away from your pussy. He slurped loudly, not caring how obscene the sounds he made were, especially when they made you moan and make such lovely sounds.

“Ay dios mio,” you cried out as one hand landed in his hair while the other clutched onto the sheets for dear life. The way his tongue so expertly found all your sensitive spots never ceased to amaze you… and always left you breathless.

Another growl emitted from deep within Frankie’s throat as he devoured you with even more fervor. His tongue swirled around your clit, making you whimper with every pass, and he could tell you were close.

Let me taste your cum, baby, he thought as he ran his tongue up and down your folds. The tip of his nose hit your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, darting it in and out a few times before running back up. The moment his lips wrapped around your clit, you screamed and tugged at his hair.

“Frankie! Fuck!” you cried out as your legs trembled on either side of his head.

He tightened his grip on you as he sucked hard on your clit. And that was all it took to send you over the edge. With a loud scream, you came hard against his face, rocking your hips against his prominent nose as you rode out your climax.

Like a man dying of thirst, Frankie greedily lapped up your release as he kept his rhythm with his tongue. He didn’t want to waste a drop of your sweet juices, and he didn’t want to stop until you were entirely spent. His cock strained with need, but he ignored it in favor of your pleasure.

With one last gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed, and Frankie broke away from your cunt with a loud pop. He wanted your body through glazed over eyes as his chin glistened with your cum. He watched with fiery eyes as your breasts rose and fell with your heavy breaths as you came down from your high.

“Fuck you are so fucking sexy, baby,” he growled as he lunged forward and captured your lips with his own.

You moaned into him as you wrapped your arms and legs around his body as he covered you. A rumble from Frankie’s chest reverberated between your bodies as he rutted against you.

“I need you, baby,” Frankie sounded so desperate, “Fuck I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then fuck me, Francisco,” you mewled as you bucked your hips against his, feeling his rock hard cock against your slick pussy.

All he could do was growl as he angled his hips against you. Frankie slipped a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your entrance, and the moment the tip hit your wetness, you both gasped.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed as he easily slid into you, your pussy still soaking wet from how avidly he devoured you.

“Oh my god…” you dropped your head back onto the mattress as you felt his cock stretch you out. You groaned and dug your nails into his back as you surrendered yourself to him completely.

“Shit I’m not gonna last long with how fucking good you feel,” Frankie muttered as he started to rock in and out of you, feeling your walls around him with every thrust.

Any words escaped your mind the moment he started thrusting in and out of you. All you could do was moan and hold onto him as his cock filled you over and over again. In the moonlight, Frankie fucked you with everything he had. You felt the passion behind every thrust of his hips, and the way he held you while he ravaged you was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

This was not just fucking. Frankie was making love to you in both the sweetest and roughest way he could. And it was everything you needed and more. Just as he was addicted to you and your pussy, you were addicted to him. You clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to feel every inch of his body against you while his thick cock filled you up over and over again. You wanted… need him more than air.

Frankie was mesmerized by you. Before you pulled him closer, he watched as your breasts swung wildly with every thrust of his hips. And as he covered you with his body, he could feel your heart pound in your chest. He couldn’t get enough of the way you wrapped your arms and legs around him, wordlessly telling him you needed more, needed him closer.

And he was happy to oblige.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he murmured your name over and over with every thrust, “Baby I’m close.” Sweat lined his brow, making the thick locks of hair stick to his forehead.

“Cum in me, Frankie,” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against his, “Let me feel you.”

Your words alone almost made him lose control. But Frankie wasn’t going over the edge without you, so he snaked his hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as his touches sent jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Frankie…”

“I know baby,” he moaned, “I’ve got you…”

His thrusts became erratic as the room spun around him. Moans and cries of pleasure echoed between your bodies, and neither of you were sure who made which sounds. It didn’t matter anyway, you were connected at one, fitted together perfectly as if you were meant for each other.

Frankie felt his orgasm quickly approaching; with every thrust he was closer and closer. And from the way your inner muscles squeezed his cock, he could tell you were just as close. Pounding into you with fervor, Frankie growled your name as he came hard enough to see stars.

You screamed against his lips as your second climax hit at the same time. Clutching onto Frankie tightly, you trembled underneath him as you came together. Passions exploded between your bodies as Frankie rode out both your climaxes. Tears fell down your cheeks as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body. And a shiver ran up your spine as you felt Frankie’s release fill you to the brim while he moaned against your face.

With one last huff, Frankie thrust as deep as he could into you before he collapsed down on top of you with a grunt. You wheezed as the added weight was sudden, but you both burst into laughter as you both went limp against each other. Frankie planted light kisses on the side of your head as he caught his breath and his cock softened inside you. A chill of his own ran up his spine as your laughter sent shocks to his overstimulated cock.

“That was amazing, baby,” Franie murmured in your ear.

“You’re amazing, Frankie,” you whispered back, kissing him wherever you could while you ran your hands up and down his broad back.

Frankie broke away to gaze into your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. Again, three words were on the tip of his tongue. He could have said them. He should have said them. You looked so beautiful underneath him in the moonlight. There was no better time than now…

Yet, he didn’t. Instead he said, “I got you,” as he slowly pulled out of you, causing you both to hiss. Frankie gave you an apologetic look when he was fully out of you, and he couldn’t help but glance down and watch his release spill out of your pussy.

He licked his lips, and for a moment he contemplated devouring you once more. But, his muscles ached, and Frankie felt the overwhelming need just to hold you close, to feel your body against his.

Reaching for a tissue on his bedside, Frankie gently, tenderly cleaned you up as you whimpered from the touch. You were overstimulated as well, but in the best way possible. Not wanting to leave your side even for a moment, he just tossed the tissue aside and laid down next to you, gathering you in his arms. You sighed contently as you pressed a light kiss to his chest before you laid your head down comfortably.

“Hey baby?” Frankie broke the silence after several moments.

“You alright, Frankie?” You noticed the change in his tone, which made you worry. You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heart under your palm.

“Do you ever think maybe we should tell Santiago about… us?”

You let out a deep sigh as you savored the warmth of his embrace for a moment, “I do hate hiding from him,” you admitted, “But I’m just scared to, you know?” Truthfully, you were sure he wouldn’t be as mad as you feared, yet something nagged at you about it. Perhaps because he reacted so badly to the last person you dated, yet he had good reason to. This time, however, it was Frankie, and who would deny Frankie? And the longer this went on, the more frightened you became. You dug yourself in this hole and the longer you hid in it, the more difficult you knew climbing out of that hole would be.

“I know,” he comforted you with a squeeze, “But we can do it together. He can’t be mad for too long,” he let out a soft laugh.

You chuckled, “You’re right,” you hummed in agreement, “We’ll pick a time to sit down with him and tell him the truth, and Will and Benny too.”

“Sounds good, baby,” he kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right there with you, I promise,” Frankie paused and took a deep breath, “But for now, let’s get some sleep.”

It was a quieter night at work, which you were thankful for. So many crowded nights were great for your paycheck, but left you completely exhausted. A few regulars and some newcomers sat scattered around the bar, but you still had some time to just lean against the wall and rest for a bit. It was a calm, peaceful night.

Until the one person you never wanted to see again walked through the doors.

Immediately you were on edge from the moment you saw his sly face, “Ernesto,” you spat through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here?”

His grin sent shivers down your spine, “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I don’t miss you,” your tone was cold as you held yourself strong, “Get out of here.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he leaned in close, invading your space and placing a hand on your shoulder, “Give me another chance. I’ve changed.”

“No!” you pushed his hand off your shoulder. But, before you could step away from him, he grabbed your wrist, “Let me go, Ernesto!”

Just as he tried to yank you close enough to him to kiss you, he was ripped away in a flash. Before he could even grunt in confusion, Ernesto found himself stumbling away from you and a man stood between you and him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“Frankie,” you breathed in relief.

“She told you no, so get the fuck out of here before I have to hurt you,” Frankie growled, sounding very unlike his usual self.

“Fuck off, she’s mine,” Ernesto lunged for Frankie, fists winging.

Frankie clenched his jaw and waited for the opportunity to present itself. In between the flurry of hands from Ernesto, there was an opening. It only took one hit, one precise punch from Frankie right in his nose to send him careening back. Ernesto landed on the floor with a grunt, and all the air was forced out of his lungs as he saw stars from hitting his head.

In a rage, Frankie stepped forward and grabbed Ernesto’s collar, peeling him off the floor, “Have anything to say now, pendejo?” he growled.

It took him a moment to re-orientate himself before he stuttered, “N-no,” all the fight had left Ernesto’s body, “I’m going. I’m going,” he pleaded as he scrambled away and bolted for the door. Frankie watched to make sure he left before he quickly rushed over to you.

Santiago hopped out of his truck before he strolled toward the bar you worked at. He had some free time and decided to come see you, especially since he noticed you had been acting differently lately. He cared for you more than anything, and he only ever wanted the best for his sister and only family. He was in a good mood, but as he got closer to the bar, someone burst through the doors and slammed right into him.

“S-sorry,” Ernestro muttered as he looked up from where his gaze was pointed at the ground, “I didn’t mean to… You!” he gasped, recognizing Santiago.

“You!” he snarled as he grabbed Ernesto’s shirt, “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Santiago was ready to hit him, enraged when he thought about how he treated you in the past, but when he noticed the broken nose and blood from his face, he paused.

Ernesto took the opportunity in his hesitation to slip out of his grip and run away. Santiago thought about going after him, but his priority was more on his sister’s safety, so he ran inside to check on you. And when he rushed through the doors, the sight that met him froze him in his tracks.

Frankie was there, holding you tightly and whispering into your ear as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He couldn’t hear what exactly he said, but he could tell Frankie was whispering words of comfort into your ear in between feather light kisses. Santiago wasn’t sure how to feel and he stood in dumbfounded stillness for several moments.

“What the hell is going on here?” his voice was a low grumble as the emotions slipped out before he could stop them.

You gasped as you snapped your head up from where it rested on Frankie’s shoulder, “Santi…” you breathed, tears still fresh in your eyes, “I can explain,” you scrambled out of his arms and up to your feet.

Frankie followed right behind you, “Pope, I…” he started before he was interrupted.

“Wait,” you hissed to both of them, noticing the stares from the few patrons in the bar, “Can we take this outside?” You really did not want an audience.

Santiago remained tense, but looked around and nodded. In silence, the three of you slipped out and towards your brother’s truck for some privacy. The tension was palpable as you made your way out of the bar. Yet, Frankie still slid his hand in yours despite the glare from Santiago.

“Santi, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you blurted out, “We just…”

“How long?” Santiago cut you off with a simple question, “How long have you kept this from me?”

All the breath felt like it was punched out of your lungs and suddenly you realized why he was so angry. All your life, it had been just you and Santi; brother and sister alone in the world. You trusted each other with everything, and you were all each other had. This was the first time you kept something from him, and you noticed the hurt in his eyes that you felt like you had to hide this from him.

“A few months,” Frankie answered for you in a quiet voice.

Santiago let out a heavy sigh as his shoulders dropped and the tough person melted away. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked between the two of you, “And you couldn’t tell me this whole time?” his tone was softer than before, and the hurt was apparent.

“Santi,” you started, taking a step forward, “I’m sorry.”

He glanced at you before he stepped past you and met Frankie face to face, “Will you take care of her?” he asked, “You’ll never hurt her?”

Frankie’s eyes softened, “Yeah,” he breathed, “I swear, man,” he continued, “I’d never do anything to hurt her,” he paused, “I’m in love with your sister, man.”

The confession made both you and Santiago’s mouths drop open in surprise. “Frankie…” you gasped in a whisper from behind your brother.

Santiago recovered first, “Fuck, bro,” he smiled through the emotions, “Guess I can’t be too pissed at you… You did kick her ex’s ass pretty damn good.” He turned over his shoulder and smiled genuinely at you before turning back to Frankie, “Just don’t make out or do any of that shit in front me, ok?” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder.

The relief showed on Frankie’s face as he too broke out into a smile. His hand landed on Santiago’s shoulder as you also sighed in relief behind them. “Deal,” he said before the two friends embraced.

Santiago turned to you and took you up in his arms, hugging you tightly.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Santi,” you whispered to him as you hugged him back.

Breaking away from the hug, he kept his hands on your forearms, “I get why you didn’t,” he said softly, “I can be a little much when it comes to my family.” He turned between you and Frankie, “How about we celebrate? Drinks are on me.”

“Do I have to make them?” you teased.

Santiago and Frankie both laughed as you all embraced each other. Your brother patted you both on the shoulder before he ushered you both to his truck. Frankie slipped his hand in yours, happy to finally be able to take your hand in public without the fear of getting caught. A new chapter in your lives was just starting, and finally everything was absolutely perfect.

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raspberrybesitos · 1 year ago

Text

just married | frankie morales x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2k

Summary: You and Frankie just tied the knot. Half way through the reception, your insatiable husband whisks you away for some much needed privacy.

Warnings: fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism (sex in a private bathroom), unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy frankie friday! this is based off this post, i could not for the life of me shake this from my head. literally wrote this in an hour, i’m telling y’all i’m actually going insane. the brain rot is actually concerning. FRANKIE NATION RISE! 🫡 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼 i loveeee me some frankie 🫠 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Come on, hermosa,” Frankie rasps in your ear, moving his hands from your hips and grabbing your hand, a small smirk playing on his lips. Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, the dance floor lively and vibrant.

“Where are we going, baby?” You ask, your gown flowing freely as your new husband swiftly maneuvers you through the crowd. “You’ll see,” he shouts over the thrumming music. Your body buzzing with excitement and a smile, so big it hurts, adorns your face.

Leading you out into the hall and racing up the stairs, giggling like a couple of school children. Frankie drags you to the bathroom at the end of the hall, flinging the door open and guiding you inside.

He grips your hips and crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your dissipating giggles as he presses you up against the door and locks it. You whimper softly as his hands begin to roam your body.

His hands roam your backside, making his way down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Frankie!” You squeal, breathlessly, laughter bubbling over your lips as you pull back for a bit of air.

A toothy grin breaks out into his face. “I’ve missed you, hermosa,” he pants, the both of you breathless from running and desperately kissing each other.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Not having had a moment to yourselves this whole day, you two bask in this brief moment of privacy.

He brings you in for another insatiable kiss. Your hands tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into you. Snaking his hands down your waist, he cups your mound in one hand. You moan into him as your brows scrunch in pleasure, grinding against his hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day, baby,” he groans, guiding you to the sink, pressing your backside up against it as he peppers kisses to the column of your throat. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby, this goddamn dress is driving me crazy,” he whispers, nipping your neck.

“You’re driving me crazy, Frankie,” you gasp. “Look so fucking sexy in that tux, baby.” He smiles into your skin, working his way back up to draw you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue inside, arousal pooling in your panties and sticking to your sex. Swallowing every moan that pours into his mouth, he pulls back, your lipgloss staining his lips.

Crouching to his knees, he bunches your gown up over his head and moans at the sight of your lacy panties paired with your garter.

“Fuck, baby. So fucking wet for me all fucking the time,” he whispers huskily as his large, warm hands run along your thighs. He slides your garter down your leg, tucking it into his back pocket.

Propping you up onto the sink, he spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your sex. You moan at the feeling, aching for more. One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance, parting your lips and allowing your husband a view of your glistening pussy.

“Please, Frankie,” you plead breathlessly, tossing your head back.

“Yeah? My pretty little wife wants me to eat her pussy? Huh, mi esposa?” You moan, eagerly nodding as you clench around nothing. Frankie doesn’t miss the way your thighs squeeze together.

“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Without warning, Frankie dives in and licks broad stripes up your folds, gasping as you bite back a moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to be quiet.

“No no, baby. I wanna hear you. They can’t even hear us with the music, it’s just us, baby - just me and you,” he says before diving back in and licking through your folds, his strong nose nudging your clit and your eyes flying open.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You moan loudly, eyes squeezed shut as you toss your head back, caution blown to the wind. You snake a hand into Frankie’s curls, tugging at them and eliciting a groan from your husband. The vibrations against your cunt send a new wave of arousal seeping from you, Frankie lapping up every drop as he drowns in your slick.

His tongue prods your entrance, fucking into you. He groans at the way you clench around him, chest rumbling in satisfaction.

It’s sloppy, and hungry the way he laves at your weeping cunt. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, your cries filling the air. His lips wrap around your swollen bud as his grip on your thighs tightens. Your hips involuntarily buck up into his face. He snakes his left hand up to your stomach, ring-adorned hand pushing you down and holding you in place.

“So f-fucking good, F-Frankie, oh my god,” you keen above him, legs wrapping around his back as you try to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. His relentless pace creates a cloud of stars in your eyes.

“I’m close, Frankie! So close, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, baby,” you yelp, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as the coil in your belly tightens.

A sudden intrusion pulls a sharp gasp from you. Two of his thick, long fingers crook into that spongy spot with every stroke as he sucks on your clit.

His fingers, his mouth, the ring on the hand which pins you down overwhelms you - he’s all-consuming.

Your vision flashes hot white as the coil in your belly snaps, cumming all over your husband’s face and his fingers. Frankie laps at your juices as you grind your cunt into his face, thighs trembling while riding out your high. He groans as he slurps you up like the sweetest nectar, not wasting a single drop. Your whines fill the air along with a squelching sound as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you.

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his patchy beard glistening with your slick. Slamming his lips onto yours, the two of you moan into each other. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your head spin.

Frankie ruts his hips into yours, his clothed cock brushing against your exposed cunt and a loud cry pouring from your lips at the sensitivity. Wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer, you buck your hips against his, seeking more stimulation.

“Lean back for me, baby.” he rasps as he pulls back, gently pushing you back against the mirror. He makes quick work unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants to his ankles. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, mouth watering at the sight of your husband’s angry, leaking cock. Unable to resist, you palm him in your hands, smearing the dribbles of precum along his throbbing length. Frankie stifles a moan, moving your hand away and lines up his cock at your dripping hole.

Swirling small circles around your entrance, gathering the new wave slick that pours from your cunt on his length.

“Frankieeee,” you keen. “No teasing, please, amor,” you huff, on the verge of tears as your desperation grows.

“I got you, amor, don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear. He slides in slowly, but smoothly in one go, your slippery folds allowing him easy access. Both of you moan in tandem, Frankie’s brows pinched together and your lips parted.

You’re so full, relishing in the dull sting as he stuffs your wet heat to the brim. “Move, baby. Please move, mi amor,” you plead, breathless and desperate, seeking some relief.

“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I always will,” He says, voice hushed and husky, placing a kiss to your forehead.

You know his words run deeper than just the matter at hand, having promised to love you eternally just hours ago.

He slowly drags out of you ever so slightly before snapping his hips into yours, his tip punching your g-spot. His hands rest on your waist as he picks up his pace. The room sounds pornographic - filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy, skin-on-skin, moans, and pants.

“I’m the lu-luckiest man ever. Got the prettiest girl ever to m-marry me. Knew you’d make a beautiful bride, hermosa. Most beautiful f-fuckin’ bride in the world, my pretty little wife. Get to, shit, get to love you and fuck this tight little pussy every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. Fuck,” he rambles, hips canting into yours.

Clenching around him at his words, more slick drips from your weeping cunt and onto the counter. An endless string of moans tumble from you and into the air.

“S-so fucking good to m-me, baby. So l-lucky to be your wife,” you keen, pressing your forehead against his. He hungrily captures your lips in a ferocious kiss, teeth clashing together as neither of you care how messy you two will look after.

“My wife. You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever,” he moans as his tip kisses your cervix. Your walls flutter around him, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby. Let go, hermosa. I know you’re close. Let me feel you, I got you, baby,” he babbles almost incoherently. You wail as your orgasm washes over you, convulsing under his grasp, twitching uncontrollably as slick endlessly streams from your cunt. “There we go, baby. Good girl. So fucking good, hermosa. Always feel so fucking good,” Frankie groans against your lips, his thrust growing sloppy as your slippery cunt sucks him in.

“Love you so much, Frankie,” you gasp. “Love you too, hermosa,” he grunts. You can feel him throb inside of you.

“Cum, Frankie. Fill me up, please, baby,” you beg, still riding out the high of your climax.

“Yeah baby? Want my cum? Want me to stuff you full and walk around our wedding with my cum dripping out of your tight little pussy?"

A high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you squeeze tightly around him. “Yes, Frankie! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs under my dress,” you squeal, overstimulation starting to sink in.

"My dirty fucking girl,” he rasps, punctuating his words with every thrust as he shoots warm ropes of cum into your cunt, coating your walls with his seed. A guttural groan rumbles from deep within his chest. Slowing his pace, you whimper as he fucks his cum into your used hole.

He rests his clammy forehead against yours, breath fanning each other's faces. Post-coital bliss settling amongst you two, the faint humming of the music from the reception rings in the air.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” You ask, panting. A deep chuckle rattles his chest, making you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they have, hermosa.” You pull him in by his tie, kissing him languidly. He pulls back and presses a playful tap to your thigh.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go before the guys start talking shit,” he says, helping you to your feet, and wiping his spend from your mound and in between your legs. He settles your gown into place as you fix your makeup in the mirror. He fixes his hair while you adjust his suit and tie back into place. You beam as you lock eyes with his, love shimmering in the corners of them. He entwines his fingers with yours as he leads you out the door and back downstairs to the reception.

It seems nobody has noticed you two were gone, or just don’t question your absence, as you two mingle your way back into the crowd.

“Hey! Where the hell were you two?! It’s time for the bouquet toss!" You best friend, and maid-of-honor, screeches.

"And the garter toss!” Santiago, the best man, chimes in. They drag you both to the dance floor. Women crowd the dance floor as you toss your bouquet over your shoulder, your best friend catching it and eyeing her partner.

Music blares as Frankie leads you to a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He teasingly lifts your dress to remove your garter, to be met with nothing. Your eyes bug out of your head, heat coursing through your veins.

“Where’s my garter?” You ask him. Santiago appears behind Frankie, taking something out of his back pocket and holding it out to Frankie. “Here it is!”

Laughter erupts amongst your guests as you hide your face in your hands, an embarrassed smile plastered on Frankie’s lips, meekly waving to the crowd. He pries your hands from your face, playfully rolling his eyes as he brushes off the embarrassment while helping you to your feet. Cheering and whooping fills the hall as you smile apologetically to the crowd as they roar, Frankie cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Frankie is rotting my brain today obvi. this one's for all my Frankie girlies out there, shout out to y’all 🩷

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @tinygarbage @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @harriedandharassed

#happy frankie friday #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales

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milla-frenchy · 10 months ago

Text

Morning waves

3k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Frankie Morales | ao3

Summary: you meet two men who are on a road trip. You like the same things: the ocean, surfing, dancing and having fun

Warnings: 18+ mdni. threesome MFM, praise kink, fingering, public sex, oral (m/f), piv, dp, anal play, rimming, anal, spit as lube, creampies

No age specified

a/n: this is a contribution to Jamie’s ocean challenge @mermaidgirl30 thank you for this great idea 👌🙏

I've wanted to write Frankie for a while, and even more so after reading “Down the hall” @frannyzooey 😍😍 and this challenge was perfect to introduce him as my new Pedro boy.

Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

@aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing, for the ideas, and for holding my hand with this one, as always 💕 🫶

Masterlist

*********

The first rays of sunshine were already warming you through the windows of your car. You were driving towards the ocean, ready to enjoy its waves. Every morning, very early, you were going to your favorite surf spot. This morning like the others, a few other surfers were also present. Between each set, you were all waiting on your boards, straddling them, letting yourself be carried away by their calm movement.

“You’re impressive”, you heard behind you.

You turned around, and met the most beautiful, sweetest brown eyes you had ever seen.

“Frankie, another set is coming.” You didn't look at the man who had spoken, immediately turning your gaze towards the horizon and new waves that were forming. You surfed that set and a few more.

When you were returning to the beach, you saw the man called Frankie taking off his wetsuit. The man next to him was doing the same. They smiled at you, when you approached them.

“Hi! I’m Joel, and this is Frankie.”

“Hi, guys!”

“Nice waves!” Frankie’s smile was really sweet. And cute.

“Yeah! Where are you from? I’ve never seen you before. And with that drawl…Texas, I guess?”

Joel laughed and replied “yeah, Austin. We’re on a road trip. Coming from northern California, heading to the south. Are you from here?”

“Yeah, I live here. I’m on holidays, enjoying the ocean.”

“That’s great! Seems like heaven here. Do you know any cool bars? We’ve just arrived, and we’re gonna stay for some time in this place,” Frankie asked.

“Yeah, there’s ‘The lagoon’. I'm gonna be there around 6 p.m., if you wanna join me?

“Sure! We’ll see you there.”

You spent the evening with them at the bar. Frankie and Joel had been friends for a long time, they told you about their trip, their lives in Texas. Joel worked as a contractor and Frankie was an ex-military, doing jobs with Joel from time to time. They were nice, cool, and made you laugh a lot. They were not flirty nor pushy, and you felt good and safe in their company.

Joel had a certain self-confidence, and was more direct than Frankie. His brown hair was shorter. His smile was devastating. Every evening, when the three of you met again, he wore jeans and a blue or black T-shirt which accentuated his torso and biceps.

Frankie was a little shyer. His slightly longer hair called for your fingers with its brown curls. His eyes and smile were incredibly soft. He often wore lighter pants, gray or brown t-shirts. A cap that he only took off to surf. Both men were beautiful.

You spent the next evenings with them, dancing and drinking shots at The lagoon. Every day you looked forward to seeing them at the beach, then at the bar. They were doing pretty well at surfing, asking for some advice from time to time, and making great progress.

One night, the three of you were on the beach, hoping to catch some Northern Lights. And you weren't disappointed. The sky was colored with pink, purple and blue lights, while you were lying next to each other on the sand, a little closer than usual. And when Frankie kissed your forehead and Joel your cheek as you were lying on the blanket between them, you felt heat in your core. You saw them differently for the first time.

The Lagoon was crowded. You sat on a stool at the counter, sipping your cocktail until you saw Joel enter the bar. He smiled at you and you wondered how many hearts he had broken. He was so hot. He joined you, hugged you and said “hey, sweetheart” with his Texan drawl.

“Isn’t Frankie here?” you asked him.

“He should be soon. He went to get a tattoo.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah”, he laughed.

You two danced, his hands settled on your hips. Slightly more intimate than usual. He smelled good. He smelled like the sun and the beach. He ran his hand over your back, which your summer dress barely covered. And when your eyes met, something was different.

You walked back to the counter, and he was smiling as he was drinking his beer. His eyes were fixed on you.

“What?” You asked him, smiling too.

“You’re damn pretty, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened slightly, hearing him. It was the first time he told you something like that. So directly. Even though last night, on the beach, the atmosphere was different between the three of you. Even though two minutes ago, when you were dancing, you felt the warmth of his fingers on your skin, and your hair stood up from the desire for him.

He waited for a few seconds, checking on your reaction. Took another sip. When he saw you smile at him again, he leaned towards you, his nose brushing against your cheek, his hand resting on your waist. You felt goosebumps again. Some electricity between you. And you saw in his eyes that he was feeling the same thing.

“Wanna have some fun tonight?”

You felt heat reach your cheeks but you nodded and murmured, “yeah.”

“Yeah?”

He got up, stood between your knees while you were still sitting on the stool, and leaned forward to kiss you. You felt your heart rate speed up. He placed his hands on your bare thighs and caressed them, slightly pushing the fabric up, as you ran your fingers over his biceps. Then he slipped one hand between your legs. Slowly. Stroking your inner thigh. You whimpered when his fingers brushed against your pussy through your panties.

“You want more, darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel...”

“You gonna let me finger you in here?” he asked, his cheek against yours. His soft beard against your skin.

“Yeah…”

He slid your panties to the side, and his fingers brushed against your folds, making you moan into his neck. He looked up and said, “hey, Frankie.”

You felt shy and tightened your thighs against his legs. He kissed your cheek then said in your ear, on the side where Frankie was standing to make sure he would hear “I’m sure he’d love to touch you too,” before looking back at you. His fingers were still brushing against your delicate skin, and you really wanted to feel him more. To calm the fire, burning you from the inside.

You looked at him, then turned your head towards Frankie. His stare was still soft, but not only. You saw the desire for you in his eyes.

“Do it Frankie”, you told him. At that moment you didn't care about anything else anymore. The crowded bar. The people who could see you, and wonder what the three of you were doing. Or knowing too well what you were doing.

“Are you wet, baby?” Frankie asked.

You nodded and whined, the second Joel pushed a finger in your core.

“She’s soaked”, Joel said, nuzzling your neck, and you bit your lip.

“Damn, baby,” Frankie moved closer, the two men now standing in front of you. When one of Frankie's fingers joined Joel's in your pussy, your fists clenched their shirts. One of them stroked your clit with his thumb, but you didn’t know who. It turned you on even more. Their fingers slid into your wetness, pumping your pussy at the same rhythm, and you tried to hold back your moans even if it was getting more and more difficult.

“You're gonna come for us?” You shook your head “I…I can’t. Not here. Too many people.”

“Forget about them. Soak our fingers, baby. And then we’ll have some time together in our van if you want.”

“Yeah…Yes. Fuck.” You felt their eyes fixed on you. They were close to you, so close, protecting you from the eyes of others. Your pussy tightened around their fingers and you were trembling more and more. You felt another thumb near your clit that soon replaced the other one, and whimpered. Your pussy was trickling, and they could have pushed more fingers in easily.

“Come for us, sweetheart. Right here, in this bar. God, you’re fucking hot.”

You bit your lip as you came on their fingers, your pussy clenching desperately on them. They kept fingering you through it, until one of them put your panties back in place, then your dress. You watched Joel lick his finger with a look full of desire, and your arousal increased even more.

“Take me to your van, please. I need…I need more”, you breathed.

Frankie kissed your cheek, and Joel placed his hand on the small of your back as you got off the stool. Your legs were shaky and he held your elbow until you reached the parking lot then the van. Frankie offered to come to the back with him, on the mattress that they had already set up for the night, without knowing how it would end. You both lay there as Joel started driving. You didn't know where and right now you didn't care. Frankie was already leaning towards you, kissing your cheek then your neck. Your fingers ran through his soft curls. His hand rested against your face at first, then he brought it to his mouth. Licking the finger you had come on, just as Joel had done a few minutes before.

“Damn baby, you taste so good. Can I go down on you?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“Fuck…Ok.”

The van was swaying on a bumpy road when Frankie knelt between your thighs, and took off your dress, then your panties. He brought them to his nose and breathed them slowly, keeping his eyes on you, and the vision was intoxicating. The way they wanted you was driving you crazy. He turned the front of his cap backwards, and lay down between your thighs. He growled as he licked a long stripe between your folds.

“Jesus Christ, Frankie…you lucky bastard”, Joel said.

Frankie was already lapping at your pussy, and he was good at it. So good that you already felt a new orgasm building, while he was drinking all your wetness, his thumb twirling on your clit.

“Frankie…oh my god”, you whimpered.

You heard Joel unzip his jeans and pull out his cock. “You’re so hot that Joel can’t help fisting his cock while driving, baby” he said, before licking your folds again.

“Fuck, of course I do. All these moans are killing me. How does she taste? Tell me.”

“The sweetest taste, man...” He grabbed your thighs to pull you closer to him. As if he wanted more, always more, and you couldn’t stop moaning.

“Jesus...” Joel growled, as you heard the sound of his wrist fucking his cock.

Your fingers were lost in Frankie’s brown curls, while his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit and his tongue roamed your pussy.

“Frankie…”

“Yeah baby, tell me.”

“Your fingers, please, need your fingers.”

“Like this, mmm?” he asked, pushing two fingers in you.

“Yeah…your tongue too, please.”

His lips surrounded your clit, sucking gently, before giving way to his tongue. His wrist gently pumped your pussy and you felt your wetness running down your folds to the sheets.

“Fuck, baby…I can hear the pretty little noises of your pussy from here, you’re so fucking wet.”

“I know, I know, oh my god, Frankie!” You squeezed his head between your thighs when you came, letting him lick your folds until you stopped shaking. The van's engine was off, but you didn't realize you had stopped. You heard the sound of the waves as Joel opened his door to join you in the back.

“Fuck sweetheart, look at that… he ate you good, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah…fuck”, you breathed out.

Frankie shifted aside slightly and Joel lay down, his shoulders between your knees. He caressed your folded thighs, and delicately licked your wetness, being careful not to stimulate your overly sensitive clit.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’. Lemme eat ya just a little, ok? “ he said, moving his hand up your sweaty stomach, to a breast that he grabbed. Frankie kissed your thigh, while he caressed your other breast. You moaned again, your stomach rising rapidly with your heavy breathing. Joel’s beard rubbed against your inner thighs. He ran his tongue flat through your folds, sometimes down to your tight ring. Before going back up again, tirelessly. You imagined their hard cocks and you couldn’t wait to feel them in you.

“You want us to fuck you, baby?”

You nodded, “yeah, need your cocks.”

“Damn, could do this for hours. How do you want us?”

“I huh… I don’t know, I’ve never done that…with two men.”

They looked at each other then Frankie said “we’re gonna undress and we’ll see how it goes, ok?”

“Yeah, seems good.”

“If you’re not comfortable with something, you tell us right away, ok? We’re all here to have fun. Ok, darlin’?”

You nodded and smiled. They were so considerate and careful with you. You helped Frankie unzip his pants and take them off, then his boxers, and held your breath when you saw his cock. “We’ll go slow, baby”. “We?” You widened your eyes and turned to Joel, already in his underwear, taking off his t-shirt. “Oh fuck”, you said when you saw his bulge. You brushed his crotch and he spread his thighs wider. He was so hard, and so big too. You whispered “fuck...” again, before getting on all fours, facing him. You took his cock out of his boxers, the precum glistening on his red tip. You spread it with your thumb and jerked his cock, while Frankie was caressing the roundness of your buttocks, kneeling behind you. You licked the tip, letting Joel’s taste run down your mouth and then your throat.

“You’re ready for me, baby?”

“Yes, Frankie.”

He nestled his cock at your entrance, pushing in. You whined when he thrust deeper, gripping your hips as leverage. And for a minute you didn’t move, Joel’s cock in your hand, catching your breath. Frankie kept thrusting until he bottomed out. Pushing on your walls. And you started to suck Joel’s cock, his hands on your head, but letting you lead the pace.

You moved your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on Frankie’s cock. He wasn’t moving, letting you lead too. Your mouth on Joel’s shaft followed the movement of your hips at the same pace as you impaled yourself on the cock, piercing you.

“Fuck, fuck. Sucking me so good.”

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. So good for my cock.” You loved how they were praising you. Frankie’s hands roamed your body. Your back, your waist, your hips, as your thumbs caressed Joel’s balls, your head still bobbing on his shaft, your lips gradually getting used to his size.

You pulled him out of your mouth and licked his tip, looking at him you asked, “Frankie, will you let Joel fuck me?”

“Of course, anything you want.”

You lay on your back, inviting Joel to come between your thighs. He lay there, his cock in his hand, and pushed in. Frankie lay against you, and turned your face towards him. Kissing you as Joel thrust in.

“Damn, sweetheart…Frankie was right, you’re so tight. Squeezing me so hard, fuck…”

You whined in Frankie’s mouth while Joel was kissing your neck. He thrust in slowly before pulling back. Repeating the movement endlessly, while your legs spread wide gave him full access. Frankie leaned down and took one of your breasts in his hand, sucking on the nipple, his lips wrapped around it. Joel gave you a forehead kiss, his thick cock buried in you. Sometimes Frankie would slide his hand up to your clit, rubbing it lightly, and your pussy would contract on Joel's cock, making him groan. Their mouths and hands were brushing your skin constantly.

They took turns between your legs, drawing two new orgasms out of you. Seeing them, feeling them fucking you, one then the other, was turning you on desperately and your pussy was weeping. When one of them was kissing you, searching for your tongue with his, the other was kissing your neck, your cheek, sucking a nipple. You loved feeling their mouths on you at the same time.

They fucked you, one then the other, and they never seemed to get tired, filling your pussy perfectly each in their own way. Until you wanted more, and needed more.

“More? Tell us what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want you both…at the same time.”

“Oh, baby. You want our two cocks filling your two holes?” said Frankie, his cock buried in your cunt.

“Yeah, I’d like to try…”

“It’s ok, baby. We’ll go slow.”

“Yeah. Frankie?”

Frankie nodded, pulling out of you.

“Get on me, sweetheart.”

Joel lay on his back and you straddled him, grabbing his cock and sinking on it. You brushed his cheek and kissed him, before pressing your chest against his, giving free access to Frankie.

He spread your buttocks, your ring was glistening by the wetness that had been flowing there continuously. He passed his thumb slowly, lingering very lightly over it, as you rolled your pelvis slowly towards Joel. Then Frankie leaned down and started to lick it, pointing his tongue against your tight muscle. His hands now gripping your ass, he softened it under the tip of his tongue. Sometimes dropping his saliva on it, and lightly pushing his thumb in. Then a little deeper. He did it patiently, taking his time to prepare you. He was feeling his cock twitching. Your head resting on Joel's shoulder, you were moaning continuously, overwhelmed by the cock in your pussy, and the tongue opening you little by little. They were so hot, they took care of you so well since the start of the evening at the Lagoon. Attentive to your desires, to your reactions. Slightly changing the pace or position depending on your respiration, the pressure of your hands.

Eventually, Frankie pulled away. “You still want it, baby?”

“Yes, yes. Just…go slow, please, Frankie.”

“Of course. Lemme wet my cock in her pussy a little, Joel”, he asked. You pulled away from Joel slightly and he pulled out, his cock rubbing against your clit. Frankie pushed his cock easily in your dripping pussy, fucking it with one hand on your hip, and his thumb on your ass. Joel placed his hand on your neck, his forehead against yours, and murmured “you gonna take us both, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, yeah…Yeah, I’m gonna take you both, oh my god I can’t believe it’s happening…”

Franck grabbed his cock in his hand, and positioned it against your ring.

“Kiss me, sweetheart”, Joel muttured, stroking your hair. You looked up at him, his hands cupping your cheeks before coming to press his lips to yours. Quickly, his tongue sought yours, just as Frankie pushed in. You felt the muscle resisting at first, then gradually giving up. You whined in Joel’s mouth, his tongue never stopping brushing yours. You knew he wanted to make you forget the pain. Then he nibbled one of your lips, before licking it. Kissing you again. Until Frankie bottomed out, his balls against Joel's cock. He didn't stay buried and pulled back as slowly, before thrusting in again.

“Oh, fuck. Baby…it’s so good, fuck…”

“I can feel your cock Frankie, damn…are you ok, sweetheart?”

You nodded, unable to speak. Overwhelmed by all these emotions you were feeling. Your body was in the middle of theirs, and you felt fulfilled. Their hands were all over your upper body. Frankie’s mouth placed a thousand kisses on your shoulder blades and the back of your neck. Joel's hands caressed your breasts, your ass, your thighs. You heard them grunt and moan, in turn or together. You felt a new orgasm building, from rubbing your clit against Joel's lower abdomen.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come”, you whined.

“Come on baby, come again. Fuck, your ass is so good, baby.”

“Come on our cocks, sweetheart. Then we’ll fill you up. We’ll fill that pussy and that ass.”

“Oh fuck”, you whimpered, coming on their cocks, clenching them. You wondered if you hadn’t fainted, for a moment.

You heard Frankie growling, and Joel calling you a “good girl”, just before he pulsed as deep as possible in you, followed by Frankie.

You all froze, panting. Catching your breath. Then Frankie pulled back, placing one last kiss on your back. You pulled away from Joel after kissing him, and you lay against him. Frankie lay against you on the other side, spooning you, his hand on your hip. Their cum flowing from both of your sore holes.

You slept there, sometimes waking up during the night, feeling their bodies against yours or their arms around you. Snuggling against one of them then the other.

When the rays of the sun woke the three of you and Frankie opened the van door, you had a direct view of the ocean. Its color was perfect. The most beautiful blue. And also these pastel, pink colors of the sky, at dawn.

You spent the day with them. You surfed, took photos. Frankie’s freshly tattooed forearm with the word “adventure.” You looked at them so many times during that day. And every time your eyes met, you all blushed and giggled, thinking about the night you had spent.

You returned to the Lagoon, and didn't leave them until they finally gave up on the idea of going all the way to Southern California. They called you “our girl”. Their hands, tongues and cocks roaming every inch of your body, just as yours on theirs. They stayed with you until they had to return to Texas.

The day before, Frankie went to get another tattoo. Joel told you Frankie always got one at every place they visit, a tattoo of the best thing there. He showed it to you when he came back: a surfboard with your name on it. You hugged him so tight that he could barely breathe and couldn’t stop laughing, squeezed by your arms.

At the airport, they held you until the last minute. And your heart sank when they left.

A few months later, you were sitting at the same airport. Ready to board for Austin. So that they, in turn, could introduce you to their lives.

You looked at the sun through the large windows of the airport, and smiled. Life offers good surprises sometimes. Yours was Joel and Frankie.

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capuccinodoll · 1 month ago

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The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?”

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?”

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.”

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?”

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought.

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong.

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you.

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t.

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening.

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter.

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage.

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently.

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more.

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—”

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it.

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral.

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?”

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak.

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—”

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view.

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”

“I know.”

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee.

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”

“Next Saturday.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

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vivwritescrappythings · 2 months ago

Text

never have i ever

frankie morales x fem!reader

your childhood best friend Ben takes you on a beach trip with him and his friends from the army. you and Frankie seem to get along like a house fire.

a/n: Written for @yxtkiwiyxt Kiwi’s Never Have I Ever challenge (open til March 1). Thank you so much for tagging me in this, it brought me out of my writing slump!

tw: fem reader, afab reader, drinking, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, dubcon, poor excuse for including he speaks Spanish, reader has hair long enough to grab, first Frankie fic so he may be poorly written, not proofread.

word count: 5.5k

MDNI

masterlist

—

The cool breeze carried the briny scent of the ocean, making the fire flicker as you stared into it. The bright light felt like it was burned into your corneas, but you couldn’t look away as it twisted and danced before you. You were already more than a few drinks in, your body warm and languid as you settled into the patio chair.

You blinked, your gaze swept over the thinning circle of people before you landed on the man next to you. Francisco�� or Frankie… or Catfish–you weren’t exactly sure. You tended to settle on Frankie.

Ben had brought you along to a get-together with his army friends and respective plus ones in Saint Pete: they’d rented a house that was just a ten minute walk from the beach. You had an extra pull-out couch with your name on it for just the price of some food and alcohol. It was a no-brainer to tag along.

“Hey, nena, it’s your turn.”

His brown eyes looked like caramel in the firelight, his body angled toward yours as he spoke. You’d only met him yesterday, but he seemed nice enough. Definitely more of the drinking type, so you were peas in a pod.

“Sorry,” you breathed, wiping the excess hard cider off your bottom lip as you crossed a leg underneath yourself. You’d taken one of the blankets from inside with you, draping it over your shoulders like a cloak. All eyes were on you, reminding you of the hands that were held up, various amounts of fingers remaining. You still had all five.

Never Have I Ever was a stupid game anyways.

“Um, well...” you tried to think of something that wasn’t pathetically uptight. You took a deep breath, your cheeks warm as you stared at the fire. “Never have I ever… been in a helicopter.”

You already knew the reaction you would get.

“Oh come on,” Ben sighed, his third finger folding over his palm.

“I’m literally a fucking helicopter pilot, s’not fair,” Frankie complained, chugging the rest of his drink as his last finger went down—hand in a loose fist for a moment.

The rules were shaky when it came to what to do when you reached the end of your allotted fingers, everyone had just settled on finishing their drink. Frankie grabbed a new beer from the cooler next to him, twisting the cap off and taking a sip before stretching his hand open again.

It was just the three of you left, the others having gone to bed but leaving their patio chairs and empty drinks like sentinels in their absence.

“Never have I ever banged a football player,” Ben said as soon as Frankie had his new drink open.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Now that is a low blow,” you said, putting your thumb down. Playing games like that with Ben was never fun–the two of you had known each other since you were kids. You could exchange pointed shots all night at one another if you wanted to. “And I hardly call losing your virginity to a benchwarmer banging a football player.”

The laughs at your expense made you scoff. You took a drink of your cider to hide the flash of embarrassment on your face. “None of us even knew he was talking to you,” Ben said, snorting softly, “we didn’t think the kid had enough fire in him to handle you.”

“Well, I was stupidly waiting for another guy but settled for the first boy who was nice to me,” you mumbled in a sorry attempt to defend yourself, your face warm from more than just the alcohol.

Ben hummed his acknowledgement, eyebrows lifting. “Oh yeah, this super secret high school crush that you refuse to tell us about.”

You could feel Frankie cast a knowing look in your direction, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah because even though I’m over it you would make a big deal out of it because you know the guy,” you said, finishing your drink. You got up to get one from the cooler next to Frankie, hoping he would decide to take his turn already and change the subject of discussion.

Ben snorted, crushing his empty cup in a hand as he stood. “Whatever you say,” he acquiesced, stretching. Your gaze found the strip of skin that revealed itself as his shirt rode up, staring for a bit too long before you got a hold of yourself.

“Well, crazy kids, I’m going to bed.” Ben crushed you in a side hug, ruffling your hair despite your sound of annoyance. “Don’t let Fish keep you up all night, he’s a bad influence,” he said, hand rubbing over the cap of your shoulder as he stuck his tongue out at the other man.

“Psh. Don’t listen to him, nena, I’ll take good care of you,” Frankie protested, his lip twitched into a smirk as he gulped his beer.

“I think I’m plenty capable of handling myself,” you murmured, waving them both off with a hand. “Goodnight, Bennie.”

He wished you both a goodnight before disappearing into the house, you could hear the squeal of the sliding glass door closing behind him.

You lowered yourself into your deck chair, shifting it so you better faced Frankie at an angle. He still had his baseball cap on, strands of his dark hair curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. His cheeks were rosy from drinking, his smile a bit broader now.

“Whaddya say we keep playing?” Frankie suggested, watching you open your bottle. The condensation wet your fingertips, your nail picking at the softening label.

You were still too wired to go to bed. If you turned in you’d just be restless and on your phone until you finally passed out.

“Alright, fine,” you said, tapping your fingertips on the metal armrest of the chair. A smile found its way to your face, your five fingers stretching out. Frankie did the same, you could see the calluses on his fingers and palm.

“Never have I ever… skinny dipped.”

Of course Ben had told the story—your group of friends had decided to go skinny dipping in the nearby lake. But the moon wasn’t even out and no one could see much of anything. “I was in high school and it was dark,” you defended, putting your thumb down.

Frankie looked like he was the cat that caught the canary, drinking with you even though he didn’t have to.

“Okay, never have I ever played strip poker.”

He put a finger down. “Well I know what I’m making everyone play for tomorrow’s entertainment,” he said, taking a long gulp of his beer. “You’ve gotta let loose a little.”

Your face was hot, part of you wishing the ground opened beneath you and swallowed you whole. He loved to tease, his sarcastic tone making your stomach flip every time you heard it.

You gently shoved his chair with your foot, making it scrape over the paving stones. “I am loose enough,” you argued.

—

A snort pulled from you, morphing into a too-loud laugh. The empty bottles were nearly overflowing the side table you and Frankie were discarding them on. Both of you had finished your drinks of choice and resorted to passing a cheap bottle of wine back and forth, staining your lips purple.

“It was only one time, and you have to understand that I was so damn exhausted,” Frankie explained, leaning toward you as he spoke. His laugh belied his attempt at seriousness, his dimple showing as he snickered.

“You fell asleep during sex!” You let your head fall back against the chair, looking at the stars above you. They swam a bit. “That is kind of hard to do.”

“It’ll happen to you someday, nena, and you’ll think of this conversation.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you snatched the wine bottle from him, bringing it to your lips. The glass was cool against your mouth as you drank a swallow, just enough to warm your belly and keep your buzz. More than a buzz if you were honest with yourself.

“Never have I ever had sex with someone to make someone else jealous,” you countered, a knowing smirk on your face.

Frankie rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I didn’t realize that Ben was telling you all of our secrets.” He pulled his hat off his head for a moment, running his hand through his hair before replacing it. “Gonna kick his ass as soon as he wakes up.”

You wet your lips, trying to cover your giggles. “In his defense, he never thought we would meet,” you muttered, leaning against the armrest of the chair.

The fire was dwindling in the pit, casting tangerine-colored light across the two of you. Frankie said he’d put more wood on twenty minutes ago, but neither of you cared enough to actually do it.

“Well, it wasn’t my proudest moment,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This girl I was kind of seeing had been flirting with this other guy the whole fucking time we were out and I just lost it. Got a different girl to very publicly go to the bathroom with me.”

“So not only were you disgusting—you were disgusting in the bathroom of some bar?”

“Hey, hey, no need to judge me so hard,” he said, putting both hands up like he was pretending to be innocent.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating him. He had a similar relaxed posture, slumped against his chair in his white shirt and gray sweatpants. It was a miracle that he hadn’t spilled any wine on himself yet.

“I’ve just never been so desperate for someone’s attention,” you said, sitting mightily on your high horse.

That made Frankie guffaw, sitting up suddenly. “Oh yeah? Never have I ever had a crush on my childhood neighbor,” he said, a shit eating grin on his face as he scratched at the patchy beard on his jaw.

You could feel yourself stiffen, giving yourself away without meaning to. “I… I do not have a crush on Ben,” you protested, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh sure you don’t, nena,” he said, making you want to reach out and smack him. “Oh Bennie this and oh Bennie that, the only way it would be more obvious is if you had big fucking hearts in your eyes… well obvious to everyone except him.”

Apparently your embarrassment was loud and clear anyways, your attempts to be nonchalant failing miserably.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Frankie said, trying to placate you.

You scoffed, standing up as you drank a bit too much wine from the bottle, the excess dripping down the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed? I just found out that everyone has been watching me be a huge fucking idiot this whole time!”

He stood with you, hands smoothing over your shoulders as he crowded into your space. “I’ve got an idea if you’re game,” he said, catching your attention again.

“What?”

“Well… we could kill two birds with one stone, ya know?” It must have been clear that you didn’t know what he meant. “We can make Ben jealous… and cross something off your ‘Never Have I Ever’ bucket list.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered what he was saying. His hands rubbed down your arms, gently pulling the wine bottle from your fingers. He took a swig before setting it with the empty bottles, making them clink against one another.

Then it all clicked.

“You want to have sex?”

Frankie laughed, his big hands finding the flare of your hips. “I thought Ben said you were smart,” he teased, his forehead bumping against yours as he shuffled in closer.

You clicked your teeth at him. “I’m drunk… so what’s in it for you then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, a smile lifting his lip. “I get to have sex, that’s more than enough reason for me to want to do it.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking hour head as you lightly smacked his chest. “Men are ridiculous,” you mumbled, grinning softly as you looked up at him.

Frankie was smiling, showing off his straight white teeth in the light of the dying fire and blue glow coming from the in-ground pool. He moved closer, his aquiline nose nudging against yours. You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, smell the wine he just drank.

“Just tonight?” you asked, one eyebrow arched.

He nodded obligingly, grin growing impossibly wider. “I don’t catch feelings.”

You were drunk enough to think it was a brilliant plan—it would be impossible for Ben not to jealous if he heard you and Frankie next door. The idea was foolproof. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

—

Frankie’s room was just next to Ben’s, the two of you giggling with bottles of wine in hand as you followed after him. He’d grabbed an additional bottle from the kitchen when you snuck back inside to have on standby, the remaining quarter of the first bottle still sloshing around in yours.

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him as you opened his bedroom door. He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you inside, slamming the door shut behind you both. “Frankie!” you scolded between kisses, mortified that you were being loud.

“Waking him up is the point, nena,” he said, half carrying you to the bed. You rolled your eyes, holding the bottle for him to drink from before he confiscated both and set them on the nightstand. “C’mon, loosen up for me.”

He leaned down to capture your lips, messily licking into your mouth. You could taste the wine on his tongue, making you hum as you returned the gesture.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you muttered against his lips, knocking his hat off and foraging your fingers in his thick curls. You gently tugged at his roots, making him groan as he smashed you into the mattress with his weight.

“Thought you liked the hat,” he said with a chuckle deep in his chest, pushing the offending accessory the rest of the way off the bed.

You desperately pulled him back to you, hitching one leg around his hip as his arm flattened near your head for support. “Fancy restaurant rules. Definitely not allowed in the bedroom,” you said with a smirk. He huffed his disagreement against your jaw, shaking his head as his blunt teeth scraped over the thin skin.

It was messy. Tongues meeting and teeth clashing and nails scratching over fabric and skin alike. Playfully suggestive hums and giggles filled the quiet of the room. You were sure you were disrupting the rest of the house, Frankie’s bedroom right in the center of it.

The alcohol made everything so easy, whisking away your shirt and sweatpants before you even realized. You took Frankie’s shirt along with them, tossing it somewhere in his room.

He nudged your chin up with his nose, his tongue flattening over your windpipe. Your breath tripped, eyes squeezing shut. Admittedly, it had been a while for you. Everything he was doing was making your head spin.

The kiss turned sloppy with tongue as he traced his thumb beneath the waistband of your panties. Your manicured nails traveled over the expanse of his bare chest, following the soft ridges of the lean muscle and stray scars to the line of dark hairs beneath his navel. It was your guiding beacon, your fingers following it to the elastic waist of his sweatpants.

“Off,” you asked softly, snapping the elastic against the thin layer of pudge on his belly. “Please.”

He obliged quickly, pulling you up with him as he got off the bed to ungracefully shove them down his legs and kicked them somewhere into the room. Tight black boxer briefs hugged his quads, stretching as he knelt onto the mattress.

“C’mere, nena,” he practically growled, grabbing your thighs as he yanked you up onto his lap. You yelped, giggling as your legs bent at the knee and toes anchored against the duvet. His fingers sunk into your ass, dimpling the soft flesh as he held you close.

One hand skated up your spine, unlatching your bra easily. You cackled, leaning back as he pulled the straps down your arms and tossed it aside. “Didn’t know you were such a slut, Frankie,” you murmured, smirking as he palmed at your freed tits. Your nipples were pinched between his forefinger and thumb, making you arch toward him. “Unhooking a girl’s bra with one hand?”

He muffled your words with more kisses, stamping his lips over yours. “That takes some practice–should I be impressed or disgusted?”

“You never fucking shut up, do you?” Frankie asked good-naturedly, nipping at your lower lip as one hand smoothed against the small of your back. He pulled you close, squeezing your ass as he leaned forward to devour you further. You tittered, your forearm pressed against the nape of his neck as the scoop of your palm found the patchy beard at his jaw. Your hips rolled into his, nose pressing against his cheek as you smacked wet kisses on him.

“I’m not well-known for being quiet.”

The world spun around you before your back hit the mattress, the memory foam absorbing most of the impact. His rough fingers pulled your panties off in a smooth motion, his palms finding the insides of your thighs and pressing them apart.

“I’m counting on that,” he murmured as he kissed his way to the echo of your heartbeat, sucking small welts into the flesh of your inner thighs.

You were stunned into breathlessness, propped on one elbow as you watched him map closer and closer to the ache between your legs. He breathed in deep as he hovered just above your cunt–something that would have mortified you if you were any less drunk, but it only made you moan.

The tip of his nose brushed your clit, making your pelvis jump toward his face. “You have a gorgeous pussy,” he said dreamily, the drunken slur finally making itself apparent in his voice. He parted your slit with his strong tongue, making your eyes roll back in your skull before he fully dove in.

Your fingers clutched desperately at his hair, your breaths choking in your throat as your brows knit together. He made out with your cunt, a soft rumble in his chest making his mouth vibrate against you.

Infatuation and desire consumed you, leaving you dizzy. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair ruffled as his hands splayed wide across your thighs. You eagerly lifted your hips to his mouth as much as you could, whining as he lapped up the entirety of your sex, suckling at your clit each time before repeating the motion.

You found yourself thanking the attention to detail he was taught in the military: he picked up on every time your breath hitched or your voice became a whine and he made it happen again. And again. And again. To the point that you could feel just how soaked you were, not even the pace of Frankie’s tongue fast enough to keep your slick arousal from dripping to the duvet.

You’d never been so turned on in your life.

“Fuck,” you keened, the word tight in your chest as the oxygen left the room. You gripped his hair tighter, hips twitching. The tip of his finger pressed at your entrance, making your cunt flutter around the temptation of being full. His groan was muffled, met by your own grateful whimpers.

His jaw went slack, framing the entirety of your cunt as he pressed all of his weight into eating you out. The swirl of his tongue churning his saliva with each motion made you want to die.

Brown eyes met your half-lidded gaze from between your thighs. You were shocked to see just how pleased he looked, feasting upon you with the desperation of a starving man. Frankie had seemed like a lot of things, but a munch was not high on your list. Thank god you were wrong.

“You’re going to make me come so fast,” you gasped, almost embarrassed by how quickly you felt like your whole body was buzzing. Almost pathetically fast.

Steady presses of his tongue devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. You pressed the curls of his hair back from his forehead, a few beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. Soft lips wrapped around your swollen clit and sucked, bringing you to rapture as the tip of his tongue batted the sensitive bud.

It took one wet swirl around your clit to shatter you, your orgasm ripping through you. A wail escaped you before you clapped a hand over your mouth–even if you wanted Ben to know, you didn’t want to wake up the rest of the house.

Frankie grabbed the fat of your ass with both hands, pulling your cunt to his mouth as he licked you into oversensitivity. He didn’t stop until you were twitching with discomfort, pushing his forehead away.

He sat back, his facial hair shining wetly in the moonlight before he wiped it off on the back of his hand.

You were a panting mess, hardly able to think as he moved toward you. He massaged your buzzing skin with his big, warm hands, coaxing your soul back into your body. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmured quietly, his gaze steady as he watched you tremble.

The compliment split you open, endless hunger spilling out as you reached for him. You knew you wouldn’t be satisfied without having him inside you.

You could see the outline of his hard cock in his underwear, your free hand rubbing over it as he settled between your bent legs. The feeling of his weight above you helped your lungs find their rhythm as you pressed your thumb to the wet spot at his tip.

“So I’m that good, huh?” he teased, his voice unsteady as he started to grind himself against your hand.

Your laugh was breathless, your face on fire as you looked up at him. “I think all the booze helped, made me sensitive,” you said, your tone raspy and soft as your hand slipped into his boxer briefs.

The way his expression crumpled as your fingers curled around his shaft was delightful. A self-satisfied grin bloomed on your face as you started to stroke him, watching him through your lashes. His hips bunched into your hand, his forehead dropping to yours as he let out a groan.

“Shit,” he panted, one hand fisting in the white duvet. You relished in the way he already sounded wrecked. “I’ve gotta fuck you before you make me come in my boxers like some teenager.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from him before clumsily removing his underwear. The sight of his cock made your throat go dry, tip red and leaking. He looked painfully hard, curved up toward his stomach and a little to the left from a trimmed patch of dark, curly hair.

“Hands and knees, nena,” Frankie murmured, playfully swatting the outside of your thigh. “Wanna see that fat ass of yours–been staring at it ever since you got here.”

Your face was hot as you rolled over, spine arching like a cat’s as you settled on your forearms and knees. He grabbed you by the hips, yanking you where he wanted you: facing the arched mirror on the dresser. The sight of yourself made your arch deepen, your chest pressed to the bed as you presented yourself to him like a gift.

“Jesus,” he groaned, softly smacking your ass before he grabbed a handful of the soft flesh, shaking it. There was something close to reverence in his expression as you watched him spread your cheeks, dark eyes focused on your pussy. His thumb gently ghosted over your slit in a way that made you whine.

“Frankie, stop teasing,” you said impatiently, glaring at him in the mirror.

“Fine, fine, calm down,” he breathed, his knees finding their place between yours as his cock notched in the cleft of your ass. He rocked there for a moment before pulling back enough to ease into you with careful rolls of his hips. One hand planted between your scapulae, the other clutching your hip as you both exhaled your satisfaction with every inch of delicious friction.

It took you both a few moments to adjust, your went cunt finally relaxing enough to let Frankie fit entirely inside of you. He shushed you softly as you whined, barely fucking his cock into you as he rubbed circles over your vertebrae.

You rocked back against his thrusts, falling into a steady rhythm as the sound of your sweat-dampened skin smacking together filled the room. His hand moved from your back to the nape of your neck, grabbing a handful of your hair and tilting your head to make you look at him through the reflection of the mirror. The grip at your scalp was almost comforting as you melted into the sensation.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmured low in his throat, his gaze taking in every detail of your reflection. Your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, your lidded eyes. Your hair was twisted around his fist, ass jiggling with every connection of your hips.

It was hard to keep your eyes open, moaning wantonly as you kept your gaze on Frankie. Your expression was pornographic–enamored and thoroughly pleased as he stretched you open on his cock.

He curled his body over yours, meeting you at his waist and shoulders as his lips found the back of your neck and shoulders. “Ben must be a damn idiot to not see how pretty you are,” he murmured, sucking marks into your neck. You were too lost in the pleasure of the head of his cock carving deep into you to respond.

“Squeezing me so tight, nena,” he grunted into your ear, his hot breath making shivers prickle up your spine. His hold on your hair kept you in place. “This is the sweet little pussy of my dreams, milking me so good.”

Frankie kept running his mouth, spewing filth and praise that made you melt into a puddle beneath him. You were possessed with pleasure, almost drooling as you whimpered and moaned.

His hand left your hip, weight pressing you even deeper into the mattress as his arm wrapped around you. You sobbed as his fingers skated over your belly, pressing against your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles against it.

“Frankie, right there,” you gasped, fingers bunching up the duvet as you tried to breathe through the sensitivity, still tingling from your last orgasm.

“Greedy girl…” he chastised, chuckling into your ear as he kept working your clit without mercy.

Your cunt was fluttering around his cock, your sounds becoming louder and more wanton. He exhaled through his teeth with each thrust, his breaths sharp and punctuated in your ear. “Frankie,” you moaned–his name being one of the few words you could even think of.

“That’s it, let ‘im know who’s giving it to you so good.”

Oh yeah.

You were still trying to make Ben jealous. The thought had slipped your mind entirely as you felt Frankie’s cock press over every slippery ridge inside your cunt, setting your body alight.

Who knew if Ben was even listening, if he was even awake.

You repeated Frankie’s name like a prayer on your lips, further and further gone the closer you got to your orgasm. He yanked your hair gently, making your eyes flutter open again to look up at him through the reflection.

His lips were moving, cursing in Spanish as his jaw clenched so hard you could see it flex beneath his beard. You could tell he was close, too, starting to lose his steady rhythm as he sped up. Bruising kisses were pressed to your neck and shoulder, his cock splitting you open with frantic thrusts.

Then he started to beg, almost making you black out. “Come for me, nena. Come all over my cock. I wanna feel you come all over me, squeezing me so damn tight.”

His thick fingers were still rubbing your clit, coaxing you further and further to the edge. Spanglish filled your ears as he grunted and groaned, clearly holding back until you finished first.

“Frankie! Oh my god!”

Euphoria left you strung out, ripping at the seams of your sanity as your pussy spasmed hard around his cock. Frankie turned your head by tugging on your hair, contorting you so he could smash his lips to yours as his hips started to stutter. You felt him pulse inside you, groans muffled between your mouths as his come spilled inside your cunt like lava.

You wilted together, exhaustion and drunkenness catching up to you as you collapsed to the bed in a heap of limbs and sweat and come. It would be smart to get up, to clean yourself up and go sleep on the couch. But you were already so comfortable, Frankie nestled close to your back as he started to softened inside you.

“M’I sleeping here?” you asked, already yawning as you and Frankie lay on your sides. He reached for the throw on the end of the bed, yanking the fuzzy blanket up and over the two of you.

He kissed your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck.

“Of course, nena, you gotta come out of my room in the morning for this to work,” he muttered against your skin, yawning in response to you.

This. The plan. You could hardly consider it as sleep pulled you under.

–

The morning light woke you up, making you groan as you rolled over to bury your face in Frankie’s neck. He stirred as you did, a hand running over your hip to placate you as he pulled you closer. “Morning, nena,” he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

You hid from the sun in his clavicle, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. “What does nena even mean?” you asked after a few moments, voice sounding muffled.

Frankie’s hand ran up and down your side, clipped nails making goosebumps lift on your arms. “Means baby.”

It was simple enough. Just a normal nickname.

But you felt your cheeks warm, a thrill running through you anyway. “Yeah? You’ve been calling me baby this whole time?” There was a kernel of bashfulness in your voice.

He let out a huff of air, still too tired to laugh fully. “Yeah, I have.”

Silence lapsed between you two, your breaths even and slow as neither of you tried to move away. It was too comfortable for you to want to get up.

“You gonna go find Ben today?” Frankie asked, a twinge of something in his voice making you lift your head up.

You squinted in the sunlight, rubbing one eye with the heel of your hand as you fixed Frankie with your gaze. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, lips pursing to one side as you chewed the inside of your cheek. “Unless you wanted me to, of course.”

His tired smile soothed you, the hand running up and down your side inching closer and closer to your breast as he looked at you. “Nah, you should stay,” he said, thumb stroking over your nipple. He swirled it to hardness, heat already starting to pool in your lower belly despite your exhaustion.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

–

Ben and Will drank coffee in the kitchen in the morning, nursing their hangovers just like everyone else. Most of the group was awake and in various levels of pain, Santi cooking breakfast and Tom still wearing sunglasses. Their girlfriends were laying on the couches in the living room, curtains drawn as they sipped cups of water.

A giggle could be heard from Frankie’s room, the creak of a bedframe. No one understood how you two still had energy after going to bed at three in the morning. But, lucky for them, Frankie was resilient.

“Did they keep you up last night?” Will asked his brother, a hint of a smile on his face.

Ben nodded, blue eyes focused on his coffee. “Oh yeah, and you owe me twenty bucks.”

Will rolled his eyes–betting that Frankie would wait until the end of the trip to hook up with you had been the stupidest thing he’d done in a while.

#NHIE2025 #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales #francisco morales smut #reader insert

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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months ago

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All The Things We Never Said- Masterlist

Summary: You and Frankie Morales have been best friends since the 6th grade. You swore to each other that there would never come a day where life would be better without the other one in it. But as you grow up, you've learned the hard way that sometimes, just friendship isn't enough.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n no, reader has a name/nickname she's called by)

Warnings: *Each chapter will have their own individual warnings* SMUT(18+), angst, yearning (so much yearning), sick parent (reader's dad has ongoing cancer), childhood best friends to lovers to enemies to distant friends and back again

The story is written from both reader and Frankie's POV. The story jumps between present day and flashbacks, but is labeled in the chapter who's POV and what timeframe it takes place!

Main Story:

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Chapter 2- Awakening*

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Chapter 4- The Chase

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Chapter 7- For the First Time*

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In (Coming 12/20!)

Asks:

How old are Frankie and MacKenzie?

Extras:

Spotify Playlist

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aurorawritestoescape · 6 months ago

Text

GOING DOWN || 3,4 k

Joel Miller x f!reader | Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: you have a hot boyfriend and a hot ex who’s still obsessed with you. Why not get the best of both worlds?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, darkish!reader, toxic!reader, boyfriend!Joel, ex who desperately wants you back!Frankie, soft!Frankie, infidelity (reader’s), praise kink, size kink, unprotected piv, creampie, handjob, m!oral, pussy eating, cum eating, f!masturbation, stalking (reader loves it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, swearing, dirty talk, pet names princesa-princess, mi amor- my love. Reader wears a dress. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: I have no excuse for this one. I don’t know why I look at our baby Frankie and want to do all this. I’m not sorry though, it’s hot to me and also fictional😉 the title’s inspired by the song “I’m goin’ down” by Mary J. Blige and Frankie’s special talent😏 Happy Frankie Friday, my loves!💖

Written for @burntheedges ‘s roll-a-trope challenge - my trope was Exes. Thank you for the fun event, Kate❤️ Kisses to wonderful @milla-frenchy for beta-ing this filth😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more Frankie - The Hoodie

You are looking out of the window at the night street, illuminated by a few golden lights, when you feel Joel’s heavy hands on your hips and then his lips plant a kiss on your neck from behind.

“Let’s go to bed,” he mumbles, his gruff voice coated with lust.

“No, fuck me right here.”

He smiles against your neck.

“Really? Want the neighbors to see us, dirty girl?”

“Yeah. Neighbors,” you smirk, not tearing your eyes from the car parked outside your apartment building. Your ex’s Pickup.

Joel pierces you with his big stiff cock and before you start moaning like a whore, you open the window a little so you two can not only be visible, but also perfectly heard from the street. Cool autumn air hits your heated face and your nipples get hard under your thin dress.

"Oh yeah, Joel! Harder!" you cry out, reveling in the way he's dragging his huge manhood in and out your channel. You're taking it like a good girl-always wet and tight for your boyfriend's cock.

Your fingers swiftly pull down your neckline, exposing your bouncing tits to whoever might look through your window. And you're sure that someone is looking.

Not knowing about your sick game, Joel is grunting loudly, thrusting deep and hard into you, your back flush with his broad chest. He’s rubbing his stubble against your neck, then your cheek until you turn your face to him and your lips lock in a sloppy and passionate kiss, while he’s holding you close, drawing pleasure from your tight pussy.

Joel’s hand snakes under your dress and having found your naked cunt, begins swirling your clit between two thick fingers. You part from his mouth, whimpering loudly.

“Yeah, baby! Let ‘em hear what a slut you are for me. Getting fucked in front of the whole neighborhood.”

His words push you over the edge and you come on his cock, crying out from pleasure. You don’t fake it. There is no need. He is that good.

Joel follows you soon and shoots his thick warm cum into your pulsating core. When he stills and pulls out, you hastily fix your dress and grab your dog’s leash.

“I’ll walk Tom.” You kiss Joel with tongue and leave the apartment, leaking your boyfriend’s load with every move.

When you step out into the night, you walk along the street a few meters and tie your dog to a street pole. On your legs, trembling from the hard orgasm, you saunter to your ex’s truck.

The passenger door is already open for you when you reach it and you get in, feeling cold air lap at your pussy, coated in Joel’s cum.

A pair of beautiful kicked puppy eyes greet you there and you turn slightly in your seat to see your ex better in the dark car.

Frankie’s wearing a denim shirt, dark blue jeans and his favorite baseball cap that you always hated for hiding his gorgeous curls. He looks the same as the day you left him. Maybe the bags under his eyes are darker but it could be the poor lighting at fault.

“What are you doing here, Frankie?” Your voice is soft and calm, with a pinch of sadness thrown in for his sake.

The man nervously fixes his cap and glances at you from the side, like a guilty dog. He clears his throat and lies,

“ ‘m checking on you.”

His velvety voice caresses your ear, it’s soft like everything about his character. He starts chewing on his lip while his eyes are staring into the darkness ahead of him.

“No, you’re stalking me, baby. I see your Pickup everywhere I go. Near my work last week. I spotted you at the bar today. And now you’re here… spying on me through the window.”

He proves that he watched your little show when he spreads his thighs wider and bucks his hips, unwillingly attracting your attention to his big bulge. You both are quiet for a few moments.

“I miss you,” he finally admits, turning to you. His eyes are sad and sappy and you should feel sorry, bad or at least sympathetic but the overwhelming feeling in your heart is a triumph. He’s not over you. You’re the best he’s ever had and he desperately wants you back.

You’ve been feeling elated lately when you noticed Frankie stalking you. It’s been fun playing with him and you don’t plan on stopping. You pull your brows together and coo,

“I understand, baby, but you can’t keep coming here. Joel’s a jealous type. I don’t want any problems.”

While you’re talking, Frankie’s nodding along, eyes downcast. You place your hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. His own big paw flies to yours and after bringing it to his mouth, he presses his lips to your palm. Your heart flutters at his need for you and your pussy tingles when you remember the way his plush lips were leaving kisses all over your body weeks ago.

“Baby,” you breathe out and he looks at you, not letting go of your hand. You see tears in his eyes, not enough to spill but enough to fuel up your ego. His eyes are so pretty like that, wet lashes and glossy chocolatey irises.

“Aww, Frankie,” you coo and open your arms to him. He rushes to you as if you’re his lifeline, wrapping his big strong arms around your torso and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You’re hugging him back, trying not to suffocate in his steel embrace and rubbing his muscular broad back. Frankie’s as big as Joel, both are much bigger than you, and warmth spreads deep in your core when his scent envelops you just like his body.

You smile when you notice him still wearing your favorite cologne.

Soon your body craves something more than just a hug so your lips part and a soft whimper escapes your mouth. You know well that your pretty noises always make him wild.

Your ex reacts immediately and you feel an open mouth kiss on your neck.

“Frankie.” Your tone is scolding yet fake and you sigh deeply, brushing his chest with your barely covered breasts. Your ex grumbles at the sensation and then whispers, his voice already strained with lust.

“I miss you so much.”

You hug him tighter and feel his hot breath on your cleavage when he leans lower to plant another kiss on your collarbone. His cap slides off his head and falls on the floor but he doesn’t care. Looking down at his beautiful dark curls you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails and Frankie almost roars against your chest. His arms pull you closer to him, even though your torso is already flush with his. He slightly lifts you off the seat and you tug at his hair in warning, steel in your tone.

“Put me down, Frankie.”

He listens to you like he always does but your roughness earns another loud groan from him. You smile, imagining how hard his cock must be now.

Frankie leaves soft kisses on your clothed chest, your belly and soon his head is resting on your lap, while his arms are wrapped around your hips as if he’s scared you’ll float away.

You’re stroking his head, marveling at the silky waves of his hair, shining even in the dim light, and slightly tilt your hips up when his prominent nose pokes your mound through the thin fabric of your dress. As if thinking about the same thing, Frankie breathes in full lungs of your arousal and a guttural moan vibrates against your covered pussy.

“I miss her, mi amor,” you barely hear him mumble and you sigh. Recently satiated by Joels’s pounding, your core gets reignited with sticky desire and you bite your lip, your dark gaze sliding over his sexy shoulders and his head, with his face hidden. You part your legs just slightly, letting him closer to your needy pussy.

Like a dog sniffing out his favorite treat, Frankie’s nuzzling your lap, and his lips and nose are brushing against your thighs, your lower belly, your cunt through the fabric.

You gasp when his fingers dig into your soft hips a bit too hard and he hastily relaxes his grip and looks up at you.

“Sorry, princesa.” His blown out eyes are filled with guilt and want and you give him a smile, cupping his scruffy cheek.

“It’s ok, baby, just be careful with me, ‘k? No marks.”

“Yes, yes, of course, mi amor,” he murmurs, returning his head back onto your lap.

After a couple of minutes in his arms, the fire in your core morphs into an ache and you squirm under him with impatience.

“I should go, Frankie. Joel’s gonna worry.”

“No, please,” he almost whines, hugging you tighter. “I—,” he stumbles.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I —? Can I see her?”

He’s staring up at you and you tilt your head to the side, faking confusion.

“Who?”

He knows that you understand but you need him to say it. So he plays by your rules. Like he always does.

“Can I see your beautiful pussy?” He sits up, facing you, his huge body squeezed in between the wheel and his seat. His bulge looks even more prominent now and you gush at the thought that he must be leaking into his boxers.

“Oh, Frankie, baby, you know I have a boyfriend. I can’t.”

His pleading eyes are fixed on you as he begs,

“Please, mi amor, just a look. I miss her so much. I miss you. Please.”

With another fake sigh you glance out of the window to check the surroundings, and after finding the street empty, you turn back to him.

“Ok, just for a second. Get in the back.”

“Thank you, mi amor,” he mumbles, hurrying out of the truck.

You squeeze between the front seats and sit down, turning to Frankie as he joins you at the back of the car. Your ex impatiently grabs the hem of your dress but you stop him.

“No one should know about this, understand?”

Frankie nods eagerly, mumbling yes’s like a junkie before getting a hit of his drug and you let him lift your dress and expose your naked pussy.

Your hands clutch the dress against your waist, and your legs are pressed together but it’s evident how wet you’re - your folds shine with Joel’s cum and your slick arousal.

Frankie’s breath hitches and his broad chest expands, straining his shirt.

“Beautiful,” he praises as his hand flies to the apex of your thighs.

“Nah-ah”, you grab his big paw midair and place it on top of your thigh.

“No touching. You wanted to look, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie halfheartedly agrees, furrowed brows showing his discontent. “Then at least open your legs, princesa. Need to see her better.”

You try to contain your excitement as you tut at your ex,

“You’re so naughty, baby.”

You slowly part your thighs wide enough for your pussy to bloom in front of his hungry eyes.

Frankie’s mouth goes slack and his gaze clouds up when he sees your glistening pussy lips, puffy clit and your inviting hole. You shift a little on the seat, leaving wetness on the leather, and when you clench your walls in anticipation, you both see a little bit of pearly white liquid slide out of your entrance.

“Is this…?” Frankie mumbles, not tearing his eyes off your recently used cunt.

“Yeah. I know you’ve been watching Joel fuck me so don’t pretend that you’re surprised. My pussy’s full of his cum,” you say with defiance and wait for his reaction.

Frankie’s softly growls and his hand on your thigh contracts into a fist.

“Shhh, big boy,” you purr, bringing your fingers to your pussy. You gather some of Joel’s seed, leaking from your hole, and spread the creamy juices over your hardened clit. You rub yourself a few times and when a soft moan escapes your lips, Frankie echoes you.

“Feels so good,” you admit and begin pleasuring yourself in front of your ex.

“Jesus— fuck,” Frankie mumbles. His eyes are obsidian, forehead glistening with sweat with a few wet curls stuck to it. With his gaze tormented and pained, he reaches down to his belt.

“What are you doing, baby?” you ask, pausing your ministrations.

Frankie freezes and replies, stumbling over his words,

“I need — need to take my dick out. It hurts.”

“Ok, Frankie.” He hastily unzips his jeans when you add, “But don’t touch it.”

Frankie groans but then sighs with relief when he pulls the waistband of his boxers down, tucks it under his balls and his cock springs free. It hits his shirt and leaves a dark wet spot.

His member is throbbing, the dark pink tip, glossy and fat, is oozing his clear need for you and you lick your lips, enticing the man even more.

Frankie follows your orders and lets his cock bob and drip pre-fuck juice all over his balls and jeans while you moan again, tracing your sopping hole.

Your ex rubs his cheek, focused on the place he desperately wants to claim with his tongue and cock and croaks after wetting his plush lips,

“Let me kiss her, mi amor.”

Bingo.

That’s what you wanted as soon as you saw him at the bar today. If you cared to admit maybe you already dreamed about it when you noticed him stalking you last week. But what’s a prize without a game? Now it feels extra special.

With a little smile, you throw off your shoe and plant your bare foot on the seat, opening your thighs wider for him.

“You gonna taste another man’s cum on my pussy? just to kiss her?”

Frankie’s eyes snap up to yours and you see his defeat, his despair, his love in their depths.

He nods silently.

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you coo. “Ok, baby, go ahead.”

With a grunt Frankie bends down, slowly adjusting his position between your legs so it’s comfortable for you, and when his soft warm lips kiss your cold cunt, you flutter your eyes shut with a pleased mewl.

Frankie’s always been the best at pussy eating. Joel often goes down on you but it’s different. He demands your ecstasy, claims your pussy with his mouth, makes you scream when his rough tongue impatiently rubs at your clit. His movements say ‘Give me’ while he’s eating you out.

But Frankie. He’s whispering “Take it”. Take your time, take your bliss, take my lips and tongue and use them, let yourself drown in pleasure. He laps at you softly and languidly, licking your pussy like it’s the most delicate flower, the most delicious fruit.

You grab your phone out of your pocket and text Joel that you met a friend by accident and need to catch up.

Frankie doesn’t see any of it, he’s gone, fully concentrated on pleasuring your soft cunt. His hands are gently holding your thighs apart, his face buried in your pussy.

“How’s she?” you whisper, raking your fingers through his silky curls and tugging on them slightly to get his attention when he doesn’t respond right away.

“I taste him on you,” Frankie grumbles, parting from your sex, “‘m gonna get it off you.”

He returns to work, making out with your folds and sucking the other man’s cum off your clit and you already feel yourself close to unraveling.

“Yes, like that, baby. My pussy misses you.”

You feel Frankie smile against your cunt before he begins stroking your clit with his tongue again and again until you cry out his name into your hand, while your hole clamps around nothing, walls contract and release another portion of Joel’s thick load.

Trembling from the orgasm that’s rippling through your body, you watch Frankie lap at your entrance, drinking the runaway seed and your slick, prolonging your shattering climax with this depraved act.

He doesn’t stop kissing your pussy until you get overstimulated and try to close your legs.

“Did so good for me, Frankie,” you murmur through heavy breaths.

“Thank you, mi amor,” your ex gruffs, sitting up, his face blushed, the gaze hazy and drunk on you.

He’s shivering from the arousal, his engorged cock generously leaking precum, and you take mercy on the man.

You scoot closer to him, wrap your hand around his hot cock and start slowly pumping it. It’s soaked with his juices so your palm slides easily over his hard length but to make him absolutely wild you gather some slick off your cunt and rub the underside of his cock where his tip meets the shaft with your wet thumb.

Frankie moans like a needy slut and in a second the first rope of cum shoots out of his slit.

You hastily lower your head, take the head between your lips and start drinking his load as he’s feeding it to you, jerking and thrusting his hips up, while your hand is gliding over his shaft.

You swallow everything to the last drop and lick it all over, cleaning his cock and earning a jerk of overstimulation from your ex. Then you sit up, wiping your mouth curled into a satisfied smile.

“Fuck, princesa, I love you,” Frankie breathes out falling onto the backrest, his cock softening but still standing at attention. You smile at his confession and your hunger finally seems satisfied.

You begin fixing your clothes and he watches you for a few seconds before tucking his cock into his jeans and then shifting closer to you. He gets into your space and you feel his warm hand pressed to your lower back. His huge frame is looming over you and you look up into his chocolaty eyes. They seem sad again.

“I want you back, mi amor—I... I need you.”

You sigh deeply and shake your head, taking his big hand in yours.

“You know it’s over, Frankie. I’m sorry, but I’m with Joel now.”

“Why? Why can’t you be with me? Why is he better?” He asks, furrowing his brows and leaning even closer to you.

“Baby,” you whine, averting your gaze from his puppy eyes and tracing hearts on his hand. “We talked about it. He’s …he’s like whiskey, he’s rough and heady and… you’re like hot chocolate, Frankie. You’re sweet but you’re too saccharine for me.”

“I can get rough with you, princesa.”

You giggle and shake your head.

“It’s not who you are, baby. And it’s ok. Someone will love you for it one day.”

You hear him sniff before he yanks his hand away from yours.

You know you should leave, break it off once and for all but the sick, mean, greedy side of your soul wants to pull him back as soon as you have pushed him away.

“Frankie,” you purr and grab his arm as he’s about to get out of the car. A slight touch from you is all it takes to stop him and he turns to you, his eyes glossy, his expression defeated.

You get closer to him and take his face between your hands. To kiss him goodbye. To poison him more.

He falls into the kiss head first, embracing you tightly, pressing his torso to yours so close it’s difficult to breathe.

You both moan against each other’s lips and you pull on his hair with passion and possessiveness. His tongue is licking into your mouth and you’re tasting yourself, sensing a faint trace of Joel’s cum. It’s so sick and twisted that another surge of arousal burns your core.

You make out for some time until you part from his lips.

“I should go, Frankie,” you whisper, snaking out of his embrace.

Frankie’s arms fall and he nods, looking lost and inebriated. You use this moment to hastily get out of his car.

“Bye, baby,” you chirp, smiling at him, but before you close the door he wakes up from the trance and calls for you.

“I won’t stop, mi amor,” he admits with determination in his shaky voice. “I’m gonna keep coming. I need you.”

“I know,” you say with a fake sigh and close the door.

You’re walking to get Tom, feeling Frankie’s eyes on your back, and trying to calm down, you bite your lip, but the excitement overwhelms you and soon a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

Thank you for reading!💖

MASTERLIST || more Frankie- The Hoodie

tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

Tagging lovelies who showed interest in my Wip post @sawymredfox @604to647 @thundermartini @bonezone44 @casa-boiardi

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 4 months ago

Text

Give me more.

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 2527 Rating: +18, MDNI

Summary: You're ovulating and can't calm down, just the night before Frankie leaves for a two-day camping trip with the boys for Santi's birthday... luckily Frankie is willing to help you... too much, even.

Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, established relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, a lot of kissing, female masturbation (on Frankie's leg hehehe), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), overstimulation, aftercare, reader has breasts and vagina, wears a baby doll and a thong, she's able body, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described and she has no other description, brief reader’s thought insert, marked in italics. Pussy pronouns. Pet names (baby, honey, good girl). Frankie is our PEK on a mission 🫡

A/N: This Frankie is the same as You look like a fun place to sit, but it can be read as a stand alone, there are only some mild references to the previous ff. (If you haven't read it yet though, I hope you do 👀♥️) I have a couple more ideas in mind for these two, I hope to have something out for the Christmas holidays at least. Thank you so much for loving these two in the previous story, especially to @harriedandharassed who read it and shared it like 3 times if I'm not mistaken, I'm so flattered and grateful. I hope this one works just as well as the first one. English is not my first language, I have no beta, I hope there aren't too many mistakes, please forgive me if there are. I'm open to any advice you want to give me to improve but please be kind. (you always are, tbh). Comments and reblogs are always welcome, you would make me so happy 🥹 I started a tag list, if you want to be added leave a comment. If you'd prefer to be tagged only on something specific I can definitely do that, just let me know.

Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you enjoy.

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

“Frankie...” you whisper in the dark.

“Yes?” he answers you in a thick sleepy voice

“Are you asleep?”

“Actually yes.”

“You're answering me, though.”

“Sweetheart...” he picks up his phone from the nightstand ”It's 3:00 a.m. What's wrong?”

“I can't sleep” you groan

“Come here, come on” you shift on his part of the bed and he holds you tightly against his body, you rest your head on his chest and surrender to his comforting embrace and the scent of his skin.

You hum “thank you”

He places a kiss on your forehead “sleep now”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sense of peace you feel wrapped in his strong arms, clasped to his body as warm as a furnace, one leg crossed over his, one arm wrapped around his waist.

It's amazing, really, so amazing that soon you begin to feel something else. a little shiver that runs under your skin, a little electric shock that goes through you all, and then a crescendo of wetness between your thighs.

You’re ovulating and you’re feral, simple as that.

You try not to mind it, to let it pass, not to be too demanding after he has already made you come twice tonight, once on the couch while you were watching a movie - well at least you tried, but you actually have no idea what the movie was about because you were too busy bouncing on his cock, which when you think back on it, it makes you laugh because it seems like a constant in your dating that you can't finish watching a movie without jumping on each other - and once as soon as you got into bed when he saw you coming out of the bathroom in a new babydoll and thong you bought especially for him.

Only two months ago neither of you could stand the other but now, as much as it still bothers you to admit it since he was the last person you thought you would end up with, you are completely and hopelessly smitten with him.

“Frankie,” you whisper, hoping he won't tell you off “can we kiss for a while? Just a little bit?”

It’s so early in the morning that he doesn't have the energy to be sarcastic as usual, he just replies “of course, baby”

He lowers himself on your face and kisses you on the lips, in a very tender but rather chaste way, he still looks half asleep. After a couple of minutes he stops and you sigh, resting your head back on his chest.

I must let him sleep, you tell yourself. This man is tired, he has already fucked me twice, that should be enough for now. Yet no, it's not enough, you still crave more.

“Frankie.." you mumble on his chest.

“Mmm what is it again?” his voice is even deeper and rougher than usual, which literally sends you into raptures.

"I..." a glimpse of him between your legs as he eats your pussy flashes past your eyes, you squeeze them hard and admit "I want you"

“Still?” he doesn't have an angry tone, nor an irritated one, he's calm, quiet, definitely awake at this point because you feel his hands roam over your back, all the way down to your ass “you insatiable little minx. You know I have to get up in three hours.”

“I know...but it's not fair, it's Saturday”

‘You were there when I promised to go camping and fishing with the guys, right?’ You leverage your arms to reach his neck, resting your lips on his soft, amber skin ”mmmm yes” you groan.

He chuckles, as he squeezes your butt cheeks “you know I have to, it's Santi's birthday”

You continue your run up his neck, slipping your hands under his shirt, caressing his back.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whisper in his ear, burying a hand in his dark curls, your leg tightening around him brushing your barely covered pussy on his leg. Frankie gasps at the sensation, as you begin to grind against his thigh. “It’s only for two days. Jesus, you really are a menace, you know that?”

“Yeah, you like that about me” You coo.

He puts a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing your ear while his other fingers wrap around the base of your skull. “I sure do. Go ahead, honey, make a mess on me”

You’re grinding hard, the texture of your brand new thong is adding a delicious scratch between your clit and his skin.

Ridiculous desperate moans escape your lips and he kisses you, letting them vibrate into his mouth.

He’s wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, which allows you to feel his warm skin, your clit throbbing against him, your dripping pussy heating from the contact.

You feel the tingle of your orgasm mount inside you, your mouth is wide open for him, your tongue feverishly entwined with his in a sweet struggle that leaves you breathless.

And you come, wave after wave, quivering against him, one of his strong arms keeps you in place while his other hand is still wrapped around your neck squeezing lightly on your pulse point.

Your breath is short and ragged, your body hot and tested and yet you feel like it’s not enough.

As soon as your breathing returns to normal you mutter “gosh...I want more” into his slightly sweaty t-shirt.

His voice comes out more high pitched than he would like, he opens his eyes wide and exclaims, "Baby, do you want to wreck even the last bit of me tonight?”

You giggle softly and coo “She’s aching, you know…”

You feel one of his hands kneading one of your ass cheeks and then sliding down to your pussy, massaging your folds from behind, wetting his fingers with your juices.

“Mmm that’s good” you whisper “but I still want more”

Frankie grunts, flipping you onto your back on the bed and getting on top of you.

His eyes scan you in the dim light of your room, reading the lust on your face. “How much is she aching?”

You whine, tighten your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer but Frankie doesn't budge an inch, he's too strong for you.

“Use your words, baby, I know you can.” His gaze is no longer clouded by sleep, it’s alert and authoritative and he pins you down.

“A lot.”

“Yeah? Does this wet pussy need me?” he goes down your chest kissing your skin left uncovered by the thin straps of your baby-doll. You moan again, you don't know how to do anything else, your head feels light and confused.

"Answer me" he says leaving a bite on your shoulder.

You squirm and a breathy "Yes" comes out of your throat.

You feel his cock swell against your thigh, A trickle of desire runs down between your legs, wetting the thong you're wearing underneath. It’s basically drenched at this point.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me what your naughty pussy needs"

“Your tongue, your fingers…” you whine “Please, Frankie”

One thing you learned right away about Frankie is that he really enjoys eating his girl out.

He's not one of those men who do it just to get a blowjob in return. He's dedicated. He uses his tongue, his lips, his nose even, he compliments how you taste, how pretty your cunt is, how wet and warm she is under his tongue, he doesn't stop until you're left shaking and breathless beneath him, until he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you.

He really is a force of nature and blows your mind every single time. And not only at doing that, he is experienced and passionate in every field.

“Greedy”

He pulls back the duvet and the cool air hardens your nipples as he reaches between your legs, his lustful, tantalizing eyes peering down at you.

His mouth brushes your inner thigh, slowly moving up from your knee to your groin, his beard tickling you deliciously, “is that what you want huh?”

“Yes” you murmur ”yes, please.”

His plump lips settle on your opening, he sticks out his tongue and licks from above the fabric. You moan, sinking a hand into his raven curls, pressing him against your cunt.

He chuckles against your folds, sending an exquisite vibration through your body, slips his fingers into the elastic of your thong and slowly pulls it down.

Your cunt throbs in anticipation as his tongue travels up your slit and you emit a deep “Fuck, yes” as soon as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking away the last bit of reasoning you had left.

“Oh God, Frankie”

He goes down again and comes back up, tongue flat out sliding over your wetness, once, twice, three, four times as an irrepressible heat spreads inside you again and then the tip of his tongue stops under your clit and he begins to jerk it quickly with close flicks.

His hand is open on your thigh, he slows down a bit when he feels your body tenses, goes back to teasing your opening and then starts tickling your bundle of nerves again.

You tug his hair, spreading your legs even wider to take in all that he wants to give you, melting under his ministration.

“Fuck, you’re so good, don’t stop” you whine and you see him grinning as he replies “I won’t, baby, I’m going to have a damn fucking meal out of this pussy”

His touch is careful, long laps and sucks on your clit, he knows how to alternate them, he seems to know your body and the way it reacts inside out.

Another thing you discovered about him is that he is great at listening and observing and very often guesses your needs and reactions before you express them. He immediately learned how you take your coffee, how you frown when something is bothering you, he knows that you need a particularly tight hug on Monday nights, and that on Friday nights you like to treat yourself to a drink to celebrate getting to the end of another work week.

Frankie is good, really good, you even start to really like quarreling with him, you like the way he stands up to you, the thrill of it and the amazing sex that usually comes right after.

He brings you almost to the edge with his tongue without taking his eyes off your face, and then you feel two of his fingers nudging at your entrance “you want them huh?”

“Yes” you breathe, almost on the verge of delirium and he teases “ask nicely baby, I haven’t heard that little magic word yet”

You would roll your eyes if you were able to do that but right now all you feel is desire, desire to be full again with his fingers, desire to be fucked just like the way you like, desire to be his and only his.

“Pl-please” you mutter and he whispers “here she is, my good girl”

His index and middle finger start to stretch you, it seems like he’s taking all the time in the world while you’re trembling and begging to be satiated.

“Almost there pleasepleaseplease”you plead and he sinks a little bit more, up to half fingers, his other hand gripping on the soft skin on your tummy, keeping you in place while your back feels like a guitar’s string ready to snap.

Your walls are clenching desperately around his fingers, impatient to have all but instead of giving you your long awaited release he comes out completely.

"Fuck" you hiss.

His lips are curved into a mocking smirk.

Your clit is swollen, your hole empty and the almost release is tingling all over your body like a latent fire that cannot be extinguished.

“Did you think I would make this easy for you?” He asks ironically.

You scoff “Goddamn,Frankie!”

You don't know how he finds strength but he's making you pay for be so demanding, your pussy won't stop throbbing as he barely caresses you, feather light touches on your folds, deliberately ignoring your clit.

You try to breathe deeply to calm down, but as soon as Frankie feels your body relax he returns to licking you, two fingers on your clit moving in circles.

You're almost on the verge of tears when he brings you back to within an inch of your brink.

“Frankie, please” you cry “I can’t- fuck- I just can’t”

“Oh yes, you can. You wanted more? I’m going to give you exactly this so now shut up and let me do my job” he’s commanding now.

He’s slow and steady over your bundles of nerves and when you impossibly tense again his mouth is back on it, sucking and teasing with his tongue.

When he gives you your second orgasm he doesn't stop stimulating you as it washes over you, your back arches sharply, you’re gushing in his mouth and all over his face, your hand in his hair tugs to try to pull him away from you but he doesn't move, his lips stubbornly latched onto your clit, his hand firmly on your tummy while the other grips your thigh.

He doesn't stop as you anchor yourself to the edge of the mattress trying to lift yourself up, your body twitching unbearably, he pulls you by your legs and brings you right back to where he wants you without taking his face off you, in fact sinking even more. “Frankie please, please, I can't” you feel tears stinging your eyes.

You feel so sensitive it’s almost impossible to handle.

“Ssssh you’re good” he says, detaching from you just long enough to say it, his beard and mustache glistening and soaked in your essence.

You squeeze your eyes, cover your mouth with your hand as you wail so gravelly it almost doesn’t sound your voice anymore.

You're overstimulated, your body is sore, you murmur a tearful “please” again, and Frankie finally decides you've had enough. He pulls away from you and takes you in his arms as he whispers, “You're okay, honey,” caressing your back. Your labored breathing slowly returns to normal, giving way to a deep, dense feeling of gratification.

Frankie definitely reached another level of dedication tonight.

“Is everything okay?” he asks as he lifts your chin, inviting you to look at him. "Yes," you murmur, and he kisses you tenderly, "do you think I've given you enough to deal with my absence for two days?”

You giggle “I think it's enough to endure a week” and ruffle his hair kissing him again, lingering on his lower lip “But let me tell you something, though, someone they call Catfish who goes fishing… it's really odd”

The sound of his thunderous laugh vibrates against you “I hadn't thought about it but I must admit that you are right. Now let me sleep for...I don't even know what time it is anymore” He reaches out an arm to retrieve the phone on the nightstand and realizes that it is already five o'clock.

“Oh, fuck”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter 🌹

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fiction #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fandom

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ak-vintage · 9 months ago

Text

Sweet As

Pairing: Francisco Morales/f! babysitter reader

Summary: Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave.

Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, 6 years post-Triple Frontier, single dad Frankie, flight instructor Frankie, babysitter reader, dual POV, age gap (not specified, but reader is a grad student), minimal descriptors of reader character, no use of y/n, domestic, sweet, mutual pining, food as foreplay, frottage, pussy pronouns, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), trying to keep quiet, trying not to get caught, undefined but hopeful ending

Word Count: 7.5K

Written for the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Board Challenge.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

You had always been a summer girl, but even you had your limits.

It was week three of the most severe heatwave the south had seen in a decade, and even with the Morales’s air conditioner running at full capacity, you still couldn’t help but park yourself directly under the ceiling fan with a sweating glass of iced tea. Mila, thankfully, hadn’t fought you during bedtime tonight, the six-year-old nearly dead on her feet after a full day of summer activities – a bike ride around the block before the heat of the day had set in, a dance party after lunch, hours in her swimsuit weaving in and out of the sprinkler in the back yard. You had done your best to keep up with her sunscreen, but she still sported a little flush on her round, tan cheeks as she crawled into bed, making little snuffling snores before you had even finished telling her goodnight.

There was a part of you that envied it, the way she could just collapse into sleep, not a care in the world, while you were stuck at the kitchen table late into the night, your laptop and textbooks strewn across its surface. The perils of holding down a full-time babysitting gig while also taking summer classes, you supposed.

It was worth it, though. Mila was a sweet girl, a total social butterfly, full of giggles and sweetness, easily the most fun kid you had ever cared for. And Frankie, her father…

Mr. Morales, you reminded yourself with a quick shake of your head.

Mr. Morales was a dream to work for. Respectful, pleasant, communicative, fair. A great parent to his daughter – a single dad, the only one in your regular client rotation. He paid you well for your time, and he was generous with his recreation budget, always making sure to leave cash in the top kitchen drawer for ice cream treats, trips to the pool, matinee movies. You really couldn’t have asked for a better job for the summer.

It didn’t hurt that he was absurdly handsome, in a rugged, lived-in sort of way. Not that it mattered, of course; he was your boss, more than a decade your senior, and you were, above all else, a professional. Hitting on the kids’ dads? The biggest babysitting faux pas. You liked to think you had more class than that.

However, class or not, you were still just a woman, and Francisco Morales? He was all man.

A blue-collar, ex-military guy in his mid-forties, he was tall and impossibly broad in the shoulders with long, muscular arms, a soft tummy that peaked out over the waistband of his jeans, and a head full of dark brown curls that were constantly just a little squished by a dark, well-worn ballcap bearing the Standard Oil logo. He started out a bit reserved in the beginning, not at all unfriendly but certainly someone who took some time to open up to new people, but in the months since you had started working for him, the two of you had developed a comfortable rapport.

So, if you dragged yourself out of bed an hour early just so you could get to his house in time enough to share a cup of coffee with him before he left for work, well…that was just relationship building with a client, wasn’t it? If you found yourself lingering in the driveway every time he walked you out to your car at the end of the day, extending the conversation more and more, delaying your departure as long as you could manage, that was just…friendship, right? Comradery.

And if, on nights like tonight, you received a series of clunky, unpunctuated texts asking you to stay late on short notice and you agreed without question, that was just going above and beyond. That was you being a good employee.

It definitely wasn’t you genuinely wanting to help out the struggling single father, not because you were being paid to do so, but because he deserved it. And you definitely didn’t take a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he trusted you, knowing that he relied on you.

It was all above board. All friendly. All completely and totally normal.

These were the things you told yourself, anyway. It helped you to keep your traitorous heart in check.

It was nearing 10:00 PM by the time Frankie finally pulled into his driveway, his eyelids heavy, his limbs leaden and slicked with sweat. One of the ‘copters at the flight school where he worked had required some major repairs after a clumsy takeoff by one of the students earlier that afternoon had resulted in damage to the rotor blades, and he had volunteered to stay behind after hours and help with the effort so the thing wouldn’t have to spend the entire next day grounded. He was an instructor these days, but his assistance had still been welcomed. In the years he had spent attempting to earn back his pilot’s license after his…indiscretions, he had spent a fair amount of time working as an aviation mechanic to make ends meet.

Even then, at the lowest point of his life, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away from a hangar.

It had been back-breaking work, and Frankie hated having to ask you to stay late when he knew you had your own life, your own friends, your own dreams outside of babysitting his kid, but the repairs were complete now, which meant that none of the instructors would need to cancel any of their lessons for the following day. And when the flight school’s students were, more often than not, rich old men and their trust fund sons who didn’t take well to being told “no,” the extra effort would not go unnoticed.

Now, however, as he shifted his pickup truck into park next to your beat-up old Ford Focus, all he could think about was getting into the air conditioning, taking off his boots, and sitting down at the kitchen table under the ceiling fan with you.

It was the only advantage, really, of these late nights. Infrequent though they were, Frankie couldn’t deny that there was something special about coming home to find his daughter tucked up in bed, happy and tired and well-fed, and you at the table with your schoolwork strewn out in front of you. There was something peaceful and almost painfully domestic about it, something that had his chest swelling with a feeling that he couldn’t quite identify but that he knew for certain was not something one was meant to feel for one’s babysitter.

It was the same feeling he got when you started accepting his offers of coffee in the mornings before he left for work, or when you noticed that he had started purchasing the sugary-sweet creamer you preferred when he had only ever drunk his coffee black. It was the same feeling he got when he came home on one of the first nights of this fucking wretched heatwave to find you chasing his daughter around the back yard with an armful of water balloons, the both of you soaked to the skin and giggling as you pelted each other relentlessly.

It was the same feeling he got when he walked you out to your car and he watched you grip the driver’s door handle so tight your knuckles turned pale, watched you glance down at his lips one too many times to be proper. Soft mouth parted, long lashes casting shadows across your sun-kissed cheeks, perfect breasts rising and falling with your quickened breath –

Frankie brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard, scrubbing across his face to banish the thought. He had no business thinking of you like that, noticing you like that, and he needed to get it together before he walked through the front door and found you precisely where he had imagined you. This might have been his home, but it was your place of work, and he refused to be one of those skeevy dads who made the babysitter uncomfortable.

Gathering himself, Frankie hopped down out of the truck and jogged up the front porch steps. Slipping his keyring from his front pocket, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and kicked his well-worn boots off onto the mat inside the entryway.

Before he could announce his arrival, however, your voice called out to him, hushed and warm.

“Welcome home, Mr. Morales,” you said sweetly, glancing up at him from your favorite chair at his table. He could see you there through the kitchen doorway, hair piled haphazardly on top of your head, eyes tired but soft, happy. You had gotten even more sun today, your cheeks, nose, and forehead tinged with pink, and you wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of almost sinfully short shorts, the kind with the elastic waist that looked soft to the touch. Frankie tried and failed not to trace the length of your legs with his eyes, not to imagine the plush softness of your thighs, the suppleness of your calves.

Dragging his gaze back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t caught the trajectory of his traitor eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find you studying him, as well. Rather intently, as a matter of fact. He squinted down at himself, puzzled, and noticed for the first time what you must be staring at: he was a mess.

He was smudged with grease from head to toe, dark streaks of the oily substance arcing across his jeans, his uniform polo, his bare forearms, the backs of his hands. His skin, where it was visible, shone with sweat in the dim entryway light, and his shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin from the heat (moisture-wicking fabric, his ass). The weather would have been enough to have him in a state, but the late night combined with the manual labor had clearly taken its toll.

He watched the long column of your throat bob as you swallowed thickly.

“Rough day?” you asked after a beat of tense silence, keeping your voice low so as not to wake Mila.

Frankie felt his lips lift at the corner, offering you a fatigued half-smile. “A bit, yeah. But better now.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line as though smothering a grin. “Glad to hear it.” Gesturing at the chair opposite you, you added, “Why don’t you come have a seat, and I’ll heat up some leftovers for you? You have to be starving.”

Fuck, now that you mentioned it, he was starving. He and the small crew of mechanics had taken a brief snack break while they worked, partaking of whatever hodgepodge of junk they had been able to liberate from the vending machine in the office, but that bag of chips and stale granola bar had left his system hours ago now. Still, even as his stomach growled with hunger, he couldn’t help but protest, “You don’t need to do that, cariño. It’s not your job to cook for me on top of everything else you do around here.”

You waved his words away with a flippant flick of your wrist, already on your feet and heading for the refrigerator. “I’ve told you, it’s not a problem. I cook anyway for me and Mila. Why wouldn’t I make a little extra for you while I’m at it?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”

As the container of leftover pasta rotated in the pale yellow light of the microwave, you took a moment to gather yourself, to reign in the surge of want that had pulsed through you at the sight of your employer hovering in the entryway.

Miles of golden tan skin shining with sweat, pooling in the little hollow at the base of his neck. His uniform polo unbuttoned as far down as it would go, showing a sliver of gray ribbed undershirt. Grease smudged across one high cheekbone, streaked across his hands. You needed those hands on you, needed him to transfer those dark marks onto your skin, your clothes, to leave a trail across your body so you could remember everywhere he had touched you, so you could see it when you looked in the mirror.

“How was Mila today? She behave herself all right?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, quickly schooling your face into what you hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression before turning back around to face him. “Oh, yeah, she was great. We had a good day today.”

Frankie – Mr. Morales – smiled fondly at that. “Good, that’s good. No more, uh, meltdowns in the afternoon?”

“No, things have been pretty smooth since we started digging through that article I found. ‘30 Activities to Keep Kids Cool in the Summer’ or whatever. It’s been a huge help.” You chuckled wryly. “Once I figured out a way to let her be outside in the afternoons without running the risk of heatstroke, she’s been great.”

“Right, right.” He settled himself in the chair across from yours, running the side of his fingers across his patchy stubble in thought. “That’s what gave you the idea for the water balloons that one day, right?”

The microwave beeped twice, the golden light inside flickering off, and you grabbed the steaming leftover container as you spoke. “Yeah, exactly. And the sprinkler, and turning paint into ice cubes and using it like chalk.” Snagging a fork from the silverware drawer, you handed both to the exhausted man and slid back into your seat.

He tossed you a grateful smile and dug into the meal with gusto, loosing a quiet groan at the first bite. “Shit, that’s good,” he sighed, dark eyes fluttering closed in a way that had your heartrate spiking. “Thank you for this, cariño. You’re a lifesaver.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course, it’s my pleasure.”

Shoving a few more bites into his mouth, he asked, “Didn’t you freeze her Barbies one day, too?”

“Yeah, I did!” It had been one of Mila’s favorites so far of the heatwave-proof activities you had planned for her, and the memory of it had you chuckling. “I took a couple of her dolls and a bunch of their accessories, put them in a few of those sand buckets you guys have in the garage, filled those with water, and then froze them overnight. It took her hours to dig them all out, but hey. It kept her busy, and she didn’t overheat in the process, so I’ll take it.”

Mr. Morales grinned at that, plucking a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, scrubbing it across his sauce-stained moustache. “Incredible. You know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the extra effort you’ve been going to with her lately. I know it’s a lot, just looking after her eight hours a day, every day. But with this heat, I know she’s going stir-crazy.” He glanced down at his meal, something almost bashful creeping into his expression. “Pretty sure she gets that from me. Never been real good at sitting still, being stuck indoors.”

“It’s really nothing, Mr. Morales,” you insisted, brushing away the praise with a swipe of your hand.

“No. S’not nothing.” His low voice had gone serious now, and when he glanced back up at you, his eyes were wide, dark, and earnest. “The way you take care of her? The way you always seem to just…know what she needs? That’s everything.” You swore you saw his cheeks darken, swore you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “And I told you. S’okay if you call me Frankie. That Mr. Morales stuff makes me feel old.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, gaze flicking down to your hands as the intensity of the eye contact became too much to handle. “If you’re sure,” you agreed after a moment. “I don’t want to…presume.”

“Not presuming,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “We’re…friends, right, cariño? Friends can call each other by their first names.”

Something in your stomach ached at his words, but he sounded so genuine, so hopeful that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. “Suppose that’s true… Frankie.”

Fucking Christ.

Maybe that hadn’t been the right call, Frankie thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested you call him that, not when your voice sounded so sweet wrapped around his name, not when the hour was so late, the house so silent, like you were the only two people awake in the world. That kind of intimacy, it was going to give him…ideas.

Eager to distract himself from the moment, he plowed onward. “Well, what was the activity today?” he asked, stabbing another selection of pasta and vegetables with his fork.

You appeared to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Actually, it’s more of ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ thing, so if you don’t mind holding that thought for a minute, I’ll show you after you’re finished eating.”

Frankie arched an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “Okay, sure. I can wait. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on then instead? Something for school, I assume?” He gestured at the impressive spread of textbooks, printed articles, and your open laptop taking up most of the surface of the kitchen table.

Immediately, you launched into a detailed explanation of your current project, a research proposal for your graduate program that would serve as the capstone of this session of summer classes. He would freely admit that he only understood bits and pieces of it, his formal education having ended with his high school graduation, but he always enjoyed asking you about your schoolwork. The way you lit up when you talked about the subjects you were passionate about, your animated gestures, your wide, sparkling eyes, all of it was deeply endearing to him. He loved how passionate you were, the way you chased after your goals with fire and focus. It was one of his favorite things about you, and he felt as though that list might be growing longer by the day.

Your monologue about your research proposal gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his meal, so that by the time you had come to the end of your explanation, Frankie was dropping his fork into the now-empty container and leaning back in his chair, pleasantly full and satisfied.

“Oh,” you gasped, seeming to come back to yourself as you took in his relaxed posture, the little smile on his face. “Wow, I really just went on and on there, huh? Sorry about that, I guess I get a little overexcited about my research.”

“Don’t apologize. I like how fired up about it you get, it’s cute.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a little too honest, a little too real, and Frankie braced himself for the shift in your demeanor that was sure to follow. The awkwardness, the clear discomfort at the too-personal words from your employer. But it never came. Instead, your cheeks darkened under his gaze, a flush spreading down your neck and disappearing into the neckline of your oversized T-shirt.

“You…you think I’m cute?” you stammered, voice a bit breathless in a way that had him shifting in his seat, and he felt a fresh flush of sweat bead up on his forehead, just under the brim of his ballcap, at the sound.

He needed to blow you off, he knew. He needed to make an excuse for the comment, turn it into something mindless, something shallow and impersonal, if he wanted to point this conversation back in the right direction.

“‘Course, cariño,” he said instead. “Who wouldn’t? Might be an old man these days, but I’m not dead yet.”

What was wrong with him?

You blinked back at him for a moment, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in surprise at the confession, but then you were smiling, something almost…flirtatious in the curve of your lip as you said, “You’re not an old man, Frankie. You’re…experienced.”

Oh, fuck him.

This was a dangerous path the two of you were walking, and in that moment, Frankie wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the eventual destination or the fact that you seemed more than willing to travel it with him.

If he was ever going to make it back to safety, he needed to switch gears. Now.

“How about that activity?” he said quickly. “You gonna show me what you and Mila got up to all day?”

Drawing back from where you had started to lean toward him across the table, you shook your head a bit, as though the question had brought you back to yourself. He watched as the softness and the want in your eyes dissipated, and though he mourned it, he knew it was for the best. The two of you had come too close to crossing that line tonight. You both needed to regain your footing a bit.

“Sure. Actually, it should make for a good dessert.” Getting to your feet once more, you crossed to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, pulling three medium-sized plastic containers from its depths. The clear plastic fogged up the moment it hit the outside air, obscuring their contents, but Frankie didn’t have to wait for long to see what was inside. A moment later, you spread the three containers out on the kitchen table in front of him and began removing their lids.

Inside the containers was a selection of perfectly chopped, completely frozen fruit. The two of you had clearly used some creatively-shaped cutters to prepare the fruit, as some of the chunks were shaped like little hearts, others looked like tiny stars, and still others looked as though a cutter in the shape of a bunny head had been used. One container held little hunks of bright red watermelon in a full assortment of unique shapes, another boasted chunks of pineapple, also uniquely prepared, and in the last container, a medley of green and red grapes had been halved down the center for easy eating.

“What tastes better on a hot day than fresh fruit?” you asked cheerily. “We cut it up together out on the patio first thing this morning so it would have time to freeze. Mila wanted me to tell you that she did the watermelon because it’s pink and that’s her favorite.”

Frankie glanced up at you, meeting your eyes over the frosty containers. “That sounds about right,” he chuckled.

“I ended up having to hose down the concrete by the time we were done, but it made a great snack when it got miserable out. She was going back and forth between the sprinkler and her bowl on the patio all afternoon.”

He grinned at the image you painted, thinking of his little girl in her pink bathing suit, wild brown ringlets wet and clinging to her scalp, grass sticking to her feet as she danced through the spray of the sprinkler, darting back to grab a hunk of watermelon or a frozen grape, the juice dripping from her little fingers.

“Help yourself,” you encouraged, sitting back down across from him. “I’ll have some with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Shouldn’t I…grab us some forks?”

You shrugged, that fucking grin making its way back onto your face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

And with that, you fluttered your fingertips over the container of frozen grapes, plucked one from the pile, and slipped it into your mouth with a satisfied sigh. You might have started chatting then, might have begun asking him if he had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend and offered a summary of yours in return, but Frankie hardly heard a word of it. He was too preoccupied with your…snacking.

The plushness of your lips, the little peek of your slick, pink tongue each time you opened them, the way you seemed to allow the fruit to linger in your mouth as it defrosted. Heart-shaped watermelon had pale pink juice spilling out of the corner of your mouth, making it halfway down your chin before you delicately swiped it away with the tip of your middle finger. A pineapple star had you smiling softly as you enjoyed the burst of tartness over your tastebuds.

And those grapes.

Those goddamn fucking grapes, with their slick, frosty skin and their subtle, gentle sweetness – those you softly, almost absently traced over the seam of your lips before slipping them inside. Like you were savoring the sensation unconsciously, like the cool wetness of them quenched something in you that you weren’t even aware required attention. They made your mouth glisten in the low light, the shine of it so tempting he was certain that he hadn’t looked away from it in several minutes now.

In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to get ahold of himself. There was no way you hadn’t noticed; he had to be making you uncomfortable by now. But he just…couldn’t. God, you looked good enough to eat, with your messy hair and your sun-pinked cheeks and your bright eyes and your soft, bare legs.

A droplet of sweat traveled down the side of his face, streaking down his temple, his jaw, his neck.

Your mouth looked cool, and it looked sweet.

“…Frankie?”

Frankie startled at the sound of his name on your tongue, and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes instantly, a wicked flush blazing up the back of his neck and over his skull in mortification. Shit, you had noticed him staring, this was such a major fuck-up –

“Hm? What’s that, cariño?” His voice came out weak and raspy, like his throat had gone dry, and he cleared it loudly.

“I was saying, you don’t want any of the fruit?” You looked him over with wide, innocent eyes, and for the first time, Frankie realized that he hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Uh. A-Actually, I think I might be too full at the moment,” he stammered, bringing a hand up to pat himself across the belly in excuse.

The little confused quirk of your head told him immediately that you didn’t believe him. Scooting your chair across the hardwood floor, you came to sit directly next to him and gently scolded, “Frankie, you’ve been out working in this heat all night. You need to rehydrate. Here, you have room for a few pieces. Open up, okay?”

One of those slick, dewy grape halves appeared between your thumb and forefinger then, and the next thing he knew, you were holding it out to him. Not to take with his own hand, but to eat. It was a mere hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

Unable to formulate a suitable protest, his brain suddenly feeling rather detached from his body, all Frankie could do was drop his jaw and allow you to slip the fruit inside.

The pads of your fingers touched the soft, sensitive skin of his lower lip, and that was when he was certain that not only had his brain seemingly walked away on its own, it had turned fully off. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why the moment he registered the delicate touch, he immediately seized your wrist in one of his fists, dragging your fingers fully into his mouth.

A loud, feminine gasp met his ears as he swiped his tongue between your fingertips, stealing the frozen fruit from your grasp, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth to squash it, and quickly swallowing it down. His tongue returned to your skin, lapping at the frost and the condensation and the delicate, sweet juices coating your fingertips, and he watched as your eyes glazed over at the sensation. Your wrist went limp in his grasp, your fingers pliant, never once attempting to withdraw, and the ball of heat that had been brewing in his gut all night suddenly reached a fever pitch as he realized that you liked this.

Cock twitching in his jeans, he drew your fingers from his mouth. Both his eyes and yours followed the fine trail of saliva that stretched from his lip to the tip of your index finger, and he heard your swallow heavily at the sight.

“Frankie,” you whispered weakly.

And then his restraint abandoned him just as his mind had, and before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping your face and dragging you bodily to meet him in a hard, messy kiss.

Francisco Morales kissed like he did everything else – with intention, with competence, and with a raw, simmering fire that lingered just below the surface just waiting to be unveiled. To be stoked. To be nurtured.

The presence of that fire had your squirming in your seat, had your neck bending back on your shoulders in submission to the intensity of his assault. His thumbs, long and thick, pressed into your jaw from either side, wrenching you open, and his tongue slipped inside, immediately seeking your own with a desperation that drew a soft, muffled moan from your throat. Your own hands flew to the sweat-damp collar of his polo, and you dug your fingers into the fabric, holding him, keeping him just as fiercely as he kept you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, pulsed between your thighs, growing sensitive and tender there when wetness bloomed.

With a low, rasping groan, Frankie broke the kiss and began tracing his prominent nose across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, down your bare neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet, querida. Cold and…delicious and…perfect.”

Punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his voice rough and raw and sounding like the confession had been dragged from his chest against his will, it was enough to have sweat breaking out on the back of your neck, behind your knees, at the base of your spine.

“Frankie,” you breathed, threading your grip into his hair, curling his dark brown locks around your fingers, scraping along his scalp. “Please – ”

His hands dropped from your jaw then, sweeping around the width of your hips and hauling you into his lap. Instinctually, your thighs spread to bracket his waist, the weight of you coming to rest on his spread-legged lap, and you couldn’t help but moan at the thick, hard press of him against the softness of your cunt.

“This okay, baby?” he murmured against your skin, nuzzling against the neckline of your shirt, broad palms dragging down over your ass to hold you down, press you to him.

You whimpered and felt your body going soft, warm, and pliant beneath his touch. “Mm hm!” Hips hitching, grinding against him of their own accord, you pulled his face back up to meet yours, smothering your own gasps and whines in his mouth.

It didn’t last long, however. After a few quick licks against your tongue, Frankie pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and knocking his Standard Oil cap to the floor.

“Uh uh, need to hear the words, cariño. Won’t do anything you don’t want me doing.” Wrapping his fingers around your messy bun, he angled your face down so that your heavy-lidded eyes met his. “I’ll ask you again. You want me touching you? You want me to make you feel good?”

Your eyes drifted shut, your mind gone warm and hazy. God, the things this man did to you. Did he know how long you had wanted this? How hard you had fought against it? He couldn’t know. If he did, he would never ask such a question.

“Yes, please, Frankie,” you gasped, nodding against his hold, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yes, please, what, bebita?” You could hear a smirk in his voice now, and the sound had you flushing down to the tips of your toes, a fresh rush of wetness soaking your panties as you squirmed against him.

Tucking your face against his sweaty neck, you whispered, “Please…please make me feel good.”

Frankie was on his feet in an instant, boosting you into his arms in a move that had your stomach dropping down through your abdomen both in shock and in arousal. He backed you into the table, your hips bumping into the wooden edge, and the snap of pain had a brief flash of clarity flying through your lust-filled brain fog.

“Frankie, my books – ”

The older man swore under his breath – “fuck, right” – before changing course, bringing you instead over to the arm of the peninsula that extended out into the room from the edge of the kitchen. Kicking one of the two barstools out of the way, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the countertop before dragging you down for another kiss.

He ate at your mouth like a man starved, sucking on your lips, dragging his teeth across your skin, licking against the roof of your mouth. It was wet, sloppy, and so hot, his desperation contagious, encouraging you to match him caress for caress. No one had ever kissed you like this, like the kissing was the main event rather than a means to an end. Frankie kissed like that was the entire point, and it had you melting against the counter. You were dripping through your shorts now, you were sure of it.

“Can taste all that fruit on your tongue. Sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “But I can think of at least one other thing that might be even sweeter.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your boss was going to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

“Lean back, bebita.” The words were spoken against your cheeks, brushed into your skin by the suddenly tender touch of his lips, the rasp of his whiskers, the press of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, releasing your hold on his broad shoulders and sinking back onto your elbows. The granite was cool to the touch, sending goosebumps along your arms and down your spine, but the sensation was a welcome one after the oppressive heat of the day, the heat of his body on yours.

His palms snaked beneath the hem of your T-shirt, bunching it up onto your belly to reveal the waistband of your shorts. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic without preamble, he murmured, “Lift your hips a bit for me, baby.” Again, you obeyed without question, and with a few short tugs, Frankie pulled both your shorts and your slick-stained panties down your legs to drop to the hardwood floor.

You felt a fierce blush flare in your cheeks, spreading down your neck and chest with a speed that had you gasping for air. The ceiling fan over the kitchen table – you could feel its breeze from here, the cool rush of air instantly pulling a shiver from you as it hit your wet, swollen pussy. You kept yourself bare in the summer, finding it easier and less stressful whenever you wanted to wear a swimsuit, and laid out like this on display, thighs spread around Frankie’s broad body, the cold fan hitting your most vulnerable skin, you couldn’t help but feel a bit…overexposed. The reality of your situation hit you like a freight train, and you found yourself fighting the urge to snap your legs closed against the eyes of your boss.

It was as though Frankie could read your mind. Not a moment after the thought occurred to you, you felt his big hands clamp onto your thighs and pull them apart even wider.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he tutted, and you risked a glance at his face only to find him staring intently down at your cunt. “You been walking around my house with a naked pussy like this all summer, baby? Dirty girl.” His dark brown eyes had gone almost black with lust, his irises only a faint ring around his wide pupils, and in a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious, he darted the tip of his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. He looked utterly fascinated. Entranced. Hungry. The sight had your walls clenching around nothing, and you watched him watch that happen with an eagerness that had you moaning aloud.

When he spoke again, he was a man in thrall. “‘M gonna eat this pretty pussy now, querida. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? Don’t wanna wake Mila.”

You nodded, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth preemptively. This man was going to have you screaming, you just knew it. Flicking his gaze up to yours for just a moment, he grinned wickedly at the sight.

“That’s a good girl, baby,” he whispered, and then his face was in your cunt, and you felt your every coherent thought fly out the window.

If Frankie had thought that your mouth tasted sweet, your tongue like candy, then your pussy was fruit on the vine, straight from the vineyard, drenched in sunshine. It was hot, deep, and rich, earthy and tangy and drugging, like a late summer afternoon, like a hazy day in August. This had always been one of his favorite things to do with women, one of his favorite ways to please them, and never �� not once – had it ever been like this. From the moment his tongue touched your delicate, dripping folds, he knew – there would be no going back from this. Not for him. He couldn’t experience something like this and not crave it every day for the rest of his life.

He started with soft, light strokes with tip of his tongue, tracing just the very edges of your lips from down near your entrance all the way to the top of your mound. Then again, slowly pressing deeper but never with any more than the faintest pressure. Even so, you responded instantly, a panting, high-pitched whine sounding behind the press of your palm over your mouth. Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, to draw him further into you, but he had one of his arms bracketing the span of your hips before you could make much progress.

Driving you firmly into the countertop, he held your knees open with the breadth of his shoulders and boldly dragged the flat of his tongue through your folds. “Keep quiet, now, bebita. I’m gonna take care of you.”

With that, Frankie felt himself begin to disappear, to melt into you from his position between your legs. Your soft thighs bracketing his shoulders, your heels digging into his back, your pussy, so soft, so hot, so sweet as you dissolved beneath his tongue. You were drooling for him, your clenching, grasping hole fluttering against his tongue every time he passed over it, your clit swollen and throbbing under the suction of his lips. You had collapsed back against the countertop now, one hand still pressed firmly over your mouth, the other burying itself in his hair, anchoring him to your body with a strength he found both surprising and wildly attractive. And with every lick, every suck, every vibration of a moan that spilled from his mouth into your flesh, he could feel you drawing higher, tighter, deeper.

He knew what you needed. He knew what would get you there.

Tucking his free hand beneath his chin, Frankie slipped one, then two thick fingers into the tight, velvety clutch of your cunt.

You shot up off the counter, your torso curling around his head, your hand in his hair fisting the strands roughly in your overwhelm. Sharp bolts of pain erupted across his scalp, but it was a welcome sensation, somehow grounding in its intensity. He smirked against your folds, sealing his lips around your puffy clit and rolling the little nub around with his tongue. At the same time, he pressed gently, insistently against the front wall of your cunt, applying steady friction and pressure with both fingertips.

A faint whimper slipped from you at that, muffled by your palm but not silent, and Frankie felt himself preen. God, he loved this. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna let me feel her gush around my fingers? On my tongue? Hm?”

The hand on your mouth fell away, joining the one in his hair as you began to tremble beneath him. “Frankie,” you whined. “‘M gonna – you’re gonna make me – ”

“I know, baby, I know.” He kept his fingers right where they were, shallow thrusts, firm pressure right where you needed it most. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Ducking his head back down to your clit, he resumed the combination of gentle suction and firm, long strokes that had driven you wild.

And just like clockwork, your thighs began to shake against his shoulders. Your abdomen clenched beneath his forearm. Your slick, soft walls clamped down around his fingers. A weak, breathless sound – “ah” – burst from your throat, and then you were coming. A rush of your wetness dripped down his fingers, coating his hand, pooling in the cup of his palm as you pulsed and fluttered around him, and Frankie could feel your poor, abused little clit twitching against his tongue. He worked you through it, slowing down a bit but not stopping, prolonging the torment just a bit longer. Only when your two hands buried in his hair started to shove against him, pushing him away, did he relent, and even then, it took him an extra few seconds to be willing to slip his fingers from your body.

Looking up into your face, Frankie felt a wash of joy and contentment pass over him. You were positively glowing – your skin flushed and ever-so-slightly sweaty, your hair wild and mussed, your T-shirt bunched up above your belly button, so much of your perfect softness on display. And you were grinning like a fool, your eyes showing your fatigue but your smile brighter than he had ever seen. You looked at him with a gentleness, an affection that had his heart clenching in his chest, and he was certain that his expression was much the same.

It had been years since he had felt this way about anyone, and even then, he wasn’t certain it could compare.

When you sat up and slipped from the counter, it was a slow and lazy affair, assisted by his firm grip and his steady arms to help keep you upright. The moment your feet hit the floor, you reached for his belt with a question in your eyes, to which Frankie responded, “Not tonight, querida. Tonight was about you.” You seemed somewhat disappointed by that response, but you didn’t push it. Instead, you simply pulled his head down for a kiss, which he gladly obliged. You sighed into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to take back what he had just said, to drag your hands back down to his belt buckle and allow you to proceed as you wished.

But no.

It was late. You needed to get home and get to sleep, and he needed to wash off the heat of the day before passing out in his own bed. There would be a little girl busting down his door at 7:00 AM tomorrow whether he was ready for her or not, and you would be back in this very kitchen by 8:00 eager to share a cup of coffee with too-sweet creamer before he left for work.

So, like the gentleman that he wasn’t certain that he was, Frankie helped you slip back into your little shorts, pack your overflowing bookbag, and carry your things out to your car.

You turned to him one last time before you slipped into the driver’s seat, a soft if uncertain smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Mr. Morales – Frankie, I…” You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “Thank you. For tonight.”

His heart melted at your words, the quiet, hesitating way you said them. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to from you, you who always seemed to have it all together, you who matched his advances beat for beat, never wavering. “Don’t need to thank me, baby. I wanted to. You take such good care of me, of Mila. You deserved it.” Releasing a deep, trembling breath, he added, “And…I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’ll let me.”

“That depends,” you replied.

“Yeah? On what?”

Your soft, sweet smile morphed into something sharper then, something with more intent. “On if you’ll let me return the favor. It’s like you said…I want to.”

Frankie couldn’t have reigned in the grin that split his face then if he tried. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, he said, “‘Course, cariño. I’m not done with your sweetness just yet.”

#happypedrohours #happy pedro hours #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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kedsandtubesocks · 4 months ago

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game changer (national league)

MLB catcher!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

summary: it’s your boyfriend’s first big game on his new team & you can’t wait to see what fun the match holds for you and your favorite player

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, baseball AU, light use of gendered language, good cozy fluff, lovesick & sweet!Frankie, competency kink, smutty thoughts, spicy themes, light mask & outfit kink, car sex, heavy making out, oral (f receiving), allusion to p in v, eventual!husband Frankie, lots of baseball talk

word count: 2.9k

a/n: yeah didn’t think I’d ever make a new baseball story for another Pedro boy but I’m on that World Series championship celebration high so here we are LMAO, thanks to @tonysopranosrobe my darling for always dealing with my sports ass (ily forever Han) & to @jolapeno for always being the best Frankie enabler i could ever scream with (I adore you Jo) - and to anyone who decides to read please know I appreciate you thank you so much ♡

This is Frankie’s first season catching as a Los Angeles Dodger. You thought he’d be playing for Miami until he eventually retired. But baseball is still a strange sport, an almost chaotic rush of chess at times with pieces switching all around.

“A team still wants me even when I’m about to turn thirty nine. So fuck, yeah I’ll take it.” Frankie had joked then, but you knew, even for his age, he’s considered one of the league’s best veteran players.

Then before the trade was finalized, Frankie sat you down and told you he might be moving to LA.

“This means…we really might not be seeing each other as often.” He muttered. “But I can maybe try to see if Tampa can be an option.”

He was willing to find a way to stay in Florida for you. Even though you were a bit heartbroken he was leaving, you couldn’t let him pass up on this amazing deal and new opportunity.

The gentle cooling California breeze now flutters all around. You won’t be able to make many trips out here often, but you wanted to at least be here for the first home game to support your favorite baseball player.

You first were introduced to Frankie at your best friend’s cookout. You had met her cousins Benny and his brother Will before. You were instead being introduced to all their friends, including the very handsome Santiago who insisted you call him Pope.

However, it was Frankie who stole your heart that day.

You and him had accidentally walked into each other, causing your drink to spill on him. Frantic, and so embarrassingly apologetic, you immediately went to wipe away your mess.

“I gotta admit… I’ve been trying to work up the confidence to talk to you. Guess the universe helped me out a bit.” Frankie had shyly said, and his words sent your heart fluttering.

It was an effortlessly sweet introduction after that, filled with easy small talk. When you asked what he did for work, Frankie explained he worked at the stadium for the Miami Marlins.

“Oh that’s cool!” You had said bright, but Benny just as bright yelled out -

“It’s cause he fucking plays there!”

Frankie had blushed furious, cussing angrily in Spanish at Benny. But what Benny said was true.

Frankie, very humbled and almost embarrassed, confirmed he did in fact play for the Marlins.

“But I’m just a water boy.” He added with a boyish grin.

“He’s a fucking liar! He’s one of the league’s best catchers!” Pope had then yelled proud.

You became friends with Frankie that day, but you also quickly learned about Francisco Morales.

Professional Major League Baseball player Francisco Morales.

That very first day you met Frankie your knowledge of baseball was bare bones.

Now, as his girlfriend, he jokes how hot it is hearing you talk about the game with him or anyone else.

It’s how you’re able to mingle with the others in the large friends and family suite for the team now. The food of course is delicious, and everyone warmly welcomes you. But you want to be by the action when the game starts.

You need to be near your guy.

Frankie’s job as a catcher has him sitting behind home plate.

A catcher is an intense position. They’re the one person during the game that has full eyes on the field. They alone protect home plate and sometimes call pitches for the pitcher to throw. The catcher is even argued to be the commander of the field. Catchers need to be solid, almost a rock like foundation for their team.

“I only started playing catcher in high school ‘cause our team’s catcher got suspended, and they needed someone, so I just did it.” Frankie had told you with a shrug.

To you though, Frankie seemed born to be a catcher.

Even as quietly warm and playful your Frankie can be, he holds a stead quiet diligence. Always watching, protective of those he cares for. He’s hardworking and incredibly resilient.

However, there was a joke you read about catchers being stubborn because what person willingly and stubbornly sits in the same position game after game. You can greatly agree to the hidden stubborn streak Frankie holds, like stubbornly telling you he was going to fix your ceiling fan and then getting pissy when you had Benny simply do it for you.

But stubborn or not, Frankie has been the most perfect and openly communicative partner. Even with the long distance between you and him, he has always been a phone call away. He even stepped away from a pregame warm up when you called him crying and upset.

Your heart tries not to burst just thinking about him.

Then you catch a glimpse of him sliding his protective mask on, and your throat gets dry.

The first time you went to a game and witnessed Frankie in full catcher mode, you almost didn’t think it was him. The mask covered his face most of the time and the gear almost made him seem bigger.

It’s been many games since that first match, yet he still takes your breath away.

The mask covers most of his face, but you can still catch peaks of him. It does something to you knowing it’s him beneath it.

Now he takes the field in his new lovely blue catcher’s gear.

The chest guard extenuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. And if you thought baseball pants did amazing things for men’s legs and butts, the catcher’s leg guards highlight Frankie’s gloriously thick thighs and study legs.

Pride absolutely courses through you watching him behind the plate and warming up with the dodger’s pitcher.

“Come on, catfish!” Someone from the crowd even yells his famous nickname, and your lips twitch fondly.

With your Morales jersey on, you cheer loud and exhilarated when the game starts.

Frankie is unwavering behind the plate, rarely letting any wild pitch get past him. He earns the love of his new team fast.

Especially when he goes up to bat.

The walk up song he picked to play in the stadium is Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog, and the crowd cheers electrified when it booms loud over the speakers.

As hot as Frankie looks in his catcher’s gear, seeing him in the base uniform, with his batter’s helmet on, working on his swing just amplifies the strength of his shoulder and amazing arms - you’re in awe of how absolutely gorgeous he is.

He ends up striking out, but you still cheer loud and with reassurance.

“Looking good, Morales!” You even scream, and you swear you see his lips twitch fighting a grin.

The Cardinals take the lead fast with two runs. The game becomes a slow claw to catch up. By the fifth the score hasn’t changed with St. Louis leading. But then the bats get hot and the dodgers manage to get on the board to tie.

The game heads to the bottom of the eight inning and the atmosphere dances electrified with the hope of a chance.

Eventually two players get on base with two outs, a very dangerous situation.

And Frankie goes up to bat.

You along with the rest of your section close by the field stand to cheer him and the rest of the team on.

This is a chance to score.

The first pitch comes too high.

The second speeds in, a sharp inside pitch that has Frankie swinging a strike.

It stings, but it’s a good swing. Plus there’s still time, more pitches. You reassuringly rally behind Frankie hoping just an inch of your words reach him among the buzz of the game.

The pitcher throws the next pitch, a wild breaking ball.

Frankie swings. The bat hits the ball with a rattling whack sending it zooming right along the first base line.

The stadium erupts wild. You scream watching Frankie run to first then watching a player run in, scoring the run. Francisco’s hit brought in the lead.

Your favorite player now on first base screams jubilant and punches the air elated.

The excitement of seeing Frankie bring the run in, seeing him so exuberant…it’s a moment coated in a glimmering confetti that cements into your soul.

The start of the ninth inning comes, and Frankie emerges behind the plate, your armored hero.

If the Dodgers manage to hold the Cardinals, they’ll win.

Each pitch, each play, has you on the edge of your seat.

At one point the batter for St. Louis hits a foul ball. Frankie flips off his mask, allowing for sight to catch the ball.

Of course the ball soared over the net into the stands unable for him to maybe catch it. But without his catcher mask on, you’re rewarded a glimpse of his gorgeous face.

Frankie’s traditional catcher’s helmet keeps his hair flat, hidden, but it highlights his strong features, that beautiful nose of his and his perfectly classic scruffy Frankie beard.

Then seeing him covered in sweat, your mind can’t help but flash to images of him in bed sweaty, his face blissed out and panting. Your mouth waters just thinking about your tongue dragging across his sweaty neck and tasting the salt of him-

You immediately snap yourself of the too heated thoughts when the crowd yells upset at a bad call.

With a runner on base now and two outs, the tension piles on as dread trickles in.

Soon enough the cardinal’s batter makes a solid hit. The ball gets fired up high in the air.

Then center field rushes in and catches the ball.

Game over.

Dodgers win.

The stadium overflows with excited pride, and you happily embrace the atmosphere in all its warmth.

You don’t move from your spot, too hypnotized by Frankie who beams with the brightest smile while he celebrates with his new teammates.

You feel prouder than ever to wear his jersey.

The third baseman's wife, who you clicked with earlier, brightly tells you to follow her so she can show you to the locker room. You readily go.

Excitement electrifies every inch of the place. Even though you feel slightly awkward being here for the first time, no one seems to pay you attention.

Until you hear someone shout your name.

When you turn to spot Frankie, he's in gear looking intimidating and sexy wearing his chest guard and protective leg gear. Heading down from the dugout, your catcher rushes over to you. Like a magnet, almost like sensing a tug at your soul, you instantly move towards him.

Frankie collides into you solid, all encompassing as he gathers you into your arms squeezing you tight.

“You need to get out of your gear, Morales!” You laugh.

“It’s fine. Bebita, you’re gonna have to keep coming to the games now. I’ve told ya, you’re my good luck charm.” Frankie’s voice sounds like the bright sun from today’s game still shines brilliantly in it.

You hug him back, spilling nothing but praise.

“You were amazing! I’m so proud of you!” You gush.

You’re already thinking of how to celebrate.

“Marry me.” Frankie says simply that you think you maybe misheard him.

“Frankie honey, what?” Curiosity has you about pulling away from his grasp. Instead Frankie clutches onto you even more.

He says your name. “I…fuck I don’t have the ring with me here, and I know just sprang this up but-“

“You wanna marry me?” Your voice wavers, cutting him off.

You and him have talked about the future, a tentative slow swim treading the possible waters. Frankie’s mentioned buying an apartment together. He’s made the joke, lightly teasing, about you one day becoming a baseball wife.

You had held onto all these small edges of hope. It now all unfurls beautifully overwhelming.

“Yeah baby, but only if you’ll have me.” Frankie nods, his voice thick as he finally draws back out of your arms to get down on one knee.

You wonder if this is a dream you’ve slipped into.

Asking this still in uniform is so Frankie, and your eyes spill over with tears. You nod yes, and your favorite baseball catcher springs to life bolting up to kiss you.

You forgot you’re still in a very open and public setting until all the gasps and excited claps fill the space.

Taking it all in stride you warmly laugh it off letting Frankie hold you close to his side. His eyes even shimmer, precious earth stones.

The evening feels soaked in joy like a beautiful watercolor dream.

You urge your favorite baseball player to go eat dinner with his team, celebrate. But he leans down to whisper in your ear -

“I wanna eat my fiancée’s pussy for dinner.”

Your knees almost give out that second.

Frankie and you barely make it to his truck before he’s drawing you into the backseat, clawing at you, frantically. And you’re just as bad.

You want him inside you. But as promised, Frankie maneuvers you to sit up for him to crawl between your legs. The position is cramped, but you could care less.

Your sweet Frankie, who normally loves to take his time, tear you apart with the most focused and patient ease, now is replaced by a man wild who grips your thighs so tight and laps at your clit messy. You come ridiculously fast on his skilled fingers and feverish tongue feasting on you.

You whine unbearably needy for him, can't go on anymore without him inside of you.

Frankie shifts to sit on the back seat and keep you close while you slide on top of his cock. His stretch in you rips a fire up your spine and you moan as your eyes close.

“Mi amor, my future wife.” Frankie’s voice fills the heated sweaty space with a gilded reverence, and you scramble to kiss him.

Your future husband.

You were slightly worrie about Frankie being tried from his game, but the way he frantically fucks up into you reminds you of a man compeltely possessed. His hands grab you as if he’s worried you’ll float away.

“God, I fucking love you…gonna marry you,” Frankie mumbles, pussy drunk.

You feel just as drunk and reborn as he does, melting into this love.

Your climax knocks you breathless, a blazing star, and Frankie is not far behind.

You don’t move off him and with the way his arms tighten around you, he’s alright with you staying simply close to him as possible.

“You said you had a ring?” You ask tentatively, running your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Frankie chuckles. “Bought it the day after you face timed me about that cute dog you saw at the store.”

That was a year ago. Your heart feels like it’s blooming a new world right in your chest, and you curl closer into him.

“Thought about proposing to you when I picked you up at the airport yesterday, but you were so tired baby.” He softly says, his hands a warm cocoon around you.

“And today…fuck seeing you cheering in the stands, hearing you. It just got me to more.”

Curiously, you ask what he means.

Frankie, confident as he is on the field, is still so shy, especially now as he burrows his face into your shoulder.

“I mean…I just want to see you at every game. Wanna come home to you. Then just thinking about that, and seeing you wearing my jersey, maybe having it as your last name-”

You rush to kiss him quickly, overtaken by so much adoration and love for this man. The thought had come once, or twice, about being a Morales yourself. You even tell him that.

“Yeah, you ready to be mine officially?” His voice drops low and silky.

You nod moving to kiss his cheek, then rest your face against his.

A soft moment passes while his warm hands rub against every inch of you he can reach.

“Know it’s still early to even talk about wedding shit or living arrangements, but just wanna take care of you, that’s all.” Frankie says firm. “I’ve joked about it but… you could quit your job tomorrow, move out here this weekend, and I’d be fucking over the moon. But I also want you to have your own path too.”

You think of Frankie, your stable ever loving and giving Francisco. His heart shines beautiful right here, right now. It’s like a live wire dances on your skin. Everything still feels intense. Maybe the sensation and rawness of becoming engaged has your mind feeling deliciously fuzzy.

“Just want you Frankie, that’s all.” You breathe those words letting them sink past your bones.

You softly kiss him, love sick syrupy drunk again.

It’s a promise to talk about this more later, about the possibility of living among the California weather with your future husband, it’s a dream you want to soak in.

But it summons up another dream, a sticky hot desire that crawls its way up.

“You remember that fantasy I told you about?” So dazed and in love, your thoughts slip out.

Frankie groans clutching onto you tighter.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he sighs. “Trying to fuck me in my gear, before a game.”

“Yeah but that was before when I was just your girlfriend.” You coo already feeling your body slowly roll against him.

“As your wife maybe I could-”

Frankie swiftly cuts you off, kissing you so fast that it rattles your bones, and it’s beautiful.

You laugh feeling like maybe you’re the one who truly won tonight.

#WE WON IT ALL SO THIS IS ME STILL CELEBRATING IM SORRY!! if you’re reading this know you’re a true champ & me and baseball frankie love you #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #baseball player!frankie #game changer series #frankie morales fic #Frankie 🤎

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 months ago

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My First, My Last, My Always - a PedroStories Secret Santa Exchange Event

Pairing: Francisco “Frankie” Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 2751

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: @prolix-yuy My beloved LJ - when I got your name, I literally squeed! And then felt an immediate sense of “omg will I be able to write something worthy of her?” I thought and thought about what to write for you and then I had it. I have had this idea for a Frankie fic since I started posting back in late 2021, but I’d never written it. I even had a name for it and a plot line! Now I know it’s because I was saving it for you. Have a very happy whatever you celebrate and know that not only are you extremely talented, you are one of the nicest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.

**This is for the @pedrostories Secret Santa exchange event!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

I met Frankie when we were 5. I had just moved to the neighborhood, in the middle of summer. Which meant no school, so no way to make friends. A few days later, as my parents were unpacking, I sat on the couch, leaning on the back of it to stare out the front window. To my surprise, on the front porch of the house across the street from me sat a boy. He had his head in his hands and looked a little sad and lonely, his brown hair and loose curls sticking at odd angles, like he had woken up and come outside.

“Mom, can I go say hi to the boy across the street?” I ask, already getting off the couch.

My dad glances through the front window, seeing the boy on the steps. “Sure. See if he wants to play soccer.” He tosses me a soccer ball that he had just unpacked, which I miss.

I grab it and head outside, walking straight towards the boy. He doesn’t seem to pay me any mind until I’m on his lawn. He looks up at me, furiously wiping at his eyes.

“Hi!” I say, smiling at him.

“H-hi,” he replies, his eyebrows furrowing together.

We sat there in silence for a few moments. “Do you want to play soccer?”

He sniffs. “Yeah, sure.” He stands, coming to meet me in his yard. We end up just kicking the ball back and forth for a minute. His shoulders are still slumped, like he’s carrying something heavy. I stop the ball with my foot, taking a step closer to him.

“Are you ok?” I ask, my face full of concern.

“ ‘m fine,” he mumbles.

“It’s ok if you’re sad. I am too,” I confess. He looks at me, cocking his head.

“You’re sad?”

I nod. “Yeah. We just moved here. My dad got a new job. I had to leave my friends.”

He nods. “Sorry about your friends.”

I shrug. “Thanks. So are you ok?”

He looks at his house and then back at me, coming closer. “I don’t even know you.”

I tell him my name. “But call me Rea.”

“Frankie….my parents fight a lot. Sometimes it’s too loud. I come out here to get some quiet.”

“Oh. Well, if you want, you can come over to my house whenever you need to get away.”

His eyes widen, filling with a light I hadn’t seen yet. “I can? You mean it?”

I nod, a smile forming on my face. “Yeah! We can play games, my mom makes great snacks, and my dad is building me a treehouse soon!”

From that day on, Frankie and I were inseparable. We lucked out in being placed in the same classroom that fall, Frankie taking me on a tour of the school. He told me what bathrooms were stinky and what kids were mean. He came over pretty much every day, my parents taking an immediate liking to him when I came back home with him. I did overhear them saying something about that poor boy, but they never complained. Frankie was there for family game night, pizza night, and movie nights. My parents took him to the county fair with us, the zoo, and our weekly trips to the library, where I would get every book they had on drawing and Frankie would pick out books on flying. He once told me he wanted to be a pilot.

Middle school is pretty much the first time we spent away from each other, since some of our classes were different. He took shop and I took art, trying to hone my skills as an artist as it brought me so much joy. I don’t know how I would’ve survived middle school without his presence, his strength to help me through a really rough transition time. He would claim it was all me supporting him, but I think we just work well together.

In 8th grade, Frankie came over for pizza night as usual, us heading out into our treehouse after to hangout and watch a movie on a tv I had carted up there with a long extension cord. It had a vhs player in it and so we would watch whatever we could rent. We settled down and got comfortable, a bowl of popcorn between us.

“Hey, Rea?” Frankie looks nervous, not quite looking at me.

“Yeah?” My words are garbled because of the popcorn in my mouth.

He clears his throat, still not looking at me. “Have you kissed anyone yet?”

I stop chewing. I had wondered if the boys talked like the girls, as that’s all they could talk about. Kissing boys. I hadn’t thought about it at all, until it felt like I was the only girl who hadn’t kissed anyone yet.

“Uh…no. You?” My stomach fluttered like it had butterflies in it and I didn’t know why.

“N-no.” We sat there for a moment, the movie continuing on in the background. “Maybe we could kiss each other? So we could say we did it?”

My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. I hadn’t felt like this before, other than the time Frankie took my hand at the fair and guided me through the haunted mansion that we’d been through a dozen times a few weeks back.

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah.”

Frankie sits up, finally looking at me. “You sure? I just thought since we knew each other it wouldn’t be weird.”

I sit up too. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

After a few awkward body shifts, he pressed his lips to mine and the butterflies in my stomach went wild. And when he broke the kiss I’ll admit, I was more than a little sad. His face still close to mine, he gave me a small smile, those dimples on display.

“There. Now we’ve each kissed someone.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that first kiss was when things changed, I think. We started high school that next year, our schedules separating us further. Frankie joined ROTC (Reserve Officer’s Training Corps) and I joined the art club, my parents surprising me with private instruction from a local artist that I admired. We still saw each other at lunch, and he was still over at our house more often than not, these days more because of whomever his mom was currently dating. But everything felt…different. I brushed it off, not knowing how to put it into words.

Then, our senior year, Frankie came to me with another proposition. Neither of us had been intimate with someone else, and who better than someone we know and trust? The boys had been talking about it and the girls had definitely been talking about it. I wasn’t against the idea of sex. I just never got around to it. So when Frankie proposed the idea at our weekly movie after pizza night, I agreed, that familiar butterflies in my stomach feeling coming flooding back.

In true Frankie fashion, he came prepared and had studied. He set up the treehouse with extra cushions and candles, putting flowers everywhere, with some music in the background. He already knew about protection and knew how to use it, shyly admitting he had asked his friend Santi how to put one on. Frankie was gentle with me, making sure I was ok as we both shared this experience. After, we laid together in the blankets, Frankie holding me to his side as his fingers traced the skin on my hip, both of us content to just be with the other.

Things didn’t technically change between us, aside from another romp or 2 in the hay, so to speak. I didn’t understand why he never asked me out until a couple months later, when he told me he signed up for the army.

“Go to college, Rea. Get that art degree and make millions off your drawings. You’re amazing.”

And while I shed many tears, I did just as he asked, even driving him to the airport on his way to basic, where he gently kissed me and told me to live my life, but don’t forget to write.

I wrote to Frankie often, chronicling my college life as he told me about his, once his time in basic training was up. We still had weekly calls where I would tell him about my drawings, and he would tell me animatedly about learning to fly helicopters and also that his friend Santi was with him too.

I was the first one he told about going for a special forces group, Delta Force, and his acceptance there. Santi’s too. Sometimes it would be a few weeks between us chatting, but I understood. He was dealing with literal life and death scenarios. Or at least preparing for them.

I picked him up every time he came home from tour, sometimes with a girl on his arm. I’ll admit the first time I saw it, a part of me envisioned leaping on the poor girl and tearing her eyes out. But I had remind myself that he was overseas and I’m sure it gets lonely and I’m glad he had someone to comfort him, no matter how much I wished it was me. I dated too after that, the longest one sticking around for about 8 months before I caught him cheating on me with his secretary. Which is incredibly cliche of him.

I eventually graduated with an art history degree, getting a job at a local art gallery and selling my own drawings on the side. It was a pretty awesome deal, getting to work and do the thing that I love. I sometimes worry it would end badly, mixing business with pleasure. But it ended up being the opposite.

Frankie and I still talked, but over the years our calls became less and less frequent. Sometimes I was away on an art bid and other times he was on a mission, gone for weeks at a time. He would still check in from time to time to at least let me know he was alive. His absence left a hole in my heart though. He was my one constant through life, the person I could share anything with, my first for a lot of things. The few words we did exchange helped me to get to the next call, which I know is unhealthy, but not matter what I did, I couldn’t fill the void he left behind.

Present Day

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” My mom asks me for the millionth time.

I chuckle into the phone. “YES mom. You guys won a cruise! Go celebrate Christmas on the high seas. I’ll come visit when you get back.”

“Well…if you’re sure. I- no! You will absolutely NOT be wearing a speedo on the cruise! Rea I have to go talk some sense into your father. We’ll call you when we get back.”

I laugh this time. “Have fun mom.” In the background before I hang up, I hear my father playfully yell. “Hey! Give me back my man panties!”

My laugh turns into a sigh as I look around my condo. I had been packing to head to my parent’s home in the morning to spend Christmas Day and a few days after with them. I unpack and head into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of steaks to rest before cooking them. I’ll make extra and then not have to cook on Christmas. Sounds like a plan to me. I make some hot chocolate and settle on my couch, a thick Christmas themed blanket thrown over my legs. I’m about to take a sip when I hear a knock at my door. I set my mug down and toss the blanket off. My neighbor is a little senile and sometimes locks herself out of her apartment. In one of her clear moments, she gave me a spare key to let her into hers, in case it was during a time when her nurse wasn’t around. I unlock the door and open it, her name poised on my lips. But instead I’m met with the biggest, brown puppy dog eyes that I’ve ever seen.

“Hey, Rea. You’re home.”

Shocked. I am stunned. “I..y-yeah. So are you?” Nice. Good one.

He smile, those dimples showing off as he rubs at the back of his head, the Standard Oil Heating cap I’d given him from our road trip across the state still on top. “Yeah.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Can I come in?”

“What? Oh. Yeah! Come in.” I step back to let him in, giving him extra space for the bag slung on his back. He sets it down just inside the door, kicking off his boots too.

“Are you ok?” I ask him, noting the scar on the bridge of his nose and a fresh cut on his cheek.

“I am now.” Silence between us, like we haven’t talked our entire lives. Although it had been a few months since I’d spoken to him, outside of my unanswered letters.

“Did you want some-” I start, hitching my thumb over my shoulder to point towards the kitchen.

“I almost died.”

A hole opened in my stomach and my heart fell right into it. “What?”

He nods, taking the cap from his head to wring it between his hands, but not before running his fingers through those soft brown curls. “I can’t give you details. Classified. But I almost died. I mean, I saved us all, but if I hadn’t moved my head…”

“Oh Frankie!” I throw my arms around him, the time that we hadn’t talked dissolving in an instant. His arms wrap around me, his face pressing into my hair.

“I love you, Rea.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

“No,” He takes a breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Those familiar butterflies that only he seems to put there come back, like they’d never left. I break the hug and take a step back, trying to look at his face. Surely he’s kidding right? This is all some joke that I don’t understand?

“We were spiraling and the engines wouldn’t cut back on and all I could think about was you. How I had this amazing friend in my life for most of my life who never judged me for where I came from or what I wore, who always supported me no matter what, who let me get pineapple on my pizza even though she hated it just because she knows I like it. She always saw me for me. And how I was so fucking stupid for never seeing it before and yet, somehow knowing I’ve been in love with you since that first kiss. I made a promise that if I got out of there alive, the first thing I’d do is come tell you, in person how I feel. And I know it’s sudden, and I know you may not even feel the same. Hell, I don’t know if you even have a boyfriend. I know I’ve been a shitty friend lately, but I-”

I grip his shirt and pull him to me, pressing my lips to his. For a moment, he doesn’t move, shocked by my reply. But then he snaps out of it, his hands coming up to cup my face as he presses his tongue against my lips. I part mine every slightly, whimpering slightly when he pushes his tongue past my lips. One hand drops from my face, outstretched behind me as he walks me backwards, his hand hitting the wall before he pushes me up against it, that same hand cupping my face again before tracing down my body to squeeze at my hip. I wrap my leg around him, pulling him closer as my fingers tangle in his soft curls. But then he pulls back, just enough to look me in the eyes.

“I take it this means you feel the same?” He’s smiling, but he’s also serious.

“I’ve been waiting for this since our first kiss. But I don’t think I understood it then.”

Frankie groans. “What a stupid couple of assholes.” We chuckle together, his nose brushing against mine.

He smiles, his eyes getting that big puppy eye look to them. “So you’ll be my first and my last?”

I smile back. “As long as you’re mine.”

Within a few months, we’re married. Our first, our last, and our always.

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