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Veneration - A Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Living in a world with no sound, you meet an incredible man who is able to communicate with you on a deeper level, transcending spoken words.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair. Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear.)

Word Count: 6.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering/Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear/mentions of scars/alcohol consumption/burly men fighting in a ring for sport.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The sultry night air of the Floridian dusk hangs swampy over the bustling streets, thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you and your rag-tag bunch of friends amble your way towards the local arena.

The palm-fringed boulevards are slowly dyed in pastel pinks and golden hues from the setting sun as you navigate through the gritty streets and wayward bodies, their conversations echoing off the walls around you like shards of shattered glass.

Each fragment carries a piece of the shrapnel cacophony that threatens to pierce through the fragile barrier of your senses. The discordant strains of country music from a nearby honky-tonk drifts through the crackled air as you pass, their twangy melodies a familiar backdrop to the rhythm of everyday life in Fort Walton Beach.

You catch jarred snippets of conversation as you struggle to keep pace, the incessant buzzing in your ear like a droning hornet where your aid is kicking up a stink; the constant hum of static and feedback grates on your nerves like sandpaper rubbed furiously against your ear canal.

It’s been doing this for a while and you really should get a new one, chastising yourself for your put off till tomorrow mantra. The aid emits a disconcerting array of noises as it’s been slowly malfunctioning, enduring weeks of pitchy screeches and low humming din.

It started with a subtle crackling, like the static of a radio searching for a signal between undecided stations. Then accompanied by intermittent bursts of high-pitched metallic screams, akin to feedback from a microphone placed too close to a speaker.

Occasionally, you’ll hear distorted fuzzes of conversation or ambient sounds either unbearably loud, or warped and muffled as if heard underwater. These fragmented noises only add to your frustration, teasing you with glimpses of the auditory world that lies just beyond your reach without your trusty hearing aid.

As the malfunction worsens, the noises grow more erratic and pronounced, escalating into a chaotic riot of glitches and distortions. It’s as if your hearing aid is rebelling like a stroppy teenager and plunging you into a whirlwind of loud and jarring sounds that make you physically jump.

You wince as the noise grows louder, accompanied by unpredictable bursts of high-pitched squeals that bore into your skull down to the frayed nerves of your teeth.

"Is everything okay?" One of your friends asks, concern evident in their hazy voice as they throw you a glance over their shoulder.

Or at least you assume that’s what they say, on the account of the incessant squealing going on inside your only ear canal.

You force a smile, trying to push aside the discomfort. "Just a little pitchy," you reply, using your hands to convey the words as you sound them out, barely able to hear your voice and hoping to downplay the severity of the situation.

But if anything you’re expecting it to get worse, especially in the arena. The prospect of navigating the crowds in there with your errant device fills you with frenetic dread.

You would’ve preferred to have been sequestered away this evening, curled around a book and a nice glass of wine, slobbing it out in comfy sweats. Instead your friends have rail-roaded you into an impromptu night out, snatching up tickets to an MMA fight. Something you have no interest in whatsoever.

However the constant peer pressure in the group chat had forced you - seemingly at gunpoint - to embark on this manic adventure into uncharted territory of brawny muscle and sweat.

It's going to be so much fun! They’d exclaimed, their eyes shining with anticipation, and you feigned an enthused nod back when they’d picked you up.

They’re not bad people, you love that they want to include you so much, even if it can be mildly suffocating at times. But occasionally, your friends can make assumptions about your abilities that leave you feeling frustrated and misunderstood.

Born with only one functional ear, you’ve never known the stereo sound that most people take for granted. Instead, you navigate the world with one - the other not formed in the womb and blessing you with a little fleshy nubbin in place of a full ear, that your mom still to this day calls cute, even though you’re a fully grown ass woman - and relying on your other senses to fill the void left by your deafness.

Why don't you just turn up your hearing aid? They’ll ask, not realising that your device can't "fix" your deafness entirely, or that it often struggles to filter out loud background noise. There’s no happy medium - you either hear far too much or not enough with it.

You strain to follow their conversations amidst the cacophony of voices and background sounds bleeding in at the best of times. But despite your efforts, you’re often struggling to keep up, and it creates a sense of frustration building inside you.

Your friends can often forget to speak clearly, or to face you directly when speaking, making it difficult for you to follow along if you can't lip read. And though you know that your scatterbrain chums love you dearly, there are moments when their lack of awareness about accessibility leaves you feeling isolated and unseen.

Despite these challenges, you cherish your friendships deeply. You know that their intentions are always rooted in love and kindness, even if they sometimes fall short of understanding the unique experiences and needs associated with your deafness.

And venues with loud noises are probably the worst places they drag you to.

You know all too well the challenges that await you in environments like nightclubs - throbbing music, flashing lights, and crowded dance floors - all of which threaten to overload your already strained senses. More often than not, you go along anyway despite your reservations, not wanting to dampen their spirits or, more importantly, feel left out.

But moments like those are a stark reminder of the invisible barriers you face as someone living with hearing loss. Trying to steer the world around you, there are times when the overwhelming sensory input threatens to engulf you entirely, leaving you feeling alone in a crowd of well-meaning friends.

Your journey with hearing loss hasn't just impacted your friendships - it’s also left its mark on your romantic encounters. Over the years, you’ve experienced your fair share of heartaches as you've traversed the complexities of love and intimacy. Encountered many partners who struggled to understand the daily realities of living with hearing loss. Some were well-meaning but clueless, their attempts at communication often falling flat as they failed to grasp the nuances of your unique experiences.

Others were less understanding, their impatience and frustration bubbling to the surface whenever you struggled to hear or communicate effectively. And you’d endured countless arguments and misunderstandings, your self-esteem taking a hit with each passing day as you wondered if you’d ever find someone who truly accepted you for who you are.

But despite the setbacks and disappointments, you refuse to give up hope. The right person will come along. At some point.

As you reach the entrance to the moderately local and small arena, your patience reaches its breaking point as a loud, shrill screech rips through your ear making you audibly grumble.

Crowds of enthusiastic spectators, dressed in an array of attire, ranging from casual jeans to flashy sequined dresses, stream towards the entrance, their excitement palpable in the air. Inside, the atmosphere crackles with anticipation and mingles with the faint scent of sweat and spilled beer.

The walls are adorned with posters advertising past events, their colours faded with age, but their messages still bold and enticing. The floor is scuffed and worn from years of use and mildly sticky under the soles of your sneakers.

At the centre of it all stands the ring, bathed in a chalky spotlight that illuminates the weathered canvas like a stage awaiting its performers. Despite its moderate size, the arena is filled to the brim with eager fight fans, their voices rising in anticipation as they await the evening's main grapple event.

Your friends scatter, some heading for the bar, others pulling you with them further into the crowd as it grows. As the arena lights dim, casting shadows across the sea of faces around you, two fighters emerge from opposite corners of the ring, their presence commanding attention.

And it’s at this moment your aid decides to completely flip out as you clutch your head in searing pain.

With little choice and a swift motion, you reach in and pluck the offending device from your ear, relief flooding through you as the noise abruptly ceases. In the absence of the chaotic glitches and distortions, your ear strains to detect even the faintest whisper of sound.

The world around you seems to lose its shape and form, dissolving into a hazy blur of muted colours and indistinct shapes. The perpetual silence that now greets you is jarring and disorienting, encountering a profound emptiness, a void where once there had been a relentless assault on your senses, now reduced to a fuzzed quiet.

Despite the presence of people milling about around you, you suddenly feel utterly alone, trapped in a silent prison of your own making.

With each passing moment, your perception of the world shifts, shrinking away from you almost, your other senses recalibrating to the newfound peace that envelops you.

Your friend nudges you and points to the ring, mouthing words at you that you can’t read from their lips in the dark shadows, or hear. So you shrug and point to your broken aid in your fingers, and they pout sympathetically at you, turning their gaze back to the ring, leaving you somewhat bereft.

With little else to do, you watch the fight full of disdain. The first fighter, a towering figure with muscles rippling beneath his skin, exudes confidence with every step.

His jaw is set in determination, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his opponent and honey hair slicked back. Your friend nudges you again, silently giggling and you assume it’s because she thinks he’s attractive and you roll your eyes with a lazy smirk.

With lightning-fast reflexes, the fighter launches himself forward, unleashing a flurry of punches aimed at his opponent's defences. His fists move like pistons, each strike packed with raw power and precision and it makes you wince.

The atmosphere reaches a fever pitch, the crowd erupting into silent cheers and applause around you with each punch exchanged between the combatants.

You find yourself swept up in the spectacle, eyes fixed on the action unfolding before you and imagining how bad those punches must sound. You can feel the energy of the crowd pulsating through you, a primal rhythm that resonates on a visceral level as you glance about at focused faces pulled back into enthusiastic snarls and fists pumping the air.

You reach for your purse slung across your shoulder, intending to stow the broken hearing aid away until you can have it replaced.

But just as you’re about to tuck it safely inside, a sudden jolt sends you stumbling forward, your fingers losing their grip on the fragile device.

Time seems to slow as you watch in horror as the hearing aid slips from your grasp, tumbling down into a dark sea of denim clad legs.

No!

Desperately, you reach out to grab the falling device, but it’s too late. Your hearing aid lands on the hard floor, disappearing amidst the crowd of stamping spectators.

Heart pounding, you push your way through, frantically searching for any sign of it. But amidst the chaos and darkness of the arena, it’s impossible to spot.

You turn to get your friends' attention but they're not there, realising you’ve been swept further into the crowd and closer to the ring as it surges. You can’t spot their faces so obviously and it starts to panic you.

Fighting your way through towards a gap, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder and turn abruptly to see a man standing before you.

He’s holding out the broken aid in what seems to be a gigantic palm, with a sympathetic expression.

The silence suddenly becomes deafening, save for the gentle thudding felt in your chest.

With rugged tan features softened by a warm smile, his face is lined with bronzed skin and a dusting of stubble across his jawline that’s greying in patches.

A well-groomed moustache adorns his upper lip. Beneath a worn, navy baseball cap, tufts of brown curls peek out, framing his face in a halo of unruly waves.

His eyes, a piercing dark brown, sparkle with a hint of mischief behind the steely gaze.

With a mixture of relief and trepidation, you accept the aid, your fingers trembling as you inspect the damage. The casing is cracked, the delicate components exposed to the harsh arena lights as they strobe.

Before you can try to communicate your thanks, the man’s hands move with a fluid grace as he offers his assistance.

“Are you okay?” He signs to you, his eyes full of concern.

You raise your eyebrows back with a stunned look. With a shaky smile and nodding, you sign back, “thank you.”

The man's eyes remain fixed on you as you finally tuck the aid into your purse for safekeeping and then sigh in defeat, noting his expression is one of genuine concern.

He signs again, his hands moving with confidence through the air. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You keep his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "I don't think so." You sign back, your hands moving hesitantly as you try to convey your frustration. "It's broken."

"I'm sorry it got damaged." He signs.

Despite your immense disappointment, you can't help but feel a sense of warmth towards the stranger who’s come to your assistance.

"Thank you for finding it, I really appreciate it," you sign, your hands moving with more confidence.

A smile tugs at the corners of the man's lips as he signs back. "Of course. I'm glad I could." His eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as he adds, "can I buy you a drink to make up for the disappointment at least?"

Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected offer. You hesitate for a moment, throwing a glance over your shoulder for one last look for your friends, before nodding, a shy smile playing at your lips.

"Sure. I'd like that," your hands betray your nervousness as they dance through the air.

He leads you through the crowd, throwing a smile back over his shoulder as you follow him to the bar.

“Do you drink beer?” He asks with his fingers shaping into words.

“A beer would be great.” You nod.

You watch as he leans in over the bar to the tender and fishes his wallet out from his back pocket. Your eyes take to wandering over his broad frame swathed in a mustard corded jacket and long legs in scuffed denim. He offers you a red plastic cup and you thank him.

“Are you deaf, too?” You tentatively ask him.

He shakes his head and his expression softens as he responds, “I learned ASL in the military.”

“Oh, the army?”

“Yeah. Or I was. Retired now.”

You smile. “Were you based at Eglin?”

“Yeah, sometimes. More away than at home though.” He nods over to the ring as the two guys are still going at it and signs some more. "Are you enjoying the fight?"

“My friends dragged me out. It’s not really my thing.” You sign with a crooked chuckle.

He nods, smiling. “Yeah, me either. My friend is in the fight. The one in blue. His brother coaches him, we were all in the army together. Show of camaraderie, I guess. I dunno, I’ve seen enough violence.” He shrugs and then sips his beer.

His eyes dart towards the ring and then back at you where he smiles again. You can feel yourself warming all over, captivated by the man before you, drawn to the quiet strength and undeniable charisma that seems to emanate from every fibre of his being.

He exudes an effortless coolness that belies his military background, while his easy demeanour suggests a man comfortable in his own skin.

But it’s his smile that truly sets him apart, a crooked grin that lights up his face as you both peep and gaze curiously at one another. There's a sincerity to his expression that draws you in, a sense of kindness around a prominent hooked nose, and compassion that transcends the rugged exterior.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, my name’s Francisco.” He signs.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself back and he smiles at your name.

“My friends call me Frankie. Or Catfish.” He spells out with thick fingers.

“Catfish? Do I even want to know?” You query.

“Callsign, mostly.” He smirks with glittery eyes. “Do you have anyone that can fix your aid?”

You shrug. “I’ve been meaning to get a new one. Might finally force me to now.”

He nods as he sups at his beer, wet pink lips shining at you as he licks foam from them.

Your breath catches in your throat, coming in shallow gasps as you struggle to compose yourself in the presence of this captivating man who won’t stop looking at you.

“Will your friends be missing you?” You enquire, swallowing through a dry throat no matter how much cool beer you gulp down.

He shakes his head, reaching an arm up to scratch idly at the back of it as he repositions his cap.

“No. Too busy with Benny.” He nods over to the ring. “Will yours be missing you?”

“Probably not.” you sign dismally, aware that you can see them now in the crowd and they're all enthralled in the fight, completely unaware you’re missing.

“Good. Then we can have another drink together.” Frankie signs smiling, and you nod eagerly, feeling dizzy with tingly anticipation.

As the fights unfold in the ring, you and Frankie find yourselves drawn together for most of the night at the bar, engaged in silent conversation and signing with an ease that colours your recent acquaintance vividly.

With each swift and confident exchange, you delve deeper into your experience of navigating a world you can’t hear most of the time.

You learn that Frankie is completely fluent in American Sign Language, due to his time in a division in the army he calls Delta Force, explaining it was crucial for missions where he had to be completely silent, while Frankie discovers that you’ve been deaf since birth.

You talk about music and favourite bands, leaning into the commonality of being Fleetwood Mac aficionados. You both love dogs and loathe cats, and he doesn’t have children, but has a nephew he adores like his own, and shows you a goofy picture of the two of them pulling faces as his phone lock screen.

Despite the intensity of the fight unfolding before you, you’re both immersed in your own shared bubble, the fluid movements of your hands and smiles a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd around you both.

And you find that neither of you can stop smiling at one another. When Frankie smiles at you, it's like a burst of warmth illuminating the dimly lit arena like a solar flare. His eyes, alight with genuine kindness, crinkle at the corners into layered crow’s feet as his lips curve into a gentle, yet enticing arc.

And you feel a connection blooming between you as you discover common ground, unlike any you’ve experienced before. He makes you laugh, you feel it from the depths of your belly as it vibrates at the back of your throat.

He winks as he smirks at you, his dark chocolaty eyes linger on yours over the rim of his red plastic cup, that seems so tiny in his giant hands. He’s felt gently on your lower back, palm guiding you in closer to him to avoid getting knocked into by over-zealous patrons, and he smells so amazing up close.

The enticing scent of cloves and leather, like stepping into a well worn, yet loved jacket. Something spicy lingers under it, tickling your nose with its warm sweetness.

Your friends eventually find you at the bar as the lights come up a little later, and one realises you haven't got your aid in when you sign to greet them.

“Are you ready to leave?” They sign back to you and you turn towards Frankie hesitantly to say your farewell.

“Actually, if you want, we could go get a bite to eat? I could drop you home later?” He suggests to you with adept hands, much to your friends’ surprise as they observe the both of you communicating in ASL quickly and confidently.

Smiling, and wanting nothing more than to spend more time with him too, you nod at him before turning to your friends.

“I’m gonna stay with Frankie for a bit. You guys go on ahead. Talk to you later.” You sign to them.

“Get it, girl.” One of them mouths and you smirk, hoping he doesn’t lip read too.

Together, you both decide to head to a nearby burger joint, drawn in by the promise of hearty comfort food and casual ambiance.

And Frankie reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers in his through the crowds as the arena empties, and doesn’t actually let go until you’re sliding into the booth opposite him in the diner.

Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, thrumming in time with the rapid beat of your heart as you find yourself drawn inexorably closer to the explicitly gorgeous man before you.

Finding a cosy setting near the window, you both settle in, your silent conversation flowing effortlessly as you peruse the menu; the scent of sizzling beef and toasted buns wafting through the air.

Your mouth waters at the thought of sinking your teeth into a juicy burger piled high with all the fixings, while Frankie's eyes light up at the prospect of indulging in some chilli cheese fries on the side to share.

As Frankie places the order with the waitress, you find yourself feeling more relaxed and at ease than you have in a long time. There's something comforting about the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with a new friend, the warmth of your connection filling the air alongside the aroma of freshly cooked cow.

His easy laughter and genuine warmth, coupled with the ability to engage with you confidently in ASL, makes him seem like the perfect companion, someone who understands you in a way that few others do.

He’s insanely attractive too, older and wiser, the grey in his beard indicating he might be in his mid-forties, a small swell of his tummy overhangs his jeans straining against the grey t-shirt underneath, as he sits back in the booth regarding you with a smile as you sign and share jokes. And he's so broad that it makes your insides clench each time your eyes skim over his shoulders.

But then you can't help but feel a flicker of self-consciousness creep in when he gently asks about your ear. A little nubbin of stumped skin revealed as you brush your hair past it, realising that you’ve forgotten all about it - so caught up in the connection you share that it no longer seems to matter.

But it's a part of yourself that you’ve spent years trying to hide, tucking it away beneath the layers of your hair like a secret you’re ashamed to reveal.

You brace yourself for his reaction, half-expecting a look of pity or discomfort to cross his face. But instead, you’re met with a warm smile and a gentle touch as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair away.

Frankie signs with a tender reassurance. "You don't have to hide it from me. I think you’re beautiful."

You smile, feeling incredibly heated as you reach for your drink.

"You know," he signs, "I used to be a little self-conscious about something too."

Curiosity flickers in your eyes as you watch him sign. "Really?" You respond.

"Yeah. I was serving in the army," he begins, his gaze somewhat distant as he recalls the memories. "There was an explosion. I was lucky to survive, but I was pretty messed up. Ended up with horrific scarring from the burns. Had to have a skin graft.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the gravity of his words. You can't imagine the horrors he must have endured, the pain and suffering etched into every line of his tired, yet striking, face.

And yet, there's a strength and resilience in Frankie that you find utterly captivating - a bravery that shines through in the way he holds himself, despite the scars he carries, even if they’re not outwardly obvious.

"You're a hero," you sign, your hands trembling slightly with emotion. "Thank you for your service, soldier."

“Actually, it’s captain.” He simply salutes at you, fingers brushing the rim of his cap with a buoyant smirk and then a little wink as the waitress puts down your plates in front of you both.

“Captain Catfish.” You salute back, chuckling.

You watch Frankie take a big bite of his burger, and your laughter suddenly bubbles up from deep within your chest. It's not his charming smile or his witty banter that elicits this sudden burst of amusement - it's the way he eats his pickle.

With a playful twinkle in his eye, Frankie takes a dramatic bite of the pickle, exaggerating the crunch with an over-the-top flourish. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he chews, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but laugh at the sight, your heart swelling with affection for this man who seems to delight in the simple pleasures of life. In that moment, watching him enjoy his pickle with such gusto, you feel yourself falling hard for him already.

“What?” He mouths with a curious grin.

“I can’t stand pickles.” You wrinkle your nose after sticking your tongue out in mock disgust, as he wipes his furry lips with a napkin.

“Oh, shit…” he signs. You watch his smile dip and you query as to what’s wrong with that statement.

“Well,” Frankie signs with deeply intense eyes, “if I taste of pickles, it means you won’t enjoy it when I kiss you.”

You baulk. “You… want to kiss me?”

He nods with a gleam. “I mean, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

You put your half-eaten burger down on your plate, completely stunned and feeling even more hot. Suddenly stifling inside the diner.

His casual declaration sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, mingled with a hint of nervousness that quickens your breath and sets your pulse racing again.

There's a magnetic pull between you, a chemistry that you can't ignore. You can't shun the way your skin prickles, all the way down your spine, how you’re squeezing your thighs together under the table so much that it throbs and feels delicious at the thought of him in between them.

You can’t deny that you haven't thought about kissing him yourself all night as your eyes drop to his lips as he licks them free of salt and ketchup.

You want to know what he’ll taste like, how that moustache will feel against your lips, how his scruff will feel between your thighs.

How gentle he’ll kiss you, how hard he’ll fuck you…

You sense he’s thinking the same thing because Frankie plops his burger down on his plate too and suggests getting out of here, to which you’re only too eager to agree.

And outside, Frankie makes good on his word about kissing you as he pulls you back gently by the elbow, cups your face in his giant hands and presses his lips to yours.

The taste of each other is a sweet and heady blend of anticipation and desire. You taste the faint remnants of the burgers, mixed with the tang of Frankie's salty breath from the pickle, and the subtle hint of his cologne.

It's a delicious concoction that fills your senses, leaving you craving more and melding yourself to him with every passing moment.

Frankie's gentle touch traces patterns along your spine, the warmth of his skin pressing against you as he envelops you closer to him; his wet and explorative tongue circling around your own and your toes buzzing as you stand on tiptoes to reach him.

Pulling away, and smirking, he signs if you want to go back to his place or to yours. You suggest yours, more for your own comfort and he agrees, taking your hand and leading you back to his Pickup.

Once inside your home, it’s a frantic tug of removing clothes in between hot, wet kisses and tangles of trembling limbs. Your hands trail over his smooth, bronzed skin, card through his curls after knocking his cap off, and his own hands squeeze your hips and ass greedily.

“You okay? Is this too fast?” Frankie signs, eyes dilated and lips plushly swollen from bruising kisses.

You shake your head and signal that you want to continue. That you want him here. That you just want him inside of you.

You barely make it up the stairs, stopping as you both fumble and tug at clothes and grope hot flesh. Crashing on the bed, you watch breathlessly as he pulls your jeans and panties off, kissing up the insides of your thighs.

Propped up in the pillows, you watch him keenly between your legs as he slowly makes out with your skin.

Kissing and mouthing over your thighs as he pushes them up and apart, opening you up for him. Running his nose around and inhaling over your mound as his eyes flick up to you, dark and chasm-like as he smirks insidiously.

Frankie looks up at you as his tongue glides slowly through your folds, big brown eyes glazed darkly as your fingers twist inside his messy curls. Adept wet tongue rolling softly, but purposefully, over the throbbing nub of your clit, and you gasp as your legs shake on his broad shoulders, a jolt of electricity speeding through them.

“You taste so good,” he signs with his fingers quickly before nuzzling his nose against your pussy again.

His grip around your thighs tighten as he delves deeper, tongue dipping into your hole and sliding all the way up to your clit.

You sigh out, head lolling back as your body shudders. He sucks intensely, lips vacuumed around it as you can feel his tongue gliding back and forth over it in his mouth.

You pull tighter on his hair, panting and feeling the coil tighten and pull inside your core.

He looks up at you again as his middle finger slides into you with ease, you’re soaked. He nods at you with a raised brow and mouths “good?” around shiny lips.

You nod with a breathy smile and gasp as he slides in another, using his fingers to pry you open so he can stroke and fuck whilst he licks and sucks.

You moan out as he pumps and licks at your pussy, bringing you to a giddy and twinkly orgasm as you shake and buck, pulling tighter on his curls. Your thighs thrum around his head, and he watches you whilst latched to your cunt, spilling warm slick into his mouth.

You tug his chin towards you, soft scruff soaked, devouring his mouth with yours as you whine and taste yourself around his lips.

You reach for his belt before he pulls away, leaving you chasing the ghost of his kiss as he stands.

Shucking his jeans off your eyes fall onto the large cluster of scars that adorn the left side of his hip, thigh and lower leg. Puckered white slashes that mar his tanned flesh, and he smiles softly at you as you reach out to stroke over them.

Faded, craggy lines in his skin as he strokes through your hair and his thumb brushes back and forth against your little nubbin for an ear.

"Beautiful," he mouths at you with soft eyes as the feel of it makes your skin tingle.

Glancing up at him, he’s biting his lip; eyes dark like oil as he guides your hand across his hip to the thick cock tenting in his boxers.

He’s so hard as you stroke and squeeze gently, a dark patch soiling his boxers where he’s leaking arousal into them.

Frankie submits as you pull him down onto the bed and crawl over him, kissing over his chest into the soft swell of his stomach. Mouthing and stroking explorative digits over his golden skin.

Flat and spread with his neck craning up to watch you reveal him - a swollen, tanned cock with a pink, dripping head. Lips curling back over incisors as he watches you lick over the swollen tip of him and you groan in delight at his taste.

You can see him gasping, lips parted in a small ‘o’ as he breathes, watching you suck him down.

You wish so much that you could have your aid in right now to hear the noises he’s making. You can see him, head back on the pillow, mouth open and eyes closed in bliss as his cock fills your mouth whilst you suck and lick all around it.

You feel his fingers snake in your hair until he pulls you upright and kisses you, tongues knotted together again.

“Fuck me, Frankie.” You sign quickly with abject need.

Rolling with you, he lines up, guiding himself into you with a gentle shunt forward of his hips and you gasp.

“Too much?” He mouths at you and you instantly shake your head and grip his ass, pulling him into you.

“So good,” you mouth back to him and he smiles.

Your hands frame his hips, feeling the change in skin texture from his scars. Feeling them work as he drives in deep, curls tickling your nose as his forehead rests on yours, breath pelting your face.

You look down between you to see his cock continually disappearing inside you and he feels so good as he bottoms out inside you, not quite believing this is actually happening.

Until it happens.

A wave crashing into you, warm and tingling as your body arches into him, your grip becoming tighter and your back sweating as you shake and tense before uncoiling. Letting go as your orgasm takes you and flings you up into the ether.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple, his scruff silken against your cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and grip harder on his ass as you pant and see stars behind your eyes.

He flattens his palms on the bed and works faster, hitting that spot inside you that makes you cry out louder.

Frankie slows down to kiss you, grinding his hips so your clit brushes against that soft thatch of hairs at the base of him. He can’t stop kissing you as he gently thrusts, lips gliding over your mouth, your cheeks, your throat. His patchy beard brushing against your ear, your eyelashes… he’s everywhere.

You cling onto him, hands splayed and fingers digging into broad, toned flesh as you build. He smiles as you squirm, blissed brown peepers and a crooked grin flashing at you as your breathing and gasping intensifies.

Cock bringing you to the edge once more and he watches the moment you leap off and fly. He mouths the word “beautiful” again at you before you clutch his face, shaking and kissing him desperately.

You nod at him as you watch him strain, and the tension in his neck and shoulders tightens. You mouth the word “come” and his mouth opens, baring teeth as his lips curl back.

Frankie looks incredible when he comes, biting down on those flush lips, veins in his neck bulging. His grip on you becomes tighter, his hips fucking you more frantic as his mouth slacks and his eyes roll back.

You see him utter the word “fuck” and it sends shockwaves to your core. "Inside?"

You nod frantically wanting him to fill you up.

He pulls out slightly and grabs a hold of his cock as it pumps inside you, pulling out so just the tip stays inside, flooding you. Watching in awe as it drips around your hole and uses his fingers to scoop it up and push it back inside as he leans over you for a kiss.

Flopping down beside you, you ask him if he wants to stay, and he nods with flushed cheeks and pulls you into his broad arms as he crushes you to him.

“You better not hog the duvet,” you sign to him, and you feel his chest rumble under you as he laughs.

Splayed, untamed curls stick out in all directions and he’s never looked so good, and you wonder how these events have transpired over the course of the last few hours where you’re tucked up in his arms, still twitching from an intense slew of orgasms.

"I really like you," he signs with a sleepy smile.

"I really like you too." You sign back.

You lay there, noses nuzzling as Frankie’s fingers stroke across your navel until you finally succumb to sleep.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains, you slowly begin to stir from a satiated slumber; your other senses gradually awakening to the world around you.

As you stretch and yawn, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you - a snug warmth that lingers from the heady events of the night before, and emanates from the broad body beside you.

You stir to see Frankie propped up on an elbow and gazing down at you, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. His fingers are in your hair, stoking gently over the nub of your ear delicately.

You allow yourself to bask in it for a few moments, not shying away or worried about covering it up. Just revelling in the feel of his gentle, unabashed touch.

“Morning,” you sign to him with sleepy eyes.

“I have something for you,” he signs back, reaching behind him and presenting you with an open palm.

Resting on it now is your hearing aid. The casing is still cracked, but all the components and wires are tucked safely back inside.

"I hope you don't mind," Frankie signs, "I fixed it for you this morning while you were sleeping. I have a few tools kicking about in my truck. It’s not a permanent fix, was fiddly as hell, but it should help you out until you get your new one at least..."

A surge of gratitude floods your heart as you take the hearing aid from him with awe, your fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device with a sense of wonder.

“You fixed it?” You sign, completely floored.

“Well, I hope I did.” He signs back, sheepishly. You watch as he scratches under his jaw lazily and smiles at you. “Put it in, let’s see.”

With trembling fingers, you place the hearing aid in your ear, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for the moment of truth.

And then, as if by magic, the world around you slowly fuzzes alive with familiar sounds - the soft rustle of the sheets, the distant chirping of birds through the open window, the gentle rhythm of Frankie’s breathing beside you.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Frankie smiles eagerly at you.

As you hear his voice for the first time, you’re struck by its exquisite tone and timbre, like the gentle strumming of a finely tuned guitar. There's a deep richness to it, a depth that resonates within you, rain on gravel, velvet against skin.

“Hey,” you reply with a widening smile. “So good to finally hear you.”

“You too. But I’m just grateful you didn’t hear me snore.” Frankie chuckles, and you giggle with him as he nuzzles into you.

“Thank you,” you say before he kisses you, igniting sparks inside your chest again as he rolls on top of you, body warm and blanketing you.

"It was nothing, really."

“No, it's everything." You smile as he brushes his nose against yours. "Can I make you some breakfast, as a way of thanks?” You ask him as you feel his lips run over your neck, teeth gently nipping at the flesh there and hearing him hum out is exquisite.

“I’d love that.” His breath is all hot and muffled against your throat.

You can feel the thickness of him slipping between your soaked folds, grunting deeply as he slides back in, filling you up once more - a delicious, deep sound that reverberates and floods every nerve of your being.

Your world is alight with colour once more with the way he whines as you scratch inside his roots. The way he snuffles against your skin as he sucks in mouthfuls of it.

The sounds of him cursing through his pleasure, "fuck, baby," and "you feel so fuckin' good around my cock." His filth is exquisite.

You cry out as he fills you full, fingers grappling against his skin and mewling his name in hypnotic chants as he drives deep and hard. You can't get enough and never want to let him go.

“Mmm, I think this is a good way you can thank me right now, hermosa...”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Frankie, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier fic #bodies series #diversity #inclusion #every body is beautiful #jett's writing

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morallyinept · 17 hours

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i just wanted to say that i absolutely love your bodies collection, all of those story feel so real and i always feel so giddy reading them!

thank you jet for making those stories! <3

Hey Lovely Non! 🖤

Oh gosh, thank you so much! 🥹 This makes me so happy to know that you're enjoying them and they make you feel giddy!

Love you! 🖤

#jett's asks #bodies series #nons you wanna smooch #pedro pascal characters

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morallyinept · 18 hours

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I wanted to scream at her to ditch Nick and go home and eat ice cream with Frankie! 🤭🖤

Barking up the Wrong Tree – Part Three

Series Summary/Description – Frankie is your neighbor and crush, but he’s not dating. It still doesn’t break his heart while he watches you go through some awful dates of your own and struggle with your ex-husband. Why won’t you see that you deserve more?

Triggers/Warnings – 18 and over please – Light Abusive relationship, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, single parenting, mentions of recovering drug abuse, angst, sexual content, possible sexual content to come, will add warnings to chapters as needed. It’s important to include anything that’s remotely triggering.

Word Count – 6,630

Masterlist

Previous Chapter/Series Masterlist/Next Chapter

Part 3

Tag list - @pimosworld @southernbe @casa-boiardi @lola8888673 @anoverwhelmingdin

Frankie starts to clean up the kitchen by putting away the melting ice cream and saves the thin mint crumbs, hoping you’ll be back to help him eat them. He has high hopes of future movie and pizza nights.

Frankie drops to a squat and eyes his countertop and runs his thumb over the tiny indent from your unrelenting pounding on its surface with his mallet. Rather than being upset about it, he sees it as a nice souvenir, maybe something you can both laugh about later on.

Once everything is cleaned up, Frankie decides to go to bed, he’s exhausted, and he know he has to get up early and start a long day of flight lessons. The weekends are usually packed with students but that means he’s able to pick Olivia up from school, do homework and generally be the father he’s wanted to be the moment he found out he would become one. It took him a longer to get to that place, but he wasn’t going to do anything that might jeopardize his progress.

Frankie goes through his bedtime routine which includes some reading and journaling. He started to have his own since he set one up with Olivia. It calms and centers him, and it’s made his sleep better. Routine has been the cornerstone of his sobriety and what he relies on to keep him from slipping. It’s also why he’s not dating.

At first Frankie thought he could handle dating while in sobriety. After Columbia and a couple of years of being terribly lost he just couldn’t keep his shit together. That’s when he lost contact with Olivia, he wasn’t allowed to see her. Then there was a year of coke and drugs, a slide back so far that it almost killed him. The last two years was intensive therapy to get through his PTSD and then drag himself out of of addiction. But he hadn’t done the work, he kept trying to get by with half measures.

Frankie was a highly competent man, he knew what the fuck he was doing, but it was hubris that led him down every uneven path. When he did fuck up, Frankie didn’t know how to cope with the consequences, he didn’t know how to deal with the disappointment of failing the people around him. Every set back ate at his self esteem and his ability to trust himself. And he was lonely, it was the kind of loneliness that no drug or drink could curb, or even deep meaningful friendship could erase. He missed being loved by someone who could rely on him.

So much of who he was came from being able to take care of people, especially the people he loved. Since he had stopped drinking and doing coke, he had all this energy to put somewhere and much of it went to Olivia, but he also didn’t want to smother her. He had also been learning to aim all that love at himself, even when it was difficult to muster.

Once he had moved to San Diego, Frankie thought he could handle sobriety and a relationship, despite what his sponsor had told him. “You are not just anyone trying to get sober Francisco, you have other baggage.” Frankie didn’t listen and when he got dumped, it tore him apart and led to a three-day bender. Thankfully with the help of Will and Pope, he was able to right the ship (Pope will never forget the sound of Frankie’s voice when he called for help. Frankie did not call for help, but he knew he done fucked up. He couldn’t lose Olivia again). He was not making that mistake again.

Frankie can’t help but think about the smell of your hair as you sobbed into his chest. He had promised his sponsor and himself he would wait a year until even thinking about getting into another relationship and it had only been two months. And yet here you were, someone he already wanted to get to know better, to wrap up in his arms, to be the better man, the competent person he’s been trying to be his entire life. He also knows he can’t do it unless he takes care of his own shit and works through his sobriety the right way.

The idea of leaving things up to a higher power scared the shit out of Frankie. He was not a religious man, so while working through his steps, he had attempted to find his own higher power, so with his sponsor they had settled for, “the universe”. The idea of something out there he couldn’t see, or touch was ridiculous, he was a man of action and feeling.

But that was the whole issue, Frankie needed to learn to let go and surrender. That didn’t stop Frankie from referring to his higher power as pussy power because he was able to understand the power of the pussy. He was completely powerless to it and would worship the fuck out of the right one. Frankie had to share his personal higher power with someone, so he had told Pope about it over a late-night chat. Pope never failed to rib him over pussy power and how basically every reasonable pussy lover was unable to resist.

As Frankie let himself sink into bed, he knew he had to shelf “pussy power” as his higher power and concentrate on the universe as his guide. He needed to surrender to something bigger than himself if he was going to navigate the pitfalls of recovery. He was going to need it even more now having to resist the pull of your smile, your vulnerability and the way you made his pulse quicken when you trusted him with your heart. Frankie closed his eyes and tried his best not to picture your face when he drifted off to sleep.

The morning started of slow since you had already packed everything for George the night before but wanted to a reason to escape the pull of Frankie’s eyes on your lips. He wanted to kiss you and you were struggling to resist. It just didn’t feel right, especially since you had been so vulnerable from the raw anger and hurt sprouting from the center of your very being. The fact that you could feel the same reluctance in Frankie made you trust him even more, that he had recognized the moment for what it was and resisted temptation.

The only thing you could focus on right now was seeing George, she was the most important thing on your mind and knowing you wouldn’t see her for a whole month made your stomachache. Hell, it made your whole chest ache too. She was your heart, and you’d do anything to make her happy, even put up with her horrible father to ensure she had everything she could ever need in her life.

When you learned you were pregnant with George, everything changed, more than you could have imagined. Mark was in med school, and you were just getting your master's in biology. Obviously, it wasn’t planned, and you dropped out when you were made to go on bed reset. Mark was deep into medical school, and you were pretty broke at the time. You had put off finishing your master's because of this and were not as far along as he was in your education overall. It just made sense and the thought of having an abortion just wasn’t an option for you, even at Mark’s urging.

Mark wasn’t opposed to having children, he just said it wasn’t time. Your reasoning was, there would never be a “right” time. Mark’s parents were agnostic, feeling it should be up to you, even though you could tell they were anxious to have more grandchildren, Mark’s sister had already given them three. And at this time, Mark was still the kind and loving man you’d always known him to be. But you could see he was changing and didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Mark was excelling in his medical training, top of his class, fellowship offers and grants. The fact that he was able to stay in one place through his medical education was unheard of, but San Diego wanted to keep him in their programs, so they did everything possible. They knew a rising star when they saw one and their cardiology center was world renowned. The most important part of the equation was the fact that their top surgeon had taken Mark on as his protégé and this man was the quintessential narcissist, he fit every stereotype. But Mark deserved all those accolades, he was brilliant, talented and had earned all of it.

What this had done was left you behind, left a lot of what you had wanted, and you thought that maybe, maybe a child would bring him back. Or, at least, it would bring you to being a family. And regardless of your personal beliefs, it was your choice, and you chose to have George.

And your family, where were they? Your parents lived in New York where everyone else was. You had moved to California for school and never looked back. Your father died when you were in high school, and your mother never really recovered from his death. She was never the same, and that loss, it was like losing them both.

Fuck, it was time to leave, you needed to get going. Not only did you have to just drive over the Hospital, but you promised Anne that Lavender Latte she loves. Since you had no time to shower, who cares, you showered last night anyway, you just pulled on some leggings, a t-shirt and a matching zip up. Thank goodness for the mom uniform.

As you are throwing George’s stuff into your car, you see Frankie leave the house and wonder if you should wave or say hi, you don’t have time to get pulled into his orbit at this moment but also don’t want to be an asshole. He saves you the trouble of deciding by waving, “Good morning! Tell George I said hi and I hope she’s feeling better. I have a day packed full of flight lessons. Catch up later?”

Stopping for a second, you nod and smile back, “Good morning, Frankie. I’ll let her know. Look forward to catching up later. Hope you have a good day.” With a little wave you run back into your house until he’s left, wanting to avoid the awkward moment of, well we already said goodby, now what?

Now what? Now what is bracing yourself to see George. The odds of her father being there are rather low considering he’s probably got a full surgery schedule. He will squeeze in as many procedures as possible before he has to leave and even if he did have a clear schedule, there’s always an emergency. The fact that he’s taking any time off is astonishing, but you’re also grateful that he’s going to spend time with George. Who wouldn’t want to spend two weeks in Europe? The trip is mostly France and Italy, which sounds heavenly to you.

Now with George’s broken arm and her recovery time, you don’t know what Mark has planned, but it certainly won’t have anything to do with you. That’s not really your biggest concern, Georgia’s health is and you know she will only get the best.

When you finally get to George’s room, her grandmother is there waiting. She pulls you into a warm hug before you can even set down her coffee and it helps soothe your nerves. George is awake but doesn’t look like her bright, lively self. “MOM!” Is all she manages to get out before you have even gotten done hugging Anne.

“Hi GG! I missed you so much.” You go to hug George but make sure to not disturb her arm. Anne leaves quietly before you even notice. In attempt to not be too mushy, you hold back your happy tears, those mom tears that you’ve cursed yourself for spilling so easily. Who are you kidding? You cry at the most inconvenient times having come to terms with the fact that you are just an emotional mush ball of a person, it’s your superpower.

Reaching over to push back some of George’s hair, you can see she’s anxious, really not sure what’s going to happen. “Mom, do you know when I’m going to Dad’s?” She shifts in her bed, uncomfortable due to the bulky cast on her left arm but looking pretty good considering everything.

“Yeah, I brought your things over this morning and when you leave the hospital, you’re going to go back with him. It’s his time with you this summer. But you know he’s going to make sure you heal up perfectly and still have the best summer possible George, right?”

“I know mom, it’s just not the same with him, I would rather stay with you.” George then gives you the little bottom lip quiver that every mother is powerless against, “Will you cuddle with me?” George scoots over as best as she can and makes room for you on her bed. She’s always been a snuggler and you know it won’t last forever, that one day, not in the too distant future, George is going to shun your hugs and affection.

Slipping into the space George created for you, she rests her head in the crook of your arm and closes her eyes. You kiss the top of her head and run your fingers through her hair. This is how you would calm her when she couldn’t sleep, grateful most of the time because you had found it hard to sleep sometimes as well and would welcome hearing her soft breathing in your bed on most nights. It was a soft reminder that you were truly alone.

Anne slips back in with her phone glued to her ear, nodding and looking at you with concern on her face. “Yes Mark, she’s dropped of George’s things, that’s all taken care of, nothing to worry about.” She goes and sits next to the bed and continues to squint her face as Mark drones on, obviously in a spirited manner since you can hear his voice through her phone. “Honey, just drop it. Let the whole thing go and bring George home. You’re going to have her for a whole month this summer, I don’t know why you’re insisting on making this bigger than it has to be.”

A knot starts to grow in your stomach and George tenses in your arm, which makes you start to rub her back, whispering in her ear, “Don’t worry about any of this, just let us work it out. This isn’t any of your concern.” You say it loud of enough to make sure Anne hears and she gets the message.

“I have to go Mark; George is awake, and I want to spend some time with her and her mother. Wait until at least noon if you’re going to come by and just let George have time with her mom. You can do that much. You know better, I raised you better than that.” Silence persists for longer than it should, not sure what could be happening on the other end, then Anne smiles sweetly, “I love you too, Mark. See you at noon.”

Anne always had a way with her son despite the drastic change in his personality as he became more renowned in the medical community. She would not tolerate his attitude and managed to shield you more times than not when he turned his narcissism towards you. Despite how much his behavior changed, you could tell how much she loved him and strived to be a positive presence in his life. She wanted to be sure that he didn’t do damage to his relationship with his daughter or the mother of his child. Anne was smart and emphatic, and you would be grateful in ways you could never express.

“Grandma, what was dad saying to you?” She fidgeted and you could feel how tense she was. All you could hope is that Anne wouldn’t reveal more than she needed to in order to quell George’s concern. No matter how much you wanted to be honest with her about her father, you also knew that there were things that didn’t need to burden her thoughts.

The rest of the morning was spent easing George’s anxiety and all the cuddling she could handle. It would be a while before you would see her again and you wanted those last couple of hours to be positive and not preoccupied by her father’s shitty behavior. He had a way of sucking joy out of everything.

At a quarter to noon, you were back in your car and headed home. The Saturday sun warmed your face and knowing George was okay eased your mind even though you weren’t the one to dote on her wasn’t as important as knowing that she was safe.

Before you know it, it’s Wednesday night and you’ve succumb to the weekly ribbing you’ve gotten from the other vet techs to go out for drinks. Might as well take advantage of an empty house and a Thursday off with nothing more to do than some laundry and cleaning.

When you walk up to your door there’s an envelope and a box of of Girl Scout Cookies. You don’t even have to open the note to know who it’s from. You hadn’t seen Frankie the last few days, which actually had bummed you out more than you wanted to admit, so seeing the cookies on your doorstep made your stomach flip.

Opening the note as you unlocked your door, it had a short note written in what you could only describe as Frankie scribble, “I’m sorry I ate all your angry crumbs, here’s some more cookies to make it up to you. Thin mints and vanilla ice cream is pretty awesome, but I bet it tastes better when you’re around to eat it with, hopefully next time. Frankie” You stood in your open door, biting your bottom lip thinking about how you were still embarrassed about the last time you saw him. You were glad he wanted to see you again, even better with ice cream.

After slipping the cookies into your freezer you got yourself ready to go out. Nothing fancy, you were just meeting a few people at a local bar. The vet office was huge and had an 24 hour emergency clinic with a very large staff. Wednesday happy hours meant at least ten people would show up every time. The bar they met at wasn’t a dive, not so fancy that it wouldn’t be appropriate for post work attire, but you decided to put on some makeup and change into your favorite pair of jeans. Maybe you could flirt some, it had been a while, and it might take your mind off of Frankie’s broad shoulders and irresistible smirk.

Just as you were about to go to your car, Frankie was pulling up to his place. The way he scrambled from the cab of his truck startled you a bit and made you pause. It was obvious he wanted to catch you before you could get away. “Hey!!! I wanted to find out how George was doing, we never got a chance to catch up.”

“Hi Frankie! She’s doing great, surgery went well and she checked out of the hospital Monday. Unfortunately, I miss her already and it’s not even been a week.”

Frankie shuts his car door and folds his arms while he saunters over to where you are by your car. “You look nice, do you have date? That color is lovely on you.�� You’re wearing a green blouse that emphasis your cleavage with the help of one of your favorite bras. Frankie is doing his best to focus on your eyes while he twists his mouth up in a quirky little smile. “Not that it’s any of my business of course, I mean, if you’re going on a date.”

Feeling the blush crawling up your cheeks, you shake your head, “No, no, just heading to a weekly happy hour with coworkers. I keep missing it and I have tomorrow off, thought I would be nice to go out rather than mope around an empty house. But who knows, I might get lucky.” And you wink at him, maybe hoping to make him jealous, just a little.

“Ah, okay. I guess I’ll see you around.” And you can see his shoulders slump a little.

“Oh shit, Frankie. Thank you for the cookies. I’m such a jackass. I really appreciate it.” And you do feel bad. Here is Frankie who is thoughtful and kind, and you’re talking about getting lucky at a bar. But to be honest, thoughtful and kind seems a bit scary right now.

Frankie purses his lips, “I thought maybe some punks stole your cookies.”

“No, I got them. And if you’d still have me, I would love to share them with you. I still haven’t had my angry crumby ice cream yet. I hear it’s better when you eat it with someone awesome. That being you and not me, because obviously I’m not awesome.” And you can feel yourself grow a little smaller, how you could be so thoughtless with Frankie is beyond you.

“Of course, I would love to have ice cream with you. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to. I mean, I did eat all your thin mints. Who can resist thin mints? I really don’t think it was fair for you to leave them in my house like that. That was the jerk move.” His shoulders relax and Frankie’s face grows softer. “But I forgive you because I still got to eat all the thin mints.”

But he stops and frowns, “You’re absolutely awesome by the way. Please don’t forget how awesome you are.”

You take a moment and let that sink in. “Thank you, Frankie. Just let me know when you’re free. I have the next few weeks to myself. Although I do work some nights in the ER, my schedule is a little crazy. Have a good night, and thank you gain for the cookies. I’m glad you got to enjoy the thin mints; they went to a worthy home, your stomach.” And you can’t help but laugh. You get into your car and wave at Frankie as he walks away and says his good night.

Arriving a little after 7:30 you look for a familiar face on the patio, the designated spot for all the groups happy hours. The patio is buzzing but not one of your coworkers seems to be there. Figures the one time you decide to show up and no one else does, it’s the story of your life.

The question is, do you stay and have a drink or go home and curl up on your couch with the remote and some thin mints. While you’re lost in your dilemma a familiar face interrupts you with a quizzical look, “I think we work together? Are you here for the happy hour?”

Frozen, you’re looking into the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. It’s the new Veterinarian that started a few weeks ago and even though you work full time, you haven’t actually worked with him directly. That’s how big your Vet hospital is.

“Dr. Acevedo? Yes, we do work together. We just haven’t worked together directly. I wonder where everyone is. I was just going to sit down and text Susan to see if maybe I have the wrong day or something.” You gesture to one of the only unoccupied high tables and sit down.

“It’s Nick, you can call me Nick. That’s too bad we haven’t had the chance to work together, I’ve heard nothing by amazing things from some of the other veterinarians, you’re so highly regarded. Sarah mentioned you had originally wanted to be a primatologist?”

You can’t help but stop and look at this man a bit oddly, how does he know this? Why would they discuss this about you? Hopefully your face doesn’t betray your feelings as you just smile and text Susan to see where everyone is. She’s the one who insisted you come out.

You

Susan, where the fuck are you? I’m here and can’t find anyone.

Susan

What? Are you sure you’re at the right place. Where are you?

You

I’m at Starlight.

Susan

OMG, we haven’t gone there in months you idiot. It got too expensive. We’re at the Brewery down the street.

You

Seriously, I’m here with Dr. Acevedo. Why is he here???

Susan

Lol, I have no idea. Bring him too, he’s hot! Or maybe stay there. Fuck, I would keep him to myself. Stay away girl, he’s single too. Never mind, I don’t want to see you tonight. Just say no one else is coming. Good night and have fun!

Tucking your phone back into your purse you look up at Nick who is talking to the waitress, “Do you want anything? My treat.” He’s looking back at you as you pick up their specialty drink menu to scan the various concoctions.

“Oh, you don’t have to, I can get my own. I haven’t even had a chance to decide. They always have so many different things to choose from, I never pass up a chance to try something new. Please go ahead and get what you want.” You gesture to the waitress and look back down at the tiny leather menu in your hand.

“Can you give us a few minutes, we’re not ready yet. I jumped the gun. Thank you.” He then picks up the other menu on the table and looks at it as well.

“You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. So, what happened to everyone? Did I ruin the happy hour by showing up?” He frowns but you can tell he’s being very sarcastic, as if he could ruin anything with that face.

“No, it was moved a few weeks ago, but because I’ve been putting up coming for so long, I completely missed that part. Who told you it was here?” Your fingers start to fidget around the menu’s edges, you really can’t keep yourself from getting lost in his eyes, they’re so blue it’s almost painful.

Nick looks at you and then you can see him realize something. “Susan, I overheard her talking about a weekly happy hour and I asked if I could join, if it was just for non veterinarian staff? She said it was for everyone and of course I was welcome. She told me it was here.”

“Oh noooo. Please, you don’t think?” You can’t help but turn the deepest shade of red.

Nick nods, “Yes, I think.” He however is as cool as a popsicle.

“Nope, that would be unprofessional and rude.” You’re still red, you can feel it and angry, because it would be wrong.

Nick laughs and wonders if he agrees, “Probably not the best judgement on her part, but she has been bugging me to go out and meet someone, as well as Sarah. They mean well.” He catches the waitress's eye, and she comes over to get your drink order. “Ready?”

Again, you look at the menu before you and waiver. “I think I will just have a dirty martini and separate checks please. Could you also add the bacon wrapped dates and pretzel bites. I’m going to need something to eat after all.” Putting down the menu, you prop your elbows up on the table and sink your head down, you don’t know how you're going to face your coworkers after this. For some reason you just feel pathetic, you’re the person they feel like they have to set up on dates. Sneaky, covert dates no less.

Nick doesn’t argue about the check, “How do you feel about sharing your appetizers if I get some of the sliders?” He raises his eyebrows to you and waits for a response.

“Sure, that sounds amazing.”

“Can I get the pulled pork sliders and the chicken sliders with a side of fries? And I’ll get a whiskey on the rocks, the Four Roses small batch. Thank you.” Nick then turns and looks at you. “I guess we’ve been had. You know, it is very kind of you to stay and actually hang out with me, you didn’t have to.”

Reaching for the glass of water the waitress brought, you take a long drink, and it allows you to prepare a response, “I know, but I was starving, and I had prepared myself for a happy hour. And if I had left, I never would have heard the end of it. You know? I’m stubborn like that.”

“That’s the spirit! I love that.” Nick reaches over and pats your hand, almost a little patronizingly but you ignore it.

The evening went pretty well after that, Nick was a nice enough guy and very easy on the eyes. He did wind up paying for the entire check while you were in the bathroom, which pissed you off. There was no sense in fighting about it though because you still had to work with him. This is why it was a bad idea to date anyone you worked with, anyone.

Nick walked you to your car, but you were sure to say good night quickly and without any fanfare. In fact the rest of your night was completely uneventful, it didn’t even include a glimpse of Frankie, which was what you were hoping for the most. The only think Nick was good for was reminding you how much you kept thinking about your neighbor.

#frankie morales #jett's fic recs #this is the queue

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morallyinept · 19 hours

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Jana, this so good! I love your Modern Oberyn and god damn, the smut was just perfection! 🫠🖤

delicate

pairing: modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: ~3.9k

summary: You meet a mysterious man at a club. He's just as attracted to you as you are to him.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, very soft dom!Oberyn, protected p in v (who am I), dirty talk, fingering, anal play (m receiving), a hint of angst, romance because I can't help myself

a/n: written for @dancingtotuyo’s on repeat drabble challenge, based on the song delicate by taylor swift. this is honestly just feral, i have nothing to say for myself.

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!

Lights are flashing, colors dancing over the exposed skin of your arms and shoulders; the bass is pumping, making your whole body feel like it’s vibrating from within. You’re clinging to your friend, your arms intertwined as you navigate your way through the crowd of people to the bar.

You first see him as you’re gulping down your drink, welcoming the cool liquid in your parched throat. Your eyes are observing the crowd, flying over him and then flickering back to take a second glance.

He’s gorgeous, his dark hair a mess, a beard framing his face, his skin shining under the lights. He’s wearing a shirt that flows around his body, threads of gold weaving through the fabric and reflecting the dancing lights. It’s almost entirely undone, giving you a generous look at the expanse of his toned chest, at the sun-kissed skin that you feel a sudden urge to run your fingers over. A massive gold chain with a lock hangs around his neck, an accessory that you’re convinced would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else. But on him, it somehow only accentuates the strong cords of muscle that ripple under his skin in a way that makes you want to lick your lips.

He moves with a confident ease, his body in tune with the stomping beats, his whole being exuding an almost cocky self-assuredness. You keep drinking him in, fascinated in a way that you can barely understand. You realize that you’ve been staring when your friend follows your line of sight and you hear her quiet gasp beside you.

“Haven’t seen that one around before,” her voice floats into your ear over the music and you shake your head in silent agreement. You’d definitely remember if you did.

You both watch him move with the body of a woman next to him, watch him bend down to whisper something into her ear, watch the way his lips curl into a smug grin as she grinds against him in reaction to his words.

“Too late, I guess,” you laugh, downing the rest of your drink and tearing your eyes away.

The two of you head back into the crowd, swaying your bodies to the beat. You try to get lost in the feeling of it, but your eyes keep searching for him, hungrily grasping at the glimpses of him that you can spot. Eventually, you watch the retreating backs of both of him and the woman head toward the exit, their bodies closely intertwined. Like you said, you try to shrug it off, too late. It’s not a big deal, there’s more than enough other guys around you.

But you don’t go home with any of those guys, none of them able to catch your interest the way he did, and when you lie in bed in the early morning hours, your head pleasantly buzzing with the remaining alcohol in your bloodstream, you still see him behind your eyelids.

A few weeks go by and while you hope to catch him every time that you’re out, there’s no trace of him. It isn’t until your friend’s birthday celebration, a tradition that the two of you have kept up for years, that you see him again.

Again, you’re leaning against the bar, your eyes aimlessly drifting over the dancefloor while you’re sipping on your drink, when you spot him. He’s wearing another colorful shirt, his chest almost entirely on display, and he’s shamelessly grinding against another young man as they’re both moving to the beat. You can’t tear your eyes away, apparently staring so intently that he catches you and throws you a wink across the room.

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and almost turn away, but he’s already on his way, moving towards you with a cat-like grace, effortlessly weaving through the crowd of moving bodies.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into you so close that his breath fans hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your neck. “Saw something you like?”

You grin at him over the rim of your cup, biting your lip and nodding. He mirrors your grin, an almost predatory glint in his eyes. He’s even more gorgeous up close, a light sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes a smoldering brown, his dark hair a mess with strands sticking to his forehead. You take in his toned chest, his broad shoulders and you desperately want to touch your hands to his golden skin. A foreign accent is lacing his words in the most delicious way, only adding to the pull that you feel towards him.

“Let me buy you another drink,” he purrs and you accept, thanking him and offering him your name. You relish in the way you have to lean into him so that he can hear you, greedily soaking in his scent and his body heat that make your mouth water.

His name is Oberyn, you learn, a name that sounds foreign on your tongue and you could swear that a quiet growl rises up his throat when you repeat it back to him.

You’d love to spend your evening dancing with him, pressing your body against his, find out if moving with him feels as good as it looks from the outside. But it’s your friend’s birthday, and you’re gonna stick together, dance the night away with each other and no one else, the way you do every year.

He shrugs it off when you tell him as much, an unbothered grin on his face as he promises you another time then. His hand wraps around your wrist, the warmth of it sinking into your skin as he pulls your arm out towards him, a black marker suddenly in his other hand.

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but your voice dies at the sight of him pulling the cap off with his teeth, something that really shouldn’t affect you this much.

He bends over your arm and it takes your hazy mind a moment to register that he’s writing numbers onto your skin. You’re getting lost in the feeling of his hand on you, even in such an innocent place, and your thoughts are already jumping to fantasies of how it would feel trailing up your arm and over your body.

“There,” his voice floats into your ear and you almost jump. The smug look on his face leaves no doubt that he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. He leans in close again, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Your mouth feels dry.

You look down at your arm, now adorned with digits in black ink. A phone number.

“Give me a call,” he smirks, and leans in even closer, until his lips move against the shell of your ear and a shudder runs down your back at the sensation. “Just think of the fun things we could do.” He throws you another wink and slides away from you, back into the crowd.

You text him the next day, worried if it’s too soon, if it makes you seem desperate. Then again, you have to admit to yourself, you are desperate. Desperate to hear his voice again, desperate to feel his hands on you again. Texting him is less awkward than you had hoped, his demeanor putting you at ease almost immediately. You catch yourself smiling at the screen, already down bad for this man.

You’re in bed, struggling to calm down enough to sleep when your phone’s screen lights up the darkness of your bedroom from where it’s lying on your nightstand.

He’s asking you to meet him in a dive bar, right now, if you want to. You’re reluctant at first, once again worried to appear too eager, but the almost magnetic pull that you feel towards him eventually leads you out of your apartment and to the address he sent you.

He’s waiting for you in the back, just like he told you. Wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt, the fabric stretching around his broad chest in a way that makes it hard not to stare, dressed much more casually than you’ve come to know from him. It doesn’t take away from his persona one bit, he’s still exuding that energy that seems to let him command every room he’s in, that makes it so hard for you to resist him.

He buys you a drink and pulls you into a corner booth with him. Talking to him is easy, he’s an attentive listener and his quick remarks make you laugh, leaning into him when you do. You learn that he’s not from around here, that he flew in to visit friends but that he’s thinking about moving here permanently. It almost scares you, how giddy that prospect makes you, the idea of having the chance to keep seeing him. His arm finds its way around your shoulders eventually, his fingers drawing shapes over your skin. The innocent contact makes you feel like a teenager, suddenly sixteen again.

He walks you home later, his arm still wrapped around you, pulling you into his side. It feels good, a sense of safety and intimacy that you feel yourself getting lost in. You had thought that he was hot, that he would be a fun hookup, but as the minutes tick on, you realize how much you already like him. How much you want this feeling to last.

It feels so natural, turning around to face him when you reach your building, both of you leaning in simultaneously until your lips meet, like it’s the only possible way for this evening to end. You think that it is.

Kissing him feels even better than you had envisioned in your mind, and you melt against him, one hand braced against his chest while the other comes up to pull at the hair in the nape of his neck, needing him closer, not ready to let him go. He’s cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks, and you feel him smile against your lips. You lick into his mouth, revel in the groan that rumbles deep in his chest.

You don’t let go of him, holding onto his hand when you pull him up the stairs, soak in the feeling of him pressed against your body when you unlock your apartment door, let him connect his lips with yours again when he walks you backwards down your hallway.

Everything about him feels so right, so safe and yet like the most exciting experience you’ve ever had. You breathe him in, ecstatic with the sensation of his broad form against you, with the way you feel his muscles move under your fingers where you’re grabbing at his shoulders.

He lets you lead him into your bedroom, his hands still all over you. You push him down to sit on the edge of your bed and he follows your lead, sinking down on the mattress with an easy grin on his face, regarding you with hooded eyes. He wraps his hands around your waist as you’re standing in front of him and he pulls you closer. His fingers find their way below the hem of your skirt, dancing over the supple skin of your thighs, slowly inching up higher.

You whine, already squirming under his touch, and his grin widens.

“So soft,” he coos up at you, tightening his grip on your thighs and moving you to straddle him, your legs already spread wide to accommodate the thickness of his thighs beneath you. One hand comes up to cradle your face again, his thumb nudging at your lips and you flick your tongue against the digit, making him chuckle.

“And so pretty,” he continues, leaning in to connect your lips once more. You want to melt into him, let him consume every fiber of your being.

Your hands tug at his t-shirt, pulling it up, desperate to satisfy the need to be closer to him, to feel his bare skin against yours. He helps you, lifting the fabric over his head. You’ve seen most of his chest before, but not like this, not revealed just for you, in the dim light of your bedroom, yours to look at, yours to touch. He somehow seems even broader without clothes on and you’re almost transfixed by the thick cords of muscle of his arms and shoulders that are on display for you now.

He chuckles again, placing another kiss at the corner of your lips.

“You alright, princess?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling breathless, overwhelmed with how much you want him.

His hands splay over your thighs, fingertips dipping beneath your skirt again, slowly, teasingly skating higher.

“Take this off for me.” It’s phrased like an order, but it’s still so soft, not leaving a doubt in your mind that you could say no if you wanted to. But you don’t. You want him to see you, want to feel his eyes on you, want to have this hungry look that’s trained on your face burning all over your body.

He groans when you obey, a deep, rumbling sound that goes straight to your core and you know that he feels your thighs clenching on top of his. His mouth is on your bare skin within seconds, kissing and sucking, his tongue moving against you like he’s going to devour you.

You arch against him with a whine when he circles your nipple, first with his fingers and then with his tongue before sucking the sensitive bud between his lips. It’s all encompassing, the wetness of his mouth, the strong grip of his hands, the heat of his chest seeping into your skin where you’re pressing yourself against him.

“Please, Oberyn,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing that you need more. His responding moan sends vibrations from his mouth straight through you, before his fingers dig into your waist and he flips you over, until your back is resting on your sheets and he’s hovering over you, your thighs still spread wide around him.

The image alone is enough to send another wave of arousal through you, the way he looks just as wrecked as you feel. His large hands spread your thighs wider as he leans back, his eyes trained on your panties, where you know the fabric must be soaked already.

“So pretty,” he mumbles again, more to himself than to you. His eyes fly back up to meet yours, almost black, his pupils blown wide. “Can I take these off?” He dips a finger under the lace covering your hip, pulling it away and letting it snap against your skin.

“Please.” You don’t care how desperate you sound, not when he looks up at you with the most sinful smirk on his face. His hands grasp the fabric and you lift your hips to help him pull it down, but his smirk widens as he tears the lace in half, ripping the shreds off of your body.

“Fuck,” you whine, not a single thought wasted on the fact that those were some of your favorite panties, every part of you focused on how badly you want his hands all over you.

His eyes stay focused on your expression, eagerly drinking in your every reaction as his fingers dip between your legs, so close to where you so desperately need him. He groans when he feels the wetness seeping from your folds, swirling his digits through it before reaching your clit. He’s ghosting over the sensitive nub with barely any pressure, but it’s enough to elicit a moan from you, your hips canting up to follow his touch. You’re distantly aware of the pleas that are falling from your lips, giving way to a loud whine when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your heat.

He thrusts into you, curling them just right, and his name tumbles out of your mouth again, laced with pure need. You watch in fascination when he sucks his slick-coated fingers into his mouth, eyes still trained on your face, a rumble forming in his chest at the taste.

“Tastes so sweet, princess.”

Your thighs fall open wider, shamelessly offering yourself to him, to his eyes, his hands. You reach out, grabbing at his waist, the need to feel all of him nearly overwhelming. His fingers intertwine with yours, pulling your hands away from his body. He lifts them up to his mouth and presses soft kisses against your knuckles, a whisper of patience on his lips before he lets go of you and rises up to rid himself of his jeans.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, a needy sigh escaping you when you think about feeling him inside you, about the way he’s gonna stretch your walls. You sit up, eagerly reaching for him again. Your fingers wrap around his cock, mesmerized by his girth, and he hisses when you move your hand over his length.

You hear the crinkle of plastic and then his hand is on yours, gently tugging it away, much too soon for your liking. You watch as he puts the condom on with practiced ease, the sight of his own hands on his cock enough to send another wave of arousal through you.

He’s back on you before you know it, sliding in between your spread legs, his large hands splayed over your upper thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes are trained on your weeping pussy, a hungry darkness in them. You whine when he rubs his cock through your wetness before tapping against your clit.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Please, Oberyn.” Your desperate plea breaks off into a filthy moan when he sheathes himself inside of you, breaching your tight walls with the most delicious sting, and you feel your eyes rolling back into your head.

Pleasure grows inside of you as he starts to move, slamming into your pussy in a forceful rhythm. You feel so full of him, the sensation almost overwhelming as he hits the perfect spot over and over. The wave inside of you crests so suddenly that you barely realize what’s happening, the need that you’ve felt brewing all evening finally reaching its peak.

You gasp his name, nails pressing into his shoulders as he fucks you through it, until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He slows, moving in and out of you with shallow thrusts, his lips on yours once more.

You stay like that for a moment, arms wrapped around him, holding him close while you bask in the bliss that you’ve just experienced. But his continuous movements have the hunger for more growing inside of you once more. You meet his thrusts with your hips, needy to feel him deeper again. He props himself up, and it’s sinful how good he looks, his face glowing, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

You suck one of your fingers into your mouth, eyes wide and holding his gaze, feigning innocence. He watches you, a curious glint in his eyes, as you trail your hands from his shoulders down his back until you reach his ass and pull him further into you, fingernails digging into his flesh.

You let your saliva-covered finger reach further, gently massaging the puckered ring of muscle and he gasps, thrusting into you with so much force that it jostles your whole body and you cry out, the sensation of him so deep inside you a heady mix of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth as you keep up your ministrations, delighted to have this effect on him. “Fuck, princess, just like that…”

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. “Do the girls back home touch you like I do?”

He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, his movements never faltering as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them down on the mattress beside your head.

“No. And you’re gonna make me come if you keep this up, but I’m not finished with you yet,” he purrs, leaning down and sucking bruising kisses into the soft skin of your throat, the scratch of his beard only adding to the sensation. You free one of your hands from his grip to tug at his hair, your fingers burrowing in the soft strands at his neck and scratching against his scalp.

“You can give me one more, can’t you?” His voice in your ear makes you shiver and you nod, a breathless please on your lips.

“Good girl.” His kiss is soft against your cheek before he pulls away, his thrusts speeding up, as he grabs your hips, holding them up, giving you no choice but to take him. “Touch yourself,” he demands, the tendons in his neck straining with exertion.

Your fingers are on your clit within moments, rubbing against it, slick with your arousal. The coil inside you tightens again, desperate for release once more.

“Give it to me princess, come on.” His voice sounds wrecked, and it’s the thing that makes you leap over the edge a second time, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you pulse around him, pure pleasure soaring through you.

He comes to a stuttering halt, hips pressed flush against yours, and his groans are almost enough to make you want to come again. He falls forward, forehead pressed against yours, and you share a lazy smile.

You think that he really is the most beautiful person that you’ve ever met.

You fell asleep curled against him, your head resting on his chest and soaking up his warmth, with his arm around your shoulder, but when you blink awake to soft morning light falling through your curtains, you are alone. You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You’ve seen him at the club, he’s probably in a different bed almost every night, you shouldn’t be surprised that he snuck out of yours in the morning. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be disappointed.

You get up with a sigh, pulling a t-shirt over your head and padding down the hall to the kitchen. You come to an abrupt halt in the doorway, met with a sight that you hadn’t expected. He’s standing in front of your open fridge, the expanse of his back bare and turned towards you. There’s a swoop of excitement in your stomach.

You exhale loudly and he turns towards you, an easy smile on his lips. “Good morning.” His voice sounds raspier, still thick with sleep.

“Hey,” you say, returning his smile. He closes the distance between you and cups your face, the sensation of his thumb against your cheek already a familiar one. His lips find yours and you get lost in the feeling of it, in the fantasy of this being your every morning, in pretending that he’s yours.

When he pulls away, the words are out of your mouth before your mind is able to catch up.

“I think I really like you.”

You want to bite your tongue immediately, to take them back. Too early, the voice in your head screams. Your eyes widen as you search for something else to say, but he doesn’t waver, still regarding you with that relaxed smile on his handsome face.

“Is– is it okay that I said that?”

He hums, his large hand still on your cheek.

“I think I really like you too.”

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

#oberyn martell #jett's fic recs #this is the queue

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morallyinept · 19 hours

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Thank you so, so much! So happy you enjoyed this one. 🥰🖤