#did you know gaming chuff writes fic sometimes

[chufff]

"Everything about Cammuravi piques Sena’s curiosity. His strange eloquence— his ability to either recite or improvise poetry (she can’t tell which)— his flamboyant armor and fighting style and hair. But especially the flamboyance, and especially the hair!"

650 words of fire blades being silly. spoilers for chapter 6!

[oogaboogasphincter]

Kinktober Day 18

💜my kinktober masterlist

pairing: frankie morales x gn!reader

prompt: c*ck worship💚hand jobs💚sex work/prostitution (prompt list by @the-purity-pen)

rating: E (explicit) 18+ only!

word count: 1.0k+

warnings: oral (m receiving), deepthroating, a lil bit of gagging, frankie’s stressed at the beginning but not at reader, inexcusable abandonment of good pizza in order to give a blowjob, a couple of swears, food and alcohol mention+the tiniest bit of drinking, reader is gender neutral and no use of afab or amab

author’s note: i want to start writing more gender neutral fics so that more readers can enjoy them :) i hope they’re just as enjoyable as my f! or afab! reader pieces. feel free to let me know if you liked it! also mechanic!frankie was directly inspired by @pascalpanic​‘s Miller Morales Mechanic Shop series, which i highly recommend you check out! :)

gif by @djarsdin​

Frankie had had a shit day. The most annoying customers had rolled into his mechanic shop; more than half of them questioned the validity of his recommendations. 

If you can fix it so well yourself, why’d you bother coming here? he grumbled under his breath after an apprehensive eyebrow at his diagnosis of a battery in need of replacing. 

Benny wasn’t much help. He had been KOed in a fight over the weekend, leaving him with a puffy purple eyelid, a crooked nose and a fat lip. Frankie didn’t blame Benny, he commemorated him for even showing up to work; but his lack of energy didn’t go unnoticed. 

Santi and Will had called at lunch. Instead of feeling warm from hearing his friends, they made him feel guilty for not being able to see them in weeks. Frankie explained that work was busy (Benny verified this) and that he was just too tired to go out like they used to. All Santi did was huff and brush it off as an excuse.

Now on the couch with a cold beer at his side, showered and changed from his coveralls to flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt, Frankie tries to relax. He has taken a few sips from the bottle but they haven’t done much to ease his tension. Running his thumb along the mouth of it, he can’t find the motivation to keep drinking, so he sets the beer on the end table. Frustrated he can’t muddy his crankiness with liquor, he tries to watch the baseball game playing on the television in front of him. He’s not fond of either team, but there’s nothing else on that is remotely interesting. After a few snail-paced pitches, his agitation is nipping at him more than before. Even the colors of the players’ jerseys are starting to piss him off.

Let’s gain some speed, he thinks. He searches for a hockey game, imagining the catharsis that is paired with watching a fight break out amongst skaters, but he comes up with nothing. Just as he’s about to call it quits and go to bed early, you come through the door.

“Hey Franks!” you shout through the house. His hand peeks up from behind the back of the couch in a wave as you turn to find the source of the mouthwatering scent that hit you in the face when you came in: his favorite takeout pizza. 

“Ooh, nice!”

You grab a slice and plop down on the couch next to him. Heat radiates off of him in waves, but it’s not the alluring kind. You’ve learned sometimes it’s better to let him wallow in his emotions, but in instances like these you feel that you could help, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, running a weak hand through his damp hair, “Just a shitty day at work.”

You lean forward and set your uneaten pizza on the coffee table to attend to something that caught your eye when you sat down. Your fingers skim over Frankie’s pajama bottoms and wrap around his half-hard cock gently. Lips find his neck, peppering soft kisses up to his ear, where you whisper, “Can I make you feel better?”

He turns and gives you a kiss, parting with a tired grin and crinkled eyes, “I would but I’m fucking exhausted, honey.” 

“Who said anything about you doing the work?”

His eyebrows raise at that statement, his smile widening. He chuffs, “Well, in that case...”

The room is filled with laughter as you take your place on your knees, on the floor in front of him. He lifts his ass up so you can pull down his pajamas just enough so that his cock springs free. The man wears at least two layers on the daily, you have no idea how he can be so cold all the time, and it only gets worse when he’s tired.

You begin by licking over every square centimeter of his dick. Testicles, shaft, frenulum, head - the whole region is covered in a layer of saliva. Your palms find his hips, gaining leverage. Then, ever so slowly, you fit his entire length down your throat. His fingers intertwine with yours on his lap, a swear flowing out of his mouth in an intoxicated breath. You hum around him before retracting; your tongue flicks his tip over and over again. Brows furrowing in pleasure, the grip he has on your hands tightening, you lower to swirl your tongue around the delicate skin of his balls. He looks to the ceiling, knowing that if he watched you devour his cock for any longer then he would cum instantly. Stretched tendons in his neck beg you to leave his cock and suck love bites onto them, but you keep to his lower half and just admire.

Assuming a pattern of gagging on his length and focusing on the tip, you can tell Frankie’s dangerously close to cumming. His fingers stutter around yours, his moans are getting louder and, every now and then, he can’t stop his hips from bucking into your mouth, pushing his cock deeper down. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Releasing him, you tease, “Yeah?”

He nods frantically, licking the inside of his bottom lip, “Yeah.”

You take his cock back in your mouth, you take it back deep. Deeper than before. So deep that when you wiggle the tip of your tongue, spit leaks onto his balls with a tickle of your wet muscle. His earlier warning soon proves to be true when thick white ropes spurt out of him. 

You choke on his release but are committed to doing whatever it takes to keep up those ecstatic groans clawing their way out of his chest. Any trace of pain in your throat is overtaken by searing pleasure when you feel his hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place. Despite all of the action going on in your mouth, you moan with him; the vibrations only add to the intensity of his orgasm. With a wiggle of your head, rubbing his overstimulated tip against the back of your throat, you release him.

You tease him again, “Do you feel any better?”

The aftershocks of his orgasm are making him feel all warm and sleepy. His head lolls to his shoulder, eyes almost closing in bliss, “Fuck yeah, I do,” he leans forward to cup your cheek, “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll return the favor, honey.”

💘taglist: @pascalpanic