#Frankie morales is babygirl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tieronecrush · 2 months

Text

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast. And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist.

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?”

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end.

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.��

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace.

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.”

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

taglist: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic @ravenpoe67

#frankie #writing #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #tw daddy kink #cw daddy kink

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daddy-dins-girl · 9 months

Text

Pedro Boys - "Zombie Apocalypse Team"

this might be my favourite one yet... keep reading for headcanons!

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

Headcanons under the cut!

Leader - Dave York. Simply put, Dave wouldn’t allow anyone else to be in charge of him, regardless if they’d be better suited for it. Some of the others follow him out of fear, others simply because they'd just prefer not to be in charge.

Brawler - Joel Miller. The muscle. Not so great with his words, much better with his fists.

Weapons Expert - Din Djarin. A bonafide space cowboy, this man has it all. Blasters, rifles, flamethrower, jet pack. Evaporating infected before they even see him coming.

Brains - Marcus Moreno. Truly the Team Leader, but he lets Dave hold the title. He has the mutual respect of everyone, is level headed and the glue that holds the whole group together. He advises Dave, but in a way that makes Dave think they’re his own ideas. Marcus doesn't need to take any credit, he just wants everyone to be safe.

Medic - Frankie "Catfish" Morales. He’s no doctor, but he's had enough basic field medical training in his military days to at least be able to patch everyone up better than anyone else on the team. He’d prefer to be the Vehicle Expert but sadly, modes of transportation in the apocalypse are hard to come by.

Moral Support - Marcus Pike. Always looking at the bright side of the apocalypse. He likes to joke “when life hands you cordyceps, make mushroom tetrazzini”.

Scientist - Ezra. Not exactly Einstein, but he knows what berries and plants are safe and which to avoid during long treks through the wilderness. He’s proven himself useful more so than not. Mostly he keeps Dieter from accidentally un-aliving himself.

Risk taker - Max Phillips. Loud and outspoken, Max's mouth is always getting the group into trouble. Good luck to any infected that tries to turn him though, his ego is so big its like a thick candy shell around the vulnerable parts of his brain.

Stealthy - Oberyn Martell. Forget sniping infected from 100 yards away, this man simply sneaks up behind them and with some flourishing footwork they're on the ground with any sharp object he could get his hands on slicing through the flesh of their throat. He's also stealthy in the way he manages to slip into the others' sleeping bags without them evening realizing at the time that they want him to, but that's a headcanon for another post...

Dumbass - Dieter Bravo. It's not that he wants to die, it's just that he seems to occasionally forget that he can't just eat the fungus as if it came in a Ziplock bag that he use to pay 40 bucks a pop for.

Badass - Javier Peña. This man just continuously takes down infected as if they might actually come to an end. He knows that as quickly as he takes down one colony, four more spring up, but he's stubborn and refuses to stop trying, regardless of how tired he is of it all.

Mascot - Javi Gutierrez. He is babygirl. To be protected at all costs.

Distraction - Jack "Whiskey" Daniels. A real root-tootin, gun-blazin cowboy. Jack never needs to be asked twice to go put on a spectacle in the middle of an open field, gathering all the attention so the rest of the group can flank all sides under brush cover. He seems to have nine lives too, narrowly escaping death more times than any other. And he can handle his own. He argued for the spot of Weapons Expert but ultimately was swayed when he realized being the distraction actually meant being the center of attention.

Stereotype - Pero Tovar. One look at this man screams "if anyone was going to survive a zombie apocalypse, it's him"

Sacrifice - Dio. Look, it was his idea. The weird part was that nobody even asked him to.

First Dead - Eddie. It's just facts. In a long line of Pedro Boys deaths, someone had to be first.

Reply or reblog with your own headcanons, I'd love to hear them :)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #dave york #dieter bravo #din djarin #max phillips #agent whiskey #javier peña #javi gutierrez #ezra prospect #oberyn martell #marcus moreno #marcus pike #frankie morales #the last of us #the mandalorian #pedro boys

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auteurdelabre · 3 months

Text

Daddy Morales - FINAL Frankie! x F!Reader

Summary: After Frankie breaks things off with you to protect his marriage, you decide to make him jealous at a family BBQ. . . and then you ensure he stays yours permanently.

rating: 18+

tags contain spoilers

tags: Infidelity, Face-Fucking, MAJOR Daddy Kink, Doggy Style, Cock Riding, Nickname: Babygirl, Dom!Frankie, Sub!Frankie, Possessive, Jealousy, Sexual Coersion, Forced Impregnation.

a/n: please don't look at me. This series was finished for the one person who said they wanted the ending. I hope its... okay? Tell me if I missed any tags!

masterlist here

---------------------------------------

Pigtails.

Frankie breaks things off with you for the sake of his marriage and sanity and you show up today in fucking pigtails.

"Hi Mr. Morales," you say when he opens his front door.

Frankie is gobsmacked to see you here on a Saturday morning when he and his family are supposed to be heading out to Will's place for a BBQ.

Two weeks ago he'd called you during the day, his heart in his stomach. He knew he had to break things off. Fucking you in his bed, coming inside you without knowing you were on birth control? He was out of his element, playing with fire.

You'd been upset. Called him a liar. Said he was a hypocrite. You'd also turned down two babysitting jobs at their place since then, citing you were busy at school.

He's deleted everything off his phone that you were on. No more photos of you sleepy eyed in bed kissing him. No more texts of your hand slipped below your panties with xo. He never texted you back and your face isn't shown in the photos so thankfully there was nothing much to scrub there.

It's like this never happened.

He'd been terrified that you'd tell Carmen. For the last two weeks he'd been waiting for her to come storming in, slapping his face and demanding a divorce.

But instead things are calm at home. In his guilt Frankie is more patient with her, listening intently when she talks, he's more loving. He kisses her temple and brushes his hand along her back when she walks by him. He tells her how beautiful she is when she rocks Luca to sleep.

They even fucked last night. Frankie forgot how good it felt to be with someone his age, how loving it could be when they weren't fighting. Carmen made him a husband, a father. She's done so much to make sure she's not critical of him as much. Things are going good, Frankie almost thinks of his indiscretion as a wakeup call.

And then today you and pigtails.

You give a small smirk, looking up at him. You twirl one of your pigtails innocently as he stares at your shorts and tight t-shirt. You're not wearing a bra and he is positive he can see the outline of your nipples.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hi Mrs. Morales," you say ignoring him and looking over his shoulder.

He feels his blood run cold when Carmen approaches with a babbling Luca in her arms.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Carmen tells you with a smile, handing Luca over to you. Frankie is still thrown, confused as to what is happening.

"What--"

"I thought we should take some time and enjoy the BBQ," Carmen says attempting civility. "Figured if Luca has his babysitter that means we can enjoy some grown up time."

"But I wanted the guys to see Luca," Frankie argues, desperate to find a reason to send you home.

"He will," Carmen says motioning to you holding their son. "She's coming with us."

///

"Fuck, isn't she a pretty little thing," Benny says from behind his beer bottle later that afternoon.

"She is a peach," Will agrees.

Frankie frowns as the men gather around the BBQ giving appraising looks as you bend over to pick up one of Luca's toys.

The day is sunny and warm and swarming with friends and Miller relations. The food is plentiful and the cold drinks close at hand. There's been plenty of laughing and teasing, but when the conversation turns to Frankie's cute babysitter his good mood dims.

Carmen is nearby talking to one of the Miller cousins, laughing. Frankie looks past her to see you laughing as you fly a toy plane overhead of a gurgling Luca.

"How do you leave the house when something like that is just hanging around?" Benny smirks to Frankie. "She always dress like that?"

No.

You're usually in jeans and a casual shirt. Not shorts so high he can see the curve of your ass begin. Not with t-shirts so tight he can see your fucking nipples. And never, never in pigtails. You're doing it to fuck with him. To make him want you and know that he can't have you. You want to punish him for stopping things.

Frankie watches Benny walking over to you, holding out a beer to you. You shake your head, motioning to Luca and probably saying you can't while you're working.

Benny moves closer and Frankie doesn't miss how your eyes briefly flit over to him before turning back to Benny.

"You okay there Frank?" Pope smirks. "Gonna shatter that glass. Things okay with the old lady?"

Frankie holds in a relieved sigh. They just assume you're irritated that Carmen's talking with some guy.

"It's okay," Frankie shrugs. "Getting better."

"Good," Pope asks, his dark eyes losing their humor. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah we're getting back on track," Frankie says, dragging his eyes away from you and Benny.

"Living happily," Pope observes, placing a gentle hand to his friends shoulder and squeezing tightly. "That's what they call winning at life."

Frankie wants to reply but he seems to have lost sight of you in the process of the conversation. His dark eyes scan the space and he turns to Carmen as she approaches him a short while later.

"Where is the fucking babysitter?" Frankie grumbles. "Aren't we paying her?"

"Ease up Frankie," Carmen says handing him a Coke as she holds a sleepy Luca. "She's been amazing all day. She's allowed a break."

Frankie doesn't ease up. He doesn't ease up because he's noticed another glaring absentee amongst the throng of BBQ guests - Benny.

Without thinking Frankie's legs carry him into the Miller house, his heart hammering. Much like in Columbia he enters stealthily, his footfalls quiet as he scans each room. It's when he comes to the main level bathroom door that he pauses. It's closed, and when he tilts forward he can hear Benny's voice.

"You know why they call these handlebars?" Benny is asking, his voice teasing. Frankie swallows the white hot rage that comes along with your giggled response.

"No, why?"

"Lemme show you," Benny says, his voice pitched low. "Why don't you get on your knees, gorgeous?"

Frankie feels his jaw clenching, his hand tightening around the doorknob. He feels jealousy licking at his abdomen when he hears shuffling and the sound of a zipper being drawn down.

"You like it?" Benny asks.

No. Say no.

"Mhmm," you enthuse. "S'pretty."

"It'll look prettier in that mouth of yours," Benny says, voice dipping softly. "Why don't you taste it?"

There's a pause and then the wet sounds Frankie knows so well. It makes his pulse pound furiously in his chest.

"Oh yeah baby," Benny groans. "You're fucking good at that."

You give a breathless thank you before Frankie hears you take him into your mouth again and begin moaning gently around him.

Frankie thinks he's going to dent the knob in his hand by how hard he's squeezing it. His ear is pressed so tightly against the door it aches.

"We gotta be quiet though," Benny says between grunts. "Can you do that?"

Frankie holds his breath as you must pull off Benny once more.

"Yes Daddy."

Frankie sees red.

He shoulders open the door grunting as the cheap lock breaks and it thrusts open. He catches the mirrors reflection of you on your knees with your mouth around Benny's cock. He's gripping your pigtails one in each fist, holding you in place as he fucks into your mouth.

When Frankie comes barreling into the room the two of you break apart, you wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, Benny hurriedly tucking himself back into his shorts.

"Frankie what the fuck man?"

"She's my fucking babysitter," Frankie says menacingly. "What is wrong with you?"

"She's an adult, man-"

"She's supposed to be babysitting my kid," Frankie spits out, his face red with anger. "We're not paying her to be in here sucking your cock!"

He looks deranged, so much so that Benny actually cowers. He’s never seen Frankie like this, not since Columbia and the horrible time there. When Frankie’s eyes blew black and wide and furious.

"I'm sorry," Benny says. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"Get the fuck outta here."

Benny leaves scrambling and zipping up his shorts. He doesn't even cast a look at you as he rushes out. Frankie slams the door after him.

"And you," Frankie says rounding on you still kneeling on the floor. He expects you to look terrified of his anger but instead you look... Amused?

"Calling another man Daddy?" Frankie grunts out furiously, grabbing you by the back of the neck and forcing you to a stand. He holds you by the scruff of your neck as you smile sweetly up at him.

"I'm sorry Daddy."

"You're gonna be," Frankie growls.

He forces you over to the bathroom sink and pins you between himself and the bathroom counter tugging down your shorts and panties. He doesn't even check to see if you're wet, he just slides himself into your cunt.

"You wanna be a whore?" Frankie spits, cock slamming into you from behind. "Then you're gonna take cock like one."

"Fuck!” you cry out, eyes wide as he tilts you over the counter.

"Shut the fuck up and take it," Frankie orders. "You take Daddy's cock and you say thank you."

Frankie sees your head dropping and he responds by pressing your body further against the counter, watching your reflection in the mirror. His hips are smacking into your ass loudly. You jolt forward over the sink, your hands gripping the counter tightly. You don't know if you love or hate what's going on.

Frankie looks at the back of your head, eyes fixed on those fucking pigtails. He takes one in each broad hand and uses them to tug your head back. Your mouth hangs open slack, eyes on him in the reflection.

"You watch yourself get fucked," Frankie groans, eyes heavy lidded. "You fucking watch Daddy's cock slide into your tight little cunt."

"Yes Daddy," you whimper, you entire body rippling as he fucks himself deeper into you from behind.

"Who's cock do you come on?

"Only yours."

Frankie looks possessed, his teeth clenched tightly as he fucks you. "Who's mouth?"

"Yours, Daddy."

"That's right."

You begin to moan now as his cock hits a particularly good spot within you. Frankie winces, thinking if someone else decides to come into the house they’ll hear you.

"Being too loud babygirl," Frankie pants out. "Gotta make sure that mouth is full."

He pulls out of you roughly. You give a small whimper of surprise before he's turned you around and forced you on your knees. You don’t hestitate to submit, your eyes bright and gleeful as Frankie unravels in front of you.

"Open," he orders and you comply, eyes glazed. Your mouth opens widely, tongue out enticingly. Frankie smiles at how eager you are. He takes his thick cock in hand, tapping it against your tongue.

"You don't call anyone else Daddy, do you understand?”

You nod, about to say something when he thrusts his cock between your lips and starts fucking hard.

"You belong to me," Frankie tells you darkly, hands wrapping around your pigtails once more to hold you in place. "This mouth only sucks my cock."

"Ylesh Dahnndy," you garble around his cock.

His cock comes popping out of your mouth and he strokes vigorously, his cheeks stained with red. You’re breathing deeply, swallowing before his cock thrusts back between your lips, fucking your mouth until your eyes water. He does this over and over until saliva drips down your chin and your face is wet with tears.

Only then does he pull out, panting so heavily he feels dizzy. You look wrecked, eyes half-open and mouth swollen.

"I missed you, Daddy," you tell him with a hoarse voice.

"Missed you too babygirl," Frankie pants, feeling lightheaded. He strokes a thumb along your lower lip. "You're doing so good for Daddy."

You beam up at him, kneeled at his feet. Frankie continues stroking his cock, picking up the pace.

"Want you to fuck me hard Daddy," you tell him, your hand replaces his. You give ginger licks to the head of his cock as you continue to jerk him off. “Finish inside me.”

"We've been gone too long already," Frankie insists, even though his cock continues to thrust into your slick palm.

“I think you wanna fuck me,” you say, pausing to take off your shirt. Frankie watches those luscious fucking tits free themselves to the air, groaning as you stand naked and waiting for him.

"Need you deep," you say as you fingers slide between your legs. "Need to come on Daddy's cock." You kneel there at his feet, touching yourself and moaning.

"Baby please," Frankie murmurs, but he's already stepping out of his jeans and stepping over to you. “We should stop.”

"You really wanna stop, Daddy?" you say with an oily smile up at him, fingers working between your legs. "When my pussy is this wet and tight for you?"

Frankie makes a strangled noise in his throat before he drops to the ground next to you.

"No baby. Please let Daddy fuck you."

You smile when he urges you onto your hands and knees on the tile and begins to slam his hips into your ass with vigor. It makes a loud, clapping noise.

"This is so wrong," Frankie whimpers, hating that the knowledge is turning him on this badly.

He watches your hips flexing as he fucks you from behind. The reflection of the shower door shows him your tits bouncing with every thrust. Frankie feels his balls tighten when you glance over your shoulder, jerking with every thrust from Frankie.

"Tell me I'm the only girl you wanna fuck."

"You are," Frankie promises you, eyes half-lidded. "Only wanna fuck this perfect pussy."

"Prove it."

"How?" Frankie starts to babble, feeling that tingle at the base of his spine. "I'll do anything."

"Leave your wife," you groan, feeling his cock nudging your g-spot over and over. "Leave your wife and you can have me. You can fuck this perfect cunt every day."

“Christ,” Frankie moans, his back damp with sweat as he fucks into you.

"You wanna leave her," you insist, ass bouncing against his hips. “I know you do.”

You both dissolve into moans and grunts for the next several seconds, Frankie pulls you up by the waist until your back is balanced against his front. He fucks up into you, grunting into your ear.

"Yes, I wanna leave her," Frankie says if only so you'll keep squeezing his cock like that. "This is the only cunt I wanna fuck."

"Finish inside me," you whimper, arching further for him as you feel his hips start to stutter under you. "Finish inside me and make me yours, Daddy."

"Yes yes yes," Frankie hisses pulling you down against his twitching cock. "Gonna make a mess of y-"

The door bursts open just before he can finish his sentence, startling Frankie enough that he pulls out but not before he comes, pearlescent stripes decorating your ass. He groans out loudly as he comes, draining his cock onto you.

"Frankie what the fuck?"

Frankie snaps out of his lust filled haze long enough to see Carmen at the door to the now opened bathroom door with a sleeping Luca in her arms. She looks at the babysitter kneeling away from Frankie, ass coated in come. She looks at her husband's red cheeks and softening cock.

He's about to say something, anything, when you suddenly start giggling. Frankie is horrified when you crawl up into his lap and start grinding against his flaccid cock.

"What are you doing?" Frankie murmurs, his heart going wild in his chest. You look completely composed however, almost irritated at the interruption. He feels you loop your arms around his neck and continue rubbing your pussy along his cock.

Frankie darts his eyes to his wife's face as she watches her husband's cock swell to life and her babysitter slowly lower herself onto it. Carmen is horrified, stuck in spot as she watches her husband start to grind up against the woman in his lap.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Frankie hears Carmen and goes to turn his head, but your hands have come to either side of his face to stop him. You force his eyes to you, rising and falling as you take his cock further.

"Don't stop," you murmur, your pussy moving up and down his cock. Frankie's eyelids flutter, confused why his cock is so hard inside you when Carmen has caught you. Why it still feels so good when he’s been caught.

"She's seen-"

"Let her watch," you say, mouth on his neck sucking sweet little love bites into his throat.

“We need to stop.”

Frankie whimpers as you smile, pressing a long kiss to his damp mouth. Then you're lips graze his ear. "Let her watch Daddy fill up his babygirl with cum."

Frankie lets out a desperate moan, his hips jerking upwards, hands smoothing over the globe of your ass.

"You need Daddy's cock to come."

“Yes,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to his as he continues fucking you. “Yes, I do.”

And suddenly despite everything, Carmen feels like she's interrupted something. Like she's the one who is in the wrong and not her husband fucking the babysitter. It mutes her, leaves her frozen and staring as Frankie pulls you harder down into his lap.

Frankie's face is pink, his mouth parted, your body still covered in his spend as you start to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Don't have to be quiet," you whisper against Frankie's sweaty cheek. "Let her know how good this pussy feels, Daddy."

Frankie feels the whimpers escape him when you trace your tongue along the lobe of his ear, whispering how good he feels, how big, how much you want his come. Frankie feels his head tilting back, ragged moans escaping him.

"See how he fucks me?" You call out to Carmen over your shoulder, hips rolling over Frankie's as he holds you. "He fuck you like this? He makes these noises for you, Mrs. Morales?"

"You two... You two are fucking sick," Carmen yells before she's fled from the room in disgust.

"I'm sorry," Frankie cries out after her, his eyes sorrowful even as he pistons in and out of your dripping cunt. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be sorry," you tell him, arching back and fucking yourself on his cock faster and faster. "Don't be sorry, Daddy. Just fuck me hard. Just focus on that."

There is a relief. The knowledge that there's no more lies, no more sneaking around with a pit in his stomach.

Living happily. That's what they call winning at life.

But as he thinks of Carmen storming away with tears in her eyes and Luca in her arms, Frankie can't help but think that winning feels a lot like losing.

"I should go after her," Frankie pants, his cock throbbing inside you.

"No Daddy," you soothe, pulling yourself up so he can hold you while he fucks you. "You stay right here."

He doesn't stop. He can’t. Any choice in the matter is gone the second your cunt clenches around his throbbing cock. How is he still so fucking hard? His hips continue to snap against your ass, pulling you both closer and closer to orgasm.

“You’re mine,” you growl, milking his cock harshly. “All mine Mr. Morales. And I’m gonna make you a Daddy again.”

Something about how you say that causes a chill to go through Frankie. He narrows his dark eyes on you.

“What?”

Frankie feels his hips slowing as you giggle, breasts bouncing as you ride him, spurring him to continue. His hands are still around your hips, but they loosen.

“I’m not on the pill,” you tell him with a simper. “And I’m ovulating today.”

It’s as if only now Frankie is seeing the crazed look in your eye, the almost feral way you grin as you ride him, as if you’ve won a coveted prize.

And he realizes for the first time that there is something deeply frightening about you.

Before he can pull from you, he feels your climax hitting you, causing fresh arousal to soak his throbbing cock and bringing him deeper into your cunt. His balls tighten and his thrusts go fast and deep. You cling to him, thighs parting so you can take him further, murmuring that this one will stick, that you’ll be the most perfect wife for him.

It's too late to stop. Too late to throw you off. He's coming, he's coming fucking hard. He empties himself deep into your pussy groaning loudly as you cry out for him to make you a Mommy.

When he’s spent you both rise on rubbery legs, pulling on your clothes. You’re chirping about how he’ll move in with you, how he’s already left quite a few things at your apartment already.

“We’re gonna be so happy Frankie,” you say, throwing your arms around him and kissing him soundly. “You’re the best Daddy and I’m gonna be the most amazing Mommy.”

He holds you loosely, his entire being still in a state of shock, his eyes drawn to his stunned reflection in the mirror. He looks at you serenely tucked against him and he sees his own dark eyes slowly filling with tears.

I know. I'm sick.

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie friday #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #dark story

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beefrobeefcal · 4 months

Text

Dark!Frankie Saga: VIII

Chapter Eight: Linger

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 4,438

Content Warning: smutty smutty smut smut, angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, violence, betrayal, kissing, abduction, brutal beating, blood, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in the v (unwrapped), cream pie, Big Fish is a bad man

Author's Notes: I know the wait is finally over! Please send any and all complaints to the THOT TANK for further discussion I hope you'll forgive what a deceitful beef I have been. But I'm just getting started...

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @umnitsa @softpascalito @noxturnalpascal

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

--------<3---------

Your back hit Frankie’s mattress, leaving your legs dangling off the end, his thighs between them and pushing yours open. Leaning down, he slid his hands down your legs and under your sweatshirt, gripping your leggings and pulling them off, along with your underwear. His eyes didn’t leave yours until your core was open and exposed for him.

“Mr. Morales...”, you breathed, needy and desperate.

“Babygirl... “, he crooned, crawling up you and pulling your core roughly against his denim-clad hard on. “Can't call me that when I - ”

You let out a whining moan as he rutted against you, feeling the fabric get hot and damp from your arousal smearing across his crotch.

“You call me Frankie when I’m fuckin’ you.”

*****

Benny knew you were done with him now. His outburst had solidified that. As he sat and let the horrible incident replay over and over in his head, he became sullen and devastated. He couldn’t let it go. After Will stuck him in Frankie’s office to cool down and left him to find Pope, Benny's temper had finally died down, leaving him alone with the image of your heartbroken face in his mind. And then Frankie...

Fuck Fish. Fuck him and his fuckin’ fucked up, cruel prerogative.

He knew what would happen next. Frankie would get to walk in and pick up your pieces and make you believe you were loved. He knew Frankie could be gentle, he’d seen it before, and even he was fooled into thinking the Big Fish had a heart. But he knew the price that was paid each time he let that side out, and it made Benny sick to think how carefully he would handle each one of your shards as he put you back together with the promise of him being a good man. A fucking lie. All of it. Frankie was no better than any of them, and in some ways, he was worse. He, just like Will and Pope, could pass in the real world as normal, adjusted, and good people, and that made all three of them dangerous, but Frankie was worse. Will could come off as cold, and Pope would always have something off about him, and Benny was okay until his temper took over, but Frankie... he knew how to gain people’s trust better. With his big brown eyes and his quiet nature, he could charm anyone with little effort, and you’d be in the throes of being consumed by him before you realized just how fucked up he really was.

Benny realized he had unintentionally laid the perfect path for you to fall right into Frankie's arms and drown in him. Like so many girls before you.

*****

You keened and arched your back as Frankie opened you up with his fingers, and his mouth tongued and sucked on your over sensitive bud. One hand firmly gripping his hair and the other, having pushed up your shirt, twisting your nipple, you cried out and came hard. He growled, pulling more from you, and not letting up, and your cries became high-pitched whines. When he finally released you, giving you a reprieve, your body let go of all its tension and went limp, leaving you panting. He stood up, smiling, and removed his clothing.

“Shirt off. Wanna feel all of you, gorgeous.”, he said quietly. Despite the soft tone and gentle look in his eyes in the dimly lit room, you knew it was a demand - an order - and you obeyed.

His eyes wandered over your body as his hulking frame approached the bed, and his thick, heavy hard cock bobbed and wept with every movement.

“So fuckin’ pretty...”, he huffed as he crawled between your legs, his stomach pushing you into the mattress as you felt the full weight of his body precariously brushing against yours.

“So big...”, you mewled in a whisper in response.

“Big, huh, baby? You like me big?”, he grunted in response and his plump tip pushed against your aching, worked-over hole.

“Please... plea - ugh!”

Your pleas were cut short as he pushed into you. He gave you no time to adjust to his thick intrusion, and he hushed you as you gasped and dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Good girl... you can take it... relax... good girl... oh, fuck, take it... take it... jesus... fuck!”

He stopped about halfway, pulling back, before he thrusted all the way in with his hands on either side of your head, propping him up. He kept eye contact, watching your face and every twitch and twist it made as he seated himself deeply in you,

“Fuck... got me out of breath... so fuckin’ pretty...”, he panted.

He was struggling to regain his composure as you fluttered and spasmed around him; it felt like the air was being forced out of your lungs.

“I-I need, you... need you to move... please, move!”

“Tell me, baby girl...” He licked his lips and looked down at you heavy lidded with his mouth pulled up on one side in a smile. “Tell me your mine.”

A choked whine came out as you nodded your head to him.

“Say it... say you’re mine, baby... say... say I’m yours...”

“You’re m-mine...”

“My name, Honey...”

“Frankie...Frankie... my Big Fish...”

You felt your toes curl as one knee hitched up on his hip when he began to rock into you. He slowly brought himself down to his elbows and you were fully pinned down by his bodyweight. He dug his face into your neck and breathed you in and your hands held onto his shoulder and hair. Frankie kept his pace, hitting a sweet spot over and over.

“First time – the first time I saw you... fuckin’ knew... gotta relax, Honey...fuck... fuck... make those sweet noises for me, baby... fuckin’ knew I was yours... god, so pretty... then you fuckin’ made that shephard’s-jesus, yeah... oh fuck, yes... that’s it... so good, baby girl...”

He brought his face up and nudged his nose to yours. “You’re too fuckin’ good, Honey.”, he whispered against your mouth as he kissed you.

*****

He’d been alone in the office for longer than he realized, mulling over everything, when Benny looked up to the dated clock on the wall. He had no idea why Will was taking so long to find that little smug shit, Pope. Fucking Pope.

Benny was lost in his thoughts again when he heard frantic footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards him. The door burst open, and Pope had a panicked look on his face. He ran towards Benny and grabbed his arms.

“Benny! Ben? Will... Will- where is he??”

“He went to find you-why? What happened?”

“No... I didn’t see him... but outside... outside... in the alley... I... no... Will!”

Benny’s eyes went wide, and he pushed Pope off him. “What’s in the alley?!?”

“I went to... to find him and there’s blood... there’s blood and his phone...”

Benny’s whole body was pumbled by a wave of cold dread. His mouth went dry, and he had to fight to speak.

“Wh-what...Pope... Santi... no... no... show me.”

*****

“Give me another... come on, babygirl... gimme another... lemme feel it...I’m close... fuck... come on... come on...”

You threw your head back as he pounded into you, digging your nails into his sweaty back and shoulders. Every time his hips ground flush with yours, you felt like you were being split apart in deliciously harsh ecstasy, and you could feel another orgasm slipping along your spine to your core. You felt your body start to shake and tears welled up in your eyes.

“Fish... Frankie... I need... please...”

Frankie’s mind reeled. He’d opened himself up and, instead of just claiming you like he had planned, he’d allowed you to call him yours. His fractured self-worth wouldn't let him surrender that easily, and the cold, hard walls that he’d let you slip past refortified, forcing you back out. He knew he could only let you in long enough to get you where he wanted you and what he needed from you – your surrender.

His hand moved and wiped an errant tear from your temple and your hand went to his face. Your soft eyes bore into his and Frankie knew in that very moment he was going to hurt you; it was inevitable. You’d gotten under his skin, and he had to get you out because you were too good.

Before your fingers could commit each prickle of his stubble to memory, he grabbed your hand roughly and pinned it above your head, then grabbed the other. He shifted the angle of his hips, and his eyes went dark – cold and hard – like a switch had been flipped, like he saw you as nothing but a hole to fuck and take as his. He snapped his hips sharply, knocking the wind out of you. It was harsh and felt less like the lovemaking he had been giving you and more like he was getting what he wanted out of this.

It was almost too much, but the feeling of his cock bruising you inside, his heavy sweating body smashing into you on the outside, and his intimately intense stare made that hot coil spring free, and you came crying out his name.

“Give it to me... good... fuckin’... girl... that’s it... yeah... give it to me... jesus... so fuckin’ wet... oh fuck... baby girl... fuck... gonna come in you... you’re mine... mine... fuckin’ mine... mine... mine, mine, mine!”

You felt his pace falter then slow as he pushed deep into you. He groaned loudly and you felt him throb as he unloaded into you. He stilled, breathing hard, and, despite your best efforts, avoided eye contact.

“Frankie?”, you murmured, unsure of what had happened or if you had done something wrong. Your stomach twisted as dread began to fill your senses. Your hand shakily found his cheek, and, thankfully, he leaned into your touch.

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand, then finally looked you in the eye. His own were back to his brown softness again, and relief washed over you as you felt your heart beat in your throat. You smiled softly at him, and he returned one in kind, but it felt hollow.

You pushed those feelings aside while you tried to bask in the afterglow.

*****

Benny screamed out, dropping to his knees in the parking lot outside the Frontiersmen’s building. They’d searched everywhere and all they found was Will’s smashed cell phone, tire treads, and bloody drag marks that started in the alley with a deep scarlet pool of blood. The security cameras only showed an unmarked van pull into the lot then out of it. Beyond this, they had nothing else.

“Ben... dude... we’ll find him.”

Pope squatted beside him and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He felt the younger man’s shoulders shake as small, quiet sobs wracked his body.

“Where is he?? Who did this???”, Benny screamed out, agony tearing at his throat.

“We gotta... we gott tell Fish... get Fish.”

*****

You opened your eyes and saw that Frankie had his back to you, facing the wall, and you felt cold. Despite him being right beside you, and not having a wall between you, he felt farther away than ever, and that hollowness, that dread that you’d managed to suppress was washing over you in waves. Just as you reached out to touch his wide, freckled back, you heard an anguished scream from outside.

Frankie shot up right, and in his haste to get out of bed, shoved you out of his way harshly and quickly started putting his pants on.

“Get dressed.”, he snapped, not looking at you.

You sat frozen on the bed, the blanket pulled up to your chin, not sure what to make of his dismissive and cold attitude in combination with the activity outside. When he noticed your lack of movement, he snapped his fingers at you.

“Hey! I told you to get dressed! Fuckin’ listen!”

You jumped at his aggressive tone and made quick work getting your clothing back on. As you pulled your sweatshirt over your head, he motioned to the door.

“Go to your room. If I need you, I’ll get you.”

Cold. His voice, his glare, his words, his stance... he was cold to you. And it stung. You nodded and left his room, keeping your head low so that he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.

You closed your door, noting that the latch for the knob was no longer working. Sliding down the back of the door, you sobbed into your knees.

Frankie left his room and as he lingered outside of yours, he heard you; your quiet hitched breaths and soft whimpers punctured him, and it hurt more than he thought he could. But he couldn’t let his guard down again; he couldn’t be gentle or soft or anything else you would need. He couldn’t give you what he refused to acknowledge but he knew was true – himself to you completely. He couldn’t love you. But his warped thinking and broken psyche told him he didn’t need to offer any explanation. He was Frankie ‘Big Fish’ Morales, head of the Frontiersmen, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone, including you. Frankie made up his mind and convinced himself you knew this was what it had to be, and you were going to be fine with it. He pulled himself away from your door, wiping his eyes quickly as he exited the hallway into the common room.

*****

Loud noises and yelling interrupted your crying, and you pressed your ear to the door while wiping your eyes. You could hear Benny, shrieking and panicking, as well as muffled yelling from both Frankie and Pope. You could only make out the odd word like ‘Will’ and ‘Gone’ from Benny.

Challenging your own fears of Frankie’s retribution, you left your room and pushed open the door, and saw Pope holding Benny back as he screamed at Fish.

“YOU FUCKER! YOU FUCKIN’ TRAITOR! YOU GO OUT AND YOU FIND HIM!”

“Ben - if he’s gone, he’s gone. Make your fuckin’ peace!”

“YOU STUPID FAT FUCK! I FUCKIN’ HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!!”

Pope saw you first, turning his head causing Frankie to look and he scowled at you.

“I fuckin’ told you to stay in your fuckin’ room!”, he boomed, pointing towards the doorway you’d come through.

You clenched your fists and stood your ground, but Benny ripping himself from Pope’s grip shifting his focus once again.

“Honey, tell him! Tell Fish he has to find Will! Please! Make him!”, Benny pleaded, grabbing your arms.

His blue irises seemed to shine brighter in contrast with the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his cheeks were red and tearstained. You were so confused but your heart broke for him none the less.

Before you could answer, Frankie grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and ripped him away from you.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her! She’s not yours to fuckin’ even look at!”, Frankie bellowed as Benny fell back onto the floor. Benny watched in horror as Frankie snapped his fingers at you and aggressively motioned for you to stand next to him. But what really twisted the knife was watching you obediently take your place at his side and look up at him. He could never know the terror and heartache you felt, knowingly being used to show everyone that you were nothing more than a thing Frankie owned and controlled. You felt shame as Frankie’s big hand gripped your shoulder, ferociously pulling you against him.

“You fuckin’ slut! You’re nothin’ but another one of his fuckin’ whores!”

“Benny... Benny, stop! You don’t underst - “

You looked at Benny, shaking your head. You felt Frankie’s grip on you tighten painfully and looking up at him, you saw his jaw clenched tight. Benny stood up, baring his teeth at you like a rabid dog. Turning your gaze back to him, his eyes burned into yours as he stepped closer to you.

“You think you’re he’s special ‘baby girl’? You think you're the first? You’re just the latest in a fuckin’ convoy of stupid bitches who fell for his bullshit! Do you know what he did to the last one? She fucked Pope!”

Frankie’s grip on your shoulder loosened up, but you could feel his breathing pick up.

“Pope is still here! Do you know where she is? Do you know what he does to people?”

“Benny...”, Frankie warned in a low growl.

Benny’s face contorted in grief and rage, yelling, “No! No, Fish! You can’t do this to her! Did you tell her about her brother?! Or were you gonna wait until after you fucked her??”

You looked at Frankie, but his eyes were trained on Benny. You looked back at Benny, but Pope’s disconcerting grin as he watched the two men caught your attention. You watched as he brought his phone up, sent a text, then winked at you.

“Does she know what happens to people you don’t need anymore?”

“BENNY! SHUT YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH!”, Frankie snarled, pointing at Benny.

It was like watching two bull dogs circle each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

A four or five other men came into the room, seemingly at Pope’s message, all of whom you recognized from your time in the compound; they stood with Pope, observing the scene before them, not daring to get involved. You looked back at Benny and Frankie, and let out a sob.

“What... what happened to Steven?”

Your small, timid, tear-cracked voice paused the tension, and while Benny looked at you, Frankie continued to stare down at Benny.

“He’s dead.”, Benny spat out at you. “And it won’t be long before you join him because - “, Benny pointed at Frankie, “he’s a fuckin’ monster!”

It hit you like a kick in the chest. Yes, he was a drug addict. Yes, he made your family go broke. Yes, he was a selfish asshole. Yes, he pawned you for his next fix. But he was your brother, and he was dead. The weight of Benny’s words hung heavy around your neck, feeling like you were being pulled to the floor. Sorrow, despair, grief and fear pulled at you, tearing into your chest, and you felt like you couldn’t take a breath deep enough to stay afloat.

You were so lost in your own pain you didn’t realize Frankie was lunging at Benny, knocking him to the ground again. What brought you back were the sickening sounds of flesh being pulverized by fists and Benny screaming.

Frankie’s large body was straddling Benny’s, and he landed blow after blow, yelling and berating him.

"THINK YOU’RE SO FUCKIN’ TOUGH? YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ DOG. S’ONLY REASON I KEEP YOU AROUND!”

Benny screamed out in pain as Frankie’s fist made contact with his cheek and a sickening crack sounded out.

“BREAK THAT PRETTY LITTLE FACE!”

Pope nodded and the men standing around him moved towards Frankie, attempting to pull him off Benny.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!”

He ripped his arms away from the men and tried to land another blow on Benny, but he was held back again by three men, while the other two got Benny up and carried him out of the room. You saw Benny’s bloody face, almost unrecognizable and you saw Frankie’s hands stained and dripping crimson.

Pope smirked at your horrified expression as he walked in front of Frankie, facing him. Frankie struggled against the men’s hold as much as they did holding him back. He was stil breathing hard in his blind rage.

“You still got a mean temper, buddy. Even worse now that you’re Big Fish, huh? I almost forgot how brutal you can be. But Fish… you scared your girl.”, he said quietly with a small grin, but loud enough for you to hear. “Calm down and I’m sure she’ll still suck your dick.”

Frankie turned and looked at you, and you trembled. His whole face softened as he watched you step back and run back through the door to the bedrooms.

“No! No Honey!”, he yelled out, throwing the men off him and running after you.

You ran into your room and propped the chair under the doorknob. Frankie banged on the door.

“No, baby, please! I’m sorry!”

He pushed the door open, making the shitty carpet crease under the chair’s legs, and you saw his whole front was speckled in Benny’s blood. You couldn’t breathe; your whole body tensed hard enough that you felt like you were suffocating.

He reached out, gently trying to coax you to him. Your eyes trained on his blood-stained hands, your mind racing with the violence they were proven to be capable of. You jumped back from him, hitting the wall behind you.

“No! NO!”, you shrieked, panicking with your back against the wall while he cautiously moved towards you.

Frankie felt his heart sink. “No… no no no no no! No, It’s me, baby girl… it’s your Frankie… I’m yours! I’m not going to hurt you… please baby!”

Letting out a shaky whine as he approached you, Frankie tried to offer you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes; they were anything but happy. The lingering threads of fury mixed with grief and panic painted them deep mahogany, and there wasn’t an ounce of that colour you could trust. But you had to know the truth.

“Did you know? D-did you know Steven was… was d-dead??”

He paused and silently pleaded with you to skip this whole thing and let him take you to bed, to comfort and hold you, and to make you forget – if even for a minute – what a horrible person he was. And let him forget, too.

“Honey… I… baby, lemme make you feel good… you know I can…”

But your face didn’t change. It didn’t crack or twinge or show any signs that he was winning, Frankie sighed. “I knew… but you were so upset… I didn’t want to hurt you more…I thought I-”

He stopped himself when he saw your body tense and your eyes narrow. You saw red. Yes, you were scared, but your anger took over.

“You piece of shit!”, you screamed as you shoved him back. “You don’t give a shit about hurting me! You fucked me and then made me feel like I was nothing to you! You’re a monster! I don’t want you!”

“You don’t mean that, baby… I know you don’t… I know you’re scared!”, he pleaded, trying to pull you to him. “I’m sorry! Please… lemma make it better, baby!”

You slapped your hands on his body, crying, trying anything to get him away from you. He grabbed your wrists, and the smell of blood was overwhelming. You let out a scream, and Frankie grabbed you, forcing you into his hold.

“Come on… it’s me… don’t fight me, baby girl… please… it’s me, your Frankie…”

You thrashed against him, struggling to escape his grasp. Frankie was desperate to calm you, but his patience was running out. You kicked out one of your legs, and your heel came into contact with his kneecap. He let you go, and you gasped into your hands.

“Mother fucker!”, he yelled, letting you go and bending over to hold his knee.

“Frankie! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t- “

“You fuckin’ little BITCH!”, he spat at you, eyes snapping up to your face.

Your blood ran cold as Frankie stood to his full height and towered over you. You were convinced his next action would be the last you would ever witness.

“I gave you a fuckin’ chance! You wanna play stupid fuckin’ games? Huh?” Frankie got his face uncomfortably close to yours and once again, you could smell the sick metallic scent of blood on him as his hand gripped your neck. “Listen to me carefully. I own you. I own your life. And do you know what that makes you? A fuckin’ dead junkie’s whore sister.”

“Frankie… I’m sorry – “

“Shut you fuckin’ mouth when I’m talking.”

The low register of his tone reverberated in your body, and he stood back, releasing your neck. He needed to hurt you like you hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit you, not now. Not with that look on your face and your chin quivering. But he needed to hurt you like your rejection hurt him. His eyes caught the Kindle sitting on your bedside table, and he felt like he was winning again. He looked back at you.

“Whores don’t read.”, he snarled, then snatched up the Kindle.

“Frankie, no! No!”, you shrieked again, reaching up for your only escape.

He held the Kindle out of your reach and gripped it in both hands, bending it until you heard plastic and metal snap and break. Frankie watched as you screamed out with your eyes fixed on the destruction of your only respite, your only comfort.

What he didn’t anticipate was the immense guilt that crashed over him as you looked him in the eye with absolute horror on your face. He also wasn’t expecting you to turn and run out of the room, bolting as fast as you could to get away from him.

You had no idea where you were going, but you let your feet take you through the common room, through the hallway… You were coming up to Frankie’s office when Pope walked out from around the corner and grabbed you, holding your back flush to his front.

You went to scream, but Pope covered your mouth with a chemical smelling cloth as he cooed softly in your ear, and everything began to fade around you.

“Don’t worry, baby girl… I got you.”

*****

The sounds that surrounded him fogged his brain. When he opened his heavy eyelids, he saw nothing but dark and light faded shapes, his eyes wouldn’t focus and the ache that throbbed behind them in his skull was only exceeded by the sharp pain in his abdomen with each breath he took.

Where the hell was he? He tried thinking back to what he could remember, to try and get his bearings, but the last thing he could see was Santi walking away after...

No...

No Santi... he didn’t...

“Well, Mr. Miller...”, a deep, unfamiliar voice boomed, breaking him from his waking nightmare. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

--------<3---------

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