#Frankie morales Drabble

[pedrospatch]

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her. 

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I��m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up. 

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[jolalibrary]

untangling

frankie morales x f!reader

this little drabble is half my fault and half @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain — so blame the latter for why you’ve seen me post so much today.

WARNINGS: reader gets riled up watching frankie detangle a necklace, competency kink is on full form, a bit smutty, alludes to a blowjob, established relationship. written on my phone, so likely errors. word count: 1k

If only you were more careful. A thought so easy to have now, all in retrospect—the carnage of past actions held delicately between your fingers.

He says it sometimes, comments on it with a small smile when you’re clumsy—when you find yourself tumbling or walking into doorways. This is a little different, a little less clumsy and a little more careless.

Hunched over the bed, back aching, sweat beginning to build on your lower spine—just hoping it doesn’t ruin the fabric you’d slipped over your head only ten minutes ago. Because now you’re running late, behind on the time you told him.

All because you’d haphazardly thrown your necklace into your jewellery box the last time you’d worn it. Giddy, excitement building in your muscles as you stripped and rid yourself of everything that could stand in the way of feeling him. The necklace’s removal had been cautionary, not wanting it to be ruined.

The irony.

Each attempt at untangling the knot comes with a fresh, heavier exhale from your flared nostrils. Irritation weaves itself into your muscles with each minute that ticks on by, as another blow of hot breath dances down the V of your dress.

Tears begin to prick, distantly hearing him moving around just below. Waiting, likely checking his watch out of fear of being late—because he loathes being late, a thing from his army days, a part of his character.

The only thing soothing you is the lingering scent of his aftershave. It floats in the air of the bedroom the two of you share, even if he left it over half an hour ago for you to get dressed.

Which, technically you are—just not completely.

Because you can’t go to dinner with him without this.

The gift from your first few months of dating. A present, a thing picked, chosen and given by him. All hopeful almond-brown eyes, relief flooding through him when you told him you loved it as fingers on your neck—all warm, calloused—helped fasten it.

It’s why you have to detangle it. Fix it.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck—“

“Querida?”

It’s soft, laced with concern. A tone you don’t deserve when you look over your shoulder and find him in the doorway—looking even more handsome than the day you first met him.

It’s a rush, a collection of words that make an amalgamated sentence he’s somehow able to decipher. But then, Frankie speaks you; he knows you. Can read your body as though it talks directly to him, spills secrets to him your brain is not yet willing to provide.

You suppose it’s why your body relaxes at his touch, fingers on the back of your arm, knuckles up and down in soft lines.

“Let me try, baby.”

All calm and collected, his hand gesturing out—nothing but soft brown eyes that meet yours as you slide the chain and the pendant into his palm.

It’s like watching magic happen. His fingers—all thick, worn, weathered—somehow able to begin to loosen the crime you committed. The metal listening, doing as he commands as he begins to undo the work from you hurrying all those months ago.

Some part of you is in disbelief, because it shouldn’t be a thing. Those fingers compared to your thinner ones, and yet, you’re watching it happen—seeing in real-time as once again he does the impossible. As the chain begins to sit flat, no ball of shambles, just a beautiful necklace in his finger.

And it makes heat bloom in your stomach, a knot forming and tightening that makes it hard to think of anything but how good his hands are in other places too. Your thighs pressing together, teeth biting down on your lip, all desperate to alleviate, unsure how watching him do such a mundane task is making you so wet between your legs. So much so, you struggle to swallow when he flicks his eyes up to you and smiles.

Because how can you be so impressed, dumbfounded and utterly turned on that he did that so easily, so competently—as though it was the easiest thing of all?

“Stand up and turn around for me,” Frankie says, voice low.

And you do. Better that than question the swirling thoughts of dragging his mouth to yours, to sliding fingers into his hair and having his competent fucking hands slide your dress up your thighs—have him ball it up, show you what else he can do (for the billionth time) with limited time.

The bed squeaks as you stand, almost wobbling, heels clicking on the floor as you move and stand before him, turning, as you see his hands in your peripheral and feel cold metal on your skin.

“Have I told you how good you look?”

Smiling, heat warms your cheeks—it fizzing in your ears. “Not yet, Morales.”

Fingers pressing the pendant to your chest, hearing him fastening—imagining the tip of his tongue poking through his lips, face full of concentration and focus.

“You look beautiful, querida,” he whispers as his breath dances over your neck, necklace fastened, perfectly in place as his fingers slide down over your shoulders, resting on your arms as he

Taking in a measured breath, you turn your head, catching his gaze—seeing it flick from your face to the deep V of your dress.

“How long have we got, Morales?”

It leaves your tongue calm, plain. But you suspect he knows what you’re getting at, likely already knows you’re soaked—seemingly caught on to the competency kink you have going on.

Licking his lips, he smirks, all-knowing as a snort half escapes, “Querida…”

But you’re already turning, mouth suddenly desperate to have something inside of it that doesn’t come on a plate. Hands finding refuge on his shoulders, using them to slip from your heels, before dropping to the waist of your dress.

“How long, Frankie?”

He swallows, visibly. Curses under his breath as more of your thighs are unveiled, cool air kissing over your already-soaked panties. And he mumbles a number, a frame of time to work in.

“Perfect,” you whisper, fingers working his belt, it clanging, loosening before you find his zipper. “Want to still feel you in the back of my throat every time I try and eat tonight, Morales. You got that?”

Whatever comment he’d been about to say is taken, stolen, by your mouth wrapping around his half-hardened cock.

You’re not sure you regret your necklace tangling now.

[sweetercalypso]

frankie masterlist || main masterlist || graphics || wc: 0.5k

Thinking about Frankie sneaking away to call you while he’s spending time with the boys.

Between their complicated schedules and busy lives, it can be hard to get everyone together in one place long enough to sit back and relax. It’s the first time in months that they’ve all been available to meet up, but the only thing Frankie can think about is coming home to you when the night’s over.

The boys are lounging in Santi’s backyard while the evening stretches on, thick with the warmth of the impending summer months. It’s late and Benny is telling a story that they’ve all heard at least three times before, evident by the way the others occasionally interject with their own versions of the narrative.

Frankie nods along and laughs when prompted, but it’s clear that his mind is elsewhere. It’s hard for him to focus on his friends when his mind is so desperately craving you.  

When there’s finally a lull in the conversation, Frankie stands and stretches with a groan before pointing towards the house with the excuse of grabbing another drink. Santi distractedly waves him off and asks that he bring enough back for everyone, but Frankie’s already halfway across the yard before he can finish his sentence.

He slides the patio door open and steps inside, grabbing his phone from his pocket and dialing your number from memory.

The phone rings twice before Frankie remembers the time and mentally kicks himself for calling so late, but the need to be close to you outweighs his self-abasement. He considers hanging up and shrugging off the ache that’s settled in his chest, but before he can make a decision, the phone finally clicks and-

“Frankie?”

“Hey,” he breathes, instantly soothed by the tired lilt of your voice, dampened by the sound of empty static.

The cool air in Santi’s house makes Frankie shudder as he turns and props his hand against the wall, folding in on himself as if to conceal his conversation, a precious moment caught between two worlds.

“Just calling to check in, and…” he trails off, eyes glued to the floor as he shifts in place, breathing deeply into the speaker. “-and hear your voice.”

Deep, boisterous laughter thunders through the open patio door and Frankie cups his hand over the bottom of his phone to block the noise. He thinks he hears you hum in response, but the sound is drowned out by the commotion outside.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah,” he answers honestly, the corners of his mouth quirked into an easy smile. He tucks his chin to his chest and listens for your response, only halfway following what you’re saying. He hadn’t meant to wake you up, he just needed to know that you were still there.

The line falls silent and Frankie holds his breath. He considers thanking you for picking up the phone, but he knows his gratitude wouldn’t make sense. Instead, he listens for a moment longer and reluctantly says goodnight, content to return to the boys now that he’s had his fix.

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll be home soon.”

[pascalssbabyy]

Be Good For Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: One of your favourite things to do is to tease Frankie until he begs, and Frankie would simply be lying if he didn’t love it either.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, no use of Y/N, no age mentioned, zero plot, sub Frankie, pet names (from both reader and Frankie), P in V, unprotected sex, overstimulation, orgasm denial, come eating, handjob, readers pretty much in charge and talks Frankie through it, reader is soft too (sorry I can’t help myself)

A/N: Hello lovelies! I’m so excited to be sharing with you my first ever drabble of our soft and gentle Frankie. This is literally pure filth and it may be the filthiest thing I’ve wrote so far??🥵 I hope you all enjoy and please let me know your thoughts 💕

I want to give the biggest thank you to the amazing @schnarfer for proofreading this for me and for the support throughout this drabble! (i honestly don’t know what I’d do without you 🥹💕)

Frankie knew this would be over before it even had a chance to start.

He clenches his stomach muscles in tight, flexing his thick, muscular thighs as the tip of his fingers press deep into your hips and waist, nails digging into your soft and bare skin, his strength leaving a permanent mark of his suppression.

His body lies weak on the bed, his chest rising and falling as his heart pounds rapidly against his rib cage. With a firm pressure, your hands hold his frame down, palms pressing into his heated skin as your legs stretch out over his hips, pushing him further into the mattress. 

Frankie’s pulse quickens, it pulsates with unusual rhythm and blares in his ears and trembles all over his body. It’s deafening. Sweat beads across his forehead and runs down to his temples, his temperature’s high as his hair sticks to his dampened skin. 

His dark lashes rest on his blushed cheeks, the blackness behind his eyelids obstructing his view. The beauty of you. He wants to look at you, he wants to watch you as you rock yourself on him, looking so compelling and perfect, but he’s so close to coming already he knows if he takes even the slightest glance, this will end abruptly and embarrassingly fast.

And your voice…it’s music to his ears. It covers the room and imprints itself on the walls as you delve deep into pleasure, a continuous humming of moans and grunts and whines falling from your lips as you just take, take, take.

“Look at me, Frankie,” You sigh, the soft vibration of your words skipping across his heated body, goosebumps rising in its wake. Frankie sucks in a short intake of air before he forces his eyes open.

Fuck, don’t come he reminds himself. Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.

You continue to rub yourself on him and edge him further, your body moving in a smooth and consistent pace. You bite your bottom lip, your mouth concealing a conceited smirk of satisfaction. Frankie looks fucking wrecked underneath you as your eyes drop lower to his cock, sitting so perfectly between your puffy folds.

His cock’s rock hard. Harder than it’s ever been before. It’s drenched in your own arousal and so responsive to each glide of your slick pussy on him. A pool of his pre-come wets his stomach and sticks to his pubic hairs. His mushroom head is red and sensitive, a clear result of your constant edging.

Frankie doesn’t know how long it’s been like this. A continuous drag of his orgasm until you stop your movements all together, pushing him forward into a state of bliss to then take it away just as quickly. Whether you were on your knees, with his cock hitting the back of your throat or using your hands, you’d carefully watch his face furrow, his fingers gripping your scalp and legs buckling under his weight. You loved the playfulness of it, it excited you, and Frankie knew that what you loved the most was the way he’d simply let you do it.

And Frankie would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t fucking love it either. 

“Y’alright, Frankie?” You ask, a playful mood hidden behind your voice. Frankie can’t talk, only responding back with a hopeless whimper, his lips quivering in desperation.

“Hey…” you add, slowing down your movements. “Talk to me baby. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Frankie’s yet to talk, still aiming to control his urges.

You stare at his flushed cheeks. His eyes can’t even stay open and his lips are swollen with a red tinge from biting down hard on them, his body already worn out and spent. 

Perfect. You’ve got him right where you want him.

“My poor Frankie,” you coo, your tone of voice far from apologetic as you rub small and tender circles on his chest, “your cock’s not even inside me yet and you’re already so close, aren’t you.”

Frankie breaths a deep breath in. “Hermosa—,” he eventually groans out, the pet name leaving his mouth in a cautious warning.

Smirking at him, a chuckle slips past your lips. “What is it, Frankie? Go on baby, tell me. D’you wanna come? Does my boy need to come, s’that it?”

You can read him like a book. “Yes…,” he confesses pathetically, his words rambling on. “M’so fucking close. Please cariño. P-put me inside—I need—wanna come inside you, please.”

Frankie knows he’s not the one to be making the decisions right now, and when you slow your hips down to an immediate halt, his head falls back heavy onto his pillow, his neck visible and his adam’s apple bobbing in frustration.

“Now Frankie,” you mutter, “you’re not in the position to be making the rules tonight, are you?”

Frankie huffs, yes he knows that. 

“I-I…shit I know cariño, I’m sorry,” he apologises, stuttering on his words. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll be good bebé, so fucking good for you.”

Well, when he sounds so sweet and remorseful like that, how can you be mad at him?

“Please hermosa, I need you—I’ll do anything.”

“Being so polite Frankie. You need it bad, don’t you. So desperate to have your cock fill my pussy.”

You start to move on top of him again, his cock instantly twitching and reacting to you. His tip catches on your swollen clit with each drag of your hips, and you gasp at the sensation.

“Y’feel s’good,” You moan out, his name dripping with sex as it pours off your tongue. “Wish you could see yourself baby. You’re so fucking pretty when you beg like that.” 

He should be embarrassed, but frankly, he’s way too far gone to give a shit. 

“You think you deserve to come Frankie? Have you been good enough for me? Should I let you come?”

His nods eagerly, rutting his hips in line with yours, “Yes. Yes—fuck I-I’ve been good. Please.”

You don’t argue this time. “Okay Frankie, since you asked so nicely.” You pick up the pace of your thrusts, applying more pressure as you smear your juices all over his length. “I want you to come. Want you to come just like this, you have my permission.”

“But—,” Frankie chokes.

“Shhhh,” You whisper, “don’t speak. Just let it happen. Go on baby, come all over your tummy for me. Let me watch you.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, bucking his hips through your soaked folds until he cries out your name. It only takes a couple more glides for his hot come to gush all over his lower stomach and up towards his chest, painting himself with his release and covering his tanned skin.

“That’s it, good boy Frankie,” You praise. 

His thighs twitch underneath you, his breathing laboured and shaky as his body slumps lower into the bed.

“What do you say Frankie? What is it you say after I’ve been so nice and let you come?”

He takes a moment to gather himself.

“T-thank you.”

“Good boy,” you murmur, kissing the sweet spot on his collarbone, “doing s’well Frankie. How you feeling? You still with me?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles out drowsily.

Shuffling back onto his strong thighs, you trace your lips and tongue across his stomach and chest, collecting his come and licking his skin clean, moaning at the taste as soon as it coats your tastebuds.

Frankie watches in shock, stomach clenching at each swipe of your wet tongue gliding over his body. The release that covers the base of him you use as lubricant, spreading it all over his length. You give his cock a few pumps and he winces at the feeling, his eyebrows creasing in. 

“Fuck, wait hermosa,” Frankie groans, already feeling overstimulated. “I don’t think I—shit…I jus’—I think I need a minute.“

“I’m tired of waiting Frankie,” you say, fingers maintaining their gentle pace on his very, heavily sensitive cock. “You’ll be fine baby, I got you.”

“Be good Frankie and let me ride your cock.”

Frankie whines out to you, his hands clutching on the meaty flesh on your thigh. His body’s struggling to keep up with you, but he already knows you have no intention of stopping.

And even Frankie can’t deny that since having his orgasm, his cock still remains hard, eagerly begging for more.

Lifting your body up, you hover his tip at your entrance, watching his face as you steadily drop your hips down, the head of his cock now fully encased in your walls. Your pussy swallows more of him, feeling fuller and fuller with every inch until, the back of your thighs finally make contact with his groin.

“Shit, fuck, shit…” Frankie chants, the string of curses willingly dropping from his lips. Your spine arches at the stretch, his cock knocking all air out of your lungs.

“Don’t move for me baby,” You whisper, keeping yourself still to adjust to his size, feeling that known sting right in the centre your core. “Gonna make myself come riding you, okay? You tell me if things get too much.” 

He nods frantically, his eyes following the curves and lines of your body, moving down and gazing at where you’re both connected.

“Please…” Frankie begs.

With a swirl of your hips you lift his chin, forcing him to look directly at you; “Please what, Frankie. Remember, I wanna hear you talk to me. Tell me what you want.” 

His mouth parts and his jaws slack, his mind completely fogged. He wets his lips, his voice wavering. “W-wanna feel you come on my cock. Fuck, make yourself come. Use me querida.”

Frankie lets out a sigh of relief once you lift your hips up and drop them back down. You can always feel Frankie more in this position, the tip of his cock hitting that soft spot relentlessly with each bounce and circle of your hips.

He gazes at you as you get yourself off on him, riding him at a quick pace to reach your high. 

“Fuck Frankie,” you moan, “touch me baby. Make me feel good.”

Frankie obeys easily, bringing both his hands up to kneed at your neglected breasts, thumbs rubbing over your velvety flesh and fingers pulling at your nipples, your body shuddering at the pinch. 

You rub your clit with the pad of your finger, coaxing your orgasm forward as you continue to ride yourself on his cock. 

“Christ cariño,” He breathes out, the clenching of your walls coaxing another orgasm out of him. “Pussy’s fucking choking me. That’s it bebé, keep going.” 

You let him know you’re about to come before your release rushes over you, that knot in your stomach finally snapping and soaking his overstimulated cock with more arousal.

With tired thrusts, Frankie helps you ride out your climax, only stopping when your body comes back down from the thrill, his hands still on your breasts and ribs, holding you upright.

His cock slides out of your cunt and lands back onto his stomach with a wet smack. Stumbling down the bed on your hands and knees, you take his stiff cock in your hands, his leaking slit so close to your mouth. 

“Think you can come again for me Frankie?” 

Oh, shit.

“I don’t—I mean, fuck princesa if that’s what you want, I’ll try.” 

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear Frankie, just say if it gets painful or too sensitive.”

Now lying on your belly, Frankie’s opens his legs wide so you can nestle yourself in between them. You hold his cock in your one hand as you start to pump him at a fast pace, opening your mouth and circling your tongue around his bulbous head.

“H-holy shit—,” Frankie yells, his fingers immediately threading through your hair and yanking at your scalp, keeping your mouth locked in place.

Yeah, Frankie’s definitely not going to ask you to stop.

Frankie can feel his second orgasm of the night rising through his body. He peers down at your mouth, watching lustily as you lick and swirl and kiss him. You stare at him back, eyes burning into his.

“F-fuck hermosa,” He stammers, “yes that’s—shit m’gonna come. K-keep your mouth open for me, please.”

“Yeah? You wanna come in my mouth Frankie, baby? Y’gonna watch me swallow all of your come?”

Frankie’s in a haze, his blood running hot and his toes curling into the quilt. “Yes…fuck, yes. I’m coming—”

Your mouth opens wide and Frankie finally comes, an eruption of his salty release landing on your tongue. His orgasm is forceful, some of his arousal hitting your lips and dripping down to your chin. 

Frankie watches as he covers you with his come until he simply can’t anymore. His head hits the pillow in overwhelming solace, his body twitching and eyes fluttering shut. 

You swallow his come that landed in your mouth, wiping the remains of him off your face with your fingers and sucking them too. His body lies limp and tired and his eyes are too heavy to watch you clean yourself up, but Frankie knows you’ll never waste any, swallowing every single drop.

Frankie feels a dip in the mattress beside him as you lie next to him, fingers tracing his sweaty skin. 

“H-how was that bebé?” Frankie asks breathlessly. “Did I do alright?”

You kiss the side of his mouth. “Such a good boy Frankie. You did so well.”

Silence fills the room, with just the sound of Frankie breathing and light snores slipping through his lips. 

“That’s it, sleep baby,” You say quietly, “you’re gonna need it with what I’ve got planned for you next.”

Frankie has never fallen asleep so quickly.

[avastrasposts]

Swimming lessons with Catfish

@secretelephanttattoo has taken on the role as my muse apparently and is feeding me inspiration on the daily.

So inspired by this ask, a shortish (2.2k) drabble with sweet and hot Frankie Morales. This one is set in an alternate, no-outbreak, universe of The Pilot and his Girl.

Couldn't find a suitable Frankie coded pic so I must again ask for your inspiration and suggestions! Thank you @secretelephanttattoo again for the perfect gif!

Smut below the cut, you have been warned (or notified if you will).

You hear the giggling as soon as you open the car door, the humid heat hitting your body with a vengeance after the air conditioned interior of the car. Lucía is squealing loudly from your back yard and you follow the sound through the house, dropping your laptop bag on the kitchen counter. Through the sliding doors in the back you see the glitter of the blue pool and Frankie’s tanned back in the shallow end. He’s got Lucía in front of him, holding her gently around the middle as she lies flat on her belly in the water, diligently working her way through unsteady breast strokes. 

“Muy bien, princesa,” he praises her as he almost lets go of her and she glides through the water. 

You hang back, leaning on the door frame, watching Frankie patiently help his little girl take stroke after stroke, reminding her to keep her fingers closed and flat. His cap and shirt lay discarded in one of the sun loungers, Lucía’s dress on the ground just by the pool. She must’ve been wearing her swimsuit under it, she’d been so excited about learning to swim ever since you’d bought the house and now every day after school she demanded swimming lessons. 

Frankie turns around in the pool, helping Lucía flip over to swim the other way and spots you. 

“Cariño,” his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shields his eyes against the sun and smiles up at you, “get out of those boring office clothes and jump in the pool with us.” 

“Look, look!” Lucia shouts excitedly, “I can swim by myself now!” She launches herself from Frankie’s arms before he has a chance to react, and takes two successful strokes before she starts sinking, coughing water, Frankie quickly catching her and pulling her up to the surface. 

“Careful, gordita, you need to be a bit more careful,” he gently scolds her, holding her up as she coughs, “Maybe that’s enough swimming for today?” 

“No, I want to swim more!” she protests, wrapping her arms around her dad, “Please, papá…” she looks at him under her eye lashes, her big brown eyes, so like Frankie’s, leaving him helpless. 

“Fine, a little bit more then,” he smiles and you laugh. You’ve been on the receiving end of Frankie’s puppy eyes more than once, it’s nice to see that he’s just as powerless to resist when it’s his daughter wielding them. 

“I’ll start dinner, Frankie,” you say, “maybe we can….later…” you say, giving him a wink that makes his dimple break out as he smiles back at you with a mischievous grin. 

It’s a good thing swimming is tiring work you think as you load the dishwasher after dinner. Frankie had come back in with Lucía after you called out to them that dinner was ready, sending her to the bathroom to change into her fluffy bathrobe, a special allowance since she would have to take a bath after dinner. While she was in her room he’d come up behind you at the counter where you were busy spooning spaghetti alfredo into bowls. 

“What plans did you have for later, mi hermosa,” he muttered, slipping his warm hands around your waist, snaking one hand up under the t-shirt, his t-shirt, you’d changed into before you started cooking. 

“I don’t know, maybe answer some emails, do the taxes, fold some laundry,” you say casually, pretending to ignore how his thick fingers caresses one of your breasts, circling the nipple. With a growl he pinches it between his thumb and finger, making you gasp as the sensation shoots liquid heat through your body. 

“I have other plans for you,” he mumbles, his mouth just under your ear, before he sinks his teeth into that sensitive spot, beginning to suck a mark into your soft skin. The sound of Lucìa’s bare feet padding down the hallway makes him pull away, moving to grab the salad and put it on the table. 

With dinner done, he takes Lucía to the bathroom for her evening bath, followed by a bedtime story. Once you’ve got the kitchen clean you slip into the bedroom you share with Frankie and change into one of your bikinis, not your favorite one, but Frankie’s favorite. You think it’s annoying because it doesn’t let you jump or dive in the water without flashing your tits and ass to the world. Frankie, on the other hand, loves it. He loves the thin ribbons on either side of the bikini bottoms that untie with just one simple pull, unless you double knot them, which you always do, or the way he can sneak his hands around your neck and with one gentle tug untie the ribbon that keeps the top attached, letting your breasts spill free for his big hands to grab. 

You don’t double knot the ribbons tonight, instead you slip out through the glass doors and into the pool. The water is warm after being heated by the sun all day, and glitters faintly in the light of the porch lights you’ve strung up around the back. You lie back and float easily in the water, looking up through the trees at the pale sky, slowly darkening into midnight blue. 

The gentle splash of Frankie getting into the pool pulls you out of your daydreaming, but you don’t look up. You know he’ll come to you, and soon his warm hand slips along your right side, up into your hair as he gently pulls you through the water to the pool’s edge. His lips brush over your forehead, pressing a kiss to your damp skin. 

“Stand up, cariño,” he whispers and you obey, your feet finding the bottom of the pool as he turns you towards him.  

“She’s asleep,” he says, his voice low, “went out like a light after half the story, but I think the neighbors are still awake so keep your voice down, cariño.” 

“Why, what do you have in mind, mr. Morales?” you smile, his dark eyes and roaming hands are making it very clear what he’s up to but you like to hear him say it. 

“Swimming lessons with Catfish,” he smirks, making you snort loudly and he chuckles as you quickly hide your face against his neck, shaking with repressed laughter. 

“Potentially the worst porno title ever,” you whisper once you’ve regained your composure. 

“I don’t know,” Frankie says, his mischievous grin slipping into something more sinful, “it has potential.” He dips his mouth to your collarbone and lets his tongue taste the salt and pool water that’s hanging on to the skin. You tilt your head and sigh, letting one hand find its way into his still damp curls, the other resting on his bicep, feeling the muscle flex under your palm. Frankie’s hand is unsurprisingly finding its way to your neck, pushing your wet hair out of the way and grabbing the ribbon of your bikini top. You feel it slip across your skin as he tugs, the wet fabric catching on your hard nipples. 

“Fuck…” Frankie growls, “I fucking love this bikini,” his hands following the ribbon down to pull it free from your skin and grabbing each one of your breasts in his big hands, the thumbs rubbing over the nipples as he watches the skin pebble and tighten under his ministrations. One hand drops from you and is replaced by his warm mouth, hot against your cool skin as he sucks the nipple firmly, laving his tongue over it with strong strokes. It makes you tilt your head back, drawing in a deep breath and cupping the back of his head with your hand. 

“Frankie…” you mumble, sighing into the warm night air. He hums against your skin and and both hands slip further, into the water and grabbing at your hips, finding the ribbons at the sides, with sharp tugs he pulls at them and chuckles approvingly when they slip out straight away. 

“You didn’t double knot them, cariño,” he smiles, his mouth leaving your nipple so that he can look at you, his eyes half closed and black in the dim light. 

“Knew you’d want easy access,” you smile back, pulling him close so that you can kiss him, making him open his mouth to your tongue, which he willingly does. He tastes like pool water and the coke he had for dinner, soft lips and warm breath against you as his hands pull your bikini bottoms away, letting them float off somewhere in the pool. 

It’s not until his hands pull you flush against his hard erection that you realize that he doesn't have any swim shorts on, just naked, hot skin pressed up against you in the water. He’s grinding himself against you, pulling your legs apart a little so that he slips between your plush thighs and rubs his hard length against your clit. It makes you moan into his mouth, his fingers gripping your hips, rutting against you as he breathes heavily into your mouth, barely contained moans slipping from him. 

“You feel so good, bebita, so fucking good even in the water,” he mumbles, thrusting harder between your thighs. 

“Frankie, please,” you moan, tangling your fingers tighter into his curls, “fuck me…I..I need you inside me, please.” 

You spread your legs, letting him slip out from between your thighs and he gives an unhappy hiss at the loss of contact. But you quickly hook your legs around his waist, the water making you almost weightless, and he turns you both around, pushing you up against the edge of the pool. With a firm grip around the base of his cock you guide the blunt head against your opening, made slick both by the pool and your arousal. Frankie locks eyes with you, one big hand around the back of your neck, as he slowly pushes in, making you keen under the sweet sting as he stretches your tight entrance. His mouth is open, tongue resting on his bottom lip, you watch him quickly lick it before he bites down, grunting as he drives his thick cock deeper inside. 

“Mierda..” he pants, glancing down at where his length is disappearing into you, made blurry by the water, “so fucking good…” 

You tilt your head back, Frankie’s hand holding you steady as you close your eyes and relish the burn in your core, the pulsating feeling in your spine. Frankie bends his head to your neck, his teeth biting down, hard, on the soft skin, the pleasure from the nip shoots through you and makes you clench around his heavy cock, nestled deep inside. He hisses and begins to move, one hand on your hip, the other still cradling your neck. 

The water sloshes around you, splashing against the edge of the pool as he drives himself deeper, groaning against your throat. You have to grip on to his shoulders to ground yourself, the slip and slide of the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit with every thrust of hips. Biting your lips hard, you breathe through your nose, trying to stop yourself from crying out. Frankie’s low grumbles, throaty groans, float through the still night air, he’s trying, but can’t hold it back. 

“Baby, I’m not gonna last,” he mutters, moving up to watch your face contort with every thrust of his cock, “Look at me, please, hermosa, I wanna watch when you come, so fucking beautiful every time.” 

You blink open your eyes with a heavy effort, Frankie pushing your head up so that his dark eyes can stare into yours. 

“You feel so fucking good, when you come around my fat cock,” he growls, slamming his hips into your harder, as much as the water will let him. It’s splashing over the edge, covering your both as he chases his high, holding on to let you get to yours first. 

“C’mon, cariño, be good to me, let me feel you come, you take me so fucking well, so tight for me, so slick, so fucking tight,” he moves his hand from your hip, finding the aching bundle of nerves between your legs and finds that perfect rhythm, a tiny bit more pressure that has you gasping as squeeze your eyes shut. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it, c’mon, let me feel it,” he moans, holding on against his own climax as he works you through it, sealing your mouth with his own when your cries threaten to grow loud. You cry out into his mouth, wailing as his thick cock coaxes every last ounce out of you.

As you begin to come down he digs his fingers into your hips and grinds into you, your spasming pussy milking him dry with every thrust as he fills you up with his spend. You can hear him groan under his breath, low grumbles and heavy panting, a long exhale as he finally slows, his forehead against your shoulder now. 

“Fuck…” he mutters, you can feel his lips move against your skin, “I just realized this means I need to clean the pool before tomorrow.” 

You bite your lip, trying to stop the laughter but your body shakes and betrays you.

“For what it’s worth, Frankie, it was totally worth it,” you giggle, running your fingers through his hair as he pulls out of you with a hiss.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who cleans the pool.” 

Also tagging @ladybess-a03 @harriedandharassed @your-slutty-gf @rhoorl @casa-boiardi @trulybetty because I think you might like it 🥰🥰

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Hello beloved. I bring to you a man who is so submissive 💜💜💜

That is all happy Sunday 💕

Hm, now this has me thinking some very 18+ CONTENT | MDNI thoughts . . .

Frankie being so good for you even though you can tell he's beyond exhausted. He's on his knees, hips hinged forward, arms stretched out above his head so he can hold himself upright on the back of the couch like you've instructed.

He started out with better form, tall and rigid with taut muscles rippling in his back, but has practically melted into a splayed out, frog-legged mess from fucking himself into your fist. You'd told him he could come, but he had to do all the work himself.

You've been loosely gripping his cock for the past hour, bringing it closer to him and squeezing firmer to give him more friction — only to move it away before he could come. Each time he'd give a little frustrated whimper, but that only made it more fun for you.

"Ssshhh, you're okay," you coo into his ear, voice dripping with condescension after you deny him his pleasure for yet another time. You've lost count at this point, so absorbed in the power trip of having Frankie so compliant and needy.

You lean in closer so the wet fan of your breath sticks to his sweaty neck. "I know you wanna come so bad, huh?"

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and grimaces. "Yes, ma'am," he grits.

As fun as it would be to see him break and dissolve into tears from frustration, your knees are starting to hurt. You've been down here on the floor with him the entire time, not wanting to miss a sigh or a whimper or a broken expression as you tease and tease and tease.

His back is bowed and sagging, cock almost grazing the floor. You fist his swollen, leaky cock and start pumping hard and fast. The surprise of it makes his body seize up from the overstimulation. His head whips to the side, eyes zipping to meet yours and filled with shock and hope that he's finally going to find relief.

"Come for me," you order firmly.

You don't even have to remind him to keep his eyes trained on you when he comes. His face draws up as he starts to erupt onto the floor. His broken exhale bleeds into a whimpered moan that stretches the entirety of his release. With one final punch of a sobbing cry, he finally stops.

"What a good boy," you breathe.

He hobbles closer to you — legs trembling, body soaked in sweat, plush lips downturned into a sated, exhausted frown — and circles you in a loose embrace. You take some of his weight for him and softly stroke the damp curls at the nape of his neck. You drink in the weighted sigh of content from him and smile tenderly as he gushes "thank you, ma'am, for letting me come" over and over.

[siriuslymooned]

Does Frankie like being called Daddy?

No (and Santiago thinks it's hilarious)

How they go to the conversation, Frankie has no idea. But that's Pope for ya. He can pivot to any topic and you won't even notice until you're thick in the middle.

"Hermano, it's me. We can talk about this."

Frankie shakes his head, "You know damn well that we can't." He looks around him quickly and lowers his voice, "she'd kill us."

Santiago chuckles, "You scared of your girl, Fransisco?"

Frankie smirks, "You would be too if you got what I'm getting."

"Fine, fine," it was a halfhearted, and false, surrender. And after a beat, "Not even once though? Not even Papi? She's called me-"

Frankie held up a hand to stop him. He was very aware of the way you and Pope tease and flirt, and before he had you, it really bothered him-

"Enough," it still bothered him.

Pope held his hands in surrender, doing his best not to laugh at the situation. Frankie had always been touchy when it came to talking about you...

and when Frankie brought it up to you later, stupidly in the same room as Santiago, you did in fact try to tackle him to the ground- cursing at him with the little spanish you knew

Masterlist

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

1.2k followers?! Cee, that's amazing!!!!!!! I love your blog, your writing, and you!

Say Frankie needs a massage but Shiv is too busy trying to do something to our trash panda's hair. She has a massage therapist that can help out, I'm sure? 💖

@damnyoupedro

Thank you so much my dear for sending this in! And I'm so sorry, this is not at all what you asked for but you gave me an idea and I couldn't resist going off-piste 🙈 (I am terrible at this taking requests thing!!) I hope you enjoy this random drabble that no one asked for!

Grays drabble: Break it in

250 words | warnings: Frankie operating a handsaw and being a sweet, grumpy menace | chronologically set ✨in the future✨ i.e. after Part 2 which I haven't written yet lol

There's a little shed behind the salon that's standing empty. You mention off-handedly to Frankie one day that it would be a fun DIY project to turn it into a spa space - there's just enough room for a massage table and a nail bar. You could rent it out to massage therapists and manicurists and take a cut of the fees.

Next thing you know, Frankie sets up a whole carpentry station out back and the salon counter is covered in electrical plans and paint swatches. You sneak peeks of him sawing wood for the nail bar and shelfing through the back door whenever he's there, his biceps and his broad shoulders flexing in his favourite gray tshirt, which quickly dampens with sweat in the summer heat. Between clients, you bring him ice cold lemonade.

When the spa is done a month later, you stand in the cosy space painted in the colours you picked out, grinning to yourself as Frankie leans on the door with his arms crossed, watching you excitedly inspect the space, a lopsided smile on his lips.

You cock your head to one side and arch a decidedly unchaste eyebrow at him. 'I think we should break in the massage table, don't you?'

Frankie snorts dismissively, but you don't miss the way his eyes darken. 'Do you know what massage tables are for?'

You grin and cross the room to wind your arms around his neck. 'What can I say? I've always been the creative type.'

Fuck Yeah 1.2k Sleepover

[jolalibrary]

it’s sunday, so you know we (me, I’m talking me) have the scaries. but can you imagine, frankie knowing? being able to tell. frankie morales x reader warnings: none. fluff. sunday scaries. | wordcount <;1k

frankie doesn't push. doesn't catch your wrist or pull you to him when you mumble about going for a shower.

he doesn’t even move from his place until he hears your singing, the pitter-patter of water falling on the porcelain.

it’s then he sets the ambience, pressing play on the music—orchestrating a symphony of soft sounds that fill the air. he arranges cushions and blankets upon the floor and sets about lighting candles, the flicker of them dancing on shelves, infusing the air with the sweet scent of vanilla and ripe mango—both of which welcome you back, practically envelope you in a warm hug upon your return.

it’s homely—a sanctuary of cosiness—even more so with him at the heart of it, sitting in the centre, waiting, a deck of cards in hand.

he, like you, knows he’s good. always proficient, often winning, no matter the game. a thing you suspect he chooses because it’ll make you focus on something, rather than everything. a soft smirk on his face every time you let out a frustrated huff, before watching in awe when you deal the cards again—all unwilling to bend.

it’s an hour before he asks before he prods. “doing okay, baby?”

nodding, you moisten your lips—a silent gesture disguising the truth. more so, as something falls in your chest, a weight settling, while your insides crumble from the edges—it falling, resting in ashes at the base of you. it’s hard to maintain a steady breath, emotions surging, thick and relentless, like waves that aim to drown.

and you could give in. let your dread eat away the night. but, you pause your shuffling, not cutting the deck—placing it down instead. leaving it just to the side, before shifting up onto your knees.

“just kiss me. make me forget.”

ticking his jaw, he rolls his lips. eyes flicking over you, warm, soft and nothing but kind, before he’s leaning forward. his hands sliding up over your knees, along your outer thighs. “I think I can do that.”

and he does.

thank fuck he does.

[peterpparkrr]

rocking around the christmas tree

peterpparkrr’s 12 days of holiday drabbles

4. Christmas Tree + Frankie Morales

Summary: Flirting with the Christmas tree salesman.

A/N: IRL please never invite a strange man into your house even if he’s frankie morales levels of hot, okay? Okay. 

“Hey,” A man greets you as you make your way up the snow-packed path to the grove of Christmas trees.

“Hi,” You reply breathlessly as you shove your hands into your pockets.

The man in front of you studies you curiously from underneath his baseball cap.

“What can I help you find?” He asks.

“Um, well, I’m looking for a tree,” You blurt out before you realize that is the one thing you don’t need to say.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” He replies with a broad smile, kindly refraining from laughing in your face.

“What kind of tree do you like? Fir? Pine? Spruce?” He asks as he scans the lot, allowing you to take inventory of the different rows of trees around you, all with varying signs above them designating their categories.

“Um….” You stall as you look around a little helplessly. Would it be rude to tell the nice Christmas tree salesman that they all look the same?

“Let’s look around and you can tell me what you like,” He says.

You nod gratefully before he leads you through the rows of trees.

“Oh, these are nice,” You say as you take in a row of trees with short needles and the perfect smell.

“Fraser Fir, good choice,” He tells you. “It’s the most popular type of tree, good fragrance, not too sappy, retains its needles.”

“It looks like the type that my parents always had,” You tell him softly. “This is the first Christmas that I can’t make it home for the holidays. It’s why I wanted to buy my own Christmas tree for the first time.”

 “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Frankie,” He replies. “Most people don’t know much about trees, it’s refreshing to meet someone who’s honest about it. I couldn’t tell you how many couples come to buy their first tree and the guy will walk around like he’s an expert, spouting absolute BS at his girlfriend the entire time. Not to mention the couples who just fight the whole time.”

You giggle. You could remember a few trips to buy trees when you were a kid where your mom and dad would get snippy with each other. Mom always wanted to keep looking to make sure there weren’t any other trees she liked better than the one she’d found and liked.

“How big do you want it? Do you have someone who can help you unload this when you get home?” Frankie asks. “A…uh… boyfriend or husband?”

“Oh, no, no husband,” You tell him quickly. “Or boyfriend, or…anything like that,” you add with a sheepish smile.

“Good to know,” He replies as he rubs the back of his neck. Grinning at you.

“Um, I like this one,” You offer as you point to the tree you’d noticed a few steps back. It was full and well-shaped. There was one little branch sticking out of the bottom that pointed in a weird direction but you thought that gave the whole tree character. 

“It’s a bit big, can you lift it on your own?” He asks as he hoists it up from where it’s leaning.

You walk over and reach your be-mitten hand into the tree to grab ahold of it. When Frankie lets go on the other side the tree sways dangerously away from you but you manage to keep it upright with a little arm strength. 

“It’s a bit heavy,” You admit as Frankie reaches out to grab it again. “Would…” You start to ask before you realize you’re probably asking way too much of a man who’s already been uncommonly kind to you today. “You probably don’t do house calls, do you?”

“I close up at 8, I could stop by and help you get it set up after that,” Frankie tells you.

“That would be perfect,” You reply, your face breaking out into a wide grin. You strip one of your mittens off and start rooting around in your coat pocket to find your wallet. “Seriously, you don’t have to I just…”

“This is your tree,” Frankie replies. “Trust me, I get it. And it’s no problem at all.”

“I’ll pull up my car,” You tell him with a smile as you press the money for the tree into his hand, trying to ignore the tingle that shoots up your arm as your hand comes in contact with his warm, calloused palm. 

“I’ll bale it and meet you by the sidewalk,” He replies as he hoists the tree up. 

You wrote your address down on an old receipt for Frankie while you tried not to marvel at how he made strapping the tree to the roof of your car look easy. And completely shut down any mental images of what else he might be able to do with that sort of strength.

You’d been trying to stay busy all night in an effort to keep yourself from standing by the window waiting for Frankie. 

When the doorbell rang you raced out of the kitchen, smoothing your hands over your hair before you opened the door to see Frankie standing on your doorstep with your tree.

“Oh! I could have helped you get it off the car!” You reply as you open the door wider to let him carry the tree into your house.

“That’s alright,” Frankie replies.

“I have the tree stand set up in the living room,” You tell him as you step around him to lead him through the entry and into the living room.

You help Frankie ensure the tree gets into the stand and then help him keep it straight as he gets locked in.

“Thank you so much,” You tell him as you both stand to admire the tree. Even without lights or decorations, you love it. “It looks amazing.” 

“No problem,” He replies humbly.

“Will fifty cover it?” You ask as you head over to where your purse is on the counter.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” He says as he shakes his head.

“Please, I made you come all this way to work after you spent all day working outside in the cold,” You argue.

“Seriously, it was no problem,” He shuts you down. Making it clear that he’s not going to take any money for that.

“Okay,” You acquiesce. “Can I at least offer you a drink?” You offer with a shy smile. Not quite ready for whatever this is to end.

“Sure,” He replies. 

“Feel free to sit anywhere,” You tell him as you head towards the kitchen. “Any preferences?”

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Frankie replies.

“I figured you’re probably a beer drinker,” You tell him when you reappear and brandish a beer bottle in his direction, your own in your other hand. 

“What gave it away?”

“I don’t know, I guess your rugged good looks,” You tease as you take a sip of your drink feeling like you can openly flirt with him now that he’s off the clock. 

“Well, I didn’t expect you to,” He admits. “Be a beer drinker, I mean.”

“And why’s that?” You ask curiously.

“Beautiful women who don’t know anything about Christmas trees usually don’t drink craft beer,” He offers with a shrug. “At least in my experience.”

“And do you pick up a lot of those women with your handsome Christmas tree salesmen shtick?”

“Not really, usually, they just use me to put up their tree and kick me to the curb,” He jokes. 

“How many houses calls do you usually do?”

“None,” Frankie replies quickly. “Well, just for one really pretty girl who I desperately wanted to see again.” 

“Ah,” You murmur as your cheeks heat with the realization and relief that you weren’t imagining the connection between you. “Well do you think you’d go out with her? If she asked you on a date when you weren’t working?”

“Definitely,” He replies with a smirk. 

Maybe spending the holidays in town wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[psychedelic-ink]

(just a little soft drabble (?) with frankie morales, established relationship)

Thinking about just laying down with Frankie while you're reading a book. He would spoon you right after you turn to your side for a more comfortable angle, his warm hand sliding up your shirt and resting on your breast. You would continue to read as his lips found the slope of your shoulder, a ticklish feeling momentarily keeping you away from the printed words.

Then he would lazily stroke your nipple with the pad of his thumb, you would sigh and press into him, book still in hand, eyes still moving across the sentences. His touch would relax you, make you feel safe and warm. Frankie wouldn't force you away from your book, or ask for anything more, he would just continue to hold you, decorating your skin with kisses and feeling your body underneath his calloused hand. Every moment or so his eyes would follow the black ink, curious about what it was that you were reading.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Grief Is Love Persevering But It Still Hurts

Pairing: Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x reader (kinda)

Warnings: angst, death of a loved one, grief, anxiety, mention of a panic attack, just all around not a fun time, sorta hopeful ending

A/N: I had to deal with the death of my dad and my grandma within the space of less than 4 days. There is nothing I regret more than not going with my mom and sister to see her the night before she passed. I was just so exhausted emotionally and needed rest.

Frankie doesn't think he's ever heard you be this loud before.

Most of the time you remain soft spoken, even if your words are serious. You have that way about you, giving someone a verbal hip check but in the same tone you would use to comfort a scared dog.

The first time you got loud around the boys was a movie night, not so different from the way tonight had started, where Benny and Santi had been arguing about who was right over some movie trivia, and it had taken them both by surprise.

You'd tossed a few well aimed M&M's their way, told them they were both wrong and to be quiet. Frankie remembers the look Will had given him, the approving little half smirk.

He's pretty sure he finally realized how much he loved you that night.

But this, this is a sound he never wants to hear from you, had hoped he never would. This primal scream that calls out every painful thing hidden deep in your chest until it claws at your throat.

The first cry that tapers off into a rasping whine makes damn near every hair on his body stand up, the way your whole body deflates along with your lungs.

Frankie can feel it where you're curled against him, his arm held tight around your middle to keep you from collapsing straight onto the bathroom tile.

There are no tears though.

Just the distraught vibrations of your vocal cords singing agony that he's sure all the neighbors can hear. Not that he gives a damn if they can hear.

He won't stop you, not now, not when he knows you have to beat this particular demon off your back with nothing but sheer force of will.

He closes his eyes when he feels your rib cage expand, pulling in another gasp and braces himself, your fingers digging into his arm where you cling to him.

Will is more than likely near the front door, ready to deal with anyone who comes knocking to complain about the noise. Santi and Benny are just outside the bathroom door, keeping Benny's dog from scratching at the door in worry.

Frankie knows there isn't anything any one of them can do besides be here for you, ride out the storm and pick up the pieces when it's blown itself out, try to fit them back together. Nothing you haven't done for all of them at one point or another.

The next scream is nothing more than a raspy leftover of the ones before it and your body finally seems to unravel, going loose and melting against his chest.

Now the tears come. He can feel them dampening his shirt where you press your face against it, quick stuttering breaths that last for too long. So he begins to exaggerate his own deep breaths, hoping that you can catch on and head off a panic attack.

He knows your mind is spiraling now, with guilt and grief and it's just not fair. Not for you, you've done all you can and tonight was supposed to be a small reprieve before the funeral.

Well, funerals now.

"It's not your fault" is all he can say and at first it makes you cry harder, shaking your head in disbelief but as he keeps murmuring the words you stop fighting.

Curling up as much as you can in his lap you begin to go limp, sometimes the tears threaten to start a new but you fight them back with Frankie's word.

It's not your fault.

Any of the boys would say the same and mean it. Eventually you'll believe it to.

"Okay" you whisper, voice hoarse and spent, hugging Frankie's arm tight.

"Okay" he echoes back, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, calling out softly to the others.

They'll be here to help you through this, through anything, just like you would for them.

[pascalssbabyy]

Desire

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: How are you supposed to keep your hands to yourself when Frankie’s looking so good? The answer is, you can't.

Warning: 18+ SMUT mdni, no use of Y/N, no age specified, Frankie in just a towel, praise kink, softdom!Frankie, but also sub!Frankie?, softdom!reader, pet names, dirty talk, m!oral, blowjob, face fucking, deep throating, Frankie has a big dick, anal fingering, fingering (female received), not much description of the Reader, but she has hair that can be pulled.

A/N: So, remember when I said I wasn't going to be doing any writing whilst I was on holiday? Yeah…I couldn’t stop myself and ended up creating this. I haven’t yet written anything like this before 🍑 so I hope it turned out okay! I’d love to hear all your thoughts!

Thank you to the sweet @schnarfer for her constant support and for proofreading this for me!💕 I also wanted to give a shoutout to the amazing @luxurychristmaspudding 🥰 After reading her newest fic ‘watch’ she put me in such a creative mood and this probably wouldn't have been made if it wasn't for her 🫢

You listen with patience, holding off your burning desire.

He's so close, his body naked and fresh, rinsing the stressful day away as he stands under the shower head, scrubbing at his skin and sighing contently to himself, his taught muscles loosening, easing up.

The bathroom you share is surrounded by steam, thick and heavy. You remain seated at the edge of the bed, forbearing, facing in the direction of the bathroom door, anticipating the moment the water finally gets shut off, the pull of a shower curtain, wet feet hitting tiled flooring.

You take a peek, you're so desperate for it, leaning on the palms of your hands to get a better view. The doors slightly agar and Frankie eventually comes into view, revealing a glimpse of his sun-drenched back, slightly red from the heat of the shower, glistening with droplets of water running down his shoulders and the dip of his spine, the hairs at the nape of his neck drenched, curling at the ends.

You admire his well-built physique, his height overpowering and muscles flexing when he wipes the condensation off the mirror, his back so broad and wide. Your mouth quickly starts to salivate at the sight.

He stands by the sink, calm and composed, a white towel wrapped securely around his waist, hands threading through his hair, slicking his curls back and away from his face. Your stare lowers to his soft, biteable tummy, a scattering of delicate hairs spotted just above the towel.

Frankie remains oblivious to your lascivious gaze, and with his large and skilful fingers, he pulls the towel from around his waist, bringing it up to dry his hair, rubbing the towel across his damp locks. 

You whimper, stare firmly fixed on his cock, resting soft between his thighs. Temptation gets the better of you, spreading your legs open and dragging your fingers across your skin and under the waistband of your underwear, sliding the digits through your growing arousal.

Desire rips at your self-restraint and fully takes over. Your pussy screams out for pleasure, skin overheating and tingling. It aches, and it's a throb you know only Frankie can soothe.

With a gentle push the door opens, the steam fogging the walls now dispersing. You reach out to him, closing the distance between you both, stretching out your hands along the expansion of his shoulders and down his ribs, wrapping your arms around him, your clothed-covered breasts pressing into his sticky skin. 

“You look so good Frankie,” you sigh, cheek nuzzled up against his warmth. “So pretty…all naked and wet like this.”

He chuckles at that, and the sound affects you more than it should.

So with lips close to his ear you simply whisper.

“Turn around Frankie.”

Frankie obliges, his back now flushed up against the sink, hands resting on the edge. You peer down at his cock, tongue peeking out to moisten your lips. His length’s still a little soft, but you know that won't be for long.

“How do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you tease me like this? The things you do to me, Frankie. The things I want to do for you.”

Frankie follows your stare, his cock hardening from your lascivious gaze. “And what is it you want to do to me hermosa? Go on, say it.”

Your fingers skim across the hairs at the base of his cock, slipping lower. “Let me suck your cock baby. Want it so bad.”

Frankie's breath hitches.

You wait a moment, filling the air with your need, stare fixed on his features, seductive.

“Will you let me Frankie?”

He nods. “Yes cariño…” he whispers. “Fuck, yes you can.”

Knees drop to the bathroom floor, hands brushing down his chest and stomach and lightly touching his length. Frankie shudders above you, eyeing you intensely. You flick his slit with the tip of your tongue, repeating it until his cock sits fully erect and large in the palm of your hand, fingers only just wrapping around the size of him.

“Mmm, you're so fucking big Frankie.”

You lick the underside of him, tracing the veins that cover his thickness. He twitches in your hand, already becoming so responsive and sensitive to the heat of your mouth. 

“I love this…” you hum, lips hovering over his bulbous head. “Love having your cock in my mouth.”

“Fuck querida,” Frankie moans, thrusting his hips forward to shove more of his cock inside your awaiting mouth. “S-shit—”

“Wanna fuck my mouth, Frankie? You gonna make me choke on it?”

His grip is fervent and strong beside him, holding back, the veins following up his arms bulging, his chest lifting vigorously.

“Tell me, baby. How much do you like having your cock in my mouth?”

“Christ—” he grits, hand now tugging on the back of your head, fingers lacing through your knotted hair. “Yes, I love it. Your mouth…fuck it's incredible. S-so good.”

You swallow as much of him as you can, mouth barely able to take all of him and jaw straining. Saliva slips from the corners of your open mouth and drools down your chin, cheeks blushed and lashes wet, Frankie’s cock hitting the back of your throat causing your muscles to contract.

“Not so chatty now are you querida,” Frankie plays, keeping your face flushed and head still, your hands gripping the top of his thighs. “This cocks shuts this pretty little mouth up real quick, huh?”

You nod up to him the best you can, maintaining his stare, your vision blurred. Frankie smirks at your attempt for obedience, cupping your wet chin.

“You filthy girl.”

His cock leaves your mouth in an absurd gasp. Your throat starts to feel numb and sore, empty lungs frantic for air, your hand continuing at a steady pace and stroking him.

With bold actions, Frankie watches you suck your index finger into your mouth. It slides from your lips wet and glistening before you trace your fingers over his hips and back towards the curve of his ass, moving in closer.

“Spread your legs for me Frankie.”

You notice the signs of confusion that gradually take over his features; his furrowed eyebrows and his quivering lip, his unyielding control plummeting. But Frankie does it anyway, widening his stance and waiting. Preparing himself.

His peach fuzz tickles your skin, gently prodding the end of your finger between the crevice of his ass cheeks, feeling him pull away slightly.

“H-hermosa,” he stutters, “what—”

“What do y’think Frankie?” You ask softly. “Can I keep going? Will you let me?”

Frankie's hesitant for a moment, his eyes betraying his apprehension as the two of you delve into something different, something new. Sure, you both had spoken about this before, to which Frankie had boldly agreed, but right now, you can sense his nerves.

You give him some time to gather his thoughts and emotions, kissing the skin on his stomach, giving him that reassurance he needs.

And after a few moments of silence, Frankie takes a deep breath and nods.

“Need you to say it, Frankie. Is this okay?”

Frankie inhales, “yes, yes it's okay.”

You hold his cheeks apart, steadily rubbing his tight ring of muscle, repeating the motion and watching his body flinch slightly above you before slowly pushing just the tip of your finger past his hole, scanning his face for any discomfort.

“I’ll go slow,” you comfort him. “There's no rush here baby. Just wanna make you feel good.”

Frankie slows his breathing, and when you don't see any uncertainty you push forward, inching your finger inside him until your knuckles deep, feeling him tense and pulse around your finger.

And shit, it even shocks you with how much you're enjoying this already.

“Fuck Frankie,” you admire. “You're so tight.”

Once you feel him relax, you curl your finger in a downwards gesture, massaging his g-spot and Frankie gasps out. His cock twitches in the palm of your hand, his body responsive. He reaches out for you, clutching you by the back of your neck.

“Fuck—” Frankie whimpers, fingernails digging imprints into your shoulder. “Hermosa—”

You still your movements, gauging his reaction. “Good Frankie? You like it? D’you want me to stop?”

He shakes his head. “No cariño, don’t stop. It's just…i-it's new. But it ain't bad.”

You release the breath you hadn't noticed you'd been holding, continuing your actions as you suck his cock with fervour and curl your digit. His tip turns a deep red colour and seeps, quickly catching the come that oozes from his slit with your tongue, completely drinking all of him in.

“Fuck me—” Frankie groans, “s’good. So fucking good.”

You curl your finger deeper, changing the angle of your thrusts which Frankie seems to like, crying out your name in desperate whines.

“I am fucking you Frankie,” you tease. “Fucking you like you deserve, taking it so well.”

His balls tighten as you cup him, the muscles in his abdomen compressing. You fixate your gaze on him, staring as his eyes roll back and his mouth hangs wide open.

“K-keep going cariño,” he moans, breathing heavily through his nostrils. “Fuck I’m gonna come. Y’gonna make me come.”

Your stomach flutters, not stopping. “Coming so soon Frankie?” You flirt, quickening your strokes. “You’re loving this, aren't you? Doing so well. Being such a good boy for me.”

It's all so overwhelming. Frankie turns into a puddle in the palm of your hands, nearing his edge and completely falling apart.

“Come Frankie. Fuck, please come.”

“Fuck yes, that's it. Holy shit—”

Frankie's voice grows louder until it cuts off altogether, spurts of his come landing on the surface of your tongue and the back of your throat, your mouth never missing a single drop as you relish in the way he cries out, his chest heaving and eyes glued shut.

You open your mouth to him, giving him a peek and showing him his release before you swallow him, moaning at the saltiness.

You withdraw your hands from his spent cock, slowly removing your finger from his tight hole as it throbs around your digit. You raise to your knees, suddenly feeling a harsh ache in them, but you ignore it anyway, kissing Frankie on his chest.

“Christ hermosa—” Frankie sighs, his words now as much breath as sound. “That. That was…”

“I know baby,” you cut in, smiling up at him. “We’re definitely going to be doing that again if that's the reaction I get.”

Frankie rolls his eyes at you and sneers, just before they cloud with darkness, trailing his fingers down and sliding them under your underwear, cupping your neglected sex.

“Fuck Frankie…” you pant, clawing at his shoulders, “what are you—“

He grunts against your open mouth, calloused fingers toying with your clit. “I think someone enjoyed that a little bit more than me. You're soaking wet querida.”

He nibbles and sucks on your neck, marking you, tracing his teeth down and over your collarbone. You can feel his cock harden and push into your stomach, Frankie's hips thrusting for friction.

“Cariño, you think we’re done after that? We’re only just getting started.”

Frankie detaches his fingers from your cunt and you cry out from the sudden loss. He quickly sweeps you off your feet, taking you into your shared bedroom.

Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

[siriuslymooned]

Frankie doesn't think he's a jealous person until he sees you show up to one of Benny's fights with a guy. He doesn't speak to you for the entire night, which makes you go to Santiago for answers.

"You're not serious," he sighs, "He's into you. Believe it or not but you're hot and he's hot for ya. So cut him some slack."

[endlessthxxghts]

Full

Frankie Morales x afab!Reader

Summary: You want Frankie to knock you up, and fuck, does he wants that, too. W/C: 1k. (I actually stuck to the word count this time… but at what insanely hot cost?😵‍💫) 18+ MDNI: Implied established relationship. Literally 0% plot and 100% PORN. Unprotected P in V sex. MAJOR BREEDING KINK. Cumming inside. Slight daddy kink (in the sense that you wanna make Frankie a daddy🫶🏼). One (1) pussy slap. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation kink. Finger fucking. Pics for aesthetic purposes only.

A/N: This lil drabble is a part of my 1k follower celebration in response to this yummy request made by @javierpena-inatacvest😵‍💫 Please take a deep breath and get comfortable while you read this… ANYWAY, happy Valentine’s Day everyone!!! What better way to celebrate than with Frankie and his breeding kink?😋 Hope you guys enjoy, and please do let me know what you guys think!!!! I love love love your feedback (or- in other words) !!!🤭

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

“Fuck, Frankie…”

“Taking it so good, querida, fuck-”

“Please- shit- please, Frankie, don’t stop.”

“I’m not, baby,” he moans, eyes threatening to succumb to the back of his skull, “Not gonna fucking stop until you’re full of me, baby, yo prometo.” I promise. 

“Sh-shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, ohmygod-” your eyes clamp shut, your jaw hangs open, ass up in the air as your tears and drool soak the pillow beneath your face. 

Frankie speeds up, pummeling into you hard and fast, his large hands coasting the surface of your ass and your back, groaning at the way you twitch and writhe underneath him. His hands settle at your waist, gripping you tightly, accentuating the arch of you. He’s so fucking deep at this angle, you can feel him hitting your cervix with each thrust forward. It’s an addicting sensation right now—and it will be even later, when the dull ache overtakes you. “Give it to me,” he breathes, “cum all over my cock, querida, needa feel you.”

His hand snakes around to your front, the pad of his fingers meeting your clit, rubbing it in the perfect motion that sends you reeling. Fireworks—no, dynamite, explodes behind the dark of your eyelids, your head adopting that fuzzy feeling, your body following suit not long after. “So fucking good, you feel so fucking good, Frankie, oh my God- oh fuck-” you ramble partially incoherently. 

Your thighs are jello, unable to keep yourself up as Frankie continues fucking into you; his arm wraps around your middle, his other pawing at your breast. He pulls you up to be flush against his chest as he begs your alter for his own release. “I’m c- mierda- I’m close,” he whimpers right at your ear. 

Mustering up as much strength as you can, you twist your head to face him, your hand reaching up and rooting yourself at the back of his messy curls. You yank his head towards you, crashing his mouth against yours. It’s sloppy and wet, swallowing each other’s tongues whole as the thickness of your shared breaths melt into one. Breaking away with a bite to his kiss-swollen lower lip, you whisper into his mouth, “cum inside me, Frankie, please.”

“Baby-” he chokes, his hips speed up, arousing him beyond what he thought was possible. “Want you in me for days, Francisco,” you whimper, licking a stripe on his neck, collecting the salty liquid running down. His hand makes its way back to your throbbing bud. 

Your body goes lax in his hold, you secure your grip at the base of his neck, keeping your faces close to each other. He watches with heavy eyes as you struggle to keep your gaze on his, your brows furrowing slightly as your eyelids begin to flutter. “Need you-” you start, a throaty moan cutting you off. “Need you inside me- need you to fuck it so deep, baby,” you sob, “that it has no choice but to fucking take- fuck-”

Frankie’s heart stutters and his cock twitches. “Yeah?” he grits between his teeth. “Want me to fuck you full?” A particularly hard thrust sends you cross-eyed, your nails digging into his neck. “Want me to fucking get you pregnant right now, baby?” 

An appreciative little slap to your slippery clit jolts your eyes open, his lustful gaze with a hint of something more—like adoration, like pure devotion—stares you down. You pull him into you once more, a clash of spit and teeth and tongue—you can even taste a hint of your own arousal from when he ate you out before you were begging him to knock you up. “Please- fuck- yes, baby, yes- fucking- let me make you a daddy, baby, please- want you- need it- need you so fucking bad-”

Fuck. Frankie’s pace falters, his hips stammer as his orgasm consumes him—his cum painting your warm walls, filling you up to the brim. You moan at the sensation, your hips thrusting backwards into him, and before you realize it, you’re cumming again, both your bottom halves an utter mess of each other’s arousal. 

Frankie softly slips from your heat, and you both hiss at the loss. He releases his hold on you, guiding you onto your back, his hands settling on the insides of your thighs to keep you open for him. His eyes can’t leave the way your pussy looks right now—completely fucked out, shiny with your slick, and filled with his cum. You feel it start to leak out of your hole, and you whine, the feeling so sensitive but dizzying, knowing you’re overflowing with Frankie. 

Before you know it, his fingers are collecting the dripping spend, bringing it back to your entrance, and slowly, his fingers enter you, the initial push inward causing more of his cum to seep out of you, but he’s quick to catch the leakage, pushing it back inside of you, where it needs to be. 

With one hand holding one thigh down and the other inside of your sex, Frankie’s entranced, starting up a delicious pace fucking into you with his fingers. You’re a moaning mess of curses mixed with his name, overstimulation taking over your body, but you don’t want him to stop. 

He couldn’t even if he tried. He’s too caught up in the notion that after this, his sperm could latch, and in nine months from now, you’d be big and round and glowing carrying the product of your love. Fuck, he needs this to work. He’ll fill you up every fucking day if that’s what it takes. 

He’s pulled from his trance when a heady moan roars from your throat, “F-fuck, fuck, Frankie, I’m gonna fucking cum again! Oh my god, baby- fuck-” 

His eyes are on your face: pure ecstasy, he’s seeing, in the way your head throws back into your pillow, only the white of your eyes showing, as the veins pop out your neck as you scream out in pleasure. 

He slides his fingers out, slick with a mixture of both of your arousal, and brings it up to your mouth. He knows how much you love to taste. 

Immediately you open up, lapping up your combined flavors greedily, a content, blissful smile plastered lazily on your face. 

“Am I full, baby?” You mumble. 

“So full, querida,” he whispers, laying his body over yours, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. 

“Do you think…” you trail off softly, nervous. 

“I don’t know, mi amor,” he breathes, kissing your chest. “Guess we’ll just have to keep you full everyday until we can check, huh?” 

Your cheeks heat up, your exhausted pussy already fluttering in anticipation. “Y-yeah. I guess so.” 

End note: LOLOL GUYS I, UH.. I REALLY WENT HARD ON THIS ONE, I'M SORRY BUT ALSO I'M NOT SORRY ASDFGFDFH PLS LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK <3 YOUR GUYS' WORDS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH Also how you doing, babe @javierpena-inatacvest?? You alive? Still with me?? I LOVE YOU AHAHAHAH

[pascalssbabyy]

oh darling em, this is just so lovely!

your writing will never cease to amaze me. the way you’ve describe grief and their trust in one another. so, so beautiful!🤍

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancee who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. you trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.