#Francisco catfish Morales x reader
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11. dusky pink
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eleven of do me yourself
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.7k
chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a boy!dad, luca appearance.
an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.
prev chapter | series masterlist
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics
“You didn’t have to come to help me.”
Tilting your head, a grin playing at the corners of your lips, you adjust the apron he gave you. “I don’t mind. Plus, you did promise me food after, so.”
A hint of mischief dances in his eyes, tongue sweeping across his lower lip. “So, if I want to persuade you to do something, I should wave a carrot in your face.”
Smirking, biting down on your cheek as you slide the boxed screws onto the shelf. “Oh, you can definitely wave something in front of my face.”
It's instant, the way his mouth falls open, hanging. Frankie's arm pauses, mid-air, on the shelf as he stares, blinks, and eventually clears his throat. “That's… good to know.”
“Your voice cracked there a little bit.”
Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, body beginning to restock again, you watch as he swallows, his forehead crinkling. Did it?”
Laughing, you remove the empty box from the cart—grabbing the Stanley knife attached to the side of it to slice open the next.
Even though you've been here at night before, it's different being down the aisles than when you shared food. There's an eerie stillness that hangs in the air under the low lights, punctuated by the occasional creak of the shelving when the two of you stack something. The strong scent of disinfectant is wavering from its assault on your senses, mingling with the musty odour of warehouse cardboard boxes. A smell that worsens, for a moment, each time one of you empties and flattens it.
But, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Finding yourself charmed by the place. Although, you suspect it's by the man beside you. The one who had been prepared to do all of this himself all evening.
“Frankie?” you ask, hearing him hmm. “You ever thought of owning this place? Maybe, making it your own or something?”
Snorting, he shakes his head as his fingers slide to itch at the back of his forearm. “No. Not… Well, I’ve thought about it, obviously. Not owning this place, but…”
“But...?”
Shrugging, mouth open, all but chewing his response as he stacks the shelf and answers with, “Doesn't matter. Wouldn’t be good at it.”
Scoffing, you lift your head, finding him staring. “Sorry, I’ll scoff quieter next time.”
“It's a lot of work. And, it's risky. The place can barely afford me, never mind someone else.”
Shaking his head, you see that look appear—the disbelieving one—catching it flutter across his face. His attempt at making it unreadable fails, as you spot it written all over his expression, practically in bold, italic, and underlined; all very much screaming he very much believes he couldn’t.
Continuing, he shrugs, nostrils flaring under a sigh. “S’not worth thinking about. Got bills. Luca. I… I failed him once, don’t wanna do it again.”
Dropping the contents back into the box, you don't think when you gently lay a hand on his arm, urging him to look. You're just grateful that he does.
Head tilting, trying to find words you swap easily for the truth. “I know I don’t know the version of you from back then, but I really doubt you failed him. You were trying to do the best you could, with what you had.”
His gaze meets yours, a blend of gratitude and uncertainty shimmering in his eyes. “I… just...I want to do right by him now, you know?”
“I know,” you answer softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “And for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job.”
He gives a small, appreciative smile at your words, eyes blinking past you as if trying to process the unexpected validation. Then, when his eyes fall back to you, his smile widens ever so slightly, a gleam of hope seemingly emerging from the shadows of doubt.
“I think you could do something like this.”
Flicking his eyes from yours to your lips, he smiles. “I don’t wanna own this.”
“What do you want then?” Hand sliding back inside the box, pulling out glue—the industrial kind, you imagine—that thankfully is labelled. “Outside of me helping you restock after hours.”
Grinning, he shakes his head. “Haven’t given it much thought.”
Smiling to yourself, turning the labels out, you leave him in silence for a moment. Letting him think, stew. “Not renovating?”
Tipping his head, his eyes meet yours—something twinkling in them. Shimmering. It makes you wonder to yourself if he’s ever been given a chance to think about something that he wants in a while.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” he replies, evidence there of a smile, of something turning, cogs shifting.
“Could get Luca to help—get him a mini tool belt.”
Laughing, he nudges you. “He’d charm them all into giving us free coffee.”
“From the stories you’ve told me, I don’t doubt it.”
It’s then he slides his hand across your back, fingers fanning, spreading warmth through the thin fabric covering your spine. “You still looking forward to meeting him?”
“Only when I don’t overthink it, and worry about the possibility of making the only person who matters in your world cry or something,” you smile, hand gesturing. “Outside of that thought process, very excited.”
Shaking his head, he steps closer, arm sliding around your waist—lips pressing to the top of your head. “Don’t tell him dinosaurs are extinct and you’re good.”
“Noted,” you whisper, staring up at him.
Eyes holding his, lingering. Your throat becomes full with letters, lips rolling as you weigh up whether it’s worth saying them—confessing them.
Instead, you press your mouth to his—hoping he can taste them, and how badly you want to share them.
Did you put that song over your latest Reel for my benefit?
If I did, was it appreciated?
I’m disappointed it’s not the loud-cat-screeching version I gave you in the car, but guess the original would be more well-known.
I want to keep that version, selfishly, to myself.
Just like I want to keep the photo of you with fries in your mouth just for me.
See, we have our things.
Thanks for the help putting the Reel together.
I liked being your camerawoman. But next time, could I have a clapboard—maybe one of those chairs that says ‘Director’ on it?
I think I could find something for you to sit on.
Think that movie is something we’d selfishly keep to ourselves.
Be a good movie, though.
[SENDS PHOTO]
Wow, I didn’t even know they did coffees that large.
It was a special request. I told you she’s persuasive.
I wish I wasn’t on my own, otherwise I’d come down and see you both.
You just want her to get you a large coffee. Which I think she would—she likes you.
Rainy, that is the largest coffee I’ve ever seen.
I’m glad she does. It matters your friends like me like mine like you.
Yours love me.
I am very aware.
If you’re good, I might drop you one off before I go home.
Have I told you how pretty you are today?
Such a charmer.
[SENDS PHOTO]
See I knew you looked pretty.
Waiting, nerves prickling beneath your skin, your fingers interlacing tightly as you flick your eyes from the array of items you've arranged to the still-closed front door.
For the past, so many minutes, you've paced, chewed your cheeks, and endlessly rearranged the items on the table until they blur into a mess of neatness or chaos, you're not quite sure anymore.
Because it matters. Not just to him but to you.
Speaking to Luca (briefly, and on the phone) is so wildly different from meeting him. A thing you're aware of.
It's big. Fucking huge. A thing that you don't take lightly, or ever wish to. Not the permission to meet him, or the fact it's happening. It's why it keeps churning inside of you, bubbling and swimming up your throat; hands wringing out in front of you, thinking over what you'll do when his big eyes draw out the shape of you, standing there, waiting for you, this person who has entered his dad’s life, to say or do something.
You suppose that’s why your fingernail has migrated to scratching at the skin on your index finger, why your stomach is doing somersaults—more so when you hear the sound of Frankie’s vehicle pulling onto his drive.
You’ve got this. You can do this. Just breathe, just breathe, just—
The door finally opens, and there he is. The biggest eyes meet yours, all curious and wide. Even if the shadow of Frankie is behind him, you don’t take your eyes off Luca. Offering a small, reassuring smile, hoping it’ll be enough to show you’re trustworthy as he steps hesitantly into the room.
Not bending over, but crouching down, you let him approach. Watching as Frankie takes his jacket from his son before the soft introduction you've practised over and over again rolls from you—the sweet hello, followed by your name and I’m your dad’s friend.
And you knew it from photos—from the glimpses of the boy in front of you—but he has his eyes. Those soft, expressive eyes twinkle and shimmer at you as he offers his tiny hand for you to shake. One you take happily, with nothing but joy.
“Hey,” you say, voice soft and friendly. “I've heard so much about you.”
He looks at you for a moment longer, taking in your presence. Then, with a shy smile, he mumbles, “Hi.”
Frankie, watching the interaction from the doorway, closes the door, stepping further into the room as he presses his hand to Luca’s shoulder.
"Luca, you remember her from the phone?” He pauses, looking at you for a moment, before finishing, “...the one who struggled to say Aegyptosaurus.”
Narrowing your eyes a little, you smirk playfully at Frankie, the slightest shake of your head as you stare at the boy—warmth spreading through you as Luca begins to grin.
“Speaking of dinosaurs, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to help me with something?” you ask, gaze flicking up to Frankie who gives a supportive nod. “So, I’ve found this colouring book full of dinosaurs inside your Daddy’s coffee table, and I’m not sure what colours to make them.”
Slowly, his face shifts—from a questionable blank one to a slow smile that has the shadow of his dad’s, but breaks into something you assume must be his mom’s.
And god, it’s the most beautiful smile you think you’ve ever seen.
“Sure, I can helps,” Luca says, walking to the coffee table where the book is—before he’s beckoning you, little fingers urging you to come closer.
And you take a breath, a sigh—letting it flow into your lungs, as you reply with a quick ‘coming’ before you glance at the man still giving you both space.
Joining Luca on the floor, you sit cross-legged, the book propped up already on the table as colouring pens, crayons and pencils begin littering the wood not covered by un-coloured pages.
He's eager, flipping through the book, pointing out the different dinosaurs and naming them with an enthusiastic flourish that makes you chuckle. But, when he finds one, he stops. Head tilting from side to side, little finger tapping on the page before he sighs.
“This one!”
Grinning, you take a closer look. “Perfect.”
His smile mirrors yours, before he copies the pitch of your perfect and begins grasping for colours as he hands them to you.
“What’s your favourite dinosaur, Luca?”
Pausing, Luca brings his finger to his lips—dabbing it, scrunching his face before it explodes into a grin so large it almost makes you laugh. “Stegosaurus.”
“Cause of the spikey back?”
Nodding, he grins even wider, doing a little wiggle. “His name means roof lizard, you know that?” Shaking your head, he scrunches his nose as the corner of his lips rises. “And, and it used its back to defend himself.”
“He has a little beak too, right?”
Nodding, Luca begins to scribble his crayon onto the page. "You know him?"
“I’ve been doing my research.”
At Luca’s loud wow, and insistence on you using a colour he doesn’t like—maroon, which looks barely used—you glance towards Frankie, finding him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, fingers lazily tracing up and down the back of his arm, while sporting a soft smile.
Returning your attention to Luca, you spend the next hour engrossed in colouring (a thing you discover you’re doing wrong), dinosaur facts (you’re not sure how he knows so many) and hilarious stories. Finding, with each passing minute, the anxiety sliding from your bones, it falling from you altogether—slipping away, disappearing completely the more Luca interacts.
The two of you only come to a stop when Frankie mentions that it’s almost dinner time, putting the cap on your pen down.
“Hey, Luca. I have to go now. But, I’ve had the best time.”
“You’re not wanting to stay for dinner?” he asks, eyes full of hope as you spot his fist clenched around the pen he’s pressing to the page—the colour bleeding out.
Leaning forward, you smile. “Next time, promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Thanks so much for letting me colour with you.”
Getting up, suppressing a groan as your body aches from having to unfold itself from sitting cross-legged, you find Frankie waiting, his expression soft and tender.
“Hi handsome,” you whisper, taking the jacket from his hands.
Frankie leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead—all out of view, just like the two of you had agreed. “You did good,” he tells you quietly. “He likes you.”
Heart swelling at his words, you look back at Luca, who is now animatedly talking to his colouring book, and you find yourself unable to stop smiling.
“I like him too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
And as you listen to Luca's excited chatter, you realise just how much you mean it.
Think you have a new fan.
Stop, do I really?
Apparently, you’re very pretty, and old like me, and so I should kiss you.
Well, not that I love all of those sentiments, I do like the last one.
Do you want me to call when he’s in bed?
You not sick of me?
Not even a little bit.
I’ll wrap up these amends, shower and then I’m all yours.
The image of you covered in soap suds is going to get me through the next half an hour of this show.
It vibrates softly against the bedsheets, your smile spreading—replacing the earlier irksome client and the nervousness from your afternoon.
“He hasn’t shut up about you.”
No hello. Just a continuation, as if the two of you had only paused from the texting to now. Biting your cheek, you smile, knees pulling up as you feel your Lee scrunch.
“Yeah?”
“Baby, he’s pulled out books to show you the next time you come round.”
Grinning, you sigh. “He’s really great, Frankie. He’s so funny? You never told me how funny he was, and how smart. God, when he—”
And you ramble.
For longer than you’re even aware of as you accidentally go into a play-by-play from this morning—as though the man hadn’t been loitering, standing close by or joining in when Luca’s stories got more outrageous. A standout favourite had been Frankie saving the neighbour's lion from a tree, which had turned out to be a cat called Leon.
“—Also, how does he know so much about dinosaurs? And, fuck—Frankie. Did I just ramble to you about your own son?”
You hear his laugh, real and airy, flow down the phone. “I like it, don’t worry. It’s nice hearing you ramble.”
“You’re a filthy liar.”
With a deep, resonant snort, his sigh of contentment drifts through the phone, making your body, in response, relax. Every muscle slowly uncoils, back sinking further into the plush comfort of the bed beneath you. Ear meeting the pillow as it wrinkles gently under the weight of your head.
“Did it… do you think it went as well as you thought?”
“Better,” he confesses, hearing the breath he releases with it.
Biting your lip, you settle yourself further into your duvet—resting your back against the pillows. “Have I told you today that I really like you?”
“Pretty sure that’s my line.”
Smirking, you rest your tongue between your teeth.
“And, really like? That’s a new one.”
“Well,” you grin, unable to fight a smile, “Felt you deserved the extra word.”
Rolling your head, you trace your teeth over your bottom lip—hearing it, absorbing it, the way he repeats it back. I really like you too. The words find a home, rather than sliding in one ear and out the other. Burying themselves, slotting into a place so perfect as they fit so snugly.
A comfortable beat passes, a moment to linger in it before he asks about your work—about the latest thing you’re working on. Even if you always feel you’ll bore him, he always surprises you by reminding you he won’t be. Engaged, asking questions. Listening and recalling back to things you’ve said before, that you suspect most wouldn’t have paid much mind to.
But, then, he’s not anyone.
“I think I left my hoodie at yours.”
Humming, you hear sheets rustling, before rummaging. “Um, the—yes, yeah you have. I’ll hang it up for you.”
“Only if you have the space too.”
“Well, this is… awkward. I wanted to do it in person—”
Even if there’s no indication to do so, your stomach knots. Tangles. Your heart slams into your chest as your throat, all of a sudden, dries.
“I… fuck, if this is too much tell me, but I’ve made you some space—in my wardrobe. And a drawer. And—”
“And, Frankie? How much space are you giving me?”
Swallowing, you hear him click his tongue. “Well... I mean, as much as you want, baby.”
“Frankie…”
“Have I… Is it too much?”
Pulling your knees up, grinning. Quickly wanting to fire a text to your friend and scream HE’S MADE ME A DRAWER, only stopping yourself because, instead, you, all high-pitched and squeaky ask if you can swap to video. Fingers trembling, your face filling the screen before you can eventually push it to the corner when his greets yours.
“You’re so sweet, thank you—it isn’t too much. Not even a little bit. I want—if you want—to give you the same.”
Laughing lowly, you watch him slide back into bed—the freckles on his collarbone illuminated by the bedside lamp. “Baby, you have half my tools at your house—you’ve made plenty of room for me.”
“Yeah, that toolbox is a health hazard—it is very heavy.”
“I’ll make sure to move it next time”
Scrunching your nose. “Oh no, I moved it. Managed to find some strength from somewhere to do so. That’s my workout for the week.”
Shaking his head, you watch him get into bed—arm resting above his head, fingers teasing at his curls as he smiles at you—eyes somehow just as bright even in low light as he begins telling you about his day tomorrow.
You watch, noticing the little lift of his lips when he talks about Benny, when he mentions taking Luca to training—which in turn (he explains) means Luca bosses them around and they all have to listen. Then after they’ll go on a boys’ lunch, where ice cream is usually consumed, the tradition having started when Luca was teething.
“Send me a photo—post-training.”
His tongue slides into his cheek, eyebrow lifting as he stares at you.
“Dripping in sweat do it for you, Rainy?”
“I’m not rewatching your Reels because I want to use a circle-saw, Frankie. Plus, you look so good in sweats—that black pair. Fuck.”
Chuckling to himself, he runs his hand over his face—and you imagine his cheeks are warm, that if the lighting were better, you’d see the beginning of his pink embarrassment crawling up his neck.
Yawning and stretching, you reach for your charger, plugging it in before moving to lie on your side, hearing him ask—as soft, and as sleepily, as he would if you were next to him—you comfy, baby? as your heart does a little flicker as you rest the phone against the pillow.
“Very,” you assure him, pulling the duvet closer around you. “Be more comfy if you were here.”
“Would you, though?”
Hesitating, you hum—hearing the lightest laugh come from him. “You’re very warm—like a furnace. I like it.”
“That all I’m good for, warming your bed?”
Smirking, your eyes heavy, you sigh. “You have some other uses.”
“I’m glad I’m useful.”
Settling further into the bed, hearing him shuffle and rustle from his end, you clear your throat to ask, “Do you think you'd rather have a pineapple for a head or a watermelon?”
Even with your eyes struggling to stay open, you sneak a glance to see his grin break out. “I'd love to live in your head.”
“You sure about that?”
Snorting, he shakes his head, fingers pushing the hair back from his forehead. “Pineapple. Sweeter for you to kiss.”
“You're so thoughtful.”
Giggling, you find a response sitting on your tongue, it just not able to form as you hum again—finding yourself so comfortable and warm under the sheets you’re barely able to hang onto his voice until he whispers ‘baby’. A little noise coming from you that in your head is clearly words, but not to anyone else.
Only realising it isn’t when he says your name. Calls it.
“Frankie…”
“Baby, why don’t we hang—“
“No,” you groan, the O sound stretching out—hardly with any intent. More said with tenderness and pouting than anything as you hear him chuckle. “I’ll wake up.”
“No, don’t… don’t do that. I’ll stay—listen to you snore.”
Flicking your eyes open, glaring at the screen. “I do not snore.”
Chuckling, his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket. “Sure, baby. You just keep telling yourself that.”
“Francisco!”
His laugh roars down the phone, making your cheeks hurt from smiling, shaking your head against the pillow as his laugh turns to an ‘aww’.
“Do you know how pretty you look right now?”
“You can barely see me, Morales. Stop trying to flatter me.”
Somehow, his laugh is even louder than it was before. And somehow, your smile is larger too.
NEXT CHAPTER ->
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Drowning in You
Frankie Morales x fem!reader
Word count-2.5k
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), exes to lovers, alcohol, pining, feelings, f receiving oral (all hail Frankie the pussy eating king!), overstim, sexytimes in a car, reader is able bodied but otherwise not described other than body parts, no use of y/n
Prompts- Both/all parties get caught in the rain. / "Kiss me in the rain. Please?"
Notes- Written for @undercoverpena April Showers Challenge! Getting this in on literally the last day of the month too lol! But I had fun with this one so I hope y'all enjoy!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!
Moodboard made by me
~
You never expected to see him here. Especially after all these years. You had broken up with Frankie so long ago… or had he broken up with you? Honestly it had been so long that you couldn’t even remember. Were you upset about one of his deployments? Was he upset that you worked too much? Was it something so inconsequential that you drew a blank? At this point, it didn’t even matter anymore.
As you stared at Francisco Morales- Frankie- from across the bar, all your old emotions bubbled up to the surface. He had more lines on his face than the last time you saw him, but it only made him more handsome. He still wore that same ratted baseball cap, but his hair looked a little longer as brown wavy locks poked out from under it. And his smile… even from far away you saw how his smile lit up his face. It made your heart flutter in your chest like you were a lovestruck school girl all over again.
But time felt like it stopped when you and Frankie locked eyes from opposite sides of the room. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the temperature rise around you. All movement that surrounded you felt like it was in slow motion as you and Frankie just stared at each other, both as dumbfounded and surprised as the other.
You hadn’t changed a bit. No, you were even more beautiful than the last time Frankie saw you. And the way your lips parted as you wore a stunned look across your face only brought up all the feelings he fought so hard to bury. The truth was not a day went by that Frankie didn’t think of you. So many times he picked up the phone to dial your number only to hang up before he could hit the call button. He couldn’t even remember why the two of you broke up, but he knew that letting you go was the biggest mistake of his life.
And he wasn’t about to let that happen again.
“Hi,” Frankie tried to sound smooth as he approached you, “You look…” he cleared his throat as he messed with his hat, “You look… Wow,” he breathed as a crooked smile lit up his face.
“Wow yourself,” you shimmied your shoulders subtly as chills ran up your spine from hearing his voice again. You fiddled with your fingers for a moment as nerves overtook you, “It’s good to see you, Frankie,” you said, “How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” he shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets, “You?”
“Same old,” you sounded playfully dismissive, as if neither of you cared about the past. All that mattered was the present, and maybe the future. “How are the guys?” you asked.
“Nothing’s changed.” It was a lie; so much had changed since the last time Frankie spoke to you. But now wasn’t the time for that.
“That’s good,” you grinned. Shifting your weight from side to side, you felt like there was so much in the air between you two that needed to be let out. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice any of it. The tension was palpable, and even the strangers in the room could notice.
There was so much Frankie wanted to say, and yet none of it felt relevant. What could he possibly say to you after all these years? His chest felt tight and he felt like his throat was dry as he tried to swallow. And he was sure it got warmer in here since he came over to talk to you.
Frankie finally settled on, “Can I get you a drink?”
Your eyes lit up and it made his heart pound in his chest, “Yes,” you breathed.
It was as if no time passed at all as you and Frankie shared drink after drink together. In an instant, you remembered what made you fall in love with him, and Frankie felt the same way about you. Both of you lost yourselves in each other as you talked and caught each other up on where you were in your lives.
“Hey, I bet I could still kick your ass at pool,” you shimmied your shoulders playfully as you motioned over to the empty pool table.
Frankie took a big swig of his drink and smiled widely, “You’re on!”
Heat built up between your bodies as you took turns shooting the balls into the net on the table. Every time Frankie came close to you, you felt your skin warm and tingle. And especially when he leaned so close against you that you thought he was going to kiss you. For a brief moment, you almost gave in as you unconsciously leaned in and glanced down at his lips as he teased you for missing a shot.
But, before you could make a move…
“Alright love birds, last call,” the bartender interrupted you and Frankie, “It’s closing time.”
“Oh shit,” you laughed as you took a step back, “I didn’t even realize it got so late!”
“Me either,” Frankie’s eyes never left your figure as you put the pool sticks away. He flagged down the bartender and paid for both of your tabs before he returned to you, “Can I walk you to your car?”
“I actually didn’t drive here,” you admitted sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed about being out so late on your own. But you weren’t on your own, were you? You almost forgot about the friends you came here with, and you were sure they all left hours ago as you were catching up with your ex.
“Can I give you a ride home then?” he asked, hopeful.
You smiled at him, “Yeah.”
It was dark as you and Frankie walked through the parking lot of the bar. Most of the cars were gone, and those that remained were about to drive away. Only Frankie’s truck parked on the far end of the lot was left.
“Still got that shitty old truck, huh?” you jested.
“Hey, this piece of shit has done me good,” Frankie laughed, “She may be getting up in years but she’s still got some life left in her.”
All you could do was grin widely. Yep, he was the same old Frankie that you fell in love with all those years ago. The same Frankie that you missed every day. The same Frankie that you wished you could get back and be the way things used to be…
“Well,” Frankie groaned as you both reached the passenger side, “Your ride waites,” he made a scene about hamming it up for you, making you burst into laughter.
“I’ve missed you, Frankie.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
He froze.
Under the low light of the streetlamps, you looked stunning. Even in the darkness, Frankie could see the way your eyes shone. The tone shifted as he reached out and cupped the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“I missed you too, baby,” he murmured softly.
Your lips parted to let out a deep breath as you found yourself drawn closer and closer to his face. You glanced down at his lips for a moment, remembering the way they were always so soft against yours. But, just as you felt his breath on your skin, it suddenly started to pour.
“Shit!” Frankie hissed as you both found yourself soaking wet in the downpour that came from nowhere, “Quick, get in!”
“Wait,” you grabbed his shirt, “Kiss me!”
“What?!”
“Kiss me. Right here, in the rain,” you sounded more sure of yourself this time, “Please?”
Frankie exhaled sharply as he hovered his lips over yours, “I can’t say no to that.”
With that, Frankie crashed his lips against yours in a deep and desperate kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, feeling your soaked body against his. Swallowing the moan you let out, Frankie let out a groan of his own as he tasted you for the first time in years. And it was way better than he remembered. Instantly, Frankie was addicted to you again.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmured against your lips as he broke away briefly only to kiss you again.
“Frankie…”
“Baby,” he cut you off, “I gotta tell you… Now that I’ve had a taste, I fucking need more…”
“What’s stopping you then?” you smirked as your tone dropped, your tone obvious.
“Now? Fucking nothing,” he smirked against your face as he grabbed you as yanked you towards the backseat. Fumbling with the door, Frankie quickly ushered you inside before climbing in on top of you and shutting the door behind him. Laughter erupted from both of you as you clumsily tried to situate yourself in the cramped backseat of Frankie’s truck.
“Feels just like old times,” you mumbled in between frantic kisses as you felt yourself stripped of your soaking wet clothes.
Frankie let out a short laugh, “Like when we were younger and I’d fuck you in my back of my old beat up piece of shit car for hours,” he groaned as he yanked your bottoms off of you, “Fuck…” he breathed in awe.
All you could do was moan as you felt the heat of Frankie’s gaze warm you from the inside. Suddenly, the cold rain felt like a steamy mist on your skin as he looked at your pure pure need and adoration.
“Shit baby,” Frankie purred before he dove into you in a flash.
You threw your head back and screamed as his lips made contact with your pussy, immediately sending you into a state of ecstasy. Pleasure overwhelmed you as Frankie’s tongue worked your fold with expert precision that you knew and loved from him. Moans filled the truck as your hands landed in his hair, pushing the cap off his head so you could bury your fingers in his tick locks.
“Fuck… Frankie…” you moaned as your eyes rolled back into your head.
The rain continued to pound on the roof of Frankie’s tuck as he devoured you like a man starved. And perhaps that’s what Frankie was. Ever since the day you left, he wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms again, to taste you again. And now that he had his wish, he was not going to let you go.
Frankie’s emotions overwhelmed him as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer against his face. He felt no need for air as he licked and slurped greedily at your pussy, savoring your taste and every sound you made. With every flick of his tongue, Frankie felt his cock stiffen more. But he ignored it. All he cared about was drawing in your pussy, drowning in giving you the pleasure you both craved after so long apart.
“Oh baby… Fuck…” you cried out as tears filled your eyes.
As much as he wanted to coo soothing words, Frankie found that he couldn’t pull himself away from you. Licking down your folds, he darted his tongue in and out of your entrance a few times before he ran back up and sucked hard at your clit. The action pulled a cry from you that drowned out the pouring rain and you tugged at his hair harder.
That’s it baby, Frankie thought as he groaned into your body.
Your hips bucked against Frankie’s face on their own. Up and down, up and down, you rocked your hips against his face, feeling the combination of his tongue and his nose against your folds that created a pleasure unlike anything you ever felt before. You cried out in ecstasy as you felt a tingle emanate from your core.
“Fuck… Frankie… I’m…” you moaned as you felt your climax quickly approach.
Frankie didn’t let up. Instead, he grabbed you even tighter and picked up his pace with his tongue. Flicking your clit over and over again, he pushed harder, knowing exactly which spots drove you wild. Your moans and cries were music to his ears, highlighted by the sound of the rain that continued outside, surrounding you in your little pocket of bliss.
“Fran…” you couldn’t even get his entire name out before your orgasm crashed into you like a wave hitting the beach. Your legs trembled on either side of his head as you threw your head back and screamed loudly. You felt like you were floating, with only Frankie’s tongue and hands to keep you grounded.
Even as your peak hit, Frankie still didn’t stop. He was too consumed with you to even think of breaking away. Instead, he kept going. Even as you whimpered from becoming overstimulated, he kept going. Frankie sucked and slurped at your cunt like he was eating a melting ice cream. And to him, you were just as sweet, if not sweeter.
Tears fell down your cheeks as your mind went blank. Even the uncomfortable cushion of his backseat didn’t bother you as you let out a desperate whine. In the break between your screams, you heard the rain hit the roof of the truck… as well as the obscene slurping of Frankie in between your legs. Picking your head up, you saw the outline of him in the dim light, his head bobbing up and down as he refused to let you go.
“Oh fuck…” you moaned as another climax hit you out of nowhere. Your body went limp as you cried out in bliss once more, feeling the overwhelming pleasure that Frankie’s tongue brought you. “Fuck!” you screamed as you yanked on his hair, letting him know you finally had enough.
With one final loud pop, Frankie finally broke away from your body. His eyes were glazed over and his chin glistened from your juices. He stared at you in silence, the only sound being the rain outside as you both caught your breaths. The windows were so fogged up that no one could see inside even if there was anyone out to peer in, and Frankie could barely see out.
“You alright, baby?” Frankie asked, breaking the silence.
You blinked your eyes open and your heart fluttered in your chest from the way he looked at you, “Never fucking better,” you grinned.
Frankie leaned over, pushing himself forward to cover your body and take your lips in a slow yet still heated kiss, “Me too,” he murmured against your lips.
You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer, “I missed you so much, Frankie,” your voice was like a plea.
He cupped your face, “I missed you too, baby,” he replied, his tone soft. Frankie’s thumb brushed a tear off your cheek before he spoke again, “Hey,” he started with a hint of a smirk in his voice, “How about we go back to my place and make up for lost time?”
You grinned widely, “What are we waiting for?” you kissed him again, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.
“Absolutely nothing,” he replied with a grin of his own and a bright future ahead for both of you despite the downpour outside.
#UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge#x reader#reader insert#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#francisco morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#frankie catfish morales#frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie catfish morales x you#francisco catfish morales#francisco catfish morales x reader#francisco catfish morales x you#catfish morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales imagine#frankie morales fic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fic#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier x you#francisco morales fanfiction#francisco morales fic#francisco morales imagine
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Something Stupid
Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader (no pronouns apart from “you” used, I believe)
Category: fluff, friends to lovers
Summary: And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like “I love you”.
Warnings: slightly insecure Frankie and reader, kissing, awkward love confessions, pining, seemingly unrequited love (it’s requited), they’re both just super awkward really, basically soulmates, reader implied to be shorter than Frankie, alcohol consumption, Santiago described as short…
Word count: 2.5k
A/N: Title and summary from the song Somethin’ Stupid by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. For everyone out there who won’t be getting a kiss at midnight (me), this is for you <3
Consider buying me a coffee :)
“You could always kiss me at midnight, if you’d like.”
The words had been rattling around in Frankie’s brain for the past two hours.
It was the last thing he’d expected you to say when he’d mentioned, casually in conversation, that he hadn’t kissed anyone at midnight on New Years in at least half a decade.
Initially you’d scoffed, not believing him in the slightest. He was too attractive for that, women were constantly throwing themselves at him, and there wasn’t a chance that not a single woman at the party you were attending would offer to kiss him at midnight.
But when he’d insisted that it didn’t feel right with a stranger, who wants to begin the new year with someone you don’t care about, you’d paused for thought. He was right. You understood him. Yet you’d asked him to elaborate.
“So, what? It has to be someone you’re dating? Or someone you’re in love with?” You’d sipped on your drink steadily, bracing yourself for whatever answer he decided to give.
“No, not necessarily. Could just be a friend, a really good friend.” He’d clarified. “Just someone you care about, y’know? Someone you want to celebrate with.”
You’d hummed at that, deciding to tease him. “I’m sure Benny wouldn’t mind a little kiss from you.”
Frankie had rolled his eyes. “Don’t joke. I’d kiss that fucker if he wasn’t going to have about twenty women fighting for him at midnight.”
“Yeah, can’t wait to see how that goes down.” You’d giggled, a thought suddenly popping into your head. “You could always kiss me at midnight, if you’d like.”
Frankie’s brain had short circuited. He must’ve misheard you. There was no way you’d offered to kiss him at midnight. Not a chance in hell.
“Really?” He’d almost squeaked.
“Sure.” You’d shrugged, trying to create an air of nonchalance. “We’re friends, right? Have been forever. And I don’t have anyone to kiss either. So it makes sense.”
You hadn’t expected him to agree.
“Okay.”
So when he did, you tried desperately to hide your excitement.
“G-great!” You’d chirped, taking another couple mouthfuls of your drink. You had a couple hours until midnight, which you’d need to fill yourself up with liquid courage if this was actually going to happen.
Before the two of you could say anything else, you’d been whisked away by other people who wanted to chat, wanted to dance, wanted to drink. Time flew by, the clock counting down to midnight, and the only thing the two of you could think of was your kiss at midnight.
Frankie did shot after shot with his friends - Santiago, Will and Benny all having their own obscure flavours of liqueur that they insisted the others had to try. He felt extremely nauseated by the time the last one had reluctantly slid down his throat. Attempting to blink away the blurriness his eyes had suddenly adopted, he realised that the drinks had been a bad idea. He wanted to be as coherent as possible when he finally got to kiss you.
You, however, were happy to throw back multiple drinks considering you were berating yourself for being an idiot for most of the night. Why had you suggested kissing? All you were going to do was tease yourself with the prospect of having him momentarily but not quite fully.
What if he was a really good kisser (you knew he would be)? What if he held you close (you knew he would)? What if he wanted to use tongue (you knew he would)? What if he tasted good (you knew he’d taste delicious)? What if you fell even more in love with him (you knew you would)?
You were an idiot.
And so fucked.
The suggestion had been incredibly stupid.
Midnight was approaching fast, and the two of you realised at around the same time that you should probably start seeking the other out. Just so you were definitely together by the time the clock struck twelve. But every time one of you entered a room, asking for the other, you were informed that they just left.
Oh, you’ve just missed them.
I’m sure if you go now, you’ll find them.
They were literally just here.
Frankie found himself getting frustrated when he bumped into Santiago and asked after you.
“In the kitchen, I think. Anyway, excited for the new year?” He was very drunk. And Frankie really didn’t have time for this.
“Yeah, so pumped. I’ll see you later, man.” He tried to walk away but was blocked by Santi’s smaller frame. He took up a lot of room for a shorter guy.
“Why so anxious to leave, bud?”
Frankie hesitated before quickly explaining the situation. His attempt to hush Santiago when he started cheering went completely ignored.
“Catfish, my man! You’ve wanted this for years! Quick! Go, go!”
“I was trying.” He grumbled to himself as he made his way to the kitchen and left his friend behind, still celebrating.
He didn’t find you in the kitchen, but back with the majority of the crowd in the living room where most people were gathering around the television with their respective partners for the night.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Frankie exclaimed, pushing through a group to get to you. He sobered up at the sight of you. You were so beautiful.
“Well, you found me!” You smiled widely at him, the nerves dissipating as soon as you saw his face. His gorgeous face. “I figured we were going around in circles looking for each other so I decided to just stop so you could catch up with me here. And it worked!”
Frankie couldn’t help the pull on his heart at seeing you so happy at your simple plan working out. He adored you so much. “That was a good idea.”
You shrugged. “Thanks.”
There was a brief moment of silence between you.
“So, uh, ready for midnight?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yeah.”
The anxious yet excited energy between you was palpable. Neither of you commented on it.
As the room grew more and more busy, everyone determining that they should be together in the same room for midnight, the two of you inched closer and closer together. Until you were chest to chest. And there was no room to breathe without touching the other.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah!”
Before you knew it, it was one minute to midnight and everyone was counting down from sixty. You and Frankie didn’t join in, just looked at each other and sent questioning looks to make sure that the other was sure they wanted to do this. Neither of you had been so certain about something before in your lives as you were with this.
The countdown reached ten.
“Ready?”
So ready.
“Ready.”
Five.
This was really happening.
Three.
His face dipped closer to yours.
One.
“Happy New Year.” The both of you rushed out before your lips crashed together.
Neither of you were patient, hands immediately on each other. Yours clinging to his shirt and on the back of his head, his on your waist and cupping the side of your face.
It was exactly as the two of you had predicted, butterflies floating around wildly in your stomachs at how good it felt to finally do this. Yet, somehow, the both of you remained unaware that the other felt the exact same way.
Frankie decided to take the opportunity to be greedy, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip and then into your mouth when you opened up and allowed him to. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when your tongue met his, a smile curving up your lips slightly at the sound of it. You tugged him closer, the handful of shirt tightening into a fist and your other hand carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been right about everything you’d been questioning before. The arm around your waist kept you flush against him and standing straight, the hand on your cheek stroking soft circles with his thumb.
The people around you broke away from their respective kisses, the music being turned back up and the dance party continuing. But the two of you were too busy wrapped up in your own little world. Wrapped up in each other. It would’ve taken the apocalypse to stop the two of you in that moment.
Frankie momentarily broke away for some air, feeling the earth shattering beneath him and the gates to Heaven opening when you immediately tugged him back towards you for another kiss. His cap got slightly knocked to the side when you forced him downwards even closer to you than before. But he didn’t care. He was too preoccupied with you.
He had to remind himself that this wasn’t real. You weren’t his. This was just for tonight. Just for this moment.
But you felt so warm and soft and perfect in his hands that it suddenly felt impossible that you didn’t feel the same. How could you not when the two of you fit together so easily?
So, without really meaning to, Frankie took the leap.
“I love you.”
The words were mumbled, barely a hushed whisper against your lips compared to the raucous noise of the room. But you heard them. Loud and clear.
It was evident by the way you froze momentarily, head rearing back in shock. Frankie’s heart dropped when panic suddenly flashed across your face and his hands dropped back to his sides.
He’d fucked up.
Could he play it off as a friendly I love you? No, probably not, considering that you’d just made out and the way he was looking at you was very non-platonic.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid. But I thought-“
He cut himself off. Thought what exactly? He couldn’t confess that he’d convinced himself you were as madly in love with him as he was with you. That sounded crazy. You were nice to him, sure, very friendly. But you were like that with everyone.
Frankie adjusted his cap, pushing some hair back away from where it was sticking to his forehead. Had the room always been this hot?
Still you said nothing, your wide-eyed stare speaking a thousand words.
“I’ll uh…” He cleared his throat with a halfhearted cough. “I should go. Thanks, uh, thanks for the midnight kiss.”
And he pushed past you, shoulder bumping yours, before you even had the chance to open your mouth.
“Wait.”
It came out raspy, unsure, but it was too late anyway. Frankie was gone. You stayed stuck, frozen on the spot, for way too long. What were you supposed to do now? He’d confessed his love to you and you’d done the one thing worse than just rejecting him. Nothing. You’d done nothing. You didn’t speak. You didn’t even smile. Shit, you could’ve just kissed him again to show that the feelings were reciprocated. But you’d just stood there, horrified.
It had been your dumb idea to kiss at midnight, a selfish plan to see what it would be like to kiss him. Just once. You hadn’t expected him to admit feelings to you. Yet, it had been the one thing you desired most for years. Francisco Morales loved you. And you’d fucked it up.
So you chased him.
“Frankie. Frankie!” You pushed through the crowd, desperation pouring out of you. “Frankie!”
The sight of his retreating figure filled you with relief. You could see his brown curls peeking out from under his cap, the familiarity of it filling you with warmth. But you could’ve sworn that he started to walk faster when you shouted his name again.
Calling out his name repeatedly, you didn’t stop for breath until you reached the empty hallway.
Once you’d refilled your lungs with oxygen, you straightened up. “Francisco Morales, I know you can hear me.”
He stopped still, a sigh lowering his shoulders. You rushed towards him with quick steps as he turned around and folded his arms across his chest in an embarrassed yet defensive stance.
“You don’t have to say anything because you feel bad. It was my mistake. Let’s just go back to the way thi-“
You wanted him to shut up, needed him to shut up. Just so you could speak. But he just wouldn’t, no matter how many times you opened your mouth to talk. So you just let it burst out of you in a rapid half-shout.
“I love you too.”
That got his mouth to stop moving. By some miracle.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before but I was just surprised and I don’t know how to voice my feelings well. And you confessed so easily and I didn’t know how to do that. Which is ridiculous because I could’ve just said it right back to you.”
Now you were the one rambling.
“But I didn’t know what to do because the kiss was real nice and I was focused on finally kissing you and then suddenly you were saying you loved me and yeah.”
It was Frankie’s turn to freeze and look panicked.
You really were quite the pair.
“Say something, Francisco.” You mumbled, realising you couldn’t quite judge him for this as you’d done the exact same thing a few minutes prior.
“I, uh, I-“ He paused and took a deep breath. “You love me?”
You nodded once. “Yes.”
“You love me back?”
“Also, yes. Technically, same yes I believe but yes nonetheless.” You internally slapped yourself for that. Just say yes, you idiot.
Frankie didn’t care about what you’d said. All he cared about was that you’d said yes.
Yes, you loved him.
And he loved you.
Had the two of you really been so oblivious to the other’s feelings for so long? Had you both hidden it that well? Or were you both just certain that the other couldn’t possibly feel the same way?
Either way, it didn’t really matter. It was all out in the open now and there was no turning back.
Frankie suddenly realised that he was stood staring at you silently. Why wasn’t he kissing you again? Good question.
He took the two steps forward and scooped you up into his arms, pressing his lips against yours desperately but in relief. Feelings had been boxed up for too long. He didn’t need to hide his longing for you anymore.
You giggled happily into his mouth, grateful that this had finally happened. Grateful to get this weight off your chest.
The two of you ignored the party going on in the next room, the floor shaking a little beneath you as people danced just a door away. You could only focus on each other, you’d wasted too much time already.
The confessions were whispered against just to be sure that the two of you weren’t dreaming or had somehow misunderstood the whole situation (of course you hadn’t).
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Neither of you could’ve been happier that you’d both been daring enough to say something stupid.
A/N: I wrote this instead of a uni essay. You’re welcome. Hope you enjoyed!
#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie catfish morales x you#francisco morales#francisco catfish morales#catfish morales#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x you#triple frontier#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#francisco catfish morales x reader#francisco catfish morales x you#ej’s writing#ej’s fics#deakyjoe’s writing#deakyjoe’s fics
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Riddles
Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader
Click here for part two
Word count: 12k+
Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact
Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts.
This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.
New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.
Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!
Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.
As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.
Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.
How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?
You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.
Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.
Sure, shit got real when you got older.
After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career.
Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.
Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.
You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.
But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.
On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.
Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.
An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.
It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking.
Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.
A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.
A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself.
A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.
Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him.
You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness.
Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available.
Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer.
Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control.
Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.
Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.
“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”
Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.
Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”
Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.
“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”
“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.
Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”
Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached?
You’d sign yourself up right now.
The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.
Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.
“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”
Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.
“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.
Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.
With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.
But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment.
Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence.
You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.
Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.
Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.
****
He’s struggling.
Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.
He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.
He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes.
Fuck, you were gorgeous.
Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit.
And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel.
He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.
You were far too good for him.
He had baggage; struggles he was still working through.
You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him.
Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.
Yep, he needed to stay away from you.
Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.
There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.
It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.
Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.
A text message from you.
Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.
He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.
Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x
Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.
He sends his reply swiftly.
Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?
Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.
You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.
Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him?
Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response.
Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.
Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.
Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name.
Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut.
Get it together, Frankie. Get it together.
He found it a little harder to type his next words.
Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.
He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.
You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.
Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too.
The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you.
Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita.
The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.
Any guy, huh?
And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.
Even you?
Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.
Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.
Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles.
On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.
“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.
“Do you wanna come over?”
Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”
“Be there in 15.”
****
Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess.
What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.
You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie.
Is this really happening?
The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.
Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile.
He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there.
Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find.
And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.
His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now.
Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.
Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it.
When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic.
You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.
The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.
Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him.
He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty.
He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants.
Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard.
He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.
Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.
Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.
“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.”
How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?
By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death.
“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.
You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”
Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him.
And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs.
Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.
“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.
You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.
But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.
“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”
Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back.
He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.
“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”
Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.
He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.
You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.
However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand.
“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.
“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say.
“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation.
Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet.
He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.
You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.
But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win.
Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.
His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.
“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”
He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes.
Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you.
Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need.
After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing.
His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him.
“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.
Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”
And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed.
He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet.
Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair.
“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you.
And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.
“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.
He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away.
It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has.
You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.
“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”
“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard.
“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face.
You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm.
There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him.
One time isn’t enough.
He can’t give you up just yet.
****
The two of you soon get into a rhythm.
You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.
But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world.
The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.
You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.
Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.
Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering.
You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded.
One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture.
You start showering together, too.
The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom.
He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine.
On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day.
You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.
After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.
You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car.
Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.
You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did.
An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it.
It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good.
You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.
“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.
You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.
What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”
Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.
You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.
However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there.
You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed.
This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby.
He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different.
But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.
Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.
The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route.
The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.
You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.
Frankie was scared, too.
In fact, he’s worried.
You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety.
He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.
He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.
However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter.
Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.
Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through.
Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes.
You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.
Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.
Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely.
Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.
Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X
It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight.
He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.
Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.
Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it.
Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.
You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on.
Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately.
Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship.
Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.
You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.
You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.
It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.
Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door.
You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.
After a few seconds, you succumb.
“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”
She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.
Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.
“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.
“Who is he?”
You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”
It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”
You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.
“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.
You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter.
Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.
It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy.
He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention.
But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.
You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.
I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?
And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.
You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options.
All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this.
Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends.
You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.
It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.
****
Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.
After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do.
He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.
Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact.
He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.
And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.
Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed.
It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex.
That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend.
Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.
So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.
The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out.
Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.
It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.
Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.
Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you.
You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.
There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick.
You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.
You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you.
Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption.
Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x
And you’ve got him.
Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.
When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast.
He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again.
And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.
Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x
He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?
Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place.
Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.
Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship.
Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends.
You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight.
Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.
His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy.
Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way.
As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.
Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up.
Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.
You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you.
He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again.
After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you.
“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.
After a beat of silence, he pushes again.
“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.
It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you.
Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves.
He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs.
When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?
Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better.
Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.
He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now.
“You know what I want.”, he says.
The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.
And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs.
You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.
His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.
A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin.
So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you.
Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him.
The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that.
“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.
And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind.
What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want.
And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.
Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave.
“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.
Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.
You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh.
“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.
You’re not ready.
“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads.
And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway.
This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication.
Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him?
By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out.
After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage.
As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache.
****
It’s not a secret that you miss him.
Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt.
You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’.
You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.
The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.
You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.
But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.
You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about.
It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover.
What would he say?
Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past?
Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?
You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.
And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress.
He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.
Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.
You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.
So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie.
As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him.
The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him.
Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.
Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.
Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week.
Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.
And you do, after a poignant pause.
“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come.
He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.
You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”
Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.”
He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.
You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.
“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”
Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure.
“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.
Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.
“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.
“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.
“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying.
“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.
“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”
He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.
“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.
Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.
Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.
“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.
It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.
But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.
Then, you go and throw him a curveball.
Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.
And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”
He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.
He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.
Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.
“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.
After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.
He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.
But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you.
And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.
You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.
Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something.
He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.
“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.
And he knows those last three words could scare you off.
Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful.
It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.
Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales#frankie morales fic#frankie morales x you#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales imagine#pedro pascal fanfiction#frankie morales x fem!reader#frankie morales x female reader#francisco catfish morales x reader#francisco catfish morales x female reader#frankie morales x f!reader
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Passing Notes: Flat
Frankie Morales x f!reader | 1.5k words | Passing Notes masterlist
summary: You get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere (ugh) but a handsome man comes to rescue you (yay).
a/n: happy gift exchange, Jo! @undercoverpena I hope you enjoy this little Frankie fic. He’s inspired by your fic the book of love, maybe just a couple universes over from that one. @swiftiscruff
tags/warnings: flat tire, reader is briefly worried about being alone with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, cows, flirting, pet names (hermosa, baby), reader walks around but is otherwise not described
...
“UGH!” you yelled, kicking your tire in frustration. You yelled again when it actually hurt. You groaned as you sank down onto the little grassy area by the side of the road and dropped your head into your hands.
You’d decided to take the slow and scenic way home, for some godforsaken reason. You were still new in town, you’d told yourself. You needed to explore, to get a feel for the place. And what was your reward? A flat tire on the side of a two-lane highway, with no one around for miles.
You stared at your flat tire.
It stared back.
You’d known it was bad, the second you drove over that bump. You’d felt it, somehow, and when you pulled over and saw the flat, it hadn’t been a surprise at all. Even if it was unwelcome.
You sat up a little and looked back down the road the way you’d come – nothing. Just fields. And some trees. Well, there were a few cows. You’d named the big brown one that was watching you Bessie at first glance. Not that they were much help.
You sighed and stood up. You shielded your eyes with your hand as you turned in a slow circle, looking for signs of anything like people anywhere around.
No luck. Just fields, trees, and more cows.
You reached into your pocket, already knowing what you’d find as you looked at your phone again.
No signal.
So here you were, flat tire, no cell service, nothing around but you and Bessie and her friends. As you stood there, frozen, one of the cows let out a low moooo that made you sigh. Relatable.
You pictured the inside of your trunk in your mind, the empty space inside that meant you were stuck here.
No spare tire.
You’d used it, just a few months ago, and hadn’t replaced it yet. And so you were stranded.
You could feel the hysteria creeping up on the outside of your mind and you shook your head, willing it away. No. What was that going to get you, anyway? You’re stuck. Figure it out.
You sighed and moved back towards your car, hopping up to sit on your trunk so you could look back the way you came. Maybe someone would drive by soon? At least you still had daylight for a few more hours.
Please, universe, you whispered in your mind. Please, I promise I’ll replace the stupid spare this time. I swear. You leaned back against your rear window and closed your eyes.
Just as you’d resigned yourself to actually having to get up and walk, you heard it.
It started as a low rumble you mentally attributed to the cows. But then it got louder, loud enough for you to recognize the sound of a truck engine coming up the road in the distance.
You shot up, hand back over your eyes, squinting in the sun. It was real. A dark red truck, kind of old, kicking up dust as it rattled down the highway towards you. You grinned as you jumped off your car, landing in the grass and starting to wave your arms.
It occurred to you as you did so that maybe you didn’t want to talk to this stranger – you were alone, after all. Well, with Bessie, but what was she going to do? Moo at them? But it wasn’t like you could hide anywhere. The driver had probably seen you well before you’d seen them.
As the truck got closer your trepidation grew, and you tried to will yourself into being calm. You took a deep breath.
But thankfully your worry was short lived, because then the truck got close enough for you to recognize it. Hard not to, when you’d seen it just a few hours ago, parked outside your bookshop. You’d shared a lingering glance with its owner and traced the outline of his shy smile, watched his hands as they’d removed his cap and smoothed down his unruly curls. Bit your lip as your gaze dropped when he walked away.
You would have known that truck anywhere.
Frankie Morales pulled up next to you and rolled down his window. You grinned, so fucking relieved to see him. He smiled back, slow as sin and smooth as molasses. He slipped his sunglasses off and met your gaze.
“Car trouble, hermosa?” He winked. “Or were you making some new friends?”
You laughed. He’d teased you earlier that same day about being new in town and needing to get out more. You’d hoped he was going to ask you on a date, but he’d left shortly after. “Who, Bessie?” You gestured in her direction and she obliged you with a low moooo. “No, we go way back.”
Frankie snorted and shook his head before pulling his truck off the road in front of your car. You heard it turn off before he slipped out and came to meet you by your troublesome tire.
“Well, I’m glad I found you. Not much service out here, you know.”
You nodded and waved your phone at him. “I’d noticed. Me too, I’m so happy to see you. I was just about to the point where I was going to try to walk back to town.”
He smirked. “Long walk.”
You groaned again and let your head fall back. “I know. So you really are rescuing me.” When you looked up again you found that he was blushing and you smiled, charmed.
Frankie cleared his throat. “Well, what’s the problem? I could help you put the spare on, but I remember you told me about changing your tire the other week. So that must not be it.”
You shivered. He remembered. That had been one of your first conversations, weeks ago at this point. It made you feel warm to know he’d been paying attention.
“You’re right. The problem is there isn’t a spare. I haven’t replaced the old one.” You tried not to look embarrassed, but you felt it.
He just smiled at you. “Well, then we probably can’t fix it now, but I can give you a ride home, at least. And bring you back with a new spare. Or to meet a tow truck. They probably won’t be able to meet you until tomorrow, at this point.”
“Oh, you can just take me home, that's ok–”
“Hey,” he reached out and put his hand on your upper arm. He squeezed, gently, and your breath caught. “I’m happy to help, hermosa. I want to help.” He looked at you so intently you couldn’t look away.
“Ok, Frankie.” He smiled at you. “If you insist.”
“I do.” He squeezed your arm again and then slid his hand down and held yours lightly. “Grab your stuff.”
You did, and soon enough you were sitting next to Frankie in his truck as he turned it back onto the highway.
“Do you drive this way a lot?” You were marveling at your luck, in having Frankie come along. Of all people.
“Most days,” he agreed. “You know I live over by the river. It’s a little bit longer of a drive, but nicer to look at.”
You nodded. “I remember you told me that. It’s why I went this way.”
“Oh, no,” he glanced at you and reached out to hold your hand again. “It’s my fault? Shit, hermosa, you got stranded because of my idea?”
You laughed. “It’s not your fault, Frankie.”
He smiled a little and shook his head. “Still. Sorry my idea didn’t turn out so great for you.”
You turned towards him a little, looking over his face and his shoulders, watching the muscles move in his arm as he turned the truck at the next road.
“I don’t know,” you mused, squeezing his hand. “Think it might have turned out pretty great after all.”
You watched as a grin took over his face and felt a matching one on your own.
“Yeah?” he breathed the question in a low voice, turning to look at you as he arrived at a stop sign. There was no one around and he didn’t immediately move to continue driving. “Why’s that?”
You swallowed hard and straightened in your seat. “Well, Frankie, I promised myself I was going to say this the next time I saw you, and here you are.” He watched your mouth as you spoke and it was all the encouragement you needed. “Do you want to have dinner? Together. Maybe tonight? Or soon.” You were rambling now. “It’s ok if you’re busy. I mean–”
“Hey, shh,” he hushed you gently. “Not um… Not as just a thank you, right?”
“No!” you hurried to reassure him. “No, Frankie. I was sort of hoping you’d ask me out earlier, when you came by the shop.”
He smiled and lifted your hands to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I almost did. Chickened out at the last second.” He pressed another kiss to the back of your hand and you bit your lip. “Hermosa, I would love to get dinner with you. Tonight.”
With that, he put the car in drive, and turned left. “Now let’s get you home, baby. And then I’ll pick you up at 7.”
You laughed. “Perfect.”
And it was.
#PPCUGiftExchange2024#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x f!reader#francisco catfish morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#x reader#bte friendship exchange
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These hands were made for worshipping you
Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader
summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you
warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course
word count: 7k (of filth)
A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).
Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.
So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you.
So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.
He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.
So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?
And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.
You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.
Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.
You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion. She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.
When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.
So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes.
“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks.
“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out.
And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.
You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart.
He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.
Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh.
He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.
“Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.
You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.
“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.
He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.
“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.
You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.
His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.
He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.
“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-
“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.
After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.
It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.
He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.
He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.
The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-
If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.
You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”
“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.
“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.
“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.
“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.
He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.
“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.
You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.
“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.
He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.
“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.
When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.
He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.
“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.
“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.
“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.
“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.
“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”
A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.
#francisco frankie morales#francisco catfish morales#frankie morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco catfish morales x reader#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales smut#frankie morales smut#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal ff#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#triple frontier#triple frontier smut#francisco morales x f!reader#francisco morales x f!reader smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x f!reader smut#triple frontier fic#triple frontier ff
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Wet
Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader
Summary: You and Frankie both need to be up early the next day but Frankie's been thinking about you.
Warnings: MINORS DNI, pure filthy smut no plot, established relationship, dirty talk, subby Frankie (but he has his moments), switch Frankie and switch reader (kinda), creampie, squirting, dry humping, cumming in clothing, petnames (some in Spanish), riding, SLIGHT anal and wedgie play (blink and you'll miss it), bit of nipple play, dacryphilia / crying during sex, praise (like, an obscene amount of it)
Word count: 2.5k
a/n: i'm ovulating, sorry :/
It had started off innocent, holding each other as you attempted to fall asleep. You’d both decided to head to bed earlier than usual, needing to be up early the next day.
But you and Frankie couldn’t sleep.
You’d started kissing. Small pecks at first, smiles between them, a declaration of love and a way of pouring that love into the other. But then Frankie cupped your face, holding it gently in place as he started pressing deeper kisses onto your lips, keeping them against each other longer.
“Frankie.” You’d tried to warn, his name falling from your lips in half-reprimand.
“Just wanna kiss you like this, baby. I’ll be good, I promise.” He whispered against your lips. His raspy voice shot right through your body, a tightness forming in your core that you knew you’d be unable to stop.
He kept up his kisses until they became sloppier, tongues circling, teeth grazing and pulling at each other’s lips. You sighed into his mouth, pressing your body even closer into him, and you could feel him smile against your lips at the feeling of you slowly giving in.
He brought his hand up from your lower back, tracing it up the sides of your body until it reached your breast. He cupped you in his hand, feeling how soft you sat in his palm. He started to move his hand across the flesh with pressure, each motion of his hand causing a delicious friction on your nipple.
“Frankie.” You tried to warn again, but the pressure that had started to build in your body made your voice come out shakier than you needed it to.
The bud started to tighten, pronouncing itself through your t-shirt, calling for Frankie. You let out a moan as he began to tug and play with it.
“Yeah, that feel good baby?”
He pinched your nipple harder, a mix of pleasure and pain that moved down to your clit.
He moved onto your other nipple, playing with it until he could feel your heart hammering through your chest. Your resolve was slipping, Frankie knew.
He’d been thinking about this all day, thinking about how badly he needed you. He couldn’t help himself, even if he knew you’d both be tired the next day.
He moved your hips, angling them so that his thigh was pressed between yours, encouraging you to rut your pussy onto him.
Another moan caught in your throat and you looked up at Frankie with desperate eyes.
“Frankie, please - make me feel good.” Any inhibition that you’d had earlier had disappeared, the throb of your pussy steadily growing.
His hands moved to your waist to pull you closer, directing your movement over his thigh. You sigh at the feeling, grinding yourself down onto his thigh.
“You look so pretty like this, querida.” He kissed your cheek and nipped at your jaw. “Rubbing your little pussy on my thigh like you’re in heat.”
Your body began to tremble as the pleasure started spreading from your clit. His thigh was rubbing you exactly like you needed him to. You could only pant, breath staggered at how he was making you feel.
He pulled you closer, placing his arm across your back as he flipped you over on top of him. The new angle let you feel the press of his cock on your pussy, and you immediately went back to your rutting.
He let out a groan at the feeling of you moving your hips on top of him, the pleasure building up in his own core. You let out your own moans and gasps, the rut of your hips not stopping.
You try to move off him to take your shirt off but his arm keeps you caged against him, not allowing you to get up from the position you’d taken.
You lift your head to look at him, eyes meeting.
“You feel so good on my pussy, Frankie.” Tears had started to build up in your eyes.
“Yeah? You’re doing so good baby, making your pussy feel good all by yourself. Keep going, amor.” He moved one of his hands down to your ass, pulling the material of your shorts up so that the seam teased at both holes.
You felt yourself clench, a moan tearing through your throat as you sped up your hips, desperate to feel good.
He started playing with your shorts and panties, pulling them up and down. The tears that had welled up in your eyes kept building, the look on your face becoming more and more dazed as you began to drip through layers of clothing.
Your sounds came out soft and high pitch, the thin rope tethering you to this earth beginning to snap.
Frankie’s cock twitched, throbbing as your pussy moved against him.
“Just like that baby, doing so good, so so good.” He kissed the top of your head, moving his hips so his cock was finally rubbing you back. “Making them kiss, hm baby?”
“Frankie-” It was a short sharp cry of his name before your whole body coiled on top of him.
You shook through your orgasm, body heaving as you breathed through it sharply. You gushed from your cunt, arousal pouring out of you. You could feel the wetness pool and drip forward onto your clit even with the material of your clothes there to interrupt.
“That’s it baby, cum in your pretty panties, get them nice and wet for me, hm. Getting your shorts all fucking wet too.”
Frankie’s cock ached painfully, and he was unable to tell whether the sudden wetness he felt was from the precome he was dripping or from the way you’d just come on top of him.
Your whole body went limp on his, legs twitching and eyes still rolled to the back of your head from the feeling of it all. But you couldn’t stop.
You kept rutting your hips against him, the overwhelming wetness making it even easier than before.
“Fuck-” Frankie whined, stomach clenching as he felt himself get pushed closer to his own peak.
“Want you to cum in your clothes too Frankie, want us to be dirty together.” You moaned out, voice high pitch and choked as you kept up your motions. “Wanna eat your cum when it’s all sticky in your boxers.”
Frankie couldn’t hold back anymore, coming with a loud whine, stomach clenched and toes curling so hard he thought his leg would cramp. His cock jumped in his shorts, shot after shot of his cum soaking through the material of his boxers and pajamas.
He pulled you as close to him as possible, pussy pressed firmly against him as you felt his pants get warm and wet beneath you. Your pussy clenched in response, the wetness of your clothes and his allowing for each pulse to be felt.
“Ah, ah, ah- fuck, ah.” He couldn’t stop, arms shaky and whole body covered in sweat at how hard he came.
“Mmmm, so good Frankie, did so good.” You kissed him, hands on his chest feeling the erratic beat of his heart. “You made such a mess, baby.” You emphasised your point by wiggling your hips on top of his, the action causing a loud moan to tear out of both of you. “This what you wanted? Wanted us to cum together like this, baby?”
“Made my cock feel so good, you always make my cock feel good, querida.” He answered, words jumbled as he spoke through the aftershocks. “Never want to stop, want you on my cock always.”
“Frankie-” You choked out, his words keeping your heart rate pulsing at your clit. You sat up, blood rushing to your ears, making them ring.
“I’m gonna sit on your cock, okay baby?” You asked, sounding completely wrecked as you moved to take your shirt off. “Gonna bounce on it for you until the whole bed is soaked, okay?”
His cock was already starting to harden, not there yet but quickly fighting for more. Desperate for more.
“Fuck, yes- bounce on my cock princesa, it’s all yours.” He moaned.
“Yeah, it’s mine?” You finally took off your shirt, nipples so hard it was painful.
“All yours, all of it.” His eyes scanned your chest, his own nipples hard beneath his top. You ran your hands over them, flicking them and feeling as his hips bucked up.
“Take your shirt off, Frankie.”
He struggled to comply, head dizzy from the pleasure, body weak and slow in its movement. He managed to prop himself up enough to take it off before his body gave out and he slumped onto the mattress again.
You ran your hands over his chest and stomach, featherlight, watching as goosebumps broke out on his skin and his stomach clenched.
“So pretty, Frankie.” You moaned, barely holding yourself together for the man before you. You needed to feel him inside you, even if your shaky legs and aching pussy begged you for reprieve.
You ducked your head down to his shoulders, kissing along them and his collarbones before moving down to his hard nipples. You kissed them, scraping your teeth on them. His cock stood up, leaking and still confined in his pants.
You got up, reaching for his remaining clothes. He tried lifting his hips to try to help you get them off, but you shook your head at him, pushing his hips back down.
You rubbed your hand over the wet material, feeling how warm it was. He watched you, half in pain, half desperate to see you fuck him.
You moved the band of his boxers and pants down, enough to free him. The band dug slightly beneath his balls, but the feeling didn’t bring pain; it felt good, felt like he was being squeezed.
“Wanna make our clothes dirtier.” You moaned. “Get everything nice and wet and warm for us.”
“Fuck, please,” he moaned out your name, your words so filthy he felt like he was going to cum just listening to them. “Let’s cum together, please amor. Sit on me so we can cum on them. Wanna ruin them. Please, please.”
You pulled your soaked shorts and panties aside, the sight of your clenching cunt shining with slick making him hold his breath.
You grabbed his cock, propping yourself over it with shaky legs as you prepared to take him in.
You got the tip in slowly, both of you crying out loudly at the feeling of being together like this, his cock slowly sinking into your warm cunt.
But then the pain in your legs combined with the shock from how good he felt, and your legs gave out. You fell on him, his huge cock spearing into you.
You cried out loudly, a moan of pleasure that was almost a scream, and your legs shook, the tears finally running down your face. “Fuck! Ah, fuck, Frankie!”
His own eyes rolled back, his moan unable to tear out of him as it choked in his chest, heart unsteady and saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, ready to drool out.
His hands moved to your hips, weak, as an attempt to soothe you. But he was so far gone, so out of it that the touch was barely there, not able to help you.
You pushed yourself up with all your strength and dropped yourself onto him again, the motion bringing a fire to your belly.
“Frankie.” Your head rolled back, hips snapping up and down as you bounced on him.
“Fuck, taking my cock so well amor. So tight, feel like I’m gonna fucking break you.” He slurred out. “Should keep you on it all the time, stretch you out. Take you out with me, full of my cock just like this.”
His words and the feeling of his cock deep inside you had you seeing stars, gaze dotting as you felt yourself about to pass out from how good he felt.
“Ah, ah, ah..” Your moans came out weak and small, pathetic, as you helplessly fucked yourself on his cock.
His hand moved toward where you were both connected, pressed on your lower abdomen as he watched you take his cock in. He dropped his hands lower, moving so that his fingers were rubbing you over your clit.
You felt a heat creep up your spine, a feeling so wet and hot that you thought you’d end up peeing on him.
“You take it so well, amor. You’re doing so good for me, dripping on my cock. Such a good fucking pussy.”
You came hard, a loud groan tearing out of you. Your legs shook, threatening to close, your whole body convulsing with the strength of your orgasm.
Frankie moved his hands to your hips. His peak was so close, he couldn’t let it slip from him. He fucked himself into you, rough and deep, from below, making you see stars.
You didn’t know when you’d stopped cumming, you just knew that you were quickly approaching another orgasm, the slam of his cock in your wet cunt too good.
You came again, high-pitch and weak, legs convulsing as you squirted on him.
The liquid gushed down his cock and hips, soaking you both. It pooled down toward his chest as he kept slamming into you, the tilt of his hips moving you so that the liquid dripped forward onto him, all the way to his chin.
That tore Frankie to his peak. He stilled his hips, pressing himself deep inside you, pulling your waist so that you were flesh against him; he pulled your chest back against his, arm wrapping you again in that position you’d been in at the start of your first peak. You could feel your wetness pressed against your torso.
His cum gushed into you, more tears falling from your eyes as a small moan left your lips. He let out a grunt followed by a whine, his body tight and tense from how good you made him feel.
Everything was warm, everything was wet. Your chests heaved together, room spinning as you both fought to stay tethered to this world.
He moved to kiss the top of your head, rubbing a soothing pattern on your back.
“Did so good for me baby, got everything so wet.” He managed to say, completely wrecked.
You clenched around him in response, the twitch and clench of your bodies playing a game of back-and-forth.
“Feel so good Frankie, I love you so much, love you so much.” You garbled out, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.
“I love you too baby, did so good for me.”
You stayed like that for a while, calming down until you were both ready to move again.
Everything was wet, everything was warm.
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales smut#frankie morales drabble#francisco catfish morales x reader#fracisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#frankie catfish morales x reader
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A list of all my favourite FRANCISCO MORALES Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.
PART 5
Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤
⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.
Laundry - @tinytinymenace
The Margay Series, Dominica & Barbados - @ohforficsake
Moonshine Series - @pimosworld Featuring Joel Miller
Frankie Masterlist - @nerdieforpedro Lots Of Frankie To Choose From!
Bluffing Season - @beskarandblasters
Be A Good Boy For Mommy - @beskarandblasters Sub!Frankie
My Home Is You - @chronically-ghosted
New Year's Day - @hellishjoel
Driving Home For Christmas - @thetriumphantpanda
Gift Wrapped - @linzels-blog
Unwrap Me - @morallyinept
All I Want For Christmas - @morallyinept
Airport Pickup - @legendary-pink-dot
Pipers Piping - @yeollie-plz
A Love Letter To Frankie - @fhatbhabie
Fairy Lights - @ladamedusoif
Merry Christmas Cariño - @joelsflannel Wife!Reader
Copilot - @frenchiereading
A Little Christmas Magic - @the-blind-assassin-12
Twinkle - @ezrasbirdie
Cobwebs - @popcornforone
Santa's A Homewrecker - @pimosworld Triple Frontier Boys
It Was Always You - @hyzer34
The Gift Is You - @julesonrecord
Alone Time - @tropes-and-tales
Remember Francisco - @nerdieforpedro
What She Wants, Anywhere - @inthe-dark-tonight
No Need For Mistletoe & Frankie, Baby - @undercoverpena
Hey Good Lookin' Part 1 & Part 2 - @gwendibleywrites Chubby!Frankie
Let It Snow Series - @ezrasbirdie & @lowlights
French Hens - @yeollie-plz Featuring Santiago Pope
Please You - @louswrld11
Conversations With Dead People - @grogusmum
The Ties That Bind Series - @pimosworld Featuring Dave York
Common Thread - @wildemaven
#frankie morales x reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#frankie morales#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales triple frontier#frankie morales x female reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales smut#jett's fic recs#fic recs
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1. butterscotch orange
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.3k
chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date.
an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]
IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED���
It rings, echoes through your skull.
Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.
There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.
Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.
But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.
Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.
Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.
One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.
The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.
Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.
There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.
But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.
It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.
With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.
That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.
Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—
You haven’t got a clue about where to start.
Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.
Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.
Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.
The next isn’t any less overwhelming.
If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.
Screws, bolts, fixings.
Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—
“You need a hand?”
It throws you off, the voice.
Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.
It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.
And fuck.
He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.
You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.
Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.
“Screws.”
“You… you need screws?”
Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—
Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”
Think. Think. Fucking think.
And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.
And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.
“Show me.”
“Show… you?”
Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.
Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”
You do.
A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.
Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.
From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.
That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.
Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.
The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.
“I know what you need.”
“You do?”
A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.
He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.
“I do.”
And he does.
A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.
It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.
It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.
The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.
It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.
But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.
Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.
With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.
But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.
"It's you."
"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.
Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"
"Something like that."
His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."
You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.
“I don’t��� you’ve not got your apron on.”
Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”
“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”
His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”
Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”
His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”
“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”
Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.
And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.
“You… doing anything right now?”
Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”
Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”
You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.
“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”
Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.
Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”
It’s nice, the coffee place.
Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.
Because suddenly you’re nervous.
A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.
“Let me get this.”
Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.
“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”
Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”
The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.
All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.
'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.
With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.
Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.
To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.
Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.
Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.
“Sorry?”
“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”
Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.
“You don’t have to…”
But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.
Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.
And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.
And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.
“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”
It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.
Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.
Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.
“Does he like drawing?”
Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”
“How old?”
“Five—does that… does that bother you?”
“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”
You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.
“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”
“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”
Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.
“Prefer the night?”
“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”
“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Gray?”
Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”
“You got me there.”
“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”
Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.
“Open up your Instagram.”
You stare, blinking.
“Trust me.”
And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.
“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.
You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.
It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.
The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.
Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.
You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.
You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:
Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠
Stalking me are you?
Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.
I know you went back some months, Rainy.
How do you know that?
Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.
Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.
Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.
Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Gives hands on help to beginner DIYers?
You genuinely asking or flirting?
Big-headed much?
I can help you with something if you need it.
I think I do.
Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.
Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.
You asking me on a date?
No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.
Knew you’d gone back further than a month.
FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝
NEXT CHAPTER
an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx
#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales#triple frontier x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x reader#pedrostories
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Triple Frontier Boys and Love Languages
Santiago Garcia x reader
William Miller x reader
Benjamin Miller x reader
Francisco Morales x reader
Summary: A series of one shots of the TF boys. Each fic is a different love language and within each fic is 4 of the non-T*m's. Within each of the boys is two scenarios; one where the boys express their love to you, one where you express your love to your boy in question. Each scario is it's own thing, unless it expressly states a lead in. It is not a poly relationship, but you can potentially string many of them together. 8 paragraphs per fic, 40 in total. Some have smut,s ome don't. Hope you enjoy!
P.s. these are all old but I wanted to compile them into one masterlist
Love Langauges: Acts of Service
Love Languages: Physical Touch
Love Languages: Words of Affirmation
Love Languages: Quality Time
Love Languages: Gift Giving
Feel free to share other scenes, ideas, or thoughts!
#triple frontier#Benjamin miller x reader#benjamin miller#francisco morales#francisco Morales x reader#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia#william miller x reader#william miller#Benny miller#benny miller x read#santiago pope garcia#francisco catfish morales#Francisco catfish morales x reader#santi garcia x reader#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier boys x reader#triple frontier boys#smut#santiago garcia smut#triple frontier smut#francisco morales smut#benny miller smut#benjamin miller smut#will miller#will miller smut#william miller smut
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The Party
AN: No thoughts, only thots about meeting Frankie at a party you were reluctant to go to in the first place. There's infidelity here - so if that's not your jam no worries! Enjoy!
Pairing; Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings; Infidelity, (18+ no minors) piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, unhappy marriage - mentions of divorce.
Word count; 2k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist
--
Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes dilated and her pulse was almost visible on the delicate skin of her neck and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.
My wife hasn’t looked at me like that in years.
“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch your name.” He instantly likes her voice and tries to imagine what she’d sound like in bed and for the first time in god knows how long he isn’t ashamed of himself.
“It’s Francisco - you can call me Frankie.” He shakes her hand, holds onto it probably longer than he should and he knows his dimple is staring her in the face with the way he's smiling. “How do you know James?” He gives her a once over, almost subtly and he’s happy to see her fluster a tiny bit.
“Oh um - ha I actually don’t - I came with a friend. Maureen - do you know her?” She fiddles with her dress, smoothing it down with her plump lower lip between her teeth. It’s endearing and he wants nothing more than to pull her close - to nuzzle at the hollow of her throat but she looks at his hand when he takes a sip of his beer and the spell is broken. She sees it, he knows she does and there’s nothing he can say.
Fuck.
“Oh, I’m sorry - I didn’t realize.” She frowns a little staring at his wedding ring, more flustered than before but now it’s out of embarrassment and he feels cruel, like he’d led her on in some way.
“Yeah, that’s - sorry that’s-” He doesn’t know what to say to this lovely thing in front of him.
Technically, yes I’m married but my wife has been cheating on me for years, I just got the proof I needed a couple of days ago and I’m going to divorce her ass. Wanna fuck?
“There you are, have you seen my purse?” His wife came in right on cue and then he was alone with her, a swirl of a skirt left in the pretty woman’s wake - he sighed loudly, not that his wife commented on it - or even noticed for that matter. “There it is - oh look - your buddies are here! Why don’t you catch up with them?” She didn’t look at him as she said it - too busy fixing her lipstick and he knew then that her side piece was here.
He felt nothing.
“Sure honey.” He spoke the words to her back as she walked away from him - he couldn’t even remember when he stopped watching her go.
-
The heat was crawling up your body, warming the apples of your cheeks with embarrassment and your legs couldn’t carry you away fast enough. You moved through the crowd of people you didn’t know, winding through the little groups of them while scanning for Maureen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red shirt she’d been wearing - relief washing over you when you finally saw her.
“Hey- where’d you get to?” She smiled big, looking for the drinks you were supposed to grab. “No drinks?”
“Sorry- There were a bunch of people waiting so I came back.” You did your best to smile through the lie. “I’ll try again in a few.”
If he’s not still standing there.
Your stomach dropped at the thought of running into him again, a groan threatening to claw its way out of your throat. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did he have to be exactly your type? Tall and broad, with that cute dimple and those soft waves- married waves.
Why did you flirt back?
This question annoyed you a bit, it burned brightly in the back of your mind while you tried - genuinely tried to listen to Maureen chatting about - well whatever the hell she was chatting about.
You saw his wife walk past the two of you then, a very pretty woman with gorgeously thick hair and Ruby red lips lost in conversation with a burly blond man, if he’d told her that you’d flirted then it would only make sense that she’d glance at you but mercifully she didn’t. Thank christ.
Maureen laughed and pulled you away from your thoughts, introducing you to a few of her friends from college and you busied yourself trying to remember their names, muddling through polite conversation while also counting the hours until she’d be ready to go. It wasn’t so bad though- they weren’t so bad. Her friends, while maybe a bit pretentious, were all in all nice enough and it wasn’t hard to find common interests with a few while she made her rounds until your bladder pulled you towards the bathroom.
The door to the powder room on the bottom floor was locked, in use. Goddamn it-
“There’s a bathroom just up the stairs and to the left-” One of the hosts saw you standing there and came to the rescue “-please feel free.” With a polite thank you, you climbed up further and further until the door was opening before you. The scene inside froze you in your tracks, it was the blond burly man and Francisco's wife in the middle of a hook-up.
Your mouth gaped open for half a second before you shut the door - unsure if they’d heard you, unsure if they even cared.
Couldn’t even be bothered to lock the door???
You ran down the stairs as quickly as you could, almost crashing into the person just coming out of the powder room and after a nervous shuffle from both of you, you were safely tucked away in the enclosed space. After relieving yourself, and splashing your face with cool water came the time to rejoin the fray - maybe if you could make eye contact with Maureen, she would see the discomfort on your face but that was a dead end - she was nowhere to be found.
I need a cigarette.
-
He was standing alone on the porch of the house, taking in the cool night air and it seemed as though the Gods or the fates or whoever was responsible for the day was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.
“Oh - hi.” He smiled his dimpled smile and it was almost too much - you didn’t know this man, you had no idea what was happening in their marriage but what you did know for sure was how fucking disrespectful it was of this woman to fuck another man while her husband was here. “You okay?” His head tilted, concerned, beautiful.
“Yeah. Sorry um - you wouldn’t happen to have a smoke would you?” Fingers crossed he’d say yes.
“No sorry - I quit a long time ago.”
Fuck me sideways, seriously.
“No worries.” You stood there, gawping at him as he leaned his hip against one side of the railings. His smile faded and a neutral realization took its place.
“Was it with a blond man?” His words were stones in your stomach, boulders being dropped from a great height.
“What?” You hoped against hope that he wouldn’t make you do this.
I shouldn’t have fucking come out here.
“It’s okay - it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s funny - I didn’t want to divorce her until I had the proof and I got it a couple of days ago.” He sighed big but it didn’t seem sad or heartbroken. “I’m not naive, it’s nothing new.”
“I’m sorry - I don’t know what to say. Are you going to confront them?” The idea of him storming upstairs and pulling them out of the bathroom for everyone to see made your skin crawl with anxiety.
“Oh no, nothing so dramatic as that, I don’t care to - haven’t cared in a long time.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just please don’t look at me like that.” You frowned.
“Like what?” It was your head that tilted now.
“Like you pity me - I’m okay, in a couple of days I’ll serve her with the papers and it’ll be done. For now I’d much rather you looked at me the way you did before you knew I was married.” He straightened as he spoke - taking a few slow steps towards you.
“And how did I look at you before?” He was so tall, so broad and handsome.
“You looked at me, like you wanted me.” He watched your mouth, licking his bottom lip as he spoke and suddenly it was too hot - your skin was too warm and your tongue followed the example set by him and swiping along your bottom lip.
-
His grip is almost bruising, but his hands are so much softer than you would have thought and after a harder thrust one of them is sliding under your bra to hold the weight of your breast.
“You feel so fucking good.” His voice is hoarse, the words clipped as he groans them into your ear. The plush swell of your ass is pressed up tight against his groin, his cock punching up into you in the back of his truck.
I am letting a married man fuck me in the back of his truck, in a suburban neighbourhood.
The thought bleeds out of your brain with every snap of his hips, with every swirl of his fingers on your swollen clit. Your slick is dripping out around him, soaking the panties he roughly pulled down to fill your aching cunt. His cock sliding in so easily with how aroused you are and it takes everything not to scream out from how good it feels.
“Feel how fucking hard you made me baby.” He picks up speed, pushing the air out of your lungs with the force of it - your eyes roll back - mouth a wordless ‘O’ as he steals the thoughts out of your head with the slip of his cock and the swirl of his fingers. “Talk to me baby- tell me it feels good.” He pulls you up, his hand moving up to cradle your jaw and bring you towards him in a misaligned kiss. All tongues and pants as he doubles down on his efforts to pull you apart.
“It’s good - god it’s so fucking good.” Your words are almost slurred and he lets out a breathless laugh before he bites at your ear.
You’re racing towards your orgasm, the tingle of it spreading from your center out through your limbs and when he pinches your clit between his two wet fingers you fall off the cliff. Euphoria burns through your veins, cunt clenching around him hard enough to make him groan from deep in his throat.
“Where do you want it?” He grits it out through mashed teeth and you pull away, bending forward as best you can.
“On my ass.” You pull your dress up past your hips, displaying yourself for him shamelessly.
“Fuck-” He sounds pained and you can’t help but look back as best you can, the pain in your neck is worth the vision of him, his eyes down watching as he pumps his cock against your ass. One of his hands gripping you and with a shuddering moan he paints you in himself. “Jesus baby- fuck that’s pretty.” He rubs the sensitive tip through the mess on your skin before finally finding a tissue and wiping most of it away.
The cab is steamy when you exit, your hair a mess, his shirt untucked but both of you giddy with post orgasmic bliss - wordlessly parting to join the party but not before saving your number in his phone.
After the blood has cooled and it’s time to go, he catches your eye at the door with a wink and a promise and as you walk out with Maureen you hope he’ll call soon.
-
Tag list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @danniburgh @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @gaiuswrites @stevie75 @sweet-creature98 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @hellovanessax @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @anaaaispunk @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @kissasith @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @c4psicle @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @ameliaofasgard @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @planetariumx @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla
#frankie morales/reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x reader#frankie x reader#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales fanfic#francisco morales#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fic#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie x female reader#frankie x f!reader
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Come on baby, make it hurt so good
(Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Gn!Reader)
Words: 374
A/N: For the Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon.
Frankie had grown up loving spicy food. Every pepper he could get his hands on he ate it, even as a very small child he was always seeking out spice. So when his partner wanted to take him to their favorite Asian restaurant he didn’t even think twice about it. as the waiter came by they gave their order and Frankie closed the menu and handed it to the waiter.
“I’ll have the Hot and Sour glass noodles.” He says plainly. The waiter nodded and walked away to put in their order while his partner looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “what is it Mi Vida?”
“Fish, that’s like, one of the spiciest dishes they do here! It’s seriously intense.” They look at their boyfriend and see the familiar grin on his face.
“Oh c’mon how bad can it be?” Frankie laughed, they shake their head.
“Alright but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” They say with a roll of their eyes and a small smile. When the food arrives they watch as Frankie slurps up the noodles and broth and for a second she thought she might have been wrong, but then slowly but surely he starts to flush and his eyes start to water. They start to laugh slightly while watching Frankie start to realize what’s going on, and she could swear she could see steam coming out of his ears as he tries to chug his soda as quickly as possible.
“Hey, this…this is really hot, Like capital H-Hot.” He says panting slightly. At this point they can’t stifle their laugh and they lean back with laughter.
“I…I..Fuckin,Told you Frankie!” they managed to get out through the laughter He looked at her and for a split second his face was dead serious before he also starts to laugh.
“You…You…Diablito! How was I supposed to know it was this spicy! Eh!” His laughter joined her in harmony as the sound echoed throughout the restaurant.
“Because I said it was Spicy you…you dork!” they had managed to stop laughing for the time being. From that point on Frankie knew better that to assume he could handle any and all spice. They were never, ever going to let him live this down.
~
Translations:
Mi Vida: my life
Diablito: Little Devil
Masterlist
Tag: @triplefrontier-anniversary @romanarose
#triplefrontier2019#triplefrontier#triple frontier#x reader#x gender neutral reader#Spotify#pedro pascal#frankie morales#Francisco “Catfish” Morales#frankie catfish morales#francisco morales#triple frontier fic#frankie morales fluff#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x you#francisco catfish morales x reader
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REQUEST
Can I request a one shot with any Pedro character and f reader, where the reader had her dog put down and Pedro character does whatever he can to make her feel better.
I've just recently had my dog put down and my heart is broken.
Thanks
Band-Aid | Frankie Morales x f!reader
warnings: talks about pet loss, emotional grieving and pain, frankie is the best at helping you cope and trying to make you feel better <3 also works for gn!readers | 740+ words
a/n: i'm so sorry anon ☹️ losing your pet is one of the greatest griefs i think we go through. i wish i could give you a great big hug 🫂 i decided to go with frankie because to me he's like a literal human embodiment of a teddy bear, there to hold and snuggle with until you feel better 🧸 i hope these words can bring you some comfort 💗
Frankie will hold you for as long as you need it - all day long and through the night, he'll keep his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. He'll cradle the back of your head and hold you close, whispering to you that, "It's okay." It's okay to cry, it's okay to be upset, it's okay for your heart to be broken.
He understands the weight of having to make such a major decision. He also knows that you're a wonderful, caring parent and that you know what's best for your dog. He'll help you to see that with the grief that responsibility can bring, there is also an endless trove of love for you to receive from eternally.
Frankie gives you a safe space to express your grief. He knows that, despite the pain, it's the better choice to feel it than to ignore it and try to fight it.
He'll be your buoy on the days when you feel like you're drowning in a sea of sorrow, your umbrella on the days when the clouds just won't let up and pour down on you.
"The pain you feel is a reflection of the immense love you and your dog have for each other. It shows just how much you loved your dog and how much your dog loved you back. Unconditionally."
He talks to you about your dog, listening with a smile as you retell stories. From the silly, to the mischievous, to the happy, and every little moment in between, he listens to you with undivided attention.
He reminds you with soft sincerity that you gave your dog a wonderful life in those sad moments where you feel like you could've done more. Frankie will tell you that he knows, as much as your dog knows, that you gave them the best life you could. The love you gave your dog will shine brighter than any star in the sky, burning spectacularly with unconditional love. He philosophizes that souls never really leave us, even if their physical body isn't present anymore.
He's a big believer that the ones you love and lose will find a way to follow you, in some manner or another. Some believe that seeing a cardinal or a dragonfly is representative of the lost soul visiting you, reminding you that they'll always be there. Some believe in spirits or entities like friendly ghosts. Personally, Frankie doesn't place the soul in any one object and believes that they'll visit you in any way they can. On those days when the sun shines a little brighter and feels warmer on your skin than usual, like its' reaching down from the sky and giving you a hug; when the wind blows and sounds like it's singing a melody only for you to hear; when the ocean rises and falls in such a way that you swear it looks as if it's waving hello to you, only you. Frankie wants you to remember that your dog's love will surround you always, even if you can't see it.
Frankie will help you make a memory box for your dog, to create a safe space to visit when you need it. He understands that seeing all the places of loss around your house can feel overwhelming, and he hopes that by taking that sadness and compartmentalizing it into a place of happy memories, it'll lessen the gloom. Frankie will help you collect everything that reminds you of your dog, like their collar, their favorite toys, their favorite blankets and sweaters, and lots and lots of pictures of them.
Frankie also helps you to memorialize the things that you can't fit into the box that remind you of your dog. In the places where your dog ate, slept and played, Frankie will place plants that he says, "are only able to grow from all the love that lives there already."
Grief is not easy, but Frankie will be there to help you every step of the way. He'll share your tears and dab yours away delicately, he'll hold you together when you feel like you're falling apart, he'll take care of you when you don't have the energy to. But he'll also share your smile, laugh with you and help you to nurture and preserve the memory of your dog. The loss can feel like it'll be a permanent wound, but Frankie will do everything in his power to be your band-aid.
to anon 💌: please reach out to me and let me know if you're satisfied with what i've written for you! you asked for a one shot, and i know that i kind of wrote this in the format of headcanons, just because i really wanted to comfort you directly instead of having it as a narrative <3 i'd be more than happy to write something else/something longer for you if you'd like something different! 🫂🫂 or if you just need someone to talk to, my dms and/or inbox are always open 💗
💘taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @your-voice-is-mellifluous @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed
#frankie morales#pedro pascal characters#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x gn!reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie 'catfish' morales x reader#frankie catfish morales x gn!reader#frankie catfish morales x f!reader#frankie 'catfish' morales#frankie 'catfish' morales x you#francisco morales#francisco catfish morales x you#francisco catfish morales x reader
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Kinktober 2022 - #7
Kinks: Table Sex, Dirty Talk
Words: 1297
Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader
Kinktober Masterlist
“Baby?”
“Uhuh?”, you mindlessly answer, pushing the next dish into the washer before you straighten up again, grabbing the next.
“Bebita.”, he grumbles and you smile as you put the leftover silverware in, too, still not looking.
“What is it?”, you sing-song and push the door of the dishwasher closed. When you look up, he is leaning back in his office chair, his hands holding open one of the flight manuals.
He doesn’t say anything and you make your way over towards him until you can perch on the edge of his work desk.
You tilt your head at him in question and he sighs before pushing his reading glasses off of his nose, neatly placing them to the side before he rolls the chair over to you. You sit back and give him some space to fit in.
He leans on to your thighs and stretches upwards. You meet him in the middle for a short peck on the lips.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“It’s okay. I know you have that test this week.”
He grunts and you draw him into another kiss, your fingers delicately cupping his cheek - you can’t resist brushing your pinky over the bare patch in his beard.
He doesn’t quite part from you this time but instead lingers just inches away from you.
“I’m going to make it up to you.”
You scoff at him, honestly amused that barely a week of taking over a few miniscule household chores has him feeling guilty already.
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
He nods, a slight smile on his lips as you trail your fingers to sit behind his jaw, gently pressing into a spot you know is sore from him clenching the muscles all day while reading.
He groans and his hands come to rest on your thighs, spanning the thick of them with ease.
He closes his eyes and you bite your lip as he opens his mouth to lick over his lips.
“Yeah. Yeah, I have something in mind.”
His thumbs rub over the seam of your pants and you bite your lip at the soothing back and forth motion.
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m going to make you dinner first. Three courses. But I’m going to get that dessert from the place downtown you like. I’ll do the dishes, too. Then…” His hands wander further up, towards the crotch of your pants and you gasp when he pushes the flat of his thumb against where you’re already aching for him.
“I’m going to eat your pussy. On the dinner table. Going to give you at least two with my mouth.” He murmurs and you feel your breath getting heavier. “I want to taste you, want to make you cum and then add my fingers… Maybe we can try making you squirt again. You liked it last time, didn’t you, baby?”
He presses upwards and you whisper a breathless Yes before your lips are engulfed in another kiss. He presses his thumb up with more force and you moan into his mouth. He slowly rubs the pad of his finger over your cunt, the pressure not quite enough but enticing you to roll your hips against it.
“After I’ve made you squirt, I’m going to lay you out on the table and-”
“I think I’m going to need you to help me with a visual, Morales.”
He kisses you again and you smile as you hold on to his shoulders. He is quick to stand and gather your legs around his waist before walking you over to the kitchen table. He drops you on the edge and you knock off his hat before you tug at his shirt. He lets you take it off of him and starts opening your pants.
He meets your eyes again and you smile as you let your hands roam over his broad shoulders. He manages to get your pants off and you arch into him, eager for his hands to return to you.
“I’m going to stretch you open for me. Do you want me to go slow, baby?”
You feel hot all over as you meet his eyes.
“Whatever you want, Frankie, just- just need you inside of me.”
His fingers dip into your slick pussy and you let your head fall back as he repeats the motion of his thumb from earlier, now less strong but with an insistence that makes your head spin.
“You like when I stretch you open for me, baby?”
You smile as he lets his lips trail over your neck and you moan when he changes the pattern up on your clit, making you tether on the edge of too much.
“Yes, yes I do like it when you stretch me open for you big cock, Frankie.”
He drags you towards him and you grasp his jaw as he smashes his lips against yours. You lick over his bottom lip, ready to open him up for you but then he buries a thick finger inside your heat. You gasp and Frankie licks into your mouth at the opportunity before he starts to slowly fuck you open.
“Frankie I want you to fuck me.”
You can see him starting to disagree but you know you have him when you moan his name a second time, batting your lashes at him. “Francisco. Please- I need it. I want it, right now, right here.” You lick your hand and meet his eyes as you reach into his pants.
“Baby-” he groans when you sneak a hand past his underwear and grasp him, smearing your spit along him.
“I’m going to stop asking next, Francisco.”
He grabs your chin for another kiss and you both unbutton his pants, hands knocking into each other as you shove at the thick fabric.
“You want to boss me around, hm?”, he grunts as he tugs you closer, closer until you’re almost not on the table anymore and the head of his thick cock is already starting to split you open.
“Is that what you want from me next week? To lay down and”, he pushes forward,”take it”, he groans. You moan and tangle a hand in his short hair, tugging as he pushes into you. “I think you like it more when I have you like this, bebita. You love it”, he grunts and you tremble when he bottoms out, his thumb pressing into your clit in small, steady circles.
You struggle in his grip as he grinds against you.
“Frankie- don’t stop.”
He doesn’t and you cum in his arms, shaking and clenching around him, your thighs pressing in and against his hips. He doesn’t stop and you grind out his name between clenched teeth, flinching a she keeps pushing, gently tapping against your clit as you whimper. He just shushes you and draws his hips back until only the tip of him rests inside of you before slowly working himself in again.
“You said don’t stop, just doing what you say-”, he mutters, the rasp against the shell of your ear works its way down your spine and he works his hips into a slow roll, his hands pulling you up against him to match his rhythm.
The overstimulation gives way for you to roll from one orgasm into the next and you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood this time, feeling like you’re about to catch fire if he keeps this up.
He kisses you again and you sigh as he slows down a bit.
“I love you.”
You hum, already boneless in his arms. He gently makes you lay back against the table and takes your hands, slowly pushing them up over your head before kissing you again.
It was going to be a long night.
#kinktober#kinktober 2022#kinktober2022#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#triple frontier#francisco morales x you#francisco catfish morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales
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Back in your inbox with another frankie idea but this one is wilder than the last!
I’m watching 21 Jump Street and someone just took a body shot but licked the drip of liquor off their belly on the way to the shot- and well- that’s it, that’s the thought. Nothing but frankie.
Maybe it’s a welcome home party for the boys and reader is just feeling All Sorts of Ways and the alcohol makes her bold and as soon as pope mentions body shots, she’s ALL OVER that shit 😏
Frankie taking a shot from reader is the sequel 😏😂
Enjoy this thought, if I have to suffer then so do you 😭
oh man can you imagine Frankie's reaction?? if he was also ~pining~? maybe reader gets a little shy right after and he chases her out onto the back porch and doesn't let her get away from the conversation (and then they confess and make out against the back of the house and then sneak out of the party, they have better things to do). 👀
thank you for this thought I love it so much!! 😂
Frankie watching her slip out onto the back porch and deciding to follow >>
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales#francisco catfish morales x reader#a little thought#ask me anything
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wet n' wild
frankie morales x f!reader
summary: “This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”
wordcount: 1.8k
warnings: smut. p in v. frankie doing a bit of dirty talking. reader wears a white two piece/bikini. mutual appreciation of bodies - although slight mention of shyness about 'your' body.
an: all thanks to this anon, i hope you appreciate how you made me rot.
As soon as it had begun—you’d hoped it would end like this.
The game of who could break the other started as soon as he'd pushed you into Santiago's pool.
The rules dissolved, disappearing amongst the soft waves made from your legs wrapping around his middle when you finally got him in the water, "jus' wanna float with you" you coo, wrapping it in naïveté as the pool floats moved past you and people shout over the music and sizzling food.
He believed you for all of a few moments. That is until you tightened your thighs, rocking yourself over him, smirking, fingers twirling a strand of his hair around and around. Just like you do at home.
Stop, his eyes said. Make me, you challenged silently, it having become clear that there would be no defined winner or loser.
Just a symphony of soft brushes and lingering glances, ones that make your face burn and your thighs press together as hours tick on by and the teasing increases. Each time he wraps an arm around your waist, you feel you're losing the edge, becoming powerless, desperation creeping up as you dig your nails into your palm, the sun drying your skin and two-piece doing nothing to quell the fire that swirls in your insides.
It's why you'd been cautious to slip from the party, from the laughter and loud yells. Sliding past bodies you don't know, moving between ones you do, as you head up to the house.
To freshen up, compose yourself.
But then you’d felt him follow.
A thrum darting through you, turning the fire into an inferno, it grows, showing no signs of simmering as your flip-flops clap against tiles. Even less so when you hear the backdoor slide open and then shut. Recognising that gait, that walk.
Your pulse thumps in your ear as he follows you, doing so down Santiago’s hallway. A part of you waiting. All on edge. anticipation quickening the rhythm of your heart within its cage of bone as you turn your head, graceful, ear tilting akin to a curious animal, capturing the quiet sound of an opening door just as fingers wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back.
Game, set, match.
You do your best to hide your smirk—smother it in wide eyes and a blank expression. Innocence, all halo shining and white two-piece gleaming. You know Frankie sees through it—has been aware of each brush of your ass against the strings of his swim shorts.
It's evident in the way he looks at you, and pins you to him, all broad and spectacular as he moves you, back meeting the edge of the dresser as it digs into exposed skin. And, suddenly your throat is dry, unable to tear your eyes away from him if you tried. Because he’s crowding, all but looming—palm resting on your hip, the other cupping your cheek.
It’s brief, the seconds he provides. A flick of his gaze between both eyes, a confirmation requested and given with a smirk of your own mouth.
Then, he's on you.
Hot, wet mouth sliding over yours, tongue pressing past your lower lip, cursing somewhere at the back of his throat that he breathes into your own. Because fuck. A thought that grows, builds, but you do your best to bite back as your fingers grasp at bare skin, palms sliding over the flexing muscles on his shoulders and along his back before you grab a handful of his curls, droplets dripping down your wrist.
You don't fight the moan when he flattens his body to yours. Frankie flush to you, soft stomach against yours—no space between the two of you, nowhere for air to be except around the two of you—as his fingers splayed out on your hip. Keeping you where he wants you; where he needs you.
Here, here, here.
You lose yourself against his mouth. Drown in it; pleasingly overwhelmed by him, and desperate for more. Insatiable, in fact—as you become aware of his fingers at the crease of your thighs, parting them, ungluing them, fingers sliding over your fabric-covered seam.
The tip of his nose slides against your cheek, breath searing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire to your ear before he whispers, “Don’t think your bikini is wet from the pool, is it?”
It's instinct, barely muffled, a murmur of his name escaping—but better that than the moan you have to bite down on your tongue to suppress. More so as his fingers, all expert, competent, slide back and forth over your covered pussy. The thinnest layer being a barrier, keeping him from sliding into your heat and making you see stars.
“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”
You can't think, not as he teases the edge of your bikini.
Your name on his lips is elongated. Meaningful.
And, there's an answer forming somewhere, but it won't make it to your tongue. It thought, but barely given—never mind said—but he reads you. Pushing the fabric to the side, fingers parting you, retrieving a moan that does more than kiss the air.
You think you nod. You must do as sounds dull and thoughts silence as he sinks two fingers into you.
"Eyes on me, bonita."
And they pin to him just like he demands. Seeing only slowly drying curls and deep brown eyes. Admiring, mouth parting around silently pleas as he focuses on you, nothing else mattering, as he studies you, moves his fingers and thumb to get the sounds from you he knows he can get you to play.
There, you think. But he already knows. Frankie's attentive like that, swirling his thumb, circling and circling as your own hand slides between the two of you, palming him, feeling every thick inch of him as your teeth nip at your lower lip.
And he gleams as though reading your mind like he’s watching a movie in your eyes. Hand stopping, making your face scrunch before he's retracting it, fabric snapping back into place.
You barely have a chance to ask, never mind speak, before he’s shifting you, moving you with far too much ease until your back is bouncing on a mattress that isn’t your own—staring up at him as he tilts his head.
Fuck, he looks good.
Impossibly good. A thought you have constantly, almost continuously. Because it's him, all yours, forever 'mine'.
It's why shyness is gone, eroded. Hands rising, undoing the top of your swimwear until it parts open at your cleavage, exposing your breasts to him, nipples pebbling in the cool, drier air before you grasp them—take one in each hand and roll, squeeze, parting your thighs further as you mentally wish for his hands to replace yours—
“Or,” he says suddenly, grittier, all low and sounding closer to a grunt.
Jaw ticking to the side, eyes narrowing, as he takes one of your knees in hand, forcing it up, further into your chest.
"Is this what you wanted?”
Your heart hammers in your ears, thunders. It practically dulls all else—mind emptying of a party, of anyone walking in and catching the two of you. Least of all when he slides the fabric to the side, an order—direct and stern—to hold it for him, as you do so, all in awe, watching as he frees himself, swimshorts pooling somewhere at his ankles before he runs his palm up and down as he drinks you in.
And you’ve never felt more seen, more beautiful. Usually, a hand would have slid over your stomach, a thought crossing through your mind about the thickness of your thighs or the slithers of discolour that stretch across your hips.
But there’s none.
Just the sight of him, all handsome and pretty, stroking himself as he admires you undone and waiting.
“I ever told you how good you look?"
His eyes flick to yours at the sound of your voice.
"You do," you continue. "So pretty with your hand wrapped around your cock for me."
Sliding a finger over your soaked folds, breath hitching, you watch his eyes snap to it.
"Fuck Frankie," you whine. "Especially when you’re like this—when you’re doing this?”
It's silky, the way you let each word fall. Let it glide through the air to his ears as you earn a brow twitch.
“I want you, Frankie.”
“Yeah?”
Nodding, your free hand reaches for him, the mattress dipping as he kneels.
"Want you to fuck me so good we have to buy Santi new spare bed sheets, and not just wash them."
Leaning over, he smirks, pink sliding up his neck as his palm flattens to the mattress, all close to your head. "He never uses this room anyway," he retorts, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your teeth to bite down on the back of your hand. "So, someone should."
Nodding, you murmur something, words, letters at the very leas.
“Fuck, who knew my girl was so dirty?”
Heat flushes through you, spreads—licks across muscles and bone as you stare down at the place the two of you could be conjoined—
“Frankie, please—“ the last letter barely forming as he pushes in, pussy taking him, inch by fucking inch, “—fuck, baby.”
His forehead finds yours, pushing it back as the back of your head meets the mattress as he slides himself into the hilt. All thick, suddenly nothing but full—mouth parted at it, before you begin to move, urging, pleading, before he’s moving.
Palm finding your mouth, you try to smother the moans and whines as he rolls his hips, gripping your hips, bruising, thrusting and kissing that part inside of you that makes his name fall in tandem from your mouth.
Distantly, you can hear him. Mumbling, babbling, lost in it: “I know, s’good for me. Feel perfect—always do. Look so good, querida—wanna fill you up. Touch yourself, come for me, baby. Please come for me.”
Fingers moving, sliding from holding the fabric for him to drawing circles, chin lifting, back arching into him as fire slides up your spine, the knot tightening in your stomach, muscles both tightening and relaxing. And it’s dizzying, vision blurring as you hear him talking you through it, murmurs of “that’s it’s baby, come on baby” as your fingers move on their own and your other hand clamps and digs into your own cheek, "can't believe you're letting me fuck you here, so perfect, mine, all—"
Hissing, moaning into his palm—teeth almost biting, piercing your skin as a tightness forms before you're clamping down. Before you snap, crack.
And you come.
And it's all but consuming, mind-bending and sound melting as he fucks you through it. Hips snapping against yours, skin slapping, as you hear him hissing, grunting, his name painted in spit and hisses against your palm as your legs shake.
You yank him down by the back of his neck, fingers full of curls, mouth slanting over his as you swallow his breaths, all hot and desperate—
“Come for me, Frankie.”
And he does. Hard.
And fuck, you know you're gonna have to replace more than the bedsheets.
an: hides and runs cause for me this was so filthy and I'm unwell from my own words
#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#Frankie morales x reader smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales smut#frankie morales#triple frontier x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x reader#francisco morales smut#triple frontier smut#frankie morales x f!reader smut#pedrostories
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