#Frankie morales x reader

[berryispunk]

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction,  emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

��She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting 

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back. 

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface? 

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful.  Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you. 

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. 

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping  himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second. 

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing.  He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved.  “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

thanks so much for reading, maybe show some love if you enjoyed it <3

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[letsgobarbs]

Ramadhan With Frankie and Family

There was an order to every fairytale— getting to know each other, falling in love, meeting each other’s friends and families, engagement, marriage and then spending a life together. It was much the same for you and Frankie… well, except for one teeny-tiny, small, minuscule little skip. Frankie had never met your family. Your parents knew him— they were there when you married him in a simple ceremony. But it was unheard of that an extended family would be left out of such an event.

There have already been many murmurs and underhanded comments from your family about feeling excluded. The plans had been thrown out, wholly unserious, until Frankie tentatively brought them up again, and your family kept pushing. Of course, you wanted Frankie to be acquainted with the people who held the keys to a room of your life that was now only accessible through longing and nostalgia. You knew this was important to him.

The expansion of a family was always a process akin to applying ointment on a burn. The sting and the burn of nerves, anxiety and fear of awkward meetings and introductions that were then soothed by the cool relief of warmth, love and acceptance. Your heart had doubled in size over the time you had gone from ‘Francisco's girl’ who they casually asked about over the phone to standing in his abuela’s kitchen as she packed you extra helpings of your favourites. And you wanted the same for Frankie.

But there had been hesitancy even when you had acquiesced to the silent plea of his doe brown eyes. It was because you were very Muslim, and Frankie was decidedly not. You did not know how your family would react to him not being Muslim— an outsider by both culture and faith. You could only hope they wouldn’t be overtly disrespectful towards him. Moreover, you also wanted to shield him from any covert complaints they might have against him. He was your Frankie.

Then you worried about your husband as well. Spending an entire month with a family right off the bat was stressful. Adding to that stress was the fact that it was Ramadhan. You didn’t know if he would be able to adjust to a hectic schedule of a culture in its full swing. But through it all, he was the gentle, calming balm to your fraught nerves. And you really shouldn’t have worried— he was nothing if not excited, curious and respectful.

Every day at 3.30 in the morning, after you’d snoozed the alarm for the umpteenth time, you would feel his lips against your face. He’d wake you up with gentle kisses and whispered caresses, only to finally kick you out of bed when you luxuriated for too long under his attentions.

It was during Suhoor he had won over your mother. She had found him alone in the kitchen, before any of the women had awakened, with the tea simmering on the stove for the family. He had let you sleep in that day. All mothers wanted for their daughters was for someone to love and care for them with gentility that did not need to be proved or attested. And she could see her own daughter was quite lucky to have a man like him.

You hadn’t been worried about the cousins. A few of them had taken one look at how dashing and handsome he was before giving you a not-do-discreet nod of approval. The others had discovered he could fly, and suddenly he was the coolest person they had ever known. It was the elders you had been nervous about— their eyes wary and faces lined with experience and a life you had never experienced. Frankie had adored your elders with all their character and peculiar habits.

It was the aunties he had charmed first. Not only with his disarmingly broad shoulders and pretty boy looks, but with the same steadfast respect and care he showed his own family. Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales, who rolled tamales at his mother’s table, blunts on your coffee table, took to rolling samosas and spring rolls just as well.

He always lent his hand to clear up after meals, which made the aunties find him far more endearing than their own children who sat on their asses. Frankie had solicitously announced he would take on more chores so the women could have more time to pray. And you’d had to contain your giggles when all the women had collectively, dreamily sighed. You had privately rewarded him with many kisses right after.

The uncles were much harder to please. They would incessantly poke and prod at his life, his family, his career, his salary. You’d lost your cool one evening at a string of intrusive questions, face hardened and tongue poised to tell an uncle to back off when Frankie had covered the back of your hand with his large one before giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance to silence you. Regardless, you were fuming. It was difficult to draw lines in the sand with family. But you knew their concern for you comes from a protective corner of their heart. “It’s something we have in common, baby,” He had said.

And as if making a fool out of you, all the tension between them had melted. The very next evening, you had found Frankie in the middle of a small, boisterous crowd engaged in a heated game of carom. His eyes were trained on the pieces on the board with a single-minded process which his tongue peeking out between his lips.

In a spur of impish mischief, you had made a loud noise that cause him to miss his shot. The small disks had skidded aimlessly across the board. He hadn't needed to look to know they'd all missed the hole. He had looked up at you with a face so pained and eyes so wounded under his hat that you had almost, almost, felt bad. All the men had treated you like the villain you were. But late into the night, when the house was sleeping, your husband had kissed you sweetly all the same.

They would have never accepted him, he had explained, if you had spoken up in his defence. You would have hurt their feelings by spurning their concern which would have only made them see Frankie as an interloper who was turning you against your family— isolating you from those who wanted best for you. They had received his gesture of stopping you as a show of quiet honour and self-assuredness.

He had picked up the bad habit of smoking a cigarette with the men of the household after the evening prayers. Frankie had whispered his apologies at the scent of smoke clinging to his clothes. He had coaxed you with sweet nothings and promised to quit as soon as both of you returned. You would never tell him how maddeningly attractive he looked smoking one.

You dragged him across the city to all your old haunts, fed him the late night snacks you enjoyed and kissed him in the shadows of dark streets. It wasn't until the holier nights, later into the month, when your grandmother had placed her wrinkled hands on his head— her shaky fingers stroking his curls— blessing him after her prayers, that you saw him feel the love and acceptance. Your nose had burned with the tears just as his eyes had glazed over. Both of you had hidden your overwhelmed faces by turning them down in prayer.

Eid was a celebration of many things— the celebration of all the hardwork invested into cultivating a better self, a stronger connection with God, with community, with family. So it was an Eid for Frankie too, a day to celebrate a newfound, expanding family and stronger love.

His smile was bright and dimpled. The crinkles around his eyes more pronounced as the sun scattered from his curls. He was dressed in his new white outfit, holding a wad of cash as the children gathered around him. They obediently chirped “Eid Mubarak” in their high, excited voices to receive their Eidi and a big smooch on their cheeks from their uncle Frankie before running off with the money.

You couldn't help but mirror his smile as you waited with a bowl of dessert for him— a delicacy he would taste first from your lips before inhaling the dish.

A/N: Eid Mubarak to all my lovelies!! It's tomorrow in my part of the world. I know many of us will be receiving some Eidi. And if you could spare some of it, then please consider donating to a few mutual aid efforts in Palestine. Thank you to everyone who contributed, especially those people who have compiled these lists of sources.

divider by @saradika-graphics

I couldn't make up my mind about the moodboard, so I'm posting both versions, they're mostly the same pictures though.

[milla-frenchy]

Recs | March 25

March readings, and celebrating March fic madness 25 @the-blind-assassin 💚

Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live 💚🙏

Check the warnings before reading, some of the fics are very dark

Joel Miller

Painting with Joel @beardedjoel

Movie night @aurorawritestoescape

A movie night ends with a bang

Where there's smoke @joelswhcre

You should’ve stayed away from joel miller the first time. but instead, you let him have you—once, then again, and again. you swore each time would be the last. but joel? he was never going to let you go that easily. and now, standing in a dark supply closet with his hands on your body and his cock buried deep inside you—whilst your boyfriend watches from the doorway—you’re finally realising what he meant when he said, "you’re mine."

Asking Joel to choke you @slamminslamminmcgill

We stay silly @corazondebeskar-reads

You and joel have a peaceful moment for both silliness and filth

Good boy @sp00kymulderr

The prophecy @schnarfer

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

Perfect @aurorawritestoescape

Joel comforts you and helps you to overcome your insecurities, pampering you with praise and love

Bad friend @joelstummy

What's a girl to do when she discovers her friend's husband may share an extreme kink that she's yet to be able to find her match for? Well, she plays with fire. And relishes in the burn

A doctor's care (re re re re re read ✨) @pedge-page

The wolf you feed part 6 @arcanefox207

Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter

Be my guest @aurorawritestoescape

Working as a hotel housekeeper, you meet a handsome guest under quite unexpected circumstances. An awkward conversation leads to a friendly relationship that grows into something none of you expects

Happy to help @itwasntimethatdidit40

You get turned on reading smut in a cafe and someone seems to know exactly what you need

Nice and slow @joelsknees

A quiet horny morning with joel

The human condition @metaphoricgibberish

Violet Wood is lost, thinks perhaps she's been lost since the day she was born. Joel Miller is a psychiatrist who has experienced a tremendous loss of his own. Neither of them are expecting each other

Rested @toxicanonymity

Joel is on his best behavior, but it's hard

Joel and Tommy Miller

Collared part 3 | part 4 | part 5 @tateypots

You are kidnapped by Joel and Tommy 3 years after the outbreak. This is a work of dark fiction, please heed the warnings and protect yourselves

Javier Peña

Baby, where's your underwear? @iknowisoundcrazy

Javi persuades you to go commando in the office

Ashes @inept-the-magnificent

Hands to myself @gothcsz

You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico

Lunch @oliveksmoked

Tim Rockford

Homecoming @604to647

Detective Rockford returns from weeklong tactical training

Marcus Pike

Backyard gardening @secretelephanttattoo

Pero Tovar

Stargazing with Pero @sawymredfox

Ambrosia @sawymredfox

Pero and his love enjoy a lovely afternoon together

Marcus Moreno

Nobody's gonna know @604to647

Acacius

I can't hear it now @joelmillerisapunk

A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed

Run @almostempty

General acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh

Ezra

Like family @max--phillips

You accidentally call Ezra "dad" and try to tell him you meant daddy

More (re read ✨) @moonlitbirdie

You want Ezra to take you while you’re asleep

Din Djarin

Mine @sawymredfox

A night adventure ends up being something much bigger

Lucien De Leon

Late check-out @secretelephanttattoo

Clint

Inescapable @cavillscurls

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him

Sweet surrender @joelmillerisapunk

Your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

Got your money @magpiepills

You’re a hooker who owes her pimp money and his right hand man, Clint comes to collect

Dave York

Keystrokes @mothandpidgeon

You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for

Creampie and cum @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Feasting @sizzlingcloudmentality

Stolen lunch @aurorawritestoescape

Dave steals your lunch

Just a ride @baronessvonglitter

When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue

Harry Castillo

30,000 feet @yxtkiwiyxt

You meet a handsome stranger on a flight

Threesome (and more)

The Senator's secret @baronessvonglitter (Oberyn x reader x Acacius)

The stakeout @toxicanonymity (Javi x reader x Steve)

The interruption @toxicanonymity (Javi x Steve x reader)

Idealists @for-a-longlongtime (Frankie x reader x Santiago)

Double vision @toxicanonymity m!ghostface x f!reader x f!ghostface

The party @tateypots

Offering to help your new stepdad host a party for his family doesn’t turn out the way you expect

Unnamed/other

The best part of waking up @baronessvonglitter

Sleepy morning sex with your favorite Pedro character

Flex @gothcsz

Hooking up with the guy you picked up at a party

Good girls @toxicanonymity (Steve Murphy x Claudia Messina x reader)

Daddy Dom!Steve is in charge, but you're the one touching her

My writing

Marrying Javi (Javi p x reader)

Playgirl (Javi p x reader)

Attracted to your father's best friend since his return from Colombia, you finally get what you want

Rotten luck (Javi p x reader)

Forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation

Fics recs

[theanothersherlockian]

I SCREAMED!!

frankie always run to her, he might not be the best person but he will ALWAYS be there

i also want frankie to ease my anxiety 😭❤️

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: you and Frankie have broken up but one night a panic attack makes you resort to the only person who can calm you

Warnings: panic attacks, breakup, a bit of angst, fighting verbally, pet names (darling, honey, babe, mi amor)

Words count: 3.8k

Notes: does the ending deserve a second part? Let me know ❤️ // lyrics in the title: The way I loved you - Taylor Swift

Update: second part is here

You’re grasping for air, everything feeling like it is collapsing on you, chest tightening as you hold a hand over your chest, trying to ease the pain but failing as it is not a pain that comes from the surface: it comes from within, it’s inside your chest and nothing could ease it right now, nothing could make your heart go slower and make it stop pounding in your chest, your rib cage hurting for the fast breathing.

Nothing but his touch, that familiar touch that would bring you calm and would bring you back to reality. But you don’t have him next to you, not after the breakup. Fights were never a thing between you two, there was never the need to raise your voice, until when three weeks ago you both did that. And right now you’re so caught up in the panic attack that you’re hating even more the reason why you fought, because it is denying you from having him next to you.

Hands tremble as you take the phone from the nightstand, and among the blur of the tears you scroll your contacts, and there is no one else that you would want to call, if not him.

You shouldn’t, after everything that’s happened and especially at such hour of the night, but eventually you press on his name, that name followed by heart emojis that you refuse to change, no matter how cheesy it can look.

The phone rings once, twice, three times and with your chest tightening even more you’re about to put it down, when the line gets picked up on the other side.

“Darlin’?” His husky voice lets you take a big breath.

But it is not enough, still unable to even pronounce a single word, let alone formulate a phrase.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he picks up immediately what is going on, having known and seen you having these attack more than once.

“Breathe with me, alright?”

You follow his instructions, letting that voice guide you and still, it is not enough, you would need him right by your side, holding the bedsheets close to your chest, trying to search for some comfort.

“Everything is alright, one more.” He says, you following his breathing. And you haven’t uttered a word since you picked up the phone, struggling to breathe and not being able to say anything.

“There you go, honey, there you go.” He coos when your breathing is starting to slow down, your eyes watering with tears, and a sob escaping your lips, covering your mouth with your hand but not in time, hot tears marking your cheeks and your fingers.

You hear him sighing on the other side, “Let it all out, it’s okay.” He keeps reassuring you, as you hold yourself with your arms, shaking your head as if he could see you, because nothing is okay. You miss him like hell, that lacking lacerating your chest and carving your heart, making it hurt even more than the panic attack. Your throat is hoarse, burning for the breathing and the tears that you had tried to hold back, failing.

“I’m coming over, darling, I’m coming over. Just keep breathing, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Frankie you don’t have to-” Your voice croaky, but he is having none of that, clicking his tongue on the other side of the line, “I do, instead. Wait for me.”

The room is silent again after you close the call, holding your knees to your chest, silence so hollow that it feels like it’s gonna swallow you, and that just reminds you how it would have been different if he was already here, if he had been sleeping by your side, holding you. And well, sometimes you wanted to hold him too, him bantering about the fact that he couldn’t be the little spoon, but he would shut up really quick when he would feel your arms around his torso, nuzzling behind his neck and delivering kisses all over his skin. He wouldn’t admit that, but he secretly enjoyed it even more than holding you, melting in your arms while being lulled to sleep and letting go of all his fears and nightmares. Because if you have yours, well he definitely has his, after whatever happened on the Andes.

So Frankie knows what it feels like to have one of these, to be trapped in your thoughts and your fears, in a cruel realm.

Those damn expeditions were the reason why that day you were arguing so much, you exasperated by another “trip” he was organising, as you shook your head at him, tears running on your face at the thought of what had happened last time, how you thought you had lost him forever. You would never tell him what he has to do, never prohibiting him anything, but this is the only thing that you’re gonna prevent him from doing. Frankie putting himself in danger for whatever reason and you having to wait for him to come back, hoping that he will come back in one piece? Not on your watch, not another time.

“Frankie I don’t want you to go, and you know why.” You had argued, your throat tight because of the tears.

“I came back last time, what are you so afraid of?”

Those words made you not only sadder, but even angrier at him, “You came back, you say? And tell me, how did you come back, uh? With nightmares so bad that you would sleep one hour per night,” you start counting the things on your fingers, your chest rising and falling quickly, “You would flinch at every single noise and your hands would tremble every time that the memories got the best of you, taking you somewhere else; you couldn’t even stand the rain because somehow even that reminded you of that trip.”

“Have you forgotten all of that?” You had pledged when he was giving you no response, “I haven’t,” he raised his shoulders, “But this time it will be different.”

You clicked your tongue, “Different? As in you will not come back at all? What is gonna be the difference, catfish?” Your blood pumping faster, feeling it in your jugular, so loud.

Frankie went on the things he would have gotten out of this trip, but you already lost him, you lost him the moment he had decided to go.

“You know what, Frankie?” You thundered, rising your hands in defeat, “Go on that trip, if that is what you want.” You took the keys from the kitchen isle, pointing then one at him, “But do not expect to find me here, waiting for you.”

You slammed the door of his house behind you, eyes burning with tears as you made your way to your car, parked along the sidewalk. Once in, you had placed your head on the steering wheel, crying silent tears that soon had become sobs, and God only knows how you managed to arrive back home safely that day.

A few water drops start hitting the window, that sound almost making you company, rhythmic like the thud of your heartbeat still ringing in your ears, still feeling it in your throat. He didn’t go on that trip though, you think right now, as you had accidentally met his friend a couple of days ago, telling you that it had been cancelled for good, and you wonder if he had done it for you, if some of your words had had an effect on him.

You’re still holding your phone when the noise of the door being unlocked reaches you, steps approaching the bedroom.

“Darlin’?” He calls from the hallway, and you let out a “I’m here.” Weak, but loud enough for him to hear it.

Your heartbeat for some kind of reason slows down the moment he crosses the bedroom door, his hair a little damp, like his denim shirt with raindrops staining it temporarily.

There’s in you the urge to stretch your hand towards him, to pull him close to you, but there is also the distance between you two blocking you, a metaphorical distance, a distance that is letting its eerie presence between you two, like the fog rising outside.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Frankie looks at you from the doorframe before taking few steps towards the bed, his look studying you, apprehension lingering on him; he’s close enough to sit on it, but he still hesitates, unsure about what to do in a room where none of you two have ever been unsure about something. Your bottom lip quivers at the sight of him so close to you, but still so unreachable.

“How are you feeling?” He croaks, holding himself in his arms, fighting the urge to hug you, thinking that it would be too much all of a sudden.

You clear your hoarse throat, “Better, I think, I’m- I’m breathing at least.”

He nods, now finally sitting on the edge of the bed, just on your side, “Was it a bad dream? Or a plain attack?” He asks, smoothing his hand a bit on the bedsheets, your eyes following his movement, that hand that you would love to hold and that you have pressed so many times on this very bed, intertwined with yours.

You clear your mind from that thought, “Just an attack, no nightmares.” You utter, costing you so much to pronounce some words.

But your eyes betray your emotionless words, being glimmering for the tears that still are coming up.

His hand keeps smoothing on the tissue, now closer to your knee, and it goes just above it, rubbing it gently, and even a gesture like that brings you comfort right now.

“Frankie, I- it felt so horrible, I thought I wouldn’t have ever breathed again.” You blurt out, chest burning.

He furrows his eyebrows, fighting his brain telling him to not come closer to you, and his heart instead telling him to embrace you in a hug, beating fast just at the thought.

And with Frankie, the heart always wins.

He can’t bear hearing that soft crying without doing anything, so he gets up and then sits next to you, embracing you in a hug that takes your breath away and then gives you oxygen at the same time.

He brings a hand behind your neck, circling his thumb there, “It’s okay, I’m here now, it’s okay.” Voice warm like the hug you’re in now, his heartbeat close to your ear making you forget about everything else for a moment, stilling in you that calmness that you need so much.

You instinctively grip on his shirt, hiding on his chest, the smell of rain on him mixed with his perfume as you nuzzle your face on it.

Frankie lets the back of his hand going over your shoulder, in a soothing movement up and down over your arm, “You’re alright, babe, I’m here.”

The thought of him leaving sooner or later makes you grip the shirt harder in your fist, “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promptly says, and he breaks the unspoken rule of not kissing you, as he lands a kiss on your forehead, thumb passing there right after.

You sink in that hug, even though you’re not sure about his words, he’s gonna go once you’re gonna be calmed down, and the fear that this might happen again plants itself into you.

“But you will go later?” You echoes, your breathing much better now, but keeping yourself in that hug for as long as possible, until your tears will dry up.

“Honey, you know that-” He doesn’t even know how to finish the phrase, because he knows that he will have to go, to leave you.

Your brain works through all the things that could happen if he stayed, and none of them is as worrying as him leaving you.

He’s your ex, you have broken up and him staying doesn’t mean getting back together… or does it?

You raise your head, your chin on his chest, “Just for tonight?” Bottom lip quivering, and his big sigh makes his chest rise and then fall down.

He doesn’t answer though, pressing his lips against your forehead again, your hand instinctively reaching for his cheek, how you have missed the feeling of his beard under your palm.

His warm hand wraps around your wrist, moving your hand gently way, and he can’t even bear to look at you as he does that, his inner moral telling him that if you broke up there’s a reason, or make it plural, and there is no need to fall back into that.

You smile bitterly as he unwraps you from the hug, pulling up the bedsheets over your lap, “Feeling better?” Not an answer, just another question.

You silently nod, seeing him getting up and adjusting the pillows behind you; his hand goes over your shoulder, gently pushing you down, closer to the mattress, “Then you should try to get some sleep.” He utters, and his lucid eyes betray him, betray his reluctance to admit that nothing has completely ended between you two, that all that you’re doing right now is a construction, thinking this is how you’re supposed to act as a broken up couple. But everything feels forced, the denied proper kisses, the hands reaching for each other but never holding and the eyes saying so many words even with just a sparkle.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.” He reassures you as you’re on the soft pillows, passing a hand over your face and cocooning in the bedsheets.

Frankie sees you closing your eyes and he absently reaches out his hand, retracting it immediately from brushing it on your hair. And he thinks that this is so stupid, at the same time cannot helping thinking there is no other way.

The darkness swallows him as he turns off the light on the nightstand, having seen you breathing slowly and not moving; the rain is still pouring outside, rhythmically hitting the window and he closes a bit the curtains of the bedroom, since a few lightnings have started to break the sky now.

He gets away from the window, pacing a little in the bedroom, not even sure on what he’s supposed to do right now; well, his head tells him that he should leave, he came here to check on you and calm you down, mission accomplished, and now it would be time to go back to his home, but his heart tells another story as always.

He sits on the edge of the bed, sighing and taking in the perfume in this room, your perfume, and passing a hand through his hair.

But eventually as he fights an inner battle, he gets up, feet feeling heavy and every step towards the living room and then the door requiring so much effort, the house pulling him in with some kind of force.

Hand around the handle, he only has to push the door open and everything would be fine, he can do it.

—

Frankie is many things, he’s messy, he’s stubborn and passionate, but there is one thing that he is not.

He is not a hypocrite. That is why he never pushed open that door, thinking how hypocrite it would be to come all the way here, and leaving like nothing happened when instead his heart is heavy and at the same time warm. He never got to his car under the pouring rain, driving while fighting back the tears.

He is not a hypocrite, he turned from the door and headed back to your bedroom, checking on you, and then sitting on the armchair in the corner. Sure, he had to move some of your clothes left there, eyes crinkling when he found a t-shirt of his, a bit wrinkled, but with your perfume on it. It’s not the most comfortable solution, but he doesn’t think that it would be right to lay in bed, especially when you’re already asleep, so he will bear it for one night. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at his home either, so why bothering much.

—

Humidity is sticking his clothes on him, making him feel colder, and that is what wakes him up, squinting his eyes a bit at the light coming from outside; the sun is rising, and there is no trace of any storm right now, the dark clouds having left place for the warm light.

He stretches, and obviously he’s welcomed by back pain, a gift from spending the night on the armchair; it’s all worth it though when he lays his eyes on you, seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you’re still sleeping, chest rising and falling at a slower pace and he takes in that image, knowing that could be the last time he sees you like that.

And still, Frankie doesn’t have it in his heart to leave, he thinks as he paces until the kitchen, taking the necessary to prepare some coffee, muscle memory as he takes all the tools and the coffee from the shelves. He’s sipping on it when he hears some footsteps in the hallway, “Darling, it’s me.” He says loudly, not wanting to scare you or making you think somebody else is in the house.

You stop in your tracks for a moment, your heart skipping a beat only to beat faster again when you find him in the kitchen, leaning back on the kitchen counter, sleepy look on his face. And he has never looked this gorgeous.

Only few feet separate you from him, and you would love to just run to him, jump in his arms because such is the happiness of finding him still here. But you won’t do any of that, not right now.

Your common sense stops you, but your face lights up, “You stayed!” You beam from the doorframe, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“I did,” he says, “I know you want to, so… come here.” He gives in, widening his arms, and one second after you’re engulfed by his arms, hugging him tight, that warmth against your cheek and his lips just landing a brief kiss over your hair.

He rubs his hand a bit on your back, “How are you feeling this morning?” He checks in, and you leave his arms to have a better look at him, “I’m good.” You sincerely utter, “And you’re here so…”

He smiles softly, “Took the liberty to make coffee, you want some?” He asks, diverting the talking.

So you’re now sipping the coffee that your ex boyfriend made in your kitchen, while he’s looking at you with that longing glance in his eyes, like he’s looking at something now forbidden.

“Thank you for staying, by the way.” Your hands now warmed up by the mug.

Frankie waves his hand, letting his mug in the sink, “I did what my heart told me to.” His arms now wrapped around himself, hugging himself. That is something you’ve seen him doing many times when he’s in need of comfort.

“Your heart told you to make coffee too and to wait for me to wake up?” You jokingly ask, him shaking his head, mirroring your smile.

“Maybe it did, yeah.”

Fighting the urge to kiss him right now might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, seeing him in this warm light.

“And you’re not leaving.” You absently say, it’s more something that you just thought but somehow it left your lips too.

“I mean, I’m up, you saw that I’m alright and everything and still-”

“Do you want me to leave, because of course I can-” He anxiously says, but you gesture your hand at him.

“No, mi amor, no.”

And you realise too late that those words have left your mouth, that you called him my love.

He raises his head in a heartbeat, look softening but a bitter smile now on his lips, “I loved when you called me like that.” He murmurs, still his arms wrapped around himself.

Your hand now covers your lips, almost as you got burned by those words.

“So you don’t want me to leave… where is this gonna lead, darling?” He asks, and you notice a glimpse of tears in his eyes, shutting your eyes for a moment at that sight.

“I- I don’t know.” But your answer hides the truth, you both know that. “I just want you here with me because I miss you, and I don’t want to imagine my life without you again.”

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose, and he wishes that things were easier. “Should we act like the breakup never happened then? Should we go back to normal ignoring why we broke up?”

And the feeling of losing him another time hurts even more.

“No, but we could learn from the mistakes, because that was a mistake, Frankie. Like, look at us. You ran here for me, spending the night sleeping on the armchair and you would have taken the pavement if there wasn’t one, and now you’re still here and-”

And you want to kiss him so bad. You’re dangerously closer to him, your fingers reaching his hair and brushing it from his eyes, getting even closer and standing on your tiptoes.

“Aren’t you gonna stop me?” You whisper, landing a kiss on his cheek, and Frankie shakes his head.

All it took was one look at you, and he had gotten rid of any reasoning telling him to not get closer to you again. He had pushed it aside, and maybe, just maybe, this will mean nothing.

But he highly doubts it when finally he has your lips over his, hand cupping your cheek and the other on your waist, pulling you even closer. It’s like breathing for the first time after ages, the kiss getting deeper real quick and that is an euphemism for two people who swore to have broken up and not wanting to be back together.

You breathe him in, his hand digging on your tshirt, and soon you’re all attached to him, bumping on his crotch.

“Fuck.” You exhale, feeling him, “So much for wanting to leave, uh?” You briefly tease, before kissing him again, hand in his hair.

His hands go lower, reaching behind your thighs, and that is when he lifts you up, landing you over the kitchen isle, still kissing you.

He’s now between your legs and well, you definitely didn’t expect to end up in this situation so soon.

“You asked where this was going to lead…” You utter, leaving his lips and starting to give pecks over his neck, Frankie gripping the kitchen isle. “I have quite a few ideas.”

“You do?” He teases back, and in response you start unbuttoning his jeans shirt, going on with the kisses, now tracing his collarbones and chest.

“Yeah,” you kiss him again on his neck, then whispering over his skin, “But let’s take it to the bedroom.”

[canadianfangirl-95]

A Close Call  

Frankie Morales x f!reader 

Summary: I saw a writing challenge for Pedro characters and one of them was hiding in a closet and I don’t remember who the creator was so I can’t submit but I wrote it for fun anyway. 

Warnings; post-Triple Frontier, Frankie has no wife or kid, friends with benefits, smut, unprotected piv, porn with plot, possibility of getting caught, idk it’s pretty funny too, probably missed something but lmk 

Word count: 3100+ (oops) 

Sliding the screen door closed behind you, you carefully latch the lock and shrug the bag on your shoulder higher. Santi and Yovanna have a hot tub, but like, the best hot tub ever. They said when they were on their month-long trip to visit her brother in Australia that anyone in the friend group could use it. That was 4 months ago, and you may have been sneaking over periodically to enjoy a private bath while they’re on a weekend getaway or you know they’re going to be seeing a particularly long movie. Thankfully, they love Quintin Terrentio and Chrisopher Nolan films. You know they wouldn’t exactly be mad if they found out, but they would definitely revoke your key privileges and with volleyball season coming soon, you’re gonna need the boiling hot soaks to calm your muscles. 

You dried off meticulously outside so as to not leave any drips on the floor. Your towel is tied around your waist, your bikini top bare and your clothes in the bag as your flip flops pat against the floor as you make your way to the guest bathroom to change. You turn the corner in the hall and come face to face with a brick wall. You yelp and step back, holding your nose that just got smushed.  

Not a brick wall. Frankie. 

“Fuck.” You curse, “What are you doing here?” 

He looks at you with wild eyes, “Um.” He stutters, “Doesn’t matter what are you doing here?” He asks accusingly. 

You look him up and down. Slide on sandals, swim shorts, a t-shirt, towel draped over his shoulder. You smirk and cross your arms over your chest. His eyes flick fleetingly at your breasts and then back at your face. “You’re here to use their hot tub, aren’t you?” You say smugly.  

Shifting nervously, he looks at the wall in the dark hallway and leans against it. “No, no just you know. Came to hang out with Santi.” He says casually before properly giving you a once over.  

Eyeing him amusingly you chuckle, “You always bring a towel to hang out with Santi? Don’t they have towels here?” You ask, your fingers reaching out to fumble with the dangling fabric. 

“Fine fuck off.” He finally says with a cracked smile. “But you’re literally in a bikini.” He says, gesturing to your barely covered body.  

You both let out a laugh before you point at him with your finger sternly, “Okay but hey, you gotta get out of here. I need the hot tub more than you and we can’t both be sneaking over here. One of us is gonna get caught.”  

“I need it too.” Frankie says admittedly.  

You scoff, “Why?” 

“I’ve got a bad back. I don’t know if you remember or not, but I was kinda in the army and for like 20 years and my back is fucked up.” He says exasperated. 

Rolling your eyes you let out a snoozing sound, “Ugh, yes how could I forget. You literally always talk about how you used to carry horses on your back through the jungle.” You make a fart noise with your tongue to accentuate your humorous tone.  

“I carried men, not horses.” He retorts with a smirk.  

“Fine, whatever. Look, I’ll rock, paper, scissors you for it then.” You say in a quiet hush, remembering where you are. 

His eyebrows narrow, “Why are you whispering, no one’s home.”  

The lock on the front door clicks and you both practically jump out of your skin. You hear the unmistakable sound of Santis’ voice and footsteps at the front of the house.  

“Shit.” You whisper. 

Frankie looks around frantically and then grabs hold of the handle on the hallway closet to your right, pulling it open. “Quick, get in.” He places his hand on your back to guide you in and quickly follows suit, quietly latching the door behind him.  

You’re standing in darkness, the only sounds your own deep breathing mixed with his. A moment later, a small light illuminates the room, and you look up at the light bulb Frankie just clicked on with a pull string. He releases it and looks down at you, the string swinging absently above you both.  

“What are they doing home already? I thought they had a late dinner out of town?” You whisper. 

He shrugs, “I don’t know. Usually when they go to that restaurant Yovanna has 3 glasses of wine and makes him stop at every gas station to pee on the way back.”  

Letting out a chuckle, you say. “3? Try 4.” Looking around, you take in the small hallway closet. Not much in it other than a gym bag shoved to the corner, but it was still tight. The proximity between Frankie and you a few inches at best. Looking up at his eyes, you ask. “What do we do?” 

“I don’t know. They’ve never come home early before. I’m in new territory.” He says, he moves to place his hands on his hips but his elbow strikes the door. You both startle and he curses.  

“Geeze. I thought you were special forces, how could you be this loud right now?” You whisper yell at him, your eyes wide. He gives you an amused look and lays his arms at his side.  

“Sorry.” 

Pinching your eyes shut you hum to yourself, “Fuck what do we do?” 

“What time is it?” He asks.  

You reach into your bag and pull out your phone, “11.”  

Nodding, he says. “Okay, so let’s just wait until they go to bed, sneak out and lock the door behind us. If they catch me, they’ll take my key. They’re still pissed at me for coming over with Benny after his fight that one time when we broke her vase.”  

Letting out a snort, you say. “Yeah, and if they catch me, they’ll definitely take my key away considering that time I came over and borrowed Santis truck without asking.” You cross your arms and lean back against the wall. 

He eyes you curiously, “You stole his truck?” 

“Borrowed.” You clarify. “I borrowed his truck.”  

“For what?” he asks amused. 

Smirking, you say. “I might’ve found a popcorn machine on Marketplace and it didn’t fit in my car.” Frankie lets out a quiet chuckle. “Hey, it was first come first serve I had to act fast.”  

“A popcorn machine? What are you twelve?” 

“What are you twelve?” You rebut in a mocking tone, and he has to chew his lip to keep himself from laughing.  

Frankie lifts his hat off his head and scratches at his curly locks. “Okay, so neither of us wanna get caught then. So, let’s just ride it out and we can slip out after they’ve gone to bed. No harm done.”  

“Fine.” You say, resting your head against the wall and shrugging your bag off your shoulder to place it gently on the floor beside the other bag.  

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans his head back as well, closing his eyes. You both settle there, but a few moments later you let out a deep breath. “I’m bored.”  

Grinning, he replies. “It’s been 30 seconds.”  

“Yeah, well I got bored in 30 seconds.” You retort quickly and he chuckles.  

His eyes peel open and he looks you up and down. “Remember the last time we were in a small space like this?” He asks with a mischievous grin.  

Giving him a knowing look, you shake your head and whisper back. “Forget about it Morales.”  

“That camping trip, you and I had to share a tent.” He begins and you chew your bottom lip. “If I remember correctly, we had trouble being quiet that night too.”  

You let out a huff of breath and roll your eyes, his words bringing you back to the memory of the two of you fucking in a sleeping bag on a friend’s camping trip when you got paired in a tent. It didn’t mean anything, was just fun, and with the way he’s eyeing you now, it seems like he wants to have some more. “No, Frankie. We’ll get caught.”  

He steps forward so that your bodies are almost pressed against one another. “Come on baby, you won’t be bored anymore.” He reasons and you look into his deep brown eyes, he chews his lip and pops his eyebrows up and down.  

Stroking the inside of your cheek with your tongue, you shrug. “Fine, but keep it quiet Morales.” You say, pointing your finger at him again.  

His head dips down and he takes your finger into his mouth, slowly dragging it through his lips till it pops out and he grins. “Trust me, you’re gonna be the one having a hard time staying quiet.”  

You let out a breath as he leans further and slots his lips against yours. You gasp into his mouth as his tongue licks into yours. Your hands begin working in tandem, he quickly grabs the towel around your waist and unties it, shoving it to the ground. Meanwhile, you’re pushing his off his shoulder and pulling his shirt over his head, knocking his hat softly onto the ground. His hands grasp at your ass as he pulls you closer, so your warm bodies are pressing against one another in the tight space.  

Hot air begins to fill the space as your breathing picks up. His hands wander every inch they can reach as they squeeze and pull at your ass and breasts. Your fingers intertwine with his hair and you moan quietly when he grabs your jaw to tip your head back to gain access to your throat. Frankie nips and sucks at your sensitive skin beneath your ear and your core pushes forward to begin rubbing against his hard cock through his thin swim trunks.  

He groans into your mouth at the pressure and then his hands find your waist and quickly spin you so you’re facing the wall. Your hands press hard against the cool drywall as your cheek rubs it. He gently kicks at your ankles, and you abide, stepping to widen your stance. He pushes his trunks down until they rest underneath his balls, and you feel his cock spring free and nudge you in the back. You wait without breath as he grabs your bikini bottoms and pulls them down your legs until they fall to your ankles. You quickly step out of them with one foot and take your place again hard pressed against the wall.  

Frankies breathing into your ear makes your cunt clench around nothing, until you finally feel his fingers graze your moistened folds. He hums, “Already wet for me. That’s my girl.” His praise sends a new flow of arousal through you.  

“Can you hurry up Morales? I’m getting bored again.” You joke and watch over your shoulder as he eyes you.  

“Won’t be saying that much longer. Won’t be saying anything actually.” With that you’re pushed further into the wall as he guides his hard cock deep into your pussy. You pinch your eyes shut at the stretch and try not to let out a deep moan. He stills and settles his forehead on your shoulder. “Fuck, just as fucking tight as I remember.” 

Your breathing begins to settle until you feel him pull back and then slam into you. “Fuck.” You whisper, tucking your head down. His strong and calloused hands clutch your waist as he begins to slowly rock into you. Fucking you senseless into the wall. Your head falls back gently against his shoulder, and he places a kiss to your temple as one of his hands rises up to hold your jaw.  

His dick nudges your cervix, and you moan. Too loud, too relaxed. His hand quickly releases your jaw and covers your mouth. “Quiet baby or I’ll have to stop.” His hushed voice whispers into your ear as his bare chest presses against your back. The heat beading off the two of you as sweat begins to develop between your bodies. As one of Frankies hands holds you quiet, his other snakes around your bodies to find your clit and your eyes squeeze shut as he continues to rail into your from behind and draw tiny circles on your sensitive bud.  

The tension begins to build in you, and you feel the familiar wave of contentment as your hands turn to fists against the wall. With another deep thrust in your pussy your walls squeeze around his thick member and your orgasm crashes into you. You’re thankful for the hand clutching your mouth as you whimper into it. Your pleasure surges him forward and he bites your shoulder to quiet himself as he spills inside you. He stills but the way his dick swells inside you makes your orgasm bloom further and you find yourself rocking your hips, continuing to fuck yourself on his sensitive cock like a dildo until he’s holding your tired body up with his arms.  

You both settle, and you rest your head again against the wall to let your breathing calm. You can feel Frankie finally peel his sweat covered body off of you, pulling his aching member out and reside to his side of the cramped closet.  

Turning, you lean down and step back into your bikini bottoms to pull them up before his spend begins to cascade down your legs. You grab your bag and pull out your shorts and T-shirt to dress yourself. He does the same, pulling his t-shirt back over his head and placing his trusted hat firmly on his head.  

After stuffing your towel into your bag, you pull out your phone again and eye the time. “Think we can slip out now?” 

He steps forward and peers at your phone. “Um, let me just check real quick.” He grabs the door handle and slowly turns it trying not to make noise as the latch clicks. The door opens slightly and the distant light from the living room is the only light illuminating the dark hallway. You both still your breathing as you listen for any sign of life. It’s quiet, no creaks, no voices, no tv on. He looks back at you and shrugs, “Seems like the coast is clear. Be quiet though.” He says pointing his finger at you and you nod, placing your phone back in your bag and preparing mentally for the treacherous walk to the front door.  

Frankie grabs his towel off the floor before slowly pushing the door open further, he looks around. “Okay, come on.” His hands reaches back and you take it as he guides you through the house. Your footsteps are quiet, and he looks around wildly for any semblance of his friends. You finally reach the front door, your breath a mere lump in your throat as he slowly unlocks the door. It creaks open and he grimaces before ushering you through. Following quickly and shutting the door behind him. You stand beside him as he pulls his keys out of his pockets and locks the door from the outside.  

He turns to you and lets out a breath, which you mirror. “Whew, that was a close call.” 

“No kidding, if we’re both gonna keep doing this, we gotta work out a schedule or something.” You say reasonably.  

He places his hands on his hips and looks you up down. “Or we could just come at the same time.” 

You give him an amused look and comment, “You just wanna fuck in their hot tub.”  

Shrugging, he says. “Maybe.”  

Grinning, you tap him on the arm and begin walking down the laneway. The cool evening Spring air bites at your bare arms and legs. He follows swiftly behind you. “Where’d you park?” He asks. 

“At the gas station down the road.” You say, gesturing to your right through the streetlight filtered night.  

“Oh, yeah that’s a good one. I’m just down there.” He says, pointing at his truck down the road in the direction you are also heading. You nod and both of you begin to walk down the sidewalk.  

“Doing anything next?” He asks, a devilish grin on his face.  

“Nah, wanna come over?” You ask, winking at him and he smirks.  

“Sure. I’ll pick up a pizza on the way.”  

Nodding, you say. “Oh, now you’re speaking my language.”  

You still in your spot as you reach his truck and he begins to cross the road, folding your arms across your chest as you watch him walk before calling out, “Hey!” 

He turns and calls back, “What?” 

“How did you break that vase with Benny?” You ask with a sly grin.  

Frankie licks his lips and lets out a chuckle. “Benny kind of, tackled me into it.”  

Your jaw drops, “He tackled you?” 

Nodding, he looks down at the pavement and then back at you. “Yeah, like I said it was after his fight, and he wanted to show me a new move he didn’t get to try out.”  

“I’m assuming alcohol was involved?” You joke.  

“Maybe.” He says with a chuckle. 

Laughing you say, “You guys are ridiculous.” 

“Yeah, but you love us.” He says, walking backwards towards his truck.  

You wave your hand casually at him and begin to walk in the direction of your car. “Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit.”  

“Yep.” He confirms, before jumping into his truck.  

Santi rounds the edge of the bed and grabs his phone off the nightstand. 

“Are they gone yet?” Yovanna asks, rubbing moisturizer on her legs in bed.  

Santi smirks, looking at his phone. “Yeah, just slipped out the front door. 20 years in special forces and they seriously didn’t think we’d have security cameras?” He says with a humorous tone. “Good idea coming home when we did, didn’t think we’d get a chance to catch both of them.”  

She shakes her head, “So, are you gonna give them shit tomorrow?”  

Santi slides into the bed and leans back, resting his arm under his head. “We’ll see, might be fun to fuck with them a little more. Payback for stealing my truck.” 

“And breaking my vase.” She comments, pointing at him and he nods.  

“And for breaking your vase.” He confirms.  

She nods and begins to rub moisturizer on her hands, looking up in thought. “What do you think they did in the closet for that long?” 

He shrugs against the bed as his eyes drift close. “If I know them at all probably just, played rock, paper, scissors or something like that.” 

[mandaloriankait]

New Love

A/N: Should I be working on my wip list instead of writing new ideas? Yes. Am I? Nope. Woke up with the urge to write some Frankie Morales so here we are.

Warnings: unprotected pinv

Taglist: @gothcsz @clubsoft @the-only-din-i-want

You groaned as the light filtering in through the curtains hit your face, burrowing deeper into your pillow in an attempt to escape it. As you did, you became aware of a body behind you, an arm slung over your waist, breathing on your neck. Turning your head slightly, you saw one Frankie Morales curled up against you. Your breathing stuttered as you took in his sleeping face, almost ethereal under the morning sun. Before you could move, he stirred, eyes fluttering open and wincing at the sun. “Fuck, it's so bright.”, he groaned, arm tightening around your waist slightly. Then, his eyes fully opened and he stared at you, eyes darkening as he took in the position you were both in. “Frankie, what….what happened last night?”, you asked, pulling away from him and pulling the covers up to your shirt covered chest. His shirt, you realized belatedly. He let you move away from him but kept a hand on your thigh, thumb making small circles. “I don't know. The last thing i remember is leaving the bar. With you.”, he responded slowly, as though to not spook you. You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you tried to think back to last night.

Flashes came back to you- of you and Frankie with the guys at the bar, of you leaving with him, getting into his truck and driving to his place, of you kissing him and being pressed up against his door with his face in your tits. But you don't remember anything else- one of you must have stopped it before you went too far. You looked at Frankie to find him already staring at you, something akin to hunger in his dark brown eyes. You told him what you remembered, and he groaned, laying back on the bed. “Fuck, I'm so sorry hermosa. It's my fault, it has to be.” You stared at him, cocking an eyebrow curiously. He hid his face with one large hand, the other still on your thigh, the touch comforting. You and Frankie had been friends for a long time, meeting after he came back from a work trip that he never talked about. He introduced you to the rest of the guys, and just like that, you had a new friend group. Friday nights were spent at the bar with them, and you leaving with Frankie wasn't uncommon, so why was this time different? How did you end up in his bed? You said the last part aloud and he glanced up at you, cheeks darkening slightly. “Look, I just….you're here because I want you here. But not like last night when we were drunk.”, he said quietly. “What do you mean you want me here, Frankie?”, you asked, watching as he sat up to be level with you as he continued talking. “I like you, bebita. I like you as more than a friend, I want more than that with you. I told you all this last night, but I stopped us from having sex because I didn't want the first time to be like that.” 

You sat in stunned silence as you processed his words. More flashes were coming back to you, and you remembered him telling you he loved you, right before you kissed him. You had always thought he was sweet, handsome, boyishly charming; but he never made a move, so you pushed those feelings down and you contented yourself with being his friend. Frankie stared at you, waiting for your reaction; his hand still on your thigh. “Fuck, Frankie, I….I don't know what to say.”, you murmured. The light in his eyes dimmed, and he pulled away from you, moving to get up. “Wait, no, where are you going?”, you asked, grabbing at his arm and pulling him back down to the bed. He was closer than ever before now, refusing to meet your eyes. You didn't have the words, so you did the only thing you could think- you kissed him, hands sliding up to cup his face. He immediately groaned into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it. His tongue slid into your mouth as his hands cupped your face gently, yours moving to his shoulders. You whined when he pulled away, a soft smile on his face at your reaction. “I love you too Frankie. I have for a while, I just never thought you felt the same way.”, you whispered. Smile getting impossibly wider, he surged forward to kiss you again. This kiss was hungry, passionate as you both poured your feelings into it, tongues tangling as you both moaned. He pulled you into his lap, trailing kisses down your neck until he stopped to suck a bruise onto your pulse point. Your hands tangled in his curls, tugging lightly as he groaned against you. You pressed your hips down against his, rolling, grinding gently. Frankie's hands moved to your waist as you did so, pulling back and looking you in the eyes. “You sure about this? We can stop if you want to.”, he asked, running a soothing hand up your spine. You shook your head, reaching down to pull your- his- shirt up and off. His eyes widened, taking in your bare chest and torso before leaning forward carefully, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking. You whimpered, arching your back as you rolled your hips down. 

You writhed against him as he sucked bruises onto your chest and collarbone, holding you to his mouth tightly. You could feel his hard length pressing against your core as his hips ground up against yours. “Fuck, Frankie. Feels so good.”, you whimpered, hands tangled in his curls as he finally pulled back from you, breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide and his hair was messy from your hands, but he looked content. Happy, even, as he surprised you by flipping you on your back. You giggled as your back hit the mattress, looping your arms around his neck to bring him in for another kiss. You reached down and slipped a hand into his boxers, encircling his cock with your hand and tugging gently. His head fell to your shoulder, a deep groan reverberating In his chest as you continued to fist his cock. "Shit, just like that baby.”, he whined into your neck, pressing featherlight kisses onto your skin. Frankie pushed up off of you and slid his boxers down before grabbing your underwear, tossing them both over his shoulder. He covered you again with his body, running his cock through your slick folds and causing you to whine his name. “Frankie, stop teasing!”, you said, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. Finally, finally, he slid into you, the feeling of fullness almost overwhelming as he bottomed out deep inside you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good hermosa.”, he groaned, pulling out and then setting a lazy pace that almost had you screaming. You could feel every inch of his thick cock, and he seemed determined to take his time with you. His large hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him every time he pulled out. You keened when he hit a certain spot, swearing you could see stars behind your closed eyes. “Oh my god, Frankie, please, I need more. Harder.”, you moaned, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as he suddenly picked up the pace. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back into you hard.

“This what you need baby? You need to be fucked hard?”, Frankie growled in your ear. You clung to him desperately as you moaned his name over and over. “I can feel how close you are, you're fucking clenching on this cock. What do you need?”, he asked, never slowing down the pace of his hips. “Fuck, I need- hand- your hand, Frankie.”, you babbled; thankfully he understood what you meant and pushed a hand in between your bodies. Finding your clit, he started rubbing tight circles into it, the sensation causing you to arch your back and cry out his name as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. He cursed as you gushed over his cock, clenching down around him. With a few more thrusts, he followed you over the edge, his hips stilling as he came deep inside you. He murmured your name softly, cradling your face in his hand as he gently kissed you. “God, Frankie, we should have done that sooner.”, you said, earning a huff and a grin from him. He pulled out of you gently and rolled to lay beside you, gathering you up in his arms. Your head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed down. “Breakfast?”, Frankie asked, kissing the top of your head. “Mmm, maybe after a nap.”, you yawned. “Whatever you say, cariño.”, Frankie said with a chuckle, pulling you even closer. 

[baronessvonglitter]

I love Frankie & Shortcake 🥰 seriously, they make me so happy ♥️♥️♥️

Take It Off (a Strawberry Shortcake Super Bowl drabble)

1K / Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Summary: You host Frankie and the TF boys for The Big Game and are given a choice of which team's jersey to wear.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames per usual (Shortcake, baby), oral (f!receiving), fingering, wee bit o' dirty talk, one (1) "daddy". Taylor Swift songs.

A/N: I cannot express just how much I do not care about The Big Game 😂, but just like last year, I wrote a Super Bowl drabble while the family watches football 🤗 This is our Strawberry Shortcake couple, but you don't have to read it (all you need to know is that Valentina is Frankie's daughter, Raynor is Reader's son and they're best friends). Apologies for this being barely edited - I'm trying to feign some interest as to what's happening on the field 🤭 Go Sports!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

🎶So take a look what you've done

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)🎶

Giggling, hands still soapy, you lean away from the kitchen sink so you can watch the musical performance taking place in your living room. 

Frankie and his friends are watching Superbowl LIX at your house, and Uncles Santi, Will and Benny have been doing an admirable job entertaining two overly excited six-year-olds during the pre-game.  First up: the Puppy Bowl; cute, but the show inspired increasingly desperate, renewed pleas from Valentina for a dog.  When Raynor threw in his own puppy dog eyes to aid his best friend, Frankie, knowing he was in danger, had to hastily switch the channel.  After that came a rousing American football lesson using toys found around your living room – the whole thing almost ended up in a Miller brothers fight when Will’s Lego Elsa quarterback got sacked by Benny’s Beyblade before his Jellycat offensive linemen were set up.

The remedy was an impromptu Taylor Swift concert, with each Delta Force boy headlining his Era of choice - Raynor and Valentina their enthusiastic backup dancers.  Right now, Uncle Santi is in his 1989 era, twirling the kids around your living room with aplomb.

“You’re driving me crazy with that jersey, Shortcake,” growls the dangerous baritone kissing down the back of your neck.

Turning back to the dishes you want to get done before the game, you chuckle. Frankie looks more than adorable, pouting in his team colours, decked out in Chief’s gear – even his usual Standard Oil cap has been replaced by a bright red snapback.  Showing up with a coordinating Santi and Valentina, he brought both you and your son matching jerseys; Raynor donned his happily, eager to match with his best friend.  You on the other hand, are wearing a green Eagles jersey, matching the ones Benny and Will have on; with very little interest in the NFL, and even less loyalty to any particular team – you couldn’t say no to Benny when he held out the Philadelphia gear, pouting about being outnumbered.  The apologetic look you gave Frankie as you slipped into the green top did not prevent him from shooting back a (somewhat) joking look of disgust.

Frankie’s hands grip your hips, tightening over the jersey material as if to change its colours through force; playfully you wiggle back into his hold, “Maybe that’s why I agreed to wear it, Francisco.  So you’d rip it off of me later.”

“You’re trouble, baby.”

As if on cue, Will’s Red Era warble screeches into the kitchen:

🎶I knew you were trouble when you walked in

So, shame on me now🎶

Laughing, Frankie helps you with the dishes, the two of you finish in time to give Will and the kids a well-deserved round of applause as they close out the song, belting 🎶TROUBLE🎶 in canon.

“Going outside to throw the ole pigskin around before the game,” chirps Benny, tossing the football to Santi before scooping up a kid under each arm and heading for your backyard to a chorus of masculine whoops and high pitched first grader squeals and giggles.

“Not you, Trouble,” a hand pulls you back and towards your bedroom.

“Frankie!” you gasp, flushed and squirming when that same hand pushes you onto your bed after locking the door.

“Forget later, you’re gonna take that damn jersey off NOW,” snarls Frankie, dropping unceremoniously to his knees, bear paw hands roughly pulling down your leggings along with your underwear – he helps you kick them off before using those same big mitts to spread you wide.

The last thing you hear before throwing your head back against your mattress in a pleasure-soaked whine is something about how this cunt is the tastiest thing on tonight’s menu.

Frankie slurps and laps at your pussy like a man possessed, as if ravaging your cunt is his own personal contribution to his favourite team’s chances of winning tonight.  You try to muffle your cries of ecstasy as your boyfriend positively feasts, talented tongue dancing and dipping between your folds, face fully buried in his own personal heaven.  When two thick fingers breach your entrance and curl, you’re already closer that you thought possible – panting, you knock the red cap off Frankie’s head and fist his soft brown curls, “Frankie!  Fuck, baby… I’m so close!  Please, I’m so cl-“

The bastard slows down and pulls his mouth away.

Your head snaps up, death glare that could make a pro linebacker quake in his cleats aimed at the man between your legs.

“Say you’ll take off the Eagles jersey…”

“Francisco!!”

“… and wear MY jersey and I’ll let you come, Shortcake.”

Desperate, you nod frantically at the man who’s still sawing his fingers in and out of your cunt at an agonizing slow pace, “Yes, daddy, anything you say.”

“Good girl,” Frankie purrs as he resumes his previous pace, hefty digits thrusting through the glide of your dripping arousal – your body arches as you’re thrown back onto your bed with the force of Frankie’s conquest.  Strong aquiline nose nuzzling your throbbing clit, Frankie chuckles low at your mindless whinnying; he lays a soft, pitying kiss to your crying nub before latching on and sucking. 

You explode.

---

When the kids, Santi, Will and Benny come back in for kick-off, you’re just tipping a Wing Pit bucket of wings onto a plate to add to the spread – now wearing a bright red jersey.

“Awww, no fair,” whines Benny, grabbing a plate to load up, “you changed.”

“Sorry, Ben,” you grin with a happy shrug, “Frankie convinced me.”  Frankie stands right behind you, arm wrapped possessively around your waist, one large hand splayed wide over the bright Chiefs colours you’re now sporting, the other holding a chicken drumette – his BBQ-stained mouth stretched wide with a shit-eating grin.

Will walks by on his way to the pizza boxes, hand coming up to smack Frankie on the head, “Cripes, Fish – you’re such a messy eater.” You nearly drop the bowl of dip you’re holding as you choke at Will’s words and Frankie’s belly shaking laugh of a response, “Can’t help it, menu’s tasty tonight.”

Thank you for reading! If you like stories where Pbois eat out their ladies while professional sports is being played, perhaps you may enjoy Hat Trick Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🏒🤭

[berryispunk]

Haunted by You

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: ANGST, heartbreak, conflicted feelings, kinda love confessions, exes to????, NO CHEATING, did I mention angst?, husband! Frankie, daddy to be! Frankie, regrets, alcohol mention, longing

summary: You almost forgot the pain he's caused until you unexpectedly meet him again in the bar.

notes: Don't ask me any questions. A quick idea after I saw the quote that's in the moodboard. Don't send me your therapy bill :')

this is part 1/2 (part 2 follows soon !)

word count: 1,8 k

Seeing him here, out of all places, out of all the times you went to this bar, feels like a sick joke from the universe. It feels like the cosmos pointed its finger at you, laughing heartily at your misfortune. Because of course, it had to be him.

You almost think you're imagining it—the way your breath catches, the way your chest tightens like an old wound being pried open. But he’s real. Too damn real. Frankie Morales, in that worn-out mustard jacket you’d recognize in crowds any time, hunched over a whiskey glass, looking just as wrecked as the last time you saw him—except now, you’re no longer the reason for it, or maybe you still are.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Not yet. And for a split second, you consider leaving. You should. You should. But your feet stay rooted, fingers tightening around the damp glass of your half-finished drink. The past is sitting just a few feet away, and for the first time in a long time, it feels alive—gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, warning to be freed.

The bartender slides another drink in front of you, giving you a knowing look. "Rough night?"

You huff out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "You have no idea."

Then, like a magnet drawn to its opposite, Frankie finally turns. When his eyes meet yours, it’s like nothing has changed. Except everything has.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second—a flicker, barely noticeable unless you’ve spent years memorizing the way he looks at you. And you have. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. His expression shutters, closing you out the way he always did when he thought he was protecting you. Like that ever worked.

Your stomach twists. You should have left. Instead, you sit there, trapped in the weight of his stare, in the silence between you, in the ghosts clawing their way up from the past to wrap their fingers around your throat.

Frankie shifts, his fingers tightening around his glass. He looks down at it, then back up at you, something unreadable in his gaze. His eyes, dark under the cap he always used to wear—another one of his trademarks that are etched into your memory, impossible to erase. Just like everything else about him.

"Didn't think I'd see you here." His voice is rough, like he’s been drinking for a while. Or like he hasn’t slept in even longer.

You swallow against the lump in your throat. "Yeah, well. I could say the same."

A humorless huff of laughter escapes him. He glances away, rubbing the nape of his neck—something he always did when he was nervous.

For a second, you let yourself look at him—really look. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag like he’s been carrying the weight of the world alone. You wonder if he even tries to set it down anymore.

It shouldn’t hurt, seeing him like this. But it does. God, it does.

You turn back to your drink, hating the way your fingers tremble against the glass. "Didn’t think this place was your scene," you say, just to fill the silence. Just to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

Frankie exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "It's not, well not since—" he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. You know what he’s implying.

"Then why are you here?"

He hesitates. For a moment, you think he might lie. But then he lifts his whiskey to his lips, takes a slow sip, and says, "Looking for ghosts."

Your heart stutters. Because you know what he means and you're terrified you might still be one of them. His words linger between you, thick as the whiskey in his glass.

Looking for ghosts. Well, congratulations, Frankie. You fucking found one.

You open your mouth—maybe to snap back, maybe to say something that hurts—but then your eyes catch it.

A glint of gold.

Something sharp and awful coils in your stomach, twisting deep. For a second, you think it’s a trick of the dim bar lighting, but no. It’s real. Solid. Sitting there on his left hand like a goddamn brand. Your throat is suddenly dry, but you force the words out anyway. "When?"

Frankie doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. He glances down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly before curling them back into a fist.

"A year ago."

A year. Not right after you. Not right away. But soon enough that the breath in your lungs turns razor-sharp. You nod slowly, like it doesn’t feel like your ribcage is collapsing.

"She knows you’re here?"

Frankie’s jaw tenses. That tells you everything you need to know. But you press anyway, because if he’s gonna haunt you like this, then you’re taking him down with you. "Is she home waiting?"

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. "She’s… she’s due next week."

That does it. That rips the air from your lungs, knocks the glass from your hand. It doesn’t shatter, but it might as well have.

"You’ve got a kid on the way?" Your voice is a whisper, but it might as well be a scream.

Frankie exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "It’s not—fuck, I didn’t come here to—"

"To what, Frankie?" Your laugh is bitter. "You didn’t come here to see me? Then why the hell are you sitting in our bar drinking like a man with regrets?"

He flinches, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. And that’s when it hits you, that deep, festering thing in your chest you’ve been ignoring since the second you saw him tonight.

It doesn’t matter if it’s been years. If he’s married. If he’s about to be a father. If your story ended.

Because it was still a story. Unfinished—the book slammed shut, but the ending was written somewhere else. Just not in yours.

Frankie stares down at his drink, like maybe he’ll find answers at the bottom of the glass. And for a long, agonizing moment, he doesn’t say anything.

But then, barely above a whisper—like it’s the only real thing left in the world—he says it.

"I still think about you."

Your breath catches.

"Every fucking day."

You hate how much you want to believe it. Hate how much you want it to be enough to change things between you.

"Even when I’m with her."

It’s a confession, a wound ripped open and bleeding all over the fucking floor.

"Even when she’s sleeping beside me."

Your stomach twists.

"Even when I touch her, it’s you I see."

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

"I wanted it to be you." Frankie’s voice breaks, and it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. "I wanted it to be you I built a life with. You I had a family with. I swear to God, I—"

"Shut the fuck up, Frankie."

Your voice isn’t loud. It isn’t sharp. It’s shaking. Your hands tremble at your sides, fingers curling, not in fury but in something worse—something raw and aching, something that feels like it might split you open.

"Do you hear yourself?" you spit out. "Do you have any fucking idea what you’re saying?" It’s not anger that clogs your throat, it’s everything else.

Frankie drags a hand over his face. "I know it’s fucked. I know I shouldn’t be saying it." His eyes flick up to yours, wrecked and desperate. "But it’s the truth."

"No," you snap. "The truth? The truth is you left me. The truth is you moved on. The truth is you’re about to have a kid with another woman, and you don’t get to sit here and tell me it should’ve been me just because you feel guilty tonight."

"It’s not guilt," he says, and the worst part is—he may mean it.

You shake your head, laughter bubbling up, sharp and jagged. "Oh, it’s not? So what the fuck do you want from me, Frankie? You want me to say it back? You want me to tell you I still think about you too? That I still wake up expecting to find you next to me? That no matter how hard I try, no one else ever—"

You choke on the words before they can escape, swallow them down with the bitterness in your throat. His face is pure devastation; he looks like you just shot him.

"I just…" He trails off, eyes flickering to his glass. "I just needed to see you."

And God, that’s the worst part. Because you needed to see him too. But it doesn’t fucking change anything.

And you don’t want to feel it—this, what’s happening between you both. But it’s impossible to ignore. The pull. The gravity. The familiarity that fills the air between you. It’s like no time has passed. The years just slip away, and here you are again, inches apart, breathless, with so much unsaid between you. Before you even realize it, you’re leaning in. Just a little. Just enough to catch the warmth of his breath, to inhale the scent that once clung to your skin. The same scent that lingered on the one shirt he left at your place. The one you held onto like an anchor, drowning in your tears for weeks, refusing to let go.

His fingers twitch like they want to reach for you. His eyes are dark with something you shouldn’t want, but still so heavy with meaning. You almost let him. All the feelings, all the longing you buried so deep, start bubbling up again, rising to the surface.

But it’s too much. It oversteps every line you swore you wouldn’t cross. But right here, right now, it feels like the easiest thing in the world to fall into him. To forget everything else. To pretend there’s still a chance. Another reality for you both. Another life where you aren’t the end of each other.

But in the last moment of clarity, you stop and pull back. And the distance between you feels like a chasm.

"No," you whisper, almost to yourself. "I’m not doing this."

His face twists like you’ve slapped him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.

"You’re about to ruin all of this," you say, voice shaking but resolute. "You’re about to ruin everything you have—everything she’s about to give you—for some stupid fucking nostalgia. You don’t get to chase the past, Frankie. You don’t get to fuck up your life just because it’s easy to be here, with me."

Your voice breaks as you say it, but you’re too angry, too hurt to stop. "You made your choice. Don’t make me the one who gets hurt again."

He doesn’t answer. Froze in an endless loop of time stretching between you. His hand hovers in the air like he’s trying to reach for something he’s already lost.

Then he swallows, his voice rough. "I wish I didn’t have to choose."

But the words hang there, unanswered.

You turn, tears falling—silent and heavy, burning down your cheeks—as you take a steady step away, each one a little more certain than the last. Maybe it’ll eat you alive, knowing he’s about to be someone else’s family. But you can’t let him ruin you again.

You leave him there, probably just as conflicted as you—suffocating in his own mess of emotions. But he deserves to feel this. He deserves to suffer too, just like you. You won’t let him break you again.

You won’t.

my masterlist - in case you're hungry for more :)

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[beefros-sin-bin]

Oh this is just beautiful!

Home [Frankie 'Catfish' Morales]

pairing: frankie 'catfish' morales x reader

wordcount: 787

warnings: none

The loose floorboard in the hallway groans a warning as Frankie eases the apartment door shut with his hip, willing the latch to catch without waking you. It doesn’t cooperate. The sound reverberates like a gunshot in the predawn stillness.

He winces. Holds his breath. Tries to focus on any other sound that isn’t the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. Half-expects to hear the rustle of sheets, the padding of concerned feet.

But the bedroom remains silent. Small mercies. 

In the cramped kitchen, he deposits his keys in the stoneware bowl you made in that pottery class last spring — the glaze a blue so pale it’s almost grey. Frankie likes the weight of it in his palm, the way the cool lip catches on his fingertips. Solid. Real. Just like you.

He then sheds his jacket. The leather one you say makes him look like one of main characters from those Mexican telenovelas your mother used to watch. Drapes the garment over the wonky lath-back chair neither of you use. Stops. Closes his eyes. 

The grey half-light filtering through the blinds paints his skin in shades of ash and sorrow. He knows what he’ll see if he looks in the mirror hanging beside the door. Hair overdue for a cut. Stubble gone rogue. Crow's feet carved deep as canyons around eyes that have seen too much. Bruises under his eyes darker than the ones blooming across his ribs, souvenirs from a world that's always been more keen to break than to bend.

But there are laugh lines there too, now. Trenches carved by joy instead of worry. Your love marks him in kinder ways. And when you run the pad of your thumb along the furrow between his brows, it’s always a little less deep than it was this time last year.

You’re gentling him. Slowly, slowly. A feral creature coaxed in from the cold, learning to trust the warmth of the heart.

Frankie fills the coffee pot. Catalogues his aches as it percolates. His shoulder throbs and his knuckles sting beneath their ripped scabs. Nothing he hasn't endured before. And if he’s being honest, he doesn't remember what it feels like to wake up without something hurting. Without some part of him crying out in remembered pain.

But it's duller now, muted. Easier to breathe through.

He looks away.

There are pink dish gloves, as size too small for his hands, draped over the faucet. A mug with a chip on the rim waiting beside the sink – a faint lipstick print still visible.

You’d waited up. You always wait up. 

His heart clenches and his chest fills up with that feeling that always leaves him a bit disoriented. A little bit dizzy. 

He carries his coffee to the sagging couch, the one you'd picked out together at the thrift store down the street. It's ugly as sin but sinfully comfortable. He sinks into it now, letting the worn fabric absorb his weight, his weariness.

The first sip scalds his throat but he welcomes the burn. Lets his head fall back. Stares at the ceiling. There’s a water stain in the corner that looks like a lopsided heart. He wonders if it’s shaped like yours, misshapen from making room for him inside its chambers. 

His eyes prickle. He closes them. 

The bedroom door sighs and there’s a soft shuffling of bare feet on hardwood. And then you emerge — hair sleep-mussed and eyes barely open. But then you blink at him, your eyes still hazy with dreams, soft and rumpled and smudged at the edges.

His chest constricts, a sweet ache blooming behind his ribs.

"You're home," you mumble, padding to the couch on quiet feet before climbing into his lap, graceless with exhaustion, all elbows and knees and cold toes seeking warmth. You fit yourself against him, your head finding the crook of his neck like it was made to rest there — your cool nose nuzzling against his pulse point.

He wraps his arms around you. Tugs you closer.

“I’m home,” Frankie whispers into your hair, and you only burrow closer. Tuck your cold toes under his thigh. Hum contentedly when his fingers slip under your shirt to trace your spine. His ribs creak as you settle but he doesn’t shift you. Just breathes you in. You smell like sleep and fabric softener and something that might be peace. 

The weak winter sunlight inches across the floor, tentative and pale, reaching for you with gossamer fingers. He lets it come. Lets it wash over you, chasing away the lingering shadows of the night. There are no shadows here it can’t touch. Not anymore. Not while you’re in his arms. 

Not while you're his home.

[maroonpascal]

And now I see daylight

I only see daylight

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Series summary: after a panic attack you called the only person who could calm you, who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. And after a stormy night, the next morning only brings daylight.

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, soft!frankie, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), riding, creampie, talks of birth control, unprotected sex, pregnancy, use of pet names (honey, babe, babygirl, mi amor, mi ángel, princess, sweetheart, angel)

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: second part of “But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain” - lyrics in the title for this one are from Daylight by Taylor Swift

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Dividers' creds: @anitalenia

“Let’s take it to the bedroom.”

And a moment after you’re crossing that door, up in his arms. That same bedroom that last night was so dark and somber, and now instead it is warm and bathed in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. But you know that the sun is not the only form of light, you have your own just in front of you, as you cup his cheeks and kiss him, hands tangling in his curls. Your one and only light, making you feel safe now in his arms, breathing him in, breathing in his golden light that is mending you.

Frankie lays you gently on the bed, bedsheets undone as he hovers you, kissing you on your cheeks and then on your lips; soon he reaches your neck and you hope that he knows he’s the cause of your pulse pumping that fast, heart racing as he descends and kisses you over your chest, leaving it only to take off your t-shirt. And you’re not wearing anything underneath that, his lips closing on your bare skin, a hand going to cup you and holding you gently. Lips go over your breast, soft and wet, as he circles your nipple with his tongue before closing his lips around it, sucking it briefly. He proceeds to do the same with the other one, as you exhale a moan already, a hand in his hair as you urge him to go lower.

“We can take things slowly, you know, we have all the time of this world,” he utters, kissing you on your abdomen, making you hold your breath, as you would always have the same reaction to that, “And even if we hadn’t it, I would make sure to bend time just to spend it more with you.”

You melt at those words, as if you weren’t already melting at his soft touch, his beard scratching lightly your skin, and you surely haven’t forgotten how romantic he can get, how he forgets the entire world outside when he is in a room with you.

Frankie really takes his time, making sure to kiss every inch of your skin on your upper body, and having him all over you is what is breathing life in you again.

He descends, hands hovering the waistband of your sweatpants, looking up at you only waiting for your nod to pull them off and letting them end up on the floor, together with the t-shirt.

Eyes catch the sunlight as he lets the back of his hands go up and down over your thighs, touch so soft, “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” eyes full of adoration as if he is staying beneath one of the seven wonders of the world. But to him, you’re the eight one, a wonder that is all for him, and that he has the honour to cherish.

You smile up at him, “You should look at yourself right now, Frankie.” You say, and a smile lights up his face; he’s effortlessly beautiful, those luscious curls falling over his eyes, that half opened denim shirt revealing his skin underneath, and that smile that is for you and you only. He takes that compliment by ducking his head and beginning to kiss you again now on your tummy, then avoiding your panties and going over your thigh, his hand holding the opposite one to have more space to kiss you on the inside of the thigh. You widen your legs for him, and you just take in that touch, that love being delivered to your skin, that gentleness that you could never forget. You would be lying if you said that you hadn’t yearned for that, because Frankie has his way of treasuring you, treating you like he’s handling the most precious diamond. And you have missed that, not even the anger towards him could have erased the way you feel about him and the way he makes you feel.

He digs a little more his thumb into your soft thigh, now going on the other one, nose brushing on your skin and tracing a path until your inner knee and then going up again. When he kisses you on the inside of the upper thigh his nose bumps on your panties and you instinctively move against him, your body responding to him even before your mind can stop it, actually giggling behind your hand as he looks up at you with a knowing smirk.

“We are a little impatient, aren’t we?” He teases, leaning his cheek on your thigh, your hand lost in his curls, “Can you blame me?” You tease back, biting a bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back your giggles.

He smiles over your skin as he kisses your hip, hands smoothing over your thighs, claiming them as his, “I’m gonna give you everything you want, my princess.” His voice deep and soothing, like honey dripping directly on your skin.

Frankie toys with the hems of the panties, then actually taking them with his teeth and lowering them down, helping himself with his hands, fingers hooked under the tissue as he lets it slip from your hips and then down your thighs, until he lets them fall on the floor.

He felt your panties being already wet in anticipation and now he can’t take his eyes off you, “Mira la maravilla que eres.” His hands smoothing on your thighs, parting your legs a little more.

He parts your folds with his thumbs, cold air hitting you and making you pulse even more, and you move a little against him, wanting more, him sighing at the sight of how wet you are, his thumb now going over your centre, “God, you’re so wet, babygirl.” He breathes, eyes wandering over you and he definitely doesn’t lose the chance to spread your wetness over your folds, until reaching your clit. He indulges there, thumb passing over it and starting circling, but soon his finger is substituted by his lips. You moan as he laps his tongue over you, toying with your folds before lustfully closing his lips around your clit, fingers starting to press against you. You move towards those fingers, easing them in as you want, him not moving them but just letting you adjust to them as you prefer, and the easiness with which they slide in is just perfect. Frankie starts working them inside you only when you’ve stopped moving, looking up at you for confirmation, nodding back at him and throwing your head back in pleasure when he curls them inside you, still stimulating your clit. They massage you from the inside, your hand gripping the bedsheets, the other one brushing over his curls and you have such a heavenly view beneath you when you look down: he’s diving in you, completely lost and eagerly wanting always more, his fingers hitting exactly where you need them just like his tongue moving over you in that way that drives you crazy, and it is all there, in the way that he knows every single part of your body and knows how to please you.

You moan his name more than once, accidentally moving against him, Frankie just humming at that, hand grabbing your thigh to have even more space, just to give you more. And you know he could do that for hours, it’s already happened, when he made you come three times in a row, just eating you out and occasionally slipping his fingers in, edging you only to make you then explode in pleasure. And maybe it’s because the last time he did this was a month ago or so, and you’re so touch starved that the orgasm is building up already, the brushing of his beard over you stimulating you even more. He senses that, and he speeds up his fingers, going deeper and keeping his mouth there, his only desire to have your come over his lips.

His name falls from your lips, “Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” and he hums satisfied at that, as you grab his curls, moving your hips against him, him taking all of that, not wanting to lose a single drop of you.

And coming over his lips might be what heaven feels like, releasing your orgasm as you moan loudly, Frankie still lapping his tongue over you; you reach his wrist as he’s starting to pull his fingers out, and you feel his lips curving in a smile as you do that, even though eventually he pulls them out, smoothing his hand over your thigh.

When he raises up his head he has come over his lips, his moustache and a bit over his nose too, making you smile, his eyes crinkling at you.

“What?” He asks, raspy voice as he’s taking back his breath, “Nothing, you just have…” You brush your finger over the tip of his nose, collecting that, and he slightly parts his lips, ready to clean it as he sucks on it.

“Come here.” You breathe, cupping his face, the soft beard under your palms as he hovers you and you bring him for a kiss, his lips wet in you. His thumb goes over your cheek and as he keeps kissing you, you feel his bulge against you.

Your hands reach his sweatpants, going under the waistband and starting to pull them down, him getting the memo and in a second they meet the same fate of the other clothes, together with his denim shirt too.

He’s kneeling between your legs, eyes laying on every inch of your skin, fingers tracing imaginary lines and hearts over your waist, then your hips and your thighs.

And you’ve never wanted him to make love to you as you want it now, waiting to be complete, waiting to have him inside you.

You take his hand, pulling him again, Frankie kissing your palm as you do so, feeling again his lips over yours, and it is all there in that passionate kiss, both your desire and his.

But you remember one thing, “Frankie,” parting from his lips, “I’m not on birth control and I- I don’t have any condoms.”

He nods at you because well, he definitely doesn’t have any condoms with him either, since he surely didn’t think that a single call would have led you two to this, to wanting each other so much again.

“It’s okay, babe, we don’t have to do anything that requires all of that.” He reassures you, pressing a kiss on your forehead, but he sees your hesitation, tilting his head to one side.

“It’s just that-”, you start, hand brushing over his beard, “That would be fine with me.”

There had been lots of talking about this, about trying to have a baby, but then he decided to go on that trip and you had abandoned this thought, definitely letting it disappear from your mind when he started talking again about the other trip. You couldn’t imagine to risk to have a kid and not even knowing when or if Frankie would have come back, so it all ended. But the talking had been there, and a lot of times you two had wondered how it would have been to bring a kid into this world, and you could never forget his dreamy eyes as he would talk about all the things he would do and how he would teach them this and that, and bring them to see the Ocean for the first time, and the list would go on and on, just like it would go too for you. That gave you heartache and you knew it did the same to him, but there was nothing you could do if he didn’t change his idea about those infamous trips.

A sparkle lights up Frankie’s eyes, “Are you sure?” He asks though, you biting your lip, “I am, I have never been so sure about it.” Tracing your fingers over his beard and then smoothing over his eyebrows, “But Frankie you have to promise that no more trips, alright?” You say over his lips, Frankie nodding firmly, “No more of that.” And he kisses you deeply, as if with that kiss he’s sealing his promise, sealing his commitment to never give in to those trips, he’s sure he wants to put a neat full stop to that life.

And when he’s lining up to you, his tip brushing against you, he still checks for that consent to really do it.

You urge him on his arm, nails almost digging in his skin, the other cupping his face, “Frankie, I need you to make love to me like your life depended on it, alright? I need you to fuck me and showing me how much you’ve missed me, can you do that for me, mi amor?”

He sighs, mouth agape at your words, kissing your palm, and he doesn’t answer. He just pushes himself inside you, a controlled but deep thrust, making you hold your breath. And it feels exactly how you remembered it, if not even better, stretching you and filling you in way that is so perfect, as you bring him for a kiss, hands lost in his hair. It shouldn’t surprise you the way you welcome in so well, how the way he feels inside you is so comfortable, the slight pain being barely there. That is how it has always been, like your bodies were made to be together, to be put together like two pieces of a puzzle.

You kiss him deeply, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him a little more, Frankie smiling over you lips and adjusting himself by deepening his thrusts.

As he leaves your lips you can feel his throat reverberating with a low moan, his eyebrows furrowed for the pleasure, his muscles contracting as he keeps thrusting. And for a split second he thinks of how he had never imagined to end up in bed with you again, making love to you. That is why he kisses every inch of skin he can reach, cherishing you, tracing paths on your neck; he feels your pulse beating so fast and he smiles knowing that it is his making, then going for your collarbones and shoulders, a hand cupping your breast and holding it, toying with your nipple.

You throw your head back in pleasure, letting him have everything he can take from you, his hands going over your waist and holding it, giving it a new shape.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed this, the way he has of making love to you, of whispering dirty things in your ear as he claims you as his, that voice guiding you, leading you through the pleasure and making you feel on another dimension.

You move against him and actually there is a thing that you’ve missed like hell, “Frankie,” you exhale, out of breath, “Dime, mi amor.” He utters, lips over your neck, nose brushing behind your ear and kissing you there too.

“I want to ride you for a bit.” You kiss him on his cheek, a dimple appearing under your lips.

And he could never say no to that, smirking as he pulls out, making you moan at that and laying half seated next to you, as your look wander over his body, bathed in that golden daylight.

He wraps a hand around himself, “Don’t make me wait too long, babygirl.” A smile breaking on your lips as you straddle him quickly, balancing yourself on his chest and pushing down on his length. And fuck, he’s big and in this way it could hurt, but instead it goes in easily, lips parted as you moan.

Frankie’s hands are soft around your hips, thumbs grabbing your thighs, as you begin to thrust on him, and you feel like a goddess over him, as his look marvels on you, adoring eyes laying on every inch of your skin; he arches a bit his back to let you go deeper, moaning when you do so, that warm light all over your body and he thinks he might be seeing the light for the first time in weeks. He moves you both when he sits up, his face reaching your collarbones and his teeth gracing your skin.

Your hands are lost in his curls, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and keeping him close, feeling him all around you, he’s everywhere; riding him feels like heaven and hell at the same time, hurting the right amount and giving you that shoot of pleasure, the one that ignites your muscles and makes your heart beat so fast.

He dives on your chest, kissing your breast lightly, going to cup the opposite one with his hand and holding it, thumb brushing over your nipple. It only makes you go faster, searching for more and more friction, him wrapping his lips around it, sucking it and for a moment holding it with his teeth, making you hiss; he goes onto the other breast, same treatment, your head thrown back in pleasure, regaining your breath only when he leaves it and starts kissing your neck.

He reaches up and you trap his moans in your lips, hands behind his neck and fingers tangled in his curls, and he thinks that he could never give up any of this for anything else in this world, that he will never put something else at stake when he can have his whole world in his arms.

And through the kisses his hand slips over your clit, fingertip circling and pressing there, your legs trembling already at that, “Fuck,” you exhale over his lips, riding him even more, getting all the friction and touch that you need, feeling worshipped by him.

You delay your orgasm on purpose, even though you feel like you could explode right now, holding his wrist and him withdrawing from touching you any more, your body shaking though.

“Wanna lay down, babe?” He understands, sensing that the poor sleep of last night might be having the best of you, making you feel tired.

You nod at his words, him kissing your forehead and flipping you gently on the mattress, pushing in with one precise thrust right after, “Better, angel?” He coos, sweetly building up again his own rhythm, you relaxing for a moment, your heartbeat giving you a break, “Yeah, thank you.”

“Good, baby.” He says, pressing a kiss on your forehead as you keep welcoming him between your legs.

And quickly your orgasm starts to build up again, panting over his shoulder and moaning his name as he covers you in kisses, hand brushing over your hair.

“There you go, there you go.” He utters, when you’re starting to tighten around him and keeping him close, digging your nails into his skin, exploding around him moaning his name, only for him to keep thrusting and releasing into you right after. And it’s warm, the sensation of having all of him inside you, and to have his heating body still pressed to yours, as he breathes deeply before kissing you so passionately, a hand through your hair.

And how many more kisses he leaves you, your muscles relaxing at his touch, even though he’s still inside you. And well, that is where exactly you want him to be for now, not wanting him to leave you anytime soon.

That is why you grab his shoulder when he’s starting to move to pull out, “Don’t…” you exhale, because you could never want that to end, never want him to leave your body.

Frankie knowingly smirks, remaining buried inside of you, even thrusting a little more, “You want a second round already?” He jokingly asks, making you giggle alongside him, covering a little your face.

He gently removes the hand to see your eyes, “It’s okay, but you gotta give me a little break, I’m a bit old you know.”, which makes you burst out laughing, him laughing with you, nudging his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder, landing a series of kisses there, sensing your perfume now mixed with his.

“I just missed you so much.” You confess, keeping him close with your legs wrapped around him, giving him a kiss on his cheek, that soft beard under your lips, brushing his eyebrows with your fingertips and his expression is relaxed and at ease.

“Yo también te extrañé muchísimo, mi ángel.”

You smile softly, brushing your face against his, him leaving a kiss on your shoulder, as shivers cross your skin.

“Babe you’re starting to feel cold.” He says, raising up from your shoulder, kissing your forehead, “If you started to fuck me again I would get warmer really quick.” You lavishly whisper, fingertips going over the freckles on his shoulders and chest, “I know you want it, Frankie.”

He really has no secrets when he’s with you, you can read his face and you’re pretty convinced that you can read his mind too, knowing what is going on behind those brown eyes, a hint of golden in them.

“I know that you’re dying to fuck me again, once is not enough for you, you need to release again inside me, making me scream your name again…”

And as you keep inciting him, Frankie starts to move slowly, thrusting sweetly into you.

“Eso, mi amor, eso.” You encourage him, moving against him to meet his thrusts, his own cum inside you serving as lube, and the sound of all of that is surely obscene, but it exactly what you need. And what he also needs.

“Go on, baby, fuck me like you can only do.” You say again, and he starts thrusting harder and deeper.

You know you’re surely about to become overstimulated, and that seems like such a delight.

“¿Es eso lo que quieres?” He asks a rhetoric question, to which you can only exhale a moan, Frankie thrusting so strongly that he moves you up on the bedsheets; you grab his arms, and he’s so fucking hard inside of you, hitting exactly where you need it, as he kisses your neck, tracing a wet path on your skin.

You reach one hand between you two, wanting to rub your clit, but he stops you, pressing your hand on the bedsheets, “Gonna do it for you, princess.” He says, as he reaches your clit, his fingers rubbing on your bud, and that is enough to make you moan loudly, legs already shaking. “Yeah, tell me about it, angel, tell me.” He kisses your chest, still pressing your intertwined fingers on the mattress. “You’re takin’ me so well again, sweetheart.” And he starts to leave your chest, getting up and being kneeled between you, having beneath him the heavenly vision of himself thrusting inside you and your folds welcoming him so well, all the wetness around it, “Fuck,” he exhales at that, you searching for his hand to hold, him intertwining his fingers with yours again over your hip, as he keeps rubbing his thumb over your clit.

You feel a heat building up in you again, strong, intense, even more than the previous one, making you clench around him, him moaning at that.

“Frankie, Frankie,” you repeat his name, panting, “Yes, babygirl, give it all to me, come again.” His thrusts deeper and stronger.

Everything is so overwhelming as you explode again, the orgasm making your legs shake, not even holding them around him anymore, holding his hand for dear life. Series of unholy things leave your lips, as he keeps pushing inside you, only to moan just as loud as you when he releases again inside you; the feeling is pure warmth, filling you up again so much that you wish he would never finish.

He reaches your face, kissing you as you’re both out of breath, hand brushing through your hair, your chest rising and falling so fast, sweat between both your bodies.

“Te amo, te amo más que mi vida.” His husky voice now close to your ear, before he presses a kiss on your forehead, sweet and gentle in that way that he only has.

“I love you too, Frankie, so much.”

You don’t know how much time you both spend still embraced, but he eventually starts to pull out, you exhaling at that, feeling empty after such a long time.

He kneels between you once he’s pulled out, a finger going over your folds, the sticky cum on his fingertip. You shiver at that, overstimulated by it all, “There’s so much of me in you, babe, look at that.” He says, brushing his finger there once again, his eyes marvelling at that vision.

You feel exhausted but also on cloud nine, looking at him with dreamy eyes, as he reaches you up on the bed, kissing your forehead before leaving you for a moment. He drapes his denim shirt around you, closing some of the buttons, “So you won’t feel cold immediately, or you’re gonna ask for a third one.” Which makes you giggle, the crinkle by his eyes warming your heart.

Frankie pulls up a pillow, seating there next to you and pulling you in a hug, letting you cocoon against his chest.

His hand goes over your arm, as he presses a kiss on your hair, “When you’re supposed to get your period?” He softly asks, you squinting your eyes as you reckon it.

“Should get it in around two weeks.” You answer, him brushing a thumb over your cheek, “But I hope I won’t get it.”

He smiles down at you, kissing you on your lips, your fingers brushing on his beard, and you really wish that this warm morning will bring a new warm beginning.

Those two weeks pass in a heartbeat, bringing already a new beginning, which is him moving to your house, where you would already spend much of your time during your relationship, as Frankie always said that there was a different light here, a light that tastes like love and hope.

And that is what drives him to move back with you, you having invited to do so, as you also agreed that your house is definitely bigger and it has already an extra room for the eventual baby.

The baby, you have been pacing around the house, pacing in front of that empty room for so long some days, Frankie knowing exactly where you were when he wasn’t finding you in none of the other rooms.

You felt his arms around you, hands cupping on your tummy even though you dint even know it yet, it was too early.

He pressed a kiss on your neck, hugging you from behind, “I knew I would have found you here.” He exhaled, rocking you in his arms, the warm light filtering through the pale curtains, the room being actually empty if not for a series of unboxed stuff that Frankie had brought from his house. It is a blank page, a place where you can write your future, where a new dream could take life.

“A couple more days.” You say, your look wandering, a bit of fear in you as you think that maybe you won’t be pregnant, that maybe you’re both dreaming too much, and that is gonna take longer to fill this room.

His hand rubbed on your arm, “I know what you’re thinking, honey,” he uttered, “Everything is gonna be okay, and if it doesn’t… we’ll be alright anyway, because we’ll be together and we will still have each other.”

You turned in his arms, eyes a bit glimmering with tears and he had embraced you in a warm hug, his hand behind your head, comforting you. He pressed a kiss on your hair, “It’s gonna be okay, babe.” He reassured you, your silence speaking more than a million words.

“I love you and nothing is gonna change that, alright?” He soothed, searching for your gaze, you nodding at his words and really wanting to be more like him, be more hopeful when instead there was a storm inside you, something that was not letting you sleep.

And maybe that was a sign.

The test is sitting on the sink, waiting for the timer on your phone to go off and read the result. Minutes that are feeling like an infinity, like time really is stopping right in this moment.

It almost makes you jump when it finally goes off and you hesitate to look at it, that kind of fear still gnawing at your brain.

That is why you actually turn the other way, a hand over your eyes, “Frankie, come here please!” You call him and almost immediately you can hear the steps approaching the bathroom, the half closed door being pushed open.

And Frankie is surely puzzled when he sees you with your back turned at him, “I need you to look at the result, I can’t, I just can’t.” You sincerely say, “Of course, of course.” He says, hearing the footsteps getting closer.

“Oh my God.”

You turn only to find him with a hand over his lips, that doesn’t cover his smile though, and his eyes glimmering in tears, that smile lighting up his face and your heart makes a jump.

“It’s positive,” Frankie says, ecstatic voice broken by the tears, “You’re pregnant.” He beams, showing the test to you, the little screen clearly saying pregnant.

And a tornado of emotions washes over you, taking your breath away for a moment and it all breaks down in tears, happy tears, as you jump on him, Frankie taking you in his arms and lifting you up.

You kiss him and you can taste also the tears, a big smile on his lips, “We’re expecting.” You say breathless, him nodding and you’ve never seen so happy, he’s literally beaming.

“We’re expecting.” He repeats, and you’re sure that you can feel his heart beating so fast against his ribcage.

And maybe, that is how things were supposed to go from the beginning, because when two people belong to each other, the daylight will always shine on them.

[mellowswriting]

look... I know I've disappeared for *checks watch* ...eight fucking months. I know.

however! everything went to shit for a while there. kinda lost myself, then re-found a different version of myself that I've slowly come to love. in these last few months, I have:

started that amazing new job and fallen in love with it

made plans for my second (!!!!) degree

started apartment hunting for that perfect place, just for me

binged the entirety of 9-1-1 and fallen so deeply in love with Evan Buckley (and y'all know what that means 👀)

and the best part - I've jumped back into writing. I finally feel that spark to be creative again.

that being said!

I need you lovely people to help me get back in the rhythm of this whole writing thing. I want to give you (and myself) what I'm best at - writing absolute filth for the pretty boys we love.

so send me anything. everything. any request that comes to mind, anything you've been desperate to read. you know I've got you.

with all the love and appreciation in the world,

mel

xo

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

my blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters by the way so if you voted trump or just lick his ass unfollow me thank you kindly

[flightlessangelwings]

Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act ✦ series masterlist

Summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.

Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.

Rating: EXPLICIT (+18) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Paiting: Frankie Morales x F!reader

WC: 105k (oops)

✦ fic content ✦

PART ONE: "The one with the proposal"

PART TWO: "The one with the purring traitor"

PART THREE: "The one with the birthday party"

PART FOUR: "The one with bruises and blue excuses"

PART FIVE: "The one with the Red lights"

PART SIX: "The one with the late night talk"

PART SEVEN: "The one with the unexpected visitor"

PART EIGHT: "The one with Dante and Beatrice"

PART NINE I: "The one with the wedding"

PART NINE II: "The one with the wedding"

More parts to be announced!

EXTRAS:

The Boyfriend Act timeline

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics <3

[gothcsz]

First Sight | Frankie Morales x F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him. 

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him. 

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves. 

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t. 

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically. 

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

“Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it. 

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

[sunshinehaze1]

Sizzlin’

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Your friend convinces you to attend a BBQ at her boyfriend’s friend’s house. The last thing you expected was meeting Frankie.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. meet-cute, drinking (beers), slight dubcon (both reader and Frankie have had 2 beers, Frankie checks in), f!oral (it is Frankie, duh!), protected PiV, no use of Y/N

a/n: This was written for @yxtkiwiyxt’s NHIE Challenge. I received the prompt, “Never have I ever slept in someone else’s bed.” I LOVED this challenge and this was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to my beautiful beta reader @80ssong 🥰

word count: 5,176

ao3 | ml

"Come on, his friends are really hot!"

Sabrina has been bugging you to attend a BBQ with her boyfriend's friends this weekend. They've been dating for over a year, and you've hung out with him a few times, but his golden retriever puppy energy can be overwhelming. He's a great guy, though, and he makes her happy. You're thrilled your closest friend has found someone who treats her right.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not looking to date right now."

"Who said anything about dating?" your friend counters. "You could just have some fun."

You brush her off at the suggestion. "Please, will you just come? His friends are a lot of fun."

Finally, you relent. "Ok, fine, I'll go. It's not like I had any plans this weekend anyway."

Sabrina lets out a delighted squeal and wraps you in a bear hug. "Perfect, I'll send you the address and meet you there at 3."

"Should I bring anything?" you ask as you walk your friend to the door.

"They're simple guys. Beer will do just fine." Sabrina waves goodbye and closes the door behind her.

—

With the address in the GPS and a couple of six packs in the passenger seat, you begin your drive. You're nervous about being in a new place and meeting new people, especially those who are "really hot." It's early fall in Florida, so you can still get away with wearing a sundress. The heat won't take a break for at least another two months, so you wear your favorite one to boost your confidence. "Fake it til you make it," right?

You pull into a quiet neighborhood. The streets are lined with older homes shaded with mature trees, dripping in Spanish moss. The GPS pings as you approach your final destination, and you park on the street in front of a one-story brick home with a driveway full of pickup trucks and Jeeps.

Before you exit the car, you take a final look in the rearview mirror to adjust your hair and ensure your makeup hasn't melted off. Taking a deep breath, you grab a six-pack in each hand and head toward the house.

—

"Pope, for fuck's sake!" A broad-shouldered man, who fills the entire door frame, swings the front door open just as you reach for the doorbell. Your arms flail in surprise, and you fumble to keep the beer from crashing onto the pavement.

"Oh, shit." the man startles. "Sorry about that; I was just going out to get something from my truck. Here, let me help you with those." His calloused hands brush over yours to grab the cartons from your hands.

"Um," you stammer. "Thank you." Sabrina definitely wasn't exaggerating. Benny's friends are hot—at least this one is.

You take him in, starting with broad shoulders covered in a washed-out maroon t-shirt underneath a chambray button-up. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his sinewy forearms. You notice a small bullseye tattoo on his hand resting between his thumb and index finger. A ballcap with an unfamiliar logo sits atop a mop of brown curls, which peek out in the back. His eyes are a rich brown; crinkles form at the corners when he smiles wide, dimpling his right cheek.

You follow him inside the house. He sets down the beers and extends his hand to greet you. "I'm Frankie. You must be Sabrina's friend."

"It's nice to meet you, Frankie." His strong hand wraps around yours, and you introduce yourself.

Frankie quickly excuses himself and heads back outside to his truck.

—

"HEEYYYYYYYY!!!" you hear Sabrina sing-song as she walks into the house from the backyard. "You made it!" She greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. She whispers in your ear teasingly, "So, I see you've met Frankie."

Shyly, "Yeah, we met. Almost lost a few beers in the process."

"I'm so glad you made it!" She drags you behind her toward the backyard. "Let me introduce you to everyone else."

You were surprised to see only Benny and two other men outside. This was a more intimate gathering than you had realized, immediately putting you at ease.

Sabrina introduces you to your host, Santiago, or "Pope," as you soon learn. Benny is two for two on the handsome friend count. He's shorter than Frankie, has dark hair and features, a broad smile, and a gregarious personality.

Next, you meet Benny's older brother, Will. Blonde hair, blue eyes, much more reserved than his brother. A strong, silent type. He seems content to be in his own world while he attends the grill.

You hear the grind of the sliding glass door behind you. Frankie walks through the threshold, waving a stack of folders in the air. "Got 'em!"

"My man!" Santiago slaps him on the back, "Thank you."

With his mission accomplished, Frankie finally has a chance to take you in fully. His gaze travels the length of your body, taking in your soft features and plush curves and admiring the cut of your dress, which perfectly accentuates your breasts, hips, and ass. The short length leaves your bare legs on full display.

—

The backyard is beautifully appointed with sable palms, hibiscus bushes, and a well-manicured lawn. There is a jacuzzi to the right of the grill, which doesn't surprise you; Santiago seems like a lady's man. No bachelor pad would be complete without a jacuzzi. Adirondack chairs encircle a small fire pit in the back corner of the yard. You reckon it only gets used during the short window when it is cold enough in Florida to have a fire and not melt.

"Food's almost ready," you hear Will call out.

Sabrina looks to you. "Come help me get the sides?"

You follow her back inside to the kitchen.

"What did I tell you?" Her eyes widened. "They're all hot, aren't they?"

You respond with a shy smile, "Yeah, you weren't lying."

She nudges her elbow against your arm while holding a bowl of potato salad. "I saw Frankie checking you out."

"You…" stammering out skeptically, "…no way?!"

"Yes, way! You look hot in that dress; why wouldn't he check you out?!"

You attempt to conceal your smile by focusing on the tiled floor. "He does seem nice."

"Oh, honey, he's not just nice! He's sweet, funny, and gorgeous," she whispers conspiratorially, "And it looks like he's packing some serious heat."

"Sabrina!" you scoff, playfully smacking her. "You're not supposed to be checking out your boyfriend's friend's package!"

"Says who? I can look, and you can touch to prove me right." She leaves you speechless, holding a tray of crudites, as she walks back outside, cooing to the boys that it's time to eat.

You make your way to the table with bench seats on either side. After you set the tray on the table, you take a moment to contemplate how to sit without exposing yourself in your short dress. Slowly, you lift your leg to straddle the bench, but your sandal catches, and you're thrown off balance. You brace yourself for an embarrassing fall until you feel strong forearms wrap around your waist to hold you steady. Frankie walking by at just the right time.

"Whoa, you alright there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." sheepish and embarrassed, "Thank you."

He grabs your hand and says, "Here, let me." You begin your second attempt at climbing over the bench, flattening the back of your dress underneath you before you sit down.

Frankie looks down at you. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be great, thank you." Anything to wash down the embarrassment and cool off from the heat of Frankie's touch.

He fishes out a bottle of beer from the cooler. Out of your periphery, you ogle him as he's bent over. His shirt stretched across his back, rugged khakis taut over his ass. You're suddenly much thirstier than you thought.

He returns to the table and sets the bottle before your plate. You feel the warmth radiating from his chest against your back, his bicep less than an inch from your face. A slight turn of your head and your nose would be in his armpit. You hold your breath, afraid that if you let yourself breathe in his scent, you'd succumb to the physiological response. That and the fear of getting caught sniffing a man you just met in front of his closest friends tempers your impulse.

Frankie sits across from you while the rest of the group sits around the table. Serving platters are passed around until the plates are full.

Frankie finds himself distracted by your sweetheart-necklined dress as everyone begins to eat. The hem curving over the top of your breasts, meeting in the middle at a point, which draws his attention to the tease of cleavage. He's completely ignored the clamor of conversation around him. Suddenly, a baby carrot lands in his lap, and he's brought back to the present. "Hermano, did you hear what I said?"

Frankie stumbles a response, "What's that?"

"Malo." Santiago shakes his head and huffs a laugh, "Pretty girl in front of you, and you lose all sense."

You feel the attention of the table shift to you and quickly avert your gaze, picking at the food on your plate and fixating on the pattern that outlines the rim of the dish. Your cheeks heat from the eyes burning into you. You're cautious about looking up to gauge Frankie's reaction; you don't want to become even more flustered.

Frankie flings the carrot back at Santiago, "Shut the fuck up, man!" But he's quick enough to bat it away before it hits him. The rest of the table erupts with laughter, allowing the awkwardness of the moment to dissipate, and you and Frankie join in.

Will asks, "So, how long have you and Sabrina been friends?"

You're thankful for the segue. "We lived on the same street growing up in Orlando. She followed when I moved to Tampa a few years ago for work."

Sabrina chimes in, "Yeah, you wouldn't make it here without me!" You both giggle.

"Sabrina tells me you all served together in the Army?" the men nod in unison.

They briefly share how Frankie, Santiago, and Will met in basic training. Benny joined their unit a couple of years later. They share minimal details about their deployments, not wanting to dredge up too many memories of that time, especially with new company present.

They've all retired from the Army and returned to civilian life. Will tours the state, speaking with personnel considering retirement from service. Santiago runs a security firm where Benny works. Benny is also an amateur MMA fighter, which Sabrina isn't fond of, but even she can admit he's really good. She's even told you that watching him fight does turn her on.

Lastly, you learn that Frankie has transitioned to civilian piloting and leads helicopter tours of the Bay. He has a four-year-old daughter, Lila. When he talks about her, his eyes sparkle. Clearly, she is the light of his life.

You hesitantly ask about her mom. You're nervous that this guy you've developed a crush on in a short period isn't single. "We split up over a year ago. It wasn't working, and we can be better parents to Lila this way."

You're impressed with Frankie's maturity and self-awareness, which enable him to have an amenable relationship with his ex. As a child of divorce with parents who were unable to put their grievances aside, you know how vital co-parenting is for a child. "I'm glad you could figure out what works best for you both and Lila."

Frankie nods before he takes a swig of beer. You watch as his thick fingers wrap around the bottle's neck. You're fixated on his throat; his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the bitter IPA—the prominent vein on the side of his neck, with moles that dot along his tanned skin.

You and Frankie have been in a bubble. The friends surrounding you have been long forgotten as your conversation flows naturally. He has a calming presence that makes you feel comfortable and at ease. He's confident and funny, with a raspy laugh that takes over his whole face and radiates through him and a smile so broad that his eyes disappear.

Subtle flirting has become more overt. Your hands brush against his when you reach for the bowl of chips at the same time. You accidentally bump into him when you stretch your legs in front of you underneath the table. But he doesn't pull away, the rough sole of his shoe brushing gently against your bare leg. You glance at him with a sheepish grin, and he returns with a toothy smile. Fuck, he is handsome. Your eyes remain locked on each other, heat coiling within your body, and you sense the same in Frankie.

"I'm going to grab more ice for the cooler from the garage." Frankie stands up from the table, his eyes silently communicating to follow his lead.

As you get up from the table, you take his cue and ask, "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, that would be great." A sly grin emerges. "Thanks!"

Frankie follows you through the door, his hand brushing softly against the small of your back. The contact sends shivers down your spine, and your pulse quickens as you feel his warm palm against the thin material of your dress.

"Garage is this way." Frankie guides you down the hall to the right of the kitchen.

When you turn the corner, Frankie is immediately on you. He is unable to hold back a second longer. He has you pinned against the wall, his arms bracketing you above your shoulders. Hunger swirls in his eyes, and you feel his breath against your cheek. He's so close to you that you're sure he can hear your heart beating.

"You are so god damn pretty." his finger trails along the strap of your dress and loops underneath, "And you're fucking killing me with this dress. I needed to get you alone."

A sigh escapes your lips, overwhelmed by his closeness and his touch on your bare shoulder. Unable to speak, Frankie fills the silence. "Can I kiss you?"

All you can manage is a nod, your bottom lip held between your teeth in anticipation.

He leans forward until his plush lips connect with yours. A moan escapes you both at the contact. What begins as a sweet, chaste kiss quickly becomes more intense.

He licks at the seam of your lips, seeking permission to enter. The bill of his hat hinders him, but he quickly flips it around to devour your mouth fully. It's a flurry of tangled tongues as he licks into your mouth. A groan escapes him when you grab his bottom lip between your teeth. A gentle nibble quickly soothed by the swipe of your tongue.

With his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer to him, the weight of his bulge pressing against your thigh. You feel wobbly even though you're sandwiched between Frankie's solid frame and the wall, forced to grip his shoulders for purchase to remain upright. Your fingers map the sinew of muscle along his traps and deltoids as he dives in for another kiss. Which somehow leaves you even more breathless than the last one.

The feverish kiss continues as he pulls you further down the hall. Twisted limbs tripping over each other, bumping into the walls, leaving picture frames askew. Spurts of laughter echo through the hallway as you fumble around, fingers tangled in the fabric of each other's clothes. His wide palms rest against your hips before snaking around to grip your ass cheeks. You can feel the slick arousal pool in your panties.

Emboldened by the drinks you had earlier and Frankie's attention, you suggest finding somewhere more private.

Frankie growls and grips your wrist, taking you further down the hall until you reach a threshold with a closed door. His arm reaches behind you to turn the knob, and you both fall into the dimly lit room. Dark curtains are draped in front of large windows, and the setting sun peeks through the gap in the fabric where they meet. You and Frankie stumble your way further into the room, hands groping manically over each other's bodies.

You slide Frankie's button-up shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Then, you tug the T-shirt underneath from the waistband of his pants. His hands travel under the hem of your dress, his fingers dimpling into the supple flesh. He shuffles you toward the bed and tosses you against it, giggling as you flail backward onto the soft mattress.

"Fuck, I could get used to that sound." he huffs.

Propped up on your elbows with one leg crossed over the other, you give him a coy smile. Frankie's eyes burn with lust as his gaze trails up your bare legs to your core. "I'm going to need you to open up, baby."

You slowly uncross your legs and spread them into a wide v. Frankie watches you intently, eyes focused on the pull of your dress up your thighs exposing the gusset of your panties, enraptured by the blooming wet spot caused by your arousal.

He hums as he falls to his knees. Leaning into your center with a deep inhale. "Fuck!" His palms warm on your thighs, his eyes pleading, "Can I?"

"Can you what, Frankie?" you tease.

"Can I taste you?" a desperate tone to his voice, "Please?"

You nod, and he's on you within seconds. His fingers slip into the sides of your panties, and you lift your hips so he can pull them off. Your slick folds glisten in the soft light of the room. "Fucking gorgeous cunt."

"Frankie, please."

"I got you. I got you."

The swipe of his tongue through your folds emphasizes his reassurance, and you cry out with relief. The whiskers of his beard brush against the sensitive skin. Frankie moans into your core as the sweet, musky taste of your arousal dances across his tongue. A sample is not nearly enough to satisfy him; he dives in for more.

Desperate for better access, he spreads your thighs further apart, pushing your legs up until your thighs meet your stomach. He holds you down with his palms flat against the back of your thighs. He leaves a wet trail along your skin as his arousal-soaked lips slowly kiss up and down your thighs. A gentle bite on your ass cheek sends a jolt of surprise through your body that you can't help but squeak out a laugh.

You can't even recover before the tip of his tongue journeys across your outer folds, looping around to the other side before sliding through your seam again. Up, up, up until he reaches your clit. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub. Sucking it into his mouth, lapping kitten licks with the tip of his tongue. Your body writhes below him, pulsating need coursing through your veins.

You reach between your legs, eager to feel any part of him, and yank the hat off his head. You fling it behind you, where it lands on the floor with a thud. His gorgeous hair is now unencumbered, your fingers free to roam through his soft curls. You grip the brown locks between your fingers and pull him further into your pussy, his nose bumps against your clit as he eats at you. "Fuck, frankie, you're incredible."

And he is. He really is. The best head you've ever experienced. Somebody who was a stranger just a few hours ago. You can't recall the last time you've been with such an enthusiastic lover. Especially one that is so wanton, eating at you, bringing you intense pleasure, and not making you feel like its a chore or an obligation.

You practically had to beg your ex to go down on you, and when he did, he expected you to return the favor. It never was about your pleasure. Frankie is different. He eats at you like it's his only way of survival, as if he'll die if you don't come by his tongue.

He groans into your cunt, shockwaves pulse through your body, at the precipice of your orgasm, "I'm so close."

Frankie, seeking relief from his painfully hard cock, reaches down to unfasten his pants. He releases his cock from his boxer briefs with a sigh. With a swipe of his hand, he gathers the precum that has leaked from his tip to coat his cock before he begins slow strokes up and down his length while he continues to devour your pussy, suckling at your clit. You're near the edge, ready to tumble forward as your legs shudder, the grip on his locks tighten. Your pussy begins to flutter around his tongue as you tumble over the edge, coating it in your release. "Frankie. Holy shit." you try to catch your breath. "Oh my god."

You lift his head from between your legs, and he reluctantly pulls away with a disappointed whimper. "Too much." you pant, "You're too fucking good at that."

Between your thighs, a crooked smile appears through his slick lips and his glossy eyes connect with yours, "Fuckin hell, you taste good."

Frankie moves from the floor and crawls up your body. The weight of his cock resting against your worn out pussy. He leans down to kiss you, leaving a trail of nibbles along your jawline until he reaches that soft spot behind your ear. Licking and sucking down the column of your neck to where it meets your shoulder. His tongue swipes along your collarbone as he slips the straps of your dress down your shoulders to reveal the lacy cups of your bra.

His lips traverse the plane of your chest, hot breath hovers over the supple skin spilling out of the cups. He grips the fabric of your bra between his teeth and pulls down one cup and then the other to release your tits. He lathes over each nipple, pulling the hardened buds between his lips, flicking them with the tip of his tongue before a gentle bite and releasing with a pop.

You emit a low moan at the combination of his mouth on your tits and his dick sliding through your soaked folds, the tip brushing against your sensitive clit.

"You're so beautiful." Frankie shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you want to keep going?"

As if it were even a question. Of course, you want to keep going, but you appreciate Frankie's check-in. You grabbed his head between your palms and brought him closer, eyes locked on his, sealing your enthusiastic "yes!" with a feverish kiss.

With that, Frankie sits back on his haunches and searches the room. He knows he doesn't have a condom in his wallet. He hasn't needed one in a while. Even if he did have one, it would have expired anyway. As he becomes more acquainted with his surroundings, he slowly realizes where you are and breathes out, "Fuck!"

You sit up in bed, holding the top of your dress against your chest. "What's wrong?"

"We ended up in Pope's room." he runs his palm over his face, scratching the whiskers of his chin. "And I don't have a condom."

You push aside the inevitable embarrassment you'll face for fucking in your host's bed and suggest with a mischievous grin, "Surely, Santiago has condoms."

The distraught look on Frankie's face disappears with a broad smile, and he shifts on the bed to open the nightstand drawer. When he opens the drawer, a Costco-sized box of condoms greets him. Relief washes over him, and he's grateful he doesn't have to cut things short with you.

He reaches into the box and pulls out a foil pocket. You lean back, propped up on your forearms to admire Frankie as he tears open the package between his teeth while stroking his cock with his other hand. Sabrina will be happy to know she was right. His cock is beautiful. Thick, long, and uncut. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him roll the condom down his length. His eyes never leave yours.

"Don't worry. It'll fit; I'll go slow." He reaches up to the neckline of his shirt, gripping its back and pulling it off in one smooth motion. "Lay back, baby."

He positions himself back over you. The broad expanse of his tan chest blocks the view of your surroundings. Not that it matters anyway; all of your attention is on Frankie. Captivated by his gorgeous face and the moles that scatter along his neck and sternum. You've already forgotten you're in Santiago's room, about to fuck this beautiful man, on his bed. He leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips as he notches his tip at your entrance.

"You ready?" You nod, eager to feel him inside you.

It's been so long since you've had sex and you've never had a dick as large as Frankie's. As promised, he took things slow, feeding his cock inch by inch. Allowing time for your body to adjust before going further. There's a pleasurable stretch as your walls accommodate his girth and length as he reaches the hilt, kissing your cervix. "Pussy is just swallowing my cock, baby."

"It feels so good."

"Yeah?" He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. "You ready for me?"

"Yes! Fuck me, Frankie!"

Frankie pulls out until just the tip rests at your entrance. You whimper at the loss of him inside you, but he quickly soothes you with a thrust of his hips into you, pushing you further up the bed. He pulls out slowly, repeating the motion a few more times before he lands on a steady pace that has you seeing stars. "Hnngh, she's so tight." he moans, "Fuckin hell!"

"Harder, Frankie." you pant louder than you anticipated, "I can take it! Please, fuck me harder!"

Frankie slows his thrusts and quickly closes his palm over your mouth, "Shh. Shh. You gotta be quiet."

You hear the din and laughter from the backyard. You had been so distracted by Frankie's dick, you forgot you weren't entirely alone. "If I move my hand, can you be quiet?"

You nod. Frankie reignites his pace with more fervor this time. The tension built up over the afternoon finally comes to a head. Low moans rumble through you with each thrust. Your legs wrap around his hips.

"That's a good fucking girl." He reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit. "I feel you squeezing me. Need you to come for me."

You scramble to reach the pillow behind you and hold it over your face to muffle your scream as you begin to pulse around his cock. Frankie continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his own imminent. It only takes a few more thrusts before he's spilling into the condom before he collapses onto you, breathless.

Your fingertips trail along the plane of his back and shoulders as his cock softens inside you. He peppers feather light kisses along your cheek before he reaches your lips and seals it with a searing kiss.

He pulls away to scan your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect. Fucking incredible, Frankie"

—

You and Frankie sit together at the edge of the bed in your half-dressed, disheveled, fucked out state. The two of you savoring the afterglow of an incredible fuck and also delay the inevitable for as long as possible. You rest your head on Frankie's bare shoulder and express your embarrassment at a whopper of a first impression with his friends.

Frankie reassures you that it isn't that big of a deal. He kisses you gently on the temple and encourages you to get up so you both can rip off the bandaid. He scoops your dress up off the floor, and you flit around looking for your panties and bra while stealing glances at Frankie as he gets dressed.

When you're finally presentable, Frankie opens the bedroom door, motioning for you to go before him. As you head down the hallway, you're greeted with a chorus of cheers and slow claps.

"So, where's the ice?" You hear Benny boom out.

The group erupts in laughter, and you bury your face into Frankie's bicep. Standing next to Benny, Sabrina catches your eyes. With her palms facing each other, she subtly moves them closer and further apart, eyebrows quirking up. You avert your eyes to avoid her silent inquisition. You won't be able to handle her smugness over being correct about Frankie's size right now.

Frankie turns bright red while he stomachs pats on the back from his friends. Santi grips Frankie's shoulders from behind with a shake. "'Bout time you cleared out those cobwebs, hermano. But did it have to be on my fucking bed?"

—

You head back outside with the group for one last drink. Sabrina approaches you with a smile and wraps her arm over your shoulder to follow the guys. Another round of drinks is passed around, and fortunately, the topic of conversation has shifted quickly from your dalliance with Frankie.

Frankie sits next to you at the table, his thigh pressed against your bare skin.. He rests his hand just above your knee, offering a gentle squeeze. When you look up at him, his gaze focuses on you, and he smiles warmly.

The sun set a few hours ago, ushering in chillier air. Frankie notices you shiver. He pulls off his button-up and places it over your shoulders, returning his hand to your bare leg. You lean into him, savoring his warmth.

A few hours pass before you decide to call it a night, and Frankie offers to walk you to your car.

"It was really nice meeting you." You catch him nervously rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

You grab his hand and squeeze, "You too, Frankie. I had a great time."

He smiles at this. "I'd love to see you again. Take you to dinner."

"I would love that!"

When you reach your car, you exchange numbers. With your back pressed against the door, Frankie's arm propped against the frame, he leans in for one last kiss. He squeezes your hip before he pulls away to open the door for you and as you turn to enter your car, he teasingly smacks your ass.

Before he shuts the car door, he offers, "Drive home safe. Let me know when you get home."

"I will." You nod. "I'll see you soon, Frankie!"

Frankie waits until you drive off before he turns to go back inside. A wide smile stretched across his face. A smile that won't be going anywhere any time soon. He's excited to find out what the future has in store for him, especially if that future includes you.

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

tagging some folks who engaged in my WIP posts on this fic: @peepawispunk @burntheedges @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @ak-vintage @probablyreadinsmut @goodwithcheese @almostempty (please let me know if you’d like to be removed)