#francisco morales x f!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ak-vintage · 6 months ago

Text

Sweet As

Pairing: Francisco Morales/f! babysitter reader

Summary: Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave.

Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, 6 years post-Triple Frontier, single dad Frankie, flight instructor Frankie, babysitter reader, dual POV, age gap (not specified, but reader is a grad student), minimal descriptors of reader character, no use of y/n, domestic, sweet, mutual pining, food as foreplay, frottage, pussy pronouns, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), trying to keep quiet, trying not to get caught, undefined but hopeful ending

Word Count: 7.5K

Written for the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Board Challenge.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

You had always been a summer girl, but even you had your limits.

It was week three of the most severe heatwave the south had seen in a decade, and even with the Morales’s air conditioner running at full capacity, you still couldn’t help but park yourself directly under the ceiling fan with a sweating glass of iced tea. Mila, thankfully, hadn’t fought you during bedtime tonight, the six-year-old nearly dead on her feet after a full day of summer activities – a bike ride around the block before the heat of the day had set in, a dance party after lunch, hours in her swimsuit weaving in and out of the sprinkler in the back yard. You had done your best to keep up with her sunscreen, but she still sported a little flush on her round, tan cheeks as she crawled into bed, making little snuffling snores before you had even finished telling her goodnight.

There was a part of you that envied it, the way she could just collapse into sleep, not a care in the world, while you were stuck at the kitchen table late into the night, your laptop and textbooks strewn across its surface. The perils of holding down a full-time babysitting gig while also taking summer classes, you supposed.

It was worth it, though. Mila was a sweet girl, a total social butterfly, full of giggles and sweetness, easily the most fun kid you had ever cared for. And Frankie, her father…

Mr. Morales, you reminded yourself with a quick shake of your head.

Mr. Morales was a dream to work for. Respectful, pleasant, communicative, fair. A great parent to his daughter – a single dad, the only one in your regular client rotation. He paid you well for your time, and he was generous with his recreation budget, always making sure to leave cash in the top kitchen drawer for ice cream treats, trips to the pool, matinee movies. You really couldn’t have asked for a better job for the summer.

It didn’t hurt that he was absurdly handsome, in a rugged, lived-in sort of way. Not that it mattered, of course; he was your boss, more than a decade your senior, and you were, above all else, a professional. Hitting on the kids’ dads? The biggest babysitting faux pas. You liked to think you had more class than that.

However, class or not, you were still just a woman, and Francisco Morales? He was all man.

A blue-collar, ex-military guy in his mid-forties, he was tall and impossibly broad in the shoulders with long, muscular arms, a soft tummy that peaked out over the waistband of his jeans, and a head full of dark brown curls that were constantly just a little squished by a dark, well-worn ballcap bearing the Standard Oil logo. He started out a bit reserved in the beginning, not at all unfriendly but certainly someone who took some time to open up to new people, but in the months since you had started working for him, the two of you had developed a comfortable rapport.

So, if you dragged yourself out of bed an hour early just so you could get to his house in time enough to share a cup of coffee with him before he left for work, well…that was just relationship building with a client, wasn’t it? If you found yourself lingering in the driveway every time he walked you out to your car at the end of the day, extending the conversation more and more, delaying your departure as long as you could manage, that was just…friendship, right? Comradery.

And if, on nights like tonight, you received a series of clunky, unpunctuated texts asking you to stay late on short notice and you agreed without question, that was just going above and beyond. That was you being a good employee.

It definitely wasn’t you genuinely wanting to help out the struggling single father, not because you were being paid to do so, but because he deserved it. And you definitely didn’t take a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he trusted you, knowing that he relied on you.

It was all above board. All friendly. All completely and totally normal.

These were the things you told yourself, anyway. It helped you to keep your traitorous heart in check.

It was nearing 10:00 PM by the time Frankie finally pulled into his driveway, his eyelids heavy, his limbs leaden and slicked with sweat. One of the ‘copters at the flight school where he worked had required some major repairs after a clumsy takeoff by one of the students earlier that afternoon had resulted in damage to the rotor blades, and he had volunteered to stay behind after hours and help with the effort so the thing wouldn’t have to spend the entire next day grounded. He was an instructor these days, but his assistance had still been welcomed. In the years he had spent attempting to earn back his pilot’s license after his…indiscretions, he had spent a fair amount of time working as an aviation mechanic to make ends meet.

Even then, at the lowest point of his life, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away from a hangar.

It had been back-breaking work, and Frankie hated having to ask you to stay late when he knew you had your own life, your own friends, your own dreams outside of babysitting his kid, but the repairs were complete now, which meant that none of the instructors would need to cancel any of their lessons for the following day. And when the flight school’s students were, more often than not, rich old men and their trust fund sons who didn’t take well to being told “no,” the extra effort would not go unnoticed.

Now, however, as he shifted his pickup truck into park next to your beat-up old Ford Focus, all he could think about was getting into the air conditioning, taking off his boots, and sitting down at the kitchen table under the ceiling fan with you.

It was the only advantage, really, of these late nights. Infrequent though they were, Frankie couldn’t deny that there was something special about coming home to find his daughter tucked up in bed, happy and tired and well-fed, and you at the table with your schoolwork strewn out in front of you. There was something peaceful and almost painfully domestic about it, something that had his chest swelling with a feeling that he couldn’t quite identify but that he knew for certain was not something one was meant to feel for one’s babysitter.

It was the same feeling he got when you started accepting his offers of coffee in the mornings before he left for work, or when you noticed that he had started purchasing the sugary-sweet creamer you preferred when he had only ever drunk his coffee black. It was the same feeling he got when he came home on one of the first nights of this fucking wretched heatwave to find you chasing his daughter around the back yard with an armful of water balloons, the both of you soaked to the skin and giggling as you pelted each other relentlessly.

It was the same feeling he got when he walked you out to your car and he watched you grip the driver’s door handle so tight your knuckles turned pale, watched you glance down at his lips one too many times to be proper. Soft mouth parted, long lashes casting shadows across your sun-kissed cheeks, perfect breasts rising and falling with your quickened breath –

Frankie brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard, scrubbing across his face to banish the thought. He had no business thinking of you like that, noticing you like that, and he needed to get it together before he walked through the front door and found you precisely where he had imagined you. This might have been his home, but it was your place of work, and he refused to be one of those skeevy dads who made the babysitter uncomfortable.

Gathering himself, Frankie hopped down out of the truck and jogged up the front porch steps. Slipping his keyring from his front pocket, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and kicked his well-worn boots off onto the mat inside the entryway.

Before he could announce his arrival, however, your voice called out to him, hushed and warm.

“Welcome home, Mr. Morales,” you said sweetly, glancing up at him from your favorite chair at his table. He could see you there through the kitchen doorway, hair piled haphazardly on top of your head, eyes tired but soft, happy. You had gotten even more sun today, your cheeks, nose, and forehead tinged with pink, and you wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of almost sinfully short shorts, the kind with the elastic waist that looked soft to the touch. Frankie tried and failed not to trace the length of your legs with his eyes, not to imagine the plush softness of your thighs, the suppleness of your calves.

Dragging his gaze back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t caught the trajectory of his traitor eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find you studying him, as well. Rather intently, as a matter of fact. He squinted down at himself, puzzled, and noticed for the first time what you must be staring at: he was a mess.

He was smudged with grease from head to toe, dark streaks of the oily substance arcing across his jeans, his uniform polo, his bare forearms, the backs of his hands. His skin, where it was visible, shone with sweat in the dim entryway light, and his shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin from the heat (moisture-wicking fabric, his ass). The weather would have been enough to have him in a state, but the late night combined with the manual labor had clearly taken its toll.

He watched the long column of your throat bob as you swallowed thickly.

“Rough day?” you asked after a beat of tense silence, keeping your voice low so as not to wake Mila.

Frankie felt his lips lift at the corner, offering you a fatigued half-smile. “A bit, yeah. But better now.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line as though smothering a grin. “Glad to hear it.” Gesturing at the chair opposite you, you added, “Why don’t you come have a seat, and I’ll heat up some leftovers for you? You have to be starving.”

Fuck, now that you mentioned it, he was starving. He and the small crew of mechanics had taken a brief snack break while they worked, partaking of whatever hodgepodge of junk they had been able to liberate from the vending machine in the office, but that bag of chips and stale granola bar had left his system hours ago now. Still, even as his stomach growled with hunger, he couldn’t help but protest, “You don’t need to do that, cariño. It’s not your job to cook for me on top of everything else you do around here.”

You waved his words away with a flippant flick of your wrist, already on your feet and heading for the refrigerator. “I’ve told you, it’s not a problem. I cook anyway for me and Mila. Why wouldn’t I make a little extra for you while I’m at it?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”

As the container of leftover pasta rotated in the pale yellow light of the microwave, you took a moment to gather yourself, to reign in the surge of want that had pulsed through you at the sight of your employer hovering in the entryway.

Miles of golden tan skin shining with sweat, pooling in the little hollow at the base of his neck. His uniform polo unbuttoned as far down as it would go, showing a sliver of gray ribbed undershirt. Grease smudged across one high cheekbone, streaked across his hands. You needed those hands on you, needed him to transfer those dark marks onto your skin, your clothes, to leave a trail across your body so you could remember everywhere he had touched you, so you could see it when you looked in the mirror.

“How was Mila today? She behave herself all right?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, quickly schooling your face into what you hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression before turning back around to face him. “Oh, yeah, she was great. We had a good day today.”

Frankie – Mr. Morales – smiled fondly at that. “Good, that’s good. No more, uh, meltdowns in the afternoon?”

“No, things have been pretty smooth since we started digging through that article I found. ‘30 Activities to Keep Kids Cool in the Summer’ or whatever. It’s been a huge help.” You chuckled wryly. “Once I figured out a way to let her be outside in the afternoons without running the risk of heatstroke, she’s been great.”

“Right, right.” He settled himself in the chair across from yours, running the side of his fingers across his patchy stubble in thought. “That’s what gave you the idea for the water balloons that one day, right?”

The microwave beeped twice, the golden light inside flickering off, and you grabbed the steaming leftover container as you spoke. “Yeah, exactly. And the sprinkler, and turning paint into ice cubes and using it like chalk.” Snagging a fork from the silverware drawer, you handed both to the exhausted man and slid back into your seat.

He tossed you a grateful smile and dug into the meal with gusto, loosing a quiet groan at the first bite. “Shit, that’s good,” he sighed, dark eyes fluttering closed in a way that had your heartrate spiking. “Thank you for this, cariño. You’re a lifesaver.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course, it’s my pleasure.”

Shoving a few more bites into his mouth, he asked, “Didn’t you freeze her Barbies one day, too?”

“Yeah, I did!” It had been one of Mila’s favorites so far of the heatwave-proof activities you had planned for her, and the memory of it had you chuckling. “I took a couple of her dolls and a bunch of their accessories, put them in a few of those sand buckets you guys have in the garage, filled those with water, and then froze them overnight. It took her hours to dig them all out, but hey. It kept her busy, and she didn’t overheat in the process, so I’ll take it.”

Mr. Morales grinned at that, plucking a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, scrubbing it across his sauce-stained moustache. “Incredible. You know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the extra effort you’ve been going to with her lately. I know it’s a lot, just looking after her eight hours a day, every day. But with this heat, I know she’s going stir-crazy.” He glanced down at his meal, something almost bashful creeping into his expression. “Pretty sure she gets that from me. Never been real good at sitting still, being stuck indoors.”

“It’s really nothing, Mr. Morales,” you insisted, brushing away the praise with a swipe of your hand.

“No. S’not nothing.” His low voice had gone serious now, and when he glanced back up at you, his eyes were wide, dark, and earnest. “The way you take care of her? The way you always seem to just…know what she needs? That’s everything.” You swore you saw his cheeks darken, swore you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “And I told you. S’okay if you call me Frankie. That Mr. Morales stuff makes me feel old.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, gaze flicking down to your hands as the intensity of the eye contact became too much to handle. “If you’re sure,” you agreed after a moment. “I don’t want to…presume.”

“Not presuming,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “We’re…friends, right, cariño? Friends can call each other by their first names.”

Something in your stomach ached at his words, but he sounded so genuine, so hopeful that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. “Suppose that’s true… Frankie.”

Fucking Christ.

Maybe that hadn’t been the right call, Frankie thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested you call him that, not when your voice sounded so sweet wrapped around his name, not when the hour was so late, the house so silent, like you were the only two people awake in the world. That kind of intimacy, it was going to give him…ideas.

Eager to distract himself from the moment, he plowed onward. “Well, what was the activity today?” he asked, stabbing another selection of pasta and vegetables with his fork.

You appeared to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Actually, it’s more of ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ thing, so if you don’t mind holding that thought for a minute, I’ll show you after you’re finished eating.”

Frankie arched an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “Okay, sure. I can wait. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on then instead? Something for school, I assume?” He gestured at the impressive spread of textbooks, printed articles, and your open laptop taking up most of the surface of the kitchen table.

Immediately, you launched into a detailed explanation of your current project, a research proposal for your graduate program that would serve as the capstone of this session of summer classes. He would freely admit that he only understood bits and pieces of it, his formal education having ended with his high school graduation, but he always enjoyed asking you about your schoolwork. The way you lit up when you talked about the subjects you were passionate about, your animated gestures, your wide, sparkling eyes, all of it was deeply endearing to him. He loved how passionate you were, the way you chased after your goals with fire and focus. It was one of his favorite things about you, and he felt as though that list might be growing longer by the day.

Your monologue about your research proposal gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his meal, so that by the time you had come to the end of your explanation, Frankie was dropping his fork into the now-empty container and leaning back in his chair, pleasantly full and satisfied.

“Oh,” you gasped, seeming to come back to yourself as you took in his relaxed posture, the little smile on his face. “Wow, I really just went on and on there, huh? Sorry about that, I guess I get a little overexcited about my research.”

“Don’t apologize. I like how fired up about it you get, it’s cute.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a little too honest, a little too real, and Frankie braced himself for the shift in your demeanor that was sure to follow. The awkwardness, the clear discomfort at the too-personal words from your employer. But it never came. Instead, your cheeks darkened under his gaze, a flush spreading down your neck and disappearing into the neckline of your oversized T-shirt.

“You…you think I’m cute?” you stammered, voice a bit breathless in a way that had him shifting in his seat, and he felt a fresh flush of sweat bead up on his forehead, just under the brim of his ballcap, at the sound.

He needed to blow you off, he knew. He needed to make an excuse for the comment, turn it into something mindless, something shallow and impersonal, if he wanted to point this conversation back in the right direction.

“‘Course, cariño,” he said instead. “Who wouldn’t? Might be an old man these days, but I’m not dead yet.”

What was wrong with him?

You blinked back at him for a moment, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in surprise at the confession, but then you were smiling, something almost…flirtatious in the curve of your lip as you said, “You’re not an old man, Frankie. You’re…experienced.”

Oh, fuck him.

This was a dangerous path the two of you were walking, and in that moment, Frankie wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the eventual destination or the fact that you seemed more than willing to travel it with him.

If he was ever going to make it back to safety, he needed to switch gears. Now.

“How about that activity?” he said quickly. “You gonna show me what you and Mila got up to all day?”

Drawing back from where you had started to lean toward him across the table, you shook your head a bit, as though the question had brought you back to yourself. He watched as the softness and the want in your eyes dissipated, and though he mourned it, he knew it was for the best. The two of you had come too close to crossing that line tonight. You both needed to regain your footing a bit.

“Sure. Actually, it should make for a good dessert.” Getting to your feet once more, you crossed to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, pulling three medium-sized plastic containers from its depths. The clear plastic fogged up the moment it hit the outside air, obscuring their contents, but Frankie didn’t have to wait for long to see what was inside. A moment later, you spread the three containers out on the kitchen table in front of him and began removing their lids.

Inside the containers was a selection of perfectly chopped, completely frozen fruit. The two of you had clearly used some creatively-shaped cutters to prepare the fruit, as some of the chunks were shaped like little hearts, others looked like tiny stars, and still others looked as though a cutter in the shape of a bunny head had been used. One container held little hunks of bright red watermelon in a full assortment of unique shapes, another boasted chunks of pineapple, also uniquely prepared, and in the last container, a medley of green and red grapes had been halved down the center for easy eating.

“What tastes better on a hot day than fresh fruit?” you asked cheerily. “We cut it up together out on the patio first thing this morning so it would have time to freeze. Mila wanted me to tell you that she did the watermelon because it’s pink and that’s her favorite.”

Frankie glanced up at you, meeting your eyes over the frosty containers. “That sounds about right,” he chuckled.

“I ended up having to hose down the concrete by the time we were done, but it made a great snack when it got miserable out. She was going back and forth between the sprinkler and her bowl on the patio all afternoon.”

He grinned at the image you painted, thinking of his little girl in her pink bathing suit, wild brown ringlets wet and clinging to her scalp, grass sticking to her feet as she danced through the spray of the sprinkler, darting back to grab a hunk of watermelon or a frozen grape, the juice dripping from her little fingers.

“Help yourself,” you encouraged, sitting back down across from him. “I’ll have some with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Shouldn’t I…grab us some forks?”

You shrugged, that fucking grin making its way back onto your face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

And with that, you fluttered your fingertips over the container of frozen grapes, plucked one from the pile, and slipped it into your mouth with a satisfied sigh. You might have started chatting then, might have begun asking him if he had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend and offered a summary of yours in return, but Frankie hardly heard a word of it. He was too preoccupied with your…snacking.

The plushness of your lips, the little peek of your slick, pink tongue each time you opened them, the way you seemed to allow the fruit to linger in your mouth as it defrosted. Heart-shaped watermelon had pale pink juice spilling out of the corner of your mouth, making it halfway down your chin before you delicately swiped it away with the tip of your middle finger. A pineapple star had you smiling softly as you enjoyed the burst of tartness over your tastebuds.

And those grapes.

Those goddamn fucking grapes, with their slick, frosty skin and their subtle, gentle sweetness – those you softly, almost absently traced over the seam of your lips before slipping them inside. Like you were savoring the sensation unconsciously, like the cool wetness of them quenched something in you that you weren’t even aware required attention. They made your mouth glisten in the low light, the shine of it so tempting he was certain that he hadn’t looked away from it in several minutes now.

In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to get ahold of himself. There was no way you hadn’t noticed; he had to be making you uncomfortable by now. But he just…couldn’t. God, you looked good enough to eat, with your messy hair and your sun-pinked cheeks and your bright eyes and your soft, bare legs.

A droplet of sweat traveled down the side of his face, streaking down his temple, his jaw, his neck.

Your mouth looked cool, and it looked sweet.

“…Frankie?”

Frankie startled at the sound of his name on your tongue, and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes instantly, a wicked flush blazing up the back of his neck and over his skull in mortification. Shit, you had noticed him staring, this was such a major fuck-up –

“Hm? What’s that, cariño?” His voice came out weak and raspy, like his throat had gone dry, and he cleared it loudly.

“I was saying, you don’t want any of the fruit?” You looked him over with wide, innocent eyes, and for the first time, Frankie realized that he hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Uh. A-Actually, I think I might be too full at the moment,” he stammered, bringing a hand up to pat himself across the belly in excuse.

The little confused quirk of your head told him immediately that you didn’t believe him. Scooting your chair across the hardwood floor, you came to sit directly next to him and gently scolded, “Frankie, you’ve been out working in this heat all night. You need to rehydrate. Here, you have room for a few pieces. Open up, okay?”

One of those slick, dewy grape halves appeared between your thumb and forefinger then, and the next thing he knew, you were holding it out to him. Not to take with his own hand, but to eat. It was a mere hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

Unable to formulate a suitable protest, his brain suddenly feeling rather detached from his body, all Frankie could do was drop his jaw and allow you to slip the fruit inside.

The pads of your fingers touched the soft, sensitive skin of his lower lip, and that was when he was certain that not only had his brain seemingly walked away on its own, it had turned fully off. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why the moment he registered the delicate touch, he immediately seized your wrist in one of his fists, dragging your fingers fully into his mouth.

A loud, feminine gasp met his ears as he swiped his tongue between your fingertips, stealing the frozen fruit from your grasp, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth to squash it, and quickly swallowing it down. His tongue returned to your skin, lapping at the frost and the condensation and the delicate, sweet juices coating your fingertips, and he watched as your eyes glazed over at the sensation. Your wrist went limp in his grasp, your fingers pliant, never once attempting to withdraw, and the ball of heat that had been brewing in his gut all night suddenly reached a fever pitch as he realized that you liked this.

Cock twitching in his jeans, he drew your fingers from his mouth. Both his eyes and yours followed the fine trail of saliva that stretched from his lip to the tip of your index finger, and he heard your swallow heavily at the sight.

“Frankie,” you whispered weakly.

And then his restraint abandoned him just as his mind had, and before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping your face and dragging you bodily to meet him in a hard, messy kiss.

Francisco Morales kissed like he did everything else – with intention, with competence, and with a raw, simmering fire that lingered just below the surface just waiting to be unveiled. To be stoked. To be nurtured.

The presence of that fire had your squirming in your seat, had your neck bending back on your shoulders in submission to the intensity of his assault. His thumbs, long and thick, pressed into your jaw from either side, wrenching you open, and his tongue slipped inside, immediately seeking your own with a desperation that drew a soft, muffled moan from your throat. Your own hands flew to the sweat-damp collar of his polo, and you dug your fingers into the fabric, holding him, keeping him just as fiercely as he kept you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, pulsed between your thighs, growing sensitive and tender there when wetness bloomed.

With a low, rasping groan, Frankie broke the kiss and began tracing his prominent nose across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, down your bare neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet, querida. Cold and…delicious and…perfect.”

Punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his voice rough and raw and sounding like the confession had been dragged from his chest against his will, it was enough to have sweat breaking out on the back of your neck, behind your knees, at the base of your spine.

“Frankie,” you breathed, threading your grip into his hair, curling his dark brown locks around your fingers, scraping along his scalp. “Please – ”

His hands dropped from your jaw then, sweeping around the width of your hips and hauling you into his lap. Instinctually, your thighs spread to bracket his waist, the weight of you coming to rest on his spread-legged lap, and you couldn’t help but moan at the thick, hard press of him against the softness of your cunt.

“This okay, baby?” he murmured against your skin, nuzzling against the neckline of your shirt, broad palms dragging down over your ass to hold you down, press you to him.

You whimpered and felt your body going soft, warm, and pliant beneath his touch. “Mm hm!” Hips hitching, grinding against him of their own accord, you pulled his face back up to meet yours, smothering your own gasps and whines in his mouth.

It didn’t last long, however. After a few quick licks against your tongue, Frankie pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and knocking his Standard Oil cap to the floor.

“Uh uh, need to hear the words, cariño. Won’t do anything you don’t want me doing.” Wrapping his fingers around your messy bun, he angled your face down so that your heavy-lidded eyes met his. “I’ll ask you again. You want me touching you? You want me to make you feel good?”

Your eyes drifted shut, your mind gone warm and hazy. God, the things this man did to you. Did he know how long you had wanted this? How hard you had fought against it? He couldn’t know. If he did, he would never ask such a question.

“Yes, please, Frankie,” you gasped, nodding against his hold, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yes, please, what, bebita?” You could hear a smirk in his voice now, and the sound had you flushing down to the tips of your toes, a fresh rush of wetness soaking your panties as you squirmed against him.

Tucking your face against his sweaty neck, you whispered, “Please…please make me feel good.”

Frankie was on his feet in an instant, boosting you into his arms in a move that had your stomach dropping down through your abdomen both in shock and in arousal. He backed you into the table, your hips bumping into the wooden edge, and the snap of pain had a brief flash of clarity flying through your lust-filled brain fog.

“Frankie, my books – ”

The older man swore under his breath – “fuck, right” – before changing course, bringing you instead over to the arm of the peninsula that extended out into the room from the edge of the kitchen. Kicking one of the two barstools out of the way, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the countertop before dragging you down for another kiss.

He ate at your mouth like a man starved, sucking on your lips, dragging his teeth across your skin, licking against the roof of your mouth. It was wet, sloppy, and so hot, his desperation contagious, encouraging you to match him caress for caress. No one had ever kissed you like this, like the kissing was the main event rather than a means to an end. Frankie kissed like that was the entire point, and it had you melting against the counter. You were dripping through your shorts now, you were sure of it.

“Can taste all that fruit on your tongue. Sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “But I can think of at least one other thing that might be even sweeter.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your boss was going to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

“Lean back, bebita.” The words were spoken against your cheeks, brushed into your skin by the suddenly tender touch of his lips, the rasp of his whiskers, the press of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, releasing your hold on his broad shoulders and sinking back onto your elbows. The granite was cool to the touch, sending goosebumps along your arms and down your spine, but the sensation was a welcome one after the oppressive heat of the day, the heat of his body on yours.

His palms snaked beneath the hem of your T-shirt, bunching it up onto your belly to reveal the waistband of your shorts. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic without preamble, he murmured, “Lift your hips a bit for me, baby.” Again, you obeyed without question, and with a few short tugs, Frankie pulled both your shorts and your slick-stained panties down your legs to drop to the hardwood floor.

You felt a fierce blush flare in your cheeks, spreading down your neck and chest with a speed that had you gasping for air. The ceiling fan over the kitchen table – you could feel its breeze from here, the cool rush of air instantly pulling a shiver from you as it hit your wet, swollen pussy. You kept yourself bare in the summer, finding it easier and less stressful whenever you wanted to wear a swimsuit, and laid out like this on display, thighs spread around Frankie’s broad body, the cold fan hitting your most vulnerable skin, you couldn’t help but feel a bit…overexposed. The reality of your situation hit you like a freight train, and you found yourself fighting the urge to snap your legs closed against the eyes of your boss.

It was as though Frankie could read your mind. Not a moment after the thought occurred to you, you felt his big hands clamp onto your thighs and pull them apart even wider.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he tutted, and you risked a glance at his face only to find him staring intently down at your cunt. “You been walking around my house with a naked pussy like this all summer, baby? Dirty girl.” His dark brown eyes had gone almost black with lust, his irises only a faint ring around his wide pupils, and in a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious, he darted the tip of his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. He looked utterly fascinated. Entranced. Hungry. The sight had your walls clenching around nothing, and you watched him watch that happen with an eagerness that had you moaning aloud.

When he spoke again, he was a man in thrall. “‘M gonna eat this pretty pussy now, querida. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? Don’t wanna wake Mila.”

You nodded, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth preemptively. This man was going to have you screaming, you just knew it. Flicking his gaze up to yours for just a moment, he grinned wickedly at the sight.

“That’s a good girl, baby,” he whispered, and then his face was in your cunt, and you felt your every coherent thought fly out the window.

If Frankie had thought that your mouth tasted sweet, your tongue like candy, then your pussy was fruit on the vine, straight from the vineyard, drenched in sunshine. It was hot, deep, and rich, earthy and tangy and drugging, like a late summer afternoon, like a hazy day in August. This had always been one of his favorite things to do with women, one of his favorite ways to please them, and never – not once – had it ever been like this. From the moment his tongue touched your delicate, dripping folds, he knew – there would be no going back from this. Not for him. He couldn’t experience something like this and not crave it every day for the rest of his life.

He started with soft, light strokes with tip of his tongue, tracing just the very edges of your lips from down near your entrance all the way to the top of your mound. Then again, slowly pressing deeper but never with any more than the faintest pressure. Even so, you responded instantly, a panting, high-pitched whine sounding behind the press of your palm over your mouth. Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, to draw him further into you, but he had one of his arms bracketing the span of your hips before you could make much progress.

Driving you firmly into the countertop, he held your knees open with the breadth of his shoulders and boldly dragged the flat of his tongue through your folds. “Keep quiet, now, bebita. I’m gonna take care of you.”

With that, Frankie felt himself begin to disappear, to melt into you from his position between your legs. Your soft thighs bracketing his shoulders, your heels digging into his back, your pussy, so soft, so hot, so sweet as you dissolved beneath his tongue. You were drooling for him, your clenching, grasping hole fluttering against his tongue every time he passed over it, your clit swollen and throbbing under the suction of his lips. You had collapsed back against the countertop now, one hand still pressed firmly over your mouth, the other burying itself in his hair, anchoring him to your body with a strength he found both surprising and wildly attractive. And with every lick, every suck, every vibration of a moan that spilled from his mouth into your flesh, he could feel you drawing higher, tighter, deeper.

He knew what you needed. He knew what would get you there.

Tucking his free hand beneath his chin, Frankie slipped one, then two thick fingers into the tight, velvety clutch of your cunt.

You shot up off the counter, your torso curling around his head, your hand in his hair fisting the strands roughly in your overwhelm. Sharp bolts of pain erupted across his scalp, but it was a welcome sensation, somehow grounding in its intensity. He smirked against your folds, sealing his lips around your puffy clit and rolling the little nub around with his tongue. At the same time, he pressed gently, insistently against the front wall of your cunt, applying steady friction and pressure with both fingertips.

A faint whimper slipped from you at that, muffled by your palm but not silent, and Frankie felt himself preen. God, he loved this. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna let me feel her gush around my fingers? On my tongue? Hm?”

The hand on your mouth fell away, joining the one in his hair as you began to tremble beneath him. “Frankie,” you whined. “‘M gonna – you’re gonna make me – ”

“I know, baby, I know.” He kept his fingers right where they were, shallow thrusts, firm pressure right where you needed it most. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Ducking his head back down to your clit, he resumed the combination of gentle suction and firm, long strokes that had driven you wild.

And just like clockwork, your thighs began to shake against his shoulders. Your abdomen clenched beneath his forearm. Your slick, soft walls clamped down around his fingers. A weak, breathless sound – “ah” – burst from your throat, and then you were coming. A rush of your wetness dripped down his fingers, coating his hand, pooling in the cup of his palm as you pulsed and fluttered around him, and Frankie could feel your poor, abused little clit twitching against his tongue. He worked you through it, slowing down a bit but not stopping, prolonging the torment just a bit longer. Only when your two hands buried in his hair started to shove against him, pushing him away, did he relent, and even then, it took him an extra few seconds to be willing to slip his fingers from your body.

Looking up into your face, Frankie felt a wash of joy and contentment pass over him. You were positively glowing – your skin flushed and ever-so-slightly sweaty, your hair wild and mussed, your T-shirt bunched up above your belly button, so much of your perfect softness on display. And you were grinning like a fool, your eyes showing your fatigue but your smile brighter than he had ever seen. You looked at him with a gentleness, an affection that had his heart clenching in his chest, and he was certain that his expression was much the same.

It had been years since he had felt this way about anyone, and even then, he wasn’t certain it could compare.

When you sat up and slipped from the counter, it was a slow and lazy affair, assisted by his firm grip and his steady arms to help keep you upright. The moment your feet hit the floor, you reached for his belt with a question in your eyes, to which Frankie responded, “Not tonight, querida. Tonight was about you.” You seemed somewhat disappointed by that response, but you didn’t push it. Instead, you simply pulled his head down for a kiss, which he gladly obliged. You sighed into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to take back what he had just said, to drag your hands back down to his belt buckle and allow you to proceed as you wished.

But no.

It was late. You needed to get home and get to sleep, and he needed to wash off the heat of the day before passing out in his own bed. There would be a little girl busting down his door at 7:00 AM tomorrow whether he was ready for her or not, and you would be back in this very kitchen by 8:00 eager to share a cup of coffee with too-sweet creamer before he left for work.

So, like the gentleman that he wasn’t certain that he was, Frankie helped you slip back into your little shorts, pack your overflowing bookbag, and carry your things out to your car.

You turned to him one last time before you slipped into the driver’s seat, a soft if uncertain smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Mr. Morales – Frankie, I…” You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “Thank you. For tonight.”

His heart melted at your words, the quiet, hesitating way you said them. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to from you, you who always seemed to have it all together, you who matched his advances beat for beat, never wavering. “Don’t need to thank me, baby. I wanted to. You take such good care of me, of Mila. You deserved it.” Releasing a deep, trembling breath, he added, “And…I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’ll let me.”

“That depends,” you replied.

“Yeah? On what?”

Your soft, sweet smile morphed into something sharper then, something with more intent. “On if you’ll let me return the favor. It’s like you said…I want to.”

Frankie couldn’t have reigned in the grin that split his face then if he tried. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, he said, “‘Course, cariño. I’m not done with your sweetness just yet.”

#happypedrohours #happy pedro hours #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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pimosworld · 5 months ago

Text

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Chapter Summary-You and Frankie have your first official date.

Chapter Warnings- 18+, MDNI, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, first date jitters, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, Frankie is a gentleman

WC-6.7k

A/N- These two are so sickeningly sweet I can’t stand it. Reader and Frankie have a long way to go but it almost always starts with butterflies. @toobusyshrimping Thank you for the help with the “foot in mouth” line.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 2. Composite

For some people, one slip up means disaster. There is a huge emphasis on not taking that first drink. That first drink can trigger the obsession, the compulsion. The need for more and more.

It took Frankie awhile to find an NA meeting not focused on shame, but healing. A place that didn’t ask you to share something about your week like you were a child. A place that didn’t tell you to be comfortable all the while making you sit on hard metal folding chairs in a cold dingey room.

Soft ambient lighting strategically placed to help you relax, instead of the harsh fluorescent lights like you were being interrogated.

It’s a weekly routine.

One Frankie has grown used to over the last year. From that first day feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin to now being a regular face amongst the crowd.

His knee no longer bounces nervously as he listens to others talk about their battles with addiction. His hands are steady resting along his thighs instead of worrying at the frayed lines on his shirt.

He’s seated facing the door so he sees Jones enter. The older man looked a little more gray than usual. The worry lines deeper and more evident on his face. His clothes could use an iron and he looks on the tail end of a three day bender…but he’s here.

He gravitates towards him and Frankie offers the open seat.

“Look, I’m sorry about…”

Frankie waves him off, not wanting to do the awkward song and dance. Offers him an easy out and a curt don’t let it happen again.

“I hope your lady wasn’t too upset.”

Thankfully the moderator enters the room to save him from an explanation. His lady. A statement he hadn’t heard in awhile. Obviously way too soon to call you that, but he doesn’t feel like correcting him. He may be getting ahead of himself but he hopes he won’t have to correct him.

Frankie hasn’t felt this way about anyone since her. Somewhere deep down where he shoves every ounce of guilt he thinks he may have never felt this way about her at all.

Bonded by trauma and addiction, he somehow thought what they had was love. He thought they were meant for each other because who could possibly love him and all his fucked up past. He started coming to these meetings with her and then she made excuses as to why she didn’t need them anymore. That was the beginning of the end, when he finally realized that maybe they weren’t as compatible as he thought. Each day he healed his trauma, each day he stayed sober they grew further and further apart.

And then Colombia.

Frankie returned with the boys and no Tom. No amount of money could fix the damage they had all done. Fractured and barely holding on, when he needed her the most she came to him so strung out he didn’t recognize her. The woman he used to love, the woman who had laid her life on the line for them so many times he lost count. He’s glad for her sake that Santi couldn’t find her before Colombia or she might not have made it home.

“Francisco, do you want to share anything new about your week?”

All eyes are on him and he’s not sure how long she’s been trying to get his attention. Judging by the sly way Jones tries to hide his smile behind his hands it’s been a second.

He adjusts his cap on his head, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “Umm, not much to share about this week.”

“That’s okay, we don’t always have to share. I’m just glad to see your face.”

He’s not sure where it comes from as she goes to address the next person. As though he has no control over his body when he begins to clear his throat and she redirects her attention back to him.

“Actually.”

He straightens up a little in his seat, squaring his shoulders back.

“I met someone this week.” He’s met with her pleased smile and a few low whistles. “We have a date this Saturday.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, not usually one to share during meetings but never being pushed too. Something makes him want to open up more. Perhaps it’s you.

“I’m proud of you Francisco. For sharing and for putting yourself out there.”

He knows she’s the only one who keeps track of everyone’s recovery process. He brushed it off six months ago when she informed him that he’s been coming in consistently for a year.

The silent understanding that he’d reached a milestone.

He memorized the pamphlet his first time coming in. The only thing he could focus on while his hands shook and his back sweat.

He scoffed when he first read the part about dating.

Dating too soon can be detrimental to mental health and well-being, and increase the risk of relapse. During early recovery, people are still learning to navigate their new sober lives, and dating can be a distraction or replacement addiction. It can also be difficult to maintain sobriety while dating.

He ignored the advice that first month when Benny needed him as a wingman for a double date. He nearly had a panic attack at the restaurant when his date wouldn’t stop pestering him about his time in the military, what he did for work, does he have any siblings. All the monotonous first date conversations that he should be able to answer but her wine stained lips and suffocating perfume were making it all too much.

For what it was worth Benny felt bad when Frankie ditched the date and drove straight to Will’s house because he didn’t trust himself to be alone.

A year and a half later and you come along. A breath of fresh air

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of introductions, confessions and thoughts of you as he makes his way out to his truck.

****

“I’m not entirely sure why you think I’m gonna be able to help you pick an outfit.”

Your phone is propped up on top of your mirror with a little FaceTime image of your sister in the corner as you twirl around.

“You used to help me pick outfits all the time Dom.”

“Yes but I have no sense of style now. I spend most days in sweats.”

You step out of frame not satisfied with the third outfit you’d tried as you add to the growing pile of clothes on the bed.

“Tell me more about the date and I might be able to help you.” She yells knowing you’ve gone to your closet.You’ve spent the better part of the last hour hoping to find something that doesn’t remind you of him. You really needed to get some new clothes but that would require money you did not have at the moment.

You pull out your dress from your college graduation. A red satin wrap with a low neckline and a flowy skirt. You may have worn it a thousand times but it’s never done you wrong.

“He said we’re going to dinner, he’s picking me up at seven.Those are all the details I have.” You smooth your hands along the soft fabric as you stand in front of the mirror once more. Standing on your tip toes to get a better look you hear a tiny gasp.

“Auntie you look so pwetty.” You can see the top of your nephew's dark curls just peeking out in the frame as your sister props him on her knee.

“Well I think that’s a winner.” Dom says as she tickles her son and he lets out an excited squeal. “Don’t you think so buddy?”

He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

“I love red!” He yells and you both burst into a fit of laughter.

“Red is his favorite color.” She ruffles his hair as he slides off her lap, bored with the adults' conversation. “Red is bold?”

“Too bold?”

She holds up her hands as she senses the nervousness in your voice. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing to see this side of you again.”

You fix her with a look already knowing where this conversation is heading. A direction you don’t even want to follow right before a date.

“Don’t think I don’t recognize that dress, I haven’t seen you wear it since that party.”

“Dom.” Your voice in a low warning.

“I hated the way he spoke to you and then you never wore it again.”

“Please don’t start.” Your voice trembles as you move out of frame, hastily untying the knot in the dress.

“Come back please, I’m not trying to start a fight!”

You know deep down she’s just being a concerned sister. You’ve been working on this particular trigger with your therapist. Not being able to sense when someone is helping and when someone is judging.

You let out a shaky breath as you grab the phone from the mirror, plopping down amongst the clothes on your bed. A stray tear rolling down your cheek as you see her moving through her house to a quiet room.

“Listen please….I love you and I just want what’s best for you. Don’t shut me out again because it nearly killed us both last time.”

You close your eyes as you listen intently to your sister's words. Trying desperately to shove down the thoughts you’ve kept at bay for the better part of a year.

“I’m not mom okay. I’m not judging you, I just want my sister back. I want that person back who wore the red dress. I want the person back who snuck out with me and got a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday.” She’s crying now and it’s just occurred to you that it’s been ages since you’ve seen her cry. “I want the sister who forged moms signature so she could go skydiving.”

You both let out a guttural laugh when you remember how livid she was at the both of you.

“I saw a glimpse of her the other day when you called me to talk about the job…and just now when you put on that dress.”

You're grateful you still have hours to go before Frankie comes to get you as you wipe the mess on your face and smile back at your sister.

“Jesus Dom, I’ll wear the damn dress. You didn’t need to make me cry.”

She’s smiling ear to ear as she wipes the tears from her face and you both let out wet laughs.

“Call me when you get home please.”

“You know I will. Tell Elise I said hi and tell Casey I love him and thanks for the vote of confidence.”

You hang up the phone and lay in your pile of clothes a little while longer just thinking about what your sister said. She was right. She was always right.

****

6:45 pm

Frankie sits outside your quaint apartment building not wanting to head up too early.

You live on the top floor, which is definitely the safer option for someone like you living alone. The complex isn’t gated and that makes him uneasy.

Anyone can just walk up to your doorstep.

He did notice security driving around which is nice, but security guards are a dime a dozen and they can’t really protect you from much.

It is one of the nicer neighborhoods in town, close to schools and a police station just down the road.

But when do the police ever show up in time.

He can tell he’s obsessing but he can’t really help himself. He is not really sure why he’s even so concerned about these things when it comes to you. He just met you and you’ve lived on your own successfully without him. He doesn’t need to swoop in and save you. In the words of his therapist, you don’t have to be in protective mode all the time.

Easier said than done.

In the time he’s spent scoping out your living situation five minutes have passed. He figures that should give him enough time to head upstairs and only arrive five minutes early. He checks his hair once more in the rear view mirror not totally loving how it looks without his hat but deciding not to fidget with it anymore. He grabs the bouquet of red roses that he thought too hard over at the florist thinking maybe it was too cliche but at her insistence on how romantic of a gesture it was decided to go for it.

****

6:45 pm

You’ve been standing in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom for the last ten minutes trying to decide on a shoe. You texted your sister and she was no help telling you to go for something wild yet sensible. Those two things could not be more opposite. You didn’t want to go too fancy just in case this was a casual restaurant, but what if it was a really nice restaurant and you decided on a sandal?

You were definitely overthinking this.

You silently curse to yourself knowing you were running out of time and you can’t really go on a date barefoot when you remember some strappy low heels you bought for a wedding awhile ago. Perfectly cute and sensible all at once.

You throw them on and give yourself one last look before you glance at your vanity table. The red lipstick you went back and forth over practically mocking you with the cap off.

I want the person back who wore the red dress.

Your sister's words echoing in the back of your mind.

Fuck it.

You hold the tube in your hand as your fingers tremble slightly. You stare down at the vibrant, fiery hue in stark contrast to your normal understated palette. With a deep breath you carefully apply, the texture smooth and crisp against your lips. When you first take a step back and look, the color is so striking it feels foreign.

It’s also exhilarating and cliche that some red lipstick is giving you this huge boost of confidence.

You grab a black leather purse hanging from your closet door opting to forgo your usual tote bag for something a little nicer. You tuck the lipstick, your phone and a little wallet inside leaving just enough room for Andy. Your sister would probably have your neck for bringing your camera on a date but it was your comfort blanket at the moment and you weren’t ready to let go of it.

A heavy knock on your door and you take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table.

****

6:55 pm

He knocks once and winces at the loud sound that echoes against the cheap wood. His hands are sweating against the plastic wrapped around the flowers and he hopes he’s not this rusty the rest of the night.

When you greet him at the door he’s sure his heart stops for a few seconds. It’s entirely unexpected, his reaction and his complete underestimation of what he thought you would look like. He knew you were beautiful when he first saw you in the gym but this. This has him questioning everything.

The red.

Your dress and your lips. It’s Pavlovian the way he wants to sink his teeth into them. If this is you then he’s a goner.

“Frankie…do you want to come in?”

“Oh shit…sorry. Ya, these are for you.” He practically shoves the roses at you and thankfully you laugh at his fumbling. He’s not sure how long he stood there gawking at you.

“Why don’t you come in so I can put these in some water.” He’s following the scent of you like a cartoon Pepe le pew through your quaint apartment.

You fumble around the kitchen cabinets looking for a vase as he takes in the space. It already feels a lot more warm and inviting than his five bedroom house that seems like a void of endless drab furniture.

Little hints of you everywhere, a shelf with vintage cameras lined up. An odd shaped purple suede couch in the middle of the room, your coffee table looks like an old door with legs on it, plants hung in any available window. A picture of you with a little baby on the wall along with some of the most vivid scenery shots he’s ever seen. Another picture with a woman who closely resembles you and an older man on what looks like your graduation day, wearing this dress.

“I know I have a lot of…eclectic things.” You say as he turns to you. You’ve somehow trimmed and arranged the roses in the time it’s taken him to inspect your space.

“Is that a pitcher?”

“I mean…technically yes, but it’s serving as my vase since I don’t receive flowers much.”

He hums in disbelief because how could a woman like you not receive flowers just for merely existing.

He doesn’t even know if you realize you’re smiling behind the bouquet. A perfect blend of red that you serve as the backdrop. He takes out his phone and boldly takes a picture.

You squint your eyes at him because he has his sound on.

“Francisco.” Your voice drops an octave dripping all syrupy sweet.

He surely won’t make it with you saying his name like that.

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Did you take my picture?” Hands on your hips and your tongue on your canine.

“Maybe? I get the feeling you’re behind the camera too much.”

You laugh as though it’s some inside joke because it is really. Your sister is always pestering you to be in the photo. But that leaves someone out and it might as well be you.

“Can I see?” You move towards him and place your hand on his arm and he’s tempted to let you. He could read lips if they were yours as he repeats them back to himself.

He places his phone in his pocket and watches as your eyes flit briefly to where it disappeared.

“Not tonight.”

Some other time

You’re not so bold to reach in and see for yourself. You’re so close to him now you can feel his body heat and if this is what weak in the knees feels like then you’re certainly that. It takes every fiber of your being to remove your hand from his arm.

He misses the warmth immediately as you step back but the look on your face shows a sign of that shy girl from the other night.

“Should we?” You gesture to the door. “I don’t want to miss a reservation.”

“No reservations needed. I know the owner of the restaurant.”

You raise your eyebrows and he didn’t mean for it to come out so cocky. “I hope you like Italian.” He changes the subject hoping to avoid the awkwardness that he’s let fall over the room.

“Points for you since that’s my favorite.” You reach for his hand as he leads you out and as you lock up your apartment you have to remind yourself that he’s not your ex. The man who knows the owner, the man who decides what you eat and drink, the man who didn’t care less what you wanted as long as you didn’t embarrass him.

****

If he notices your shift in demeanor he says nothing. It’s easy to relax around Frankie and you notice yourself slipping into a peaceful routine with him. When he opens your door and helps you into the truck. When he instinctively grabs your hand as he drives, you notice his signature cap left at home for your date as his hair blows in the wind.

This doesn’t feel like a first date.

This feels like something you do all the time. Like you fit right into some imaginary puzzle piece in his life. He’s humming some tune under his breath and you’re feeling a little more bold as your fingers lace with his.

You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye as you look out the window at the familiar surroundings. He likes the way you look next to him, in his truck and something bubbles to the surface that he has to push down to not scare you away too soon.

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.” You glance over at him as his large hand grips the steering wheel. “I was thinking it real hard but the words never came out.”

“I was thinking something similar myself.”

He notes that low timber in your voice when you compliment him. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the road.

“I was hoping I wasn’t too overdressed.” You say apprehensively as he pulls into a small parking lot.

“Baby for where we’re going you’re perfectly dressed.”

You don’t have time to even react to the pet name when you see the restaurant come into view as he parks directly in front.

“Frankie, this place is impossible to get a reservation. Trust me I tried and failed when my sister was in town visiting me.”

He smirks as he opens and closes the drivers side door leaving you momentarily to saunter around and open yours.

He holds his hand out to help you down and gently grabs your waist in the other. “Make sure to let me know next time she’s in town.”

“Okay.” You say a little breathlessly as his large hand engulfs yours and he guides you towards the entrance.

****

“Morales for two.”

“Right this way Mr. Morales.” The Maitre d’ leads the way dressed in a tailored suit with a vest and small black bow tie.

The interior is breathtaking as you make your way through the ornate hallway. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the crisp white linens. There’s plush, crushed velvet and intricate woodwork furniture throughout.The walls are adorned with tapestries and the scent of fresh herbs and garlic wafts from the kitchen.

You’ve noticed the entire night Frankie has been sure to walk behind you or beside you. Something you didn’t even realize in your previous relationship was a courtesy you weren’t afforded. Always being pulled along or left behind. His hand is warm, placed gently on your back as you pass by other well-dressed couples engaged in intimate conversations. Their voices a soft murmur against the backdrop of classical music playing somewhere in the distance.

You’re both ushered toward a secluded corner of the restaurant, away from the bustling dining room. Your breath catches as you take in the scene before you. A small path opens up to a hidden courtyard, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight. Ivy climbs gracefully up the old stonewalls. A table set for two is adorned with empire candles and one single rose.

Frankie’s eyes are on you, a mix of nervousness and pride etched across his face. He’s clearly pleased with your reaction and he chuckles to himself as he takes in the romantic setting his friend arranged just for this moment.

“I hoped you’d like it.” Frankie says, his voice a soft murmur as he pulls out your chair.

“Like it! Frankie, are you serious? This is incredible.”

He smiles at your reaction as he takes his place across from you. The tenderness in his gesture, the thoughtfulness of the setting-it all makes your heart flutter. This isn’t just a date. It’s a memory in the making, and his effort to impress you is overwhelming in the best way possible.

****

“Frankie I have to say the website photos do not do this place justice.”

The laugh that erupts from his chest catches you off guard briefly. “The owner was being cheap-.”

“Cheap!” A familiar voice sounds from behind you as the gorgeous man you recognize from Benny's fight strolls over to your table. His hair is slicked back showing off his perfect bone structure. Slight salt and pepper stubble across his face. Dressed in all black and the first two buttons undone to show off his tan chest.

Frankie stands from the table and embraces the man in a tight hug. He whispers something you don’t quite catch before turning to you with a wide smile.

“Hi, I’m Santiago.” He holds out his hand for you and to your surprise kisses the top of your outstretched hand. “Fish whisked you away before I had a chance to introduce myself the other day.”

“Fish?”

“That is exactly why I whisked her away.” Frankie says through gritted teeth.

Santiago holds his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I mean Francisco.”

The waiter appears with a pitcher of water and pours for the table as Santiago instructs him to bring a bottle of sparkling when he returns with the bread.

“So I hear you’re quite the photographer, I could use your help.”

“Pope.” Frankie eyes him in warning.

You reach across the table and take Frankie’s hand in yours. “It’s fine really.”

Santiago’s eyes on your joined hands and a knowing smirk on his face.

“I would love to take some photos for your website. They really are quite awful.” You say honestly.

“Well I took them myself so…”

You unconsciously grimace and it’s equal parts comical and painful to look at as you palm your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Both men are laughing before you can continue your apology.

“No hard feelings, cariño. I’m a big boy and can take some criticism. This guy on the other hand.” He pats Frankie on the back. “Go easy on him for me.”

A look of gratitude passes between them and Santiago steps back as the waiter reappears.

He claps his hands. “I’ll leave you two love birds to enjoy. I have a very special meal planned for the evening so I hope you’re hungry.”

He turns to leave but not before Frankie speaks.

“Gracias hermano realmente aprecio todo.”

“Para ti cualquier cosa.”

****

The conversation between you and Frankie flowed easily as each course was presented to you. Per Santiago’s instruction the waiter presented each dish to you in great detail.

First Course: Antipasti Deliziosi

The evening begins with an elegant spread of antipasti, served on a polished wooden platter. The colorful assortment included thinly sliced prosciutto, delicate burrata cheese drizzled with balsamic reduction, and an array of marinated olives, artichoke hearts, and sun-dried tomatoes.

Frankie tells you a little about his time in the military with the boys. After a brief explanation that because of some private government contracts they all did very well for themselves after the service. Of course your curiosity was peaked at the thought of Benny and Will owning their own gym and Santiago owning the most popular restaurant in town. Frankie had casually mentioned at your first encounter that he owned a private helicopter business. None of these men came off as self centered or what you would consider avaricious so it was refreshing to see such successful men be so humble.

Albeit very intimidating that you struggled most months to pay your bills and your savings was almost at nothing after a year of being here. You quickly steered the conversation away from that topic which made you uncomfortable because of your previous relationship. You didn’t want to come off as some kind of gold digger.

Second Course: Risotto ai Frutti di Mare

The second course featured a luxurious risotto with a medley of seafood—plump shrimp, tender scallops, and mussels. The creamy, saffron-infused risotto, complemented by a hint of lemon zest. Between forkfuls, Frankie shares anecdotes about his most memorable helicopter flights, while you told him( sparing some of the not so pretty details) of your spontaneous move just a year ago.

He listens intently to you talk about trying to work when you first arrived but it being too overwhelming. You briefly mention therapy and for that he’s grateful he doesn’t have to be ashamed to talk about his struggles after leaving the military. There’s no judgment in your eyes when he talks about those meetings that saved his life.

First date feels inappropriate and a little too heavy to mention ex’s so you both stay far away from that topic.

You don’t mention your sobriety so he doesn’t push.

You talk about finally taking that step and reaching out to Will for the shoot and he can’t help but shake his head on the timing of it all.

Third Course: Filetto di Manzo con Salsa

For the third course, the table is graced with a perfectly cooked filet mignon, its tender surface glazed with butter and rich red tomato purée . Accompanied by truffle mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus.

You’re beaming when you open up to him about some future projects you want to work on and the need to get back into weddings since those were your favorite.

He may know some people that are seeking you out for just that but he won’t spoil the surprise.

All of the normal first date questions that would usually bore him to death seem to feel different when he’s with you. The way you look in his eyes makes him feel like he’s floating. He’s sure you don’t notice the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking or the way you moan after trying the first bite of each course.

Your knee keeps brushing his under the table but it’s comforting when you don’t pull away.

Dessert: Tiramisu Classico

The evening concludes with a classic tiramisu—layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, creamy mascarpone, and a dusting of cocoa powder.

Once the waiter disappears, and since he’s feeling a little bold he takes your fork and a small piece. Holding it out for you as you wrap your still red lips around it and let out the most sinful sound he’s ever heard.

Worth it.

You take his fork and serve up a slightly larger piece and do your best to lean as he meets you halfway. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when he takes a bite.

Without thinking you reach across with your finger. “You’ve got.” And swipe the cream from the corner of his lip. Boldly licking the remnants as you watch something flash in his eyes.

“Frankie. I don’t know how you’re gonna top this.”

He watches you take another bite. “Oh I’m sure I can think of a few things.” He finally managed to say after he composed himself. “In fact, if you’re not afraid of heights I definitely have some ideas.”

You sit back and clutch your chest. “Oh I would love to meet Lucy.”

He chuckles as he looks at you and wonders where the hell you’ve been hiding.

****

Santiago of course waited until you were finished to get your opinion and say his goodbyes. Frankie suggested you walk in the small park across from the restaurant. With a little push from Santi, the name he preferred you call him since Santiago was my father as he put it.

It was a short walk to the park.

You and Frankie strolled along the winding path encircling a small pond. The sun was already set but the sky still had those remnants of dusty pink and purple as the last rays bounced off the surface of the water.

You love the way he instinctively takes your hand and he thinks it’s almost too perfect the way it fits in his. Like they had been designed for each other. The both of you walk in a comfortable silence exchanging glances as you stare at his profile and laugh to yourself.

“Something funny hermosa?”

“You never told me about the nickname.” You say matter of factly and he just sighs.

Instinctually rubbing his hands along his jaw as he stops walking and you face him. “It’s better now but. I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life.” You laugh and he crowds your space. “The guys said I had whiskers like a catfish.”

He raises his eyebrows as you hide your smile behind your hand. “I like it.” You say softly as you reach out, grazing your finger over the small spaces still missing some hair. His eyes close for just a moment and he leans into your touch.

He’s so close you can feel his breath fan across your face and it would be so perfect if he just-

“You wouldn’t happen to have Andy in your bag by chance?”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said instead of kissing you.

“What? I mean yes…um ya I do. Why?” Sounding more flustered than you want as he places his hands on your shoulders and slowly turns you around.

You stifle a gasp as you see a man across the pond getting down on one knee and the camera is out of your bag before you can blink.

You can see the woman as she covers her mouth in shock. Her excited squeals echoing over the water and it couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop.

Frankie’s hands haven’t left you as his thumbs rub circles on your shoulder and he steals peaks of the photos when you take a moment to make sure the shots are just right. Adjusting the zoom on a few and grateful you don’t need the flash with just enough natural light left over.

Frankie watches you work and he’s just in awe of how you can capture the moment so well. You’re quiet and methodical in your approach and the juxtaposition of you moments ago makes his head spin. It’s like when he’s flying and everything else just shuts off around him and he can only focus on the controls and the shifts.

He watches as the couple embraces and for the first time he thinks that’s something he wants. He’d spent so much time with his ex and that thought never once crossed his mind.

“We should head over before they leave so I can show them.” It’s all rushed out in a hurry as you grab his hand and pull him along the path.

He can’t help but laugh at your pure joy as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

He hangs back a little as you show the couple the photos. Your hands animatedly flailing to match the woman’s as she jumps up and down. The man looks over to him briefly and Frankie flashes him a thumbs up in congratulations. A man not much younger than him and he has his whole life to look forward to with this woman.

****

“Oh my god, she thought he hired me.” Your voice comes out louder than you expected. As he glances over to you in the passenger seat looking through the photos. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He clears his throat but keeps his eyes on the road. “I love watching you work.”

“It doesn’t feel like work for moments like that.”

“Hmm…ya I know what you mean.”

His free hand resting on your thigh, you don’t think he’s gone the entire night without touching you and you don’t mind at all. He’s so grounding in a way you’ve never experienced before.

The soft glow of the street lights are filtering in through the window as he pulls into your parking lot. That familiar tension is starting to settle into your chest at the thought of saying goodbye or at the prospect of Frankie being disappointed that you’re not quite ready for that next step.

Frankie notices you’ve gone quiet in the seat next to him as he puts the truck in park. “Everything okay hermosa?” Suddenly feeling a little apprehensive.

“Oh ya it’s fine…everything is fine.” He could tell by your tone it was most certainly not and he was starting to wonder if he’d done something to make you uncomfortable.

He turns towards you, his hand resting on the seat next to you now. “I had a really great time tonight.” Frankie says, his voice steady and sincere.

Your cheeks grow hot as you avoid his intense gaze. “Me too. It’s been…really nice.”

There’s a brief pause and you can feel that unspoken question lingering in the air. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your dress trying to gauge his reaction. “So,um, would you like to come up for coffee or something?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly.

Frankie’s expression softened as the realization set in. “You don’t have to invite me up if you’re not ready. I want you to feel comfortable.” He takes your hand again forcing you to meet his deep brown eyes. “Just because we had a great dinner doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Or anyone for that matter.”

You exhale a sigh of relief. “Are you sure? Frankie…I really like you, but it feels too soon.” You turn to look away but he gently grabs your chin.

“Of course I’m sure. We can take things at your pace.”

Your pace

His eyes flit to your lips briefly as he retreats his hand. You stop him and grab his wrist hoping you didn’t send the wrong message. Your heart flutters as he leans in and you meet him halfway. Your lips meet in a tender kiss. You could taste the sweet remnants of dessert and the warmth of his breath. It’s intoxicating as his hands drift to your waist and despite the awkward angle you find yourself impossibly closer to him.

Frankie has never felt like this before. Your hands drift to his hair and a deep growl erupts from his chest and he’s starting to question what your pace is as the kiss starts to get intense. It’s one of those kisses that has him questioning every one that came before you.

You break apart for a second and rest your forehead on his trying to catch your breath. You had to remind yourself for what felt like the hundredth time, that you needed to be patient.

“How about I walk you upstairs? Just to make sure you get there safely.”

All you can manage is a nod. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

You both exited the car in silence. Your fingers brushing occasionally, sending small sparks through you. When you finally make it to your door he turns you to face him. His hands around the back of your neck as he leans in for one more kiss. This one much softer as the last still lingers on your lips.

“Tonight was really special.” His voice full of gratitude.

“Thank you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips, unable to pull away. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” He says pulling back slightly, but keeping his hands on you. “I’ll call you soon okay?”

If he doesn’t leave now he probably never will.

“Okay.” You laugh breathlessly as you wipe the evidence of lipstick from his face.

You have to let him go or you’ll end up eating your words and inviting him in. He’s backing away slowly as you turn to open your door. You can feel him watching you as you close the door behind you and lean against it, finally letting the breath out of your lungs.

You can feel your phone buzzing in your purse.

Glancing down to see Frankie’s name light up on the screen.

“Have you even left the parking lot?” You hear his heavy breathing and a huff of laughter.

“I told you I'd call you soon.” He teased as the sound of his truck door closing echoes in your ear.

“A man of his word.” You reply as you walk through your apartment stripping yourself of your shoes and untying your dress.

“So…what are you doing?” A hint of mischief in his voice.

“Frankie.”

“I’m just kidding.” He pauses briefly as you hear the truck roar to life wishing you were still sitting passenger. “If you’re free this Friday-“

“I am!” You hold the phone away cursing under your breath for sounding so eager.

“Good, it’s a date.”

You hang up and take in your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your lips stained a pretty hue of pink now that the red has been kissed off. Your fingers brush them slightly and you know that Francisco Morales has your heart in his hands.

Hopefully for your sake he treats it with care.

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polaroidpascal · 6 months ago

Text

morning brew || joel & frankie

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader x joel miller

summary : when you and Frankie wake up, you find that joel is missing from bed.

tags : fluff but allusions to smut, no use of y/n, frankie being sweet, joel being a goofy menace, all love and silly jokes with these three, fic cover is for vibes only, reader is you babe!!

WC : 619

a/n : this might be the stupidest little thing i've ever spat out, and i wrote it in all of like 15 minutes, maybe, simply bc i saw one of those "passed out a couple times but your dessert is ready!" memes. also bc i haven't been able to stop thinking about frankie or being in a throuple with him and joel 🫠 so enjoy this stupid nonsense ig 💀

Joel’s not in bed when you wake up.

Frankie has his arms wrapped around you, the two men having sandwiched you in the bed late last night as the three of you drifted to sleep. His hot breath fans across your skin, slow and sleepy as he dreams.

You turn in his hold to face him and he tries to nuzzle his face into your neck. You pepper kisses onto his forehead, his cheek, and wake him up with a kiss.

“Good morning, hermosa,” he says, voice hoarse with slumber as it rumbles through your ribcage.

“Good morning,” you say, planting another deep, slow kiss to his plush lips. His hands roam sweetly and gently against your soft, warm skin. And you let him, the sweet boy, caress every inch of your body he can find just because he loves you so much.

You pull away from the kiss and he meets you with a small protesting whine. “Joel’s not here…”

“Hm?” he mutters, eyes barely open. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, I think we should go find him,” you say with a smile, a small one. One he meets as his eyes fully open and he throws the covers off of you.

The smell of coffee meets you before the image of him does. You walk down the hallway with Frankie trailing close behind you, his hand locked in yours. You round the corner and see Joel standing at his coffee pot donning nothing but a robe and his slippers, three mugs sitting on the counter before him.

He hears the floor shift beneath you and looks up, a smile blossoming on his face. “G’mornin’, sleepyheads. Made y’all some coffee.”

You and Frankie sit at the island together and cradle the mugs in your hands. You both sip and hum at the bitter bite of the coffee and the sweetness that lingers after.

“Mmm… so good, Joel. Thank you,” Frankie says with a sparkle in his eye and Joel winks at him. He smirks at that, then asks, “This tastes different... but good different. Did you use a different milk or something? Like, a new creamer?”

“Sure did,” he says with a nod. “Passed out, like, six times though.”

You both choke mid-sip and Joel stifles back a laugh.

“Y— you what?” you ask, nearly setting the mug down.

“Yeah, got up early ‘n everything to make it perfect for my two angels.” A positively shit-eating grin explodes across his face as he takes another slow, audible sip of his coffee.

You and Frankie turn to each other wide-eyed, then back to Joel before he erupts with laughter.

“Darlin’, relax. I’m just teasin’,” Joel manages between giggles. “Yes, I bought a new creamer.” He holds a hand over his stomach while he laughs some more.

The two of you let go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding, shoulders slumping and looking down into the cups in your hands. Frankie starts to chuckle first, looking at Joel and shaking his head before laughing harder.

It’s not long before the three of you are in a laughing fit in the kitchen, coffee abandoned as laughter and giggles fill the kitchen.

“Well, today is off to an interesting start,” you say, catching your breath.

“That’s one way to put it,” Frankie chimes in before nudging your arm.

“Yeah, sure is,” Joel agrees, pressing a hand to his stomach while he exhales deep. “Man, almighty. ‘M not gonna have enough energy left.”

You breathe a laugh out of your nose. “Yeah? Energy for what?”

He looks up again, unable to hide his goofy smile like he did before. “For the dessert I was gonna fix for y’all later.”

#joel miller #francisco morales #frankie morales #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you

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l0ngschl0ngking · 2 years ago

Text

These hands were made for worshipping you

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course

word count: 7k (of filth)

A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).

Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.

So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you.

So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.

He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.

So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?

And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.

You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.

You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion. She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.

When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.

So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes.

“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks.

“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out.

And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.

You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart.

He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.

Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh.

He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.

“Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.

You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.

“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.

He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.

“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.

You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.

His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.

He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.

“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-

“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.

After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.

It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.

He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.

He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.

The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-

If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.

You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”

“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.

“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.

“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.

“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.

He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.

“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.

You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.

“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.

He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.

“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.

When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.

He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.

“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.

“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.

“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.

“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”

A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.

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gracie7209 · 2 years ago

Text

Mood board by the lovely, wonderful, and insanely talented @wildemaven

Complete!

Amaryllis Masterlist

Triple Frontier AU

Pairings: Frankie x f!reader, Tom x wife!Reader

A/N: (Reader is of Hispanic descent and is originally from Cuba, but moved at a fairly young age. There are mentions of some ethnic traditions/customs as well etc) This started as a Waitress AU that I completely lost control of and it has now become THIS lol I’ve posted snippets, but have been working on this for the better part of 2 years and I was determined to see it through. Originally had Ana De Armas as a face claim for Reader which is why the character is Cuban. No physical descriptions other than Reader has a light accent.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, fluff, heavy angst, drinking, there are some heavy topics here so please heed chapter warnings, domestic violence, Tom is a piece of SHIT, cheating, infidelity, oral (f & m receiving), pregnancy, pregnant sex, maybe slight lactation kink?? fingering, unprotected PIV sex, therapy mentions, childbirth mentioned (no description), first time (with Tom 🤢 but necessary to the story), Tom is just literally the fucking worst, but Frankie is here to make it all better, leaving out some things so as not to completely spoil the plot. Will update each chapter with more specific warnings

Description:

As a sheltered wife to an emotionally abusive husband, you find yourself in an impossible situation when you learn that you’re pregnant. Up until now, you were content with the way things were, but a child didn’t deserve this life that had been chosen for you. What little outlook you had on life was as good as gone; But then a chance meeting in an unlikely place finds you potentially looking toward a very different future.

That is, until it’s all ripped away from you.

How far are you willing to go to keep a promise you made as a child? And how much are you willing to sacrifice to protect the ones you love most?

A/N: This fic is complete, just doing some finishing touches. There are 12 chapters and an epilogue. Chapter lengths range any where from 1k-9k words. Also, I just have to give my thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment Who basically held my hand and guided me throughout this entire process. I genuinely mean it that I don’t believe I ever would’ve finished this story if it wasn’t for her. Claire you are a Godsend and I appreciate you more than you know!

*******

*Chapters containing smut will be labeled with 🔥

Drabble

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Wednesday

Chapter 3 - It’s a…!

Chapter 4 - Tom

Chapter 5 - It’s Been Awhile

Chapter 6 - Want 🔥

Chapter 7 - The Mission

Chapter 8 - The Call

Chapter 9 - The Return 🔥

Chapter 10 - Safe House

Chapter 11 - Stay 🔥

Chapter 12 - Home

Epilogue

A/N: I don’t have an official tag list, but if you would like to be tagged, just let me know!

#frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie x f!reader #frankie x reader #frankie x you #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie triple frontier #triple frontier fic

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prolix-yuy · 2 years ago

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Plus One

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson"

Summary: It's Ms Jackson's company holiday party, and Frankie makes his debut.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, references to past escort work, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism kink, references to oral sex and anal play, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), spanking, possessive play, little bit of brattiness, Frankie is too damn hot and Ms J is gonna make him pay for it (in the best way).

Notes: Here's my (slightly late) SW!Frankie Christmas story! This is dedicated to @lowlights for saying "All I want for Christmas is SW!Frankie" and I couldn't resist giving her exactly that. She also picked Frankie's holiday party outfit, which is absolute perfection and I would climb him like a tree if he showed up in this fit.

Takes place after Callback.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

The internal monologue running in the back of your mind comments on the tasteful decor, how the poinsettias and fake candles and red and green tablecloths really dress up the restaurant. The thought that “HR did a really nice job” skitters through your mind, and the warm scent of cider and mulled wine and store-bought cookies all envelops you in a nostalgic holiday mood.

Well, it would, but on the other hand this holiday party might actually kill you. Honestly. And yet you have to pretend that you’re not dying inside, a calm smile on your face while you fight back against the urge to scream.

It all started with an email.

Hi Team!

It’s that time of year again - our annual holiday party! Please join us for appetizers and drinks at Lesandro’s at 6pm Friday, December 23rd. If you want to enter the raffle for a special prize, please email Alison for a ticket.

This was all fine and dandy until you got to the next line.

Plus ones are welcome!

You shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s not the first time your office has extended invites to partners. You had brought your ex-husband in the past, the brief sting of the memory flitting through your mind. It was to be expected every year, a night to enjoy yourselves on the company’s dime in lieu of bonuses.

You would gladly accept a check rather than the cocktails and finger foods, but you weren’t not on the planning committee.

A little tremor of excitement over that line lightened your spirits for the rest of the day. Thinking of Frankie schmoozing with your coworkers made a smile come to your face, and his solid comfort being by your side actually made you look forward to the event. The scales tipped more towards anxiety when you walked into your home, Frankie coming down the stairs with damp hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, a quick squeeze of a hug before heading to your car for groceries. Worrying at your lower lip, you waited until you were both in the kitchen sorting produce before you spoke up.

“I’ve got a company party coming up in a couple weeks,” you said, toppling a few apples onto the counter.

“You’ll be out late?” Frankie asked, dumping fruit into a colander in the sink. The running tap let you take your time with your response.

“Actually, I can bring a plus one,” you tried to say breezily, rolling a stray lemon under your palm. It grounded you as Frankie turned to you. “If you want to come,” you added at the end. When his pause went on too long you hazarded a look up at him. He was smiling in that somewhat exasperated way that let you know you’d been overthinking again.

“Why wouldn’t I want to come? Maybe I can guess which one of those girls steals your yogurt on Wednesdays.” The remark made you giggle, leaning back against the counter as Frankie’s mischievous eyes eased your tension.

“I don’t know, I built it up in my head, asking you.” You shrugged, voice getting a little softer. “My ex never liked going to these things. Complained for weeks before and after, then would barely talk to me when we were there.” You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest. It wasn’t the first time you’d talked about your past relationships with Frankie, but having to feel the grief, the sickness in the pit of your stomach, the tension of revising those memories still made you want to crawl out of your own skin. Frankie’s hands, heavy and soothing, wrapped around your biceps.

“If you want me there, I’m there,” he said, rubbing your arms with a reassuring smile. You nodded, letting your forehead drop against his shoulder when he stepped closer. Sucking a deep breath in, Frankie’s clean musk and fresh soap smell released the tight muscles in your jaw. “Where are they having it?”

“Lesandro’s.”

“Oh, so it’s like, a nice party,” Frankie mused, hand kneading at the back of your neck where you held much of your stress. You melted into the massage, pressing your cheek to his plush chest.

“Eh, we come from the office, you don’t have to dress up,” you mumbled into his worn t-shirt. He hummed in response.

“Could be fun, though,” he said, working his thumb into the meat of your shoulders. “Dressing up for it. I’d like to make a good first impression.”

Leaning back, you raised an eyebrow at Frankie.

“Oh really?”

He blushed, and you thought your heart might explode at the sight. Slipping your fingers into the wisps of gray-brown hair at the nape of his neck, you swayed against your boyfriend.

“Then bring your A-game, handsome.”

Which is why you’re standing here now, close to literally exploding.

Because when Frankie texted to tell you he was here, you didn’t expect what walked in the door.

First of all, no Standard Oil hat. You didn’t expect him to wear it, but it’s such a part of himself now you forget he can go without it. He styled his hair loose and curling, not a wild mane but controlled wisps that flick out around his ears and bounce along his forehead. Little glints of silver you refuse to let him cover up at a salon catch the glittering lights in the restaurant. He’s wearing a white button-up, the top two buttons open to bare a delicious vee of tan skin around his throat. He clearly wasn’t patient enough with the sleeves, though, because he’s rolled them up around his elbows, accenting his strong forearms. You’ve never seen the pants he’s wearing, some sort of dark blue-black slacks that hug his trim hips perfectly before descending to black leather monkstrap shoes.

And he’s wearing his fucking glasses.

Your cunt throbs at the sight.

He searches the crowd, the smile that breaks out when you lock eyes making your legs weak. He weaves his way through your coworkers, a few watching him curiously as he scoots by. Once he’s made it to you, a hand on your lower back and a kiss to your cheek, the eyes that followed him now land on you. The pride this swells in your chest makes you giddy.

“Have I missed all the food?” Frankie asks in your ear, your response a shaken head. He mock-sighs in relief before Cindy strides up to you both, ever the nosy one. Her smile is too big, hand outstretched to Frankie.

“And who have we here?” she asks, eyes flitting between you both. You brim with a little more pride when Frankie takes her hand, giving her a kind but firm handshake.

“Francisco Morales, the boyfriend,” he says with a little jest in his voice, Cindy laughing louder than necessary.

This is the theme of the night, Frankie approached by coworkers and chatting his way through the first impressions. You smile and schmooze along with him, but inside marvel over how smooth he is. The perfectly timed jokes, the attentive smiles. As Cindy (and some people you’ve never even met) approach and leave, he knows exactly how to engage and play off their differing personalities. Giving space to the chatterbugs, coaxing conversation from the quiet ones, engaging in interests and offering his opinions.

“This won’t be my first time in a room full of strangers with high expectations,” Frankie had said a few days before when you offered him an out on the party. The implication flew over your head until he added, “I’ve been hired as an escort too.”

The revelation led to another one of those matter-of-fact conversations that were so fascinating with Frankie. He talked about sex work (and escorting, in this case) with no more emotional attachment than discussing what cars he worked on.

“I did a charity event once, older woman who wanted a younger man on her arm but didn’t want to look pathetic.”

“A girl had a bodyguard fantasy we played out at the Plaza. One of the nicest hotel rooms I’ve worked in.”

“You learn a lot by acting like the trophy, and people will tell you the wildest shit if you just listen.”

All of these skills were in action now as you watched him listen to someone from customer support discussing chatbot services. The second glass of champagne in your hand is warming under your fingers but you barely notice because this is a Frankie you rarely see. He’s in an element that’s foreign to you, used to his soft competency and attention and now witnessing his surety, his confidence, his ease at shifting into exactly what everyone wants.

Even the moments when you feel a stab of jealousy - Debbie touching his arm when he makes a joke, how he gives everyone his undivided attention - he always makes his way back to you. His hand rests on your lower back, pulling you into conversations when you’re being edged out. And when you’re leading, having a discussion with a coworker, he listens closely by your side and nods along, even if you know he’s lost as to the topic.

It’s turning you on way more than you want to admit.

The party is grating on your nerves after an hour and a half, your brain screaming at you to leave. Listening to Carl complain about the cost of events planning pales in comparison to showing Frankie exactly how much he’s been affecting you all night. The ache only worsens when you catch a glimpse of his profile, smiley and easygoing, as his shirt gapes to reveal no undershirt underneath. You could slip your fingers inside and drag them along the smooth expanse of skin there, before slipping them down to pop every button open as you descend lower and lower…

“Your man not dress up for you much?”

Erica, one of your favorite coworkers and confidant, sidles up next to you as Frankie tries to leave a conversation by the drinks table, two glasses in hand. Your face heats up as you fan yourself surreptitiously with a napkin.

“Mmmhmmm, okay no need to answer that one for me. Boss left ten minutes ago, go get your man out of here before Johnson bores him to death,” she murmurs, giving you an approving look before going back to her lost-looking husband. Her revelation, coupled with your increasing need, rockets you across the room to Frankie’s relieved face.

“Sorry Johnson, I need Frankie for a minute. Nice seeing you!” you rush out, depositing Frankie’s proffered glasses on a waiter’s tray. Hands free, you tug Frankie to the exit, his voice lost in the rush of blood to your ears.

Out of the stuffy room and into the cooler night, Frankie huffs in surprise when you push him back against the building’s exterior and steal a heated kiss, a quick press of the lips preceding your tongue pressing into his mouth, stifling his moan with your own. Taking the hint, he pulls your hips flush with his, attacking your mouth with as much fervor as you’re giving. His teeth scrape against your tongue, letting you grind him against the concrete wall before he spins you to switch places.

“You had to wear the fucking glasses,” you gasp when he pulls back enough to nibble along your jaw.

“Thought they’d make me look smarter,” he whispers in your ear, palming one breast with the broad expanse of his hand. You mewl under the attention, mind hazily realizing you’re way too out in the open to be getting groped so thoroughly.

“Thought you’d ruin my panties is more like it,” you hiss back, spreading your legs to invite him between them. He shakes his head against your neck.

“Not here, let me take you home and take my time,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear. The whine you squeeze out surprises you both, “needy little thing” the next words that Frankie drips against your skin.

“C’mon Frankie, feel how wrecked you made me,” you goad, the roll of his hips against your core revealing Frankie’s desire as plainly as your own. Stealing a glance towards the front door, he slides a hand under your skirt and swiftly pulls your panties to the side, sliding two fingers through the slick mess.

“Fuck, baby, all this for me?” he asks, and the buck of your hips against his hand slides his fingertips inside you shallowly. He growls in your ear, that feral noise that makes you want to push him until he snaps and takes from you. Pulling you away from the wall, he sucks his wet fingers into his mouth with a flash of darkness in his eyes.

“Get in the truck, we’re going,” he says quickly, his stride longer and faster paced than usual. His own need mirroring yours makes a wicked idea bloom in your lust-addled mind. It would get you into some trouble, but the reward would be as good as the punishment. Maybe better.

Frankie buckles in and drives you swiftly out of the parking lot, your house only a twenty minute trip from Lesandro’s. Twenty long, aching minutes with Frankie so close you can almost taste him. You need to taste him.

Palming his hard cock through the slacks earns you a groan and a swat at your hand, Frankie’s knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

“Baby, stop, I need to get us home. You can last twenty minutes,” he admonishes, which only mounts your need. Another long stroke, another warning, and you’re popping the top button of his pants open. He says your name now, hand coming to wrap around your wrist as you slide his zipper down.

“Please, Frankie, just let me taste you. I’ll be good, I promise,” you beg, one hand slipped under your own skirt and sliding through your slick. “You got me so worked up, I just want to make you feel good.” Leaning over you blow a puff of hot air onto his cock, still straining against his boxer briefs. A string of curses fall from his lips as you mouth him, wetting the cotton with your tongue.

“Fuck, you just can’t wait, can you? Okay, baby, okay, but you can’t…you can’t suck me off, I’ll crash the fucking truck if you try. Just hold me in your mouth if you need it that bad,” Frankie gasps, the words finally allowing you to slip his cock from its confines and into your hot mouth. He groans loud at your heat engulfing him, your clever fingers finding your clit and stroking quick circles as you try your best to follow his rules. But Frankie is large and thick in your mouth. You can’t help sliding back up to adjust your jaw wider. Or when you slide back down your tongue flattens against the underside, lapping at the thick vein. That’s just a force of habit.

When you hum at the feeling of his head brushing the back of your throat, you can’t help but admit that you’re doing it on purpose.

“Fucking Christ,” Frankie swears, and you feel the car move from asphalt to dirt before coming to an abrupt stop. You slide your lips up and off his cock to ask why he stopped, but Frankie is already unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you up to his mouth. He crashes his lips against yours, holding you in place with one firm hand on the back of your neck.

“Little tease,” he purrs, and the rush of heat to your cunt has you arching into his chest, burying your wet fingers in his hair. “I was going to take you home, spread you out on our bed and make you cum so many times you’d lose your voice.” Frankie’s thick fingers pinch your jaw, widening it so he can delve deeper with his tongue. You’re practically dripping on the bench seat, trying to move to your back but he holds you there, and the roughness of his touch makes your body thrum like a live wire.

“Was going to lick this pretty pussy until you came on my face, then flip you over and do it again. Maybe even tease your perfect little asshole,” he continues, your heart hammering in your chest as he pushes your arousal higher and higher. “Then I was going to make you cum around three fingers. Get you to squirt for me.”

“Frankie, fuck, please…” you whine, hips rocking against nothing, but he wraps his hands around them and bumps your noses together.

“Oh I’d have you begging by then too, but no, you couldn’t behave. Couldn’t wait the twenty minutes to get you home.” Your world spins as Frankie turns you to face away from him, pulling your ass tight against his hips. Heat blooms along your chest and face when you realize you’ve pushed him enough to lead to this.

“So you’re getting what you wanted, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you, needy little thing. Gonna give you my cock and you’re gonna take it just like this.” With that he flips your skirt up over your ass and slides his cock through your slick. Your jaw drops open; the truck is barely off the road, hidden by a few overhanging trees and a lack of streetlights but still very visible to another car passing by. Thighs trembling, you try to steady your breathing. It’s dangerous and mollifying, exhilarating and terrifying.

“You know what to say if you don’t want this,” Frankie murmurs in your ear, gentler than before. You do, you know the colors and the words that will slow Frankie down. But like hell do you want that right now.

“Green, handsome,” you shoot back, wiggling your butt against him. He chuckles darkly, guiding your hips to slide his cock over your clit.

“Then put your hands on the door,” he says, nudging you forward to brace yourself against the passenger door. Knocking your knees apart, Frankie’s bulk settles against your ass before his thick head begins breaching you.

Eyes rolling back and your mouth open in a silent moan, you savor the girth of Frankie’s cock with no preparation. You’re so slick and yielding, but he always stretches you to your limits. Even as he fucks shallowly into you, getting you used to him, you beg for more.

“Please Frankie, fuck me, want you to wreck me, been wanting you inside me all night,” you groan, pushing back to bury him deep inside, grinding the base of his cock to tease your throbbing clit. Frankie’s hands tighten around your hips, and with a sharp snap that knocks a gasp out of you as he sets a powerful pace.

The truck cabin fills with the lewd sound of Frankie’s fat cock fucking into your wet cunt, his guttural moans mixing with your higher ones. When you look behind you, Frankie’s baring his teeth and puffing air through his nose, curls sticking to the sweat at his temples.

“This what you need, beautiful? Needed me to pound this pussy until you can’t think? Needed me to claim what’s mine?” His filthy words hit a chord deep inside you didn’t know existed until he spoke it into life. You roll your hips back against him, leveraging your thrusts with your hands on the door.

“Yes Frankie, need you to fucking take me, make me yours, take what you want, I want everyone to know I’m yours,” you babble. A sudden crack of skin on skin makes you cry out, flooding your cunt with arousal. Frankie soothes the red handprint on your ass before tapping his fingers along it.

“Fuck, baby, you like that?” he moans as you nod vigorously in response. “Yeah, I can feel how much you liked that. Take it,” he orders before he slaps your other cheek, admiring how your movements get sloppier as you writhe in pleasure. “Mine,” he growls, another gentler slap. “Mine,” he pants as he yanks you back and pushes your chest to the seat, arching your ass up high for him to keep pounding into. “Mine,” he growls into your ear when he folds over your body, his thrusts shortening but hitting that powerful spot, tightening you around his cock.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart, I can feel it, you’re so close. Cum on me baby, I’m…fuck, I’m yours,” Frankie gasps, the possessiveness now curling in your own heart as you listen to him rail you within an inch of your sanity while repeating “yours” under his breath.

“Frankie, please…” you ask, not sure of what you need but he nods against your spine. Threading his fingers between yours, he slides his other hand to your clit and strums it fast and hard, the intensity throwing you off the edge of your impending orgasm.

With a muffled shriek you cum, feet scuffling against the leather seats and your hips bucking beneath Frankie’s weight. He holds you down, guiding you through it as he works his cock slowly through the grip of your channel. When the aftershocks subside, Frankie pumps into you a handful of times, then pulls out to spill on your ass with staccato moans.

For a long moment the truck is filled with gasping breaths, Frankie using your own skirt to wipe up his spend. When his heat disappears you prop yourself up to catch him leaning against the driver door, legs splayed and his head tipped against the cool glass, chest heaving. It takes a moment to rearrange your limbs but you finally slide between his legs and rest your head against his chest. His arms come up to cradle you there, stroking your back. You enjoy the silence, the comforting cadence of Frankie’s breathing bringing you back down.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a little apprehension in his voice. “I know we don’t go down that kind of path often…”

“Frankie, that was fucking amazing,” you soothe, grinning into his chest. “And I instigated that, I knew what I was asking for. Though you did almost make me end it with that plan you laid out.”

“Oh did I?”

“Very tempting.”

“You made your choice.”

You both laugh a little, the glow of the truck’s clock reminding you of the late hour. But Frankie has one more question to air in the dark.

“You weren’t jealous tonight, were you?” he asks, tucking his chin to look at you. “Because nobody in that room held a candle to you tonight. Or any night. I’m yours, babe,” he says, stroking his thumb along your cheek. The love that blooms in your chest is all the answer you need, but you’ll still say it.

“I loved being yours tonight. And every night.”

After getting back on the road, Frankie hums thoughtfully.

“If you wanted to do that every now and then…” he says tentatively, drawing your attention to his stunning profile. “You know, tease me, get me riled up, I’d be into that.”

A wicked smile curls your lips, half hidden in the dark.

“You like it when I rile you up?” you ask, leading Frankie’s hand back between your legs. You could find the energy for another round, your folds still soft and dripping. He gives you a look like he could devour you whole.

“I like it when I can show you you’re mine,” he rumbles, cupping your sex as the minutes until you’re home tick by.

“Show me again, then.”

END

The story continues in Frankie's First Time

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javierpinme · 2 years ago

Text

Lush

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors this is not the fic for you)

Warnings: accidentally sending a friend request to your hot neighbor but oh no it’s from your sex toy app, taking some liberties with the sex toy OKAY, you don’t have to tell me how bluetooth works I’m ignoring it for the purpose of the fic, squirting, voyeurism, unprotected sex (this is fictional wrap it up irl), pussy drunk Morales, oral (f receiving), fingering, infidelity (but not our babies they could never)

Summary: You buy a sex toy and accidentally send a request to your hot neighbor to join in.

A/N: Don’t blame me. Blame @daddydindjarin. Just kidding. Don’t blame her. Give her kisses because I was inspired for the first time in a while. Also kisses to @lowlights for being my beta on this because I was so scared of this being shite. And if it is—you shut your whore mouth. Respectfully. Kidding, we’re all whores here. Also, this is loosely based on the Lush 3 toy by Lovense!

Masterlist:

The pads of your fingers slide roughly on the cardboard of your thankfully discreet package. What should have brought a shiver down your spine and warmth in your core brings you conflicting feelings instead.

It was meant to spice up your relationship when your partner got the call of their dream promotion. You supported the move completely and tried to make it work to the best of your ability.However, your partner had other plans and jumped on the first opportunity to cheat on you.

So here you are, single and with a sex toy that serves as a reminder of your failed relationship.

You sigh with a resignation that you’re going to be alone forever while opening your apartment door, until you’re brought back to the present with a little girl’s giggle.

Not just any giggle—his daughter’s giggle.

With his juxtaposition of hard and soft edges and even softer—though a little sad sometimes- chocolate brown eyes.

You hear your name echo down the hall and the pitter patter of shoes hitting the ancient carpet. You hold the package a little closer to your chest and smile at the little girl running towards you. Your knees pop when you bend down to her level.

“Well, hello to you honey bee.”

She beams with her matching dimple to her father’s at the nickname you gave her a while ago. In the way honeybees bring life to the flowers, she brings the same to everyone around her.

“We’re baking cookies.” She explains with a jump in her step.

“Oh yeah?” You smile and your heart jumps when you look up to Frankie walking from further down the hall towards you.

“Yeah, but we have to do it before your mom gets here so we have to get started.”

He opens his door and she takes no time bursting through, elated to eat sugary treats.

You’re frozen at your doorway taking in the sheen of sweat that pools from his neck down into his t-shirt. No doubt from running circles around his daughter at the park.

He lingers now that you’re both alone and waves at you with a lopsided smile, but you’re too focused on the fact that he is sucking on a hard candy, your eyes too honed in on the way his tongue pokes into his cheeks when he switches sides.

Before you get the chance to ask him out or humiliatingly go onto your knees and show him just how good you can suc-

His apartment door is already closing, with him on the other side.

You’re in trouble.

One batch of chocolate chip cookies later and way too many wet wipes on his daughter’s—well everywhere, Frankie considers turning in for the night. He plops on his couch until the game setup he bought for the guy’s night tomorrow stares at him.

They take turns hosting, sticking together after coming back from Columbia and providing support when needed. It was better than dabbling into anything illegal, especially with his drug history.

He rubs his thighs and gets up with a groan. Every bone in his body cracks, reminding him he’s not as young anymore. Sounding and looking more like his father everyday.

The mirror staring back at him with all his greys that are more pronounced since coming back. He wonders if you’d like that.

One hour later, in part because of his refusal to look at directions, he has the PlayStation and surround sound system set up. He grabs the wireless headphones and his phone to check if they’re paired when he sees a notification pop up on his phone.

LazyDaisy32 has sent you a request to connect.

He has no idea what that is so he Googles it. A quick scan of the search results makes the blood rush from his head and straight to his cock.

You stare at the package that is currently sitting on your kitchen counter and finally decide to open it.

At least there’s a solo setting and you can fantasize about your cute neighbor.

You play around with the app and adjust any levels to your preference, arousal pooling in your underwear in anticipation of later. You tap on the long distance tab, but don’t focus too long until you toss it on the couch. Dinner first, then exploring your new toy.

Completely oblivious to a certain username that you sent a request to join when tossing it.

Waiting for Frankie to accept your request.

He knows exactly what this is, pulling it from the deepest part of his memory when his ex-wife and he were still together. They thought something like this would help rekindle their romance, but no amount of toys could fix their broken marriage.

He stares wide-eyed at the request, unable to bring himself to do anything.

It couldn’t be?

Right?

He knows it isn’t 86 year old Mrs. Munchez next door because he just helped her son move her stuff into his house.

Which leaves only one person. His cock twitches to life with the barrage of images that flash through his mind. You spread out on your bed, his photographic memory aiding him when he helped set up that very bed when you first moved in.

The daisy sheets.

The toy circling around your clit in slow motions to allow the slick to flow from your entrance, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth to keep yourself quiet.

He wouldn’t let you.

His cock is already fully hard by the time he starts imagining all your moans and pleas to touch you already.

He throws his phone on his bed and resigns himself to a cold shower that doesn’t work, ultimately taking himself in hand and stroking himself to relieve the tension that’s built up.

He breathes heavily, finally giving into his fantasies about his cute neighbor, and the back of his head hits the tile when ropes of come disappear into the bottom of the tub.

He quickly cleans himself up and gets ready for bed, leaving the request in the inbox when he falls asleep.

He does a really good job of ignoring the pending alerts the first few times, but time and time again it shows up and it’s killing him at this point.

It’s made even harder when he sees you. Whether he’s helping you carry your groceries to your place or waving at him from your balcony. He over analyzes every interaction now because of that damn app, studying every downturn of your lips or the wrinkle between your brows when you come home from work at the same time.

Did you really mean to send it to him? Or did you realize your mistake and choose not to face the elephant in the room? The idea that you're ignoring it to save face makes him feel worse than you acknowledging it ever could.

Asking you out would be thrown out the window at this point and dodging every future interaction makes his stomach twist in knots just thinking about it.

He almost loses resolve one morning when you close your eyes to let the sun’s rays warm your face, his cock springing to life again of the vision of you on your back, eyes closed and enjoying how he’s making you feel.

He’d make you feel good, he thinks.

Never one to take pleasure without giving. At least one thing his ex-wife couldn’t complain about. He wants to make you feel as good as you deserve. He aches with the need.

It’s then that his fantasies break him down and he accepts the request. He throws his phone on his counter thinking that somehow he could forget what he just did.

On the contrary, it made it so much worse.

He couldn’t resist the temptation any longer one night when he saw the reminder pop up again.

He sits on the couch, thighs spread wide staring at the blue light, and watching the toy work its magic. He could see every wave of pleasure that went through you, what level you were on at that exact moment even through the thin walls.

Just one touch and he could make you feel so good.

You huff at your inability to get off and toss your phone on the bed. You were overthinking it, but you desperately wanted to feel that release.

You want to forget about the day and only focus on your pleasure, but what usually makes you come isn’t working. And you’re about to call it a night until there’s a steady pulse thrumming through you, slowly working its way up in intensity.

You grasp the sheets in your hands and your thighs start to open wide of their own accord, chasing the pleasure that is starting to shoot through you with every needy thrust. Your arousal begins to pool onto the sheets below you, your cunt clenching around the toy and you finally feel the rumble of an orgasm starting to build.

You should stop this. You don’t know who this anonymous person is, but your thighs start to burn at the possibility of it being Frankie.

You’re hurtling towards the edge of what might be the best orgasm you’ve had in years when the toy goes down in intensity, a steady thrumming replacing it.

“Fuck-wait.” You whine to no one.

You slam your fists on your sheets, your tits bouncing from the heaving of your chest as your clit throbs from the denial of your orgasm.

The toy vibrates against your bud but low enough that you’re kept on the precipice without any reprieve.

Frankie, whoever it is, is a tease.

You’re brought to the edge only for it to dip down a gentle hum again and again, your sheets surely ruined from how wet you are, skin glistening with sweat and god—you should have laid down a towel.

It’s embarrassing how quick he—they bring you back to that point where your toes start to curl, your cunt fluttering with every vibration and pressure on your g-spot to bring you to bliss.

“Please, please please.” You keen.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, the force of it almost making the toy slip out of you as white hot pleasure forms behind your eyes, crying through the waves of pleasure coursing through your veins until your voice gives out.

It starts to hinge right on overstimulation and you breathe a sigh of relief when it slows down from a purr to nothing.

You’re reminded of your lack of towel when you move to get off the bed, the cool moisture making you cringe. You’re definitely going to have to wash your sheets.

Your thighs shake as you gather up your sheets to put in the wash, daydreaming about that neighbor of yours as you pour the laundry detergent into the machine.

The sun billows through his curtains and he turns onto his other side to fall back asleep, too tired from staying up late to hopefully have accomplished in making you come and then taking himself in hand when he denied himself as much as he could. Guilt pouring in tenfold at overstepping boundaries afterwards.

He finally relents and leaves the warmth of his bed in lieu of making a hot cup of coffee to combat the cool air.

The spring air delicately kisses his face when he pulls his slide door open with his cup of joe when he sees you already out on yours, your attention being directed towards him when you hear the pull of the door. He freezes for a second, but your smile instantly relaxes him.

“Good morning!” You grin.

There’s a glow to you this morning, any tension you were carrying the day before is gone and his chest puffs in pride at the realization that he may have had a role in that.

Fuck, he’s hooked.

“Mornin’. You look like you slept well.” He tests the waters.

You beam at him like you’re both in on some secret and he gets flustered that you might have discovered that it was him, but relief washes over him when you don’t look angry.

“Slept like a baby.”

"Oh yeah?" He darkly chuckles, his arousal pulling him to the railing of his balcony to be closer and preens when you mirror his steps.

"Yeah, woke up pleasantly sore actually." You breathily answer.

"Workout or something like that?"

"Something like that." He gapes at the wink thrown at him before you walk inside your apartment, but there's no way he's imagining the extra sway in your hips.

Guilt gets the best of him and he ignores it for a little bit much to your dismay, not that he would know.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. How good you felt and how good you slept after cleaning yourself in the shower. It was the best sleep you’ve had in a long time actually, but the only thing that was missing was Frankie.

You shake your head to clear that train of thought, but he was the one you thought of late at night. Not even for a sexual reason—okay yes that too. But just being surrounded by him, his soft belly shaping against your body like it was made for you.

You didn’t mind your secret toy admirer and after a process of elimination you’re almost sure it’s Frankie. The longest control range is 30 feet and you live in a quiet elderly building. You're confident they don't have the app or even know how to use bluetooth.

Just not sure enough to put it out in the universe and be wrong.

A week later you both walk towards your respective apartments and you look exhausted. A bottle of wine in hand and some Thai takeout miraculously balanced in your other hand, he decides right there and then if that toy comes up he’s going to make you boneless.

One glass of wine later—or two. You’re feeling more relaxed, the tension from work rinsing off with your shower.

You throw a t-shirt on to get ready for bed and glance at your nightstand drawer.

It couldn’t hurt right?

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

You shiver and pull the toy out, excitement and arousal shooting up your spine in anticipation.

You hop on your bed and throw your t-shirt off, rolling your nipples between your index fingers and thumbs until they peak at attention. You shimmy a pillow under your hips and insert the toy, working yourself up slowly.

It doesn’t take long for the toy to change up its rhythm and your soft moan billows through the otherwise silent room.

Relief floods through you at not having to think after such a long day of making decisions and you get to just enjoy the moment. Your body sinks into your plush sheets, a purr crawling its way up your throat and the pads of your fingers slide up your bare thighs, tracing the steps of how Frankie would touch you.

You’re deep into your fantasy of him and reality starts to blur, moans spilling out where you would normally try to stay quiet. You gasp when the toy hits just right and your inner walls flutter around it.

“Oh go-Frankie.”

He tosses his phone on his coffee table like a kid caught red-handed in the cookie jar and throws his hands up until he realizes you’re not in his living room. He hears his name again through the thin walls and he jumps to action, almost forgetting to grab his phone from the table in the scuffle.

Either something is really wrong or you found out it was him and he’s really in for it now, but when you call his name again outside of your apartment door—he has to be sure.

You forgot to lock your front door, but with how your day went it wasn’t on your list of priorities. Before you get the chance to take in that your door opened it slams just as quickly.

The layout of both your apartments are the same so he gets a front and center view of you all spread out and your core glistening in the golden hour light that he just freezes. You look surprised but the prettiest moan comes out making him realize he hadn’t turned off the toy from the app during the rush to your apartment.

He reaches into his back pocket to pull up the app, turning it off right when you were on the crescendo of a bone-tingling orgasm only for it to be ripped from you.

You whine and grasp the sheets between your fingers while your clit throbs from its robbed attention. You squeeze your thighs on instinct and Frankie interprets that as his cue to leave in his embarrassment, but you say his name with such reverence that he stays planted in front of your bedroom waiting with bated breath what your next move is.

He’s surprised when you smile with all softness behind it and he can’t help but match it, no matter how flustered he feels.

“So it was you.”

Heat floods from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and he’s about to go on his knees to apologize until he notices the tinge of playfulness in your voice and the way you arch your brow at him.

You don’t let him hang onto his humiliation for too long, giving him some reprieve by curling your finger and motioning him to your room when he embarrassingly nods.

“Well that’s a relief. I’m supposed to help Rodger down the hall with his computer and 70 is just a little too old for me.” You chuckle.

“Rodger wishes.” He huffs and you snort at his retort as every pusle thrumming through your cunt collides with every step Frankie takes on the hardwood.

“No, really. Have you seen you?” He exasperates.

“Why don’t you tell me?” You grab his hand to pull him on top of you and he sits on the bed watching you with awe.

“How ‘bout I show you? If you’ll let me? Then we can talk about all of this because I’ve been trying to find the guts to ask you out since you moved in.” He strokes your thighs in mindless circles and a shiver goes through you.

It was on the tip of your tongue that he basically skipped all of that when he helped get you off, but you nod.

“I love the enthusiasm, but I’m gonna need to hear you say it.” He teases with a kiss on your calf, looking at you with all the mirth behind it.

“Yes plea-fuck me Frankie.” Your cunt clamps around the toy as he walks towards you, his once beautiful brown eyes now blown out with lust as he hovers at the foot of your bed.

He shushes your pleas and towers over you, taking his time to admire your features now that he has permission to. He doesn’t crash his lips against yours like you expected he would much to your chagrin.

His nose bumps yours and you chase his lips when he pulls away from you with a smirk. He darkly chuckles as he peppers your face with kisses everywhere except where you crave him.

“I’ve been imagining every pretty noise you’d make for me so forgive me for wanting to take my time with you.” He explains with a lower octave than you’ve heard come out of those plush lips.

You lock your leg around his lower waist and pull him down to you, all restraint thrown out the window and kiss him. Holding onto him like the ground below you was going to implode if you let go. He groans when your bare core rubs against his bulge, your wetness already seeping through the fabric.

You involuntarily gasp when he bumps the head of his cock against your clit and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy and leaking down your inner thighs.

He pulls away from your swollen lips and smirks before he trails open mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, licking the salt of your sweat on the way to your core.

The hairs of his moustache tickle against your breast when he laps at your nipple, suckling around the peak until it stands at attention, releasing it with a pop when it is thoroughly wet from his saliva. He gives equal attention to your other breast with his mouth, groaning when his calloused thumb and forefinger roll your spit-saturated nipple between his fingers.

Once you’re all perked and glistening for him, he makes his way down to where you’re aching for him, peppering kisses and licking the beads of sweat that form.

He bruisingly grips your thighs and tugs you lower on the bed so he can kneel comfortably on the carpet. You breathily whimper when he nips your inner thigh, lapping the sting away with his tongue. He presses his face against your mound and inhales deeply like a worshiper to an altar.

He opens your legs wider and the heel of your feet dig into his back to encourage him to make a move and he could never deny you.

He kitten licks your clit until more arousal pools from your entrance, swirling his tongue around your bud when your thighs twitch around his face.

“N-n-not gonna last long, Frankie.” You moan.

His eyes meet yours from above your mound and you don’t have to see his mouth to know he has a shit-eating grin when he wraps his mouth around your throbbing clit and sucks hard.

Your inner walls clamp around nothing until he fills it with one, then two fingers, curling them in a come hither motion until you embarrassingly fall apart quickly underneath him and his lips part as your face pinches in pleasure because of him.

Your chest heaves as your orgasm fades to a rhythmic pulsing and when Frankie kisses up to your eye-level you’re about to apologize because oh my god, it’s all over his chin-

“That was so much better than what I imagined, baby. Good girl. Fuck, you soaked me.”

He slams a bruising kiss against your lips and you open wide for him to push your come into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You toy with the hem of his shirt and he takes the hint, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in your room.

He hastily unbuckles his belt and you swat at his hands to take off his pants and boxers, the whisper of his zipper unfastening and your collective heavy pants filling the room.

Holy shit.

How are you going to fit that inside you?

His cocks spring out of his boxers, the head beading with pre-come and twitching the longer you gape at it.

“If you’re not ready-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you, locking your legs around his waist. He takes his damn time thrusting his cock between your folds until it’s soaked in your arousal and come.

“Ready?” He presses a chaste kiss on your lips when you nod and bites your shoulder as he breaches your entrance inch by inch.

You both groan at how tight you feel around him and he thrusts in short bursts until he’s buried to the hilt to not hurt you. Gone is the rush of the moment, soft touches and praises of how long the two of you have waited for this filling it.

“Frankie?” You eventually tap your foot on his ass when he doesn’t move, a muffled grunt releases from on your neck as he breathes you in.

“Move, baby.”

He lifts his head up to look into your eyes and devastatingly smirks. “Yes, ma’am.”

His first thrust devastates you, a sob ripping out of your throat when he continues to hone in on that spot that makes your walls clamp around him.

You whimper and bury your fingers into his unruly curls, the tinge of pain from you gripping on his strands prompting him to thrust at a bruising pace. He kisses your lips and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before he brings his hand between your bodies to circle around your clit.

“Please come, ‘m not gonna last.”

The slow circles on your bud has your cunt seizing around him with stars forming behind your eyes as your thighs tremble with the intensity of his hips. It edges on overstimulation, but you want him to feel as good as he made you feel.

“Inside, Frankie. Makin’ me feel so good baby.” You coo and slide the pads of your fingers up and down his back.

He whimpers into your ear as you pinch his earlobe between your teeth, releasing a breathy moan as his balls pull up and ropes of his cum spill inside of you, leaking onto the mattress below you.

You gently thrust up into him to prolong his climax until he begins to soften inside of you, the two of you whispering praises to each other.

You wince from the emptiness as he pulls out of you, a kiss being delivered to your forehead in apology, and you admire his barely there ass as he walks to your bathroom. You hear water running as you stretch your muscles, feeling sated and pleasantly sore.

Frankie emerges from the bathroom with a damp washcloth that he uses to clean up the mess, kissing your ankle when you hiss from the overstimulation as he gently rubs through your folds.

He tosses the washcloth on your nightstand and laughter fills the silent room when he plops next to you, pulling you in closer and tangling your legs together. He strokes the back of his fingers on your cheekbone and nudges his nose against yours, pressing light kisses on your cheeks.

“I’d really like to do this again sometime. Maybe some dinner first.”

“What makes you think I’m going to let you leave this bed now that I know how good I have it?” You smirk and coax him back in by wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck.

Like hell you are going to leave this spot.

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foli-vora · 2 years ago

Note

Female reader! With Frankie Morales.

Prompt 25, 34, 49, 55, 60, 70. (Maybe not all just the ones you see fit)

So I was thinking reader is a very smart, resourceful woman who has been through a lot and because of that she’s also very cold and keeps to herself, but Frankie is completely in love with her (some angst maybe because we all love it🤭) and then she decides to just have a night with him (maybe a lil explicit😏) and he confesses but she rejects him because they’re going to get that money and doesn’t want feelings in between (break my heart completely please).

Hope you like it even though it may be too much 😅 congrats on the 3k again!!!

Hello, sweet angel! Thank you so much for sending in your request! I didn't include #34 ("Why are you so cold?") because , try as I might, I just didn't feel like it fit anywhere as I was writing it - I hope that's okay! Thank you again, my sweet, I hope you enjoy!

cold to the touch

frankie morales x f!reader

word count: just over 3.1k warnings: angsty-angst, swearing, mentions of guns, heartbreak, SMUT 18+ ONLY: fingering, unprotected p in v, brief use of saliva as lube

It’s a knock on the door that brings you out of the haze that had filled your mind, eyes lost and almost in a trance as rain hits the window of the shitty motel room. Your gaze darts to your door, the cool steel of your handgun braced between tight fingers as you stand and peer through the peephole.

The familiar form of Francisco is blurred through the small lens, but your heart calms at the sight of him, and you open the door for him to step through without a word before returning to your previous seat on the bed, a small collection of your chosen weapons set out over the bedspread.

He gives a small smile as he enters, hat briefly coming off for his hand to run anxiously through his flattened hair. The door shuts softly behind him, and you watch him shift from your peripheral as you pluck at the guns and go about cleaning them.

He clearly has no interest in speaking first, so you do the honours and fix him with an expectant stare, sighing sharply through your nose.

“Can I help you, Catfish?”

It’s brief, but you catch the twitch of his expression at the name. You’d lost count of the amount of times he would merely murmur Frankie, wishing you would see him as something more than just a member of Santi’s team.

You weren’t as close with the others as he is. Your tie is Pope, after working with him on and off for the last few years and becoming fast friends. You had no bad blood with the other men, seeing them occasionally whenever visiting Santiago and getting along just fine. You’d taken a shine to the younger Miller sibling and his rambunctious ways, but you weren’t family to them.

Not in the way Francisco was.

“Just coming to see how you are,” he finally mutters, tongue running along his lips as he slides his hat back on. “Haven’t gotten the chance to talk a whole lot, what with everything going on and everyone being around.”

You’d seen him the most out of Santi’s group of brothers over time. There’d been an instant connection of sorts the day Pope had introduced you, the sparks that shot up your arm when you shook Francisco’s hand telling you there was definitely a fierce attraction.

He was handsome, smart, kind, fiercely loyal and protective—what wasn’t there to like? You’d kept it close, though, simply not interested in forming any sort of relationship with anyone, especially not Santi’s best friend.

Your private work took you all over the world, and it was often dangerous… it didn’t make sense to make roots anywhere, only to leave and potentially not return.

Picket fences just aren’t your thing.

You shrug, eyes falling back to cleaning cloth in your hand.

“‘m fine,” you reply shortly. “Heard you got a baby now—congrats.”

There’s very little sincerity in your tone, and you think he picks up on it immediately, though he doesn’t make a show of it so you’re not completely sure. You swifty reassemble the rifle with a few loud clicks in the starkly quiet room and stand to return it to its case.

Santi had mentioned the little bundle of joy around eight months ago, when the pregnancy was half way through, throwing in the long expected break up of Francisco and his girlfriend as if it would matter to you. They remained amicable, he had said, for the baby.

What do you care?

He gives a quiet thanks, the noticeable shuffle of his boots along the rough worn carpet catching your attention. You eye him over your shoulder, exhaling quietly and straightening after clipping the heavy duty case shut.

“Why are you here, Catfish?”

“Don’t call me that,” he insists quietly, shoulders bunching almost nervously as he digs his hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans. “I’ve told you—Frankie is fine.”

You turn and lean back on the small tattered table, crossing your arms tightly over your chest and looking blankly at him. What’s his play here? Surely he wasn’t here to just catch up?

You’re not stupid, you’ve known he’s had feelings for you for a while, but you’ve never acted on anything, ignoring Santi’s not so gentle pushing to pursue something with his friend.

It’s not for you.

Haven’t you made it clear enough by declining his drink invitations? Admitting freely you have no interest in relationships whenever the subject is brought up with the guys?

“I just wanted to talk.”

You’re already shaking your head before he finishes, pushing yourself off the table and striding up to him. Your head tilts, gaze darting along his features for a clue as to his agenda. He gives nothing away, the walls of defence clearly high behind his eyes.

“That’s not all you’re here for, Francisco.”

An emotion passes across his face, too quickly for you to catch, but you don’t miss the way his eyes fall almost automatically to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Ah.

He’s here for that.

A rejection is already building on your tongue, intent on turning him right around and seeing him out of your room so you can continue to prepare for tomorrow, but you can’t deny the small flames starting to build in your core at the mere thought of spending a night with him.

You’d always been curious about him. How could you not? He sure looked like someone who knew their way around, and your strong attraction to him didn’t help ease your curiosity at all. One night wouldn’t matter. It would just be sex, a release before the big day.

He takes a step closer, clearly emboldened by the way your own eyes look at his mouth in interest, and you try not to react to the warm, calloused hand that cups your cheek softly.

You wait, hanging for the immediate press of his lips, but nothing comes, and your heart starts to thud heavily in your chest. It feels like he’s looking right through you, eyes searching the depth of yours as he lingers mere inches away. You don’t like it. It feels like he can see all of you, and it’s not a feeling you enjoy.

His thumb brushes over the plush peaks of your lips, and they part automatically under the soft touch.

“Can I kiss you?”

A gentleman.

Your heart drums against your ribs, quickening with every second that passes. You hear your pulse in your ears, feel the way blood wildly rushes through your system.

Swallowing, your eyes harden and flicker up to meet his, your mind almost desperate to hide your unexpectedly strong reaction to his simple touch.

“Make it worth my while, Francisco.”

He consumes you.

His mouth is hot and searching, tongue immediately pushing through your parted lips and sliding along yours, dominating your mouth and leaving little room for you to fight for control. You knock the hat from his head as you curl your fingers in his short waves, tangling in the dark strands and tugging sharply.

It’s something he obviously likes, exhaling sharply into your mouth and grabbing desperately at your waist. His fingers tug at your comfy tee, ripping the soft cotton off your frame and palms sliding roughly up the bare skin of your back. Your chest presses into his rain soaked shirt, nipples hardening from the cold clinging to his clothing and the drag of the fabric.

You barely feel the dismantled guns digging into your back when he pushes you onto the bed, his fingers already working your shorts down your legs and forcing his way between them. His mouth doesn’t part from yours until his fingers search for your core, slipping up the inside of your thighs and running gently over your folds.

It’s hard not to shake at the touch, to break away from his mouth to catch your breath as they focus in on your clit, circling methodically over the swollen nerve and bringing your hips into a steady roll against his hand.

He continues his search of you, index finger probing at your entrance, gathering the building arousal sitting there before pushing in and curling softly within you, another finger quickly following.

“Shit,” you exhale shakily, feeling him push deeply into you and start to thrust them slowly, each time curving to reach your g-spot and quickly building an intense pressure in the pit of your stomach.

Definitely knows what he’s doing.

It’s intense, the stretch of his fingers working you open and leisurely bringing you closer to an unexpected edge with every focused press on the spot behind your clit. It’s never been like this for you, this easy, often saddled with men who either don’t believe in the clit or g-spot's existence or think a couple of rubs over your labia is enough to set you off.

His thumb pressing on your clit has you whining into the cool air of your room, the extra stimulation mixing with the bliss of his patient fingers working away in your cunt and you’re done. He doesn’t let up, intent to work you through your climax as it overcomes you, groaning into the skin of your throat when he feels your hot muscles flutter around him.

He drags his fingers from you and shamelessly slides them into his mouth, something wicked in his gaze as it locks with your own.

You get impatient. You reach for his fly, deftly releasing the button and shoving at the waistband of his jeans down until you can free his stiff cock, wrapping your fingers around the hardened flesh and giving it a teasing stroke. You shuffle back on the bed, desperately pulling at his hips until he falls into you, his cock pressing into the mess he’d previously made of you.

“Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Shut up and give it to me, Catfish—I don’t have all night.” You say it with a flirty curl of the lips and he gives a half grin in return, leaning up to rest on his knees as he tears at the buttons on his shirt.

It’s not long before he cages you against the mattress with his arms beside your head, sinking his hips lower for you to guide him towards your weeping entrance.

“Do you want me to wea—”

“Shh,” you hiss, working the head of his cock along your slit before lining him up and lifting your hips to coax him into your warmth, “I’m clean, I’ve got the rod… just—god, please—”

“Impatient,” he mutters against your mouth, his exhale blowing across your lips as he finishes what you started, sliding forward until he fills you completely with a low groan.

He gives an experimental thrust of his hips, the stiff feel of him rubbing against your walls and nudging almost painfully at your cervix.

It feels good, he feels good. So fucking good.

“Come on,” you groan, eyes fluttering and thighs opening impossibly wider in invitation.

He fucking delivers.

You’re sure he’ll feel the marks you scratch into his back for days to come, even weeks, as he starts to move in earnest, pulling away only to slam back into you and steal the breath right from your lungs, You cling to him, rock your hips to meet each and every thrust until your thighs start to shake.

He’s talking against your skin, voice low and hoarse as he rambles about how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s waited, how incredible you feel and how crazy you drive him.

It goes in one ear and out the other, your mind too caught up on the way he takes you apart, hammering so fucking hard into you you’re sure you’ll still feel him tomorrow.

It’s both not enough and too much.

You don’t hear the words that fall from your lips. You’re not aware of the noises he practically tears out of you. You don’t know if you’re pushing him away or pulling him closer, all you know is that the pressure he’s building within you just needs that little bit more, that extra little push to send you completely over.

He must know.

His hands lock around your thighs and hurl you closer, his own thighs coming to sit comfortably under yours as he continues to hammer into you.

You watch through hooded eyes as he swipes his thumb across his lips, gathering saliva on the rough pad of it before rubbing it firmly over your clit, circling, circling, until it’s right there, you’re right there—

“Fuck, Frankie!”

He follows you only a moments later, weak to the way you feel coming undone around his cock and screaming the name he’s been asking you to call him for years.

He falls into you, blessing you with the relief of his thumb coming away from your oversensitive nerve as he braces his hands back on the bed and continues to pump into you, milking his climax for all it’s worth and filling you with his hot cum.

You lay staring at the ceiling, body on a high as your heart threatens to burst through your chest. You tremble from him, thighs aching as they hang loosely beside his hips. He pulls away after taking a moment to catch his breath, carefully pulling himself away and dragging his softening cock from your tender cunt.

It takes a small while for you to roll onto your side and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, but when you do, you take a small steadying breath and will your heart to just calm the fuck down.

There’s a small space between you, his hand running through his hair to brush the stray, sweat soaked strands from where they cling to his forehead.

“I didn’t—” he starts, pausing to heave a deep breath, “I didn’t come here just for that.”

You stay quiet, keeping him in along the edges of your line of sight as you stare blankly at the motel door. You watch him shift, watch how he runs his palms anxiously up and down his thighs, taking comfort in the way the denim rubs along his skin.

He doesn’t seem in a rush to tuck his cock back into their tight confines, the soft skin glistening from the shitty warm lamp lighting the room.

“I’ve been wanting to… to tell you something.”

Swallowing, you run your tongue along your suddenly dry lips and nod slowly, “Okay.”

You know where this is going. You just fucking know. It was a mistake to let it get this far, you should’ve turned his ass around the second he stepped over the threshold.

A part of you still remains curious though, maybe a small, hidden part of you wants to know you’re not the only one stuck with a crush and not knowing what the fuck to do with it.

“I have feelings for you, have done for… fuck, ages,” he sighs, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees and running a tired hand over his face. “I should’ve said something earlier. I wanted to, but I just… couldn’t.”

“Oh.”

You can think of nothing else to say.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continues, his voice taking on a much quieter, almost nervous tone, “and I’m fucking terrified, to be honest.”

Silence follows his words and, quite frankly, it’s uncomfortable.

Seconds trickle into minutes, the minutes start to drag on, and the longer you stay quiet, the more unpleasant the air between you becomes. You shift, suddenly very aware of how cold the room is and realising that you’re still naked.

You reach for your discarded shirt and slip it on, standing from the bed and ignoring the way his cum feels pooling at your tender entrance and seeping down your thigh. You feel restless, almost tempted to start pacing the length of the room to work out some of the tension growing along your shoulders.

This had been a bad idea. Shit.

“Will you say something, please?” he finally asks, downtrodden eyes looking up at you with a shine of hope. “Do… do you feel the same?”

You stand still, fingers unconsciously plucking and twisting at the low hem of your shirt as you think.

Do you feel the same? You feel… something, but you’ve never bothered to put a label on it. You like the man, have done since the beginning, but it was nothing you wanted to act on. You have a life, a busy job—there was nothing you could give him. There was no room for him in your life.

“Look, I… I don’t have an answer for you,” you finally reply, swallowing the uncomfortable dryness building in the back of your throat as the pain starts to leak into his gaze. “I’m not interested in relationships, Francisco—I never have been. I’m not interested in that at all, not even with you.”

Too harsh? Maybe.

The words hang between you and the discomfort grows. His lips press into a firm line and he gives a slow nod, his eyes finally falling to the floor and tracing the questionable stains worked into the carpet. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You should go,” you mutter firmly after another beat of silence, “I’m sorry you wasted your time here.”

He clears his throat quietly and stands, turning his back towards you as he tucks himself back in his jeans and reaches for his shirt. You see the walls of defence have seemingly been built again, and a pang of guilt pulls at your gut for being the cause of it.

Maybe in another life you would’ve jumped at his words. A life where you had options, had the freedom to. A life where you felt as if something was missing, that it could maybe be filled with picket fences and bottles and someone to sleep next to every night.

But it wasn’t another life. It was this life, and it simply didn’t link up with his.

“It hurts more than I was expecting,” he mutters hoarsely, bending to swipe his hat from the floor before heaving a low sigh.

“What does?”

He looks at you from the side, hat pinched between his fingers, “Loving someone who doesn’t love you back.”

And then he’s gone, and you say nothing to stop him.

You watch the door shut softly, the click of the lock somehow deafening in your ears.

Warmth rests on your cheek, and when you raise your fingers to brush it away, you’re surprised to find tears smeared over your fingertips.

You watch as you rub it further over your skin, studying the way the liquid shines in the light and then you shake your head, wiping the other stray tears away before turning back towards your weapons and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

Tags note: due to the number of tags I've had that no longer work/haven't worked in a long while, I've started to cut them from my taglists. If I have deleted you, it's because your tag hasn't been working as of late and idk why, I'm sorry! ❤️

Tag list 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

If you would like to join any of my taglists, feel free to do so HERE 💋

#foli's 3k #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal x reader

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endlessthxxghts · 5 months ago

Text

We Have Time

Fiancé!Frankie Morales x afab!reader | w/c: 1.7k

Summary: Frankie wakes you up in the best way possible for your last morning in your guys’ hotel.

Content/tags: able-bodied reader, female sex anatomy, no physical descriptions/size descriptors. Established relationship. Porn with minimal plot. Pet names (baby, cariño, hon). 18+ MDNI. You know what you’re getting into. Frankie the munch is back at it again. Somnophilia, some humping... Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Long time no see🩶 I just came back from a tiny vacation, so this may or may not be inspired by some daydreams… I hope you all enjoy!! And a special shoutout to @strang3lov3 for being an author on this with me 🥹 her writing falls after the pink line!😉

masterlist | notif blog

5:43am.

It’s your last day on your week getaway with Frankie, and you both have disgusting road rage. So to beat the traffic, you both agreed to be out of the hotel and on the road by seven.

He’s got time. Right?

Frankie’s on a mission. He moves swiftly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he repositions himself between your thighs.

You’re bare already. You protested against underwear last night after he cleaned you up. Besides, you knew where it would lead in the morning. Whether you were trying to subliminally hint at him or not, he’s not stupid, but boy is he weak.

Frankie lets out a soft moan the second his eyes are on you, his cock already hard and aching. You move, then. A deep sigh and a turn of your head the other way, and you’re back to lightly snoring.

Settling himself between you, his hands on the outside of your thighs, he smiles, kissing the inside of your leg sweetly before bringing his attention back to your core. He leans in, slotting his lips right against yours. His eyes flutter shut at the contact.

Dipping lower, Frankie sticks his tongue out, licking a flat stripe up through your folds. Your hand twitches at that. He repeats the motion again, slower, more precise. He does that several more times until you’re leaking onto the bed sheets.

You shift in his hold; your body is reacting—becoming restless, but still, you’re stuck in a state of half consciousness. He laps up your slick once more, and then he brings his tongue up to your clit. He circles it, latches his mouth, and bingo. You’re awake.

With a gasp of his name, your hand flies towards his bed head, immediately guiding his motions to the pace that you need—his favorite part when you finally wake up. He kisses and licks at you, entirely making out with your cunt as you rock back and forth on his face. “F-fuck, baby, oh my god,” you cry out.

He groans into your entrance, enjoying the mess he’s made like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. He gives your pussy one more open-mouth, slobbery kiss before his tongue circles your hole, the pink muscle sliding in and taking in the velvety warmth of you. The sensation has Frankie jutting his hips into the squeaky bed, the rest of his body on fire with need.

He feels you flutter around his tongue, and his hands find their way to your waist, yanking you impossibly closer, his mouth and nose flushed against your core. He fucks his tongue in and out of you, the tip of his nose catching where you’re most sensitive with every push inward. Frankie’s hips thrust at the pace of his tongue, filling your walls with his whines and cries as he humps the already-abused hotel furniture.

“Sh- shit, baby, shi- don’t stop, Frankie baby, don’t fuckin-” you gasp, your hand releases his curls and reaches for your pillow, your fingers begging to rip the fabric.

Frankie’s hips rock faster at the sound of your pleas, and he doubles down on his efforts. He removes his tongue from your hole to bring his attention back to your throbbing nerves as one hand releases his hold on you. His middle finger swirls through your folds, covering himself in your arousal before he pushes the digit inside. Pushing in then out, in, then back out again, the next time he pushes in, his ring finger joins him, forcing the sweetest of gasps from your throat as your back arches off the mattress.

Within seconds, your eyes are clamping shut as you scream out his name, your hips going rampant as you practically grind against Frankie’s face. Frankie pulls away from your cunt as his fingers continue to fuck you through your high; he looks to your face in ecstasy then back down to the way his fingers are inside you—the way his fingers are now covered in your creamy slick. He’s so entranced by you, he doesn’t realize your sudden burst of strength as you hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with him the way his fingers alone start working you up to your second orgasm.

“Gonna cum too, baby?” Your breathy voice snaps his attention to you immediately. You nod your head, pointing out with a lazy smirk the way his hips are still thrusting against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing instantly. He tries to stop himself, but he’s too wound up now to stop. He doesn’t like cumming unless it’s because of you. Unless it’s in you.

“Come on,” you whine as his fingers hit that spongy little sweet spot. “Cum with me, Frankie, cum like that, and then your next one goes inside me, yeah?”

“Shit,” he grunts, slowing his rhythm but pushing deeper into the mattress now. “Yeah, alright, baby, alright.”

He pulls his fingers out of you momentarily, lapping up your arousal, and even though he’s had his taste of you all morning, this is what sends him over the edge. Frantically getting his lips back on you, his tongue rubs on you once, twice, three times, before you’re gushing on him a second time.

Frankie never stops licking you; he just gets slower, more careful. It’s his way of cleaning his mess, you think, and you love it. The two of you could lay here like this for hours, letting your heart rate and breathing return to normal as the loudness that is Frankie’s mind turns to mush between your thighs.

He’s in literal paradise like this.

Of course, the vacation was amazing. It was a week long, and it was with you. But nothing compares to this. A week long, a month long, a year? Fuck, he’ll stay wrapped up by you forever. He’s never been more sure of anything.

But for right now, he’ll settle for a few hours. He’s got the time.

Right?

“Oh, fuck! Frankie!” You sit up, pulling your warmth away from him as you tumble off the bed.

“Cariño? Baby? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“The time!” You exclaim. You point to the little digital clock on the bedside table.

7:54am.

Shit.

9:56am.

Frankie groans as he pulls the car into the McDonald’s parking lot. “Fucking packed,” he grumbles, pulling up behind a long line of cars waiting in the drive through.

It is packed. And you know exactly why. “Well maybe if you ate pussy faster…” you mumble under your breath. It’s a frustrated comment made more for yourself than to be a jab at Frankie. Or maybe it is a jab at Frankie. You don’t know. You’re so hungry.

You rest your head against your fist and Frankie looks at you in disbelief. He’s gotten two orgasms in your system first thing in the morning, and you’re still nothing but a grump. He knows that head, while it helps, isn’t what you really need right now. What you need is food, and the line for the drive through couldn’t be moving any slower. “Didn’t hear any complaints,” he quips back, and you roll your eyes.

After twenty minutes of waiting in the car listening to the god-awful morning radio, Frankie finally pulls up to the speaker.

“Welcome to McDonald’s, will you be using your mobile app?”

Frankie tilts his head, “Mobile what?”

Before the person operating the speaker can answer, you interrupt. “App,” you snap at Frankie. “I’m making an appointment with the audiologist when we get back.”

Frankie turns to you, “They have an app?” he asks.

“Just say no, Frankie.”

Frankie clears his throat. “No,” he says loudly. Definitively.

There’s an awkward pause before the operator speaks again. “Okay…Order when you’re ready.”

“What do you want?” Frankie whispers, his eyes on the glowing menu.

“I don’t know.”

“Well pick something, we need to order soon,” he urges.

“I said I don’t know.”

Frankie’s growing frustrated. “Well what looks good to you, honey?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” you bark, “I DON’T LIKE MCDONALDS. It’s for children and hungover people.” You fold your arms over your chest and cross your legs, then turn your body the direction opposite of Frankie.

“Yeah, and which one are you today? A child or hungover?” Frankie shakes his head. Everybody likes McDonald’s. And those who say they don’t? Liars.

After a moment browsing the menu, Frankie orders. “Yeah, I’ll have a sausage, egg, and cheese McMuffin meal, iced coffee—” he turns to see you still huffing and puffing in the passenger seat, “Large,” he adds. You’re so crabby without your caffeine. “And uh…sausage, egg, and cheese McGriddle meal for myself. And a strawberry banana smoothie. Please and thank you.”

“Gross,” you grumble.

Frankie chooses to ignore that. The order is repeated back to him, and then he pulls up to the window to pay. An advertisement for the app catches his eye. “Since when do they have a McDonald’s app?”

“Since forever,” you answer like it’s obvious. And it kind of is. God only knows which rock your fiancé’s been living under.

As you wait for your food, Frankie taps the steering wheel along to the music that softly plays. He pulls out his phone and opens the App Store to download the McDonald’s app. “I’m getting the app,” he tells you.

“That’s terrific, Frankie.”

“Does it have games on it?”

“No. It’s to order food. Obviously.”

Frankie scoffs. “You need food in you. You’re a peach.”

And speak of the devil, here comes the food. Frankie is handed a large bag and two drinks which he gives to you, then drives off. You sort through the food in the bag, pulling out your sandwich and then hand Frankie his. “They forgot a hash brown.”

“That’s okay. You can have mine.”

He’s a sweetheart. He really is. You eat the singular hash brown before opening your sandwich and take a bite out of it. And it’s…alright. Tastes like you remember. Greasy, salty, not much else.

But then Frankie unwraps his sandwich. It’s almost the same as yours, but the ingredients sit between two pillowy pancakes that smell oh-so delightful right now. “Frankie?” you ask, “Can I try a bite?”

“Sure, baby.” Frankie passes you his sandwich and you take the biggest bite you can. And fuck, it’s heaven. You moan in relief the same way you did with Frankie’s head between your thighs.

“Frankie?”

“Yes, hon.”

“Can we trade?”

Frankie sighs deeply, but he obliges anyway. You hand him your mediocre McMuffin and he eats it, thinking about how much he loves you the whole time.

Thank you for reading!! I seriously hope you guys liked it! I'd love to hear what you guys think even though this one was on the shorter side. And thank you to my beautiful Bug for writing the yummy funny little treat at the end (& also the cinematic masterpiece of a moodboard at the end😭). Truly made my fucking day. I love you. Anyway. I wouldn't be where I am without any of you. Life’s been a bit wild, and it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I miss you guys too much. Thank you for sticking around. Much love xx🩶

divider by @saradika-graphics (pink div in middle by me)

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jolalibrary · 11 months ago

Text

do me yourself masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

key themes: meet cute. romcom vibes (your girl is back). fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. idiots falling in love. smut (eventually - check individual chapters for details). frankie is a boy!dad (will highlight when child will be mentioned in individual chapters warnings)

COMPLETE

CHAPTER ONE - BUTTERSCOTCH ORANGE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER TWO - LEMON TWIST

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THREE - HEATHER PURPLE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER FOUR - GREEN SMOKE

CHAPTER FIVE - PEPPER RED (S)

CHAPTER SIX - MORNING COFFEE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SEVEN - HONEY CREAM

CHAPTER EIGHT - DARK OLIVE

CHAPTER NINE - BREATH OF FRESH AIR

CHAPTER TEN - CRANBERRY COCKTAIL (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER ELEVEN - DUSKY PINK

CHAPTER TWELVE - STORMY SKY

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - HELLO YELLOW

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - SOFT PERIWINKLE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - RASPBERRY TRUFFLE (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - APPLE GREEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TANGERINE DREAMS

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - CALMING PEACH

CHAPTER NINETEEN - CHARMING BLUE

CHAPTER TWENTY - RAINIER GREY

gifted moodboard by @eupheme

gifted moodboard by @sawymredfox

house layout by @cherubispunk

leaflet for harold’s by me

dedication: none of this would be possible without @secretelephanttattoo who i owe my heart to for not just persuading me to write this, but egging me on all week. el, you're a fantastic friend, thank you for all the giggles, the catfish picture and for just letting me distract you all goddamn week. ily, and i hope one day i can show how much. shoutout to @hellishjoel for the title, and to @thetriumphantpanda for listening to me talk about this pair for a solid ten minutes when we was booking train tickets.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #✨🩷 francisco morales #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier x reader

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jolapeno · 4 days ago

Text

festive encouragement

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader (nicknamed twigs)

Summary: Frankie hates the holidays. Twigs, his roommate, doesn’t. When she gets injured, he steps in to help finish her Christmas errands—only to realise his crush on her might be something more.

Wordcount: 4k Warnings: None. All fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates. Christmas fluff. Fluff + fluff. Third person. Lots of fairylights. AN: This is part of @beefrobeefcal 's Festive Failure 2024 Challenge, my prompt was: Frankie Morales needs 'encouragement' to feel 'festive'.

READ ON AO3

#frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader fluff #francisco morales x reader fluff #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader

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davnittbraes · 1 year ago

Text

A Study in Feminism

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7190 (I’m sorry)

Warnings, tags etc: mention of addiction and recovery, very brief unwanted physical restraint, reader technically commits assault and runs from the cops, mentions of past relationships, arguing, angst (of course, because it’s me,) rage at the patriarchy, explicit smut, oral f!receiving (of course, because it’s Frankie,) unprotected p in the v action with previously given consent and present but not mentioned birth control, c-spot orgasm (DONE RIGHT, none of that blindly stabbing at things nonsense) and some fluffy silliness to top it off

Notes: this is my first true one-shot, as in I have no intention of developing this into a series. We’ll see how long that lasts lol. No mention of Frankie’s kid(s?) here, the word count is bad enough without diving into that

Objectively, it’s a shitty bar.

But it’s the only one in the area that won’t be packed tonight - it’s lack of television screens eliminates the chance of rowdy, drunk crowds packing in to watch the big game, and really, the last thing you want is to be around a bunch of obnoxious people right now.

Today was… A Day.

Your morning sucked. Work sucked. Your commute sucked. Everything just. Sucked.

The type of exhaustion born from dealing with too much bullshit is setting into your muscles and all you want to do is close this day out with an ending that isn’t as terrible as the rest of it.

So. The bar is shitty, but it’s quiet, and it has food and alcohol. Three out of the four things you need right now.

And the last thing just texted you to say he’s on his way.

You smile as you type out a quick reply to Frankie. Funny, you’ve been doing that a lot lately.

Smiling, about Frankie.

It’s only been a few months, and you’ve both got enough relationship baggage that neither of you are rushing into anything. So it’s a little early for you to be confident in saying it’s going to be a long-term thing.

But you’re still smiling when you lock your phone and the wallpaper photo lights up your screen - you and Frankie, kissing in the middle of a mutually enabled giggle fit.

Not an unusual scene, in your relationship.

He makes you laugh, often, those dry one-liners that come out of nowhere, spoken in that quiet, almost always gentle voice. A voice that belies his strength and determination, a focused drive that got him through his military career and earned him a place on elite task forces.

The same focus that pulled him out of the pit of addiction and led him to be five years clean this year.

Now, he’s the reason why your exhaustion is already starting to slough off your shoulders, just the anticipation of his presence enough to set your heart racing and turn your thoughts away from the events of the day.

He’s the reason why you had the energy to shower after work, throw on a pretty sundress and some makeup instead of sulking alone at home on the sofa.

He’s the reason why you wanted to end the day on a positive note, because since Frankie came along, you know what it’s like to be happy and you want to stay that way.

Shifting on your bar stool, you set your phone down and reach for the glass in front of you, taking a sip. The unoccupied seat beside you suddenly fills, a guy wearing a bit too much cologne sliding into it.

Internal alarm bells go off immediately, skin on the back of your neck prickling in warning. There are plenty of empty seats that aren’t right next to you. But then again, this isn’t the first time some guy has invited himself into your evening unwanted. You can handle this.

Glancing around, you pick out an empty table for two toward the back. You’ll just move over there -

“Hey.”

You look at the man who just sat next to you, silently praying to whatever the patron saint of women drinking in bars is. Please let him not be a creep. “Hey, I was just moving -“

“Come on, now, you’re the reason why I sat here in the first place.” He turns to face you, smile too forced, gaze drifting down your body. “I’ll buy you a drink, we’ll get to know each other.”

Nope. Not a chance.

Keeping your tone neutral, you move to slide off the barstool. “I’m good, thanks.”

He stands up suddenly, stepping too close, expression shifting to something dark.

You inhale sharply, startled, and his cologne catches in the back of your throat, stinging your eyes and almost making you cough and you blink rapidly to clear your vision.

Gotta get away, where -

“Hey, dude. She said no.”

An unfamiliar voice drifts over your shoulder, a tall, broad man stepping up to your side, placing himself just a bit in front of you.

You can’t help but frown at him - who is this guy? - but the creep with the cologne scoffs, gives him a onceover, then slinks away.

The guy turns to smile at you, and your frown fades. He’s instantly charming, warm and friendly. And he did just scare off what was going to be a problem for you.

Clearing your throat, you reach for your drink to get rid of the lingering scent of strong cologne. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, settling into the now-empty stool. “I see a girl in trouble, I have to step in. It’s the right thing to do.”

Those internal alarm bells sound off again, quieter this time, unsure. He seems friendly, but he moved right into that stool the creep had just left far too easily for your comfort.

Time to go.

You grab your phone, slip it into your purse. “Well, I wasn’t really in trouble, but I appreciate that you want to help other people.”

“Guys like him are assholes. They should be put in their place more often.” He shakes his head, leaning an elbow against the bar, charming smile dimming as if he’s upset even talking about it. “Might not have seemed like it to you, but men like him can flip pretty quickly. He definitely would have taken advantage of you.”

A flash of surprise makes you freeze, staring at him. He assumes you were completely blind to how obviously dangerous that guy was?

A hard note slips into your voice, despite your efforts to keep it light. “I was leaving when you showed up. I would have been fine.”

He clicks his tongue, gaze running down your frame in an echo of the other guy’s. “I’m sure you would have. But girls like you are always safer when you have a man to look after for you.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice rises, anger rushing through your veins. “I don’t need ‘a man to look after me.’ I can do that myself. Watch me.”

You shove off the barstool, spinning around to -

His hand grabs your arm, grips tight, pulls you back.

Shock rips through anger and you yank hard to free your arm -

His fingers dig in, bruise -

It doesn’t budge he’s too strong -

You struggle to pull free, managing to glare at him, anger flaring bright at the smug look on his face. “Let me go.”

He grins, gaze dark with something that curls into your stomach and makes you sick. Makes your heartbeat waver and your lungs clench with panic.

You hate this feeling.

This feeling of helplessness.

It’s one you’ve felt too many times in situations too similar to this, when you’ve had to cautiously navigate a conversation with a strange man who was coming on to you, always aware of the fact that they were usually bigger and stronger than you, that many people would be on his side if it came to a fight.

That society would have you “give him a chance,” no matter what you wanted.

Frustration sweeps through shock and panic.

No.

You’ve had enough of men making you feel this way.

Like you’re powerless.

You shove him with your free hand, pushing all your body weight into the motion.

He jerks backward, thrown off balance, letting go of your arm as he stands up. “Hey! Watch it -“

“What’s going on?”

The quiet, gentle words seep into the tension in the air, dull the harsh beat of your pulse in your ears.

You look over your shoulder, voice rushed, high with too much emotion. “Frankie.”

He’s eyeing the stranger, jaw set in a tight line as he moves to stand by you, placing himself between you and the guy.

A thrill of something primal squeezes the air from your lungs - the way Frankie moves, with the confident grace of someone who has fought similar fights countless times, and won.

With the absolute certainty that he will do whatever is necessary in order to protect you.

Your heartbeat races for a different reason, another kind of heat flooding your system.

Seeing Frankie stand up for you is… unfairly sexy.

The stranger scoffs, looking at you over Frankie’s shoulder, sneer twisting his features. “For someone who doesn’t need a man, you sure are quick to hide behind one.”

You freeze.

Shame pours ice-hot down your back.

No. You will not let him make you feel like this.

Powerless.

Anger boils, irrational and unstoppable -

You’re moving, slipping around Frankie and pushing out all your anger and frustration at this asshole and all the world’s assholes and -

Ow.

The stranger is shouting, slumping, holding his hands to his nose.

Why does your hand hurt?

You’re moving again, surging toward the stranger, but someone grabs you and -

Instinct shoves you back, a grunt as your elbow hits something soft -

Rage dims enough for a sliver of awareness to sink back in.

Frankie wraps an arm around your waist again, pulling you back, his voice finally registering to your anger-haze mind. “Stop, come on, we have to get out of here -“

A patron sitting at the bar a few seats away is on his phone, talking frantically, you catch words drifting through the rush of blood in your ears -

Police -

Assault -

Broke his nose -

You push Frankie away and find your feet, grabbing your purse and moving quickly toward the back door.

The cool night air hits your skin and you gasp, the contrast to the heat boiling in your chest sharp and disorienting.

Frankie’s right behind you, pulling the door shut and striding quickly toward the street. “Come on, I parked this way. We’ll go to my place, it’s closer.”

Instinct more than anything pushes you to follow him, your mind too chaotic with adrenaline and anger to think. The guy’s sneering smirk replays in your head over and over, that smug superiority of someone who thinks they hold power over another person.

Your teeth hurt as you clench your jaw.

Worse, that he did hold power over you. That he was stronger than you.

That he proved his point.

Because Frankie -

Was only trying to help you -

The rational thought burns to ash as soon as it crosses your mind, caught in a whirlwind of rage echoing with the words of the asshole back at the bar.

Because Frankie shoved his way in.

Frankie opens the passenger side door to his truck, gesturing for you to get in. The gesture reminds you of when he’d stepped between you and that asshole and shame ripples through you again.

You liked it -

No, he interfered, he didn’t think you could hold your own -

You shake your head sharply, trying to knock the irrational, anger-fuelled thoughts back as you slide into the seat and he closes the door.

Deep breath. Let it out. Try to calm down.

The silence is heavy as he drives, vibrating with tension, hanging between you just waiting to crack and spill out all the words you’re trying so hard not to say, but that tiny sliver of rationality is growing harder and harder to hold on to, worn away by the memory of that smug smile and that slimy glance down your body and those words -

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Frankie’s quiet voice is jarring to the noise in your head, just enough for your tenuous hold on your temper to finally snap.

You shift roughly in your seat, struck with the urge to move but annoyingly stuck where you are for now. “What ‘happened’ was you got in the way.”

He glances at you, a movement you see out of the corner of your eye. “How did I get in the way?”

Ignoring the heat of frustration in his voice, you power through, holding tight to your own anger. “You shoved yourself into a situation that I was handling just fine without you.”

“Really.” The sarcasm is a low blow, it stokes your anger perfectly. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to go to jail tonight. Sorry I stopped that from happening.”

You throw up your hands, let them fall to your lap with a loud slap to emphasize your frustration. “Don’t be dramatic. I would have been fine. I didn’t need you to get involved.”

A moment of silence, and you risk a glance in his direction - the green glow of a traffic light illuminates him as the truck passes underneath it, catching the faint movement of his index finger tapping slowly against the steering wheel.

Great. He’s using that anger management technique he learned in therapy.

Next he’ll be trying to walk you through it too, count steadily to ten, so you can both calm down and talk about this.

Yet another thing you don’t need from him right now.

Right now, you want to rage, at him, at the asshole in the bar, at the entire world, for making you feel like you aren’t enough.

Frankie clears his throat. “Obviously not. That punch was perfect.”

The words throw you for a loop, not what you were expecting, but not enough to quench your anger. “Yeah, well, I’m no spec ops but I can throw a punch. Which is why I didn’t need you to step in.”

He looks at you again as he turns onto his street, but it’s too dark to see his expression. “Look, I saw you were in trouble -“

“I was handling it.” You cut him off quick but he keeps going.

“- and I care about you, so yes, I stepped in -“

“- I didn’t ask you to -“

“You don’t have to, that’s just what you do for people you care about.”

An undefinable emotion flood your veins, hot and cold at the same time. “Oh, so that guy cares about me?”

A pause. “What?”

You scoff, fold your arms across your chest, suddenly hyperaware of your body and uncomfortable about it. “He stepped in when another creep was being too pushy, so he must care about me, too, right? I should have been grateful to him, let him buy me a drink?” Rage chokes your throat. “Should I have let him take me home and fuck me because he stood up for me?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying -“

“Then what are you saying, Frankie?” You twist in your seat, look at him without even seeing him. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re no different than that guy.”

Frankie stills, turns off the ignition, sits back in his seat.

You hadn’t even realized he’d parked in his driveway.

Blinking, you finally look at him.

The outside light is on, casting his features in a dull orange, deepening the shadows around his eyes from the bill of his baseball cap. You can’t see them, but it doesn’t matter - you can tell by the slump of his shoulders, the downturned corners of his mouth.

Your words echo in your thoughts.

Guilt spikes through your anger.

You hadn’t -

You didn’t mean -

What you said last still hangs in the air, unable to be taken back.

Frankie moves, breaking the stillness. Opens the truck door and steps out. Closes it behind him.

You watch him walk up to the front door of his house, unlock it, disappear inside.

The dull thud of the door closing behind him is like a final toll of a bell.

Your voice cracks in the silence of the truck cab. “Fuck.”

The worn hinge of the truck door creaks as you scramble out, slam it behind you with a little more force than you meant to. The buzz of anger in your chest shifts, turns toward yourself too, and how you treated the one man who was kind to you tonight.

You’re such an idiot, why would you say that -

He’s not -

A growl of frustration chokes in your throat as you push through the front door.

The house is quiet, dark, only the entryway light left on. And empty, no sign of Frankie -

He comes out of the kitchen, a bag of frozen green peas in his hands.

Your heart stutters hard enough to hurt, and you lean back against the door as if it could give you strength.

Frankie stops in front of you, gaze on the bag of peas as he holds it out to you. “To keep the swelling down.”

A huff gets stuck in your tight throat, comes out more like a cry, and you blink back the blur of tears, look up, around, anywhere but at him. “How dare you be so thoughtful and sweet after I said the worst things to you.”

He gently takes your hand and turns it over to rest your sore knuckles on the bag of peas. “Still care about you.”

You can’t even look at him, can’t see the hurt that you know is obvious in those warm, brown eyes. Instead, you focus on his hands, on the large palm cupping the pack of frozen peas to your scraped knuckles, the long fingers of his other hand loosely curling around your wrist.

All the fire and heat and fury that burned in your chest moments ago suddenly sputters, flickers. Dies.

A heavy sigh loosens the tightness in your lungs. “I’m not mad at you.”

His fingers flex on your wrist, his low hum of disbelief vibrating over your skin.

Fuck, you really screwed this up, didn’t you.

Letting your head fall back against the door, you force yourself to look at him. He needs to see it, that you’re telling the truth. “I mean it. I’m not.”

That warm gaze meets yours - yeah, just as you thought, it’s there, hurt tinged with anger and now doubt.

That stings more than the hurt, actually.

The knowledge that he’s doubting you, your honesty. Maybe even how you feel about him.

Fuck your pride, girl. Just tell him.

Shifting your wrist in his grip, you take his hand, squeeze it tight. “Look, I liked it, okay? And I’m angry with myself and I took it out on you and that’s not fair, and I’m so sorry, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

A frown forms between his brows, his gaze flickering over your features in confusion. “Liked what?”

Oh god, just say it, get it over with. “When you showed up and like immediately stepped in to defend me, physically put yourself between me and the threat with no hesitation, then stood there with your stupidly broad shoulders and strong arms and testosterone and this whole aura of “don’t fuck with my girl” and god, Frankie, it was so hot. “

His mouth twitches, lips curving at the corners and his frown melts away, hurt in his eyes replaced by fond amusement. “Oh yeah? You liked that?”

Your nose wrinkles as embarrassment tries to push you away from him. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna know what was really hot?”

His voice dips low, rasping down your spine, pulling it into an arch that curves your hips toward him, a movement tracked by his gaze.

He definitely catches the clench of your thighs, too.

His thumb glides over your bruised knuckles. “What was really hot was watching you clock a guy with at least six inches and fifty pounds on you, staring him down like you were gonna castrate him right there in the bar.”

Biting back a grin, you twine your fingers in his, cocking your head to the side. “If only I had a knife.”

He chuckles - why is that so hot - and lets go of your hand, tugs you toward him, pushing into your space, his chest brushing your breasts through your dress. Anticipation catches in your throat, arousal you’ve been holding back for so long pulsing to life.

Then his expression turns serious, thoughtful, his free hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back with casual intimacy. “That’s what I was thinking, you know.”

Your thoughts are already sluggish with a pleasant haze, it takes a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. “That you wanted me to cut his balls off?”

“I was thinking don’t fuck with my girl, because she’ll make you wish you’d never laid a hand on her, and leaving with your balls still attached is the least of your worries.”

The absolute certainty, the pride in his voice - some emotion you’re not ready to name twists behind your ribs, trembles through your veins.

God, what you wouldn’t do for this man.

Lifting your free hand, you let it trail down his chest, the slight swell of his stomach, brush over the bulge of his jeans. His breath hitches as you press your palm there, lean in to murmur against his lips.

“Don’t worry, your balls are safe with me.”

You catch the glint of his answering smile before he’s taking the sliver of distance between you and swallowing it in a searing kiss that pulls a moan from your throat.

He echoes the sound back when you flex your hand, fingernails scratching lightly against denim, palm grinding over his cloth-covered cock. Arousal warms between your thighs as you feel him twitch, already starting to strain against the fabric.

Need swarms over your skin, your thoughts, dizzying.

Fuck, everything about him feels so good, the way his body presses to yours, his hand glides up your back, his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, how his breath stutters against your cheek when your fingers curl over his length and squeeze -

Crash -

You startle, hands flying to grasp at Frankie’s shoulders as you whirl toward the source of the sound -

Tiny, cold balls ping off your legs -

What -

Frankie huffs, looking down at the floor by your feet, mouth twisting up in a sheepish smile. “Dropped the peas.”

You glance down at the bag, split open, a few random peas still rolling away, and a surprised laugh bursts from your chest. He looks at you, gaze sparking, and your laugh gets stuck in your throat, a wave of intense affection flooding warm through your veins.

It amazes you, sometimes, how much you want him.

He obviously sees it, expression shifting to something similar, darker and sweeter at the same time.

Then he’s pulling you to him, hand curling around the back of your neck as he kisses you firmly, thumb pressing at the hinge of your jaw until you open for him.

Yes -

His tongue slips into your mouth to glide along yours and a rush of heat floods your core and you clutch at his shoulders, sweep his cap off those soft curls to sink your fingers into them, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

Something shifts, you can feel it under your palms, an energy that flares to life deep within him.

Your own body responds, moulding to his, silently pleading for more.

He gives it, kiss turning into something more desperate, all lips and tongue and panting breath and hands roaming your body, catching on the fabric of your dress, slipping underneath.

The heat of his large hands on the swell of your ass makes you gasp, break the kiss, and he groans.

“Need you -“

The pleading tone of his voice brings your lips right back to his, your hips arching into his grip, shivers of pleasure racing along your skin when his fingertips dig in just enough to sting.

Then you’re moving, feet stumbling to follow him, senses too focused on how his lips move against yours and his hands sweep over your hips and his thumbs trace the waistband of your underwear -

Something soft but solid bumps against your thigh and then he’s turning you, guiding you back to lean on it - the arm of the sofa, you’re in the living room now.

He pulls away enough to look at you, dark gaze flitting over your features as if taking you in, every sign of your arousal that’s painted on your face. The corner of his mouth ticks up, as if he likes what he sees.

There’s something almost cocky about his expression and it feeds the heat growing in your core, cunt throbbing for friction. Your hands fly to his belt, start to open the buckle but he takes your wrists, stills your motion.

You hesitate, confused. “Frankie?”

“It’s okay.” He brings your hands to his lips, kisses them lightly before setting them palms down on either side of you, resting on the arm of the sofa. “I just wanna taste that perfect pussy of yours first.”

A moan falls from your lips, and his smile grows as he sinks to his knees.

Holy shit -

Seeing him like this, knelt before you with that goddamn knowing smile, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he pulls the skirt of your dress to your waist. It’s exhilarating in some way, shoving your need for him even higher.

But residual guilt suddenly tamps down on your arousal. “Frankie, I’m supposed to be making you feel good -“

“This does make me feel good.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down your legs, glancing up at you as he leans in. “Hold that pretty dress up for me, baby.”

You just manage to grab the skirt of your dress to keep it out of his way when he flicks his tongue out and swipes it over your clit.

Oh fuck -

Pleasure sparks through your core, your thighs falling open, and he hums in approval as he shifts closer, large hands gliding up your legs, warm and steady, plush lips pressing a wet kiss to your clit before lifting his gaze to look up at you.

A moment, and you’re pinned by that dark brown, those beautiful eyes that glow with some kind of warmth, some sort of emotion that’s stronger than any you’re ready to name yet.

You swallow against a suddenly dry throat, a mirroring emotion swelling in your chest, his name falling from your lips in a hushed whimper. “Frankie…”

He blinks once, a slow sweep of his lashes, the last moment he gives you to breathe.

Then he truly begins.

Fuck it’s so good -

The flat of his tongue warm and slick against your folds -

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, so tight it hurts.

Scrape of his moustache over your clit sends shivers of pleasure through your body -

Lungs ache for air, you struggle to breathe, swept up in a wave of hot-wet-heat that sears your skin.

It’s intense and all-consuming, how he pulls pleasure from you body with his mouth, knowing exactly what makes you fall apart, a combination of experience and intuition you’ve never been the focus of before him.

You can’t stop watching him, mesmerized by the sight of his tongue slipping through your folds, swirling around your clit, dipping down to lave over your entrance. Pleasure builds steadily, a throbbing pulse that radiates through your veins in time with your rapid heartbeat, and you finally break, gasp for breath, a sharp inhale that cracks with his name -

“Frankie oh god -“

He groans in response, dark gaze growing darker, hand gripping your thigh to haul it over his shoulder and -

Your head falls back, a cry cracking free from your aching chest.

The angle brings him closer, lets your hips roll into the heat of his mouth, and you chase it, shudder as he follows the movement, flattens his tongue so you can grind your cunt along its length.

Pleasure spirals through your veins, voice tight with it. “Yes oh god just like that -“

You try to find a rhythm but can’t, a steady tremble growing in your thighs as your pleasure swirls higher and you whine in frustration.

He pulls back, words deep and rasping against your sensitive skin. “Come on, baby, ride my tongue until you come, I wanna taste it.”

His hand grabs your hip, guides your movements, pulls your folds along the slick of his tongue and catches your clit with a flick at the end and it’s perfect so perfect and -

Again and again -

Heat grows, swirls through your core, pushing higher and higher.

Yes you can feel it right there right there -

He nudges deeper and his tongue grinds over your entrance on the next roll of your hips and you cry out, muscles tensing, so close -

Again -

A burst of wet heat -

Swell of pleasure and it bursts -

You sway with the force of it, scrambling for purchase, a hand diving into his hair to hold him there as your cunt pulses with each wave.

Finally it breaks -

Air rushes into your lungs, blood pounds in your ears, your entire body shivers with the release.

He groans long and low, tongue pressing to your entrance, long fingers gripping your hip so hard it stings. The wet sound of him swallowing your pleasure down pulls a trembling aftershock from your core.

Fuck he’s so fucking sexy and incredible and perfect -

Need you need him now -

Thoughts still scattered, a tug on his curls is all you can manage.

And he’s there, rising to kiss you, fill your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. You melt into him, wanting more, slip a hand between your bodies to cup his cloth-covered cock.

He grunts, a sharp exhale that shoots straight to your core and sparks renewed arousal, and you squeeze as best you can through the denim of his jeans.

You find your voice, murmur against his mouth. “Are you gonna let me apologize to you now?”

His hands curve around your waist. “Apology accepted.”

Suddenly he grips and flips you around -

A whirl of motion and -

His hands press firmly between your shoulderblades, pushing you down until you’re bent over the arm of the sofa.

You moan into the sofa cushion as a shiver of primal need runs down your back - so fucking hot when he manhandles you like that - arches your hips up, seeking.

He tosses the skirt of your dress up over your waist, the clink of metal telling you he’s unbuckling his belt. “You like that? When I move you around however I want?”

A frisson of embarrassment stills your movements, and you huff into the cushion. “Shut up.”

The sound of a zipper as his words drift down over you, gentling and teasing at the same time. “Come on, baby. Say it. For me, I wanna hear it.”

Leaning up enough to throw a mock-glare at him over your shoulder, you bite your lower lip to stop from moaning again - just the sight of him, all broad shoulders and mussed hair and dark eyes, towering over you, enough to send a rush of want through your body.

And that playful, knowing look in those dark eyes tells you he’s not going to oblige you until you give him what he’s asking for.

Sighing dramatically, you flop back down, burying your face in the sofa cushion to muffle your words. “Yes, I like it.”

“Like what?”

Damn him. Whining, you wiggle your hips to tempt him into moving on from this but hands on your hips still your movement. “Fine. I like it when you move me around like that. During sex.”

He chuckles, one hand leaving you while the other grips your hip tight. “Distinction noted.”

Then he’s sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, notching into your entrance and -

Oh fuck this angle -

The stretch -

You gasp for breath, fingers curling into the sofa cushion -

Pleasure pulses bright through your core -

He groans as he works his cock in. “Fuck, this pussy, so fucking perfect -“

The wet squelch of each slow, grinding thrust echoes in your ears, ripples through the rising heat spiralling out from where your body clenches around the thick of his cock.

Spikes of white-hot pleasure shoot through your hips and legs, tremble in your lungs, and you can’t think, only want more -

A pause, he stills, hips pressed against your ass, head of his cock tight to a spot deep inside you that sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body.

“Gotta breathe for me, baby.”

His rasping words sink into the pleasure-haze, the ache in your lungs burning enough to finally get your attention, and you inhale sharp, voice cracking. “Oh my god, Frankie, feels so good -“

“I know, I know, just breathe.” A warm hand glides up your back and down again, in time with a gentle thrust of his hips that grinds his cock against your cervix.

Oh fuck -

An intense burst of pleasure rips through your body, flashing white at the edges of your vision.

Again -

It’s so much it’s overwhelming it’s incredible and you’re floating -

Over and over -

Your fingernails scrape at the sofa cushion, hands desperate to anchor yourself, spit out gasping words. “Right there just like that oh g-“

He grunts as your cunt pulses around him. “Holy shit, you’re gonna come already - fuck -“

The shudder runs through your entire body, clenches his cock tight, and you feel it, building so fast - too fast - it’s so much how -

A high-pitched whine of his name is all you can manage. “Frankie -“

“Come for me, come on -“

Again -

Strong hands on your waist, holding you in place -

Again -

Bright hot heat -

Bursts -

Every nerve ending in your body alight, blood rushing in your ears -

The drop and -

You gasp for air, like you haven’t taken a breath in centuries, throat aching with a sharp throb and you swallow against it - did you scream? Fuck. Probably.

Strong hands caress your lower back. “That was a good one, huh?”

Senses scattered, you blink to try and clear your vision, your head, find your words. “Yeah.”

An amused chuckle, a gentle shift of his hips that drags his cock along your sensitive inner walls, sends a shiver up your spine. “Want me to give you another one?”

Your cunt clenches instinctively as he seats himself deep again, pleasure once again spiral outward through your limbs. “Yes, make me come again, please.”

“Yeah? I want to, baby. Love watching you fall apart on my cock.” Another slow thrust that curls your toes. “Wanna give you what you want, always.”

You moan into the sofa cushion, his words slipping beneath the haze on your thoughts to someplace deeper, something that tightens around your heart.

Then strong arms are slipping underneath you, hauling you upright, hands are pressing you back against a broad chest and -

The sharp thrust of his cock rips through your body but his hands hold you firm, pin you in place as he starts up a rhythm that shoves pleasure through your veins.

Your fingers curl around his forearms, nails digging, strangled moan falling from your lips. “Holy sh-shit-“

“Yeah, I know.” He groans into the crook of your neck, tongue flicking out to taste your heated skin.

His hand slips down to where his cock pulls slick from your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips finding your aching clit instantly.

Fuck -

Your legs waver and his free hand shifts, arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as his fingers match pace with the snap of his hips.

Pleasure rises, hot, swirls out from your core and fills every corner of your being -

Frankie -

So perfect so good feels so good -

His free hand finds your breast, dives into the neckline of your dress to cup it firmly, grinds his palm over your peaked nipple and tiny sparks of pleasure join the flood, sweeping you away -

The first pulse of your orgasm looms, pulls a cry from your throat.

He picks up his pace, voice rasping in your ear, words stifled by the rhythm of his thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna come, come with me, baby, please come with me I need it -“

Yes yes yes -

Up higher and higher until it’s a tidal wave of bright heat -

Your slick spatters on your inner thighs, squelches around his cock -

There -

Your head falls back, body shudders against his. “Frankie -“

His pace stutters, once, a cracked groan rumbling in your ear -

Everything pulls tight then releases and -

A flood of wet heat against the pulse of his cock deep in your pussy -

He thrusts again, again, slows, again -

Pleasure finally dims, moves to overstimulation, his fingers leave your clit to help hold you steady, his cock slowly slipping free of the clutch of your cunt.

You take a deep breath, try to find your body again. There’s a certain disorientation, soaked in spent pleasure, tilting your thoughts and skewing your senses, making everything seem so far away yet close at the same time.

The urge to find an anchor, to root yourself, pulls to the forefront.

Lifting a shaking hand, you sift your fingers through his hair. “Frankie?”

His sigh against your neck is full of contentment, lips pressing soft kisses to the space just below your jaw. “Yeah, baby?”

Somehow, that’s enough, and your own contented sigh shifts the air. “Frankie.”

“Is that the only word you know now?”

His chest vibrates with laughter against your back, enough of a physical sensation to bring you down into your body even more, become aware of his teasing tone.

You lightly tug on his curls. “Fuck you.”

“That’s three, at least.”

Huffing a laugh at his obvious display of male pride, you pull out of his embrace to lean over the couch and take more weight off your trembling legs. “What did you do to me? I can barely stand.”

“What did I do to you? What did you do to me, I thought I was gonna pass out, you were choking my cock so hard.”

“Well, that was your own fault.” You arch your back slightly, stretching sore muscles.

His hands cups the curves of your ass, groaning when you instinctively spread your legs and bend lower. “You’re killing me, baby. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

You shiver as his thumbs spread your pussy open, glide through your combined pleasure. “Hmm, well, that’s also your fault.”

“I see how it is, everything’s my fault all of a sudden.”

His playful, grumpy tone makes you grin, break character, straightening to turn around and kiss him firmly. He leans into it, arms coming around your back to hold you tight, his soft moan dusting over your cheek.

A few moments pass, moments that feel like forever and are gone too quickly at the same time, and when you pull away and meet his gaze, that beautiful, soft brown so warm with affection - for you - emotion stings the back of your throat.

Gently cupping his cheek, you stroke your thumb over one of those bare patches along his chin that his beard never grows into. “I mean it, Frankie. I’m sorry. I was angry at the world and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to -“

“Please, listen.” You hate to interrupt him but you need to get this out. He pauses, nods once, and you take a breath before you continue. “You’re what I want at the end of a bad day. I’ve had more fun with you than anyone else in my entire life. And I know I can trust you to always have my back, even if I don’t think I need the support. I know you’ll be there for me.”

Swallowing back against a suddenly tight throat, you give voice to the emotions that were boiling under the surface of your anger earlier in the evening. “It’s frustrating, being a woman. Sometimes it feels like society expects this impossible balance, like we’re supposed to be ladylike, pretty and soft and gentle and also strong but not too strong, like we’re supposed suck it up but also withstand the pressure.”

Sighing, you let your hands rest on his chest, drawing strength from the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. “I just… tonight I felt that, and I hate it so much. I don’t want to feel like that. I wanted to prove to those guys - to everyone - that I am strong enough. Even more. That I’m stronger than they want me to be.”

He looks at you, tiny crease forming between his brows. “I can’t say that I understand, not exactly. But I get that feeling of not being enough, of needing to prove yourself but hating that you feel like you need to at the same time.”

Right. Of course he does.

Everything he’s been through in the last few years, he probably understands better than most.

You lift a hand, press that crease between his brows flat with the pad of your thumb. “I know you do. But you don’t need to prove anything with me. You know that, right?”

His features soften, smile pulling at his lips. “I know. Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. Even if I forget it sometimes.” Biting your bottom lip, you weigh your words, settle on what you hope is enough. “You make me happy, Frankie. Really, actually happy.”

He smiles for real, gaze warm and bright. “You make me happy, too.”

You pull him in for another kiss, trying to push everything you’re feeling into how your lips move with his, your hands curl into his hair and over his shoulders and down his sides and around his back.

It’s enough. Maybe more than.

A stronger tremble shivers down your legs and your knees buckle, pulling you and Frankie apart.

He deftly catches you around the waist, grinning. “I was that good, huh?”

Laughing, you shove his chest playfully and lean back against the arm of the sofa. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” A brief kiss to your forehead, then he’s stepping back, straightening his clothes and turning to walk out of the room. “Stay here, I’ll grab something to clean you up.”

Wrinkling your nose, you try to stand, fail and settle back on the sofa. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

“I know, and I support that.” He calls back over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner. “I’m a proud feminist, baby.”

You bite your bottom lip, giggling to yourself.

“Shit!”

His startled shout instantly wipes the smile off your face.

You pitch your voice so he can hear you. “What happened?”

A sigh that shakes with laughter. “Stepped on the peas.”

Your snorting laugh echoes as it drifts down the hallway, and you don’t really care how unladylike it sounds.

#triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #reader insert #no y/n

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pimosworld · 4 months ago

Text

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales × flreader

Chapter Summary- You and Frankie have your second date and things get tense for both of you after Benny’s fight.

Chapter Warning- 18+, MDNI, Smut, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, fingering, hint of exhibitionism, protective reader, unprotected piv, soft dom Frankie. (No longer a slow burn)

WC-9.6k

A/N- I’m officially obsessed with these two, cue the Frankie Friday show because he certainly puts on one this chapter.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 3. Flash

Casual, 7 pm.

A pattern you recognized with Frankie that he didn’t offer many details when it came to your dates so far. Maybe it was the military in him that kept things concise and to the point. Or it could be that he likes surprises, craves spontaneity to keep things exciting.

You hope he knows that it doesn’t always have to be like this. With him you could be doing absolutely nothing and still have an amazing time.

It was starting to scare you how much your sleeping and waking thoughts were consumed by Frankie. His good morning calls or texts. His sweet messages throughout the day. The way he didn’t mind you falling asleep at night while you were on the phone only to wake up and hear him snoring on the other end.

You had some boring shoot for a law firm in the middle of the week. Not your favorite gigs but it paid the bills. One of those sleazy law firms that would take anyone’s money, their faces plastered on every bus and billboard they could get their hands on. This was not an aesthetic shot-but you respected yourself more than that to phone it in.

Of course these men could care less that you were trying to do the job they paid you for and instead insisted on wasting your time but trying to flirt with you in between shots. Literally and figuratively speaking, you would have to do your best to hide the blood shot eyes as they sipped on cheap whiskey in fancy glasses. You finished the job and hastily wrapped it up to say your goodbyes as you made your way out to the parking lot when you noticed one of the lawyers following you. Afraid you’d left something important you waited for him to approach your car but to your dismay with the liquor flowing through his veins you could see he wanted nothing more than to ruin your day. He leaned on your car, his eyes half lidded slurring something about calling you. The pungent smell of his breath taking you to a place you didn’t want to think about.

You had texted Frankie the location of the law firm and just like a knight in shining armor you hear his truck roar into the parking lot.

A look you’re certain would make your worst enemy shit their pants was on his face when he hopped out the drivers side and made his way around to you both.

“Just in time to take you to lunch.” His voice is so sweet to you as he leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Francisco Morales.” He grits out as he takes the man’s hand.

“Walters…John Walters.”He grimaces under his intense grip and you have to hide your smile behind your hand.

Frankie releases his grip not wanting to touch him any longer. He can smell the alcohol coming out of his pores and it makes his skin crawl. He turns to you not wanting to waste another moment and hoping this guy gets the hint and takes a hike.

“You okay baby?” His thumb grazes your cheek where his lips just were and you swallow thick.

“I am now.”

Nothing happened and really you were fine, but the look in his eyes is so sincere that you wonder what happened to make him this way.

“Come on, let’s get you some lunch and then I’ll follow you home.” The switch has your head spinning as he guides you into the passenger seat.

And he does just that.

You have a quick lunch and he takes you home, ever the gentleman. Right now you were wishing he would lay off the routine and be a little bolder. Your pace. You asked for this and he’s respecting your wishes.

****

6:55 pm

There’s a light knock on your door and you have to slow down to not seem like you were waiting next to it. Your heart thumps hard in your chest when you open it and see him standing there.

His wet curls poking out under his cap. The long line of his neck and the way his tee shirt hugs all the right places. The worn, faded jeans sitting low on his hips and the small gold belt buckle just barely showing.

There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t gauge. His hands fidget at his side as he hovers in the doorway. He looks a little flustered as he takes you in.

You somehow make casual look like the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. The cotton black dress that hits mid thigh, your light oversized denim shirt hanging just a little lower than the dress. That familiar smell of something that you’re always shrouded in that leaves him feeling at home. The way you cling to his clothes long after he’s gone from you.

Your soft hand taking his to lead him inside and this is dangerous territory when he’s trying to go at your pace. The way he instinctively pulls you into him as your other hand wraps around his neck and pulls him into a kiss that lasts almost too long to call it a hello.

You drop your bag as he backs you up against the couch and you can feel the hard press in his jeans at the thought of you. The way his hands grip your waist like you’re going to vanish into thin air.

It would be so easy to let him take you down your hall into your bedroom and let him bring down those walls you’ve built up over the last year. As he pulls away with a groan when you take his bottom lip between your teeth you know you’re being unfair.

Because he’s being a gentleman and you’re being a tease.

But the build up is the best part. The anticipation of waiting and waiting for the right moment.

“Hi.” It’s the innocent way you say it, like you didn’t almost just have him committing several sins.

He takes off his cap, his cheeks flushed and his face distressed as he runs his fingers deliriously through his hair. “Hi.” He huffs out. “I missed you.”

I missed you so much it scares me.

“Me too.”

The most simple task is daunting because I can’t focus on anything else.

You can tell now that normal introductions are in the past. Gone are the days where you can give him a brief hug or a kiss on the cheek.

Frankie knows if he doesn’t get a grip he runs the risk of making you his new high. You deserve much better than that. You’re not a quick fix or an impulsive decision. You are the only person that makes him feel good. Good in a way that he’s never felt.

“You ready for our second date?” He smiles at the way you can’t meet his eyes when he mentions it.

“Of course. Where are we going?” He fits your hand in his as he leads you to the door.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

****

His hand has found a home in what you’ve coined his normal spot on your thigh. The innocent reassuring gesture of his thumb grazing back and forth is making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Your eyes follow the trail of his hand, the thick veins on his arm up the path to his large biceps. He stretches his neck and you watch his throat bob when he swallows and you want to trace your tongue alongside it.

Fuck. You need a distraction, anything besides looking at his gorgeous face.

You try to focus on the road, the trees passing you by. The town in the rearview as you approach the outskirts and you glance back into the cab of his truck to see a pile of-

“Eyes forward missy.” He fixes you with a look and then averts his gaze back to the road. Something about the command in his tone is not making your situation any better. “Don’t want you to ruin the surprise.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I’m gonna start calling you Mr. Surprise.”

“You can call me Mr. Morales if you’d like.” His voice dropping to an octave you almost don’t register.

You raise your eyebrows at that. Taking his hand off your thigh to kiss his palm. Feeling his pulse thrum against your lips when you trail a little higher. Your teeth graze his vein and you hear a low growl emit from his chest.

It seems you’ve decided to pick up your pace a little and Frankie isn’t going to stop whatever this is. The energy in his truck has changed to something feverish. The feel of your soft lips on his arm and his hairs stand up as you graze your teeth along his pulse point.

“You’re playing a dangerous game baby.” No real sense of seriousness in his tone.

You drop his hand and place it a little higher than its original position and he squeezes. Not missing the way your legs adjust to let him in.

“Too dangerous?”

He just shakes his head. “Lucky for you I can handle heavy machinery under pressure.” His eyes back on the road as to not watch where it’s disappearing under your dress.

But thankful or not so when he hears your breath catch in your throat at the sight of reaching the destination.

Your excited squeals as the large screens come into view and his chest swells with pride because he’s planned yet another successful surprise for you.

****

He had to contain himself for now.

He’s excited to get the date underway as you sit in the cab of the truck waiting patiently for him to set up the pillows and blankets in the bed. He found the perfect spot in the middle-back, just enough privacy to have you all to himself.

You haven’t been to the drive-ins in ages. Not since you were a teenager, hormones raging and nervousness thrumming deep in your bones. Not much different than tonight except your date is exceedingly more handsome and capable than the brace faced junior that spent so long trying to unclasp your bra that you both gave up and sat in silence for the remainder of fast and the furious.

A veteran pilot that’s maneuvered in live fire and the likes will undeniably have more practiced hands when it comes to you.

You gently work open the truck slider window to observe his meticulous set up for the night. He lays out a navy blue fleece blanket that looks so velvety. Next he spreads a large knitted throw in a burnt orange shade. He places a few oversized pillows with flannel covers along the back and tucks a few into the sides.

Frankie’s attention to detail was so evident as he fluffs each pillow and smooths out the blankets, despite knowing you were going to mess them up once you laid out. Finally he sets out a few decorative throw pillows at the bed of the truck. He claps his hands, sitting back on his haunches signaling he’s done.

He catches your eyes when he hears you laugh at his scrupulous preparation.

“I told you no peeking.” He points at you as he crawls toward the open window.

You shrug as you bite your bottom lip. “I didn’t have anything to look at.”

He shifts his hat to the back and before you have time to process what that does to you he’s kissing you. You lean into it to meet him as his broad shoulders push against the frame. He pulls away all too soon leaving you a little breathless.

“So, what do you think?” You sense some sad apprehension in his eyes that you want to wipe away.

He watches your eyes roam over him, stopping somewhere near his throat. “I think I want to join you on the other side of this window.”

****

Outside the sky is deepening into twilight, you’re nestled under the blankets with Frankie. His sturdy legs bracketing you in as you lean against his chest. The calmness of his breathing lulling you into some waking daydream.

“Do I get to know what we’re seeing?” Your head back in time to see the dimple creasing his face.

“Have you not learned by now hermosa?” Sarcasm dripping from his tone.

You huff out in frustration, fixing your eyes to the blank white screen. “Surprises, surprises.”

His laugh moves you quite literally and figuratively.

He cranes his neck at the sound of crunching gravel and a young man probably high school age approaches with a tray of food. He adjusts to take the tray from him as he sends you a nervous smile. Frankie hands him a wad of cash and the boy's eyes go wide as saucers as he goes to protest and Frankie just tells him to keep it.

He glances into the truck bed and shakes his head in disbelief. “Thanks sir, I really appreciate this.” He holds the tip up before depositing it into his front pocket.

“That was very kind of you Frankie.” You say sincerely as you turn to face him.

He blushes as he lays out the tray of hotdogs and popcorn. “I was young once….I remember needing some extra money to help my family.” He doesn’t finish his thought and you let the moment pass between you in understanding, not wanting to delve deeper into that part of yourselves yet.

As you both eat in contented silence the familiar crackle of the speakers sound from the cab of the truck. The screen flickers to life showing a sun soaked beach as the waves crash against the rocks. Danny and Sandy walk hand in hand and you pause mid bite as the opening chords of ‘summer nights’ start to play.

“No way.” You exclaim softly as a delighted grin speaks across your face. “I love Grease.”

Frankie’s watching you closely. “I thought you’d like that.” His tone filled with a quiet satisfaction.

“It’s like we’re having our own little grease moment.”

He hums as he sets the trays out of the way and pulls you back into his embrace. “I guess you could say that. Just missing a convertible and our own summer romance soundtrack.”

You laugh and someone shushes you nearby causing you both to chuckle before he presses a kiss to your temple. He mumbles something unintelligible but along the lines of ‘behave’ and his tone has you wanting to do anything but.

You manage to settle down and watch the movie, Frankie loves when you sing along as you sway in his arms. If he had known he would have to wait a lifetime to have this with you he’d wait a thousand. All the bullshit and failed relationships somehow has led him here. He knows he’s starting to sound like his therapist but doesn’t that mean the shit is actually doing what it’s supposed to?

The drive in scene comes on and you groan slightly as you tilt your head back. The screen illuminates him just enough for you to see the smirk on his face.

“This is so cliche.”

“I know, it’s almost as if I planned it this way.” You squirm a little in his hold as he grips you tighter. You’ve inadvertently been grinding against him this entire movie and he’s been doing his best to be a gentleman. “I promise not to pull a fast one on you like our boy Danny.” He nods at the screen just as Sandy jumps out of the car and slams the door.

You can feel the hard press of his cock straining on his jeans against your back. You’ve been quite the tease this whole time hoping he’d take a hint but he’s letting you take the lead. “What if I wanted you to?”

You think for a moment that maybe he didn’t hear you and you can just avoid the embarrassment of having to repeat yourself. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your back as his grip on you tightens. The way the scruff of his beard hair barely brushes your cheek as he leans close to your ear.

“Hermosa?” He lets out a deep exhale against your skin. “I need you to show me…exactly what it is…that you want me to do.”

You tentatively grab his hand and he releases the hold he has on your hip to let you guide him. It starts just above your stomach. He sucks in a breath as you slide it further over the soft lace of your panties.

You stop there. Your eyes fixated on the screen but you aren’t watching the movie. He nuzzles the back of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “You want me to touch you here?” His fingers tap once and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

He doesn’t miss the way you say ‘please’ breathlessly as he watches your chest rise and fall.

His hand is hot, the heat seeps through the thin material making the wetness of your arousal known to both of you.

He swiftly moves your panties to the side, his calloused fingers making you shiver as he runs a single digit up and down your slit.

You bite back the moan trying to escape your throat. He shushes you gently as he adjusts to lower you both out of prying eyes. “I’m gonna need you to be quiet for me hermosa. Do you think you can do that for me?”

You manage a nod as his fingers dip in before briefly pulling them back. He presses his thumb against your clit and your hips buck up as he continues his ministrations. You can feel the low rumble in his chest when you let out a squeak. His breathing is coming out in puffs and small grunts as his fingers slide in and out of you.

You can feel how hard he is as he grinds against the curve of your ass, each thrust and twist bringing a new wave of arousal. “Jesus Christ you’re soaking my hand baby.”

You don’t know how he does it but his expert hands are bringing you to the edge so fast you can’t keep up with your thoughts.

You nearly bite your tongue to keep in the whine as you pant his name. You turn into him as he presses his lips against yours, he’s sweet and slightly salty from the lingering taste of the buttery popcorn.

He can tell you’re close as you tense up and your back bows when he presses down hard on your clit and swirls. The pleasure is overwhelming and he growls as you bite down on his lip, your pussy clenching tight as you gush around his fingers.

He swallows the moans of his name, ghosted across his lips as you come down from your high. “You did so good.” He kisses and sucks along your jawline as you literally come down from the stars. His mouth works down the column of your neck and you can feel the prickle of his beard and the sting of his teeth against your skin.

“Frankie that was…” you take a moment to catch your breath. You’re boneless as you dro

You can hear him sucking his fingers and the sound makes you throb. “Fucking tastes like heaven.”

This man is gonna be the death of you.

He reaches up to cup your chin. You can barely make out his features with your vision still clouded. There's a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

He kisses you again as he pulls the blankets up a little higher and fluffs the pillows around you.

The juxtaposition has your head spinning as he turns your attention back to the screen. (Scene in the movie.)

“Is that what you had in mind?” He says, pulling you back into his chest.

You chuckle as you reach between your bodies. “Something like that.” He grabs your wrist gently to stop you.

“But.”

“No need.” He cuts you off with a kiss.

You shift in his hold to look at him as he looks down at you apprehensively. “Francisco, no you did not!”

“Oh yes, I did.” You snort as he squeezes your ass in his palm. “That’s a problem for future me. Now hush and watch the rest of the movie.”

You feel his heartbeat against you. The warmth of his breath against your neck.

He presses a kiss to your temple when you’re asleep just as the credits roll.

****

You wake up with the sound of the car door closing and a cool breeze on your face. It takes you a moment to register as you watch Frankie round the front of the truck.

“Hello sleepyhead.” He looks at you fondly as he helps you down from the seat. He looks up and down the street, always assessing his surroundings.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

He pulls you into him. “I’m not, you look really cute when you’re sleeping. Also when you’re snoring.”

You gasp as you try to wriggle free from his hold. “I do not snore.”

You can feel the rumble of his laughter as you rest your head on his chest. You really want to ask him to stay but you’re not sure where his head is at.

“Do-“

“I-“

You laugh as he clears his throat. “I had a nice time tonight.” He holds his hands out palms up as you place yours in his. “You don’t have to say anything, we can still take this slow.”

You certainly weren’t taking things slow at the drive ins but you don’t want to pressure him either.

“Okay.” If he senses the disappointment in your tone he says nothing as he starts to lead you toward your apartment.

Frankie steals a quick glance at your legs peeking out under your dress as you climb the stairs. He’s still in a state of shock that things got as far as they did. He doesn’t want to spook you so he’ll go home happy with whatever you’re willing to give him.

“Frankie, you’re awfully quiet back there.” You tease as you throw a look to him over your shoulder.

“I’m just committing you to memory.” That soft smirk on his face and the adorable dimple in his cheek.

He crowds your space as you fumble with your keys but you don’t seem to mind as he presses himself into you. Inhaling your scent like you’re going to evaporate into thin air.

You turn in his arms, his lips insistent on yours as he murmurs goodbyes against them. You’re finding it incredibly hard to keep your composure around Francisco Morales.

“So, tomorrow Ben has another fight.” He states as he pulls back.

“Oh I know he invited me again. This time as a guest, no need for pictures.”

He plants another kiss on your cheek. “Good, I’ll pick you up at 7.” He opens your door, inspecting the entryway for surprise intruders and you can’t help but laugh at his authoritative nature.

“Good night Francisco.” You wave him off as he throws one more glance at you and descends your stairs.

****

True to his word Frankie was ready to pick you up sharply at 7 with his charming smile. This was technically your third date and you were determined to ask Frankie to stay over after Ben’s match. You both seemed to buzz with a nervous excitement all night. You relished in the way his hands never left you all night.

His hand on your knee on the drive over. His arm wrapped around you when you arrived at the gym, the protective way he pulls you into him when someone glances at you. You find Santiago immediately ringside and he pulls you both into a tight hug. You don’t miss the way he eyes Frankie’s hand in yours and winks at him earning him a small shove.

Amber sends you an excited wave across the ring with Will and you can’t wait to catch up with her after. You don’t want to get too ahead of yourself but it feels nice to be a part of such a tight knit group of friends.

“Are you nervous?” Frankie leans in close to your ear and you nod against the scruff of his beard. “I know it’s a lot but Ben is something else when he’s in the ring.”

“Plus it never lasts long enough for him to sustain any real damage.” Santiago chimes in from beside Frankie.

The whistles and cheers start as the men enter the ring. Benny bouncing up and down with his arms raised in the air, those signature blue eyes piercing into his opponent. The man is a little shorter than him but looks to have some weight on him. You can see Will and the guys exchange nervous glances to each other and you’re hoping you’re not about to witness Benny’s first loss.

The ref signals the start of the fight and the men dance around each other briefly before Ben takes a hard hit to the ribs, you wince noticing his pain but he quickly recovers as the opponent leans too far into his reach. Benny lands a swift blow to his right eye and it’s almost instantaneous the way it swells up and the man stumbles back.

You turn slightly in Frankie’s hold half way looking at the fight and halfway watching the muscles in his jaw work as they tense up in anticipation of each hit. His hands rub up and down your arms to comfort you as he keeps his eyes trained on the fight. Santiago notices you’re not quite watching so he starts offering his charming commentary to let you know Ben is winning, with your complete lack of knowledge in the sport it’s thoughtful of him. Plus you can tell he just loves the sound of his own voice.

Frankie spins you around to face the ring while Ben stands albeit exhausted but mostly unscathed next to the referee. The other man is knelt over in his corner and you can’t focus on what used to resemble a face for too long. Red and purple bruises are forming already and the coach looks more disgusted at his own fighter than he does at Ben.

“I think they’re gonna call it.” Santi leans in and nudges you while he watches on.

You glance back at Frankie with a bemused look on your face. “And that means….”

Both men just laugh as the ref raises Ben’s arm in triumph and the crowd erupts in a roar of cheers.

“It’s a technical knockout. They usually call this when they’re concerned about the other fighter's safety.” Frankie yells over the noise of the crowd.

You just hum to yourself and send one more glance to the poor man. “That’s definitely for the best.” You reach down and rifle around in your bag before your hands land on your prized possession.

You promptly start taking photos of Ben as he runs around the ring, sweat and grime rolling off his body as he cheers victorious. Frankie eyes you suspiciously as Santiago looks on in delight.

“You’re supposed to be taking the night off.”

“I am.” Ben bounds over to you with his signature pose, wide grin on his face and you snap a photo. “This is for fun.”

“Flash can’t resist taking photos of my beautiful face.” He teases as he leans over the ropes.

“Flash?”

Frankie groans and scrubs his hands down his face.

“It’s your nickname sweetheart, everyone gets one when they’re part of the crew.” Ben tips his head to your camera. “You’re either flashing that thing at me or your gorgeous smile.” He winks at you as a hearty laugh echoes from Santiago.

Frankie points at him and arches a disapproving brow. “I’m gonna need you to quit flirting with my girlfriend.”

“Can’t hear you!” Ben jumps over the ropes and heads towards the lockers with Santiago in tow.

The nickname, Santiago being so nice to you, the admission that you’re part of the crew. Now Frankie is just casually calling you his girlfriend. You’re trying to contain your emotions but it’s mind blowing how fast this is all happening.

Amber and Will join you on the other side as the rest of the crowd starts to disperse. Will eyes Frankie and they walk off to the side as Amber pulls you into a heartfelt hug. She smells like Lemon and Jasmine and you can’t help but wonder if it’s her hair or just her natural scent.

“I hope this doesn’t come off weird but you smell really good.”

She laughs and waves you off. “Not weird at all hon’. I’m glad you said something.” She leans in close, glancing over at Will and Frankie before she continues. “I’ve been running a little experiment the last few weeks, testing different perfumes for the wedding. So far this one has received the most compliments.”

You remember Will mentioning they were engaged but you don’t really have many details about how soon they were planning on tying the knot.

“If I’m being honest.” She bites her lip and mumbles. “We were almost late because of this perfume.”

You try to school your face as she laughs at your obvious awkwardness and you can’t help but join in, delighted in how comfortable she already is with you.

“What are you ladies over here giggling about?” Of course Will chimes in while Frankie trails behind with a mischievous look on his face.

She shrugs as your eyes flick to hers and you both burst into a fit of laughter. You’ll just have to let them wonder as Frankie comes up behind you leaning down to your ear. “We’re going to celebrate, if you don’t want to come-“

“Of course I do!” You exclaim and your excitement catches him off guard a little.

He plants a soft kiss on your cheek and you can hear the teasing from Ben as he reappears freshly changed from the locker rooms.

Amber bumps your hip and takes your hand in hers as you all make your way toward the exit. “I’m glad you’re coming. We have lots to talk about.”

****

Frankie could tell you were nervous on the way to the bar, your fingers tapping gently against the worn leather seats in his truck. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss to your palm to let you know it would be alright and that he would be right by your side. He had to get used to being in this sort of environment early on in his sobriety. The guys had already sacrificed so much for him and he didn’t want them to give up their regular hang out just because he needed to get his shit together. Despite him knowing they would do anything for him, he adjusted fairly easily. The booze never did him any good and only served as a gateway for his other addictions.

If you were being honest you didn’t expect much of a place called Bar None going in. The neon sign flickered outside casting a warm, welcome glow. Amber takes your hand leading you away from the main bar to head towards their usual spot they’ve claimed as their own. You’re greeted by the comforting, familiar aroma of old wood and faint hints of spilled beer. Not all your memories of alcohol reminded you of your mom thankfully. The distinct smell of beer brought back fond memories of lazy sundays with your dad while you sat and watched football.

The room is a tapestry of rich, deep hues-cherry red bar stools and polished mahogany tables glimmer under the vintage hanging lanterns. As you both settle into the booth you can’t help but feel this odd sense of nostalgia. The space feels like a perfect sanctuary from the outside world.

“Better than you expected?” Her voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and you nod in approval.

The bar is bustling tonight with patrons in various states of disarray. Couples on the makeshift dance floor, others deep in boisterous conversations. And Frankie, looking effortlessly handsome as he approaches with a Diet Coke and a glass of ice balanced precariously in one hand and Amber’s drink in the other. He slides into the booth beside you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I hope this is fine.” His voice a soft rumble that you can’t help but smile at as he cracks the can and pours it into the glass.

“Of course it is.”

“I’ll be over at the pool table with the guys. Call me if you need anything.” He gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze as he slides out of the booth.

You catch Amber’s eye as she raises an eyebrow suggestively, but you’re too engrossed in Frankie’s retreating form, his shirt pulled tight against his back and his jeans hug low on his hips.

“You know.” You start, taking a sip of your cold beverage. “I often wonder how that man is single.”

She laughs as she takes a sip of her drink, her gaze flitting briefly to the guys all taking turns shoving Benny, as if he wasn’t just beat up enough. “I used to wonder the same thing about Will.” A brief pause before she focuses her attention on you. “It takes a special kind of person to handle all of their baggage. It was hard at first but, in the end it all worked out.”

She’s considering you at the moment, how much do you really know? To be fair everything is so new that you expect you know as much as you should. You haven’t really divulged too much into your private life yet, both of you wanting to keep things light and fun. You can tell by the way she’s surveying you that it’s a conscious effort to not overstep her boundaries when it comes to Frankie and his personal life. There’s no bit of jealousy or envy when it comes to the fact that she was simply around when their lives were harder and you may not have been offered this opportunity with Frankie if you’d met him any sooner than you did.

“How do you think things are going?” She asks with an inquisitive tone.

“Honestly.” You sigh and she nods awaiting your reply. “Don’t make fun of me, but I think it’s going in the right direction. He’s so genuine, and even when we hang out like this, it feels…right.”

She takes your hand in hers that you didn’t even realize you were tapping against the table. “ It felt like that when I met Will, so I’m really happy for you…for both of you.”

Just then Will eyes her from across the bar and calls his shot, sending the guys into a fit of laughter when he misses by a mile. You turn to her and she’s already looking at you apprehensively when she clears her throat. “ Speaking of Will and I.” Her voice taking on an uncharacteristic nervous tone. “ You can say no if you want, I’ve been dragging my feet on all this wedding stuff. I know it’s a few months away.” Her hands are sweating and she’s taken on a shade of pale you don’t recognize. “ Frankie told me it would be fine, but I know you’re probably really busy with other things.”

“Amber, spit it out.” You said with a nervous laugh.

“Will you be the photographer for our wedding?” It’s all rushed out and she’s most certainly holding her breath as you let out an excited squeal that has most of this side of the bar sending concerned looks.

“Of course, of course.” You embrace her in an awkward hug squeezed into the booth. “ What made you think I would say no?”

She lets out a deep sigh as she relaxes back into the booth sending Will a thumbs up. “ I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you and the Frankie situation.” She says honestly.

“Well, he called me his girlfriend earlier so I think it’s definitely more than a situation.”

Now it was her turn to shriek and you both send apologetic looks over to the pool table.

“You girls are having too much fun over there, I should join you.” Ben’s voice booms across the bar and he flashes that bright smile, he starts to make his way over but is swiftly pulled back by Frankie and Will.

It’s nice to see Frankie laughing and enjoying time with his friends, you and Amber watch them fondly for a few moments while she provides silent commentary about what she thinks is going on.

“Santiago is likely making some bet that he knows he’ll win.”

You laugh as you both watch him animatedly pointing at Frankie with the pool stick.

“Ben’s probably making fun of his height at this point because that’s all he has.”

Ben pats Santi on the head eliciting a small scuffle between the two before Frankie inevitably breaks it up.

It’s so interesting how she has all the inner workings of the group down to a tee and even so she can still see the way Frankie can’t keep his eyes off you. It makes your face warm when he finds your eyes across the room, assessing you to make sure you’re still comfortable.

Frankie’s so focused on you he doesn’t notice the woman approaching the pool table. She’s about Frankie’s height, long brunette hair and an athletic build. The guys all give her tentative hugs before Frankie’s attention is turned away from you. You notice how he freezes, his shoulders tense and Amber’s narration has long stopped.

“Shit.” She curses under her breath and you look at her and notice her wide-eyed stare. Cautiously gauging the situation unfolding in front of her.

“Amber.” You place your hand on her arm to grab her attention. “Who’s that?”

****

“Marissa.” Frankie says through gritted teeth as the guys all slink away to the table. “Funny seeing you here.”

Will sends him one last look to make sure he’s good and Frankie waves him off. He just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“What’s so funny about me being here? It’s a public place Fish.” The sarcasm drips from her tone as she steps closer to him. He can smell the liquor on her breath and it makes his stomach turn. She’s got a glossy stare that lets on she’s done more than drink tonight. “I used to be a part of this remember.”

“You’ve been drinking.” He avoids her mention of their past.

“Oh, Francisco’s on his high horse now that he’s sober.” She mocks him and he can feel the anger bubbling under the surface. The way she clutches her chest and the lipstick smeared across her teeth. This isn’t the woman he used to love, the woman that the guys could count on to have their six.

“You’ve been doing a lot more than drinking, I can tell that much.” She scoffs and looks away, rolling one of the balls into a hole with her hand. She’s got dirt under her fingernails and she’s definitely lost some weight. “Listen….I know we’re not together anymore but I care about you. I think you should start going to meetings ag-“

“Don’t you fucking do that Frankie.” Her finger in his face as she spits out her insults. “I wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for you and my so called friends.”

“Goddamit Marissa!” Frankie rips his cap off, blowing out through his nose. He feels like he could breathe fire. “I don’t do this anymore. I don’t have outbursts or feel like my skin is crawling. I don’t have panic attacks or spend my last dime on a bag of coke.” He punctuates each point with his finger on the pool table beside him.

She rolls her eyes and clicks her teeth. “Oh we know you’ve got more than a few dimes to spend now.”

“Don’t.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. Doing her best to look like a petulant child. That used to work on him but now it just makes his gut churn. “Frankie, honey. I’ll go to meetings if you go with me.”

Her hand settles on top of his and he’s frozen to the spot. He feels like a bucket of water has been dumped on his head. Her clammy hand on top of his and all he can do is stare.

There’s a firm pressure on his back, it starts slowly creeping up his spine until it settles on the back of his neck. It’s soft and grounding like he’s being consumed by the warmth of the sun. He lets out a deep breath as the nails scratch his scalp sending shivers through his body. He can smell the lavender and vanilla and the way it’s Pavlovian to react to the comforting scent that is you.

“Frankie.”

He looks a little like a wild animal when his eyes meet yours, they soften a bit at your touch and you could care less at how the woman is feeling.

“Are you okay?”

He does his best to convey that he’s fine now that you’re here. His lips find yours and he prys his hand away from the one that’s trying to claw its way back into his life.

You turn your attention to the woman, her lips in a tight line and her eyebrows raised as if she’s being inconvenienced by your presence. You assess her for a second, you want to make her squirm. Make her feel as uncomfortable as Frankie looks, and it seems she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself.

Amber gave you a quick rundown when she noticed her from across the bar. When the guys retreated and exchanged glances as the conversation started to get heated Benny offered to break it up. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you exited the booth and told him you’d handle it. A tinge of jealousy and disgust gave you the boost of confidence you needed to confront the situation. Something totally out of your norm but the way the guys looked at you with a sense of pride made you put one foot in front of the other to save your boyfriend from the demons in his past.

She clears her throat. “Hi I’m Marissa, Frankie’s-“

“Ex.” You cut her off with a pleased smile as she looks a little wide eyed.

You can feel Frankie’s eyes on you but you keep your attention on her.

Her extended hand to shake yours hangs awkwardly between you. “So, he’s mentioned me then?” Her arms cross as she leans against the table and Frankie huffs a laugh next to you.

“No actually he hasn’t.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were prepared to say to her when you approached until you saw her hand on top of his and now it’s as if the words are tumbling out before you can stop them.

“I could just tell by the way you felt so comfortable scolding him in a public place.” You gesture to the bar and notice a few eyes on you and the boys watching you from afar. Amber has the most delighted look on her face. “Also by the way you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself I figured there was some history there.”

She tries and fails to school her stunned expression at your boldness, unwilling to back down and dare you say stake your claim.

“You know…I didn’t get your name.” She says and your reply is cut short when Frankie laces his fingers with yours.

“You won’t.” His voice drops dangerously low as he pulls you away from her. “Take care of yourself Marissa.” He means it and telling her it was nice to see her would have been a lie. One last glance over his shoulder and she’s already turned on her heel storming off to the bar.

The guys are quiet when you return, likely waiting for you to tell them what the hell happened, Amber sitting next to Will nervously tapping her fingers on the table.

For your sake Frankie doesn’t let you flounder when he tells them you guys are leaving.

They say their goodbyes and Amber tells you to call her to set up details about the wedding. Frankie looks down at you and relaxes a little. You’re practically beaming at the prospect and he hopes he didn’t completely ruin the night.

****

He’s eerily quiet as he drives to your apartment. Both hands on the wheel, no hand on your thigh.

He’s rattled, a deep scowl on his face as he stares at the lights ahead. You want nothing more than to brush your hand across it, tell him that everything is okay. He lets out a deep sigh every so often and for the first time you see this sad side of him, the side that he keeps locked away and you hope that he’d feel comfortable enough to let you in.

You want to ask him if he’s okay.

You want to tell him that you’d likely respond the same if you ran into your ex. Possibly run for the hills.

It feels weird in the silence of the car and you can only think to reach over and place your hand on his thigh. He tenses at first and glances down briefly, a small gesture that seems even greater to him when he looks over to see you just looking out the window. Knowing it would be too much to look you in the eyes.

He finally releases his white knuckle grip on the wheel to place his hand on top of yours, a quick squeeze to say ‘thank you’.

When your fingers lace with his he knows that everything is fine…he can finally take a full breath.

****

You can feel the apology on the tip of his tongue as he walks you to your doorstep. You can see it in the way he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair. A nervous tell early on, even when he looks at you with those deep brown eyes.

A deep intake of breath from you both before you place your fingers gently on his lips, his eyes wide in surprise but you’re still feeling bold from the encounter at the bar.

“Frankie, you have three options.” He cocks his head to the side, intrigued.

“If you’re not feeling up to talking, we can end the night here. I go inside alone. You go home alone.”

“I’m gonna say no to that option before I hear the rest.” He murmurs against your fingers still placed on his lips and you can’t help but laugh. A glimpse of your Frankie peeking through the cloud Marissa shrouded over the night.

“Option two…you can come inside and we can talk about what just happened. Only if you want.” You didn’t want to automatically assume that he did or did not want to talk about running into his ex and the conversation they had.

He shakes his head, taking a step toward you backing you up against your front door. “Behind door number three?”

“We can go inside…and do something else.” Your voice comes out a little shaky at his close proximity.

His dark eyes drinking you in as he leans down close to your ear. “You gonna tell me what something else means?”

“It means whatever you want.” You practically purr at him. If you were more attentive you’d see the switch.

His hands find your hips, turning you to face your door. “Are you sure you want me to have that much control baby?”

You nod as a slow building desire starts in your core and he doesn’t miss the way you fidget. Rocking slightly to relieve the ache between your thighs.

“I need words hermosa.” His tone demanding the more worked up he’s getting.

The pet names only serving the fan the flames from the previous night. A soft breathy ‘yes’ leaves your lips and before you can wonder how he knows which one he’s taking your keys and unlocking your door. His chest pressed against you walking you inside.

The door slams as Frankie shoves you against it, you can feel how hard he is pressing into your thigh. Your hands slide under his shirt and your mouth is on his neck.

He grabs your wrists in both hands as he tsks under his tongue. Slowly lowering them to your sides with a look on his face of your first and only warning.

He rids you of your shirt and his deft hands make quick work of the button on your jeans as he pulls them down along with your panties. Dropping to his knees along with them as he gently guides you out of them.

You’re shivering at the thought of him being so close, his face level with the slick dripping out of you as he picks up your thigh settling it over his shoulder.

“Fuck, you are soaking wet.” You gasp as his tongue slips through your folds. You moan as he circles your clit and the growl that reverberates through your core when you knock his hat to tug on his hair.

He’s practiced

His tongue dips inside you and the way you say his name he could commit to memory. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” He rasps against your core as you feel that familiar cool tightening so fast.

“How long Frankie?” Your question comes out in short gasps as you drop your head against the door.

He can feel how close you are and his answer is on the tip of his tongue as you break. Your knees threateningly close to giving out until his large palm keeps you pressed upright.

His hand skates up your back, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as he flicks the clasp on your bra.

His mouth trailing hot kisses up your stomach, his tongue circling your nipple to stiff peaks as his hand caresses the other. His lips are on you, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip and you can taste yourself on him. Soft breathy moans as he drowns in you.

You feel exposed as he takes a step back to really look at you. Your body of work of art on display for him as you try to catch your breath.

He’s painfully hard and fully clothed.

“Bedroom.” It’s not a question as you brush by him.

He’s on your heels as you walk down the short hall to your bedroom. The sound of his shirt being tossed to the ground and the clink of his belt buckle as he strips down.

He spins you with one hand and a smirk on his face as your legs hit the bed. It’s slow the way he draws down his boxers and mixture of pride and concern at the look on your face when you see the size of him.

“Fuck me.” A little breathless and louder than you intended. The heat creeps up his neck and spreads to his face when he stalks towards you on the bed.

“You still want this?”

“Yes please.”

His cock twitches at the way you say please. The way you’re so ready to do whatever he says. His mind races to other things he thinks you’ll let him do.

He litters kisses up your body, you feel so good against his palms as he glides them over you, like he can never get enough of just touching you. Every bit of skin is exposed to the soft light in your room.

A soft curse under his breath has you pausing. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control, and it’s been awhile for me.” The nerves starting to build below the surface.

“Me too.” He says honestly and your hand wraps around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

His hands are everywhere and you can’t think straight, all you can focus on is him. How much you need him. How you finally feel needed by someone and not just a toy to be used.

He wants to do this differently. He wants to take his time with you. Savor you and all the sweet noises you make. He wills his hands to slow as you pant against his neck. Reveling in the way he’s already got you so worked up. You’re so sensitive to his touch, the way your nipples perk up at just the slightest touch. The goosebumps on your skin when he trails his lips over your stomach and down your thighs.

You smell like vanilla mixed with him and he wants to bury himself in it, drown in it until he has no more room in his lungs.

You can tell he’s taking his time with you, in a slow almost torturous way. His hands grip your thigh as he raises up, his face level with yours and his eyes are asking for permission or forgiveness you can’t tell the difference in this moment.

You can feel his cock throb where it’s pressed against your stomach, precum leaking from the tip as you reach down to stroke him and he lets out a curse as he lets himself feel you for a moment. Your soft hand wrapped around him as you pump him slowly, deliberately.

“Fuck.” He stills your hand. “I can’t let you keep doing that querida.”

You giggle and it makes his heart swell. Even now how desperate you are for each other and still there’s a playfulness to you. Something he’s always wanted, not just sex but -this.

Your hands fall back beside your head as your hips chase him impatiently. You’re beautiful like this, laid out for him. If he were a more patient man he’d snap a photo for him to keep. His mind could never forget the image of you anyway.

“Frankie.” You whine. “I need you.”

He leans down over you, his lips pressed to yours as he lines himself up. He can feel you tense briefly as he sinks into you on a soft exhale. “You have me.”

His hips start to move slowly as he trails kisses down your jaw to your neck and chest. The stretch of him is a lot at first, you whimper as he waits for you to relax into it. Your legs wrapped around his waist and your hands fisted in his hair as he steadily picks up the pace.

It’s the only sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. His name leaving your lips in short gasps as he pounds into you. Trying to pour every feeling of those words that are too soon to say yet he wants to so badly. The way you arch your back, your skin on his as tears spring in your eyes.

“Frankie please.”

“Please what baby.” His voice gravelly with desire because he already knows what you need.

His hands work their way between your bodies as he circles your clit in swift motions. You didn’t think it possible to come this many times in one night. No one has ever cared to meet your needs the way Frankie is.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes, Frankie so close.” You pant out

“Good girl, come for me and then I’m gonna fill you up.”

He nips at your jaw as you spread your hands down the length of his back, pulling him closer to you.

His filthy words and the steady drag of him send you over the edge. Your whole body tenses and shudders as you cry out coming undone at his skilled touch. You’re clenching around him so tight he doesn’t know how he can even move. A few short thrusts and he’s spilling into you, moaning your name.

It’s blinding the way he feels as he collapses into you, he’s trying to fill his lungs with air as your hands work through his hair and your lips meet his temple. You don’t seem in any rush to stop this feeling, his grounding weight on your body as you both lay tangled in each other.

“Thank you.” He says sincerely. He chokes on the words he really wants to say.

“I should be thanking you Frankie.” You brush his damp hair away from his face. “That was amazing.” You bite your lip not wanting to say more and ruin the moment.

His lips meet yours in a chaste kiss before he rolls off you. Thankful for the light still on in your room so you can really get a good look at him. Your eyes flutter closed as you hear the sound of water running and the ringing of the towel.

Your heart cracks open a little more at the thought of never having someone take care of you like this. When he returns to wipe you down and place a soft kiss to your forehead before climbing back in. Pulling you close to him as you bury your face in his chest.

It’s not long before he can hear your light snores, he reaches over to flick off the lamp as he murmurs ‘I love you.’ To the crown of your head.

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